Isle of Wings, page 1
ISLE OF WINGS
E.A. BURNETT
Copyright © 2020 E.A. Burnett
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover By: Stefanie Saw
Contents
Prologue 7
1 11
2 18
3 22
4 33
5 41
6 46
7 52
8 57
9 61
10 67
11 73
12 79
13 84
14 91
15 93
16 101
17 103
18 105
19 111
20 115
21 118
22 125
23 129
24 137
25 144
26 152
27 157
28 159
29 163
30 168
31 177
32 181
33 191
34 198
35 199
36 203
37 206
38 211
39 213
40 219
41 222
42 225
43 233
44 239
45 244
46 247
47 250
48 253
49 256
50 261
51 265
52 268
53 272
54 275
55 277
56 279
57 287
58 288
59 290
60 292
61 295
62 301
63 304
64 308
Epilogue 315
A Note To Readers 317
EGG THIEF (Excerpt) 318
About the Author 323
Acknowledgments 324
For Christie, and for eldest sisters everywhere.
For Grandpa “Booney,” may you rest in peace, and Grandma “Booney.”
Thank you for the poetry and the sweet memories.
Prologue
Roana squirmed in her grandfather's lap as he began humming a tune. She would rather hear a riddle than a song, and was about to tell him this when Pia, her older sister, pinched her leg. Roana made herself sit still, mimicking Pia's proper posture.
Her grandfather's deep voice opened into the cloistered, warm room where they sat, pushing back the shadows with its tune. He swung his bone pendulum around and around on a leather string in front of them, eyes entranced and beard glowing yellow in the firelight as he sung above their heads.
His song was empty of words but full of something else Roana couldn't name. Normally comforting, his voice bellowed and dipped, vibrating through her in a way that made her shiver. The pendulum, made of her grandfather's finger-bone, remained silent as it spun. Roana thought she could feel the air respond to it, whispering across her skin as it moved to some invisible command. She wondered for the first time whether the bone wasn't something more.
But then the wind came howling through the windows, wet and cool and insistent. Roana shrieked and scrambled to close the glass panes, her skin prickling at the sudden rain shower. Her grandfather caught the spinning bone and chuckled.
"Come here, child," he said once the windows were latched. "I have a riddle for you."
Breathless, Roana clambered back onto his lap and sat across from Pia, who held her head high as though she hadn't been scared by the rain. But then, Pia never acted scared of anything. Roana nestled against her grandfather's solid warmth as he lit his wooden pipe, and the soothing scent of pipe smoke drifted heavy around her.
"Is it going to be a very hard riddle?" Roana asked.
"Let him tell it," Pia admonished, pushing dark hair away from her glistening, gold-tinted eyes.
Their grandfather chuckled, then took on a serious expression as he recited the riddle.
Falling and falling
But never to rise,
My sister is mist
And my brother is dew.
He raised his brows in question, looking first to Roana and then to Pia, his gaze lingering on her as her brow wrinkled in concentration. Of course, Pia probably knew the answer—she was always faster at the riddles than Roana, and grandfather liked when Pia responded first. After all, Pia would be the next Rain Mage, and that meant her education was more important than Roana's.
Pia's face brightened as she found the answer. "It's rain, of course," she said, beaming as their grandfather nodded.
"Very good, my little palash," he said, using the Ikish word for flower.
Roana's shoulders sagged. "Tell another one!"
"Hmm, a harder one, then?" their grandfather asked. His face turned pensive as he thought, pipe smoke puffing and curling from his bearded mouth. A familiar glint shone in his gaze, and he spoke the next riddle.
You give me and take me
But I cannot be held.
My greatest pleasure
Is when two hearts meld.
Some call me fickle
Some call me blind,
Others praise my name
As strong and kind.
Roana played with her grandfather's fingers as she thought. She ticked through different options in her mind, and glanced warily at Pia to see whether she got it. But Pia seemed as lost as she, fiddling with the ends of her long hair before realizing she did so. She folded her hands in her lap, lips pressed together in a manner that told Roana she didn't know but wouldn't admit it aloud to their grandfather.
"Will you give us the answer, Granda?" Roana asked.
Their grandfather pulled his pipe from his mouth. "No, but there is another riddle with the same answer, if I remember correctly..."
To loneliness I am balm,
In birth I am life.
To bodies I am pleasure,
In death I am a knife.
Roana's face scrunched up in concentration. This certainly was a hard one. Her grandfather's teeth clacked lightly on the mouthpiece of his pipe as he waited. Roana shot Pia a look, wishing she could read her thoughts. Surely, Pia would get this one before her...again. Roana felt her face grow hot as she scrambled to come up with an answer, feeling each moment that Pia would have the answer before her. She felt childish tears beginning to form on her eyes but blinked them back, angry that her feelings were distracting her from finding the answer. She sucked in a breath, the lines of the riddle running through her head.
And suddenly, it clicked.
"Love!" she bellowed, unable to stop her excitement.
