The Crackling Sea: Gryphon Insurrection, #6

By K. Vale Nagle

A dark shape swims through the luminescent waters of the Crackling Sea…

 

Years ago, Satra left the leader of the Crackling Sea to die in the conflagration. Still haunted by the nightmares of what he did to her pride, she believed his corpse rested under the ashes of the Redwood Valley.

 

Until a bloody wingsaw showed up outside the throne room.

 

With a sea monster ravaging the coast and the armies of the Seraph King on their borders, the Ashen Weald will need to rally new allies and old enemies alike. Follow Satra, Blinky, and Tresh as they attempt to save the world they love.

 

Buy Crackling Sea today to soar into epic creature fantasy action!

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. Vale Nagle
• Release date: Jan 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781643920351

Book preview

The Crackling Sea

The Crackling Sea

Gryphon Insurrection Book 6

K. Vale Nagle

STET Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

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No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

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Cover art and map by Jeff Brown.

Interior artwork by Brenda Lyons.

Interior graphics by Crystal Gafford of Crafty as a Coyote.

Author portrait by Murphy Winter.

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Published by STET Publishing, Denver

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WWW.STETPUBLISHING.COM

WWW.KVALENAGLE.COM

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Copyright © 2022 K. Vale Nagle

All rights reserved.

Version 1.2 (9.6.2022)

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Ebook Edition

ISBN: 1-64392-035-9

ISBN-13: 978-1-64392-035-1

Contents

The Sleeping City

1. The Crackling Sea

2. Black Mask

3. The Night Sky

4. Satra the Kjarr

5. Black Heart

6. Black Voice

7. The Coast is Clear

8. The Coast Isn't Clear

9. The Journey Home

10. Violet Night, Starry Sky

11. Twin Rivers, Thick Tail

12. The First Sign of Many

13. The Missing Cranes

14. The Strix Plateau

15. The Frozen Crown

Iony

16. Lost and Found

17. The Metalworks

18. Pointy Ears, Feathered Tail

19. Wingtearer

20. Cardinals and Blue Jays

21. Bogwash

22. Sharkbeak

23. The Voice of the Sea

24. Echolocation

25. Chum

26. Roast Eel

27. Cave Gryphon Search

28. Hints of Red

29. Crown of the World

30. Cobra

Black Mask and the Reevesport Berserker

31. Return of the Bog Monster

32. Silver and Blue

33. Clover

34. The Night Parrot

35. Broken

36. Friendship

37. Monster Hunters

38. Lovers on the Sea

Cielle of The Wrecks

39. Friends in the Forest

40. Barnacle Scraper

41. Strangers at Fate's Whims

42. Thistle

43. Spike Palm

44. Keythong

45. Home at Last

46. Masks and Blinks

47. By Land, Sea, and Air

48. New Eyrie, Revisited

49. Crowns of Blue and Gold

50. The Wound in the Earth

Jonas

51. Reeve of the Crackling Sea

Epilogue

Opinicus Preview

Author's Note

About the Author

Also by K. Vale Nagle

Map of Belamuria (West)Map of Belamuria (East)

For Dr. Schofield and Chandra, without whom this book could not have been written.

The Sleeping City

Ayoung Khalim soared over the fields outside Blacktalon, his dark plumage iridescent in the dying light of day. It had been a good summer for starberries, but the autumn crop of sugar beets would be harvested soon, and that meant days of processing them into a sweet, thick pulp. He’d promised to stay until the last of the fall crops were done, then he was off to the Blackwing Eyrie’s university to become a scholar.

From the edge of the forest, another opinicus chirped to get his attention. He nearly missed her grey and black plumage against the rocks nearby. Wendl was a fast flyer, however, and soon caught up to him.

Hey! Where are you flying to? she asked.

The university! He laughed, the bell-like sound of a red-winged blackbird. But not for a month yet. I’m just practicing for the flight. I hear the Blackwing Eyrie is several days away.

They landed next to the chill waters of a pond and stretched out on the rocks. The sky was starting to look more orange than blue.

I went there once to visit family. Wendl’s voice was the deep chirp of a poorwill. It’s about two days' flight from Mothfeather. You could break up the trip, visit a different eyrie each day. It’d be fun.

