Helen and Susan stood to attention as Yizeer attempted to teach them the finer aspects of flying.
"You have to arch your shoulders, like so," he clucked, tensing his shoulders, "and you have to make sure the wind is right - or near perfect - and then you jump," he did so, and unfurled his wings, and the thin, fabric-like skin puffed out between the bones of his wings, and he soared around a few times before beating his wings to hover. "And let the wind catch you. It's not hard, and if you think you can't make it, just glide."
The two girls nodded - they had mastered gliding last week. "It's not going to be as easy for us," Susan whispered to her friend, "we don't have hollow bones."
Helen scoffed. "You're one to talk! I'm blind."
But they imitated what Yizeer did, and leapt off the side of the cliff, ignoring their human instincts that were yelling at them.
The result was disastrous. They were only able to keep aloft for a few wing beats, before having to glide down. Helen lost control of her wings and only a sharp turn kept her from slamming into the mountainside, but she slid along the craggy side and cut up her wings pretty badly. Susan got her wings tangled within each other, and plummeted like a stone for about fifty feet before regaining her rights and pumping up about twenty feet before giving out and grappling onto the sides of the mountain.
A caw of laughter arose from one of the nests when Yizeer assisted them back into the cave.
"The ground-pounders!" a chesty female roared. "You'll never fly like one of us!"
Yizeer ran his fingers calmly though his hair. "I seem to remember you took about three years to get a good hold on your wings, Rvanna."
The Luftwing called Rvanna reddened at the cheeks and stuck her nose in the air. "You are foolish, Yizeer. Mark my words, they won't last for three seconds when the King's Call arises." With that, she pumped her wings twice and was off into the bowels of the cave.
Yizeer turned to the two crestfallen girls. "It really wasn't that bad for the first time," he assured them, helping them up. "We'll have to see Emena about that," he said, looking at Helen's wing.
It took only about three minutes of legwork to make it over to Emena's nest. Emena was an elderly Luftwing, and therefore granted use of a lower nest, because her wings didn't work so well. Emena was also a possessor of what the Luftwing called Talent, which was basically magic in Semvara form.
"Hello dearies," the elderly Luftwing greeted the three cheerily, "what's new with you?"
Yizeer pointed to Helen's wings. "The mountain ate her wings," he explained.
"Poor dear," Emena crooned. "Sit over here, Helen, and I'll make it better. Susan, sweet wing, there's leekbread under the tunic."
Susan's eyes lit up and she went to look under the tunic for the round, greenish bread. Ever since she had been let into the Luftwing clan, and given wings, she found she had gotten cravings for strange food, like grass stew, and even hemlock - a plant that would kill most normal humans - tasted good to a Luftwing stomach. She had lost all interest in meat at all - the mere thought of it made her want to cast up her last meal.
"Yizeer," Helen asked, wincing as the old lady applied a salvent to her damaged wings, "what's this 'King's Call' Rvanna was blathering about?"
Yizeer sighed and tore off a chunk of leekbread. "When you become of age of winging, the King calls you out for a flying compition. The winners get the choice of nesting, mates, first peckings at harvest, and so on."
Susan looked at him. "What do you mean, a 'flying compition'?"
Emena sighed as her palms glittered with silvery magic. "It's the polite way of saying a slaughter in the air - most in the King's Call are killed either by other Luftwings or exhausted wings."
"We don't have to do The Call, do we?" asked Helen, jarring her wings. "We're new, we're human, and we don't have claws."
Susan choked on the bread she was eating when she caught the unhappy glance that took part between Yizeer and Emena. "You're kidding!" she trilled alarmedly, leaping up, throwing green crumbs all over the nest. "You've got to be bloody well joking!"
"Keep your wings together," Yizeer chided, rubbing the top of his head, "I'll put an appeal in for you - dunno what he'll say, however."
Helen thought with a sinking feeling that she had a pretty good idea what he was going to say - and she didn't like it at all.
# # #
Grace sat down in her chair with a sigh. It had taken about an hour to get rid of her servant, and Tyrone. They were the rock - Grace was the ocean. She had to whittle and whine and order until they crumbled into the sea. She wasn't sure if she could keep this charade up much longer without going biserk.
There was a knock at the door. "What?" Grace snapped, out of the ability to be polite. The reply was muffled.
"Open the door, Grace," the familiar voice ordered.
Grace was relieved - she liked hearing her name, as opposed to 'Lydia', or 'Lady Greenspring'. "Coming."
