In the beginning, the great mother Fledgesella laid with the Elder Planes, and from her loins, the seven gods were born.
-Planewalker’s Guide to Nestus
(20 minutes before the murders)
The kennel was not ready for three years of students to descend upon it and check out all of the quills at once. If mounting was this hectic, flying was sure to be equally chaotic, if not more so.
Having one of the fastest quills had rubbed off on Arlen, making her the first of her group to mount their companions, by several minutes. That she had skipped the required paperwork may have helped, but Arlen was certain that she could still win amongst her crew by two minutes at least.
Which was exactly how long she beat Marcella by, the wraithlike girl weaving quickly between the other students to retrieve her quill, Spindle. Spindle truly was Marcella’s companion, comparably thin and with the same translucent white hair. “Let me guess, you skipped the paperwork?”
“Let me guess, you did the paperwork?” Arlen shot back as Daephina saddled up beside them, Dalia a quill-length behind her. Dalia was a deep black and had mauled the two pledges that tried to bond her before Daephina had succeeded in a matter of minutes. They nodded at Arlen and Marcella before looking over the ocean.
“Any idea what’s going on?” Arlen asked her quill. “Did Hay-hidden say anything? He was in the kennel, right?”
“He has been remarkably silent today. Usually, he will say a few words or at least chuckle at one of the other’s jokes, but not today. What about Goldmask, anything unusual?”
Arlen shook her head. “Ever the good boy, that one.”
“Ever the good boy,” Halfsies echoed, slower as if he was chewing on each syllable. “Am I a good boy?”
Arlen scratched behind his ears. “You are the best boy in all of Ravenshroud! Of Paknest!”
Bennet and Tris joined them a minute later atop Whitecap and Boulder, the latter named for his blocky angles and slate grey coat. “So, we’re waiting for Julia and the captain,” Bennet said, “as per usual.”
Marcella waved her hand dismissively. “You know how formal captain is. The thought of cutting a line would probably kill her, let alone doing it.”
Daephina nodded. “I heard she even masturbates in haiku.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Esme said, having appeared behind Daephina with Julia behind her. “Who spreads these rumors bout me? Shall I correct them?”
Marcella counted on her fingers and sighed. “She even talks in haiku no less.”
“Es,” Tris said smoothly. “Do you have any idea what we’re doing today?”
Esme shook her head. “No, but I’d wager that we’re about to find out.” The teachers flew into view with three mighty booms. Drayla and Goldmask arrived first, flanked by the professors. Albia’s quill, Opal, was the color of their namesake, while Blachen’s quill, Hay-hidden, was a straw blond.
“Lovely weather we’re having,” Drayla said. “For your lesson today, you will be split into two teams, led by Professor Albia and Professor Blachen. Behind the castle are two smaller rock spires, and in their winding caves, the professors have placed a flag. It will be up to you to unite the two flags. Your quills have already been assigned a number today, and quills assigned one will be flying with Professor Albia, while quills assigned two will be flying with Professor Blachen. All of you grab a practice baton and join your professor, and please, keep any ingestible dusts in your bags, along with any leaf treats.”
Arlen flicked Halfsies’ ear. “You didn’t tell me about a number!”
Halfsies shrugged. “It did not seem important.”
I’d probably think nothing of it, Arlen conceded. “So which are we?” Please say Albia, please say Albia, please say Albia.
“Blachen,” Halfsies grumbled. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“Arlen,” Bennet called, drawing her from her mental relay. “You got Blachen too, right?”
Arlen nodded, thankful she had at least one friend. Turning her head slightly to the right, Arlen’s heart sank to her stomach as Esme also had two fingers raised. “We will see what Blachen has to say about positions,” Esme said, grabbing a wooden practice sword and joining Blachen in the air.
Bennet dug his hands into his pockets and pulled out five silver coins. “Tris, if you win, I’ll give you two, and if you knock me off my quill, I’ll give you the other three.”
Tris chuckled. “What ever will I buy with five crowdimes, Maelstraith?”
“Less than I’ll buy with ten!” Bennet yelled before flying off, Arlen and Daephina in tow. “What she fails to understand is that we have you”— pet Halfsies’ ears—“and that without the captain she’s going to be blind.”
“I would not underestimate Julia,” Esme said. “For our strategy homework, I’ve gone to her before I’ve went to the rest of you.”
