Four
Cumulo
AT FIRST GLANCE there didn’t seem to be much wrong with the city eyries. The front section was a little shabby, perhaps, but it was spotlessly clean and the bedding smelled fresh. Bright-eyed horsat heads bobbed over the top of almost every door, their odd bat-like ears swivelling to follow every sound. This part of the eyries was always busy, with messengers coming and going, and stablehands scurrying to keep the large stalls clean.
Weaving between the frantic activity, Mhysra headed for a familiar horsat head. Scratching Ripple’s muzzle, she peered over the door to check that all was well. The stone walls may have been old, but the stall was big enough for the horsat to lie down in, as well as wide and high enough for the beast to flex its large, leathery wings.
Satisfied, Mhysra snitched an apple from a nearby bucket and waited while the nakhound pup and horsat exchanged a sniff of noses.
“Good boy, Rip,” Mhysra said, once the pup was done and, handing the stallion the apple, she took the path that skirted the second section of the eyries.
Here the walls were blackened and scorched, looking rough and ready where newer sections had been patched in. Which was not unusual for a pyrefly roost. Nor was the heavily locked door. Angry screeches sounded from inside, making the puppy cringe, but Mhysra walked on unconcerned. Pyreflies were always screaming about something. It was hard to believe that they had started from the same place as the placid, reliable horsats, mixing an equine body with bat ears and wings.
Pyreflies had an added extra, though – dragon blood. Thanks to that, the flying horses had talons instead of hooves and the ability to breathe fire. They were also foul-tempered and moderately intelligent – just enough to make them cunning and spiteful. Mhysra was not fond of the creatures, but her cousin Mherrin loved them. To each their own.
Rubbing the pup comfortingly on the head, Mhysra left the pyreflies behind for the third and final section of the eyries. Unlike the busy horsat stables or the locked pyrefly roost, this area was deserted and filthy. There were holes in the roof, the walls were a badly maintained mixture of stone and rotten timber, and there were rat droppings on the floor. Not to mention the mess that had been left behind by roosting pigeons. The far corner was the only dry portion left and it was mostly being used as a store room.
A large perch had also been squeezed into the space, propped up on grain barrels, with hay bales stacked behind to block out the worst of the drafts. It was here that Cumulo sat hunched, forlorn and shivering.
Despite the dowdy surroundings, he was still an impressive sight. Almost fully grown, the young miryhl was a conker-coloured giant with hints of gold in his glorious feathers. When stretched to his full height he towered above Mhysra to almost eight feet, and when he opened those magnificent wings they spread for twenty feet or more. In all, he was a very fine example of the miryhl breed.
Not to mention Wingborn, which made him bigger, bolder, brasher and braver than all the rest. And he was hers, just as she was his.
The puppy barked, squirming to get down, so Mhysra let it flap its ungainly way to the ground. By the time it was racing off to explore the nearest rat hole, Cumulo was watching her.
“Merry Midwinter, Cue.”
He hunched his wings. “What’s merry about it?” His voice was hoarse, rough-edged from breathing the damp, cold air. Back home in Wrentheria the eyries were large and spacious, filled with the comforting warmth of more than thirty miryhls. Here Cumulo was completely alone. A pang of guilt shot through her, but thankfully, that was all about to change.
“You’re a mess, Cue.” The ground around his perch was littered with scurf and feathers. His golden eyes were dull and the skin around his beak, eyes and talons looked cracked and sore. Aunt Mhylla would have her hide for letting him get into such a state, but if they’d been at Wrentheria he never would have ended up like this. Cumulo was big, brash and vain, but without company he’d given up.
He sniffed at her rudeness. “I saw your cousin. He seemed cheerful.”
“Mherrin always is.” Cumulo had always liked Mherrin. No doubt they’d enjoyed a nice long chat about her, Wrentheria and the city.
“He brought you a gift, he said.” Cumulo eyed the bundle of fluff chasing feathers across the dirty floor. “I’d hoped it would be something useful.”
