The Inartan way of life rarely lent itself to dull moments, acts of sheer insanity a staple for their impetuous diets. This, however, was a new plateau for the child born from the dregs of society. Perhaps, even, for anyone his age. And had he been anyone else, surrendering might have seemed a reasonable choice. Not even his elders could fault an unproven Yasi for his bravery up to this point. He’d gone toe to toe with one of the most fearsome raptors the Mountain knew, and thus far had survived the encounter. So what was the point of delaying what seemed to be the inevitable if there wasn’t something to be gained? If there wasn’t something for him to prove?
Within the shadow of the cave’s gaping maw, Raif momentarily closed his eyes in vain attempt to collect thoughts that had been scattered like dust to the winds. Misery’s fingers clawed implacably across every inch of his shivering body in what became a symphony of nerve endings firing off percussive blasts. Brush strokes of blood appeared as blackest ink across sundered flesh where the light abated, coagulating near his oldest wounds that drew vicious dark lines along his back. Even the air he breathed raced like liquid fire through trembling lungs, sweat kissed shoulders heaving with each pleading breath as drying tears form a river of salt along his smeared cheeks. It left one wondering just how much more agony a boy could endure, and if there was any strength left to press on.
It became apparent that an arm which had fallen lame in the ascent left little choice but for the other to shoulder the burden of his increasing weight when he made to stand. Like pushing a bear from his back, Raif’s entire body shook as his will battled against what little the gods afforded him. The ground was mercifully even in this part of the cave, blinking eyes stung with salty sweat that adjusted to the darkness slowly at first, until silhouettes scattering the ground took a formless shape deeper within. Nothing appeared to be moving as far as the boy could tell, the darkness drawing him inward hesitantly at first while the threat of the Wind Eagle outside ushered him along from behind. That thought alone seemed enough to drag the boy up from his knees and onto his feet with only a slight lurch to the side.
Swirling and exhausted thoughts became so focused on what little hope remained that Raif hardly recognized the sinking feeling of dread nibbling at the smallest part of him. A part that showed caution in perilous moments like these. Perhaps if he’d been bred from the weaker blood of other races, fear would have bade him to retreat and take his chances outside against the elements. But if there was something to be said of any Inartan, whether they be swaddling babes or wizened veterans of the skies, ignoring common sense was essential to their way of life. Without it, experiences fell depressingly short of beauty.
One muddled, shuffling step followed another, as the boy ventured into the quiet abyss, fearless despite circumstance. Feet that were barely able to lift themselves gruffly brushed what bits of debris lay disheveled across the cave floor. Squinting eyes were at a loss to define each object, as it was mostly the sound of his feet pushing each piece aside that gave any indication as to composition. The smell of must and decay was so strong that Raif could taste it bitterly upon the edge of his tongue with each gasping breath, exhaustion tugging against each muscle where pain was not more prevalent.
And then, as if awareness were a thing of magic that could be brought to life without pretense, Raif’s hand brushed against a solid branch whose dead leaves rattled in protest to his unintentional meddling. Spending a fair amount of time within the aeries cleaning up the messes the birds so often left behind, realization was nearly instantaneous with what the eyes detailed in stark relief against the backdrop of cold, stone walls. Time ceased to exist in that brief moment. He should have known the gods were toying with him, a plaything to suit an insidious need for their immortal entertainment. Delaying his death had been nothing more than a farce to lighten his hopes. Of all things to stumble upon, a large nest was perhaps at the top of his list of regrettable things.
Raif might have condemned the entire pantheon with his last reserve of strength had it not been for a nebulous sound that dashed his previous misconception about being the only occupant within the cave. Turning with as much speed as his mangled body would allow, another surge of adrenaline sparked some life to eyes that had been weighed down by futility. She was a mother, he thought silently, connecting logical assumptions together as the details of the chick became more prevalent within the shadow of the cave. Not much to look at in their infancy, the creature still seemed capable of making a meal from the boy’s struggling carcass in his current state. Falling within a close second on his list of regrettable things, Raif would much rather have been dealt a swift and fatal blow by the large menacing talons of the mother over being slowly ripped apart by the razor beak of the fledgling.
Yet, chimes passed, and nothing happened. Or at least, nothing appeared to be happening. In fact, unless he had missed his mark, the boy could not help but feel that he was somehow being studied. The way one might study a work of art, or perhaps an abstract piece of literature. If bewilderment had not been too complex an emotion for his weakened state to grasp, Raif might have felt it. But instead, like the decidedly ugly puffball of feathers standing across from him, he was lured by curiosity, matching step for step with the sky child’s own awkward hops until they were mere feet apart from one another. Part of him wanted nothing more than to reach out and stroke the creature’s viciously curving beak, one last experience to embrace before surrendering to surmounting odds of making it from this place alive.
