I shouldn’t be poking at the dark purple bruises covering my forearms, but I have nothing better to do while sitting in a dark, quiet corner of the tavern up by the stage on the wall opposite the stairs, waiting for the breakfast crowd to clear out so I can leave without causing a fuss.
As of today, I’ve been in Haven for two weeks. I’ve settled into my room, I’ve been given a tour of the town by Tiff, helped in Anton’s kitchen, been assaulted by Vann, beaten by Rann, and served the Chief’s every whim as I run errands and simple tasks for her.
The Chief assured me that if I showed myself helping out and making sure things run smoothly people would start to warm up to and accept me.
The opposite has happened.
It’s easy to overhear the rumours. I’ve heard that I’m a spy, or I’m actually a slave captured by Rann, or that I could be a familiar summoned by the Chief. The most creative one I’ve heard is that I’m a manifestation of our sins here to punish those who thought they could escape the Goddess of Order’s justice through death.
It’s interesting that some people still hold onto their religious beliefs, against the general consensus that if you’ve ended up in the Underlands, it means your god has abandoned you. The story goes that there are, or were, twelve Great Gods, but half of them died in a great war thousands of years ago when the evil denizens of the Underlands invaded the Overlands, so the story goes. Although the dead Six’s bodies perished and remained trapped in the Underlands, their spirit lives on in the realm of the gods, formless, but not powerless. Each month is named after one of the Great Gods, with the living Six giving their names to the warmer half of the year, and the dead Six the colder half. The month you were born determined who your personal god was, the one that would protect and guide you.
I was born on the first Ainesday of Samhraine, or to translate, the first Monday of January, which was actually the third day of the month. The Summer Goddess’ day and month. Being born on a god’s day in a god’s month was considered auspicious.
That “auspicious” birthday sure turned out well for me.
I’m steadily learning people’s names and faces. As my eyes scan the room, those that haven’t talked to me either pretend I don’t exist or avert their eyes, and those that do tend to stare back with varying degrees of scorn. Johnny, Arshak, and Einar from the Expedition team give me the stink eye, although Arshiya doesn’t seem to mind me. The only group that doesn’t hate or ignore my existence besides the Council is Anton’s kitchen and waitstaff.
Once I’m able to leave here I should tell the Chief that her plan to smoothly integrate me into Haven’s society really isn’t working.
But, hey, it’s only been two weeks… Plenty of times for things to change.
I think that, and then three younger looking men sit down on the bench on the other side of my table. Two of them have red eyes, and the other’s are dark green. All three of them have short brownish-black hair, with the occasional dark red streak. They all look to be of similar age. On top of their otherwise plain off-white shirts and pants, they each have differing patches of leather and the occasional strip of metal covering their upper chests and shoulders as rudimentary armour.
“Uh… Hi?”
The red-eyed one sitting in the middle looks at the other red-eyed man to his left.
“See! I told you she could talk!” He half-whispers. The other red-eyed one glares back at him.
“Of course she can talk, you idiot. Why wouldn’t she be able to talk?” He growls back, and the two start arguing.
The green-eyed one sighs.
“Ignore those two. What I want to know is, winged-person, who are you, what are you, and where did you come from.” He asks, staring straight into my eyes.
The red-eyed one in the middle stops arguing to turn and face green-eyes.
“Hey! You don’t get to ask all the questions Max! That’s not what we agreed on!” He shouts. ‘Max’ just sighs again.
“All you two are doing is arguing with each other. I want answers.” Max replies, without taking his eyes off me.
Okay, if he wants answers, I’ll answer as clearly as possible…
“My name is Marina Retali, I’m an ordinary human now in the Underlands, and I came here by… dying. Or to be more specific, I’m from the Sovrana Republic.”
The three of them now stare at me with a blank expression.
“No, you didn’t hear. What are you. Who are you. Where did you come from.” The red-eyed one on the outside replies.
“My name is Marina Retali, I’m an ordinary human now in the Underlands, and I came here by dying, or to be more specific, I’m from the Sovrana Republic.”
More blank staring.
“No, I didn’t always have these wings. These turned up when I got here.”
“Oh, could they be…” The red-eyed one on the left starts.
