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In the dark of the night, the city was cold and quiet. The white marble buildings stood quiet and empty, glittering in the moonlight. The only breathing thing inhabiting the city was running for his life.
As his feet flew over the pavement, the man looked behind him. The action agitated his bleeding back, and he bit back a cry of pain before lurching between two buildings and making his way through the alleyways. He stumbled to the end, turning right and left countless times before coming to an agonizing halt. Gasping for breath, the man sank to his knees, wincing as the shock went up his knees and to his back. Sweat dripped down his finely boned face, and his long black hair hung in bloody strands.
Looking about himself, he sighed with weariness and relief. There would be no finding him for now. He had wandered deep into the maze of alleyways of the abandoned city. He looked down at the ground. His golden eyes narrowed at the trail of blood he left. Well, said the cynical part of him, at least they won’t find me immediately.
But that didn’t matter. If he couldn’t get the two gaping wounds on his back to stop bleeding, he’d be dead within an hour.
He fell wearily onto his bare stomach, too tired to wince as the impact jarred his back. He pulled his hair and tattered remains of his tunic away from his back, wincing as both caught at his jagged flesh. The cool night air soothed his wounds, but the blood still gushed out. He gingerly lifted an arm before letting it drop again, the golden bangle about his bicep clanking as it hit the stone. Just the simple act of raising his hand had pulled at his torn back muscles.
Muttering a few words under his breath, he concentrated with his eyes shut. The two long gashes on his back ran parallel to his spine from his shoulder blades to his lower back. For a while, nothing happened. Then, as his muttering ceased, his flesh began to knit itself back together. He cried out in pain, his voice hoarse with agony, but made no move. He dug his teeth into his lower lip as the skin closed together again. The wounds closed, but two long, angry red scars remained. He back was still bloody, but the bleeding had stopped. He gingerly sat up, trying not to aggravate his back. It was healed, but there was still pain.
It needs to be done now…
Leaning his weak back against the cool marble of a building, the man pulled out a fine chain from his breeches and held it up in the moonlight. The chain was linked together with small, violet-silver boxes, and would fit comfortably around his neck. Greed overcame his features. Once he made it, there’d be no stopping him.
Grinning wickedly, the man spat blood from his mouth before forcing a tear from his eye. The tear slowly rolled down his filthy, bloody face, gathering blood as it traversed its path.
Before the tear could fall from his sharp jaw line, the man held up a thin hand, muttering a word under his breath again. The tear halted in its tracks, quivering for a moment. Then the bloody tear lifted off his face and hung suspended by magic in midair. The man grinned again. He reached out with his other hand and drew a glowing rune into the air before making a crushing movement with his hand. The tear drop shimmered and roiled before hardening into the likeness of a faceted diamond. The tear was now harder than any known substance, and hopefully indestructible. It was clear like glass, but was marred by several red streaks caused by the blood.
With a small movement, the man plucked it from the air as he would a fruit from a tree and rolled it around his fingers, marveling at it. Planning.
“Yes, you’ll do perfectly,” he murmured. “Just a little bit of this…”
He pressed the tiny gem to his chest, just above his heart. The gem cut into his skin, drawing blood. Despite this, the man employed one long finger to the task of pushing it even deeper. Blood rushed about the gem, engulfing it in its warmth and power.
The power that boiled in the man’s blood welcomed it like a lover, caressing and stroking it. It probed about the outsides, testing, making sure that it was a suitable vessel. Finally satisfied, the power let out a little sigh of contentment through the man’s mouth, and allowed itself to be absorbed into the tiny gem. The man gasped as he felt his power leave him. It felt as if the very life was being sucked out of him quickly and painfully. Groaning, the man held the gem in his blood for several moments, then quickly letting it drop into his quivering, bloody palm. Gasping for breath, the man closed the hole in his flesh with a quick word. He had transferred most of his power into this gem, and left scant enough for himself. He could perhaps perform one last major spell, but then he would be completely drained of power. And without his power, he’d soon die.
