The War of the Shard

By Frances Koziar

A hundred years ago the spell placed upon the Shard of Dancun by the ancient wizards was undone and evil consumed the Shadow Hills. Now, as the Flying Comet appears again, Princess Airia Nyuru must flee her home for the safety of the Hamikai Temple. When a king attempts to kidnap her, she and her griffin Enereas seek refuge in the Hillwall country of Ruekar. The only hope for the end of the Shadow Hills and the Soulless that dwell within them are two puzzling prophecies that Airia alone can fulfill. As she struggles to decipher them, journeying to foreign lands and facing hardships from both within and without, she realizes the gravity and scale of the War of the Shard, and fears her quest is impossible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462071890

Frances Koziar

Frances Koziar was born in Oshawa, Ontario. She began writing in sixth grade. She wrote her debut novel The War of the Shard during high school and it was published when she was nineteen. She currently lives in Toronto and attends Trinity College at the University of Toronto.

Book preview

Prologue

An old man ambled along an aisle of the castle library in Marianas. He paused in front of a shelf of books that had seen few readers. Gently, he eased a dusty volume off the shelf, cradling it in his arms. He let it open on its own and placed a small scrap of parchment there, letting the pages close once more upon it. He replaced the tome and left the library. Cycles later a young girl chanced upon that very text. Her small arms could barely support the mass of the book’s knowledge. She opened it, reading from its aged pages with a tone of voice that had her companion keeling over in laughter. Before she set the book back on the shelf and raced after her friend, her eyes paused briefly on the note slipped in there. It made no sense to her, but a part of her remembered its words, even many cycles later.

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The afternoon sunshine beat down upon the lone traveller. She wound her way along the sun-baked road, alone with her heera. She was used to her solitude and did not mind it. Moonlight, her silver heera, plodded along beside her without need of Anna’s guiding hand on her antenna. They had run out of water and both of them craved it, but the hot southern landscape revealed nothing more than bare fields, devoid of any moisture. It was the season of Leaves, but the drought made it seem like high Sun. The young woman was a cycle past her second decade and named Anna. The name was as foreign as her pale hair, but no one ever got to know her well enough to ask about her past. The landscape blurred and wavered in the heat. Anna could hear nothing but the steady beat of footsteps falling in rhythm. In her near-sleep state she drifted into the memories of her past, stepping through doors she had long kept shut.

She recalled the joy of her early childhood, playing Chase through the small village of Plainton and Hunt through the plains of Maraboor that surrounded it. She had known nothing of human life outside of her village: stories were just stories to her. Then the Great Sickness had struck and everything changed. Babies were born dead and the old withered away. So many were dying and all were in despair. They had no cure. In one last act of desperation the adults sent all of the children away, telling them that there was a cure in the lands to the east on the other side of the jungle. The adults themselves could not make the journey: the children would have to go for them. It was a trick to make them leave—for after the elders the children were the most susceptible to the disease—and it worked. There were nineteen of them: the youngest was little Bryn, only four cycles old, and the oldest was Jack at seventeen. Anna had just turned ten.

Moonlight stumbled beside her with a jerk of her silver antennae, the nad’s sure-footedness lost with hydration. Anna looked up dazedly. The landscape and the weather were the same as before. Her fair skin peeled where the sun touched it and her hair was bleached nearly white from the scorching rays. She had travelled all over: Hanuri to Psevik, Natraia and Trios, and Kantoran, where she was now. She was searching for something, though she did not know what. For cycles she had been searching for something. Her head drooped and her mind returned to its memories.

She remembered the deadly journey as they had left the plains and travelled through the jungle of Grosihan. By the end of the first tik in the jungle only eight of them had still lived. They had known nothing of the jungle and its dangers. Spins passed and their numbers dwindled. They were all terrified and they cried for their parents. Four of them had survived longer than the others. Anna could still picture them clearly. She had been the youngest, Jack the oldest, with fourteen-cycle-old Karen and eleven-cycle-old Linya in-between. Linya had died of starvation only two spins before they had made it out and Jack had died saving them from a wolfdragon with the first village in sight. She could still see the leathery brown skin of the hideous creature, its patchy hair erect as it sprang for them. The wolfdragon’s arrowhead tail had swished back and forth as it had eaten Jack, who died to save them. She and Karen had fled, fearing they would soon join their comrade.

Anna remembered little of the next few tiks. She had slept and eaten a lot. She and Karen had been fearful of the strange place they had come to, of the oddly clothed people and their hard, incomprehensible language. Anna and Karen had worked together on their trek and become the closest of friends, for it was a friendship born of desperation and despondency, and they had clung to each other in Hanuri. A burst of long-ago sadness flooded Anna’s delirious mind. Karen had disappeared one spin without a farewell soon after they had arrived in Hanuri. Anna had never understood it, and never saw her again.