“The Chief said they’re a ‘Gift’, yes. That’s the literal term for it. Gift.”
“And why are you so close to the Chief, Marina?” Max questions, crossing his arms.
“Why do you think, Max?”
“Because she’s a slave.” Red-eyes on the left answers.
“She’s a familiar taking a human form, duh!” Red-eyes in the middle interjects.
“N- Ghhh, you idiots…” Max sighs, rubbing his eyes.
The two red-eyed ones start arguing with each other again. I just sigh lightly and hold my cheeks in my hands, leaning over the table.
“You three came here to start a conversation, yet none of you have actually told me your names yet… not even you, Max.”
The three stop what they’re doing, exchange looks amongst themselves, then look back at me.
“I’m Han.” “Han” on the left says. Of the three, his red eyes are the brightest and sharpest, and his hair is mostly black with a single red streak. He wears a constant serious, dour expression, like he’s judging everything he sees.
“Kazuma here.” “Kazuma” in the middle responds, raising his hand. Fittingly for someone sitting in the middle, his red eyes aren’t as bright as Han’s, and his hair is blackish-brown with dark red fringes. Kazuma looks a lot more laid-back than Han or Max in his demeanour.
“Max… but thanks to these two, you already knew that.” Max says. His eyes are a mellow dark green, and his hair is mostly brown with a few flecks of red.
I smile.
“Good, that’s a more acceptable way of starting a conversation. Sets us off on a better foot, doesn’t it?”
“You talk like my big sister… no way you’re fifteen.” Kazuma squints.
“I had a little brother and two older sisters. I have plenty of both experience and role models in how to be a good big sister.”
The three of them exchange looks among themselves, occasionally shooting a look back at me as they fall silent. I know, I definitely don’t look fifteen. I’m a bit above average height for a woman around here, and definitely above average for a fifteen year old. A lot of people sneak looks at me, either in disbelief, or eyeing me up and down. The clothes Mia gave me are fairly plain, for the most part they match what the three seated across from me are wearing. Part of it is probably because I’m the new “woman” in town, who tells everyone she’s fifteen when she really doesn’t look it… I mean, I had most of my growth spurt after I turned fifteen anyway.
“So… did you have a reason for coming here other than discerning my humanity?”
Han and Kazuma look at each other again, while Max crosses his arms and looks away.
“Well, if you really are just a normal person who sprouted wings, that takes away the fun of it…” Max says, sounding disappointed.
“Heh, slashed up Aran’s face pretty good though. He shows off his scar like he fought a bloodbeast, thinking he’s hot shit…” Kazuma chuckles.
“Actually, could you show us those wing swords of yours?” Han leans forward, staring at my shoulder.
Hmm. Most people have cleared out of the tavern by now. It’s just the waitstaff, two people sitting by themselves, and the three in front of me.
“If you really want to, I can, but don’t try and touch them. They’re… touchy.”
Alright wings, time to show off-
Before I even get to finish my thought, my left wing shoots out from under the cloak, stretched to its full length with blades extended. The right wing stays put, sensibly, given to my right is the wall. See, wings, you’re learning!
The three seated across from me jump back, Kazuma nearly falling backwards off the bench. Max is the first to regain his composure, leaning forward as he stares at my outstretched wing.
“They really are… big.” He comments. No shit.
“If you have wings, can’t you just fly out of here?” Han says, tilting his head.
“I would if I knew how.”
“Have you tried?” Kazuma pipes up.
I mean, I haven’t. It’s daunting to think about jumping from a high place and trying to fly, but… A bird isn’t born knowing how to fly, I suppose.
“Even if she could fly, this pit is hundreds of tals deep. Flying that far probably isn’t easy, and that’s before you take the carrion hawks into account…” Max sighs, seeming disappointed in how plausible his deductions sound.
I can’t imagine the physical effort it’d take me, and my wings, to fly out of here. They’ve lifted me off the ground once, and that was very brief before I came crashing back down. Humans are heavy, and I don’t have the advantage of hollow bones… I think. I hope. I don’t want to find out.
“Wait, carrion hawks?”
“Giant birds bigger than humans with rotting flesh draped from their wings that eat anything that isn’t a plant or rock. You’d know it when you see it.” Max sits back up, crossing his arms.