Khalim rifled through his harness pockets and found a few dried nuts and berries to share. Wendl had only moved here in the spring, but they’d become fast friends. There were even rumors of scandal, though that was just because opinici liked to talk. Khalim’s heart had always been set on Vilessa. Like all mothfeathers, Wendl was keen on grooming and preening anyone she came across, which was probably where the rumors started.

Thanks for the food. Tell your family they have the best berries. She gave him a hug, embracing him with her wings as well as her foretalons. I need to head back. It’s the equinox. My family will be looking for me.

A little longer won’t hurt. He knew autumn was a busy time, but it would be even busier once the beets were ready for harvesting. This was their last chance to chat before he left for the big eyrie.

She preened her neck feathers, a sign of anxiety he didn’t share.

Is everything okay? he asked. They’d spent longer than he expected sunning on the rocks. Night was nearly upon them and, with it, the equinox celebration. He was supposed to meet Vilessa outside her farm soon.

I’m fine. It’s just— Mid-sentence, Wendl fell over, unconscious.

Wendl? he prompted.

No response.

Wendl, are you… are you okay? He checked for a pulse. Faint but still there.

He sighed with relief. Not dead, at least. He looked around for any snakes or spiders that could have bitten her. Nothing. Maybe tick paralysis? He wished Vilessa were here. She’d know.

He pulled Wendl’s body atop the rock to keep her out of the grass and was about to go for help when a voice called out from behind him.

She’s asleep. The voice had a touch of unhappiness to it.

Khalim leapt around. His fiancée stood by a tree, a scowl on her face.

I know she’s asleep, but I don’t know what caused it, he said. Help me bring her down to the medicine opinicus. If we walk, we can take turns carrying her. Wait, no, you go get help, and I’ll carry her.

Vilessa didn’t move. "Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s from Mothfeather."

His lack of understanding showed on his face.

The Sleeping City? she prompted.

He managed to get under Wendl and lift her. She weighed next to nothing. I thought it was the Waking City?

Only until the equinox. Then it becomes, well, you see what it becomes. She padded over and helped stabilize Wendl.

Khalim finally understood. They all… hibernate? For how long?

All winter. They close up the entire eyrie, Vilessa said. Only a couple of trashbirds remain to keep it clean and take care of the scarabs.

Pitohui, he said absentmindedly. By the glare she gave him, she didn’t appreciate the correction. Or Wendl’s wing-hug, if Vilessa had been watching from the trees the entire time.

His nares flushed with embarrassment. As much as he enjoyed Wendl’s company, she was just a strange new friend he’d made, and he didn’t want the actual focus of his affections to feel jealous.

Sorry, I was running late, he tried. I didn’t realize how the day had gotten away from me. I wanted to say goodbye to all of my friends, so we’ll have these last few weeks together with just the two of us.

Now, it was her turn to flush red. Her nares turned the color of the markings on her shoulders. I wasn’t jealous. I just stopped by the pond for a drink and saw it was occupied.

Well, I’m glad you arrived when you did, he said. I would’ve worried myself sick otherwise.

Vilessa took over carrying Wendl for the last part. He’d seen large opinici modeled after birds of prey that could carry three times their weight and fly for short distances, but he could barely keep himself aloft after a hard day’s work.

They were both breathing heavily by the time they arrived at Wendl’s farm. Inside the main building, seven of her siblings were asleep in their nests. Only her parents were missing.

Finding Wendl’s nest was easy. It was laced with cassia and smelled of cinnamon. Khalim and Vilessa tucked her in and went searching. The capybara pond was empty of opinici, though the large rodents were only just starting to settle down. It was risky to keep them this close to the red coast. One big storm could push the algae-laden water inland and kill the herd. In Khalim’s opinion, they’d have done better to sell them before they moved here.

He and Vilessa continued their search and found Wendl’s mom unconscious in the goliath bird stables.

It’s a good thing the birds were in their pens, his fiancée said. "I heard about a trash—er, pitohui—who fell and hit his head. A goliath bird tried to eat him and poisoned itself. Neither of their bodies were found for days."

Sounds like a gryphon tale, Khalim said, but there was a peck mark on the sleeping opinicus’s back foot. Hopefully, it’d heal while she hibernated.

They spread out and searched the grounds for Wendl’s dad, flying circles around it. Unfortunately, everywhere there weren’t crops there were rocks, and mothfeather plumage was the perfect camouflage.

Over here! Vilessa called out. She’d flown in wider and wider circles, hitting the nearby forest.

