The Nithra

“Bolero. I’ve been waiting for you.” A face, mostly obscured by a dark, thick black hood, appeared above him. The man’s eyes, shaded with shadow, were the color of molten gold.

Beyond the man, slim and muscular, was a picturesque night sky, ablaze with stars. Not Eyrie stars, Bolero noticed immediately. Not constellations that should be viewable from this region at this time of year. A strange feeling, a wrongness, settled into his stomach. The same feeling that weighed him down when the hide-away shadow had appeared in the forest.

“We’ve been waiting for you to acknowledge us, bloodbound hawk”

The forest. The forest.

With every heartbeat, the voice inside his head urged him to go to the Nithra.

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“Bolero.”

“Bolero!”

There was a pulse in the magic surrounding him. A rend in the patchwork fabric of Eyrie magic.

As if the wards were faltering.

As if different magics were infiltrating the Eyrie.

The blood drained from his face, and it must have been clear something bothered him, as Maeby had descended down the dais steps and Azura was kneeling beside him.

Bolero! Another voice, different this time. Another icy surge gripped him.

“What happened?” Maeby leaned in, studying his face. “Bolero? What’s going on?” Bolero’s eyelids were heavy, as he peeled them open to gaze upon Azura’s perfect visage above him.

Had he passed out? Fainted? No.His people didn’t faint. A Hawk of the Eyrie wouldn’t faint. Their circulatory and respiratory systems were far-too-advanced for that, at least without an extreme amount of blood loss. When had he fallen to his knees? He couldn’t remember physically reacting to the voice or the magic surge. He groaned, pushing himself up to his feet. He swayed slightly, could hardly feel Azura and Maeby’s hands steadying him. Even Badru had come to help, standing gingerly behind his mate, eying Bolero nervously.

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Surely Badru feared that Bolero was going to draw Maeby into a dangerous place.

I don’t blame him, he’s probably right.

Whatever truth Maeby seeked. Whatever was hidden within Bolero’s dreams, within his veins…

Bloodbound?

It was dangerous.

The answers lay in the Nithra Forest, that much was clear. Bolero hoped to the Eagle that he wouldn’t have to wander that far. He shifted quickly, too fast to savour the change, and dove from the high platform of the Kettle. Wind buffeted the crest of feathers on his head, his nictitating membranes rising to protect his eyes from the air rushing at him. He adjusted his flight feathers, fanning them out to catch the torrents of air that the waterfall expelled.

Gaining altitude, he faintly heard Maeby and Azura call his name-and a male voice ordering someone not to follow him-before the sounds and songs of the Kettle faded, replaced by bird song and the colored strands of magic that hung in the air.

The wards surrounding the Eyrie cliff sides were singing aloud today, a haughty-sounding melody. Altairi must have adjusted them to celebrate Maeby’s ceremony. They were notably stronger, too, however. She had bid them to sing, but added several shades of magic to them. To keep something out?

Or to keep something in?

Bolero inhaled deeply, and angled his tail, turning sharply towards the forest entrance. His wings sparked like flint on stone as he flew. Hopefully, no one would try to follow him, to trace his path of crazed magic-tracking. Interrupting a lure dancing celebration was unheard-of. Maeby was sure to be absolutely livid.

I’ll be sure to apologize when I return. He could picture it now. The Haggards would doubtless be awaiting him. Maeby, and probably Azura, would berate him, arms crossed. They were more frightening than any of the Haggards.

Bolero soared towards the forest, gazing out over the expanse of it all. The forest and steppes below him were steeped in a mist so thick it seemed almost as if he could land on it. The air stunk of magic, metallic and sickeningly sweet.

He felt the early days’ sunlight on his back, a pleasant warming of the feathers which excited the flame held within him. The fire flickered at his wingtips, absorbing the solar energy- the sun was the first Flame, the ultimate source of fire affinities.

It was one of the reasons Flameweavers were so feared. The source of their magic was celestial in nature, a uniquely close tie to the Eagle herself.

A movement over the Steppes caught his attention. Through his hawk’s eyes, he could see that the shadow currently soaring over the grasslands was avian. He uttered a cry to the form-a greeting, or a warning, he couldn’t be sure. His call echoed, fading into the sky and cutting off abruptly. The only response was silence. The shape drifted out of sight, a wispy phantom.

Beneath him, the milky veil swirled and thickened, like an organism undulating under ocean waves. The sharp smell of magic strengthened as he neared the layers of mist surrounding the Nithra. He banked, folding his wings and plunging towards the forest entrance.

Only one word played over and over again in his mind like a song of madness as he dove: bloodbound.