Riv sat on the edge of her cot, her head in her hands. She felt in turmoil.
So many lies. My parentage, Elyon’s Lore, when will it end?
Footsteps on the stairwell, and Riv looked up as the door creaked open. Aphra walked into their dormitory, beds rowed on either side of a long chamber.
She looks tired, Riv thought, and not just physically. Aphra’s head was bowed, her face pale, and new wrinkled lines were etched upon her forehead and around her mouth.
I am not the only one that these dark days are taking their toll upon.
At seeing Riv Aphra paused. Then she came and sat beside her. A hand reached up, hovered a moment, then stroked Riv’s fair hair.
“It is getting long,” Aphra said gently. “Would you like me to cut it for you?”
For as long as Riv could remember, Aphra had always cut her hair, cropping it short in the uniform style of the White-Wings. Just another small part of how Riv had been fashioned and moulded from birth to be part of the Ben-Elim’s war-machine, instilling that desire and belief that she was destined to become a White-Wing.
“No,” Riv snapped. “I am not a White-Wing and can never be one. I wear my wings upon my back, not my chest. Why would I cut my hair like one of you, when I can never stand in a shield wall again?”
Aphra sighed and continued stroking Riv’s hair.
“You are still Riv,” Aphra said into the silence, “in here—” a finger tapping Riv’s chest—“the fierce, loyal, kind, too-honest and oft-times too-angry little warrior that you have always been.”
“Am I?” Riv said, looking at Aphra now. She felt hot tears fill her eyes. “I do not look the same.” A ripple shivered through her wings. “Or feel the same, inside.” She put her fingers to her temples and rubbed. “This blood in my veins makes me part human, part Ben-Elim, but not fully one or the other.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “That, I can deal with. It’s not all bad. I like flying. Love flying. And wings make me a better fighter.” She shrugged, enjoying just being honest. “Getting to sleep was a bit difficult at first, uncomfortable, but I’ve worked it out now.”
Aphra snorted a laugh.
“It’s not those changes that hurt,” Riv said. “It’s the lies. They are tearing at me like hounds at a stag. Kol murdered Israfil, his Lord. He is a traitor. But he’s also my father. And now I find out that Elyon’s Lore is made up, by the Ben-Elim.”
Aphra paused stroking and turned Riv to face her. “They are not evil, the Ben-Elim. They strive to be good, like their Maker, Elyon, but they are so focused on their goal, to destroy the Kadoshim, that they cannot see the wrong they have done in the chasing of that end. And they are flesh and blood now, and so are part of all that comes with that. Its desires and temptations. Its weaknesses. They are fallible, though most of them would not like to admit to that.”
“Pride,” Riv said. “Elyon’s Lore has much to say about that. Or should I say, the Ben-Elim have much to say about that.”
“That they have,” Aphra agreed, both humour and resignation in her voice.
“And then there is you, of course,” Riv said. “You, my sister, but no, you’re really my mother. And Dalmae, whom I thought of all my life as my mother, she was my grandmother.” She shook her head, saw the look of pain that swept Aphra. “I am starting to understand. You made mistakes, and then you were forced to make choices, when there was no clear choice to make.”
“I did make mistakes,” Aphra said. “Or more accurately, one mistake, and that was Kol. But after that you are wrong. The choice was always clear. The choice was you, Riv, always and ever only you. I love you, Riven ap Aphra, my beautiful daughter.” She blew out a long breath. “Ah, how I have longed to say that out loud to you.”
Riv blinked away tears. “I love you, too,” she whispered, and put her head on Aphra’s shoulder.
A silence settled between them, Aphra continuing to stroke Riv’s long hair.
“I hate living like this,” Riv said. “Feeling what’s right, in here…” she put a palm to her chest, “… but not able to do it.”
“Life is harsh, and complicated,” Aphra said. “To survive each day and be with the ones you love, that is becoming enough for me.”
“I want more,” Riv said. “I want justice, for Dalmae. Kol should pay for what he’s done, for what he’s doing.”
“Kol is your father,” Aphra said. “No matter what else he is, he is still that. And remember, we have the Kadoshim to fight. No matter how terrible you think the Ben-Elim, the Kadoshim are worse.”
Riv took a deep breath, trying to control the frustration boiling away inside her.
I would like to kill some Kadoshim. Finally, a focus for my anger.