Wendl’s father hung from the canopy. Only the thick vegetation and vines had kept him from falling to the ground.

They got to work untangling him, snipping the vines with their beaks one at a time, then gliding down together with his body. He had some nasty cuts, including one that gave Vilessa a scare as she wiped blood from his eye.

It’s okay, she said at last. He had his eyes closed when he hit. The scratch is only on his eyelid.

He’s going to wake up with a nasty scar in the spring, but at least he’ll wake up. It wasn’t lost on Khalim that this was all his fault. If Wendl had made it back in time, her father wouldn’t have been out searching for her. Khalim would find some way to make it up to them.

He was lucky Vilessa was an apprentice medicine opinicus. She patched Wendl’s father up, then they carried him back to the nests.

Are they going to be okay here? Khalim asked. Will they be safe, I mean? And what about the capys and goliaths?

His fiancée finished applying an aneda wrap. I’ll check in on them tomorrow, and there are farmtalons staying at the ranch over the winter. They should arrive in the morning. I’ll make sure the medicine opinicus in town gives the family a once over.

Khalim nodded. He hated to think he’d caused Wendl harm. But, in retrospect, she’d have been flying when she lost consciousness if he hadn’t delayed her. In a roundabout way, he’d saved her life.

Though he doubted her father would see it that way.

Khalim fluttered up to the roof of the ranch with his fiancée. There were cushions and a table. The mothfeathers hadn’t had time to put away the food before losing consciousness. They’d probably been too worried about Wendl and had forgotten.

He offered Vilessa a craneberry tart.

She gave him a look like he was a padfoot.

Oh, come now, he protested. Nobody else is here to eat them. They’ll just attract pigeons. We should eat all we can and put away the rest.

She shook her head but popped the tart into her beak. "Oh! That’s really sweet. It’s not, well, tart at all."

Well, if it’s too much for you… He tossed two in his beak. They were sweet but good. He thought he tasted orange and apple mixed in with the craneberries.

No, no, I can handle it. She grabbed the rest and ran, laughing as she flew off the edge of the roof.

When she dropped one, he managed to dive under her and catch it. They flew around the empty ranch, a family of ten hibernating in the cellar, laughing and playing as stars filled the sky.

A chill in the air finally settled them back down on the cushions.

I’m going to miss the sky here, he said. And you! I’m going to miss you more than the stars themselves.

She preened craneberry juice from the feathers around his beak. "Well, that’s good. I’d hate to think I’m going to spend all that time pining over you while you’ve run off with some city blackwing."

He laughed. "I have eyes only for you. And if you haven’t run off with some country blackwing by the time I finish my studies, maybe we should make a nest of our own."

What would the Pigeon Society think of that? She feigned scandal but intertwined her talons with his. I promise not to run off with any country or city blackwings.

He squeezed her talons.

Though if one of those long-eared glacier gryphons comes through town, all bets are off. She winked.

I suppose we all have our limits. He laughed. Though I do find myself less inclined to share the last craneberry tart now.

Well, if you really do have one, I promise to be loyal to the end! Not even death will keep us apart. She used her beak to search his harness pockets, coming up empty. But if you just lied to me about tarts, I’m going to run off with two glacier gryphons!

He nodded to the side, pointing his beak at an upside-down bowl on the table. She lifted it, revealing the last two tarts.

She chirped with delight, tossing hers into the air and catching it before giving the last one to him.

I guess we’re stuck with each other, then, he said.

Mmmm, more like stuck to each other, she replied. At least until we groom all this sugary filling out of our fur.

Khalim left his homestead to fly towards the Blackwing Eyrie. After years of study, all that was left was to be granted full scholar status, but the ceremony was held by the reeve’s waterfalls. Wendl and Vilessa both saw him off. He’d stayed with Wendl’s family until they went into hibernation, then he and Vilessa said their goodbyes privately.

Wendl had begun attending summer courses at Mothfeather Eyrie’s university but had returned home to hibernate with her family. She said the feeling of sleeping next to a thousand other opinici creeped her out. She preferred the country.

Khalim and Vilessa had their own nest, but with the new hatchling and him gone most of the year, she traded off spending time with each of their families. Their mothers and siblings enjoyed watching the bundle of fluff when she had to go out and make the rounds. The old medicine opinicus had finally retired, handing her his old practice.

