The Raven's song || A Fourth Wing story

Chapter 1 - Parapet

Please Malek, be merciful. As much as I would like to meet you and have a little tea party in your celestial parlour, now is not the time. I mean I've barely turned twenty for fuck's sake, can't a girl just be a girl and live till she's twenty-one. Next year, I might consider your offer but for the time being, go make friends with someone else, I'm not interested.

Today is Conscription Day, I'm as thrilled as could be. The prospect of crossing a eighteen-inch wide, 250 steps long, centuries old, slippery stone parapet is killing me of anticipation. I'm so eager to be suspended at two hundred feet above the ground in a raging rainstorm, because yes, the gods have blessed us with magnificent weather to truly test if we are fit to become the next generation of riders.

Despite being completely drenched in water, my feet sloshing in my boots at every step I take, I'm hot, unbearably hot. I'll admit that this uncomfortable situation is partially my fault as my army-grade boots are two sizes too big and my leathers are long sleeved and extra thick. This morning, when I went to pick my gear, there were only one pair of boots left and winter leathers. It's better than nothing, the people behind me were obliged to cross the parapet bare-foot or with the shoes they came with. The second-year cadet in charge of the gear stand reassured me, although it wasn't really reassuring, that if I managed to cross the parapet, which has a one in three chance of not happening she insisted, I will be given a proper kit, that fits, and that is weather appropriate. Then, she gave me a sincere, heart-warming piece of advice: "If you make it past parapet, don't make friends because if it's not you that dies, its them, and sorrow is just as lethal as a dagger." She pulled her lips into a tight smile before moving on to take care of the young man behind me. So much for a motivational speech... I shudder thinking back on that interaction.

I never dreamt of being a rider, never even considered it. Both of my parents enrolled in the infantry quadrant when they came of age, the obvious choice for poor and uneducated children of fishers. Joining the infantry guaranteed them a roof over their head for three years, as well as a trivial pension that bought them a small house in the town centre when they returned home. They had seven kids and went into the family business, fishing, which happens to be the only fruitful business in Evros. That was also supposed to be my future, but that plan was scraped, much to the dismay of the village elders who qualified the loss of my "incredibly apt body for childbearing" a tragedy. Well, fuck them, my "incredibly apt body body for childbearing" is also incredibly apt to take it's own decsions. Yet, becoming a rider wasn't exactly my decision either, indirectly, it was, if I had anticipated the outcome of my actions, directly, well, I don't have a deathwish, so no. 

So, here I am, July 18th, the 535th Conscription Day. I pull back my thick brown hair in a tight bun whilst I wait in line to sign in. Lightening strikes above my head, a deafening scream resonates from the parapet. "Lovely", I mutter in my breath.

The big bloke behind me snorts. "I know right. As if the rain didn't make it difficult enough. We would really appreciate it if you woke up right now Zihnal!" he says, looking up at the sky. I chuckle and turn around to look at him. He's tall, around 6'3 and has dark brown curls. His eyes are black, the kind you usually drown in if you look at them for too long. However, his are surprisingly soft. His leathers sculpt his muscles among other things. Eyes on his face, Darya, I silently scold myself. I'm going to have to get used to men in tight clothes. Let me rephrase, I'm going to have to get used to "attractive men" in tight clothes. I shutter thinking about the time my father bought a pair of pants a  size too small. "I'm Basile, my parents thought it would be funny to name he after an herb, given that they're healers. Really fucking funny. " He sticks out his hand, I shake it, completely undermining the second-year cadet's advice.

"I'm Darya and I think your parents are hilarious. Do you have any siblings? And if so, what are they called? Coriander? Parsley?" I chortle, I needed this humoristic evasion to settle my nerves.

Basile does an obscene gesture with his hand, which I reply to by blowing him a kiss. He opens his mouth, about to speak when the cadet at the signing-in table, says "Name". Fuck, its my turn.

"Darya Alexander," I answer as thunder cracks above me, the sound inviting me to turn around and from far far away from the fortress. Even if I survive the Parapet, there's a one in seven chance that I will die before Threshing (a statistic a scribe gladly offered me as I was making my way to sign in). With a quick glance, I see Basile behind me, a severe expression etched on his face, the fact that he had been laughing only moments ago seems impossible.

I run my hands along the turret's cool, rain-slicked stone, feeling for the first time since I arrived, a sense of relief, that it's not slippery with moss. Ahead of me, a young woman is making her way across, her hands out for balance. She's probably a fourth of the way, her figure becoming blurrier the farther she walks into the rain.

Taking a step onto the parapet, I grip the wall, bracing against another gust that threatens to knock me off balance. This was shaping up to be tougher than expected. For months, I'd thought about a strategy and came to the conclusion that running was my best bet. Running on the parapet is almost unheard of, but I grew up on boats, I know how to keep balance. The only problem with parapet is that I'm deathly afraid of heights, slightly ironic given that I'm going through all this to fly a dragon. But that's another day's problem, for the time being I have to focus on crossing the bridge.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I break into a run, much to the collective surprise of the people behind me. I hear gasps among which the incredulous voice of the rider who signed me "What the fuck? She's running?! Daren come quick, I bet you ten dollars that she'll fall before the half-way mark.". As their eyes bore into my back, I realize my fate is now a spectacle in the making. I imagine the whispers: "She wanted to try something different," some would say sympathetically, while others would brand it as pretentious and claim I deserved it. Now, I have to survive, not just for myself, but for my pride.

The wind picks up, tears mix with rain, blurring my vision. Every element seems to conspire against me. But I push on, focusing solely on my breath and the rhythm of my steps. I block out everything, my mind silent.

Three-quarters of the way there, pain flares in my shins, fatigue sets in, but I can't stop. Pumping my arms, I push through, until finally, miraculously, I reach the other side.