“There is much in life that is beyond our control, events that sweep us up and along, actions that wrap us tight in their consequences. Stop raging about the things you cannot change. Just be true to yourself and do what you can do. Love those worth loving, and to the Otherworld with the rest of it. That is all any of us can do.”
Riv stared at Aphra, feeling the words sink into her. It felt… profound.
There is truth in that.
“What do you want, Riv, that you can actually do something about?”
“I want…”
A face materialized in her mind, dark-skinned, almond-eyed.
Riv stood and walked to a shuttered window, undid the clasp and opened it.
“Where are you going?” Aphra asked her.
“To clear my head,” Riv said, and stepped out into the night sky.
First she flew up, through the night-black, until she was high over the fortress, close enough to touch the branches of the great tree that spread its branches over Drassil like protective arms. She scrambled onto a branch as thick as a bridge and sat, gazing about her. A pale line touched the eastern horizon; dawn was seeping across the land, pushing back the darkness.
That is what the Ben-Elim think they are, the light of the world, burning away all darkness before them. But they are not so perfect. Sometimes they burn what they touch.
The creeping march of the sun had not touched Drassil yet. Torches small as pinpricks guttered below Riv, marking the towers and walls of the fortress.
She felt better, somehow, for talking to Aphra, as if a weight had been lifted.
Be true to yourself, and do what you can do, that is what she said.
I will steer my own path, somehow. Stay true to what I am.
But what is that? What do I want to do, and what can I do?
So many thoughts rushed through her mind, great deeds of courage and justice. Setting wrongs right. But one thing kept on rising to the top of her mind, above all else.
A face.
She slipped off the branch and fell, enjoying the rush of wind in her face, dragging her hair like a banner behind her, and then she snapped her wings out, whooping for the joy of it as she sped through the air, diving and looping ever closer to Drassil. In heartbeats she was level with towers, weaving amongst them, until she reached her destination, hovering for a few moments as she caught her breath, and her courage.
And then she tapped quietly on a shuttered window.
Silence, then a groan, a bed creaking, the sound of flint and crackle of kindling as a torch was struck, then soft footfalls and the shutter was opening.
Bleda stood there, blinking, his hair sticking out at all angles, a blanket wrapped around his waist.
“Riv,” he said.
“Well spotted,” Riv said. Then, more hesitantly, “I wanted to talk with you.”
Bleda stepped back from the window, ushering her in.
She flew in, folding her wings tight and standing in his chamber. It was sparsely decorated, a bed, a desk and chairs, a chest.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Bleda said to her.
“I am leaving Drassil today,” she said.
“Why?” Bleda asked her.
“I am flying with Kol to Dun Seren, home of the Order of the Bright Star,” Riv told him. “Kol wishes to speak with Queen Ethlinn and Balur One-Eye, about the death of Israfil, about Kol’s succession as Lord Protector.”
“How much of the actual truth will be involved in that?” Bleda asked her.
Riv felt her face twist at that, a rush of shame and anger mixed.
“Very little, I imagine. The truth has felt like a fading, distant light to me lately,” Riv admitted. “So much is happening, is out of my control, and it is twisting me. I feel it is breaking me.”
“You mustn’t let it,” Bleda said fiercely. “You are strong, Riv, strong and good.”
Riv smiled at him, then. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I do,” Bleda said. “You are like the sun, burning the darkness away.”
Will I burn what I touch, too? Like the Ben-Elim.
“You are good, too,” Riv said, and she saw emotion twitch his face. They stood there long moments, locked in each other’s gaze. “I will… miss you, Bleda, while I am away,” Riv eventually said.
“I will miss you, too,” Bleda answered. The flickering torchlight painted the muscles of his naked torso in light and shadow.
Do what you can do, Aphra’s words rang in her mind. Love those worth loving.
Riv reached out and squeezed Bleda’s hand, then leaned and brushed her lips against his cheek. Bleda froze, not even blinking, but she could hear the beat of his heart, a drum in his chest. Riv leaned away and smiled at him, stroked his cheek.
“You are worth loving,” she whispered and then she leaned in again, kissed him on his lips this time.
Bleda didn’t push her away, or resist. Quite the opposite. After a shocked moment he pulled her into him harder, his hands rising to her waist.
She folded her wings about him.