Next year, though, Khalim had promised to come home and live here for a while. Blacktalon had a group of scholars looking into the blood coast. He hoped to find a solution to the red blooms that killed capybaras and caused serious issues in opinici. He just needed a little more clout to get reassigned. He hoped his chick remembered who he was with all this time away.

Ahead, he saw the crater-like shape of the Mothfeather Eyrie. Somewhere in its catacombs slept an entire city. Up above, most of the shops were boarded up, but a nice pitohui couple ran an inn for travelers.

An arch led the way down into the depths. Glyphs had been carved along its edge, and chimes of Crestfall glass glistened and sang in the breeze. While the pitohui were allowed to tend to travelers and handle the scarab infestation, the Blackwing Eyrie kept a small force here to protect the way into the caverns.

Due to sleeping away a third of the year, the mothfeather opinici couldn’t afford to make enemies with their closest eyrie neighbors.

Khalim flew on the next morning, continuing his journey east. The largest mountain on the continent loomed to the south, housing the glacier pride, which had finally been permitted membership into the Blackwing Alliance. Forests and farms stretched to the northern shores, where several coastal eyries and another gryphon pride petitioned to join.

He followed the edge of the mountains, crossing them to reach the terraced city and waterfalls of the Blackwing Eyrie. When he landed, he could tell something was amiss. The university’s headmaster waited for him in his small quarters.

Hello, hello! the blackwing headmaster said, dark of plume with red on his shoulders. He wore a harness with rubies set into it. Each gem represented another academic accomplishment, with larger gems signifying important contributions to Blackwing Eyrie scholarship. Congratulations on your pending academic honors. I hear you have your sights set on Blacktalon. Is that right?

Yes, Headmaster, Khalim said. My mate and chick are out that way, along with our family farms and my grandmother’s ranch. It would be nice to live near them.

The headmaster nodded sagely, showing off a few greying feathers atop his head in the process. Ah, yes, your mate is a rural doctor of some sort, is that right? The chick should grow up smart.

Well, we hope so, Khalim said. But the important thing is he’s happy with whatever he chooses to do. There’s a lot of joy to be had growing starberries.

Juicy things, starberries. A bit sweet for my taste, the headmaster replied. It’s not common for new scholars to be given their choice of posts, especially not one as close to the front lines as Blacktalon. Trouble is brewing, you know.

Khalim’s heart fell into his stomach. If he stayed away for years, there was a good chance his mate really would find a glacier gryphon to run off with. And there was no chance of forming a close bond with his child.

However, I think I can help speed things up for you. I’m nothing if not magnanimous. The headmaster gestured towards an opinicus in a gold and blue harness across the hallway distracted by a mural of Crestfall glass. Our colleague comes to us from the south. He’s in need of an assistant. The research portion will last all winter, but what he really needs is help putting together an expedition for the, shall we say, practical portion of his experiments.

Khalim’s first thought at seeing the stranger was of an argent hawk. But when he turned and Khalim could see his face and talons, he realized he was wrong. This was a peregrine falcon with most of the color drained from his plumage, his talons and beak the color of blood.

Don’t stare, the headmaster chided, though the other opinicus remained oblivious that they were talking about him.

Khalim shook his head. I’m sorry, it’s just, shouldn’t he be dead? That’s bloodbeak, isn’t it? I’ve never seen the disorder progress so far without killing the patient.

Vilessa had told him of a talonful of cases, and they all ended the same way: dead adolescents. There was some sort of pretreatment—effective only on eggs—that had come out of an obscure eyrie in the south, perhaps the same one the stranger hailed from, but it was still expensive. Only families that had already lost one chick to bloodbeak would spend the beads to have their future eggs treated. Every new parent feared the worst, and Khalim and Vilessa were no exception. She checked their son’s eyes and talons every month.

He’s the most brilliant alchemist on the continent, the headmaster said. His elixirs have kept him alive, but they haven’t cured him. You’re to help him find that cure. If you can do that, you’ll be allowed any posting you want.

Khalim stared at the stranger. There was a spark in his bright blue eyes. Hope? Intelligence? Khalim didn’t know.

I’ll do it, he said. Vilessa would forgive him anything if it provided a cure to the iron disorder. A winter of research and a spring and summer of field work?

The headmaster clasped his shoulder in approval. Yes, that’s right. He’ll need help putting together the team. You have your pick of apprentices, whomever you believe is best.

Spring and summer field work, Khalim mused. That worked perfectly with whom he had in mind. May I bring in some apprentices from Mothfeather University?