“She’ll grow.”
They watched the puppy trip over a grain sack, roll in a tangle of silky feathers and sprawl in the dirt. Cumulo clucked disapprovingly. “You should call it Bumble.”
Mhysra rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to be like that I won’t share my news. Which would be a shame, since I ran all the way from the Rider offices, icy streets and all.”
Cumulo straightened, feathers rising all along his crest with interest. “Enrolment ended yesterday,” he pointed out cautiously.
“Do you really think they’d turn a Wingborn pair away?” she scoffed, as though their acceptance had never been in doubt. Walking up to the desk that morning had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. When the clerk had laughed at her in front of all those Riders, she’d wanted to sink through the floor.
“And did they?” Cumulo asked breathlessly.
She smiled. “Buck up, Cue, you’ve got a new home to go to.”
He threw back his head and screamed, terrifying pigeons out of the rafters. More than one precariously placed slate teetered through a roof hole and smashed on the floor. Cumulo opened his wings with a crack and sent dust, snow and dirt whirling into the walls.
Mhysra winced, covering her ears and face, while the puppy howled. The neighbouring pyreflies set up a ruckus, surges of flame licking around the edges of their high windows.
“Enough, Cumulo! Enough!” she shouted, when he paused for breath.
“Sorry.” He hunched his wings with a sheepish cough. “When do I leave?”
“How about now?”
“Now?” he shrieked with horror. “You expect me to move into the Rift Rider eyries looking like this?” Arching his neck, he examined his plucked chest, then turned to view his dusty back and ragged tail. “I’m not fit to be seen!”
“Then you’d best do something about it, hadn’t you?”
Grumbling, he preened a few primaries and gagged. “Atrocious. Open the doors, fetch my harness and don’t let your stupid puppy eat that, it won’t do it any good. I need a bath.”
“That’s not all you need,” Mhysra muttered, but hurried to comply. If he wanted to be clean, who was she to stop him? As long as he didn’t catch his death from cold. Scooping up the puppy, she unbolted the hatch, hauled on the chains to open the doors and grabbed his tack out of its box. The sooner she settled Cumulo, the sooner she could go back to pestering her parents. Somehow she doubted that the second half of her day would prove to be quite as successful as the first.
“I AM STILL not convinced that you should bathe in a reservoir,” Mhysra said later that afternoon, as she moved around her soggy miryhl, riffling her fingers through his damp feathers, getting out the dirt and encouraging them to dry. “It’s not very hygienic.”
Pulling his head up from preening his flight feathers, Cumulo sniffed. “Where else am I supposed to bathe?”
Mhysra turned to view the world around them. Nimbys was just one of many mountains making up the northern edge of the Imercian range, but it, like all the others, was doused in a heavy blanket of snow. Most of the mountains had some source of water amongst their craggy peaks, but likewise the majority of them were frozen. The only reason this lake above Nimbys wasn’t was because the city worked very hard to keep the water flowing.
“Good point.” A bird of Cumulo’s size could hardly be expected to roll in the snow, like a pair of playful ravens were currently doing on the slopes above them. Especially considering the state Cumulo had been in.
“It’s too late now anyway.” Cumulo sniffed, shook himself thoroughly and fluffed up like an oversized chicken. He squawked in dismay and frantically began preening his f
eathers flat again.
“I suppose,” Mhysra sighed, helping to smooth him down.
“And I could hardly turn up at the Rider eyries looking like I did. It would have created completely the wrong impression.”
She certainly couldn’t argue with that. “Well, you look splendid now.”
He puffed up his chest with pride.
“Apart from your tail, but I’m sure it’ll grow back soon.”
Cumulo deflated, peering over his shoulder and waggling the offending appendage. The feathers were bent and ragged, but the rest of him looked good. The shore around them was scattered with broken feathers, several of which had been carried off and partially chewed by the nakhound pup.
