Tales from the Earthen Sky

The famed academy of Megeth was not as imposing as its reputation might suggest. Compared with that of Fenaback or the great western tribes, it looked like the local village school. That was . . . sort of what it was. It was only famous to those who knew the worth of its instructors.

The structure stood on the north end of town, facing the Skyfall, which could just barely be made out from the upper story. The academy was broader than it was deep, around two hundred feet in length, and the roof dragged a low slope up each side. Where the balcony became the roof of the first-floor porch, arched supports reached up ten feet to meet it, intersecting each other at right angles. The classrooms were arrayed along the front and back of the building, and could be accessed from the respective exterior side, each containing rows of seating.

The academy was meant for children entering adulthood, just out of or occasionally still in secondary school, and home to some of the most renowned practitioners of the pedagogical arts in the quadrant: Loremaster Polyon, Madame Serris the seamstress, Master Felot the artist, and so on. But there were also many successful tradesmen who took on apprentices here, and whose classrooms served as their office and/or base of operations. These skilled individuals, either semi-retired or retired, were extremely picky about the students they took on, and many enterprising young men and women sought to prove themselves through exams, trials and short-term mentorships held every year—it varied by the trade, but they were required to gain an apprenticeship.

Let it be said that these are the same tests that our dear Solis avoided entirely, caring nothing for an apprenticeship or tutorship.

Telsan, on the other hand, had proved himself two years prior to Master Jeyga of the Ornis Tribe, one of the senior members of the Megeth Couriers. His office was on the west side of the north face, upper story. The first story was largely left for the more mundane apprenticeships and tutors’ classrooms.

The fledgling Courier stood just inside the door to Jeyga’s office—a round-topped, white-trimmed door that opened inward. A faint breeze ruffled the feathers on the young man’s folded wings and arched neck as he waited for his master to hurry up and finish. Corwin waited too, standing just inside and to Telsan’s right. The boy was human, the only non-Ornis in the room: gangly and appearing younger than his sixteen years, he had a bristly head of black hair and facial hair that tried to keep up, despite Master Jeyga’s frequent reminders that he shave it.

Jeyga himself was seated behind his desk, head bowed as he scribbled ink on a paper that, despite being of little value to him, was of great importance to a certain boy . . . which one was this?

“Young master . . . Hollinaw,” Jeyga muttered as he slashed the last words onto the bottom of the page, returning his hand belatedly to inscribe his signature in a deceptively careful, one-point-five-second wrist motion. Careful wasn’t exactly the word, though. Precise, but the owlman’s hand-writing had long since transcended mortal man’s usual need to pair thought with hand motions.

Or . . . so he liked to say. Telsan was never entirely sure if Jeyga was serious or not.

“There. Only two more to go,” said their master, holding out a sheaf of three thin pages that had magically folded themselves over the last few seconds.

He neither raised his head nor addressed either of his pupils, but Corwin reached out and took the pages, adding them to the six sets already in his satchel. The boy said nothing as he watched the aging Courier race his pen across the next rejection. Jeyga was famous around Megeth, and probably all across the world, for his wide-eyed owl stare and brusque, professional perfection. His grey eyes, which were intently focused on his work, were ringed by speckled feathers that swirled around his hooked beak and ran upward into the fluffy mane of ever-lightening grey-and-white feathers that stood up only when very upset. His prominent ear-tufts twitched as he concentrated.

Telsan turned and glanced out the doorway, eyes roving the large, well-kept yard of the school. This front yard was compartmentalized, like the back yard, with a winding path leading up to the building and hedgerows running alongside it. Small botanical gardens wound to either side from there, meeting fences where the grounds became functional: storage buildings on the western side, dormitories on the east for the wealthy rich kids from off-shore who didn’t commute. Around back stretched partitioned areas such as arenas, an archery range, various practice areas, and a stable and ring for those inclined toward learning the fine art of . . . riding a landbound animal when everyone had wings anyway.

That one had always puzzled Telsan. Not that he considered himself the type to discard any interest but his as silly—that would be his white-winged friend—and he wasn’t about to trample on someone else’s hobbies. But riding a caribou or horse for transportation just struck him as something one would only do in another world, one where people were landbound like the animals, and sky did not rule the earth.

The kind of world Solis’ grandmother used to speak of.

Now a flying beast he could understand wanting to ride. The mythical sky serpents of the deep north, or those elusive Pegasi some claimed to have seen . . .

