Wingborn (3 page)

“That’s
because you won’t have to suffer any of it,” she growled, stomping
off. Her uncle wouldn’t turn her away if she offered to muck out
horsat stalls. The world didn’t stop just because the countess had
arrived.

“Wherever you
roam, there I shall be,” Cumulo told her, gliding overhead. “We’ll
suffer it together and then we’ll come home. At least you won’t be
relegated to some gods-forsaken shed, as I shall be.” He landed in
front of her, shuffling his wings into place. “It will be dirty,
have rats and be rampant with disease. Scurf will be the least of
my problems.”

Her lips twitched at his disgruntlement.
“
Look on the happier
side of this tragic tale, Cue,
”
she mocked.
“
It
’
ll be
an adventure. And you might not get feather mites.
”
Ducking a swipe from his wing,
she laughed and darted into the barn.

16
^th
Gale

“HAVE YOU HEARD
the latest?”

Mhysra rolled away from the window where
she
’
d watched Wrentheria
become a speck, a valley, then a mountain, until it was finally
shrouded by clouds. Home was out of reach now.

“
Not
still moping, are you?” Slapping a newspaper on the bed, Derrain
fra Canlen, an
Illuminai
midshipman she’d known since he was a cabin boy, jumped up
to join her on the top bunk
.

Her mother hadn
’
t said anything when Mhysra chose to stay with the
crew rather than in the state rooms set aside for important guests
and family. Derrain wasn
’
t her only friend amongst the younger crewmembers
and right now she needed friendly voices around her.

“Anyone alive
in there?” Derrain rapped her forehead with his knuckles.

“Sapskull.”
Catching him off-guard with a swipe of her leg, she knocked him off
the bed.

A
seasoned skysailor, Derrain twisted, landed on his toes and bounded
up again.
“Nice
try.”

Knowing she
’
d never get rid of him, she picked up the
newspaper.
“
What have I
missed?
”

Derrain said nothing, waiting while her eyes
scanned the worn print. The corners of the four-sheet were
dog-eared and the ink was smudged after passing through many eager
hands. The paper crackled as she read the headline and tightened
her grip.

Eyes wide, she checked the date: thirteen
days old. Thirteen days and she hadn
’
t known. Hadn
’
t even heard a rumour.

“Gods,” she
whispered.

Grinning, Derrain swayed in excitement.
“
Isn
’
t it great?
”

She motioned for him to be quiet, scanning
the words over and over, fearing that she
’
d read something wrong. She
hadn
’
t. The words
remained the same. For the first time in over a hundred years, the
Flying Corps were relaxing their rules. Women, banned for some
arcane reason no one could remember, were allowed to fly again. To
protect the skies and mountains from threats both winged and
grounded. It wasn
’
t just
messengers and pyrefliers admitting women again, but the best of
them all: the Rift Riders.

“
Ai
Maegla,” Mhysra breathed. “Tell me this isn’
t a joke,
Derry.
”

“
No
joke,” he vowed solemnly. “Heirayk knows they haven’
t any
choice.
”

Taking a shuddering breath to still the
fever dancing through her veins, Mhysra frowned.
“
What do you mean?
”

Derrain
’
s expression was grim as he tapped the story below
the headline. Fresh losses. Riders, miryhls, messengers, doelyn,
bullwings, horsats, pyreflies and -fliers, artillerymen. Every
aspect of the Corps was suffering. Not just skirmishes, but attacks
on bases, selection schools, farms, stables and eyries. Nothing
connected to the defence of the Greater West had been spared, and
the results were costly.

“They can’t
afford to keep women out. Not after Feather Frost.”

Her excitement turned numb.
“
Feather Frost was a year ago. They
said it was because the winter was so hard. They said –
”

“
They
lied,” Derrain interrupted grimly. His uncle had been a bullwing
artilleryman stationed at Feather Frost. “They lied to the press,
the world, even the families, because they didn’
t want
everyone to know what it meant.
”

“
What
does it mean?” she asked,
head spinning with the implication
that things had grown so bad the Corps were willing to admit women
again. They
’
d been
adamantly opposed to it for so long.

“
They’
re scared. The losses are coming too fast and
they can
’
t replenish
them with a shrinking intake of boys every year.
”

“Gods.” She
scanned the article again, turning the page and searching for more
amongst the gossip, the politics and the pointless. Nothing, just
two short articles to change her life.

“Well?”
Derrain asked, when she finally folded the paper and met his
dancing dark eyes.

Mhysra raised her eyebrows, a move which he
mimicked, and smiled.
“
Try and stop me.
”

“OH, MY,” MHYSRA
said, entering the hull eyries with her hands in her
pockets, purposefully ignoring her miryhl’s dejected stance
.
“
Look at all this
space.
”

Cumulo huffed and shuffled his wings.
“
I
a
m making the most of my luxury. I doubt
I
’
ll see such
accommodations again for a long while.
”

She patted his beak consolingly. It was her
fault he had to put up with things like this. Well, partly her
fault. If they weren
’
t
Wingborn he
’
d still be
at Wrentheria, being trained for his future life. At just sixteen,
however, he
’d
have
another two years to finish growing first. Or longer, since male
miryhls were usually allowed to mature until twenty before they
were sent to the life-changing Choice and paired for life with just
one Rider.

Being Wingborn, Cumulo
’
s development matched hers, making him
advanced for his age, but, for all the closeness of their bond, she
was no compensation for his own kind. It was because he was bonded
to her that he suffered these moments of isolation. It would have
been different if she were a boy; they
’
d have been sent to Aquila as soon as they were fit
enough to fly. Because she was a girl, though, her miryhl was
condemned to live away from his own kind, exiled for things not of
his making. Or so they
’
d
always thought.