Of course, the headmaster replied. Whatever you feel is best. I suppose our sleeping colleagues will be awake by then.

Things were already starting to look up for Khalim.

The headmaster guided Khalim towards the stranger. Now, would you allow me to introduce Scholar Mally?

The foreign opinicus bowed his head the slightest amount, taking note of Khalim’s travel harness. I hear you’re going to be managing the scholars and apprentices for me. Are you really the best choice?

Khalim had forgotten to change out of his old apprentice harness, but he didn’t let that deter him. I am. Are you really the best chemist of our age?

I’d be dead if I wasn’t. Mally grinned and held up his blood-red talons for Khalim to see before turning to the headmaster. My last apprentice had just the same type of attitude. Good opinicus, extremely loyal and willing to go to impossible and terrible lengths to make my life easier. I appreciate those qualities from my help. This one will do nicely.

Well then, I’ll leave you two to it. The headmaster disappeared into the university.

Mally pulled a tome off the shelf and put it at Khalim’s feet. Nachlass Mal was scratched onto the cover. We’ll meet tomorrow evening after dinner to begin. You’ll find that I’m much more active at night. I need you to have read the book by then. Is that a problem?

Not at all. Khalim picked up the hefty tome. Nachlass Mal was a strange title. Had Mally named it after himself? The binding said Redwood Valley, but Nachlass suggested it had never been published through the university down there.

Khalim had a lot of questions, but they were left unanswered. The promise of getting any post he wanted was too important for him to inquire too closely. And if the headmaster was to be believed, he’d even get to bring his best friend along for the ride. Wendl would be excited to find out what was in store for them.

Wendl screamed at Khalim to take the elixir. The walls were stained with blood. The shivering forms of apprentices, their blackwing feathers molted and dark green starling plumage forcing its way through, whimpered in the corners.

Only he and Wendl were left. She forced a vial of purple salts into his talons. She shouted at him, but the entire world sounded like it came through a waterfall. He couldn’t make out her words, only her tone and intent.

He stared down at his black talons. They were soaked red, nearly as red as the Nighthaunt’s. The body of a white opinicus blossomed crimson at his feet as blood spread out from the wound on his neck.

Wendl pointed to the starling in the corner, the vats of boiling blood, the last of the purple salts Mally had left behind.

She only stopped her verbal assault when he accepted the vial. She drank and pulled herself into a vat. The smell of cooked fowl filled the room, drowning out the blood for a few moments as it had with the other apprentices. Her kind, brown eyes changed. Her feathers, her beautiful grey and black plumage, floated to the top of the bloody mixture.

Khalim looked down at the body in front of him. There was no going back home now. With Mally’s betrayal, all his apprentices would be executed as traitors. No one would believe they were innocent. It was a stigma that would pass on to his mate and son.

There was only one path left for him.

As Wendl looked on in horror, Khalim tore the Seraph King badge off the opinicus at his feet. He took a bite of the cooling flesh and pulled the body into the last vat, downing the elixir between bites.

His young body burned, but he refused to stop. He drank until he threw up. Then he drank again. Only once his feathers had come in white and the chittering of the starlings filled the camp did he pull himself out and flee into the Emerald Jungle, still clutching a badge that read: Piprik.

1

The Crackling Sea

In her dreams, a young Satra trembled at the edge of a long, low table. Gryphon blood, the blood of her pride, felt caked on her beak despite her constant grooming. She wiped at it, but the iron smell wouldn’t go away. Every room in the Crackling Sea Eyrie smelled like the workshop to her.

She still had the last hints of her adolescent plumage, and the table loomed larger than it had in life. At the other end of it, tossing small fish down his long beak with ease, was Jonas. Not Reeve Jonas, not Reeve’s Consort Jonas, not Ranger Lord Jonas—he insisted everyone refer to him only by his first name.

Laying couchant around the table were a dozen opinici, mostly captains. There were two empty spots. One was for the old ranger lord. Word had come that he’d succumbed to his wounds this morning. The other spot was reserved for a captain named Grenkin. He’d lost an eye and nearly a foreleg, but he was stable now.

Satra forced herself to stop whimpering. She looked at the food on the table, careful not to make eye contact with any of the opinici. She couldn’t stop thinking about her family and friends, about her father and sisters, about Thenca and Urious.