Suddenly she heard a hiss. In the span of a couple seconds, the camouflaged hissera had darted out from the burnt grass, its many tiny legs propelling it, Moonlight reared, Anna leaped onto her back and the terrified heera bolted. The long and slender hissera was quickly left in the dust: even had it wished to hunt an adult heera rather than the usual young, only a maaure would have had a chance at keeping pace. Anna hung on with a vicelike grip as Moonlight raced down the road. She clung tightly to the heera’s antennae as she was bounced up and down, holding onto the thought that it would eventually stop. Even after cycles of it, travelling heeraback had never become natural to her. As she saw the dim shapes of a town through the gale of riding, her grip loosened slightly in surprise and elation. It was enough that the antennae slipped from her fingers and she fell onto the hard-packed earth. Her head struck true and her mind was wiped clear.

Chapter 1: The Griffin Rider

The sun beat down on a girl dressed in a long grey robe, slumped in the saddle of a griffin. Her gaze lay somewhere near her hands, but she did not see them. A princess once, now she was no more than a broken heart. The sun shone radiantly, reflecting off the desert sand. The steady flapping of the griffin’s wings contrasted her turbulent thoughts. She thought back to the spin she had left home, ages ago. She had been so carefree then, so innocent, so full of herself. In the latter, Suna had been right.

She was suddenly filled with an overpowering longing that she could do nothing to satisfy. Why had it turned out this way? Why had she been betrayed? She could no longer ignore that truth.

Her eyes blinked once, slowly. Dehydration and fatigue were setting in, but despair and fresh pain kept her mind from true rest.

Life had been so much simpler before she had left Kilora.

Her forehead ached with the strain of furrowing her brow.

She drifted lazily through the agony of her situation.

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Lady Airia Nyuru, the princess of the northern country of Kilora and the daughter of King Meyan, awoke in an unfamiliar position. She cracked an unladylike yawn and lifted her head from her crossed arms, blinking in the brilliance of the high sun. She flinched and locked her muscles, her eyes wide. Then she relaxed again, and smiled with embarrassment. She had never slept on Enereas before.

The Blade, the great mountain range that divided the north and south and was the home of the Blade Sisters, stretched below her. She smiled and let her eyes close for a moment longer as she listened to the beating of the griffin’s wings. Slow, steady and powerful, the sound almost persuaded her to lie back down. But she had never seen the Blade before, and what she knew of it demanded that for safety, she keep her eyes open. Unlike the forested western end, the mountains over which she flew were young, and they foretold the dryness of the desert to which she was fleeing.

The coniferous trees that gave Kilora its lumber industry had been left behind by the two travellers, and now only a few gnarled trees twisted their ancient bodies up to the blue sky. Grasses sat in defiant clumps between clusters of stone, but even they held little green in them and became less common as the pair flew south. As she watched, the uniform, grey, rocky peaks changed below her. She stared in wonder at the orange stone that began to appear. Ripples and waves lined it like an ocean, petrified by time. Every shade of orange from deep brown to pale peach was splashed over the rocks. Towers of stone rose up into impossible arches like those from the castle, worn away by the elements. It would be so much fun to play here, she could not help thinking.

Was it only a few spins ago that she had sparred with Tiron and Deyun? What had it been that spin? Tiron had been a number of things, as was his wont: a knight, a Kari, a Serenian sailor, and one of the Soulless. Deyun had been a knight and she one of the Blade Sisters. They had imagined riding on dragons, something she would likely never do. The species was all but extinct, the few survivors living somewhere far to the south. She had beaten her friends in the final fight of course, before the boys’ mother Arina had come, for Airia was the best of them with a practice sword. That had been the last time she would see them for a few tiks. She had seen Arina the next spin too of course, being her First Maid.

Airia became aware of Enereas as she awoke enough to sense the strain in her friend’s flight. Enereas had never flown such a distance without stopping; they had halted only briefly at an inn the past night after having flown from one midnight to the next. Airia felt a twinge of worry at the journey they were undertaking, followed by an equal twinge of her adolescent excitement for adventure. If only she had been allowed to tell her friends: the pages, and Tiron and Deyun especially. This adventure rivalled even Dirk’s leaving two tiks past for the road after being paired as a squire to Sir Rhondry. Unfortunately, Father had been adamant. He needed to be, as he was well aware, to keep her quiet. Prophecies even! Her mind-voice chanted the two stanzas as she became suddenly serious.