She opened the door, and Rob was standing there, sideways. He was carrying a kettle in his left hand, and his eyes looked a little overbright.
"Needed an excuse to come to the noble's wing," he mumbled, in excuse for the kettle. Grace took it, and Rob edged in, still sideways.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Grace, putting the kettle on her bureau. "And why are you walking like that?"
"None of your business," Rob snapped, and Grace could tell that he was also fresh out of the ability to take abuse from nobles and be polite.
"Robert!" Grace said sternly, storming over, and planting her hands on her hips. "Look at me."
"No."
"I'll scream, and then you'll get in trouble for molesting a noble," she threatened. Rob shoved the chair back and walked over to the pane of the window.
"Do whatever you want. I don't give a damn anymore," he said in a very strangled tone. Grace furrowed her brows. Something was wrong.
She swiftly strode over to him, and before he could stop her, she grabbed his chin and turned his head rather violently. Grace couldn't help but gasp in horror.
The entire right side of his face was one gigantic bruise, in many shades of lively reds, oranges, purples and blues. His eye was swollen shut. "What the hell happened?"
"Horse," he croaked out. "Got caught up in a game of kick-the-can in horses, and I had the honor of being the can."
"My God," she said, unable to form any other thoughts.
Just then the door burst in, and Gerald wobbled in, looking very distraught and exhausted. "Better hurry," he muttered. "Tired. Need sleep... get up to run tomorrow..." he collapsed on Grace's down mattress. "Bed good," he yawned into the mattress.
Grace dipped her large, gaudy handkerchief into ice water, and gave it to Rob, who pressed it up against his bruise. "We've got to get out of here," she murmured.
"No joke," Rob snapped.
He put his head in his hands, and looked about ready to wail, but instead ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.
"If we knew where Gryffindor and Slytherin were the same, it'd be easy," Gerald sneered into his pillow.
Rob's ears perked up at once. "What did you say?"
"Some whacked-up dream I had," Gerald replied drowsily.
Rob pulled a piece of tattered parchment out of his parchment, and read aloud:
It's where Gryffindor and Slytherin are the same,
Seek not in head but in brain,
Second, look in marrow, not in bone,
Not in a gelding, but in a roan.
Third, apple, oak, rowan,
Find not in deer, but in fawn,
Fourth, not in the shell but in the nut,
See not in open, but in shut.
Look in places the meek would not try,
See where winged humans fly,
Converse with Luftwing king,
See beyond golden wing...
Gerald and Grace stared, flabbergasted for a few moments.
"You had that dream too?" they asked.
# # #
Hermione Granger sighed, as she scooped her baby girl up into her lap. Erika Potter burbled a giggle and shook her tiny fist in the air. Hermione then turned her attention back to her guests, who were seated at the kitchen table of her room, sipping tea. "Where's Sarah?"
Gabriel made a face and reached for the sugar. "Off in la-la land with her fiancée."
Harry put the napkin he was using to play peek-a-boo with Erika down. "Fiancée? When did this happen?"
"Not too long ago," Seamus answered, stretching. "Maybe about two weeks?"
"I see. Who's the lucky fellow?" Hermione asked dryly. She had nothing in common with the raven-haired, short-tempered female - but she had nothing against her either.
Hayley put Christopher on the ground with Erika, where they preceded to play a game of 'beat the spoon on the ground'. "Ask yourself if you really want to know," she replied, just as dry.
Harry wrestled a spoon away from Erika. "Who?"
"Draco Malfoy," Robert said, pushing his teacup away from him.
"You're joking."
"Dead serious."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. "Well, I couldn't give you fair input on that, since I'm already quite biased and I haven't uttered a word to him in about twenty years," Hermione said, sounding retained.
"In other words, you hate him and think that Sarah should get as far away from the premises as possible," put Chenelle primly, throwing tact out the window.
Harry nodded. "Exactly. The Malfoys are involved in the Dark Arts, and I don't think-"
"To hell with what you think," Gabriel sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. "Like Sarah would listen. She has to find it out for herself - us telling her so would only get her mad."
"Is there much that doesn't make our Sarah mad?" Hayley asked, rubbing her head across her forehead. "Gods, I wish Helen was back," she added, changing the subject.
"Damn Voldemort," Robert whispered, in a voice that sounded more sour than angry. "I thought we had killed him last time."
Harry shook his head. "In Storybook dimensions, the maker is immortal in the dimension - as long as the dimension itself is still going."
Chenelle drew a sharp breath. "I get it now."
"You get what?"