“When you smell it, more like…” Kazuma grumbles.
“It smells like carrion, I take it?”
“Ugh, just thinking about it brings back the stench…” Han winces, trying to expel the pungent odour from his mind.
“You’re telling me…” Kazuma pinches his nose. Even I can smell it now.
…
“Why do we all smell carrion?”
Max, Kazuma, and Han sit up, looking nervously amongst themselves. We all smell it. Rotten meat. Nobody’s eaten meat for weeks, and Anton certainly wouldn’t let meat go to waste.
“There’s no way just talking about a carrion hawk means one would show up in Haven, right…?”
Max grimaces. Kazuma looks down, his brow furrowed. Han looks directly across at me.
“It wouldn’t be a surprise.”
It’s obvious the smell has spread, as several of the kitchen staff are now by the front of the tavern, peering out the small windows, their faces contorted by the stench hanging in the air. The four of us move towards the door, crowding around behind the group gathered by the windows.
“Can you see anything?” Kazuma asks, trying to see through the window which Minegumo is looking out of.
“The guards and the Chief are outside keeping a watch on the skies. As for the stinky bird in question…” Minegumo trails off.
I’ve never seen anything that isn’t a human down here, but in my short time outside the walls of Haven, I could tell that there were… things. Down here. Big things. The names; Bloodbeasts. Bonehounds. Fleshtearers. Carrion hawks. I don’t know what any of those are, but the names are… evocative. It’s not hard to imagine what a carrion hawk looks like; a big bird, savage claws, rotten flesh draped from its wings…
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
An ear-splitting screech drowns out whatever my thoughts just were. Something outside hits the ground so hard everything shakes, followed by a blast of wind that swings every window - and the door - of the tavern wide open. Now, where I’m standing, I have a clear view through the door to what just landed outside.
Two stocky, dirty feathered legs, each as long as I am tall, stand outside the tavern, held up by yellowy-grey bird feet with massive, vicious black talons piercing the earth beneath it. Several sickly, oozing wounds break up its dark, feathered legs; it’s too tall to see its head, but I can see entrails, intestines, blood, rotten flesh hanging from its outstretched wings, the grisly trophies that mark the existence of its previous victims.
Then the smell. It hits harder than the gust of wind; unmistakably rotten meat, yet so vile your body convulses, your nose flaring even as your throat seals itself shut to keep the stench out. You hunch over, feeling like you’ve been punched square in the gut, fighting a sudden and violent gag reflex as the stench burns its existence into your memory, a smell so putrid it’ll never truly leave you.
Everyone else in the tavern is bent over or curled up, covering their nose, their mouth, or already throwing up on the floor. The only reason I’m still standing is the scant few feet further back I stood from everyone else, leaving me just outside the lethal strike zone. Evenmy wings curl up against the small of my back, almost writhing in agony as if the smell in the air is singeing its feathers.
“You came to the wrong place looking for a meal, beast, unless you came here to die!” The Chief’s unmistakable voice shouts from out of view.
Large, familiar golden chains flash into being, rapidly constricting around the hawk’s body as it lets out another screech, thrashing against its bonds as more people shout outside.
“Form a circle around it! Archers in front, spears behind! Stay clear of the head! Cut it down!” Vann orders, shouting loud and clear.
About half a dozen people crowd around behind the oversized bird, driving spears into the back of its legs, drawing a louder, pained screech that hurts my ears more than those spears hurt the hawk. So loud and bloodcurdling this scream was, for a moment, you forget about the nauseating stench and frantically cover your ears before they burst. I cover mine with my elbows, wincing my eyes shut as if that’ll help block out the sound too, before someone shoves me aside, falling to my knees.
Someone shouts - it’s muffled, so I uncover my ears;
“Aran?! The hell are you doing here?” One of the guys, Max, I think, calls.
I look up. Aran is standing beside me, his eyes wide and tears running down his cheeks, as the terror on his face quickly turns to rage.
“The fuck are you three doing here?! You’re part of the guard, why are you cowering in the tavern?!” Aran yells, his voice shaky and breathing ragged.