“Yes, because none can behold my strategic brilliance,” Bennet said with much hand flourishing. “That’s why Drayla put me with the rest of you, so that you might all bring me to your level.”
“Is that level somewhere between mediocre and this ought to be fun?” Daephina cut in.
“Regardless of your tactical acumen, I think we will have our work cut out for us with the three of them,” Esme said as she came to a stop. “And it looks like everyone else has had their crews essentially split. Professor, do you have some strategy in mind?” Esme asked, her eyes darting to Arlen and Halfsies.
Ah, they’re going to want me and Halfsies to rush to the spire before the other team can do anything, Arlen reasoned.
“I will admit,” Blachen began, “that I only know some of your strengths. Tell me, by way of hands, how many of you are high-wings?” About half of the cluster around the professor raised their hands. “So the headmistress really did split us almost in half,” he mumbled.
“Professor,” Arlen said before she raised her hand and continued as if called on, “I bet Drayla wants us to be able to work in teams of anybody, since we’ll be flying with other schools.”
“No,” a short and stocky black boy on an equally stocky cookies-and-crème patterned quill said. He had a small black afro, roughly the size and shape of the chunks on his quill’s coat. “If that’s true, shouldn’t we try to form crews that play to our strengths?”
“No,” Esme chimed in. “If we do that, we’ll inevitably just end up choosing our crew and then the remains of another crew. Today, all of us are low-wings, all of us are high-wings, and all of us are captains.” She looked to Blachen. “Professor Blachen, by my count there are some 105 of us here, which is 15 squads. Give us a number, and we’ll form the teams ourselves.”
Blachen’s eyes widened, far wider than Arlen had ever seen from him. “Lovely ideas, Whitestreak and Lady Bondblood.” He pointed at a random student, making him flinch as if the bony finger was a spear. “You’ll be captain of team one and”—he pointed at another—“you’ll be captain of two,” he said before sorting the rest of the students into teams.
While Arlen was glad that her and Esme’s idea had won out, it was soured slightly by being grouped with Esme. Being the leader should have alleviated this somewhat, but the sudden responsibility made the rock in her gut drop lower. By the Seven she always hated switching roles in Blachen’s class. Is the old codger trying to lose or what?
“I’m Damian Beauten,” the black boy said as he hovered beside Arlen and extended his hand, “and this is Custard, I’m sure you can figure why.”
Arlen took the hand, hoping her grip was firm enough. “Arlen Whitestreak, and this is Halfsies, I’m sure you can figure why.”
For further simplicity, the 15 groups clustered into a pentagon, with each corner having a right, left, and middle group. As luck would have it, Arlen’s tri-group was positioned at the front of the pentagon and was designated as middle crew no less. Did it effectively mark Arlen as the head of the 104 other riders, all surely more capable than her? No, not officially. Did it have her sweating enough to mat her thick hair to her skin? Very nearly.
“Arlen,” Esme sang from above her. “I look forward to seeing you lead, my high-wing,” she said with a plastered on smile. Her eyes were an abyssal black, and through them Esme delivered her real message. Fuck up once, pull a single punch, and I will throw this game to push you into the sea, Whitestreak.
Drayla blew into a horn, drawing the girls from their staring match. “When I blow this horn again, you may begin!” she yelled before holding the horn to her lips. Draya held it there for what felt like hours as the students leaned forward, as if hearing it a fraction of a second faster would let them start that much quicker. Across from them, Albia’s team had arrayed themselves like bull horns.
“They’re going to try to encircle us,” Blachen said from beside Arlen. “What do we say to that?”
Arlen swallowed a gulp and looked to Esme for help. “K-kite formation,” she said shakily, “use the team at the back to race around and get the flag.”
Blachen stared at Arlen for a moment, disassembling her piece by piece and laying them out on a table. Here’s the brain, barely used, but still not worth much. Couple of wolfsmarks maybe. Blachen relaxed his gaze and shrugged. “Sounds good to me,” he said before scratching behind Hay-hidden’s ear. The quill nodded before nudging Custard’s snout, who in turn nudged the quill next to him. When the chain reached the end of the tri-group, the quills barked to the next tri-group as Drayla blew her horn.
Still in pentagon formation, Blachen’s group flew gently towards the other formation, fast, but in no hurry to gore themselves upon Albia’s horns. Arlen scanned over the formation for their heavy hitters and her heart sank an inch when she looked over the horns and found Tris grinning like a starved dog at her.