Her grandfather laughed and nodded at her approvingly. Triumphant, she looked at Pia, expecting to see her sad, but instead Pia looked at her in a way Roana had never seen before, as if Pia had found the answer before her but hadn't said it. Roana smiled hesitantly back at her older sister, not sure whether she should be upset that her sister had let her win this round.
"Love is the answer," their grandfather rumbled. "Love is always the answer. It is what binds us all together, no?" Playfully, he squeezed them tight until both Pia and Roana broke out into gasping fits of giggles. "That riddle is very old," he said when they calmed somewhat. "Passed down from your great, great grandfather. You should take care to remember it."
Pia nodded and said dutifully, "We will never forget it."
Roana sat up straight. "We will never forget it." She hoped she looked as serious as her sister.
"Good," their grandfather said. "Now, it is time for a story."
Roana and Pia grinned, snuggling in against the old man's great belly as the fire crackled and the fog of pipe smoke formed a hazy circle around them.
"Many centuries ago, our ancestors rode a ship across the great Skye Lake," their grandfather began, his voice reverberating through his belly where Roana rested her head. "They sailed over the deepest, darkest waters of the lake where giant squelkins resided, and one particular giant squelkin did not like the shadow of the ship passing over its home. It rose up out of the deep and crushed the ship with its muscled tentacles before eating most of the ship's inhabitants. Those the squelkin didn't eat washed up on the shores of a nameless island, dead from drowning in the frigid, choppy waters."
Their grandfather paused, letting the dark image sink in. "But," he continued, "by then, the island goddess Náyade had been born, and she took pity on the sailors. From the great hills and meadows of the island, she sent her butterflies down to the shore where the dead bodies lay. With the beating of their wings, they breathed life back into the people. They taught them about the island with their wing's whispers, and revealed its name, the Isle of Wings.
“They were the very first people on the island, and soon others came, and then the first babe was born. This special babe was kissed by a butterfly, giving the child the ability to sense rain and wind, bestowing him with the power to manipulate these elements according to the will of his heart.
“Thus, the first Rain Mage came to be, blessed by the butterflies that flew in the name of Náyade. The goddess entrusted the people with the care of the island. The Rain Mage would provide rain for all to grow and would banish the violent storms of Skye Lake. And thus, with the abilities of the Rain Mage, the island stayed lush and green and was filled with the blessings of Náyade."
Her grandfather took a long, thoughtful draw on his pipe. "Each new Rain Mage takes on these responsibilities with pride, and," he said, his tone turning dark, "with the warning that should the Rain Mage fail to care for the island and safeguard its people, all would suffer and perish."
Cold fear shivered down Roana's spine. Pia tilted her head up and met their grandfather's gaze with mute understanding, her jaw set and her face open, resolutely accepting her fate as she always had since Roana could remember. Her grandfather seemed to recognize this willingness and stroked a light hand over Pia's cheek, giving her, and then Roana, a warm kiss on the head.
Roana’s fear regressed to the back of her mind and was buried by years of memories, remaining forgotten even after the devastating news that the Rain Mage was dead.
1
ROANA
She had forgotten to leave Nan a note.
A little message would have sufficed, one on a blue-winged skipper—sorry Nan, for leaving—or a longer one on a spangled tiger moth—I had to leave. Everyone here blames me for my parent's deaths. For Pia's death. Something terrible happened to me and I can't stay—
But somehow, she had forgotten to leave a message, and now, huddled in a tiny wooden crate waiting to leave for the mainland, she finally remembered and could do nothing about it.
Roana bit her lip until it smarted, breath catching in the warm and cloistered air of the container. It was too late to go back now. She had spent her meager savings to pay the crate-maker, had bargained with a street rat to pose as a merchant and deliver her to the trading galley, and had made arrangements with the captain to deliver "baskets." That had cost her two dozen frogs, caught fresh the night before in the lagoon, and a sack of squaroot dug in secret from her family garden. She had labored and planned for months to get to this moment, and would ruin any chance of escape from the island if she made changes. Nan would just have to accept her disappearance and—
Boots shuffled around her, and suddenly her crate was hefted upward by the porters who loaded goods onto the ships. For a few breathless moments she teetered on the edge of a void, clumsily hauled by men's arms, and gasped as the crate jolted down. A flush of blue paint appeared between the crate slats. Finally, she was aboard the trading galley. Tension eased slightly from her cramped shoulders.
"That's one hell of a crate of baskets," one of the porters remarked in Ikish, the language of Ekesia that was spoken commonly on the Isle of Wings.
Another man snorted, and Roana caught a glimpse of well-oiled boots and baggy trousers. "Smugglers abound," he said with a heavy Zarian accent, his vowels wide and loose. "Who knows what goods have been hidden in there?"
Roana barely dared to breathe.
"Quite a risk smuggling anything aboard Xetsa's ships," muttered the first man thoughtfully.
"Unless Xetsa knows about it already. Chances are, she does."
"Do you think Lorne is in on it?"
The Zarian chortled. "Lorne is only in one thing at the moment."
