Chapter 1

Birds

Sabo’s world had become the endless thud of the drum.

Each beat drove the oar in his hands forward, backward, forward again, like a curse that wouldn’t end. His shoulders screamed, his wrists raw beneath the iron of his shackles, but it was easier to sink into the rhythm than to let himself think. Thinking brought the pain closer. Worse, it brought back memories of when he’d had the strength to hold something besides an oar. When he had been free.

The drum’s beat swallowed him. It ate his days whole, a monotonous chew that gnawed away muscle, flesh, will.

A little more than a year he’d been an imperial slave, and a year had been all it took to shave him down to a scarecrow, every ounce of strength burned up by the Black Iron imperial labor camps. They worked in the Green Sea—the giant forest at the edge of the world—spending each day harvesting aether sap from the towering canopies. And each night shaking in fear of the Maldrath and other monsters that lurked within the darkness of the forest.

Now, he was just another bone-thin prisoner at an oar. Rowing alongside the others who had survived the Green Sea long enough to see their voyage to their final destination.

Their job was to row. The oars were huge, and came out of the side of the airship like giant feathers. Aether-based technology—or ‘aethertec’—if Sabo had to guess. However it worked, it helped move the airship that would otherwise be too large and heavy with cargo for the skyfin it was tethered to. Sabo didn’t even gawk in awe the first time he saw the skyfin—the monstrous, fish-like creature gliding through the air as though it were water, chained to the wooden ship with silvered cords. He used to be curious once, but the curiosity had shriveled and died within him long ago, much like everything else.

Each pull of the oar took every ounce of strength he could muster. His legs and back burned with the effort. He focused on a random spot in front of him, the grain on the wooden bench of the prisoner before him, and tried to lose himself once more in the beating of the drum.

Eventually, the rhythmic drumming stopped.

Relief shot through Sabo’s aching arms, but it was tempered by the raw throb that quickly followed. He could already feel new bruises forming along his shoulders. Around him, the other prisoners dropped their oars, bent over in ragged huffs, the remains of whatever they’d been before this sapped away. Just another group of bones and shackles. A skeletal crew being sent to labor in the hells of Valhardyan. Never to see the sun again.

A warden’s heavy boots clomped down the aisle between the rows of chained slaves. “Up. Time for air,” the guard barked, his voice grating like rusted metal.

They rose on legs barely capable of carrying them. One by one, they stumbled up the narrow steps to the deck, clinking with each shuffle, shackles biting into their ankles. Sabo joined the line, watching his feet to avoid stumbling.

When they finally emerged on the deck, the sky hung vast and blinding above them, the setting sun on the horizon painfully bright after the ship’s damp hold. Sabo blinked, squinting as the twilight settled into something bearable. Up here, the air was cool against his sweat-soaked skin, and for a moment, it almost felt freeing.

Almost.

The skyfin glided ahead of them, its enormous, sleek body moving in gentle undulations. Sabo had quickly adjusted to the sensation of being on the deck, shielded most of the wind he would have otherwise expected. The skyfin’s ‘gills’ creating a protective barrier around the open deck using the ambient aether in the environment.

The prisoners, all forty or so of them crowded on the deck, standing there lamely. Each of them too tired to do much else. At this point, their long stint in the Green Sea work camp broke their spirits. Even the prisoners who were Soulsingers wouldn’t put up much of a fight now, with or without the voidstone collars on their neck, killing the source of magic within them. Now, they only needed to have the warden and three other guards in total, including the one that piloted the airship. It truly takes so little to keep us in line, Sabo thought. He kept his eyes on his feet.

“Get your fill, slaves,” one of the guards jeered. “You won’t see this sky again for a long time once we reach Valhadryan.”

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The threat sank in as Sabo watched the expanse of sky stretching endlessly around him. Valhadryan was a death sentence.

The deck had the smell of salt and rot, thick enough to coat the back of Sabo’s throat. He stumbled, pushed by the jostling crowd of other prisoners at his back. A hand caught him by the back of his tattered shirt and righted him before he could hit the deck.

Sabo glanced up. Beside him, Vitomir stood with his hand still on Sabo’s back. Sabo had known the older prisoner for most of his life. In fact, Vitomir was the last remnant of Sabo’s former life in Solstice. The two had been captured together while on the run from imperial troops. Shipped off together to the Green Sea. In the hundreds of days toiling in the canopies of the massive forest, Sabo would have likely died a hundred times over if it hadn’t been for Vitomir watching his back.

Vitomir reached into a nearby water bucket and pulled a ladle full of brackish water. He handed it to Sabo. “Here. Drink.” His voice was hoarse.

