The Wingless Isles
Aislynn heard the laughter and jeers of the crew falling behind her as she rose higher into the air, her eyes stinging with her tears. She heard Obadon curse and the flapping of other Fae wings behind her as well; Gosrivar and Valthesh were rising with the Argentei warrior to follow Aislynn into the sky above an unforgiving expanse of sea.
For a few minutes Aislynn concentrated on the simple beating of her wings, their rhythm and motion through the air. There were a great many questions tumbling through her mind. Ularis murdered—it seemed inconceivable. Death was a common enough occurrence among the faeries in a world where Famadorians often hunted them for sport if they strayed from their protected borders, and warfare among some of the different houses of the Fae was almost an art form in itself. Murder, too, was known among the more impassioned of the Fae, and the problems of assassination conspiracy were common among the royal houses of the Fae. That Djukan had used the word “assassination” probably meant that Ularis had, indeed, died from such a plot.
But what if a faery could lie? Shaeonyn had lied. That prospect frightened Aislynn more than the murder itself.
Everything had gone wrong, she thought, but at once she banished such thoughts and questions from her mind; better to survive now, she reasoned, and deal with betrayal and other questions afterward.
Only then did she turn and look behind her. The Brethain was already weighing anchor, her sails tumbling down from her yardarms. As she watched, the ship was already picking up headway in a quartering wind, moving off toward the southeast.
“They didn’t waste any time,” Valthesh tossed off.
“No, indeed, they did not,” Gosrivar replied heavily. “Nor should you. You must be off at once, if you have any hope of making the safety of the island.”
“So must we all.” Aislynn nodded toward her companions hovering in the air about her, but her eyes remained fixed on the older faery sage.
Gosrivar shook his head. “No, Aislynn. You and the others are strong. I am the weakest among us and cannot survive this journey.”
“You will survive,” Aislynn answered. “We will help you.”
Gosrivar laughed darkly. “And if you did, you would only make your own fate uncertain—you would die because of me and this must not be. I accept my weakness and know the truth of it. We Fae claim to be immortal . . .”
“But no one has ever lived long enough to know,” Aislynn finished the old joke for him. “No. I do not accept that nor will any of us. Are the warriors of House Argentei strong, Lord Obadon?”
“There are none stronger,” the warrior replied in absolute truth.
“And are you not a talented disciple of the Sharajin, Lady Valthesh?” Aislynn said, turning quickly to the female faery hovering on her right.
She smiled at some private joke. “It was a truth with which I was content to hold my silence. I have not attended the Lyceum so the depths of my talent have not yet been tested, Aislynn of Qestardis—but talented I truly am.”
“Then does anyone here know how to swim?” Aislynn snapped.
Each of them looked at the undulating surface of the water below them and responded in most earnest negatives.
“Then we fly for the Wingless Isles together,” Aislynn said flatly, “and will do so—together—without further argument.”
With that she put the climbing sun on her right hand and scooped the air with her wings to fly.
The shores to the north seemed tantalizingly close but Aislynn kept telling herself that it was all an illusion; they were slightly less than twenty miles distant—a long distance for most faery to travel under normal conditions. Of course, the faery kingdoms themselves were scattered over far greater distances—Vargonis was just over eight hundred miles from the courts of Qestardis—and such distances could be covered in relatively short times by the use of nightrunner airships or the various fleets which the different houses maintained either to sail the western shores of the Qe’tekok, Incadis, or Dunadin Seas when the need arose. A faery on its own, however, was limited in the distance it could traverse by its physical endurance, the weather, and its ability to stop and rest along the way. There was something of a slight breeze from the south, which was encouraging, but only something of a minor help, for to traverse eight miles, let alone twenty—and to do so with only a single resting point—was madness.
Madness, Aislynn thought. Is that what this is all about? Had Shaeonyn gone mad? And why did Deython and the pearls now answer only to the Sharajin?
“Not too fast,” Obadon called out. “A steady pace will get us further.”
Aislynn felt a surge of pride as first Valthesh and then Obadon and Gosrivar both came into view next to her, their wings beating with her own, undulating through the air in an easy and natural synchronization. She smiled to herself and slowed down to match her companions, looking across the tops of the waves as they passed under all of them. Each stroke of their wings brought them closer to rest, water, and life.
For Aislynn, it had become more than just a question of life. She felt a resolve that she had not known in years. She remembered the dream she had the night before and knew now that it had tried to warn her of what was coming, but she had not understood it. Now she felt the grim determination to follow that dream wherever it took her—and find this new truth that had thus far eluded her.
The air warmed perceptibly as the sun climbed higher into the sky. The purple-tinged green of the island had grown and lengthened, but its shores still remained far beyond them.
Aislynn was finding it difficult to catch her breath. Her lungs ached and the muscles in her back threatened to seize up altogether. Still she pressed on. She continued to scoop the air because she had to; because to stop was to give up, and more than anything, to give up was to allow Shaeonyn to be victorious over her.
“Please!” Gosrivar croaked. He had fallen behind them, struggling to keep up. “I can’t—I can’t go on.”
“Come on,” Aislynn rasped. “We’re almost there. Then you can rest all you want.”