The griffin rider will end the dark of the deep,

When the Singing Stone and duv together no longer sleep.

And—

When the daughter of the sky comes of age to fly,

The wind will claim the trayzen’s heir and the Peace Stone will die.

After the momentary mental stillness that followed the prophecies vanished, Airia grinned again. They were even about her, or so her father guessed. He had not talked much about the second prophecy, but had said she was the griffin rider who would end the darkness of the Shadow Hills! She did not know how that could possibly happen, but people in prophecies always knew what to do when the time came. She recalled Setiar’s teachings of the Shadow Hills and the Soulless, and the story of Maryl and Jorakku. The hills were evil and magical. She shivered with delight.

She got to travel alone too! She had done her best to allay her father’s worry about sending her off alone. He had still been uncertain when he had summoned her to his study and told her what was happening, but he had come around. Now she was on a marvellous adventure! She understood that her arguments had done little, and that the need for secrecy had done the bulk of the persuasion. If she were to have an escort it would have to be only a handful of soldiers of low enough rank not to be noticed missing and thus not well known by either Airia or her father. Secrecy was also the reason for her destination. She would be safe there simply because no one knew it existed.

Suddenly the melancholy hit her again. Leaving home was certainly not all pleasant. She had been looking forward to the Festival of Wings for an entire cycle—from last cycle’s Festival of Naming even, when she had turned fifteen—and training for more than a season. All the work she had put into her aerial loops and dives and the other techniques with Enereas had come to nothing. She thought longingly of the festival. If only she had had to flee for her life a foursome later. To compete as the Flying Comet was visible in the sky for the first time in a hundred cycles would have been so exciting…

Enereas made a sharp noise in her throat. Airia, lost in her thoughts, paid no attention until she repeated the uncharacteristic sound. This time Airia looked up, squinted, and froze.

Six mid-sized birds flew in front of them, rising higher into the air as Airia watched. Strangely long necks stretched up toward the sky and talons flashed in the sunlight. Airia felt a sudden chill of fear, for she did not know what to do. It was too late to circle around: the kloepin had spotted them.

Airia and Setiar had spoken frequently in the last tik about the creatures of the Blade to try to dispel both their fears for the crossing. Kloepin were incredibly ferocious, often feeding on koosleons—the ugly dragon-like creatures favoured by the Duke of Pryllian—but preferring the northern griffins when they could snag them. Yet surely the birds would not attack them? Even as this thought flashed through her mind, she saw much more plainly than she wished to that the birds were now above them, waiting as their foolish prey flew right into position. For one intense moment all the horror stories of travellers who had failed to cross the Blade came to her, dissipating as Enereas made another soft noise in her throat. Airia looked down. Her head jerked back in surprise.

Below them a great canyon was worn into the rock, stretching as far as she could see and angling to the west. Devoid of any life, it looked like a giant empty river.

Enereas tilted slightly downwards, and Airia caught the thought, trusting that the planning behind it was sound. Her brow was set, her eyes determined. Their flight slowed to a crawl. They flew directly under the circling birds of prey.

Suddenly, with a chorus of screeching, the kloepin dove.

Go! Airia cried as she flattened to Enereas’ back and they fled downward. As they pulled up sharply inside the dry river, the kloepin crashed into them in a flurry of feathers.

Kyeek!

Kyeka!

Airia gasped as a talon raked her right forearm, and felt Enereas flinch as she took a similar assault on her rump. The two spiralled sideways together. Enereas dodged left and right, and then dropped down. They spiralled again in the same direction. This manoeuvre cost the kloepin some accuracy, but they nonetheless fought on savagely. One crashed into Airia’s head, two into Enereas’ outstretched wings. Enereas screeched her battle cry.

With a jerk they landed on a rock platform at the edge of the gorge. Airia tilted sideways and hung on with a vicelike grip as the straps around her thighs resisted painfully. Enereas reversed until an overhang was above them. She stomped and reared, screeching defiantly. A landed griffin protected from above was not what the birds were prepared to fight, and they circled once with frustration before retreating. Airia watched them fly away. She undid her saddle straps and, favouring her right arm, slid to the ground.