Sabo gratefully took the ladle and drank. The water tasted bitter and harsh, the noticeable saltiness dampening the relief. His mouth was left with the tannic dryness of wood. He grimaced, thinking of the cold, refreshing water he and his dear friend Mags would draw from the wells in Solstice. He handed the ladle back to Vitomir, who took a trembling ladleful of water himself, before handing it off to another prisoner.

The old man then turned towards the deck’s railing and stared out at the darkening sky with a weary expression. Vitomir had likewise withered in the camps, bones poking sharp through loose, grayed skin. They had both been hollowed out by empire hands, but Vitomir felt it most—there wasn’t much left to hollow. Sabo remembered how strong the man had once been, even in his old age.

They stood in silence until a sudden crash shook the deck. Wood splintered as something slammed onto the boards, just a few paces away. Sabo felt the ground lurch beneath his feet, and he instinctively grabbed Vitomir’s arm, holding him steady as the prisoners nearest them shifted in panic. Was it another bird? The avian creatures near Valhardyan were large, and once or twice landed on the deck. Sabo had seen one bird so large it had swooped down and snatched a prisoner in a single motion, carrying the man, screaming and fighting feebly in its taloned grip.

The two guards near the bow of the large ship didn’t even glance in their direction. So what, if another prisoner fell victim to the natural predators of the sky? It wasn’t worth them risking injury over the loss of a single unit of cargo while in transit. Sabo knew the prisoners were only a fraction of the value of the casks of unrefined aether sap that was stowed below deck.

When the dust cleared, Sabo saw what had actually hit the deck. A man lay sprawled on the deck, his black cloak in scorched tatters, one arm limp at his side, blood pooling beneath him. His back, bare now, was covered in burn scars and fresh cuts, but what caught Sabo’s eye were the black feathers, still dissolving into ash on the wind. Wings—the man had wings. The remains drifted like whispers, dissipating into nothing.

“What…?” Sabo muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He glanced at Vitomir, whose face had gone pale, eyes fixed on the man. For a second, Sabo thought he saw something in Vitomir’s gaze—recognition, maybe, or fear.

Some of the other prisoners pressed forward, murmuring, craning to get a glimpse. The guards hadn’t noticed yet, too preoccupied with each other at the far end of the deck, but it was only a matter of time before they realized this was no bird. This strange man lay barely conscious, his breath shallow and ragged, like he was fighting to stay tethered to the world. A single thread between him and life.

“Vitomir,” Sabo whispered. He grabbed the old man by the arm. “Are you alright?”

But Vitomir didn’t answer. He pulled his arm free, determination flickering in his eyes. “Help me get him below. Now.”

Sabo hesitated, but the urgency in Vitomir’s voice snapped him into action. Together, they pushed through the crowd, leaning over to hoist the stranger up, each taking an arm as they maneuvered him to the edge of the deck and down the narrow steps into the hold.

Beneath the main deck, it was dark, stinking and musty with the smell of labor. Sabo laid the man down on a rough patch of floor near the bucket of stale water kept for the prisoners. His hands were shaking, but he forced himself to dip a ladle in and bring it to the man’s lips. The stranger’s mouth barely moved, blood-streaked and cracked, but Sabo persisted, getting a few drops down.

“Stay with us,” Vitomir muttered from over Sabo’s shoulder. Blind be! What is going on?

Then, the boards above them loudly creaked, and the two sharp thuds of another two objects impacting the wooden floorboards echoed. Voices followed, low and urgent, scared—the prisoners. Then, a voice boomed through the air, laced with a heat that Sabo could almost feel searing the edges of the boards.

“We come on behalf of the Morduin Order in search of a deserter who has betrayed the church and stolen something of great value from us. We know he was heading for this ship. We demand he be surrendered immediately.” This voice was deep, but sharp as a razor.

A second voice cut in, a slow crackle of fire winding through each word.

“—there will be consequences if such surrender is delayed. We expect full cooperation from an imperial ship.”

Sabo froze, glancing back as Vitomir, who had gone still as stone, eyes flickering with a rare, hard edge. It was a look Sabo hadn’t seen in the old man’s eyes for a long, long time.

Vitomir gave Sabo a firm look. “Stay hidden,” he mouthed. “Stay here with him.” But as he watched the stranger struggle to breathe, Sabo knew that the strange man didn’t have much time left.

“What in the gods’ names is going on, Vito?”

But the old man had squared his shoulders, and was already making his way up the stairs to the ship’s deck.