"Tom took the children into the realm so nobody would try and destroy it - doing so would kill him, but take them along with it. He's probably going to do what he always tries to do - bide his time, create more power from the energy of the universe, and reenter this dimension. The normal bad guy thing," she finished, sounding tired.
The only sound in the room was little Erika sucking on her thumb.
"Makes sense," Hermione said.
# # #
Yizeer glided back into his nest, where the girls eagerly awaited him. The male Luftwing folded his wings and settled back into the corner of the stick-and-mud-and-cloth structure, relaxing. There was not sign of his mood, and finally, Susan couldn't stand it anymore.
"Well?" she asked, fidgeting with the cuff of a very tattered pair of breeches.
"There is to be no appeal," Yizeer said tonelessly. "He said that it was my fault for inducting you into the clan at the time I did - I should have waited."
Helen curled her lip under and nearly cried. "But it isn't fair! How are we going to survive in the air against things with toenails, claws, fangs and stealth, when we can hardly fly?"
Yizeer sighed and shook his head. "Although I knew it was foolish to try for an appeal - it is custom. No Luftwing of age has missed The Calling since the First Ones graced the world with wings."
"What do we do?" Susan moaned in despair. "We're going to die up there!"
Yizeer shook his head. "No, you're not. I survived The Call - so will you."
Susan had to bite her lip as hard as she could to keep from retorting that Yizeer had been a properly reared Luftwing, but she kept it to herself.
Yizeer continued. "Don't attack at first - glide around, and let the others take each other out before you bother with attack. And when you do attack, don't bother with defense. You'll only wear yourself out playing hide-and-seek, or attempting to block. Attack, attack, attack and get it over with. And you may not have Luftwing reflexes and skills - but you're still half-human. There has to be some advantage to being frozen on the ground for most your life."
Helen frowned. "I don't get what use those can be in the air. We can't fly as well, and we're heavier..."
"We're heavier!" Susan said, grinning. "There has to be something we can do with that."
Yizeer gave her a toothy grin. "Now you're talking."
# # #
Sarah walked around Malfoy manner, glancing coolly at the impressive architecture. She would be living here soon, as Draco saw no reason to leave his inheritance behind in search of a more - homey place. She sighed, running her palm along the woodwork of snarling gargoyles. She would have to talk Draco into buying a summer place - on the water, perhaps.
The next room was the library, Sarah's favorite place in the manor so far. Unlike the rest of the rooms which had been furnished in such strict Victorian it was almost uncomfortable, this one was in a more casual setting - with shades of warm gold, and rich green accents, so lush she could almost smell the thought of grass. She ran her finger along a hunter green throw pillow and smiled dreamily.
Like most soon-to-be newlyweds, she often lost track of the world in her lust over her soon-to-be husband. Her friends knew of it, and treated it with a silk glove edged in scorn, because they didn't approve of Sarah's choice of soulmate, and she knew it. She didn't care. What really mattered, when you were happy?
Not completely happy, a tiny voice in her whispered. Susan? Remember her? the voice scoffed, the down-to-earth part of her. Sarah's other self fumed. Of course she remembered her daughter. But doting over her absence wasn't bringing her back.
You disgust me, the down-to-earth voice said, but then it said no more. For this, Sarah was glad. She didn't need voices nagging at her at the moment.
"How did I know you'd be in here?" a voice drawled from the doorway. Sarah, scared nearly out of her skin, jumped and whirled around, to find Draco leaning over the threshold.
"It might occur to you that I like to broaden my horizons with books," Sarah playfully sneered, beating around the fact that she had really come into the library because it was the only place in the manor she felt comfortable.
"You haven't changed a bit," Draco replied, picking up a book off the table and snapping it closed, spraying dust all over the place, and coughing a fit.
"Neither have you," Sarah retorted in monotones, watching Draco sneeze into a handkerchief.
"I sometimes wonder why I asked you to marry me."
"I sometimes wonder why I said yes."
Draco folded his arms. "I sometimes wonder why we argue like this."
"I do too," Sarah replied, sticking her tongue out at him. Draco rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the table and picked up a romance novel.
"And I wonder why, Thor, I resisted your touch into my.... Really, Sarah, I don't know what you see in stuff like this."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "It's not mine."
"Right..."
"It's not," she insisted, "check the cover."
Sure enough, in the upper right-hand corner in gold ink were written the words 'Narcissa Malfoy' in graceful letters.
"I stand corrected," Draco said dryly, dropping the thick, pink novel onto the table. "Perhaps we should make like a romance novel, however?"