Breathing deeply, the man clasped the gem onto the necklace, securing it with power he momentarily drew from the gem. He stared at his masterpiece for what seemed like eternity before gently replacing it in his breeches. He fingers lingered over it hungrily before he drew his hand out.
Bracing himself against the white, blood-smeared building, he stood up wobbily. He tried to stand, but found it very hard to balance. Although he was running fine earlier, he had done so awkwardly, leaning forward in an almost crouch like run to maintain balance. But now, just standing, was a chore in and of itself. Without his beautiful wings at his back, he was unbalanced and incomplete. But his wings were gone, torn viciously from his back with no regard to his pain.
He stumbled a little on the first step, but managed to keep his footing. Balance slightly restored as he moved, he went back out the way he had come, following his own trail of blood as a guide.
At his brisk pace, he was soon out of the shelter of the buildings and out in the open streets of the white city. As he walked, he found himself looking up into the sky. The full moon stared back at him indifferently, and the stars ceased singing for him.
“So you have abandoned me as well,” he snarled angrily. The stars remained cold and apathetic to him. Glaring at them bitterly, he did not notice the shadow flying toward him from out of the sky.
Before the shadow landed, however, he turned with a furious, resigned look on his face. He silently watched as the figure advanced before landing before him. He blinked. It was only Luneau, Goddess of the moon.
“You know they are out looking for you, Aväris,” Luneau said quietly as she landed. Her great white and silver wings tucked themselves against her back. Aväris’s eyes watched her wings with slight maniacal hunger. He dragged his eyes away and met Luneau’s dark eyes with his own gold ones.
“Of course I know,” he replied, a cynical smile making its way onto his weary face. “Why else would I be in this god forsaken city?” The corners of his mouth turned up a little at his joke, but his eyes remained hard.
Luneau tilted her head to the side, silver hair cascading to the side with the movement. She advanced on him, ignoring the way he tensed, and stopped a pace away. She studied his wan face, his torn clothes, and his bloody face and hair.
“I’m surprised you made it this far looking as you do,” she murmured. Her hand lifted and made as if to touch him, but Luneau dropped her hand when Aväris drew away. “I see they have stripped you of your wings.”
Aväris’s mouth hardened as he glared at the beautiful goddess.
“Quite with the small talk, woman,” he snapped, ignoring the hurt flash across her face. “Do what you’ve come here to do. Kill me.” He looked up, exposing his throat to her. Expectantly waiting for small hands to wrap themselves around his throat, he was startled to feel Luneau press herself against him in an embrace. Aväris sighed and lifted his arms reluctantly to return the gesture. They stood like this for several moments, until Aväris began to get impatient. He tried to pull away, but found he couldn’t. The harder he pulled, the tighter Luneau held him in her frail arms.
“Luneau,” he hissed warningly. “Let go. I have to—“
“No,” Luneau said sullenly. “I love you, but you’ve done wrong. You can’t be let loose.”
Quiet anger settled over Aväris’s face. Acceptance of his next act was necessary, and only the thought of his goal gave him the strength for what he was about to do.
“I’m sorry, Luneau,” Aväris said regretfully. He felt the goddess stiffen, but before she could reply, Aväris brought back a bloody arm and, bracing his fingers, drove his pale hand right into Luneau’s heart. The could feel the bone splinter and the muscle tear, but he relentlessly propelled his arm forward until he could push it no further. Aväris could see his arm projecting from the woman’s back, covered in blood and strings of gore.
Luneau let out a strangled sound before sagging against Aväris. He made a face and started to pull his arm out. Even as the limp body fell to the ground, a shriek ripped across the entire world. It was a shriek of anger, pain, and danger. So they knew.
He stared down at the body as blood pooled on the street. Luneau’s open eyes stared lifelessly at him, almost accusingly. Aväris snorted.
All of a sudden, the world went red. Startled, Aväris looked up at the moon. The moon had turned a dreadful blood red. Cracks formed along its pockmarked surface, deepening and widening as each moment passed by. Soon giant chasms riddled the moon’s surface, and chunks of the moon began to fall.