Looking past Tris, Arlen’s heart sank further. The crew at the horn tip had seven of the largest quills Arlen had ever seen. Her eyes darted quickly to the opposite horn tip and found much the same. “Back middles, move up and form diamonds with the middle tri-groups!” Arlen shouted, “Bottom rights and lefts, form another diamond and hang 15 seconds behind.”
Arlen’s breathing picked up, her heart thump-thumping against her chest. Oh god, everyone can hear what a mess I am! Arlen thought as the crews moved into the new position. Don’t they know better than to trust my read of the field? Does anybody know better? Does—Arlen’s heart sank a bit deeper—did I just make myself the leader?
“Arlen, calm down,” Damian called to her, voice smooth like glass. “They’re pausing, what do you want to do now?”
A quick sweep showed he was right, and that Tris’ crew had pulled themselves back. The outer thirds of Albia’s formation had begun to expand, leaving tempting gaps. The enemy’s spire lay just beyond them and while Arlen figured she could blitz through, the rest of the quills at her command would not fare so well. “Everyone wheel right! Left front, away from center to cover the flank, back, get to work!”
Damian grinned. “If they balked at four, they’ll shit themselves at seven! Onward Custard!”
“Whitestreak!” Esme barked from above. “Albia is diving low!”
“I’ll deal with our errant professor!” Blachen yelled before he and Hay-hidden dove to meet Albia.
Arlen didn’t watch him for long and jerked her head back to the formation above them. Albia’s horns had tilted, long pincers wanting nothing more than to devour Blachen’s students from above and below. Not there yet, Arlen reasoned.
In her periphery, one of the back crews had broken up to aid Blachen, while three more had raced ahead. That’s fine, that’s fine, Arlen told herself as their formation’s right leg met Albia’s left horn. Practice swords drawn, Arlen searched for the closest quill and rider to her to engage, which just so happened to be Tris.
“White-streak,” Tris drawled, breaking Arlen’s name upon her biceps as their swords met. “Do you really think having a quill will help you? Your little half breed isn’t half the size of Boulder!”
“Half breed, am I?” Halfsies thought before he rammed his head into Boulder’s, pushing the larger quill’s head up 45 degrees, 60. At, 90 Arlen swung, the muscles in her arms churning like descending storm clouds.
Tris caught the blow easily, the veins along her forearm bulging like gnarled roots. “I must admit, you’re not half bad on a quill!” she said before worming her blade under Arlen’s and casting it into the sea. “But not good enough for me, Arly.”
With a mighty flap, Halfsies sent a gust of wind forward, forcing Tris to grip her saddle tightly. Inching closer, Halfsies buffeted the larger girl and her quill, letting his wings smack across Boulder’s face. The quills behind Tris and Boulder flinched at the rapid gusts of wind boring down on them, allowing Esme and Damian to fly up to their riders and bonk them on the heads.
Tris glared a dagger at Arlen before Boulder lunged forward and bit the ridge of Halfsies wing. Halfsies shrieked as Boulder dragged him down before angling his snout toward Boulder’s throat.
“Halfsies no!” Arlen screamed into their mental link, only to come upon a stone wall. Was she shutting himself off so he could gore Boulder? Arlen didn’t have time to find out and grabbed Halfsies by the ears. The first bite may have been uncalled for here, but the throat was sure to be fatal if Halfsies was even half as vicious as Arlen thought. “Pull back Halfsies! Tris, get your fucking mutt off my quill!”
Tris yanked at Boulder’s ears, but the grey quill rebuked her with as shake of their head. She can’t get him under control either, Arlen realized. Fuck it, here goes, shethought dismally before she took her feet out of her saddle’s stirrups.
Arlen so rarely went beyond the beaches of Doberos where the water still had color, and she hoped that it only looked like obsidian blades below. There were things in the deep waters that defied naming, an Arlen did not relish the privilege of trying to name them. Arlen looked looked up, finding that Tris had joined her in the descent to get Boulder away from Halfsies.
Ready for the ocean, Arlen let the cold water wash over her head and shoulders, but no further. Halfsies had caught her, leg held gently in his jaws. Halfsies barked several times, each one sharp like a whip as if to say, do not do that again, you white-haired fool!