Sarah's heart hammered hard in her chest, so hard that she thought that any minute now her ribs would be crushed out by the pressure. "In the library? I don't think..." she was interrupted by Draco's mouth closing over her own, leaving no room for more talk.
Ah, what the hell? she thought resignedly, everybody needs a little passion sometimes, even if it is surrounded by books.
She felt up his arms, and was quite surprised and pleased to find that there was more than skin and bones there. But what surprised her more than anything was a little rough spot on Draco's right arm. When her palm pressed up against it, the cloth rasped against the skin. It was like a space of bark that had been embedded into his flesh. Her brows furrowed.
"Mmmnmemm," she said, pulling away.
"What's the matter?" Draco asked, stepping back. Sarah stepped after him.
"What's that rough spot on your arm?" she inquired, pointing to his right limb. "It feels like you had been burnt."
Draco went milky-white, and then bright red. "That," he said tersely, "is none of your business."
Sarah's eyebrows shot up to their limits. "Oh, it isn't?" she asked tartly. "Listen here, Mr. Big Shot, you had better get the notion through your head that whatever is your business is mine also, once we're married - I talked with your mother."
"So?" Draco asked defensively, rubbing his hand over his right arm.
"So," Sarah plowed on, "there isn't going to be any of this 'You Can't Go There', or 'You Can't Say This' with me. I don't know what was up with Nari, but I'm not afraid of you or your illustrious father."
"Now see here," Draco snapped, still rubbing at his right arm. "Just because you're going to get married to me doesn't mean you can turn the household on its head..." He trailed off when he saw Sarah's eyes go cold like gunmetal.
"All I want to see is what's on your arm!" she hissed dangerously. "This has nothing to do with me and my rights!"
"Your rights?" Draco asked with a mirthless laugh.
"Rights to know what is going on in the household!" Sarah screeched. "I'm going to be part of it, after all, and you of all people should know that I am not going to defer to you!"
Draco said nothing - just clenched his teeth together so hard he was surprised they didn't crumble to dust in his mouth. He knew as well as the next person that Sarah wasn't one to defer to anybody. She was as hardheaded as well - him.
"Now, what is wrong with your arm," Sarah asked, voice slightly gentler than it had been before - they were arguing for nothing.
"It's a burn," Draco replied shortly. "I got it from a spell that backfired."
Sarah was about to reply with a 'Now, was that so hard?', but a nasty little voice said to her; Why is he so overprotective of a burn? If it were nothing, wouldn't he have told you? She licked dry lips.
"I'm being lied to," she said flatly.
Draco opened his mouth again - probably to tell her mind her own business - but then shut it, knowing how Sarah would take such a remark.
Sarah looked down at the floor. "You know, trust is important in a marriage, as well as passion," she said scathingly. "It seems the trust factor is lost in this one."
Draco swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bouncing to the bottom of his neck and back again. He reached for the bottom of his sleeve and slowly started to pull it up. It looked like hard work. Finally, it reached his shoulder. Sarah stared at what was there.
"The Dark Mark," she said, in a very tremulous voice that was very flat. "You're a Death Eater?"
Draco nodded and rolled down his sleeve. "Ever since I was eighteen - three days after Hogwarts."
Sarah blinked once, twice, three times. Of course, she had known that the Malfoys had been involved in the Dark Arts - she had seen Draco demonstrate them in Defense Against the Dark Arts class - but it didn't seem like he had actually used them for evil purposes. Had he used the Unforgivable Curses? Had he killed people? Why did she get engaged to him in the first place? She had forgotten. Then the killer thought entered her mind -
He's in league with the person that abducted Susan.
The thought echoed, and everything seemed in slow motion. Sarah shook her head, in a daze, and looked up at Draco.
"How could you?!" she half-screeched, half-whispered brokenly. It was all a waste. Now that she knew.
"Why do you think I didn't want - " Draco began, but Sarah cut him off.
"Why didn't you tell me? Don't you think I would have found out eventually?" Sarah shouted.
"Sarah, don't yell!" Draco cried, raising his voice.
"What?! I'm not ashamed of what I'm saying - are you?!"
There was silence, a staredown, like the kind that occurred between little children on the playgrounds. Who would give in and blink first? Seconds ticked by, before Sarah broke the gaze and looked down at the ground, shaking her head.
"It wouldn't have worked anyway, would it?" she asked, sighing.
"What do you mean?" asked Draco, alarmed.