Raif’s thoughts receded. Or perhaps it was more likened to being rudely interrupted in the middle of a sentence. A tingling sensation along the top of his scalp drew attention away from the pain that wracked the rest of his body. It was a welcomed, albeit incomprehensible relief, as he stared into the depths of the bird’s beady black eyes for what felt like mere ticks of the bell. Something incorporeal existed within them he realized, as though being beckoned the way a friend might silently ask for help. It was an understanding with reservation. A reprieve that did not last nearly long enough.
It was a sudden tectonic shift, pain the likes of which he’d never experienced before, splitting the very threads of his mind in twain. The one good hand he possessed clawed feverishly where he felt the crevice forming, buckling under the strain until his knees meshed with the floor. Being beaten to the point of forfeiting one’s life for lack of hope was one thing. This was entirely another, the agony stretching into eternity, until Raif felt he might finally topple over unconscious from grief and be consumed by unreachable shadow. But as all things came to an end, this was given no exception. Replaced by a fleeting image.
Somehow the boy was able to recognize that the picture was not his own, a foreign object drifting through the ether of his recoiling thoughts, unconnected to a point of reference, yet still as crisp as any experience he’d encountered that day. And then more. Many more. Images both dark and full of light. Some that were as fleeting as the clouds hanging across the sky, and others that burned vibrantly into his retina in splashes of color and life. Some that were simply impossible, such as the few that reflected his own image back at him. It felt as if…as if the small Eagle were trying to communicate with him.
It took a great deal of his own concentration to focus upon the puzzle that was slowly being pieced together, another shock of pain sending a tremor of despair across wincing features. Determination alone now kept his eyes focused, until the very moment when a voice, not spoken yet still heard, echoed faintly in his ears. Endal? The boy felt that he could somehow push back the way in which his own mind had been afflicted.
“No.” Raif’s voice sounded weak, as though he had not spoken in days, a product of the rigors his body had been through no doubt. “No,” he repeated with more conviction this time. “Not yet, anyway…”
Staggering back to his feet once more, the boy’s eyes evaluated the gray down, entertaining each contour with a faltering gaze that did not know how much longer it could stay awake. “Your mother is out there. She is going to finish what she started.”
Even to his own thoughts Raif could not help but feel hopeless at a time like this. Stuck with a protective mother’s offspring inside the aerie she called her home, what chance did the boy have of making it out of this situation alive? “I’m just glad…I got to experience what it was like. Being told stories hardly…seemed to do it service.”
The loss of blood was affecting his cognitive ability whether either of the two species knew it or not. Having yet to lose a beloved sister, or watch his mountain crumble under the raw power of Ivak's release, Raif did not comprehend the meaning of soul tearing loss, and was thus still quite innocent in his youth. Hardly the cold-hearted bastard he would one day become.
Within the shadow of the cave’s gaping maw, Raif momentarily closed his eyes in vain attempt to collect thoughts that had been scattered like dust to the winds. Misery’s fingers clawed implacably across every inch of his shivering body in what became a symphony of nerve endings firing off percussive blasts. Brush strokes of blood appeared as blackest ink across sundered flesh where the light abated, coagulating near his oldest wounds that drew vicious dark lines along his back. Even the air he breathed raced like liquid fire through trembling lungs, sweat kissed shoulders heaving with each pleading breath as drying tears form a river of salt along his smeared cheeks. It left one wondering just how much more agony a boy could endure, and if there was any strength left to press on.
It became apparent that an arm which had fallen lame in the ascent left little choice but for the other to shoulder the burden of his increasing weight when he made to stand. Like pushing a bear from his back, Raif’s entire body shook as his will battled against what little the gods afforded him. The ground was mercifully even in this part of the cave, blinking eyes stung with salty sweat that adjusted to the darkness slowly at first, until silhouettes scattering the ground took a formless shape deeper within. Nothing appeared to be moving as far as the boy could tell, the darkness drawing him inward hesitantly at first while the threat of the Wind Eagle outside ushered him along from behind. That thought alone seemed enough to drag the boy up from his knees and onto his feet with only a slight lurch to the side.
Swirling and exhausted thoughts became so focused on what little hope remained that Raif hardly recognized the sinking feeling of dread nibbling at the smallest part of him. A part that showed caution in perilous moments like these. Perhaps if he’d been bred from the weaker blood of other races, fear would have bade him to retreat and take his chances outside against the elements. But if there was something to be said of any Inartan, whether they be swaddling babes or wizened veterans of the skies, ignoring common sense was essential to their way of life. Without it, experiences fell depressingly short of beauty.
One muddled, shuffling step followed another, as the boy ventured into the quiet abyss, fearless despite circumstance. Feet that were barely able to lift themselves gruffly brushed what bits of debris lay disheveled across the cave floor. Squinting eyes were at a loss to define each object, as it was mostly the sound of his feet pushing each piece aside that gave any indication as to composition. The smell of must and decay was so strong that Raif could taste it bitterly upon the edge of his tongue with each gasping breath, exhaustion tugging against each muscle where pain was not more prevalent.
