Chapter 9

As one, the room rose and bowed to the Soul, who bowed back gracefully. There was a short speech from the Soul that seemed to relax the Flight, but Ishaan couldn't understand a word of it. There was no translation magic here in this place and he was burning to understand what was said. Instead, his jaw just about hit the floor when the Soul dropped her dress to the ground and wings shot out from her back, mantling around her body, and spreading to the sky. The feathers were the same silver as she was, the eyes on them the same sapphire as the markings that he could now see swirled delicately over her entire body.

She was lithe and slim and for an alien she seemed like her physiology matched humans well enough. Except for the massive wings, those were decidedly different, and they were starting to glow as the song flew from her throat again. This song was different. It wasn't a summons; it was an entreaty and instead of being aimed at the Flight it was aimed at the cluster of crystal above her. She arched her body, wrapped her wings around her nakedness and begged the crystal for something. Thin blue lines, jagged like lightning, struck from the crystal, and stabbed the body of the Soul. The song broke for a moment, the notes becoming full of pain before they smoothed and continued to run.

More and more lightning strikes connected, stabbing until the lithe form was a horrible pincushion in front of his eyes. He dragged his eyes away to look at the eyes of the Flight. They were full of a terrible sympathy, like this was a regular occurrence, but what was it for?

His questions doubled a few moments later when the lightning strikes began to glow. From the top into the Soul, like crazy straws in reverse. The light swelled the body of the Soul, making her glow until she was incandescent and impossible to look at, a bright blue-white star in the center of the chamber. The wings shot out, eyes glowing that same blue white and a wave of painful light washed out of the Soul to cover all of the Flight in a tidal wave of magic.

It didn't touch him, breaking around him before retreating. But it didn't return to the Soul, didn't restore her. Instead, it returned to the cluster on the ceiling and the Flight began to leave. The Soul was still a horrible pincushion as the last of the Flight left the amphitheater and the song still ran. It was full of horrible pain now and the last of the Flight that left the room had tears in their eyes, a few had been actively weeping.

Ishaan didn't leave, even when the song cut out, even when the Soul cried out in pain as the needles began to withdraw and return to the cluster in the ceiling. Ishaan didn't leave as the Soul collapsed to the ground in the center of the amphitheater and laid there unmoving. Where were her guards? Was this what happened to the Soul of the Flight and was she now going to be left to bleed and die alone?

He was moving before he could think, rushing to the center of the room and kneeling by her side. She was freely bleeding from a thousand wounds, and he had no idea how to help her.

A heavy step startled him out of his panic, and he clutched her closer on reflex before turning and being faced with the older, more severe of her guards. Wordlessly, he lifted the still naked Soul from his arms and cradled her. "Come, you wish to see what happens next, yes? My Soul has bidden me to answer your questions if one of you intruded on the quickening."

"It's barbaric," Ishaan spat without thinking. "I thought she was important to you, to all of you and you'd just let her, let that-" he gestured to the crystal in the ceiling "What even was that?"

"My name is Stefan," the man stood, cradling the still bleeding Soul. "And I ask that you not judge us before you understand."

Ishaan stood, brushing at the pinpoints of blood on his outfit. "Ok, so explain." He followed the larger man, looking at the strange cloak that he was wearing and the trailing wings of the Soul. "Do you all have wings? Can you fly?"

"We are not called the Flight for nothing." The older man gave him a sardonic look before he resumed walking. The halls were empty again, the rooms had swallowed the Flight. "What you witnessed was the quickening, the way that our magic is purified and returned to us." He looked down at the limp body in his arms and sighed. "It was not always like this. At the beginning of our journey the quickening was a rainfall of power, dousing each of us generously. Now it is as you see, and the Soul must give of her own life to see us whole. She is greatly revered for her sacrifice and many tears are shed on her behalf but there is nothing that can be done to repair the quickening until we once again have a steady source of magic."

"You mean she's using herself to-"