The overhang protruded from a good-sized cave. As Airia wondered what vicious creatures could be living there, Enereas trotted in, her beak clacking a warning. As her friend checked out the site, Airia examined her injury. Blood spread across her shredded cloak, and her warm forearm pulsed. She tentatively peeled back the sleeve of her cloak, wincing as she did so. There was a deep and narrow gouge on her arm. Airia clutched her wrist as tears moistened her eyes. Enereas returned and nodded for Airia to lower her arm for inspection. When she did, the griffin gently began to lick at the bloody wound. Airia cringed a little as the wound was cleaned. The two stood there for eighty heartbeats before Airia withdrew her no-longer-bleeding arm. She tore one of the shreds of her cloak sleeve off and tied it roughly around the spot. She thanked Enereas. She had forgotten the healing properties of griffin saliva when she had been preparing for this journey; just as the saliva of some blood-sucking creatures prevented blood clotting, a griffin’s saliva encouraged it. Airia then surveyed Enereas’ wound. She was relieved to note that the wound was not severe, and that the griffin’s orange blood was already darkening to a deeper orange-brown.

Airia spared the cave only a quick glance before she stepped back out onto the platform.

Wow, she murmured. Enereas cawed in agreement.

The opposite wall of the gorge seemed kilometres away. It was speckled with the black dots of other caves and outcroppings. Far below, dust swirled lazily in a light breeze, spiralling into small whirlwinds. Airia stayed a metre from the edge, and even then she had the vague feeling she was about to fall. Not that it would truly be a problem if she did, for Enereas would catch her. Could a river have once run through there? Was there that much water in the ocean?

Airia took her lunch in the cave. Enereas had eaten her fill of a castle oomi before they had left, and would not need to eat again for another half-tik. It was not unusual for a griffin to eat half as frequently, once in ten spins. Airia pulled out a loaf of bread and cheese and began to eat. She was not picky about food as other nobles were. She often grabbed whatever was in the kitchen and would eat on the roof or in the page hall with the boys, or would be too busy playing some game or other to remember to eat at all.

The bread settled into her grateful stomach. She had not eaten since late last night. Balancing the food on Enereas, she had ended up dropping a roll into the shadowed softwood forest far below.

When Airia had finished eating and had awkwardly eased her bladder in the cave, they took off again for the south. Toward late afternoon, the mountains ended. They did not fade away as they did in the north; they simply stopped with one last pillar of orange stone. The pair flew out over a sea of glimmering sand.

Airia’s mouth was open as she looked around. Setiar had told her of the Natan Desert, but she had not been able to imagine the sand he described. In Kilora, commoners had to search along the shore for sand to make sand timers: with this much they would never run short. Airia grinned as the dunes of sand winked up at her, and turned her eyes to the light source. The plump sun hovered near the horizon, larger than she had ever seen it. She waited for the extreme heat of the desert to hit her, and when it did not she was disappointed. She had looked forward to some Sun weather in the season of Rain. As they flew farther into the desert, the temperature dropped steeply. The sun set quickly without any elaboration of light on cloud, and with it went the warm spin. She pulled her cloak about her as they flew once more into the night. As she had been for the last couple spins of flight, Enereas was tired and Airia knew it. Her father had insisted they arrive as quickly as possible to avoid both the dangers of the road and of those who would mean her harm.

The stars came out one at a time, then in great handfuls as if someone was tossing them up into the sky. Airia smiled and felt herself becoming drowsy. She tried to stay awake for Enereas, but found she had slept when the dawn came only moments later. With the dawn came heat.

She was sweating profusely, her cloak discarded, long before noon. She drank water from her flask, but soon she was too tired to do even that. A detached part of her hoped her fair skin would not burn too severely. As the sun neared its zenith, Airia found herself breathing through her mouth to avoid the burning feeling that came when she used her nose. It reminded her of the season of Snow, strangely.

Moments after the sun crested its peak, Enereas spotted the temple and the oasis far off in the distance with her keen eyes. Minutes later, Airia also spotted them, but paid them no heed. Twice already that morning she had thought she had spotted their destination. Her doubt made it quite some time before Airia asked the griffin to confirm the now large white stone temple with two pillars marking its entrance, and the two smaller buildings opposite.

When she did, Airia did not spare it another glance. Her eyes were fixed on the small lake ringed with trees lying between the large building and the smaller two. The water shimmered tantalisingly.

They circled once around the lake, while Airia debated diving in. Enereas merely humoured her, for while she enjoyed the water, griffins could not swim. Airia’s heat exhaustion was on the brink of victory when a white-robed woman stepped out from the stone temple to greet them, obliging them to land.