Valthesh looked sideways at her. She, too, was breathing heavily with the exertion. “Almost where?”
“Almost to the atoll,” Aislynn said. “Look—off to the—to the left.”
A spark of light flashed above the water ahead of them and just left of their line of flight. It flashed again moments later; a rhythmic pulsing light amid the waves. The longer Aislynn watched it, the clearer she could make out the white water of breaking ocean waves.
“That’s it!” Aislynn altered her course toward the outlying reef surrounding a large, circular shoal. Just north of its center, the flashing light obscured a tiny piece of land.
“I can’t,” Gosrivar sighed. “It’s too far.”
“You can,” Aislynn said, gulping air. “You know, it’s surprising what you can do. Did you know that I used to be a princess? Look at me now, Gosrivar! I’ve dropped all the way to Seeker of the Sharajin. How low do you think a person with talent and ambition might possibly sink in faery society, eh, Gosrivar?”
“In your case,” Obadon said with a smile, “I might say one’s potential is unlimited.”
Valthesh laughed.
Aislynn smiled grimly. “What do you think, Gosrivar?”
“I find it—appalling that the youth of—of your generation have so little respect for the—for the traditions of your elders!” Gosrivar said, his voice breaking with the effort. “To think that I should live to—to see the day when a princess of the—of the First Estate should say such things!”
“Indeed,” Aislynn said, swallowing hard, her mouth dry. They had carefully angled toward the atoll. The flashing light was getting closer. “I don’t understand. Tell us what you mean.”
“You don’t want to hear what I have to say,” Gosrivar croaked.
Keep talking! Don’t think about the pain and just keep flying! Aislynn thought as she said, “I do—I think all of us could benefit from your wisdom. Of course, if you don’t think you have anything to teach us . . .”
“Not have anything—why, you young whelp!” Gosrivar roared. “I’ve forgotten more truth that you’ll ever learn!”
They were crossing the outer barrier reef of the atoll. Aislynn was struggling to stay airborne; the gentle waves of the shoals seemed to reach up to pull her down into their cool and eternal rest. The waters were so clear that she could see the bottom and wondered how far she would sink before she reached it.
She snapped her head up, concentrating on the white-sand shore ahead of her. The flashing light was coming from the top of some sort of bone-white structure—apparently the only shade on the entire spit of sand jutting up from the surface of the water.
“Forgotten?” Aislynn said, gritting her teeth against the cramps in her wing muscles and back. “What have I forgotten, old man?”
“You’ve forgotten your manners, for one! I’ve never—ACK!” Gosrivar’s wings suddenly seized. He slowed dangerously only a few hundred feet above the water.
“Obadon!” Aislynn called. “Quick! Help him!”
The large warrior wheeled quickly. With a great cry, he folded his wings, plunging downward toward Gosrivar as he pinwheeled to the water below. He pressed open his wings just as he got hold of the old faery, pressing hard to stop his descent.
“I can’t hold him,” he called, his wings fluttering hard but unable to keep them from descending.
Aislynn wheeled back and dove toward them, calling after her. “Valthesh! Come on!”
Valthesh’s eyes locked with Aislynn’s for a moment—a look of decision on her face—and then the wild-haired Seeker turned away, her wings beating furiously toward the shore.
Aislynn shook her head in disgust and plunged down toward Obadon, who still was straining upward with all his might to lift the groaning Gosrivar still in his arms. Aislynn quickly circled them once, getting below them. She wheeled over on her back, carefully wrapping her own arms around the old faery’s quivering wings until she had a good grip around his waist. Then, with all the strength left in her, she began beating her own wings furiously.
Their descent slowed further still, but it was not enough. Straining as they might, they were making no progress against the water waiting below them.
“Let me go,” Gosrivar sighed.
“No,” Aislynn yelled. “We all go together!”
Suddenly, the water below depressed into a huge bowl nearly fifty feet deep. An enormous gust of wind erupted around them, a waterspout that reached into the sky. The mists kicked upward around the three faeries, the gale catching their wings and carrying them upward higher and higher into the air. Aislynn screamed; Obadon shouted in exhilaration. The waterspout dissipated beneath them as quickly as it had appeared.
Obadon and Aislynn glided through the air, the astonished Gosrivar still held between them. They were more than a thousand feet above the atoll now.
“Do you think you can just extend your wings?” Aislynn asked the sage.
“Yes, of course,” Gosrivar said, still filled with astonishment. “I can make it now—thank you.”
The three of them glided wearily down toward the white structure below set in the center of the white sands of the atoll. In moments, their feet lightly touched the warm sands and they collapsed onto the beach.
Aislynn pushed herself up on her hands. A few yards from her lay Valthesh, seemingly unconscious. Aislynn pulled herself across the sands to where the Vargonis Seeker lay. “Valthesh?”
The Seeker’s eyes fluttered open. She lolled her head in the direction of the sand-covered princess. “Sorry to leave you like that—I just couldn’t figure out how to make it work without my feet on the ground. I take it I sent you high enough?”
“Yes—yes, you did.”
“Then we all made it?”
“Yes.” Aislynn smiled, reaching out and gripping Valthesh by the shoulder. “We all made it together.”