Aväris, alarmed and afraid, shot a glare at the dead woman. Her body had hardened and turned to stone, and was now falling apart as well.
“Goddess of the moon indeed,” Aväris muttered. As the goddess died, so did her counterpart. Now the others would know his location. The fool woman had no doubt told them of her destination. Wonderful.
Shaking his arm to get the gore off, Aväris realized he was indeed doomed. He was in no condition to keep running. Unless…
Aväris approached the goddess’s body. He dropped into a crouch, careful not to step in the blood. His hand reached out to touch the woman’s wings. The feathers were soft to the touch. The muscles underneath were just beginning to stiffen. Wonderful.
Because her wings were gifts of the gods, they were not of Luneau’s body. The gods had merely constructed them and attached them to the woman’s back with magic. The wings wouldn’t decay as quickly as the rest of her body.
Grinning, Aväris set to work.
*
An agonizing hour later, Aväris shakily stood. The weight at his back, so familiar and comforting, had returned, and he welcomed the wonderful sensation. However, his back felt like it was about to be torn in half. Blood oozed down his back and down his legs in rivulets.
Aväris stretched out his new wings. The movement brought no familiar pleasure, only pain. Well, that was to be expected. He bit back a cry of pain. The wings were attached to his back, muscles and all, but Aväris did not have enough power to seal the wounds. The amulet in his breeches had power, yes, but that was for another time. A more crucial time.
Grinning a smidge maniacally, Aväris lurched forward, keeping his wings close. Stretching them out only pained him, and he needed to save his energy. He advanced toward the city again, but this time six shadows approached. It was them. Damnit. Aväris hissed and dropped into a crouch. The shadows circled around him, surrounding him, before landing.
They were the others. The gods and goddesses of Aleah’Cim. Minus the one he had killed of course. That brought a grim smile to his pale face.
“What are you grinning about, you abominable murderer?” spat one. It was Cyric, god of death.
“Isn’t that a little ironic?” Aväris asked. “Coming from you, that is.” His mouth crooked into a cheeky smile.
“What are you doing, boy?” asked Lyra. Her voice was flat, as if she was bored. Trust the goddess of creation to be bored. And was it necessary to call him boy? He had been around for a millennium.
In answer, Aväris fell to his hands and knees, raising a bloody fist. The dried blood caked on his hand cracked with the motion.
“Why do you wear Luneau’s wings?” Aväris didn’t need to look up to know it was Rea. Her raspy voice was very distinctive. Of course, her voice didn’t sound the best at night when she was the goddess of the sun. “They are not becoming of you.”
Aväris rolled his eyes. The others were so oblivious of his actions. Couldn’t they see what he was doing?
Aväris’s fist fell with force, landing on the pavement. The blow created a small crate a hand span deep. Something in his hand gave way, and Aväris felt like his body would simply fall apart. There was so much pain. But… He pulled out his fist anyway, bringing it up for another blow.
However, his arm was grasped from behind and twisted around to his back, jostling his tender wings. Aväris grunted in pain, craning his neck to see his attacker. The red light from the broken moon shone on blonde hair. Ah. Maar. God of song.
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” growled Maar. “But you need to pay for your deeds.”
Aväris snorted. This little mockingbird thought to restrain him? He needed to stick to the singing.
With no effort at all, Aväris wrenched himself free from the golden-haired god. His good hand swung around in a fist and met Maar’s face with a satisfying crack. Maar shouted and stumbled back, clutching his shattered jaw. The others moved angrily. But they did not approach.
Aväris ignored the figures for a moment and dropped to his knees. Using his good hand, he pounded at the pavement. Within three blows seven broken knuckles, there was a hole one hand span deep and wide enough to admit a man with wings. At the bottom of the hole was not water, dirt or stone. It was open air. Cool night air rushed through the hole. The world below was awash in red light, courtesty of Aväris. Although he couldn’t hear it, Aväris was certain the silly inhabitants of the world below were panicking as their world went red. Aväris grinned. There were shouts now, and the others advanced on him.