"Oh, you mean his water girl?"
A pair of boots came close to the crate, twisted as the Zarian man sat down on it. Roana cringed when the wood creaked with the weight of him inches above her head.
The Zarian spoke just above her. "I don't think she'll be working for him much longer."
The first man's voice was filled with irony as he said, "That might work in Lorne's favor. He'll be free to do what he wishes once she's out of his employ."
"You mean Xetsa's employ," the Zarian pointed out, fingers tapping against the wood. He smelled of sweat and dirt and—
She covered her nose, trying not to gag on what could only be gas from a partially digested meal of—what was that, broccoli? Fish?
"What?" The Zarian asked, shifting above her.
Alarmed, Roana peered through the slats, and caught the first man squinting at her crate, almost as if he could see her. She froze.
He shook his head. "Nothing, I..." His hand went to his nose. "Wings, Basel, that was awful! What've you been eating, man?"
The one above her laughed. "Only the best food on the isle. Made myself a nice fish curry—"
Woof! WOOF! WOOF WOOF!!
Ferocious barking resounded over the deck, and boots scrambled as the Zarian dove off the crate.
No, no, no! Roana swore as a great mutt of a dog shoved its nose up against the crate, nostrils flaring as it picked up on Roana's familiar scent. Go away, Jip!
She had left her dog at home, locked inside, to avoid this very thing, but of course the stupid girl had gotten out and somehow found her. Roana glared at the dog, digging nails into her palms as the boots came tromping back.
"What's wrong, girl?" the gentle voice of the first man spoke. Roana glimpsed a brown hand petting Jip's back. A moment later, a dark human eye peered through the cracks.
Roana scowled at the eye as it seemed to register what was inside. Not baskets, but a person. Don't you dare speak a word, Roana thought at him, pouring all of her hostility into that single thought and wishing he could feel it.
The man chuckled low, the sound barely audible beneath Jip's barking, and then cleared his throat. "It's just food in there, Basel," he said to the other man, sounding forcefully uninterested. He started to pull Jip away, and oddly, Jip complied. Her barking eased back to sharp whining.
"Mmhmm," mused Basel. A second form, pale as could be, bent to the cracks, and Roana served him, too, a baleful look. But Basel only whistled, clearly unaffected by her expression. "I know I have bad sight, Iniko, but...that's no crate of baskets. Or food."
"Are you sure?" Iniko asked.
WOOF!
"It's a girl."
He must've been blind, because she was very obviously a nineteen-year-old woman, not a girl.
WOOF-WOOF-WOOF!!
"Is that what that was?" Iniko's tone turned light. "I could've swore I saw baskets of turnips."
Roana grated her teeth. Why couldn't they just leave well enough alone? She squeezed her knees to her chest, willing the two to get distracted by something else, and for Jip to see a meaty leg of lamb and forget her completely.
Basel, the pale one, chuckled, but then said in an undertone, "Should we tell him?"
"Who?"
"Lorne.”
A pause, and Iniko replied, "I'm not sure that would—"
"What's going on over here?" A voice shouted over Jip's noise, causing Roana to flinch.
Basel and Iniko muttered a curse simultaneously. Jip's nails shredded the wooden deck boards as she struggled against Iniko's hold. The man who spoke came close to the crate, his heavy boots sending vibrations through her bones.
"Lorne. The mutt seems taken with the crate," Iniko explained. "We think there might be some dried vegetables or meat in there."
"It's marked as baskets," Lorne stated, rapping his knuckles on the top of the crate. "And anyways, you know as well as I do that food is only kept in sealed barrels."
Roana cringed. Stupid crate-maker. He should have marked it as something heavier than woven baskets!
The man shoved his fingers in the slats and lifted the crate so that it tilted onto its side. Roana strangled back a cry and clutched at the wood, digging in her hands and feet to stop herself from rocking forward.
Lorne gasped from the weight, then ordered, "Let's open her up!"
Jip barked in agreement, and Iniko released her so that she circled the crate, her wet nose pressing against the slats as she eagerly snuffled.
Boots scuffed and there was a metallic clank.
"What's the hold up?" Lorne said, agitated.
"Perhaps it isn't my place to say, sir," said Iniko, "but what if it's some sort of precious cargo?"
Lorne hesitated before responding. "You mean something Xetsa doesn't mean for us to know about?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're right. It isn't your place to worry about that." Lorne grunted as he dug the iron wedge under the lip of the crate lid. "She has a marker for special cargo—animals, shapeshifters, and the like—and it's not on here. Now help me get this thing open."
Panicked, Roana grabbed the slender knife hidden inside of her boot and clenched it. The lid of the crate opened with a creak and a pop.
Clenching her skirts, she grabbed the edge of the crate and swung herself out, landing nimbly with her knife pointed at the men. Jip, ever loyal—even if she was incredibly stubborn—gave a delighted yip and came to stand firm by her side, ears back in defense as she snarled at the men.
Something twinged as the mutt pressed against her. How could she ever have thought to leave Jip behind?