Telsan didn’t realize how long he’d had his shoulder turned until Corwin tapped him on it. The boy rarely said much, and had yet to speak. “Oh! Sorry,” Telsan mumbled, glancing at Master Jeyga as he stepped aside. The owlish Courier had busied his gaze upon other documents that remained on his desk, now that the eight rejections had been sent out via junior apprentice to the unlucky applicants. Corwin exited the second-story office, hopping from the balcony and beating his narrow wings.

Telsan couldn’t believe he had let his mind wander like that. He couldn’t even recall what he’d been thinking about. Usually Solis was the absent-minded one . . .

“Tired today, boy?” Jeyga asked, finally looking up.

The man’s gaze was notoriously hard to hold, but Telsan did so with effort and a small gulp. He was accustomed to willing himself to do the uncomfortable, and would not have gotten as far as he had were he not able to. “My apologies, Master. I have,” Telsan conceded.

“Then get out and begone for the day.” Jeyga waved a dismissive hand, yet neither this nor his words came with distaste or annoyance. Around foreign officials, he was as smooth talking as they came, but he knew his audience, and spoke frankly to his apprentices.

No, these were words of surprising kindness. “Yes, sir,” Telsan said gratefully. “Are you sure you don’t . . . ?”

“I require your assistance no longer today. You and I both know Corwin has no wish to participate in the upcoming games. You need your practice time.” Jeyga’s ear-tufts twitched.

Telsan was unsure how to answer that. The master Courier was right about Corwin’s—or rather, the boy’s mother’s—wishes, but still felt guilty for leaving him all the work. Good-natured Corwin would voice no complaints, but would sure resent Telsan for getting time off just to spend elsewhere than his training. The question was . . . why was Jeyga concerned for Telsan’s secondary interest? If he won, by some miracle, and was chosen by the Magnates to ascend, then his career as a Courier would be over for good.

“Thank you . . . Master,” Telsan said with a bow. “That is most kind.”

Jeyga eyed him. “I’m not going to work you as hard this week. Consider it a reward for your consistent competence thus far. Just don’t let your performance drop because of this festival.”

Telsan nodded, bowed again, and excused himself. Even as he did so, his brain finished processing his master’s words. Because of this festival . . . He got the idea that Master Jeyga had meant more than simply the effort he would be putting in, which would certainly exhaust him . . . but it was clear he did not expect Telsan to win—or Solis.

Stepping smoothly from the second-floor balcony, Telsan took to the sky, adjusting his own mail satchel on his shoulder. It was empty, but he would take it home as every day. He wore his Courier uniform, a winding garment that pinned at one shoulder along with a red sash over loose-fitting tan trousers. Unfortunately for him, well . . . fortunately, but it had its downsides . . . he lived in one of the dormitories on the east side of the school. It was a source of some bullying and many resentful glares that he had been one of the few students, and not a wealthy one at that, to receive a scholarship on the merit of his aerial talent. His parents lived in Orniteia, and wrote him letters every week, delivered by Courier trainees of Orniteia and Tapiq.

Arriving at the door to his dormitory, Telsan found it open. Unsurprising, considering the slobs he roomed with. The apartments were situated one right next to each other, boys on the eastern wall of the school and girls directly across. The boys liked to rub in the fact that they were closer, and the less tactful jokers teased that the girls simply needed that much more exercise to stay slim. On the roof of the boys’ dorm was a common area where students studied, chatted or ate. Inside the apartment he shared with three others, he met with Lonodrin, a boy from an influential family on Fenaback whose high opinion of himself conflicted with others’.

The boy was in the middle of changing, wearing only his undergarment. About to begin wrapping on a new philosopher uniform, he turned, golden locks swaying as he turned his blue eyes on Telsan. “Oh, Telsy!” he said in a friendly manner.

“Lonny,” Telsan said with a nod as he made to pass him, trying to sound as friendly.

Lonodrin didn’t back up as he passed, but that wasn’t something he usually did. He just barely tolerated the nickname from Telsan, and only because he’d already heard it from the other students and resigned himself to it with abundant dignity and grace. “Done with your training for the day already?”

Telsan paused his stride and nodded. “More like beginning it. Master Jeyga let me off early to practice for the festival games.”

A glance back at the blonde heir showed a raised eyebrow as he finished winding his toga and began to pin it. “Well, that sounds rather surprising of him.” More like disappointing, if his tone spoke for him.