With a dry chuckle of triumph, Aväris launched himself through the hole head-first, crying out as his wings caught on jagged shards of stone. He wriggled himself through, pausing only to kick at the fool who grabbed his ankle, thinking to restrain him.
Once through, Aväris let himself freefall for a time, dropping through the air like a stone. As the wind rushed past him, Aväris wrapped himself in his wings, keeping himself warm and keeping his wings unharmed.
As he neared the ground, he slowly opened his wings, slowing his descent. The wind caught at his wings, tearing them open to stretch out fully before he was ready. The force nearly tore out his wings. Aväris let out a strangled groan before pulling his wings in and dropping to the ground.
He lost consciousness for a moment. He was thrust back into reality as branches tore at his body and wings. The branches left deep scratches and tore out many of his feathers. He fell through the thick branches before falling to the ground in a bloody heap.
He laid there for a moment, categorizing his pains. The dirt beneath his fingers was a foreign feeling. There was no dirt in Aleah’Cim. No dirt to dig into his wounds, and no dirt to stifle his breathing.
Aväris slowly sat up. The world spun crazily for several minutes. He felt the violent urge to be sick, but he repressed it. The spinning soon stopped, and then Aväris was left only with his pain.
His wings were shredded beyond use. They were broken, barely even attached to his back. His back felt as if it were underwater. Must be the blood. He left arm was twisted around at an odd angle, and his left ankle was swollen and red. Blood dripped down the side of his face in several places.
He put his right hand against a tree, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm. The tree supported Aväris as he stood, trembling like a leaf. His wings, all bloodied and torn, hung to the ground. The man turned his head slightly to spit out eight broken teeth before baring his bloody teeth in a frightful snarl. No matter the pain, he needed to finish what he had to set out to do. Even though the fallen man could feel his life fading, he drove himself forward at a relentless pace. His limp, caused by his ankle, made walking difficult, but Aväris ignored the pain. He would find rest after he found a frae.
Fortunately for him, Aväris could smell the distinct scent of fraes. That meant a colony was nearby; near enough, hopefully, to reach before he bled to death. Had Aväris been able to walk normally, he would have reached the colony before the hour was up. But, as it was, Aväris could only limp slowly towards the fraes.
As he walked, Aväris stumbled often. The only light came from the stars above; the moon had crumbled away completely after Aväris left Reah. The dim light did little to help Aväris’s sight, though as a flihva, he naturally had much better eyesight than even an eagle.
Soon the forest began to brighten.
“Day already?” Aväris muttered. “I was certain I had some time still…” Aväris tailed off as he came to a shaky stop. His face lifted to the heavens, his jaw dropping for a moment in horrified shock. He quickly regained his composure, continuing on and muttering to himself.
“Should have known…” Mutter, mutter. “Wouldn’t have let Aleah’Cim go without a moon…” Mutter, mutter. “Who the hell did they choose, anyway?”
The moon shone down on him brightly, almost mocking him. Aväris fancied he could hear laughter following him as he made his broken way to the frae colony.
Soon daylight began to light the world around him, and Aväris could finally study the forest around him. The trees were bent and twisted, their bark a mixture of gray and white splotches. Their branches twisted toward the sky, or else littered the forest floor. There was not a leaf in sight.
His lip curled in distaste. What kind of forest was this? Although Aväris was a flihva of power, he knew little of Aleah’Cim. Geography and flora were a mystery to him. How this forest had reached its current state was a mystery.
As he walked, Aväris’s swollen foot would catch on a gnarled root or dead branch, and the flihva would fall into an ungraceful, cursing heap of bloody feathers. He would then lie there for a painful moment before pushing himself up. This often happened likewise with his wings. His wings snagged on branches, causing Aväris to jerk back in his steps, swearing as his ragged wings pulled at the jagged wounds on his back. The brief flight down to Aleah’Cim had greatly taxed him. The wings he stole from Luneau’s dead body were sewn on with what little magic he had left, but were now being pulled apart by more natural means. At the moment, the white and silver wings were matted with dirt and blood, attached to his back by thin tendrils of muscle and flesh.