You haven’t eaten anything. Jonas stared at her.

She flinched. Thank you, but I ate this morning.

That’s not what Ellore says. He speared another fish on a talon, peeling it off with his beak and tossing it down his gullet. She says you haven’t eaten in days.

Memory in dreams was a fuzzy thing. Satra didn’t know if Ellore had been present. If so, Satra hadn’t known the blue opinicus’s name, hadn’t known she was Mignet’s mother.

And yet, in the dream, Ellore stood in place of the usual ranger who haunted Satra’s memory. Ellore: tall, thin, and rosetted. Was there a touch of silver around her eyes, hinting at what was to come? Her badge looked worn, the veneer showing a darker design underneath.

Her food bowl hasn’t been touched in so long, it’s started to mold, Ellore said.

Jonas watched young Satra. The look in his eyes was of concern. Its sincerity either real or practiced. Satra, you have to eat. I’ve raised half a dozen children in my years. I know gryphon culture says you’re an adult, but I can still see the same rebellion and moodiness within you that my own stepdaughters had as adolescents.

Satra remained silent, judging whether it was safer to respond or better to keep her beak clenched shut.

You need to eat, or you’ll waste away. He tossed a fish towards her with a well-practiced arc, landing it on the edge of the table. There are a lot of gryphons depending on you.

Satra reached for the fish, paw trembling, but her stomach turned, and she couldn’t stand the thought of eating food given to her by an opinicus.

Jonas watched Satra closely but directed his words to Ellore, Are the gryphlets doing well?

Yes, Jonas. Ellore’s voice held a hint of fear in it, too, that Satra hadn’t noticed before.

He used a talon to swirl the small bowl where the fish were held. Have any fledged?

No, Jonas. Not yet. Ellore’s posture, like many of the rangers, stiffened. Fledging had been the determiner for who kept their wings in the kjarr and bog prides—at least, that’s the story he’d told. It was a promise Satra had never trusted.

Jonas, however, had another idea in mind. Go fetch the eldest.

Ellore bowed her head and went next door.

Satra, you’re my charge, the leader of the Crackling Sea continued. "When I’m done with you and the fledglings, you’ll be full members of the eyrie. I will teach you to read. I will teach you to write. I will teach you manners and unlock a safe future for all of you. But only if you’ll let me. I hope you understand this is for your own good. I’ve dealt with unruly children before, but I lack the patience of my better years."

Ellore returned, holding a scruffed gryphlet. The kjarr gryphlet’s down had darkened, and she would probably be the first to fledge in another year and a half, maybe two.

Satra, eat your food. His voice wasn’t that of a leader but of a concerned parent. This was, most likely, how he’d spoken to his stepchildren, the ones killed by Rybalt Reevesbane.

Satra reached for the fish. She knew something terrible awaited her if she didn’t eat it. But her throat remained true to her morals, closing itself off. Her paw hovered above the food, unable to touch it.

Toss the gryphlet over the balcony, Jonas said. And continue tossing them over until Satra eats or we run out of kjarr children.

Disbelief froze Satra in place as the first child was thrown over the ledge. Her father had given her one command: Protect the gryphlets at all cost.

She dashed to the edge, slipped over the side. The gryphlet was already a story below her.

The child spread her paws and wings the way she would if she’d fallen off a tree. Gryphlets were resilient, but what awaited her at the end of her descent wasn’t solid ground. Rocky spires broke through the Crackling Sea’s surface. Sailfin monitors lazed along the shore, chasing prey through the surf.

Satra’s mind screamed for her to open her wings to slow her descent. Only her promise to her father kept them closed. She streamlined her body, holding her paws and legs close, and gained on the falling gryphlet.

The skies were cloudy, but the storm curtains had yet to be lowered. She passed by shops, homes, and craftsopinici as she fell. Just when she was certain they’d both hit the water, she grabbed the child with her forepaws and beat her wings.

Despite her best attempts, her back paws and tail were caught by a wave. Sailfins, attracted to her wild flapping, swam towards her. She got just enough lift to catch the ledge of the bottom floor of the eyrie, pulling herself up.

Shadows enveloped the depths of the lower levels. The opinici didn’t believe in wasting braziers on gryphons. Yet there was movement in the dark, hundreds of wingtorn writhing in pain and infection.

Satra saw mask markings and, for the briefest moment, thought Urious or Thenca had come to help. Instead, the mask grew long and thick as the wingtorn stepped forwards, and she saw it was another bog gryphon, one who’d often fought with her father.