Airia dismounted and stood before the woman, giving a shallow curtsey which was returned. Airia’s curiosity overcame her etiquette and the two females studied each other. Enereas was also considered by the stranger, for the griffin had chosen that moment to stretch her wings out to their fullest extent. The woman’s brown eyes seemed to recognize her with melancholy, though perhaps that was only Airia’s dehydration. She wore long white robes of a flowing material that completely covered her arms and legs. Her exposed skin was tanned to a golden brown that matched her tied-back, short, wavy hair. Small shadows stretched under the woman’s high cheekbones from the relentless sun, and her commanding eyes reminded Airia of her father’s and the Duke of Pryllian’s who headed the Throne Guards. Airia felt a twinge of envy at the woman’s remarkable beauty.

My name is Toria. I am the Head Sister here at the Hamikai Temple. If you will follow me, Airia. Your Flier will be taken care of.

Toria turned on the ball of her foot and strode into the temple, without waiting for an answer. It was already clear to Airia that the Head Sister would tolerate no disobedience.

Airia had walked a number of steps into the shaded building before her eyes began to pick out anything about its insides. They walked down a broad corridor off which a few passageways and many curtained rooms branched. Sunlight peeked through the curtains of most rooms, and the warm glow of lamps from those in the centre of the building. Authoritative voices talked of things that Airia could not quite catch as she passed the rooms. Once a young female face poked out to stare at her and was called back sharply. Airia’s shoes rang loudly on the stone while Toria’s strange footwear with holes above the foot and at the toes gave off the merest whisper. They came to the end of the hall and Toria passed through the last curtained doorway. Airia followed.

The room she entered was quite small and other than a woman dressed in brown robes and a carpet, it was empty. Across the room was a wooden door.

Mori, see that we are not disturbed, Toria ordered, opening the door and stepping through.

Following her, Airia closed the door behind her at a gesture from Toria. This room was larger than the first, but was still a square windowless room except for a minute hole that must have been for ventilation. A rug half covered the stone floor and candles burned warmly near the walls. A low-lying desk that was evidently meant to be used while sitting on the ground stretched along one wall, with perfectly ordered parchment and quills on top. Toria removed her strange shoes and sat down cross-legged on the rug. After a moment’s hesitation, Airia did the same. The Head Sister held Airia in her strong gaze just long enough for her to become uncomfortable. Then she spoke.

Airia Nyuru. Henceforth while you reside in this temple, you have the same rank as every other Initiate. You will have no title, nor be given any special treatment. The other girls knew you were to arrive this spin, but they do not know who you are. It is up to you to decide if you want to reveal that information, but due to our location, it is not necessary. You will address me as Mother, and I will refer to you as Daughter. You will be taking daily lessons with the sisters, whom you will address with a curtsey and the honorific ‘Sister’ before their first name. You will begin your classes tomorrow morning; the wake-up bell rings at six o-clock. You will become accustomed to the clock soon enough, she added at Airia’s furrowed brow. Mori will take you to your dorm, where you may rest. Do not wander around the halls. You may visit your griffin in the stable across the lake at free time just after Third, though the time is typically used for resting. Do you have any questions for me?

Airia felt she had been bombarded. She shook her head. Here, she was certain, no one would step out of line.

Your father asked us to house you as a favour, and provided you obey the rules, we will do so out of respect for your lineage. You very much resemble her.

Airia felt suddenly lost.

Sorry, resemble whom?

Your mother. Did you not know she lived here?

My mother lived in this temple?

She did not just live here: she was the Head Sister two before me.

The Head Sister paused a moment, then rebuked, He should not have kept such a woman secret from you.

Airia had wondered who her mother was as a child, but her father had never offered any information, except that she had loved both of them. Her curiosity had passed quickly and had rarely returned, strange as that seemed in this moment.

Her name was Cyane: you know that at least?

Airia shook her head, wondering now at her father’s silence. Perhaps it had been a political move, but why keep it from her? Cyane, Airia thought, holding the name close like a gift. What had she been like? What sort of mother had she been? Had she loved her like Arina loved her sons? Airia was suddenly filled with a yearning to know it all. Had her mother been one of the silly nobles like Lady Furita, who cared about all the wrong things? Somehow Airia could not imagine her father marrying such a woman.

Toria’s face was grim. No one knew where she came from, except that it was somewhere to the west. It is like that with a number of the sisters. She became Head Sister twenty cycles ago, and was greatly respected and cared for. I was an Initiate myself at the time.

She knew my mother. Airia felt a flash of jealousy that Toria had known Cyane but Airia had not, but her ears were wide open.

Then your father came, nearly dead with sun sickness and animal wounds from the Blade. He was nursed back to health, and in this process, Cyane took an interest in him. They fell in love.

Toria paused, as if swallowing a long-dead reprimand. Airia studied her curiously, remembering her father’s training in reading people. Toria’s emotions were tied to the tale, but which ones? Had she cared for her mother?

