As he fell, he had the vague inclination that he should scream. The wind whipped him from above, tangling his long golden hair and staining it red and wet as his temple gave another urgent throb. The pain seared through him like electricity, shorting out all his other thoughts. So he started over. Again.

It really was a lovely day, even through the sparks and spots that speckled his gaze, even through the persistent pain in his head. The wind felt lovely on his limbs. It was almost like flying. Not that the thought was exciting in and of itself. After all, he'd been flying since puberty. Maybe it was just the day. Or the fact that he was moving very, very fast. Or perhaps how his wings hung limp against his back, thrashing uselessly against the currents of air. Perhaps he should be concerned. His brow furrowed, the motion sending a surge of electric spasm again, eradicating his thoughts.

He started over.

The wind was warm and smelled of salt, when he could focus enough to draw breath. There was a pain in his ribs, in his gut, in his limbs. He felt he should try and open his wings, but he was falling too fast. Maybe if he rolled over -- the agony in his temple demanded attention. He tried to bring his hand up to touch it, but whether it was the wind or some other weakness he wasn't able to focus on, it wouldn't cooperate. Above his head the sky glistened in waves. No wait. Not sky. Water. The ocean was beautiful, way up there. He was falling up so quickly, soon he'd hit that big blue ceiling. Something nagged at him. He should be worried, but... why again? He'd been falling forever, for as long as he could remember. By Imodai the water was so pretty. He felt like he could reach out and touch it. Like it was rushing up to greet him.

Throb. Wince. Start over.

It was unseasonably windy for this time of week, and the sun was out rather late. And rather south. So far south, in fact, he could see it dancing just below his toes. This made him frown again, ignoring whatever it was trying to gnaw on his skull. There was something he needed to do. What was it? Something very important, but it flitted at the edges of his muddled mind. He thought he had it, lost it, found it again. But before he could determine the details, the impact shattered what was left of his thoughts and the world became suddenly, instantly, unseasonably wet.

1

The sound of his own boots on the stonework echoed in his head. Walk, don't run. Don't run. An accident, they said there was an accident. It won't save anyone to run. To cause a panic. His wings ached, the echo of his boots increased in frequency. Don't run. Don't run. Don't fly. He kept his wings snapped hard against his back and the tension ran up his shoulders. Walk, don't run. Walk. Don't fly. His son was hurt. There was an accident. His son was hurt. His son. His only son.

He turned a corner sharply, giving his wings a pump to take him up the flight of stairs in a fraction of the time it would take to climb. He could just fly the whole way. Fly there, no one would even question it. No, he commanded himself, closing his eyes tight for a moment. We're almost there. Panic does nothing. Be calm. Walk, don't run. Walk, don't fly. When he opened them again, he could see the outside of the Temple, and through the glass he could see the healers moving about. There was no urgency to their motions. Which either meant that he was stable or...

He didn't run, but he did walk exceedingly fast.

He opened the door with more force than he had meant to, and was immediately intercepted by a woman he thought he recognized. Owlclan, with downy wings in mottled tan and a calm expression. Her hands went to his chest, and it was then he realized he was still trying to move forward. "Elias, he's okay. He's alive." He was out of breath, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he was sure she could feel it.

"What happened?" He snapped, more aggressively than he meant to, but he made no move to recover. "What'd he do this time?"

"Elias... " Her voice had a warning note, and he steeled himself, taking a slow, deep breath. It was then that he noticed the water pooling around his boots. He stepped back gingerly, giving the healer a questioning look.

"He fell off of a Spoke," she answered him. Elias' brown eyes narrowed, disbelieving as she continued. "He landed off of the coast of the Third Claw, a Yseri fishing boat saw him come down and was able to pull him out. Thank Imodai for that vibrant blue, hmm?"

"...He fell."

"That's right," she answered in the Owl's irritatingly succinct way.

"...He has wings. Why didn't he fly?" His irritation was rising, the edge coming back into his voice.

"Well... We actually wanted to discuss that with you." She said, her voice calm and level.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

She touched his hip to guide him deeper into the temple through a curtained doorway. As soon as he passed into the white marble room, the sound of a tiny familiar bell caught his attention. He glanced down in time to avoid tripping over the light calico cat who mewed impatiently at him as she coiled around his ankles. As she untwined herself and lead the way, tail high in the air like a flag, he was relieved to see her collar had not been removed.