Black Mask peered out at Satra and the gryphlet. The scars on his back were fresh. Satra wanted to shout at him, to explain she was doing the best she could, wanted to cry, wanted them to say it was okay she still had her wings.

Instead, she scruffed the gryphlet, pushed off with all four paws, and flew upwards. Jonas’s threat wasn’t idle. Ellore was probably already fetching another gryphlet to toss off the edge if Satra didn’t eat her dinner.

Satra awoke to the sound of two egrets fighting over a fish. The sour, salty mist left a bad taste in her mouth. She wandered the eyrie to shake away the memory. Ever since finding Jonas’s smell in the old reeve’s quarters, she relived her first year at the Crackling Sea in her dreams. He was out there, somewhere. The only question was whether he’d come for the kjarr pride or the Blackwing Eyrie first. Was he more upset at the opinici who had sent assassins to kill his mate and stepchildren or the gryphons who had overthrown his eyrie?

Despite the bright sunlight, a constant shower fell upon the sea. Without lightning to lure the crackling jellies to the surface, the water looked peaceful. On the thought of deadly things that looked serene, Satra turned her attention to the shrine behind her.

Once Jonas’s workshop, later the site of Bario’s explosive capture and eventual escape, the room Satra sat in now had become a shrine. The stone table where wingtorn had once been tied down had been transformed into an altar. Someone skilled with a chisel had filled the wall behind it with stone renditions of all the wings lost in this room, framed around a pair of gilded wings.

Wings surrounded by wings. The small channels that once carried blood to the ledge and down into the water had been filled in with red metal.

She didn’t know if it was in bad taste. The wingtorn had been consulted and, for the most part, approved. Satra was a lone dissenting voice. Since she had her wings, she deferred to Urious and Thenca’s judgement.

The old secret passage she’d used to enter the Crackling Sea, the one Bario had destroyed, remained sealed. Merin’s pride had left paw prints on the brick to remember their fallen.

She still thought of them as Merin’s pride, but after their leader’s death, the harpy eagle gryphons had joined the feathermanes. The maned gryphons had been unable to select a successor after the death of Zrim Feathermane and were happy enough to accept Merin’s appointed successors, the co-consorts Askel and Triddle, as their new leaders. It was rumored the harpy eagle gryphons and feathermanes had once been a single pride before the Connixation.

The old medicine gryphon, never really accepted as a temporary leader by the other feathermanes, had stepped down, turning her attention to providing treatment for the sick and elderly. Feathermane seemed to be a bit of a strange name for a pride now ruled by two gryphons without manes. Askel had suggested the Tailtuft Pride but bowed to Triddle’s recommendation they retain the name Feathermane in honor of Zrim.

It’s hard to believe the giant, muscular gryphons of those two prides would honor Merin’s final words, but the same thing that makes all opinici wary of Askel is what makes the feathermanes love him: He’s blown up two eyries.

Satra turned away from the shrine and moved to the ledge, where a circlet and a pair of metal talons awaited her. She padded over and touched the circlet. It was carved of stone and set into the floor. She remembered the design of this particular headwear. A Reeve’s Guard captain had tossed it off the edge when he surrendered the eyrie to her. Supposedly, that poor opinicus had gone straight from guarding Reeve Brevin to trying to hold the Crackling Sea Eyrie from the Ashen Weald. She wondered where he was now, if he’d survived the wounds Zeph had given him.

The metal talons next to the circlet belonged to someone she knew even better.

They’re not my actual prosthetics, Grenkin called from below. The artist took some liberties.

She looked over the edge. One story down, the leader of the Crackling Sea waved up at her.

I hope you don’t mind, she said. I’ve been admiring your work while I wait for Soft Paws and Biski to finish their brew.

He flew up to meet her, leaving behind several heron opinici who looked upon the gryphons in their eyrie with distrust. When a caravan of sand gryphons arrived with a red metal too soft to use for weapons, some of the wingtorn gryphons and sea opinici suggested we put it to use. They want to make sure what happened here isn’t forgotten.

Satra nodded. She couldn’t imagine a wingtorn forgetting the loss of their wings, but she appreciated Grenkin’s attempt to forge the red and blue opinici into a force for good. Part of that meant ensuring they never forgot how easily they were once led astray.

And how’re those efforts going? she asked.

