Caprion's Wings (The Cat's Eye Chronicles Novella)

By T. L. Shreffler

*A novella of The Cat's Eye Chronicles! Includes a preview of Ferran's Map, Book 4 in the series.

By the age of nineteen, all Harpies know how to fly—except Caprion. He has yet pass the test of the Singing and gain his wings. His family has disowned him in shame and people are beginning to talk. Now an evil voice haunts his dreams, taunting him, drawing out his worst fears—that he will remain wingless forever.

Caprion decides to find the root of this insidious voice, no matter what it takes. He journeys to the secret prisons of the Harpy underground, where he meets a young slave named Moss. In those sunless, decrepit cells, a forbidden friendship is formed. Can Caprion and Moss find the source of the voice? And can Caprion save Moss from a terrible fate?

Join young Caprion as he journeys down, down into the earth, finding his wings and forging a friendship that will change him forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. L. Shreffler
• Release date: Feb 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9780985166366

T. L. Shreffler

T. L. Shreffler lives in Snohomish County, WA. She loves diversity, fantasy, romance, iced tea, long walks, philosophy, and thrift store shopping. She currently holds a BA in English and her poetry has been published consecutively in Eclipse: A Literary Journal and The Northridge Review. She is the author of The Cat's Eye Chronicles, a popular YA Fantasy series in the spirit of Throne of Glass, along with other works including The White (The Dragon Pearl #1), Blood of the Wolf and Mark of the Wolf (PN Romance.)

Book preview

Caprion's Wings

(A Novella of The Cat's Eye Chronicles)

by

T. L. Shreffler

Copyright © 2013. Redistribution is prohibited.

Published by The Runaway Pen.

Edited by Naomi Carrington.

Smashwords edition.

http://www.catseyechronicles.com

The Cat's Eye Chronicles

Sora's Quest (Book #1)

Viper's Creed (Book #2)

Volcrian's Hunt (Book #3)

Caprion's Wings (Novella)

Chapter 1

In the dream, he always stood in the same place―Fury Rock at the far end of the Isles, gazing into the darkened sky, counting the brilliant stars. They seemed impossibly close, bright white orbs as tangible as lanterns, hanging inches above his head, moments away from his hands. One by one, the stars detached themselves from that net of sky and danced around him softly, silently. Then they would slide apart, opening like a great curtain.

And there―billowing across an ocean of darkness like white sails―would be his wings.

He would reach for the gentle slope of white feathers, their great lengths like bars of light. He could never quite grasp them. They hovered just out of reach, beckoning him to step from the rock, to take hold of his wings. Yet, he couldn't. He remained paralyzed, immobile, and wary of the darkness beneath his feet. Fury Rock stood at the very edge of the Isles; the top of the cliff dropped hundreds of feet into the ocean. He couldn't fly yet. How could he leap―how could he claim his wings―if he couldn't fly?

But on this night the dream unraveled differently. His wings sailed closer than ever before, pure light solidified into bone and flesh. He reached for them, hands grasping a half-inch away.

The ground suddenly rocked beneath him, pushing him forward. He gasped, wavering, struggling for balance. But the earth kept quaking, shuddering and lurching, and a great shadow rose from the ground, seeping through the rock and gathering at his back. He stumbled, tripping into black space. His arms swung out for balance, but there was nothing to stop his fall.

He plummeted off the rock and into darkness, away from the stars and his wings, icy wind rushing past him, freezing his skin and gripping his heart. A voice rose from the abyss: lethal, insidious and oily-slick. Your people are dying....

* * *

Caprion awakened in a cold sweat, his pale hair damp against his face. He sat up in his cot and turned his frantic, violet eyes toward the window, taking comfort in the light of the sun: the One Star that shone upon the world, giving life to all things. He closed his eyes momentarily, breathing out a prayer, dispelling the darkness that lingered in his mind.

For months now he kept experiencing the same dream, but this time it was different. Darker. Somehow malevolent. We do not dwell on these things, he heard the Madrigal's voice say. We do not acknowledge them with our thoughts, nor our words. A Harpy’s voice, after all, was a tool for magic. It must remain pure. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

Caprion! he heard from the window. Something struck the wall—a rock, perhaps. Caprion, wake up!

I'm awake, he muttered, passing a hand over his face. He felt drained, exhausted despite a full night's rest.