A shadow swept over them and they both looked up, Mhysra shading her eyes against the pallid sun, Cumulo half-mantling his wings in protective readiness. An enormous miryhl circled above them before coming into land. It wasn’t the first they’d seen this morning, but all the others had been part of Rider patrols and flown onwards with nothing more than curious glances. Mhysra soon realised why this one was different.
Not only was the dark-brown female the largest she had ever seen – and since female miryhls were usually bigger than males, this one had to be female – there was also a familiar Rider on her back. Tall, broad across the shoulders with merry dark eyes and a scar across his brown cheek, his was a form she could hardly forget. The stripes on his uniform only made him more memorable.
“Lieutenant Stirla,” Mhysra greeted, as the grinning lieutenant slid down from his saddle and ruffled his miryhl’s neck feathers. “What brings you up here?” She hoped it wasn’t to tell them off. She’d told Cumulo he shouldn’t bathe in the reservoir, but when had he ever listened to her?
“Looking for you, of course. I was starting to think you’d got lost,” the lieutenant replied, laughing as the nakhound puppy bounded over to say hello. After leaning down to stroke her, Stirla eyed Cumulo with an admiring whistle. “Stamp me impressed and ship me to Havia, that is one good-looking bird.”
Ever ready to be admired, Cumulo puffed up his freshly preened chest, knowing how to tilt his head just so to make golden highlights glint across his feathers. Behind the lieutenant, the big female gave an affronted ruffle of her wings and glowered at her Rider.
“What’s his name?” Stirla asked, glancing at Mhysra to confirm the gender before coming closer to inspect Cumulo, the nakhound pup dancing around his feet. “He looks fully grown already, but if he’s your Wingborn he can’t be more than, what, fifteen? Does that mean he still has five years of growing to do?”
A little offended on behalf of the female eagle, Mhysra folded her arms and clicked her fingers to call her fawning puppy to heel. “Cumulo and I are sixteen,” she corrected. “As a Wingborn his growth matches mine, so rather than maturing at twenty, he’ll probably stop in a year or two.” The glance she shot her miryhl suggested that though he might have almost finished growing physically, mentally he still had a lot of work to do.
Cumulo winked at her and obligingly spread his wings for the lieutenant. Show off.
Shooting him a withering glare, Mhysra approached the neglected female. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name, sir?” Offering up her palms, she waited for the miryhl to lower her head, then began stroking the bird’s face.
“Hmm?” His stream of low voiced compliments interrupted, Stirla glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s Atyrn. She’s great.” He went back to admiring Cumulo.
Smiling, Mhysra slid her hands down Atyrn’s neck to the shoulder joint, and dug her fingers into the muscle. The big bird’s wings sagged and Atyrn shivered with an ecstatic purr. “What a gorgeous girl you are,” Mhysra crooned. “I’ve never seen such a strong, fine miryhl.”
Huffing, Cumulo snapped his wings closed and stepped away from the lieutenant. When Atyrn turned her head to run an affectionate beak through Mhysra’s curls, the young male actually growled, stalking across the lakeshore to tug his Wingborn away.
Yanked backwards by a proprietary beak, Mhysra found herself being hustled beneath a jealous wing and laughed into his damp feathers. “You’re such an idiot, Cue.”
Watching their antics with amusement, Lieutenant Stirla turned to soothe his miryhl’s ruffled pride. “You’re still the most beautiful girl in the world to me,” he assured her. “But it’s always nice to make new friends.”
Atyrn huffed sulkily but didn’t protest when her Rider stroked her neck.
The lieutenant smiled at Mhysra. “If you’re ready, I think it’s time to move into the eyries. Everything’s been prepared for you,” he added to Cumulo. “And though I was curious before to see how you settled in, now I can’t wait to set this pyrefly amongst the sheep.”
Mhysra looked at Cumulo, unsure if that was a good thing or not. They were going to cause enough of a stir as it was by being Wingborn.
Impatient to be admired some more, Cumulo gave her a hurry-up nudge.