He led her away from the rain and through the paths to the main balconies and amphitheater. Overall, pretty well. I’ve kept an eye on the Jonas loyalists you let go. They act strangely sometimes, but there’s nothing I can quite put my talons on. They certainly don’t like the gryphons being here, but I think if we give it time, they’ll come over to our side.

Keep an eye out. Put his talons on.

Grenkin had the grim sense of humor of a ranger still. It had just taken her a year to experience it. He only made subtle references to his lost eye and talons around gryphons and opinici he considered friends.

The center of the Crackling Sea Eyrie was open balconies, and Satra was surprised to see a large number of wingtorn walking through the markets and exploring.

They don’t go into the lower levels, Grenkin said. The lower levels were where Jonas had kept the wingtorn here locked up. Those have all been converted to storage. But Urious insisted all wingtorn know the layout of the city in case they were ever called upon to defend it. We’ve had the architects adding tunnels, corridors, and ramps to make it more wingtorn-friendly.

Satra and Grenkin made their way through the open market. Most of the vendors seemed reputable, but a splotchy blue one had a display of pink feathers she was selling, claiming they’d come from the leader of the taiga pride when he’d reclaimed the kjarr nesting grounds.

Judging by the number of feathers sold, for that to be true, Younce must molt once a week.

Satra itched just thinking about it. I don’t know how I feel about the deception.

Not deception, just souvenirs, Grenkin protested. Everyone wants to feel close to the heroes who saved them. As soon as someone figures out a golden feather paint, I suspect we’ll see a lot of crests in your honor among the fledglings.

She sighed. She was grateful for the sounds of happy gryphons and opinici, but the war wasn’t over yet. At best, this was a reprieve, and they weren’t ready for what the white king or blackwing reeve would throw at them next.

Confirming Grenkin’s suspicions, several young bog witches flew by with gold on their crests. It wasn’t quite the same shade as Satra’s flamecrest, but the paint merchants were getting close.

She shot a disapproving glance at a sandy fisherfolk selling feather dye. The fisherfolk just winked at Satra, then had her taiga assistant spread his wings, revealing several of his primaries had been dyed bright pink.

A shame they didn’t choose to idolize Zeph and turn parrot hunting into the next great trend, the ex-ranger lord commented. Then our larders would be full.

Satra took the northern path out of the market. That could have turned out worse. At least this way, the parrots have a chance of repopulating the weald before the giant salamanders get them all.

Satra and Grenkin reached the butchery, where Soft Paws and Biski were busy overseeing the creation of a paste not meant to be eaten. Instead, this was the mixture Satra would dip her paws in and use to mark the new border with the starlings. An unhappy chef looked on as they got goo over all his cooking pots, and Biski’s taiga apprentice seemed to be at his wit’s end with her chirped commands.

Kjarr Satra. Soft Paws bowed. She’d been brought in specifically because the bog witches specialized in marking things with paste, as her skull and flower make-up attested to. I apologize, but I have been unable to keep Biski clean.

Biski, on the cusp of adulthood when the Redwood Valley Eyrie burned down, had grown an impressive mane in the time since. No amount of paste markings could hide the mismatched gryphon: She had the feathers of a bluejay and spotted orange fur.

How’re your paws doing? the colorful medicine gryphon asked.

Satra settled on her back paws and rubbed her forepaws together. Part of the mixture required her scent, so the past few days had been spent massaging the glands on her paws.

Sore, she admitted, but I’m starting to get feeling back. How long until we’re ready? Erlock and Nighteyes said they’d meet us outside New Eyrie tomorrow morning.

The starlings suffered a peculiar quirk of biology called green wing altruism. Rather than altruism in the traditional, selfless sense of the word, it meant they suffered a violent reaction when other gryphons or opinici were around, and they needed to be in constant contact with their pride. That same sense of altruism had kept infected starlings from turning on each other, instead creating the rabid horde that had caused so many problems last year.

Because of the altruism’s dangerous influence, messages were traded back and forth via a cave by the Jadebeak Waterfall. The best way to deal with starlings was not to be around them at all. Failing that, however, there were two elixirs one could take. Starlings could temporarily suppress their biology with something Wendl, a sort of nearly-starling opinicus, had concocted.

And it appeared the weald once had a mixture that allowed their kind to speak to starlings without being torn apart, though the free pride scholars were still trying to work out the recipe.