"This," she motioned to the library around her. "Us. We're too alike. We're stubborn, rude at times - hardcore Slytherins. It wouldn't have worked. Besides, I wouldn't have gotten on with high-class living; I'm not the type. I don't do with butlers - you don't do fast food or anything muggle, for that matter." She shook her head again. "You need somebody from your class that knows how to run a manor. Stuff that I never learned."
Draco swallowed, suddenly losing the ability to speak or do anything.
"Still," Sarah said throatily, "it would have been interesting."
She left the library, and what she had meant didn't totally sink into Draco until there was a plinking sound, and something small and gold started rolling along one of the grooves in the hardwood floor. It stopped at Draco's feet, and he picked it up and examined it.
It was the engagement ring.
# # #
"What do Gryffindor and Slytherin have in common?" asked Gerald, looking over the parchment and handing it back to Rob.
"Hate?" suggested Rob, folding the parchment closed, and then opening it nervously.
"They're both men," Grace interjected. "The founders were, that is."
Gerald shook his head. "They were, but I don't think that's it - look at the next line."
"Seek not in head but in brain," Rob read. "That doesn't make any sense. What's not in a head but's in a brain?"
"It's also where Gryffindor and Slytherin are the same," Grace mused. "They both are connected somehow."
"You're the riddle woman," Gerald snapped. He had been up since the crack of dawn doing hard endurance training, and he was exhausted.
"Shut up!" Grace sneered. "I'm not the goddess of riddles, if that's what you're trying to say."
"Okay, guys," Rob interjected, rewetting the handkerchief and pressing it to his injured cheek. "Maybe we're going about the riddle the wrong way."
"What do you mean?" asked Gerald.
"Well, maybe it doesn't mean an actual head or brain."
"What?"
"Apple, oak, rowan," Rob muttered under his breath. "Look in marrow, not in bone... yes, it has to be..."
"Be what?" Grace asked, aggravated and sore.
"It's not an object riddle," Rob explained, wincing as he gently put his fingertips over the bruise. "It's a letter riddle."
Gerald pursed his lips. "That made as much sense as the time you explained the wangdiddler's role in the negitive hoochy-koochy theorem."
Rob snapped his brows together. "That was the radical's role in the quadratic equation, but nevermind. Anyway, you're looking in the wrong part of the riddle. Look at the word Gryffindor, and the word Slytherin. What letters are the same?"
Grace's jaw dropped nearly to the floor. "By George, I think he's got it," she quoted.
"Well, Gryffindor and Slytherin... they both have a y, an i, r, and an n," Gerald said.
"Yirn?" asked Grace with a scowl.
"Now wait a minute," Rob said, smoothing out the parchment. "Seek not in head, but in brain. Now, out of y-i-r-n, what of those letters are in brain?"
"Um... r..i and n," Gerald said.
"Okay, now we have Rin. All's we have to do is do the rest... it's easy!" Rob said, getting excited. Grace snorted and pointed to her brother, who was half-dozing.
"We had better take off for the night - I'm sure I can think of some reason to get you back here tomorrow night."
Rob nodded. He didn't particularly want to stop, but his glasses-less eyes were screaming in pain, and he had to smother yawn after yawn as he ambled out the door. Gerald had even more trouble, and he ran into the doorframe on the way back.
Grace giggled, shutting the door behind the two boys, and fell back onto the bed, and gave into sleep before she hit the pillow.
# # #
"Kneed this," Emena said, slapping a large mound of green leekbread dough before Susan and Helen. "It will help you get rid of your anxiety - and not to mention I could use the well pounded dough."
Helen reached into the dough with both hands and squeezed her fingers into fists, feeling the dough squelch out from between her fingers. It felt good, and it did help with her anxiety. The Calling was today, and Susan and Helen were beyond nervous.
"It isn't fair," Susan was protesting, giving the bread a hard punch, making a hole in the dough.
"As if His Highness gives a mite about what is fair or not," Yizeer snapped.
"Don't mind Yizeer," Emena said dryly when Helen gave a startled gesture in her adoptive parent's direction. "When he is anxious, he gets snappy."
Yizeer gave Emena a rueful smile, when Rvanna flapped noisily into the nest. "Making your last meal, earth-walkers?" she cackled.
"Don't you have anything better to do than to disturb Call participants?" Emena said with gentle impatience.
Rvanna clawed the bottom of the nest, sneering. "They have no Talent, nor Talon, as the saying says of humans, and they will not last. Yizeer, you are foolish to even think that..." she trailed off when Yizeer stood up, spreading his wings to their full extent, making him look bigger than he was before.
