The wind rushed past Silver as he fell, in stark contrast to the sluggishness of his thoughts. Nothing flashed before his eyes, no highlights from his life or thoughts of loved ones, no regretted words spoken or left unsaid. The only thought that crawled through his head was a vague wondering about why the small sage-colored Fae had looked so angry with him.
And then suddenly he was astride Devon’s rump, legs dangling in the wind, and he instinctively leaned forward to gather bunches of Devon’s green t-shirt, clenching his fists tightly and drawing his knees in against the winged man’s sides. His friend was flying straight forward, his body horizontal to accommodate Silver, his wings beating with a leisurely gravitas as they glided forth, each pump buffeting him with sweet-smelling air.
“Actually,” Devon said over his shoulder, “This will work best if you scoot up and wrap your arms around my shoulders and your legs around my waist, like a piggyback ride. That way I can fly upward, and it’s less likely you’ll fall.”
“Less likely?”
“I mean, there’s always a chance.” Devon’s voice was teasing.
Silver swallowed hard and wriggled his hips, moving up Devon’s back. He folded his torso forward, laying down flat with his arms and legs hanging down. Carefully he bent his limbs to grip the Fae’s body as tightly as he could. It still didn’t feel secure enough.
“Okay,” he said. “Is this right?”
Instead of responding, Devon tilted his body upward and Silver found himself lurching backward. But his grasp held and he didn’t fall. He squeezed his eyes shut as Devon pointed himself straight upward and gave another mighty pulse with his great wings.
The wind battered Silver as they shot skyward, and he found himself screaming. He tried to stop, but his mouth wouldn’t obey his commands and his vocal cords vibrated of their own volition.
A moment later, eyelids still clenched together, Silver felt the THUD as they landed. Devon stepped forward, dragging Silver along.
Determined to regain some semblance of dignity, he forced himself to quiet his scream, downgrading it to a moan before going completely silent. He wrenched his stiff limbs from their rigid hold on Devon’s back, collapsing into a heap.
Silver lay on the reassuringly solid floor for a few seconds, then reminded himself that his image was at stake. He wondered fleetingly whether Fiona was watching.
He wrestled his eyes open and looked around. By some magic or miracle, Fiona was nowhere to be seen. The room was, however, full of Fae staring at him with varying degrees of amusement and irritation.
Devon stood patiently in front of him, extending a strong blue hand. Silver accepted the proferred assistance and scrambled to his feet, just in time.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Fiona’s violet head popped up at the edge of the floor, where the tree rose beside them, the ladder continuing to spiral upward and onward.
This event brought to Silver’s attention that, while the floor was solid, the room was open, with no walls or railing. He remembered how high off the ground he was and emitted a tiny hysterical whimper, covering it with a cough as Fiona climbed up into the room.
She raised an eyebrow at him and grinned, a surprisingly genuine smile, with only a slight hint of irony to it. “Well, you made it up here. And you managed to stop screaming really quickly. I’m impressed.”
Silver coughed again, unsure how to respond.
Fiona shrugged and turned to face the other end of the room, where several Fae sat facing the rest. She bowed her head respectfully toward the table and Silver eyed them with interest. They looked important, like a panel of judges.
And right in the center was a woman he recognized, albeit, like Devon, in a completely different form. The shape was right, but her skin was as blue as her son’s, and her eyes were strangely pale, the irises barely visible against the whites. She had no wings, but from her sable crown sprouted a pair of antennae, like a butterfly. Or like the giant ant he’d seen descending the tree outside.
This was Devon’s mother, who he had never thought of as having a name until today. She must be the awe-inspiring Gwenneth of whom he’d heard so much. Fiona nudged him and he belatedly followed her lead, bobbing his head to the council.
As he rose out of his bow, Silver saw a warm smile spread across Gwenneth’s face, and a murmur ran through the crowd of Fae standing around them. Silver scanned the room and realized there weren’t actually all that many of them; the small platform seemed crammed with bodies, but in fact, there were only six standing – Silver, Fiona, and Devon stood beside three Fae, and there were five more seated before them.
Directly to his left stood a male of Oria’s ilk – rough yellow skin and four arms. The woman beside him had deep brown skin, almost black, and small curved blue horns rising from her head. As Silver looked at her, his attention was caught by the movement of her hands as she flexed her fingers and a set of dainty claws emerged from below her nails. The man who stood beside Devon had a more human look to him, with smooth, caramel-colored flesh and pale blond hair. Then he turned his head toward Silver, revealing cat-slitted amber eyes that seemed to take up half his face.
Devon stepped forward. “Mother. Councilors. May I present to you Sylvester Harris. His chosen name is Silver.”
Gwenneth beckoned to Silver, her smile still wide and welcoming. “Sylvester, you come at an opportune moment. Thank you for joining us.”
Silver approached the table. “Well, thank you for having me.” He paused. “To be honest, ma’am, I’m not really sure why I’m here.”
Gwenneth cocked her head, her smile fading. She shot a glare at her son. “Devon. You didn’t tell him?”
Devon wilted. “Well, I didn't know how much to say. Isn’t it classified?”
The Fae seated next to Gwenneth sighed, a tall, winged, weathered woman with pale blue skin and a smooth hairless scalp. Her voice was gentler than Gwenneth’s. “How can he help us if he has no information, nephew? You are a brave and mighty warrior, but you need to learn to think these things through.”
Gwenneth shook her head sharply, lifting an imperious hand. “Enough of this. We have wasted much time already.” She turned her gaze to Silver, pinning him in place with her pale eyes. “Sylvester. You are our only hope. I have seen it. The link between Faerieland and Humanland will be destroyed. If this happens, both of our worlds will wither and die. And you are the only one who can stop it.”