Before any of the three cowering guardsmen can answer, my wings decide to make their presence known, flicking out from under the cloak and giving Aran a light push forwards, He spins to face me, turning his anger on me… or perhaps specifically the wings responsible for his current facial features.
“The fuck do you want?! Not satisfied with cutting up just my face, huh?! Going to slash me again for cowardice?!” Aran screams, his face turning… pale, despite his lividity.
A drop of blood hits the ground in front of me. A huge, nasty slash runs up most of Aran’s left arm, which he’s been clutching this whole time. The others in the room see this, and the kitchen team jump to action, with Minegumo grabbing a cloth from a nearby table and starting to wrap it around Aran’s arm, who leans back against a table, groaning in pain.
First aid isn’t my forte, so I move out of the way of the far more competent kitchen crew as they tend to Aran’s wounds, crouching by the door to get a better view of what’s happening outside.
The giant bird’s legs are awkwardly splayed apart, one held thrashing in mid-air as the Chief, wielding her staff and standing aways back from the hawk, focusing all her might on keeping the bird still. Several arrows are lodged in its neck and chest, while a small group with spears stabs at the bird’s hinds, standing well clear of the partially freed leg, as golden chains buckle, shatter, then quickly reform, as the bird shrieks in anguish.
“Nathaniel! You’re too close to the head, get back behind-” Vann barks.
One of the spearmen, Nate, is a bit too far in front of the bird, trying to spear its neck. Evidently, he’s doing something, as the bird’s head rears back up, opening its beak to let out another screech-
A muffled, drowned scream, and the sound of a large amount of fluid hitting the floor.
Rather than screeching, the hawk bent its head over and unleashed a copious amount of reddish-brown vomit right on top of Nate. His scream is brief, as his body falls limp into a heap, sitting in a pool of vomit and partially-digested flesh. As the bile drains off his head, his face is just… gone. His hair, his skin, even half of his skull, dissolved into viscous slop under the foul hawk’s acid.
He’s…
“He’s dead.” Han mumbles.
Han, Max, and Kazuma are all crowded by the window. They all saw what I saw.
He’s dead. Nate’s dead. I wasn’t a fan of him, sure, but Nate’s dead, dissolved body is lying in a puddle across the street from me. He died. He fucking died. Death is still very much on the table. And what am I doing? Standing here, doing nothing? Sure, no one inside the tavern has weapons. Aran dropped his spear outside the door. It’s probably for the best that the rest of us stay here out of harm’s way.
Well, one of us has weapons.
I toss my cloak on a table by the door. Given it’s enchanted, I shouldn’t risk it being dissolved and going to waste. Aran and the kitchen team are too preoccupied with Aran’s wounds to notice. The trio beside me watch silently as I walk out, grabbing the spear Aran dropped in the doorway. Wings splayed, blades drawn.
“Will one of you kill this bird before it kills anyone else!” The Chief shouts, her voice clear but still mildly shaky from the scene we all just witnessed.
New, larger golden chains, bulky and brutish compared to the previous thinner and expertly-woven chains, spawn and wrap around the bird’s neck, dragging its head down closer to the ground, bile still oozing from its beak. The spearmen are in disarray, the archers’ arrows are ineffective. Vann’s keeping the bird’s attention on him, holding his double-headed axe close and keeping the Chief a safe distance away as she channels through her staff; if it wasn’t for her magic, we’d probably all be dead by now.
Only one person for the job.
I ready myself to jump. Before I even mentally ask, my wings stretch out, high and wide, ready to launch us into the air. Flying is one thing, but jumping is another. All I need is a good push, and I can make it while the bird’s distracted. Here goes.
I jump.
It’s just like the last time. You blink, and you’re way further off the ground than you expect. This time, though, I have intent, and a target. The bird’s back, covered with festering, seeping wounds.
I land with a thud, barely keeping my footing thanks to my wings keeping my balance. Despite the bird’s size, its back feels bony and malnourished, with little of its own meat on its bones. It shrieks again, trying to rear its head up, but more chains materialise to keep its head down. Spear in hands, right through the nape.. One shot at this.
I step forward, placing my foot firmly on the bird’s neck, and drive my spear into the back of its neck as hard as I can.