"I have not heard such intolerance from anybody in all my years about their choice of child. Helen and Susan, strange as their names may be, have as just a good a chance as any other Luftwing out there. One more word out of you, and I will call you out to the Pits."
Rvanna paled, and then drew her fangs up and flapped off.
"Pits?" asked Helen, kneading the dough between her fingers, and feeling the grits squish together
"Luftwing justice," Emena explained. "When you are taken out to the Pits, the one who is in the right usually wins - the other one dies. Rvanna has no cause to insult Yizeer's young, so if he took her to the Pits, she knows that she would lose."
Susan whistled - there was so much that they didn't know about Luftwing culture that it wasn't funny. She frowned at the dough she was kneading; it was much too grainy. "What's wrong with this bread?" she asked.
"Quality of everything goes down during Call week," Yizeer said dryly. "And I suggest you ditch the ground clothes for The Calling - I don't know why you wear them in the first place."
Helen felt her greasy, soiled, torn clothing and grimaced. She wore her clothes still for two reasons - one, it would be too strange to be walking around with no clothing on, even if the other Luftwings didn't wear any, and two because she was afraid that if she didn't wear them she'd forget that she had a life in another dimension.
"Custom," Susan said grimly. "I'd rather wear them, if it's all the same."
A loud bell sounded, twenty-five times. "The number of participants in The Call," Yizeer whispered. "There's only twenty-five this year - it's a small Calling."
Helen swallowed several times, but felt like something big and heavy was stuck in the back of her craw, and she had a nasty feeling that swallowing wasn't going to do it. But she grabbed Susan's hand and followed her in the mass of Luftwings.
The battle arena for The Calling was held in midair, just outside the main entrance in the cave. For the first time, Susan saw dark crimson stains on some of the trees and on the side of the mountain. She swallowed.
The crowd of Luftwings parted, and the King stood there, flickering his golden wings majestically, his white embroidered cape swishing in the background. "All Call participants, please stand forth."
Yizeer nudged Helen and Susan forward, and twenty-three other, nervous-looking Luftwings about their age stood before the tall, golden king. He looked them all over with his blue eyes, and spoke.
"I have Called you here to demonstrate. Demonstrate power, demonstrate flying ability, demonstrate courage and valor. You will slay enemies in this three hour time period, you will meet friends you never knew you had, you will learn every aspect in combat flying to become a true Luftwing."
Just listening to him made Helen's palms sweat. No wonder this flying man was King. No matter the color of his fur and wings - he was a motivational speaker. All of a sudden, she was proud to be a Luftwing, proud to be part of this clan - and willing to protect her position, and she would slay whomever got in her way! It was an odd feeling.
"You will make you position in the clan today... you will fight clan, make clan, live clan, bleed clan, be clan! I Call, I have Called, I will Call again! Behold, the future, present, and past of Luftwing history! Hear me!" he roared.
"Hear, we hear as one, we breathe as one, we fight as one! We hear!"
This was the signal for the ones that were Called to start. With a running leap, Susan embraced the air, and fell, before unfurling her black wings and pumping. Flying was easy, it was fun, flying was Susan. It ran in her blood. Heeding Yizeer's advice, she decided to play it patient and wait for the others to take each other out. She was relieved to find that most of the other Luftwings weren't any better than Helen or Susan in flying - some might have been worse. In about ten minutes, three Luftwing children were already down. It seemed that this was going to be more of a test of endurance than anything.
Helen was playing the same way as Susan, gliding whenever possible to conserve energy. She didn't need sight to fly - Luftwing instincts were enough. Her hearing and taste were twenty times more efficient that before, and she could tell how close she was to the mountain or another Luftwing just by listening and tasting the air. It almost put being a mere human to shame.
After about a half-hour, there were a total of about ten Luftwings in the air that hadn't given up because of injuries, fatigue, or no desire to go on. One of the Luftwings came after Helen, grabbing her by the robe, and slamming her against the rock.
White flashed across her brain, and she felt wetness coursing down her hair - she had stuck her head on a stone and crimson blood dripped into her ear. Four tracks of numbness streaked across her left thigh - the Luftwing had scratched her, and had her pinned against the rock.
With a roar, Helen released one of her hands and knocked the boy Luftwing across the face. It didn't release her, but it made him stall. Flailing around, she landed about three more good blows before the boy managed to get his hands around her throat.