“I’m not going to have you kill Boulder,” Arlen managed to say, mouth still choked with water. Boulder fished Tris out of the water as Arlen pulled herself back into the saddle, using her own leg as a ladder. “You owe me!” Arlen shouted to Tris before she joined the combat again.
Halfsies returned to the combat, drying Arlen with the drag he generated. Her quick eye found Damian and Esme, their crew having formed a triangle that pressed forward as intended. The diversion, however, had been intercepted by Albia’s students, and the professors themselves dueled eagerly along the waterfront. I’m the only one not occupied, Arlen realized. “Let’s get that flag!”
Halfsies shot forward, each flap of his wings blowing him closer to the opposing spire like the press of bellows.
How do you stop the fastest quill in all of Ravenshroud? It was a fiercely debated question, and while some may have said ham, a nice tree, or a good scratch behind the ears, they were all wrong. The simple answer, one Arlen had figured out early, was that any sufficiently fast object, could get Halfsies’ attention. As Arlen saw one of the members of her diversion group fall, she gripped the spike of her saddle tight.
Braced as she may have been, Arlen’s gut lurched forward like a trampoline as Halfsies inverted to catch the student on his soft belly. “We are never doing that again!” Arlen transmitted, too spent to say it. Whatever wall Halfsies had put up was still, to feel the adrenaline without distractions, Arlen reckoned. Halfsies looked back at her with a panting grin and raised brow, no doubt considering weaving it into everything. Arlen tried his mind again, finding it blocked once more. That wasn’t uncommon when he was deep into a flight, shutting her out to feel all of the sensations around him more fully.
Arlen aimed Halfsies towards the spire and where the other student had fallen from. “Thanks for the save back there,” he called to her as he mounted a grey quill with poofy, swirling hair. “Nikolai Nariyanoi, and this is Hurricane.”
“Arlen Whitestreak, and this is Halfsies, greatest quill in all of Paknest,” Arlen said, earning seven chuckles from the riders and seven scoffs from their quills. “Come on, let’s get that damned flag!”
The group of seven and their straggler rose quickly to the top of the spire, where the honeycomb of caves inside was most accessible. Halfsies looked back at Arlen with a worried look and shook his head. “We’ll be fine, there’s eight of us.”
“You have no blade,” Nikolai pointed out.
“There’s seven of us,” Arlen corrected. Halfsies grumbled before dropping her at the spire and flying off. “After all of you,” Arlen said, holding her hand out like she was a chauffeur. “I lost my sword earlier.”
Nikolai scoffed. “With a quill like that, who needs a sword?”
Arlen tried not to think about that as she followed him. The tunnels were a wash of grey stone and damp moss. The dirt underneath them was well packed, from the foot traffic, no doubt. Must be a popular hangout spot, Arlen reasoned as she found nice nooks to curl up in and read her esoteric textbooks and picture novels. Not too dark, not for me anyway.
Water hung from the rocky curves of the cave from a recent rain, the scent wet like morning dew. The metallic scents of mercury and gold lingered in the air as well, from the richer students imbibing olympia. Past that was the faint, electric smell of zinc. We weren’t supposed to use dust and the defenders aren’t moving either, Arlen thought. “Halfsies, get near Drayla, I don’t like this,” Arlen transmitted, praying to the Seven that Halfsies was receiving messages at the time.
Three more turns through the caves brought the group of seven to the group of three. “Are they sleeping?” Nikolai asked, nudging one of their heads. While it was meant to create a veneer of doubt, it failed at this.
“We need to get out of here,” Arlen said, grabbing one of the legs. “Help me carry this.”
The seven made quick work of the return trip, as fast as they could with three bodies between them. In the light of the entrance, Arlen identified the one she carried by his short black hair, ebony skin, and massive fists; Cameron Stonefist, and she knew instantly that she’d somehow be blamed for his death. He was descended from one of the first-riders—Kestus Pugil—and one of Fenrikan’s prodigies in the fifth year, while Arlen was descended from nobody and not a prodigy in anything of note. She tried Halfsies again, receiving nothing. “Help!” she screamed, echoed by the other riders.
A sharp crack rippled through the air seconds later, Halfsies arriving at its center. Drayla and the other professors arrived a minute later, their horrified faces flat and white like chalk. “The games are done!” Drayla yelled as she landed. “Three of our students, have died today, and the games are postponed, along with any other classes today,” she said later on the cliffs, plunging the mood of Ravenshroud into the waters below where they could drown in the black waters.