And then, as if awareness were a thing of magic that could be brought to life without pretense, Raif’s hand brushed against a solid branch whose dead leaves rattled in protest to his unintentional meddling. Spending a fair amount of time within the aeries cleaning up the messes the birds so often left behind, realization was nearly instantaneous with what the eyes detailed in stark relief against the backdrop of cold, stone walls. Time ceased to exist in that brief moment. He should have known the gods were toying with him, a plaything to suit an insidious need for their immortal entertainment. Delaying his death had been nothing more than a farce to lighten his hopes. Of all things to stumble upon, a large nest was perhaps at the top of his list of regrettable things.
Raif might have condemned the entire pantheon with his last reserve of strength had it not been for a nebulous sound that dashed his previous misconception about being the only occupant within the cave. Turning with as much speed as his mangled body would allow, another surge of adrenaline sparked some life to eyes that had been weighed down by futility. She was a mother, he thought silently, connecting logical assumptions together as the details of the chick became more prevalent within the shadow of the cave. Not much to look at in their infancy, the creature still seemed capable of making a meal from the boy’s struggling carcass in his current state. Falling within a close second on his list of regrettable things, Raif would much rather have been dealt a swift and fatal blow by the large menacing talons of the mother over being slowly ripped apart by the razor beak of the fledgling.
Yet, chimes passed, and nothing happened. Or at least, nothing appeared to be happening. In fact, unless he had missed his mark, the boy could not help but feel that he was somehow being studied. The way one might study a work of art, or perhaps an abstract piece of literature. If bewilderment had not been too complex an emotion for his weakened state to grasp, Raif might have felt it. But instead, like the decidedly ugly puffball of feathers standing across from him, he was lured by curiosity, matching step for step with the sky child’s own awkward hops until they were mere feet apart from one another. Part of him wanted nothing more than to reach out and stroke the creature’s viciously curving beak, one last experience to embrace before surrendering to surmounting odds of making it from this place alive.
Raif’s thoughts receded. Or perhaps it was more likened to being rudely interrupted in the middle of a sentence. A tingling sensation along the top of his scalp drew attention away from the pain that wracked the rest of his body. It was a welcomed, albeit incomprehensible relief, as he stared into the depths of the bird’s beady black eyes for what felt like mere ticks of the bell. Something incorporeal existed within them he realized, as though being beckoned the way a friend might silently ask for help. It was an understanding with reservation. A reprieve that did not last nearly long enough.
It was a sudden tectonic shift, pain the likes of which he’d never experienced before, splitting the very threads of his mind in twain. The one good hand he possessed clawed feverishly where he felt the crevice forming, buckling under the strain until his knees meshed with the floor. Being beaten to the point of forfeiting one’s life for lack of hope was one thing. This was entirely another, the agony stretching into eternity, until Raif felt he might finally topple over unconscious from grief and be consumed by unreachable shadow. But as all things came to an end, this was given no exception. Replaced by a fleeting image.
Somehow the boy was able to recognize that the picture was not his own, a foreign object drifting through the ether of his recoiling thoughts, unconnected to a point of reference, yet still as crisp as any experience he’d encountered that day. And then more. Many more. Images both dark and full of light. Some that were as fleeting as the clouds hanging across the sky, and others that burned vibrantly into his retina in splashes of color and life. Some that were simply impossible, such as the few that reflected his own image back at him. It felt as if…as if the small Eagle were trying to communicate with him.
It took a great deal of his own concentration to focus upon the puzzle that was slowly being pieced together, another shock of pain sending a tremor of despair across wincing features. Determination alone now kept his eyes focused, until the very moment when a voice, not spoken yet still heard, echoed faintly in his ears. Endal? The boy felt that he could somehow push back the way in which his own mind had been afflicted.
“No.” Raif’s voice sounded weak, as though he had not spoken in days, a product of the rigors his body had been through no doubt. “No,” he repeated with more conviction this time. “Not yet, anyway…”
Staggering back to his feet once more, the boy’s eyes evaluated the gray down, entertaining each contour with a faltering gaze that did not know how much longer it could stay awake. “Your mother is out there. She is going to finish what she started.”
Even to his own thoughts Raif could not help but feel hopeless at a time like this. Stuck with a protective mother’s offspring inside the aerie she called her home, what chance did the boy have of making it out of this situation alive? “I’m just glad…I got to experience what it was like. Being told stories hardly…seemed to do it service.”
The loss of blood was affecting his cognitive ability whether either of the two species knew it or not. Having yet to lose a beloved sister, or watch his mountain crumble under the raw power of Ivak's release, Raif did not comprehend the meaning of soul tearing loss, and was thus still quite innocent in his youth. Hardly the cold-hearted bastard he would one day become.