Her mind was going gray when something hard struck her had - a stone had come loose from the mountain, and she crashed it against the boy's temple. He gave a whimper, and Helen felt him fall away. Quickly, before the boy could come back, or somebody came to attack her, Helen flew off.
Meanwhile, Susan was having a cat-and-mouse game with a flaxen haired female that was better at flying than the others, and wouldn't give Susan up.
"Why do you run?" the girl sneered, lazily pumping her wings and easily keeping up.
Susan didn't choose to answer that - instead she opted to dive sharply, nearly ramming her head into the side of the mountain. She did a quick twist and the gasps and rowdy cheers of the crowd above were enough to tell her that she had barely missed a messy death or serious injury. Her heart hammered in her throat, but there was no time to lick would-have-been wounds at the moment, for the girl had caught up with her and had her foot.
"Let go!" Susan cried, twisting around frantically and attempting to wrench her foot away from the girl's tight grip.
Instead of letting go, the Luftwing grasped her ankle harder, drawing blood. Susan swung her free foot around and smashed the girl in the mouth with her instep. Blood fell from the Luftwing's mouth in torrents, splattering over her chest and splashing over the sharp rocks below.
"Foolish!" the girl Luftwing raged, baring her teeth, which looked especially frightening with blood seeping from the cracks. "Do you know who I am?"
Susan, nursing her foot, decided between the option of fight or flight, and replied. "I don't care who you are, nor do I want to know."
"I am Oanea, daughter of Rvanna and Wazern, high nest five! You will pay for that."
"Figures," Susan retorted coolly, crossing her arms. "I should have known that any child of Rvanna would be a pain."
That was not a wise thing to say, nor particulary kind, but Susan didn't care. Oanea's black eyes grew cold, and then she threw herself onto Susan with a roar, furiously slashing in with her claws.
Susan blocked and defended herself as well as she could, but she really wasn't a match for Oenea's flight skills and claws. After being cut across the face about five times, Susan managed to lunge forward and grab a large handful of Oenea's hair, and she pulled unmercifully. This distracted the Luftwing enough to make her stop attacking Susan so vigorously. To the left of her, a handsome Luftwing male gave a disheartened wail and plummeted to the grounds below, his wings folded. Susan saw Helen with a large rock in her hand, and she was defending herself against three Luftwings that were attacking her.
Susan threw her weight forward, her greater mass rolling the flying, struggling pair that was her and Oenea over, and Susan crashed both of her legs into Oenea's left shin.
The girl howled, and let go of Susan completely, but not before tearing off Susan's right thumbnail with her claw. Susan screamed, but shunted the pain to the side, flapping madly away from the scene. As she had expected, Oenea had partially recovered, and was in pursuit of Susan again.
Susan dived into a particulary thick clump of trees, swerving carefully around a patch of brambles. A few seconds later, there was heavy cursing from where the brambles had been before, and Susan smiled grimly.
She's good, but she's impatient, she thought. She made her way around back out into the mountain sunshine, and hovered for a bit, massaging her tight, sore shoulder muscles, which if they had voices, would have been screaming in pain. Helen had thwacked her stone into the side of another skull, and another body came crashing down to the ground. The crowd was still thrumming with noise, and talk of the banquet that was to be held for the winners. A mosquito buzzed by Susan's ear, landing on her sweaty skin. She slapped at it, and Oenea broke through the overgrowth of mountain pine, bearing a very long branch with several thorns protruding out of it.
Only a deft move under the Luftwing saved Susan from a lot of unnecessary pain. She headed back down to the pine thicket, trying frantically to think of some sort of battle plan. It came to her when she grazed by the tops of the tall evergreen trees.
Onena had gone into some sort of crazy blood lust, ignoring her throbbing shin and the part of her cranium where hair had been ripped out of the scalp. Bearing her thorny stick like a baseball bat, she thwapped the trees and poked the bushes with it, looking for Susan.
"Come out, you cowardly ground-pounder," she growled, whacking at a blackened tree stump. "Fight like a Luftwing!"
Thwasmack! Suddenly, the tip of a very tall tree (which Oenea had assumed had been shorn short) came hurtling into view, and laid itself very sharply across her face. Susan came streaking up over the tip of the tree, nearly laughing at her success. She had bent the top of a bendy pine down nearly to the ground, and let it go at the perfect moment. She turned around, in case Oenea was still up, but the female Luftwing lay on the ground, still breathing but knocked out by the force of the blow.
