Echoes of Forgotten Wings

Chapter 17: The Bond of Blood

The revelation did not arrive accompanied by thunderous claps, but rather grew slowly like undulating waves. Ivo looked down upon the ritual circle, his beating heart almost succeeding in rhythm with the chanting of the storm outside and the time-telling wreckages of unknown history. They vibrated dully in place, the magic inside them possessively saturating the atmosphere, yet it was insufficient. It was as if they had left out a part—an essential one. The wind crotched at the mouth of the cave, other than its rain-drenched clean effects accompanied by the bone chilling storm and rush were deserts in contrast. Nevertheless, the atmosphere within was oppressive, charged with expectancy.

In the mid-region of the circle, Kael's present posture depicted one of submission, with his magnificent wings now allergy lying flat at the back in crippling defeat. His old and pale face turned skyward and met Ivo's. There was a desperate begging embedded in the depths of his eyes that sliced Ivo's heart.

"It is not insistent," rather protested Kael, very faintly. His smile turned strained as he added. "The relics and the storm and even the ritual... everything is just not whole. The last jigsaw piece is what we still seek."

Ivo experienced instant nausea as his tummy churned. The relics—those crafted and designed several epochs back—were thought to hold the secret. He had carried out each stage, he chanted and sang, he danced and acted as called for, but... the binds that encased Kael were still there, reaching out in the shadows cast around, a stark warning of a rathed grueling task.

"Where are the steps or the provisions that follow?" Ivo burst in, " I do not grasp." Exasperation was rising within him. 'The storm has come, the relics have been positioned, the intercession has been carried out, and oh... it still isn't sufficient.'

Kael's eyes were calm; however, there was a fleeting hint of something in the back of his that he had not yet uttered. Something that remained unspoken. His wings moved uncertainly as he adjusted himself and tried to speak, his chest heaving at the efforts.

"No it's not about the relics Ivo. It was never simply about the relics. The ceremony was always about a lot more than these old belongings." Kael lowered his voice and turned his head, almost regretfully. "It is not just the shackles that hold me, there are more and these ones are deeper. They are there because of the ones who turned against us. The ones who turned against me." Ivo felt his heart race and slip at the same time. In him dawned the realization that there are some colors that mark even the gloom of winter. 'The blood of those who would turn against us...' he articulated with a growing sense of horror.

Kael inclined his head in confirmation, the shade of his eyes deepening. "Ancestors of yours, Ivo. Those who were traitors to the Skyborn...that robbed us of our very wings, our freedom...they did worse than clan our blood. They chained in their blood that very curse, so that only a blood of theirs that was born to a clean slate could ever break the chains that they forged. The relics are mere contraptions, but the actual lock the last piece is you." Ivo staggered back, discombobulated. His blood. His very essence. It was the final piece – the part which the rite could not absolve.

"No," Ivo muttered, a defiant look on his face. "There must be another way. There has to be one."

But he was aware of the truth. And the burden of knowing that impossible truth was unbearable. His fingers shook as he held onto the feather embedded in his pocket, its heat no longer comforting but scalding given what he had to do now.

Kael's voice was soft but firm. "Ivo, the curse that holds me is anchored in the blood of your forebears. You are their descendant. And only your blood – your life – will redeem me."

Ivo choked, unable to breathe for a moment. The blizzard outside almost seemed like a replication of the storm that roiled within him, the winds howling in rage and crashing ferociously against the mouth of the cave, as though even nature was cautioning him about the imminent threat. Images of his mother's face, the village, everything and everyone that he had fought to protect sliced through him generating a sense of chaos in his mind.