"Then she gave up the Sisterhood for him: she lost her maidenhood, her ability to reach the Goddesses. She refused to go back with him to Kilora, because the Sisterhood was her life. It broke him to leave her. It broke us that he had come. By our law Cyane could not stay, but we could not banish her. We cared for her too much, so we created a loophole. We built the Brown Dorm on the other side of the lake, for those who serve the temple but are not part of the Sisterhood. Our numbers are a little larger now, because we have a few children from there. We found out later that Cyane was pregnant, but did not tell anyone. We were proud and ashamed. We knew nothing of childbirth and it went badly. She lost too much blood. She survived a spin after your birth, just long enough to name you, before she died. We sent you to your father to be cared for, knowing there was too much hatred toward you here for you to grow up with us. We never dreamed of seeing you again.

You are dismissed, Daughter, she continued, almost without pause. Her business-like tone had returned. Mori will escort you out.

With her head spinning from all she had heard, Airia left the Head Sister of the Hamikai Temple and followed Mori into the hallways of white stone. Toria had loved her mother so much that even after all this time she could not talk about her freely.

The pieces were coming together. Airia fell asleep that evening with a hazy image of a beautiful woman, a leader who was loved and admired, in her mind. For the first time Airia became aware of the grievous wound her father must always be carrying. If only Cyane was not lost forever in the past. Airia would have liked such a mother.

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Airia was not the only one thinking of her mother that night.

King Meyan Nyuru of Kilora stood on his small balcony overlooking the city of Marianas on the evening of the nineteenth Rain. He saw nothing of the familiar bustle as citizens rushed home for dinner: his eyes were as good as closed. The flicker of a shadow on the roof to his left made him suddenly alert. It could not be Airia, he reminded himself, just as the small bird took to the sky.

It had been two spins since his daughter had left, and she still saturated his mind. Logically, unpleasantly, he knew where she was, but his heart still saw her flying the griffin he had given her as an infant or eating in the Guard’s Hall with the pages. He had never been parted from her long and could not escape the parent’s doom to worry endlessly about his child. Every spin he questioned his decision to send her off alone. He had not crossed the Blade unscathed during his own flight, after all.

Had she arrived safely? He would not know for many a spin, for the Hamikai Temple was not easily accessible to couriers and certainly did not have a rare breker at their disposal to cross the Blade. He could only hope she would be all right until Ramelan could reach her, leaving a tik hence. Those ten spins were in the hands of the Great God Oklek, and in him he must trust. Yet she was so young. Vividly he could still see her as the small child she had so recently been. How could she handle the prophecies and the evil of the hills? It would be an adventure to her, and he feared she would lose that wild spark on the journey he had to let her make. He had tried to keep her in Kilora, pushing the cryptic words from his mind, until the commander of the Throne Guards, Ramelan Traynar, had brought him back to his senses. Their conversation echoed back to him over the late afternoon breeze.

She will be safe here. We can assign some of the Throne Guards to her. There is no reason for her to leave the safety of this castle, he had said, believing his words because he had wished they were true. Traynar’s rebuttal had been swift and sure.

What safety can you give her, Your Majesty? She is a child. I see her run across the roof with her friends each spin. She will disappear in the festival. The prophecies are dated: they will begin this next season of Rain. She will begin to work out this problem with or without you. You cannot keep her blind forever. Send her to Ruekar: they know of the hills. She must act. These prophecies are not only known to you. For many cycles they have been looked to for hope by those who know them: there will be desperation. She may be kidnapped.

Not with us watching over her. Besides, the prophecies are not so well known.

All the kings have the same book you have. They are who matter. Who knows which country will choose to act? Althalia? Trios? Psevik? We cannot simply watch over her. She must have her own eyes open as well. You wish to leave her free, to let her live her youth, but her fate cannot be ignored. She will be faced with it."

Your country is no safer than mine.

It is not only a matter of safety, but of how she will fulfil the prophecies. Ruekar is a Hillwall country and you know them well. Do not let her come to harm because of your love.

Meyan had thought over that last line many times since. Perhaps sending her away out of love would be what harmed her in the end. She had only a griffin against the creatures of the Blade and whatever else might threaten. He wished she could have stayed with him, by his side and protected by his guards, but the festival made that solution impossible.