Helen was grappling madly with another Luftwing girl, who seemed as exhausted as she did. Wasn't The Call over yet? Her back and wings had gone numb with tiredness, and it seemed nearly impossible to raise her arm that had the stone in it.
There was a smacking sound, and a large branch fell across the other Luftwing's head, and she fell to the ground, leaving Helen to reach out and touch the familiar lines of Susan, who had ripped a branch off a tree, and was wielding it as a sword.
"How many are left... how much time?" Susan panted, bobbing up and down, as she was now so exhausted that she was only beating her wings when she had started to fall. Helen had gone numb with tight muscles, and was breathing harshly.
"Three left... don't know time," the blind girl panted, clutching a stitch in her side. "Can't take much more."
"Pretend to fight?" asked Susan, still panting and bobbing idiotically in the air. "So no people come over?"
Helen nodded - she had noticed that no other Luftwings had come near during most fights, so she weakly bopped Susan over the head with the stone, and Susan swiped at Helen's arm pitifully.
The cheers of the crowd grew down into chants.
"Ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two..... one......" the rest of the crowd erupted into loud cheers, and beckoned the ones that had managed to stay in the air back to the cave entrance. Helen and Susan came slowly, supporting each other, and they collapsed onto a pile of mosses and other soft tidbits that the organizers of The Call had thoughtfully lain out on the hard cavern floor.
Helen and Susan immediately lost all consciousness, and lapsed into dreamless nothing.
# # #
Rob, Grace and Gerald all huddled in the center of Grace's very large bed, and peered over the parchment.
"Rinroaut?" asked Rob, wrinkling his nose. "What in the hey is a Rinroaut?"
"Well," Gerald said, "did we get it right?"
Grace pointed to the chart they had made over a clean sheet of parchment.
It's where Gryffindor and Slytherin are the same,
Seek not in head but in brain,
Rin
Second, look in marrow, not in bone,
Not in a gelding, but in a roan.
ro
Third, apple, oak, rowan,
Find not in deer, but in fawn,
a
Fourth, not in the shell but in the nut,
See not in open, but in shut.
ut
Look in places the meek would not try,
See where winged humans fly,
Converse with Luftwing king,
See beyond golden wing...
"It has to be right," Grace said frankly. "Unless it's really not a word riddle, and we missed something."
"Rinoraut," Gerald mused. "It sounds familiar."
"There's a mountain called Rinonaut," Rob said.
"Haw did you find that one out?" Grace asked, astonished. "I thought that servants are uneducated."
Rob kneaded the sides of the feather mattress nervously. "I snuck into the library to read, when I was supposed to be polishing tables," he admitted.
Gerald grinned. "That would be just like you."
"Well," Grace interrupted, "do you think that the rhyme would have been misinterpreted?"
Rob shrugged, and reached up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and frowned when he remembered that they weren't there. "It's possible. It could have been conceived a long time ago, when the mountain was something different."
Gerald shrugged. "You want to try it? Does anybody know how to get to this Rinonaut?"
Grace nodded. "I have an atlas. Wait here."
Grace got off the bed, and walked across the room, where there was a sizable bookcase with many leather-bound books. She ran her finger along the spines of the book, reading the titles, before pulling out one of the thicker volumes and bringing it over to the bed.
"I think that this is it," Grace said, opening to the eighty-seventh page. "See? Here's Sapius."
It was indeed Castle Sapius, and it was a very detailed, two-page map that showed boundaries to other countries, roads, waterways, and mountains. Sure enough, one of the largest mountains was clearly labeled Rinonaut.
They stared at the page in silence for a moment, before looking at each other. "You want to try it?" Gerald repeated. Grace shrugged.
"Do you want to stay here and become old?" she countered. "We're young, strong, and we can try everything else later. What's a Luftwing, by the way?" she asked, reading over the last part of the rhyme.
"They're some sort of winged monster that attacks humans and cattle," Gerald replied smartly. He could be sure of this because Master Scotia had lectured about Luftwings for an entire day.
Rob shuddered. "Winged monster?"
Grace shut the atlas with a loud snap. "We'll worry about that when it comes. For now, let's get some sleep."
# # #
A/N: Well, one more chapter closer to the grande finale, eh? My muse had gone for a vacation somewhere in the tropics, so that's why this chapter took so long in the making. ^_^ Well, now the muse is back in residence, and it hopes, (and I do too) that you enjoyed my story as of thus far! And as always, the parting words - Read and Review, please!
~Moxie ^_^
Disclaimer: Whatever is in the Harry Potter books belongs to *her* whatever else belongs to *me*. ^_~