The room she lead them to was clean and smelled faintly of herbs. A steady breeze flowed through it, ruffling the shamanistic ornaments that had been arranged over the flat, raised bed where his son laid. On his belly, one hand dangling over the edge, Elias paused to study him. Like most of the Aven race, he could easily pass for human if not for the birdlike wings that sprouted from his back. Blond hair that usually fell in loose ringlets now hung limp and wet against his face. His eyes were shut, and ignoring the black-winged woman working on him, Elias moved quickly forward, bringing his own feathers forward, close to the boy’s nose and mouth. They ruffled softly with each breath, with his own sigh of relief he finally relaxed enough to take in the extent of the damage.

His son had been stripped down to a pair of loose pants, his clothes a soggy pile in the corner from where the healers had cut or pulled them off of him. The young man’s head had been wrapped in bandages, a spot near his temple was tinged pink as blood slowly leached through. One arm was splinted, but it was his wings that caught the father’s eye. Vibrant, iridescent blue, they seemed to capture the light reflected on the polished white walls and send it dazzling back in every direction. Not tawny and soft like the Owlclan, nor rich soil-brown like the Eagles. Like his own. No, these were vivid. Loud. Unmistakable. A Peacock through and through. And one was bent at a very odd angle.

The cat’s insistent meowing snapped him back to reality and he turned his sharp eye to the Raven girl who was working on him. “You. Explain.” He snapped curtly. The girl stammered, blushing a deep crimson and looking to the older woman for assistance.

“It’s okay, Cara. Elias, your son was very lucky. He hit the water in such a way that his left shoulder and wing broke the surface tension. His shoulder was dislocated, he’ll need to wear a sling until it recovers.”

The cat leapt up onto the table and sat between the young man’s wings, waving an impatient paw at Elias with another demanding mew. “Roy.” He snapped firmly, staring down at the Peacock. “Get up.” The cat made a whining meow and headbutt the back of his skull with her forehead. “Get down, Rune. Roy, get up.”

“Elias, stop it –“

“You do not dare to command me, Mia –“

“Maya.” She corrected calmly.

“Maya. Do not forget, I am High Justice and Patriarch of –“

“Patriarch of House Redquill, yes yes. Forgive me, High Justice, for I am just the Grand Air Caller and the one who is still in the process of saving your son. But by all means, stomp in here, yell at my apprentice and my patient and molt all over my floor. And when you’re done, High Justice, I will be happy to continue explaining the necessary details of your son’s injuries.”

Elias Engelbrecht set his jaw in irritation, his sharp brown eyes locked on Maya’s calm ones. After a long, tense moment, he relented, his wings sagging slightly. “…Continue…”

“Thank you. As I was saying, his shoulder is dislocated but we reset it. His wing on the other hand is broken.”

“How bad?” As Maya moved closer to let him examine, he followed her.

“It seems to be a clean break. We’ll set it and put him in a harness. There’s swelling in the joints of both wings, it could be a sprain. I want to see him morning and night for treatment. Yseronai smiled on him today. It could have been far worse, Elias... The Healing Winds are working well for him.”

The High Justice gave a soft, disapproving grunt, then turned to touch the bandage near his temple. Rune insistently pushed her head against his fingers. Absently he pet Roy’s cat, feeling her purrs vibrate under his fingers. “What’s this here?”

“Well…. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It looks like he didn’t simply have a misstep and forget he was Aven. Take a look here.” She carefully lifted the boy’s head to unwind the bandages. When he didn’t react, Elias frowned.

“Concussion? You’re not supposed to let them sleep if he had a head injury, he could wake up mad – or not wake up at all –“

“Easy, Elias. This sleep is artificial while we work on his wing. A healer’s sleep. He will not go mad. And he will wake up again.” The remaining bandages pulled away, the pad removed from over his temple. A V-shaped cut was still weakly weeping blood, the beginning blush of a bruise spreading all the way down into the socket of his eye. When it matured, it would no doubt be impressively blackened.

“Do you see the cut? What do you think could have caused that?”

He distrusted her tone. It was that of a teacher, of someone who knew something important, but wanted her student to come to the same conclusion himself. He leaned low, distracted by the odd peacefulness of the boy’s breathing, and tried to study the impact wound. For a moment, all he could see was the little boy with big blue eyes wanting to hold Daddy’s sword, and – “Sword? Is that a pommel impact mark?”

“Very good. It looks like he was in a fight, and the marking does appear to be from a pommel. From the shape and depth, it looks to be a blunted pyramid. Which is standard for the swords of the Skyguard, if I’m not mistaken?”

Slowly he straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What are you implying?”

“I imply nothing, High Justice. Though are you aware of anyone with access to a Skyguard weapon who might take issue with your son?”

He sighed heavily. “…It might be easier to say who in the Skyguard does not take issue with Roy.” Elias rubbed the bridge of his nose. “…When can I take him home?”

“As soon as his wing is set and braced he should start coming around. Will you wait?”

“I will be close. I have… someone I need to talk to.”