People had already begun to arrive from near and far. Marianas was known for hosting the largest celebration of the appearance of the Flying Comet. Many southerners had already arrived, their koosleons a common sight. He saw now the truth in Traynar’s words about losing her during the festival, and felt some relief. Even were he a peasant he could not have traced her in the crowds, and her kidnapping would not have been noticed for several spins. Her absence had not been noticed. Rowan thought him a trusting man, but it was because of his very distrust that Airia had travelled alone. The few he would let protect her were too high ranking for their absence to be missed. He had sent her off the night of the seventeenth Rain, and the date was burned in his mind: late for keeping her safe, but that had been to avoid suspicion of her extended disappearance. She would already be at the Hamikai Temple if all had gone well.

Meyan recalled the building of white stone, sitting alone against the lake and sand. Just as he had been sent south for safety, for protection from his uncle’s plot to murder him and advance his cousin, so would his daughter. What he had found at the temple he never could have anticipated. Gentle brown eyes, so similar to Airia’s own, looked back at him over time. A familiar ache filled his chest. If only…But Cyane was gone and would never return. He had to live for her and the daughter she had left him. Airia would probably learn of her mother during her stay at the temple: he hoped she would. He had never had the strength to speak of her mother to her, despite all the times he had tried.

He turned from the hollowness that had never left him and came back to the present, returning inside and seating himself at his desk. He eased back a moment into his padded red armchair before drawing a ring of keys from his belt, quickly finding the one he sought. The silver key was angular and bore many tiny scratches from cycles of use. He slid the key into the lock on his desk’s bottom drawer and turned it. Opening the drawer, he pulled out one of the slim, leather-bound volumes it contained. Its corners were battered despite his efforts to keep it in good condition. The book fell open to the first page he was looking for, and tilting it slightly it opened to the second. The two pages were the only ones he ever looked at, the two containing the prophecies of his daughter.

He had spent countless hours in his chair poring over the words and searching for their true meaning, and by now he could have recited them in his sleep. He believed he understood the first line of each, though was less sure about the second. Airia was the ‘griffin rider’, not because no one else rode a griffin—quite the contrary in Kilora—but because the second stanza more clearly identified her as the ‘daughter of the sky’; she was next in line for the Cloud Throne. ‘Comes of age to fly’ seemed to reference the festival: she was old enough to compete in the Festival of Wings and would have if he had not sent her away. She would ‘end the dark of the deep’: the evil of the Shadow Hills, once named the Deep Hills. He had no inkling as to what the Singing Stone or the duv could be.

"The wind will claim the trayzen’s heir and the Peace Stone will die," he whispered slowly to himself. This last line had planted a stubborn seed of worry into his thoughts, for he could see no way it told of good. The first prophecy foretold a good end, and in that he must trust, for he feared he might know the meaning of the last line. He had not told Airia before he had sent her south, because he did not want its meaning to stop her. She was the only other person, bar perhaps Rowan, who might realize its truth. When the Cloud Throne had first been created Marianas had been called Kytung, a word in the old language of Kilora that meant trayzen’s wing. The trayzen’s heir would then also be Airia, and he could only hope the wind that would claim her was benign. The Peace Stone was the Santi Stone: that was not coded. It was a symbol of peace and hope and even called the Peace Stone occasionally in passing conversation. As to how it could die… Here he felt the most foreboding. Having appeared at the same time as the Soulless, the Peace Stone of Santi was a symbol of hope for an end to the evil of the Shadow Hills. He could not see how the last line did not foretell doom.

Meyan leaned forward to pick a small square of parchment off his desk. He hoped more clarity would come to the prophecies when he met with his old friend. The short letter read:

Dear King Meyan Nyuru of Kilora,

I bring greetings from Ruekar. May your victories be great and your casualties few. There are important matters to be discussed. I hope you will join me on your Ruekan’s spin of birth. I will be waiting at Naria’s first crossing. If this does not satisfy please send a letter by breker.

King-General Kayb, Ruekar

The location of Naria’s first crossing was the knowledge of kings, for most had forgotten its ancient name. The Naria was the Tyrr River. Once, five great bridges—the crossings—joined the land on either side. The first crossing had been the most northerly bridge. The date of the meeting had given him pause the first time he had read it. In the north the custom was that all people were named at the Festival of Naming in early Rain when their souls came into their bodies, and everyone celebrated their ageing on the same spin. In the south, including Ruekar where Traynar had been raised, spins of birth were celebrated individually.

It would be spins yet before Meyan began his journey west and the Duke of Pryllian, Traynar, headed south. He trusted the commander of his Throne Guards and the duke of his largest province explicitly, and next to Meyan himself Traynar was the best person to send to Airia. Traynar had to stay until the festival was over and the Throne Guards no longer needed his direct attention, but then everything would begin to balance again.