The spear easily splits the flesh, and penetrates into the bone, just, not deep enough to sever its spine completely, as the bird lets out an even louder, bloodcurdling screech, thrashing back upwards against me. Holding onto the spear with all my strength as it bucks upwards, then the heavy chains around its neck shatter, throwing its head back violently. My eyes are clenched shut, holding on for dear life as it rears upwards, then-
It crashes back down to earth, falling into a lifeless heap.
“Marina!!” The Chief shouts.
I open my eyes. My spear is firmly lodged in the back of the hawk’s head. My wings are curled around my sides, its blades driven deep into the hawk’s neck. So that’s how I stayed on despite all its thrashing.
The Chief and Vann stand in front of the bird, with the rest of the guards standing around behind them, looks of shock and bewilderment across their faces. People peek out of doorways or windows from the buildings around the bird’s corpse, checking to see if it’s finally over.
“Marina! Get down from there this instant!” The Chief shouts, angry and exasperated. Oh dear.
My wing-blades retract themselves from the dead hawk’s neck, letting go of the spear as I jump off the bird’s back, walking towards the Chief. The Chief runs up to me, grabs my collar, and slaps me back and forth across the face.
“What in Turona’s fiery Hells were you thinking!? You’re not part of the guard! Vann was about to cut its head off, only for you to leap in and nearly get yourself killed! I’ve already lost one townsman today, I can’t tolerate losing another one immediately after!!” The Chief growls, although her anger quickly gives way to concern and shock, then, a tang of relief.
She lets me go, sighing deeply.
“You saw what happened to Nathaniel. You saw. That’s how easy it is to lose your life out here. That’s how easy it is to die. One idiot makes one wrong move and they lose their life over it…” She scolds, but slowly trails off, her voice wavering as she takes another deep sigh, struggling to let go of the tension in her body.
“As reckless as it was, Mia, Marina took action and killed it. It would have taken me longer to get around behind it and climb on its back like she did, which was the only safe way of killing it. You might not have held it still long enough for me to do that.” Vann says, placing his hand on the Chief’s shoulder in an effort to comfort her.
The Chief heel-turns, swiping away Vann’s hand.
“I could have held it for twice as long as you would have needed. My concentration nearly broke because of that winged idiot jumping on its back!” She hisses, clenching her staff tight in her hands.
“It’s dead, Chief. It’s over.” Vann sighs, glancing over at what’s left of Nate.
“All that’s left is to clean this up, and… give Nathaniel a proper burial. I’ll check on Aran, he got cut pretty badly when its leg broke free.” Vann turns to walk towards the tavern, giving me a pat on the shoulder as he walks past.
“Good job, kid. You’re showing your worth.” He says, then disappears through the tavern door.
The Chief, meanwhile, is standing in front of the bird, but staring down at the pool of half-digested flesh and bone that’s all that’s left of Nate. A small crowd has gathered around the bird, just, several metres back to avoid the smell getting any worse, looking to their Chief for guidance. After a moment, having noticed the crowd that’s gathered, she straightens herself up.
“Chief, why did that carrion hawk show up here? We’ve no meat that’d draw it to our remote village…” An older woman with orange-brown hair asks, with a young girl with bright orange hair, no older than 10, clinging to her leg and hiding her face against her skirt, not wanting to see or smell what’s in front of her.
“Likely, this hawk was old, Giselle. Past its prime, desperately hungry and looking for an easy meal. We’re closer to the bottom of the food chain here. It must have thought humans were an easier target than fighting another hawk for the scraps off a corpse.” The Chief replies, her even, slightly harsh tone of voice returning.
Giselle… Giselle? That’s the soup cook whose shift I took.
“I don’t wanna eat that…” The little girl mumbles, peeking from behind Giselle’s skirt with her bright red eyes.
“Oohh, we’d never feed you that, Sammy. Soon, we’ll have far tastier meats for all of us to enjoy together~” Tiff says, having suddenly appeared beside me.
Even the Chief was startled at Tiff’s sudden appearance, shooting her a scornful look.
“The hell are you doing here?! Why aren’t you guarding the rest of the kids?!” The Chief hisses in an annoyed whisper directed at Tiff.
