Page 3 of A Song of Air
The body let out a strangled gurgle before it toppled off the side of the seat. The horses, surprised at the suddenness of a dropping body, whinnied, jerking to a stop as they jumped and pawed through the air.
The wheels shrieked to a halt, the wagon creaking as it wobbled from side to side. A door burst open, the sound like thunder cracking against the sky.
The second arrow was already in her fingers in the time it took another human to jump out and investigate. And before the human could cry out, it flew and struck through the socket of his eye.
His body fell against dry grass.
There were shouts and cries of anger and fear. She focused on the angry sounds and blurry forms. It was instinct at this point to recognize the enemy without seeing them clearly. It was in their tone, the lilt of their words, and the hint of cruelty beneath them. Her body reacted. And the wind guided arrow after arrow as they struck their targets.
It was only when every single body fell that Bryson let her shoulders relax. That she let out a breath. That her fingers met the mask placed strategically across her face.
The mask had been crafted by the talented hands of a friend, its twisted design made of bone, wood, paint, and feathers. She’d memorized the contours of the thing, amazed that it felt like arealface, complete with a gnarled, angry, monstrous expression. One that twisted even more grotesquely across her blurry vision. Now, it was just another facet she wore to protect her identity from those who would wish her harm.
Considering those villains were now gone, she pulled it off, tucking it into the sack she wore slung over her shoulder. With a flick of her wrists, she tossed the hood from her head, baring her bright orange hair to the sunlight.
Another whistle sounded, another cry of a hawk, and Bryson stepped off a branch onto open air. Using her magic, she made sure the wind guided her safely down to the ground. As soon as her feet touched, she rushed toward the cart. Her comrades were already there, pulling open the wagon to reveal the scared humans and Fae within.
Criminals under the emperor’s reign.
Scared allies who needed help.
The smell of fear clung to the air. They were a blur of shadows and colors, their bodies plastered to the wagon walls like it could protect them from the masked creatures that suddenly towered over them.
It brought her own past to the forefront of her mind; when she sat on a hard bench, wishing the darkness would just swallow her whole and not spit her back out. She knew their situationall too well.She’d lived something similar once upon a time, back when her eyes still bled and the blackness of the world was new. Back when the wounds of her dad and sister’s deaths were as raw and aching as the ones in her eyes.
She’dbeena similar creature. Just a broken fragment of a Fae who had once known happiness. Of a Fae who had once known the love of a mother, a father, a sister.
Now she had nothing left except her magic, her pride, blurry vision, and a thirst for justice and revenge in equal measure.
But she’d been saved, and she believed it was her duty to save as well. Her mother would have wanted it. Because if she didn’t give everything she had for the Fae who needed it the most, then she may as well have spat on the memories of her family.
While the prisoners were taken from the wagon, she let herself reminisce in her own memories; of what it had been like to be helped down from a wagon much like that one, to touch her bare feet against the grass and feel a sliver of sunlight against her face like a promise of the good things that would come.
She shoved that away, though. This was not a time for remembrance. It was a time for freedom. And cleaning up scum from the ground.
Her feet carried her towards the spot where the bodies had fallen. They were nothing but mere lumps of cloudy, gray metal. The closer she got to them, the clearer they became. Details eluded her. Unless she was standing directly in front of someone, face mere inches away, she could scarcely make much out.
She supposed she didn’t need to see them at all to know they were dead.
Taking a life as quickly as she had was instinct. She never mourned them when her fingers released strings of arrows, or when the scent of copper filled her nostrils. Even when she could no longer hear the beating of their hearts, she did not weep.
She wondered if that made her a monster.
She bent, squinting and feeling around the still-warm corpse for her arrow. When her fingers met the smooth, wooden edge, she yanked it, the sick sound of wet flesh squelching as she did.
A low whistle sounded far from her side. Bryson didn’t need perfect sight to know who it was when she had the pace of footsteps and the outline of a dark silhouette memorized like the prints of a hand on parchment.
“Right in the eye.”
Bryson stood and turned to face the woman with a smile tilting her mouth. She probably should have felt ashamed for jesting about death, but if there was one thing she learned in life, it was that death was a cruel jokester and always got in the last laugh.
“Andin the forehead. Damn, Bryce, I’m impressed.” A hand clapped her back, but she’d braced for that bit of contact and didn’t falter.
Her friend was very affectionate and showed her love through touch. It was always heavy-handed and brought with it comfort that Bryson found she needed more often than not.
“Are you, really?” Bryson wiped the bloody arrow on the grass before shoving it into the quiver at her back. “Or are you flattering me because you want something from me, Malika?”
Malika laughed. Bryson could make out the rich brown tone of her skin, the curvature of her cheeks when she smiled, and the length of her curls. The details were swallowed by the fog of her own shitty vision, but she imagined that Malika’s whole face lit up with the action.