You're going to be late! It's past the greeting hour! They've called your name twice now!

A jolt of panic shot through him. Flight! He slept late! He leapt to his feet and pulled a white silken robe around his lean, tall form. It hung a few inches above his ankles, slightly too short. The novice robes were made of smooth silk, soft against his skin and weightless. Gold thread embroidered the neckline and wide cuffs. Caprion slipped on his leather sandals, fastening the buckles at his ankles, and then he ran outside.

He lived in the novice district, a part of the city reserved for young Harpies who had yet to gain their wings. The buildings were circular and domed, and made of chalky, white limestone. The surface of the stone was easily carved. Generations upon generations decorated each of the houses, etching patterns and symbols or scrawled blessings and poems across their facades. Some of the dwellings were built before the War of the Races when the great island of Aerobourne had flown through the sky, hovering over the mainland—the pinnacle of Harpy civilization.

Now the great floating island lay in a series of isles, scattered across the ocean, a cracked shard of its former self. The city of Asterion, once the capital of Harpy society, had grown old. Flagstone paths had fallen to disrepair, cracked and split by weeds, sprawling tree roots and wildflowers. Untamed foliage crawled down alleyways, up windowsills, and across the roads.

Caprion followed the main footpath over a slight hill and through a small patch of forest that separated the novice district from the main city. A second figure joined him―Esta, his laughing younger sister. She matched his pace easily, her feet barely touching the ground. She was only thirteen, but she gained her wings three months ago in the early Spring. They gleamed at her back, two small figments of light, each barely three feet in length and a foot wide. Small wings—those of a seamstress, horticulturist, or tutor. She currently worked with the younger Harpies in the academy, teaching them to sing.

Sleepy head! she teased. It's like you don't even want to fly!

Quiet, little bird, he grumbled back.

She stuck her tongue out at him, still laughing. Her long, pale hair shone in the wind like a gleaming pearl. It almost fell to her waist, decorated with bluebells in honor of Caprion's Singing; she was the only one who bothered to attend.

If I hadn't come to find you, you would have missed the entire Singing! she said heartily, as though this were some big joke.

I was awake, Caprion said defensively.

Liar, she grinned.

Like their older brother Sumas, Esta found her star on her first attempt at the Singing―a small, yellow orb of variable light that flickered and flared in the pre-dawn sky. The light of its magic had entered her body, manifesting as wings—pure energy that sprouted from her back. She could now practice true magic and not just simple singing spells.

His brother Sumas, the pride of their family, had experienced even more success. At twenty-five, he was now a celebrated soldier, rising quickly through the army’s ranks. His wings spanned fifteen feet—a sign of his star’s strength and magical ability. The girls all gushed over tall, strapping Sumas, with his deep-set gray eyes and proud, square jaw. They followed him around and gossiped about his latest escapades. They said he was the most handsome in the city, the most unattainable, and the most highly respected.

It grated on Caprion's nerves. His brother carried himself with a certain vain confidence that begged to be knocked down. It was the same confidence that Caprion had once carried before his years of embarrassing failure. Without wings, he might as well be a cripple. The girls shied away from him in the streets, averted their eyes, and cut short their conversations. He tried to ignore the bitter jealousy that arose at his thoughts.

As a Le’Nasir, his family held a prestigious reputation. Several Matriarchs had risen from their bloodline. The entire city expected him to succeed as swiftly and easily as Sumas. But five years of failure had chipped away his sense of confidence. He had always expected great things, a unique destiny, some unnamable purpose. Now, at nineteen—his eleventh hour—he could feel his future slowly slipping away. He could already hear the Madrigal's voice: The stars are ever moving, fledgling. The sky is more different now than an hour ago. Your lateness may have cost you everything. Depending on a Harpy's hour of birth, the Madrigal could predict where his star would be, what time of day he would find it, in what season, and in which hemisphere of sky. But five times now the Madrigal had predicted and his star had not shone. This was his last chance to succeed.

It left a hollow feeling at the base of his throat. To remain a Harpy without a star, without the ability to fly, was a mortifying concept. Those without wings were excluded from many parts of the city, which could only be reached by flight. The wingless often worked at night when most of the population slept. They cleaned the streets, mended buildings, or served the more prominent families. It was a life sentence—shameful and uncompromising.