Aväris stopped in his tracks, turning his head to consider his wings. They were nothing but hindrances now, so why keep them? With that thought, Aväris grimly set to the task of ripping his wings out. Again.
Firmly gripping one wing in his right hand, Aväris grimaced before employing his strength to rip it out. Although it did not hurt as much as his first wings had, the pain still brought him to his knees. A hoarse cry tore from his throat, and Aväris kneeled there panting. He tossed aside the wing; in his weakened state, the bloody appendage did not go far.
Aväris glared at it angrily, wishing the thing would go up in flames. The agonizing pain burned down his back, and fresh blood seeped out from the wounds. It seemed his back would never stop bleeding.
Before he lost the energy and courage, Aväris leaned against a tree and tore off his other wing. By this point, his back was numb. There was no more pain, but Aväris could tell that he was losing a lot of blood.
With a deep breath, Aväris stood again, pushing himself forward. The trees began to thin, eliciting a relieved sigh from Aväris parched lips.
The half dead flihva smiled weakly. Here it was. The frae colony.
Several fraes milled about, going about their morning chores. The sun was just beginning to poke fingers over the horizon, heralding the beginning of a new day. The dawn light made their features indistinguishable, but Aväris knew what they looked like. Fraes were tall, with vivid eye colors. Their hair tended to be dark, or red. The fraes spent long days under the sun, tanning their skin to a dark bronze. Fraes were very clever, and were the most talented hominids in the realm. They would carry his legend. The would carry his amulet.
“Vreta?”
Aväris turned toward the voice. It was a female frae, staring at him with horrified fascination. He could only imagine what he looked like.
Aväris held up his hands in the universal friendly gesture, trying to soothe the frae. The frae would have none of it. She backed away, mouth working to form more words. Aväris held up one mangled hand, letting the other drift toward his breeches. The frae’s emerald eyes instantly homed in on the movement. Aväris tried to smile, but kept his lips closed. His bloody teeth would only frighten the frae more.
His hand worked into the pouch of his breeches, fingering the amulet before withdrawing his hand and bringing out the amulet. He held it out to the frae, making her flinch. But her eyes were instantly riveted on the beautiful gem, and she stared at it, enthralled. Aväris’s gaze drew down to the frae’s distended belly. She was pregnant. Wonderful.
The frae hesitantly took the amulet from Aväris’s hand, looking like a doe caught in a circle of hunters. Aväris grinned before lurching forward and falling to his knees. The frae blanched, but did not move. Aväris could feel it. Death was coming at him with its skeletal fingers, clawing its way to grasp Aväris’s soul. But Cyric wouldn’t have him just yet.
Aväris reached up with his good hand and lightly touched the frae on the brow. The frae trembled, but stood her ground. Her shining eyes locked on his dimming ones.
“Remember,” Aväris whispered to her. The frae shut her eyes as a torrent of memories flooded her mind from Aväris’s hand. He forced the memories of the night’s events into her mind, etching it into her memory so she would never forget.
Aväris grinned. That was it. Death had him now, it its clutches, but Aväris did not struggle this time. Cyric’s triumphant laughter rang throughout Aväris’s mind. Aväris didn’t care. He felt his body fall to the ground, eyes staring at the frae’s feet. He didn’t feel the jarring of the impact, or the crunch of his hand as it was crushed between his body and the ground.
His sight faded; in the distance, he could hear the frae gasp. But it was too late. He was going, gone, soul abandoning the body it had inhabited for so long. Cyric’s maniacal laughter could be heard, but the soul wriggled about in the air, invisible to all eyes. Cyric’s fingers crept about the golden orb of soul, intending to pull it into the abyss of death. But the soul writhed, wrenching its corporeal self out of Cyric’s grip. It ignored the hiss of anger that followed it, intent only on the pregnant frae in front of it. Launching itself into the woman’s body, the soul wriggled through blood and organs and veins, struggling toward the forming fetus.
The soul shoved aside the soul already inhabiting the fetus, only to be shoved back. The two souls circled each other before settling down in the baby’s body, coming to a mutual agreement. They settled themselves into a state of discordant harmony.
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