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smile on her face. “There's worry and fear in all of us.
You're just living a much different path then you imagined. Think
you can handle it?”
    "If I don't find my wings?"
    "Yes."
    Caprion thought about it, rummaging
around, struggling against his wounded pride. He imagined five
years from now, and then ten―never learning magic, only suited to
menial tasks, like trimming bushes or cleaning streets. He would
live a quiet life, perhaps still in this very hut, read a lot of
books and start a new hobby. Eventually, he might even become good
at something, like an instrument. “I've always wanted to learn the
mandolin,” he said thoughtfully.
    Talarin snorted with laughter.
“Sometimes, Caprion, you make me feel manly.”
    He grinned at her in irony. He didn't
say it, but at her prompting, a deep yearning had awakened inside
of him, a sense of ultimate dissatisfaction―without wings, he might
learn an instrument, but he would never know the world of
flight.
    Talarin's smile wavered at his
expression. She laid her hand on his shoulder again. "Get some
sleep, alright?" she said with unaccustomed gentleness. "You look
really tired. I'll meet you tonight and we'll follow the soldiers
out."
    Caprion nodded. Talarin picked up his
cup and finished his drink for him. “See you tonight,” she called,
leaving the used cups on the floor. She picked up her sword and
whisked out the door, spreading her wings easily once she cleared
the archway. She lifted into the sky, soaring upward, and then
glided out of sight over the trees.
    Caprion sighed deeply and moved to his
cot, thoroughly exhausted. He had spent the previous night tossing
and turning, reliving dreams of his Singing, except he couldn't
remember his Song. His voice felt stifled and lodged in his throat.
Yes, sleep would be welcomed, and hopefully a bit of
peace.
     
    * * *
     
    Caprion slept most of the afternoon
but awakened at sunset, alerted by the chorus of crickets outside
his window. He dressed in a brown vest and black pants to better
blend with the shadows. He cleaned his sword briskly, although the
blade didn’t truly need it. He always kept it immaculately clean,
the point sharp and precise. It was a utilitarian broadsword,
forged from heavy steel and meant to be wielded with two hands.
Satisfied, he strapped the weapon to his back and went to meet
Talarin at the fringe of woodland behind his house.
    Talarin arrived at twilight, dressed
in a full suit of armor. “If I look the part, they'll think I
belong,” she explained, answering his questioning look. “No time to
waste; we’re running late.” Then she took his hand and a white
light surrounded him, tingling across his skin. Wordlessly, Talarin
lifted him into the air and they flew toward Fury Rock at the far
end of the isles, over acres and acres of forest. Only Harpies with
large wings could levitate objects or people. It was one of the
requirements of becoming a soldier.
    The more they neared the
coast, the more Caprion became determined. Yes, this is the place, he thought,
nearing the tall cliff that overlooked the ocean at the very end of
the Lost Isles. Fury Rock rose above the surrounding forest like a
jutting horn. He had traveled here only a few times as a
child.
    Fury Rock stood on a tall cliff above
a circle of sacred stones, planted in the ground long ago before
the fall of Aerobourne. The sacred shadestones jutted in a circle
at the base of the cliff, darker than night, like thick, black
fingers thrusting up from the earth. The Harpies did not commonly
use shadestones; in fact, these giant slabs had been mined long ago
from an unknown location on the mainland. They remained a silent
eulogy of when the floating island had traveled freely through the
clouds. Unlike sunstones, which emitted light and amplified Harpy
voices, the shadestones did the opposite, absorbing all light and
nullifying sound vibrations. Long ago, this circle of land was used
for sacrificing enemies, but such rituals were