With his knuckles knobbed about Thae’s belly and neck, Sleene chants among the lichen light. Breathing in the stink of his scented oils and wings, sourness fills my mouth, and anger buffets my centerself. He caresses Ratho’s rapion then meets my eyes.
Instantly, I palm my amulet, full of renewed power. It’s clear Ratho hasn’t told my secret yet, or I wouldn’t still be here. For now, I’ll relish my strength in Sleene’s presence!
Emboldened, I glare back at him and stroke Mirko. How can this be Govern Madgea’s brother?
The only witnesses to the Division this dark night are Sleene and the silent Carterea. Rapion huddle at their feet in this amph to the west of the Edge of Release. Despite my new power, my hand trembles on Mirko’s back. He catches me looking toward the Edge and rests his head against my knee.
Thae’s head flops and her narrow tongue slips from her mouth as Sleene’s chant ends. He lifts Thae’s body high so her wings open and cascade down his fleshy, pale arms. “Four-Winged Condor, grant remission for the loss of this rapion. Curb your condemnation and prevent your fire from striking your servant, who stands to humbly return this body to you.” Sleene’s little steps gyrate the bones, bells, and jars dangling from his waist. His black wings sway. The priest hazes in my burning tears.
There is no need for remission. Ratho did well to defend our village. It was Thae’s offering of herself that kept the cat from encroaching until Mirko and I arrived. Sleene’s putrid hands full of falsehood have no right to touch Thae!
Mirko hunches closer to me. I slide my hand down his wing, and a tear slips over my cheek. At least Thae’s centerself has flown already.
Spittle sprays from Sleene’s thick, blue-lined lips. The droplets glob on Thae’s back as he lowers her to his feet. His sleeves slide and meet Thae’s crumpled neck on the rock.
I grip the stone to keep from running to her. To caress her wings into place. To straighten her body.
Narrowing his black eyes to dark slits, Sleene holds out his hands in Madronian blessing. “I journey now to return this body to the Four-Winged Condor. I will continue to plead for remission for your failure to raise and protect this honored beast, created in the near image of the Four-Winged Condor.”
My hands ache.
“Return to Patrol,” he spits.
Cowed, the boys get up and make their way down the faint path. The rapion take wing and descend from the mesa through the air. Each dips a farewell to Thae’s body before soaring below the cliff face.
Sleene watches me follow the other patrollers then plucks the lichen strands and drops them into his burlap bag. The glow seeps through the spaces and lights the glee in his face. The look is exactly what would come to him when a boy failed his reading in catechism class. That sick thrill sat comfortably on his forehead before he struck a child, or before a R’tan was whipped by an acolyte and put in the box for mentioning the Creator. I huff. Govern Droslump has some concern for Ratho. In Sleene, I see only evil.
I walk behind Tinto, and Mirko flies high. He flaps his goodbye to Thae then loops back to me. With a heavy weight, he lands on my shoulder, hardly fitting any longer, and chitters uneasily.
“Yes,” I whisper. Descending the rocky slope in the dark mist, we drop from Sleene’s sight.
Mirko weaves a song that I have come to know means I must hesitate. Reaching one carved stair, I sit on the edge. To stall, I remove my boot and check my bandage. The numbing ointment is weak, and the cut pulses, but my wound doesn’t appear to seep though it’s hard to see for certain in the darkness.
I pull my boot back on. A gust blasts down the pathway and shifts my hair and Mirko’s feathers. The last boy, Dalen, walks by me, continuing to the desert floor. His rapion glides below view.
Mirko chortles. I stand and shift the bola looped through my belt.
My rapion leaps off of me, his form joining the blackness of the clouded night. Only an occasional ruffle of feathers betrays his ascent.
A nerve twitches in my thumb tucked into my fist, matching the thick pulse in my ankle. Against my back, the mesa swoops another draft over me.
Mirko calls from above as he circles the emptiness.
I wipe my wet upper lip on my shoulder and climb back to the Amph of Division. One of Sleene’s garment bells shines on the stone next to the only remaining, fading lichen. I stomp on the accent bell, crushing the weak metal and killing the tinkle that tries to escape.
With the lichen’s faint glow, I follow Mirko to the Amph’s western edge. There! Another pathway leaves the performance platform on the opposite side from where the patrollers descended. In the distance over my shoulder, the freestanding pillar by the Edge of Release is a haunting shape. I jerk my eyes from it.
Mirko flaps before me. “What?” I ask.
He whistles once and flaps left. Twice, and he moves to the right. He releases descending notes and drops, and ascending ones and rises. Instructions. “I understand!”
He sings his joy then drops the notes. I hurry down the trail, skidding and sliding, before I can get my feet under me. Mirko whistles caution, and I slow, making my feet find purchase before taking the next step.
Just before reaching the sand, I slip once more and somersault onto the desert. Oof. I stop with a thud. “I’m all right,” I whisper.
Mirko whistles once. I climb to my feet, shaking the grit from my twists, and follow his lead away from the mesa. Soon, I find him perched between two boulders. He looks at the cleft between them.
“In there?”
He bobs his head. I shimmy down through the opening and discover a tight, sandstone canyon. Above, Mirko wings back and forth over the crack. He whistles for me to follow, and I do, with the lichen held out before me.
My rapion leads me into the darkness. From the sky, I’m guessing he’s tracked Sleene, and returns to quietly relay where I should go. With the canyon’s twisting branches and jutting corners, there’s no way I could find the priest on my own.
There are times the stone arches over me, and I feel desperately alone, but as soon as I emerge below an opening, Mirko is there to direct me farther, sometimes flapping at my side before returning to the sky. He keeps me moving, climbing up and down.
My legs begin to shudder; my ankle wound burns. I’m still weak from dragging Ratho back to the mesa. With the thought of his name my centerself once again worries over whether he will keep my secret. Yet, right now, I know there’s a more urgent danger from Sleene. All inside and out of me quivers like the legs of an early born goat.
Mirko’s soft whistle conveys greater urgency as I stumble into a covered passage. Smoke weights the air. Ahead there is light and sound; maybe just around the corner? It must be Sleene. I creep forward to look, but instead, Mirko swoops out of an adjacent passage. He chitters for me to follow him and slips out of sight, his feathers rustling against stone.
I crawl up into the little tunnel and worm higher. Dust tickles my nose, while my poncho, trousers, and fat amulet scruff against the rock. It is like a hiding hole I once had back home. When we were little, playing together, Ratho never found me snaked inside the tunnel.
I reach forward one more arm’s length and brush against Mirko’s tail. After scrunching into a small hollow that opens wide to the starry sky, I sit up and dust off my hands.
Mirko points with his beak to a jagged crack. The fissure opens to a large cavern, likely near where I was standing a moment ago. Inside the room, the red walls waver, and the stone curves and shrinks up the winding shaft. I shake my head; it is only the play of firelight that causes the room to ripple.
Mirko tugs the neck of my poncho closer. I stretch to see what he has. Beyond the roaring fire pit, over to the side, is a jutting slate where Thae is splayed. Sleene sways before her.