“Are you
looking forward to seeing Nimbys again?” she asked, sitting on the
perch opposite his. The eyrie was designed for five miryhls to
roost in comfort, or as many as ten in a pinch. With only one
occupant, no matter how big and impressive he might be, it looked
empty, despite most of it being used as an overflow storeroom, with
feed bins and pieces of bullwing tack lying carelessly around.

Cumulo shrugged, a mannerism picked up from
humans.
“
The city is
beautiful enough, but the public eyries
…”
He didn
’
t finish – he didn
’
t need to: they were filthy, neglected and rarely
used. Why should they be anything else when Nimbys was home to the
Eastern Flying Corps
’
headquarters?

To be so close to the heart of things and
yet still be excluded had always chafed them. Their trips to the
city had always been just shy of torment: she was trapped, he was
lonely. Until now.

“How would you
like to change your life, Cue?”

He looked at her with deep gold eyes,
crackled his beak and tilted his head.
“
Something
’
s happened.
”
When she answered him with a sly smile, the
feathers on his head and cheeks rose eagerly.
“
Tell me.
”

“Fancy
becoming a Rift Rider?”

Nimbys, Imercian

6
^th
Blizzard

T
HE FLYING CORPS
’
headquarters in Nimbys was an uninspiring
sight. It looked like so many other civic buildings in the city –
the Records Office, the City Hall, the People
’
s Infirmary. It was tall, clean, rigid
and, unlike the others, surprisingly large as it sprawled across
the ridge; a rarity in a city where space was at a premium. Then
again it was built several hundred feet above the others, so it
could afford to spread out.

As Mhysra topped the rise and got her first
proper look at it all, she felt both underwhelmed and intimidated
all at the same time. True, the building didn
’
t look like much, but it represented
everything she cared about. Hopes, dreams, disappointments,
despair, honour, courage, power
…
the list went on. Her legs felt heavier with every
step, and that had nothing to do with the long, winding walk up
from the city.

“
I
can’
t do this,
”
she muttered, her strides getting shorter and slower. Arriving at a
fork in the path, she ducked cowardly off to the left.

If the headquarters building was
uninspiring, the one she faced now was just disappointing. It
looked like a giant barn perched on the edge of a cliff. Which was
what it was. Except that it wasn
’
t home to any ordinary form of livestock.

With each step towards the barn, Mhysra felt
lighter until she was practically bouncing. Roof hatches were
propped open around the highest level, letting in the bright winter
sun and letting out high-pitched shrieks, mutters and screams.
Everyday sounds from a miryhl eyrie.

Grinning, she headed for the door and almost
collided with the man coming out of it. Liquid sloshed from the
bucket in his hand, releasing the unpleasant odour of blood. Mhysra
leapt back with a yelp, barely saving her skirt from a soaking. The
man
’
s boots were not so
lucky.

He glared at her.
“Can’
t you read?
”

Startled by the harsh tone, Mhysra blinked.
She
’
d only spent eight
days in Nimbys but had already fallen into the habit of being
treated like a lady. No one had dared speak so sharply to her since
she
’
d left the
Lowlands.

“There.” He
jabbed a callused finger at the sign on the wall. “Shift them big
eyes there and look close.”

“
Rift Rider property. Keep out! Civilian access by
appointment only
,” she
read aloud, feeling her heart sink again. Gods, she hated this
city.

“Got an
appointment, have you?” asked the man, smirking.

Nettled, Mhysra drew herself up to her full
height, putting them eye to eye.
“
My brother is a Rift Rider,
”
she announced, with all the ceremony she
normally despised.

The man rubbed his stubbly chin with a hint
of uncertainty, assessing the cut of her clothes. Skirts and
dresses were not her favourite attire, but she had to admit that in
this city they had their advantages.

“
What’
s his name?
”
he demanded, not prepared to admit defeat just
yet.

“Kilai
Kilpapan.”

The man wrinkled his nose.
“
Kilai?
”
he repeated, scratching his head.
“
Don
’
t know a Kilai. You sure he
’
s meant to be meeting you?
”

“
Hardly.” Mhysra chuckled. “He’
s at
Aquila.
”

Her adversary scowled.
“
What you doing looking for him here
then?
”
he demanded,
since Aquila was half the Overworld away.

“
I
wasn’
t,
”
Mhysra
told him, trying not to laugh.
“
And I never said I was.
”

Any hint of deference vanished as he dropped
his bucket and folded his arms across his skinny chest, blocking
the door.
“
Then what you
wasting my time for? Civilian access
by
appointment
only
.
”
He jabbed his
finger at the relevant words.

Frustrated, Mhysra balled her hands in her
skirts.
“
I
don
’
t want
access.
”
Since she
clearly wasn
’
t going to
get it.
“
I just wanted
to look.
”
She edged a
little closer and tried the winsome smile that so often worked for
her older sister.
“
Please?
”

The man shuffled his feet, uncomfortable
with her increasing proximity. Mhysra debated whether or not to bat
her eyelashes. Deciding that it might be too much, she sidled
forwards again, backing the man ever so slowly through the doors
and into the shadows beyond.

A demanding shriek shattered the gloom,
making them both jump.

“
No!”
the man suddenly shouted, startling her into stepping back.
“I’
m too busy to watch over the likes of you. Think
you
’
re the first to come
sniffing
‘
round here,
wanting a gander? Ever since that fool proclamation I
’
ve been booting them out ten times
a day. Get along with you. This ain
’
t no place for bored little ladies.
”
Snatching up his bucket, he
stepped into the eyries and slammed the door in her face.