“Rann’s keeping the children safe, and there’s a body to deal with. That’s part of my job, Mia.” Tiff responds calmly, kneeling down in front of Nate’s remains.
The small group of guards gather around behind the Chief. I recognise most of their faces, but the only name I know is Rob’s, standing tall and silent behind them, spear in hand.
“Your, uh… orders, Chief.” One of them asks.
The Chief turns, looking like she’ll blow up again, before sighing to herself.
“Move the hawk’s corpse to the cellar. Its meat is too disease-ridden to eat, and well… does it have anything of use, Tiff?” The Chief replies, then turning to ask Tiff her question.
Tiff, now standing by and looking over the corpse, turns to give her answer.
“At most, we could get some quills out of it. It’s too sickly and skinny to do anything else with it. Probably best to burn it…” Tiff sighs, crossing her arms.
“Wouldn’t the best usage be crushing the bones to use as fertiliser??”
Tiff blinks, looking at me like she didn’t understand a word I just said.
“Crush its bones to use as… what?” She asks quizzically.
“It’s uh… it’s something the farmers around Sovrana do. Sovrana’s been settled and farmed for a long time, and the soil was very poor for farming. Some herbalists or something figured out that crushing bones into powder and mixing it with the soil could increase fertility.”
“Huh… I’ll keep that in mind. Still, it’s best we burn the corpse quickly and pick the bones out after. The smell is already nauseating enough, I don’t want to find out what the actual rotting corpse of a carrion hawk smells like.” Tiff responds, looking at the bird’s corpse with a renewed interest in how its bones could be used.
The Chief glances across at me.
“For a girl from a family of luthiers, you seem to know a lot about farming.” She states, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.
“I… I read a lot of books, okay. If some of the otherwise pointless knowledge I gleaned from them can be of some use, then I’ll try to use it.”
“Normally, someone in your position would immediately ask to take its head for a trophy, but if that’s how you want it to be used, then very well…” She trails off, before turning and facing the crowd.
“Alright. Guards, get some rope and drag the hawk to the Cellars. Tiff… take care of Nathaniel’s body. The rest of you, back to work.” The Chief orders, and the crowd complies.
Aran staggers out of the tavern door, his left arm covered in bandages as Vann leaves alongside him to help the guards move the hawk’s body, with Max and Kazuma sheepishly following behind Vann, the two of them clearly having gotten an earful for not being at their posts when the hawk attacked; yet Han isn’t with them. A couple of people bring buckets over to Tiff, tipping water over the pool of acid to help dilute it enough that Nate’s remains can be retrieved, as things start to settle back into normal. Every nose in sight is wrinkled or flared, as everyone silently agrees to pretend that they can’t smell the hideous stench that must be permeating the entirety of Haven by now.
“Hey.” Someone behind me says.
I turn to find Aran standing in front of me, handing me back my cloak.
“Thanks for taking my post.” He manages a smile as best he can through the searing pain shooting up his clutched, wounded arm.
“Marina.” The Chief calls.
I turn to face her, as she hands me a cloth from her cloak’s deep pocket.
“Wipe that muck off your wings before you go trailing blood along my nice floors.” She says bluntly.
My wings cling low to my sides, understandably not wanting to draw the Chief’s ire to themselves after watching me get slapped around her.
“Alright, I’ll go wash them…” I turn, heading for the direction of the baths, before the Chief stops me.
“Thank you.” She says, softer.
“Ah, it was the least I could-”
She clips me over the back of the head before I finish my sentence.
“And don’t do that again.” She scolds, heading back towards her library.
Okay, point taken.
I take one last look at the hawk’s body before the guards start to drag it off.
It’s massive. So massive it looks like it could carry away a full-grown human with ease. It nearly cut Aran’s arm off with its claw, and it turned Nate into a pile of mush in seconds. Were it not for the Chief and the guards, it could have wreaked havoc and killed dozens of people here.
And I killed it- ow.
A soft jab to my side reminds me that yes, wings, we killed it. It was a team effort. Hell, we nearly flew too!
My wings flitter excitedly, flicking the blood still clinging to its blades onto my legs and- hey! You’re making a mess here!
We still have a ways to go in earning people’s trust, but…
We’ve definitely gone some of the way today.
It’s onwards and upwards for us.