Sighing, she fetched his tack. “We’ll be there soon, sir, if you wish to go on ahead.”
Leaning against Atyrn’s side, Stirla gave a lazy wave. “We can wait. I wouldn’t miss this for the Overworld.”
That was what worried her, but she said nothing, lifting the saddle and its blanket onto Cumulo’s back instead. Settled just behind his wing joint, the leather seat was light and padded, ensuring comfort for both of them. As well as the stirrups found on an ordinary saddle, it also had cups towards the back for a Rider to tuck their ankles and feet into. This enabled them to lean forward against their miryhl’s neck in secure comfort, while also keeping out of the wind.
Giving Cumulo time to make sure the saddle sat right, Mhysra looped the breast harness into place and fastened the top buckles against the front of the saddle. Then she leant down to fasten the girth behind his legs, sliding it through the strap that ran down from the harness.
“Good?” she asked.
Cumulo flexed his wings and nodded. “Good.”
Slipping the bridle over his beak, Mhysra secured the strap across it and another behind his head. Then she looped the reins back over Cumulo’s neck, grabbed the puppy, hiked up her skirts and clambered astride. It wasn’t particularly dignified, nor her favourite way to fly, but at least the skirt was full enough to cover most of her legs.
“All set?” Lieutenant Stirla asked, politely averting his eyes while Mhysra arranged her clothes for maximum modesty. Thankfully, the puppy was smart enough not to fuss and simply lay down across Mhysra’s lap.
“Whenever you are, sir,” she agreed, and waited while Atyrn – the senior miryhl – hopped towards the cliff edge and dropped out of sight.
“I hate it when you fly in skirts,” Cumulo grumbled, as they waited for the other eagle to swoop back up into view.
“I’m not particularly fond of it either,” Mhysra sighed. “But this’ll be the last time, I promise.”
Giving a disapproving sniff, Cumulo shuffled to the edge of the cliff. “It had better be,” he told her. “Now, shall we show them how it’s done?”
Without waiting for a reply, he leant forward, opened his wings and kicked off into the empty air below.
Wind rushed up to meet them, tugging at feathers, hair and clothing. Hunching over to protect the pup, Mhysra forced her skirts as flat as she could and held on for the ride. Closing her eyes against the rush, she buried her face against Cumulo’s shoulder and laughed, waiting for the lift of her stomach as he spread his wings and swept up into the sky.
Atyrn’s sharp cry reached them over the swirling winds and Cumulo screamed his reply, the pup yipping along. Mhysra opened her eyes as they wheeled away from the high mountain and skimmed down towards the city. Rocks, snow and ranks of trees whizzed beneath them, until, suddenly, the mountain seemed to open its arms. Cradled protectively against the valley’s heart, the city of Nimbys sparkled in the late afternoon light.
It wasn’t the biggest city in the Overworld, nor the most populated. It wasn’t the olde
st, nor the most holy. It wasn’t the highest, nor was it even the warmest, but it was memorable.
No matter what Mhysra’s personal feelings were about the city, even she couldn’t deny that from this angle it was an impressive place. Shaped by the contours of its mountain, Nimbys was certainly different to any other settlement she had ever seen. Narrow and built up high, sparkling towers rose from the haze of buildings and, at the open end of the city, the Cathedral of Maegla dominated as only the Storm Goddess could. The northern edge of the ravine belonged to the Stratys Palace, the white marble glowing in the winter sun.
The city between the two wonders was a mismatch of society and styles. The docklands throbbed with life and business, while skyships bobbed serenely at their mooring posts or were beached forlornly in the dry docks. The miryhls rushed effortlessly above them all, casting shadows across the markets and streets below, before lifting high to crest the ridge on which the palace and Flying Corps’ headquarters stood.
Following Atyrn’s lead, Cumulo swooped around the official building and drifted over the wide field beyond. Off-duty Riders ran out of the eyries and offices, bundled up against the cold, eager to view this newest curiosity.