“And you? Aren’t you training for the festival as well?”

“Why, of course, birdman!”

Telsan considered asking why in the sky Lonny was pinning on a clean uniform just for training, but decided against it. Lonny was nothing if not wasteful, and his affluent parents would simply purchase more for him—no, he’d probably purchase them himself with pocket change. As he approached the door to his room and opened it, Telsan heard Lonny mutter his real thoughts: “Pampered prodigy.”

The word prodigy, of course, was used both in a sense of awe and, more commonly, in mockery. Telsan was used to that. He shut his door with a sigh and set down his satchel beside his desk. The room was sparsely furnished, with a bed tucked against the far wall. The scented candle he kept burning released a pleasing cinnamon aroma.

Can’t let myself rest, though. I’ve got some training to do.

But . . . why? That was the question he asked himself again and again.

Characters

Solis Lightwing (SOLE-iss)—The main character, a white-winged boy of unceasing curiosity who longs to see inside the forbidden Earth.

Telsan (TELL-suhn)—Solis’ best friend, a young man of the Bird Tribe.

Phoenix Dolce (DOLE-chay)—Friend of Solis and Telsan, a Flameborn girl of sixteen years. Daughter of Falla Dolce.

Melka—One of the three living Tapiq Magnates.

Donnor—Said to be the eldest of the three living Magnates.

Spore—One of the three living Magnates. Doesn’t say much.

Fey—Solis’ deceased grandmother, a former Magnate.

Floris—Solis' younger sister. 11 years old; aspires to be a physician.

Falla Dolce—Phoenix's mother, a Dustborn from a powerful elementalist family of Fenaback. Kept her family name due to events she'd rather leave buried.

Otto Dolce—Old but strong leader in his elementally gifted clan, which consists mostly of his own direct descendants.

Erika—Daughter of Marcus's elder brother and cousin of Phoenix, currently in training with a courier at the school in Megeth.

Jeyga—A master Courier at the Megeth Academy. Picky about the apprentices he takes on.

Corwin—Fellow Courier student to Telsan.

Terms

Megeth (Meh-GETH)—Hometown of Solis and his fellow Tapiq people.

Ameros (AM-uh-ros)—Largest island in the southeastern quadrant of the sky, where the Tapiq village of Megeth lies.

Fenaback—Also called the Isle of Colors, this island is home to many elementalists, including powerful families such as the Dolce clan.

Tapiq (tuh-PEEK)—The tribe of winged men who dwell in Ameros and the surrounding islands. As with most tribes, they have adopted some from other tribes and races as their own, while others are visitors.

Ornis—Also called the Bird Tribe, though this isn’t entirely accurate, as there are multiple subtribes; most simply live farther north.

Hiding, The—Six hours of midday shadow when the Sun’s low-angled course takes it behind the infinite cloud layer that looms beneath the sky world.

Earth, The—An immeasurable continent that looms over the entire sky. Forbidden to all save those whom the Magnates choose each year.

Magnate—One of the three living souls of the Tapiq tribe who have ascended to the Earth and returned, bearing supposedly infinite knowledge that they choose to keep hidden.

Terrology—Study of the Earth. Terrologists have made a science out of useless observation of the world's ceiling, or so many see it.

Orniteia—Land of the Ornis Tribe in the far north.

Kinships

Elementalist—One born with a Kinship to an elemental force. They represent one of multiple types of Kinships.

Flameborn—Those blessed with Kinship to the power of flame. They are characterized by their lack of wings, as they form their own as needed from tongues of fire that sprout from their backs.

Dustborn—Manipulators of soil and dust. They fly with wings created from nearby dust particles.

Windborn—Kin of the wind. Unlike other elementalists, these often grow wings just like any other, though some are blessed with a heightened ability allowing them to fly without wings—and thus lacking them.

Waveborn—Also called Watchers, they control the invisible wards that protect the sky islands from falling hazards. Also includes those with the rare ability of sound manipulation.

Wards—Magical barriers put in place by the Magnates and managed by the Watchers.

Dewborn—Those who can control moisture and redirect water.

Stormborn—Creators of small storms and electrical currents.

Snowborn—Bringers of frost and snow on a small scale.

Sunborn—Manipulators of light.

Beastborn—These rare kind are seen largely only in the northwestern isles, and actually come in different orders, each with an affinity to a certain class of living creature.