King Meyan placed the book back into the drawer, re-locked it, and fastened the key ring to his belt loop, wondering as he did so if his precautions were useless. Though only kings had been mysteriously given a copy of The Book of Prophecies many cycles before, a possession that had done him little good, the prophecies were well known in some areas, including Marianas, by word of mouth. Would ordinary people turn against Airia, or help her?

He wished he could help her.

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Airia’s eyes darted beneath her eyelids. She rode Enereas, circling above the Flying Meadow. They were practising for the Festival of Wings. The red-tinged castle glowed in the sunshine against the brown of the King’s Forest behind it. Each of its four towers sported the flag of Kilora, bearing a white griffin on red, and of House Nyuru: the mighty, grey, reptilian hornjin on a sky-blue backdrop. Setiar called up a direction for them. They had mastered that one. They flew down slightly and then arced upwards, spiralling around to face the way they had come. This time it was even tighter than before! They had a disadvantage in this against the natural agility of the koosleons from the south. Next Setiar called up the hardest skill: flying upside down. They tried, but only got three wing strokes in. They would need at least five to compete. They worked on the Sky-Land race last, while Setiar timed them with a sand-timer. They started on the ground, running full tilt. Griffins were great runners, sometimes better even than centaurions who were more land creatures than sky. The centaurions—with humanoid upper halves, heera-like lower, and wings—and other griffins would be their only competition in this race, because koosleons could not run. Enereas bore Airia along the wide dirt road that ran through the fertile fields bordering the ocean. The blue of the Mantian sparkled as it appeared beyond the precipice. They leapt off the cliffs of Rokweir and hugged them as they plummeted into a nearly vertical dive. Levelling out, they slowed as Enereas dipped each of her wing tips into the Mantian Ocean. The water sparkled in the sunshine as ships moved to and from the busy docks of Mariport. Then the pair used their flip-turn manoeuvre to face the drop-off again and began to climb. The cliffs of Rokweir had been used for defence in the Saersea Wars three hundred cycles ago, and had been used for longer than anyone could recall for the ceremonial climb the monarch-to-be had to make on his or her coronation spin. The wooden stairs that criss-crossed the kilometre-high cliffs were used by spectators at such times. Airia and Enereas returned to the Flying Meadow in record time, and trotted into the Griffin Sky chamber to return Enereas to the rest of the castle griffins. A bell tolled and Airia frowned as she dismounted, wondering what it could be.

She opened her eyes.

The four other girls of Dorm Six were already up and moving. The room had just enough space for the three bunk beds and a small centre table. Airia had been given one of the much-warmer top bunks. The other girls were about the same age as her. Her conversation with them the previous spin had been short, because she had slept the afternoon away, and had awoken for only a brief spell when they had returned at sundown. Airia shook the dream-memory from her mind, along with the momentary pang of sadness she felt as she remembered she would miss the festival and would observe the comet from the quiet of the desert.

The other girls had already made their beds and were pulling their grey Initiate robes on over their slips. Airia shook herself awake and looked to her own bed in consternation. Never in all her cycles had she made a bed: that had been the job of Arina and her other maids. She looked back and forth between her dishevelled sheet and pillow, and looked at the other top bunk across from her. She straightened her pillow, and then paused as she tried to figure out how to fix the sheet while she was on the bed. Perhaps she should arrange it from the ladder? She moved to the ladder and clumsily pulled the two corners of the sheet she could reach to the bed corners. Still, great folds creased it, and the top two corners were not lined up. She looked for guidance, and found three of the four girls staring at her.

What are you doing? the ebony-haired one asked. Niri, was it? Or Nirim?

I have never done it before, Airia replied, feeling a little embarrassed.

You’ve never made your bed? the girl with shoulder-length brown hair demanded with incredulity. Suna, she was fairly sure. What were you, a princess?

Yes. Of Kilora, she added, when the girls seemed taken aback. All four were staring at her now.

What are you doing here? the third asked in a soft voice. Airia looked into her big brown eyes, hesitating.

What’s it matter Bhrina? She’s the same as the rest of us now, aren’t you?

Airia did not know what to say. After a moment, Suna took her silence, in a mistake oft repeated toward the upper class, as snobbishness.

Let’s go Nirim, we’ll leave the princess to try and figure out how to make her bed.

The girl who had not spoken yet cast Airia then Bhrina a glance that neither held nor lacked empathy, then followed the other two.

Here, said Bhrina when they had left. We have to hurry; they don’t like you being late. She gestured for Airia to climb down, and when she did, she ascended the two, small, wooden steps. It’s harder if you’re on the top bunk, she explained. She stood with her head just below the ceiling, at