And the worst part? He couldn’t find any reason or logic behind it—no way to fix the situation. Perhaps his Song was not strong enough and his voice did not carry across the vast emptiness of the heavens. Or perhaps…perhaps the rumors around the city were right. Perhaps he did not have a star at all.

No, he couldn't think such disturbing thoughts, not before his Singing.

By this point, Caprion had traveled well into the city. Asterion had once been a grand spectacle of ornate architecture and it still showed. All of the buildings were carved of gleaming quartz and white limestone. Towering, domed structures were connected by bridges and balconies, arches and entryways, with hardly any doors. The windows were of shining crystal. Ancient mosaics decorated the walls and archways, symbols of stars and moons, patterns that mimicked the ocean and wind. The buildings stretched up and up. Almost half the city was only accessible to those who could fly.

Despite the beauty of the city, the wilderness had crept up over the years. Trees sprouted from between flagstones, small saplings yet to bear fruit. Vines crawled over balconies, cascading onto the street. Grass and weeds abounded, conquering flower pots and wide planters, framing tall columns and porch steps.

A few familiar faces called out to him. Caprion waved but kept running.

You’re lucky Sumas is busy this morning, Esta sang out, keeping pace nearby. He’d be furious to know you slept late.

Caprion grimaced and ran faster.

You know, Esta said, I forgot how big the city is on foot. I can reach the Singing Chamber in a few minutes with my wings!

You’re not helping, Caprion panted.

I know, she smiled cheekily at him.

Finally, Caprion turned off the main street onto the Road of Remnants. Statues of ancient warriors and diplomats lined the thoroughfare, some in fierce armor with swords in hand, others in great robes carrying stone parchment and books. He passed the statues quickly, having seen them countless times. The city fell behind him. The road led him up a great hill to where the Singing Chamber resided at its peak.

Do you want me to accompany you? Esta asked, falling slightly behind.

Caprion waved a distracted arm. No, he replied, panting. I’ll meet up with you after. Wish me luck!

Luck, and the One Star’s blessing! she called, then fell back, returning to the Road of Remnants.

Caprion felt relieved. He didn’t want an audience on this day. No audience meant no one to witness his final failure.

The Singing Chamber had existed long before the city of Asterion ever came to be. A great wealth of sunstone formed a giant bowl carved deep into the center of a hill, magnifying all sound and light. Once inside the Chamber, a Harpy's voice could be cast far above the world, through the sky, and into the realms beyond. In this way, a Harpy could find his wings.

Panting from exertion, Caprion finally reached the peak of the hill. The gates of the Chamber stood before him—tall iron structures twisted into intricate patterns. He slowed his frantic pace, paused at the gates, and leaned over, trying to regain his breath.

When he looked back up, the blue robe of the Madrigal greeted him. Caprion bowed his head again, both to catch his breath and to show respect. His face flushed. He was almost two hours late; he wouldn't be surprised if the Madrigal told him to go home.

Rise, the man said briefly.

Caprion straightened, wishing he had a minute more to rest. The Madrigal was very tall, very thin. His hair was long and billowing. Creases lined his face. His skin had a slight glow about it, a white sheen hardly visible to the eyes. As Harpies aged, they eventually dissolved into light; his glow was an indicator of his years. Madrigals lived longer than most. Some said that he was a thousand years or older. He had lived before the War of the Races―before their current Matriarch even came to power.

His wings, for that moment, remained hidden. The most powerful Harpies had the ability to hide or display their wings at will. Caprion glimpsed the Madrigal’s only once, years ago at the One Star’s Dawning, the first day of Spring. Fully manifested, his wings were so large, so bright, that Caprion had been forced to turn his eyes away or else go blind.

I'm sorry- Caprion started.

No time to speak, the Madrigal said. We shall discuss it when you are done. The hour has grown late. You must sing before the sky changes further. Have you prepared your Song?

Caprion nodded. Last year, the Madrigal suggested he practice a new Song since his old one was not working. It was a huge embarrassment. His mother hadn't spoken to him for weeks, muttering always to herself, I taught him to sing well. He knows how to use his voice. What is wrong with my boy? She prayed to the God of Light over and over again. Finally Caprion left the house, moving into the novice district where the wingless fledglings resided. He couldn't stand to hear her pray anymore. He couldn't even look at her face.

He entered the outer halls of the Singing Chamber. Unlike the rest of the city, the hall around the chamber was built of thick granite.