Eager to be admired, Cumulo landed with a series of bounding hops, head high, chest puffed out, freshly preened feathers gleaming. Mhysra muttered dark things behind his proud head. Such a landing might look impressive, but it was horribly uncomfortable, especially when one was trying not to drop a squirming, brainless pup.
“That’s why it loves you,” Cumulo remarked as Mhysra released the dog. It flapped once, then dropped like a stone. “It hasn’t enough intelligence to do otherwise.”
Sliding from his saddle, she jabbed his ribs with her toes on the way down and set about taming her skirt. “You’re such a charmer,” she grumbled, unbuckling his saddle and harness and pulling them free. When she stepped back, he lowered his head and unhooked his bridle with a talon, tossing it to her with a flick.
“Very clever,” she drawled. He was showing off, trying to prove that Wingborn were so much smarter than ordinary miryhls. The only way he really outdid normal miryhls, in Mhysra’s opinion, was the size of his self-consequence.
“Let the gawping commence,” Lieutenant Stirla chuckled, heading towards the eyries.
As Mhysra approached the watching crowd, Cumulo strutting at her side, she had a sudden attack of nerves. It was one thing to storm the headquarters and demand admittance, but this was different. Then she’d had a goal and nobody could stop her. Especially not a stuffy paper-pusher who could no more fly than dance on the Cloud Sea.
Here, however, she was under the eyes of the experts, and while she knew Cumulo was a superior specimen, she also knew she wasn’t. Too tall and scrawny to be girly, too flimsy to be boyish. To strangers she looked weak. Unworthy.
“Buck up,” Cumulo murmured. “You’re my Wingborn. Without you I’m nothing.”
The unexpected compliment straightened her spine and raised her chin. He was right, they belonged here. With these men in their well-worn uniforms, their hands and some of their faces scarred by the lives they lived. These were Rift Riders, real Rift Riders.
Oh, Gods. Wingborn or not, what experience did she have to compare to theirs? Would she even get the chance to try and fit in here?
Cumulo nudged her with his wing, making her realised that she’d shrunk against him again, like a chick hiding behind its mother. She straightened up and glanced towards Stirla for guidance. He was grinning as the crowd parted to reveal the other lieutenant. The blond one with the cold eyes.
The other man nodded at Stirla and stepped forward to study the new miryhl. Whistling softly, he walked slowly around the newcomers.
Cumulo’s beak crackled in annoyance and Mhysra touched his wing, surprised. Her Wingborn had shown no such objection when Stirla had done the same.
“Impressive,” the lieutenant announced, his inspection complete. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I see why you were so determined to join us, my lady.”
Uncertain of what was expected, she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, sir.”
“Lieutenant Lyrai.” He gave a curt bow. “Grounded until the Choice, my miryhl retired to stud. Wounded.” He looked at Cumulo again, unable to hide his covetous envy. “I know your name, my lady, but what about this fine fellow?”
“Cumulo,” she replied, as her miryhl curled his beak protectively over her shoulder, tugging her against his chest. She tickled his cheek just below his eye in his favourite spot, making him purr. “My Wingborn.”
A ripple ran through the Riders, word spreading to those who hadn’t already heard the news.
Ignoring the talk, Lieutenant Lyrai studied her and her eagle, taking in Cumulo’s protective stance and her affectionate touch. “Welcome to the Riders, Lady Mhysra and Cumulo. We hope you like it here.”
Something nipped her ankle and she glared down at the puppy, wondering if she was to be plagued on all sides. Disapproving lieutenants, stubborn parents, prideful miryhls and stupid puppies – Maegla aid her to a simple life.
Sighing, she nodded to the lieutenant. “Thank you, sir.”
From his faint smile and the occasional mutter from the crowd, not everyone was keen on readmitting women to the Riders.
Mhysra lifted her chin at the challenge. She was Wingborn. She belonged here – and she would prove it.
“Come on, Cue, let’s get you settled.” Hefting his tack, she scooped up the puppy and followed the chuckling Stirla inside.