Harrowing Flight

“Esra! We have to go!”

“I-I- Atala please!-” His voice breaks.

The crashing of the waves below, the gasping of air between the two, and the heavy silence that soon follows. The lavender stock brush their legs, a lazy greeting of hello, oblivious to the world happening around them.

They stand alone on the cliff’s edge, the only thing separating them between the two worlds of land and sea. The ocean is awfully blue tonight, Azaria’s famously blue waters with an otherworldly glow, thought to be ancestors and ancients that watch over these sandy shores.

Atala’s shoes were made of feathers, of different birds and shades, the tips rustled with the breeze, air light and tight. Compared to Esra’s old and worn rubber soles, differences in love were clearly resembled. She started to fumble with her shoes, hurtingly taking them off to present them to the chosen one.

“Esra you have to- You were chosen-”

A choked cry of frustration sounds.

“To protect? To hunt? To fly! I can’t fly Tala you know that.”

She groaned as she pulled off the shoe and thrusted it into the other’s grasp.

“I get that you haven’t had wings till a few hours ago, but PLEASE I need you to do this cause if you don't! We. Are. Dead.” To emphasize her point, a strangled war cry of night shades were only miles away, but the unmistakable beat of feathered muscle only told them they had even less.

Esra’s voice gives out, his arms fold around him as if to fend off any and all attempts at persuasion.

“I’m scared of flying Atala, what if we fall? What if we fall like Icarus and-” His body shudders at the very thought, his newborn wings shake- with fear or a sick thrill Atala doesn’t know, nor care.

Icarus was a childhood story, a warning to all to take caution. To play it safe. Don’t fly too close to the sun, for you will fall to the unforgiving sea below and will welcome you home.

His new wings, shaky as a fowl, only sprouting from his very back only hours prior. It happened at a coming of age ceremony, though of their age group he was one of two that was wingless. Wingless in this society of wild flight, was a punishment worse than death. To be flightless is to be shackled, enslaved to the grounds below. For what is one to do when society craves to be “free”.

Esra has hated flying, hated how everyone seems so at peace with it, when they themselves cannot find that peace everywhere. A missing piece, a forgotten book on the shelf. What was he missing? What was calling out to him in his dreams? Of feathers and blood, of glory and light?

Esra wanted to be free, but not like this, not at the height of the clouds and sickening freefall of this so-called “freedom”, always in the hands of others and never his own. If Icarus could fall, one of the best, one of the ancients, who was to say he could do any better?

“Then… I’m sorry.” “-huh?”

One moment, solid ground. The next, the frightening feel of freefall. The whistling of air, a warped screech that may have been his voice, and a manicked laugh from her.

“Come on Ez!” She angled herself in front of him, hands intertwined in his.

“I CAN’T!” Eyes a wild panic, face slack in horror as the wind screams, the ocean sirens, and the rising moon bears witness to this coming of age.

“I’M SCARED-”

“YOU’RE IN CONTROL EZ!”

Atala watched as his panic slowed in real time, in a matter of moments she saw his eyes close, his chest heave and wings shake.

In control… I’m- I’m in control…

It happened so fast, fritted teeth and frazzled nerves, the next the swopping of air and the scream of spearing into the night, the salty sea breeze cooling their skin in the heat of the moment.

“EZ-”

“I KNOW”

Feathers of clouds and clouds splayed in full glory, the moon’s watchful gaze blocked by the pinion’s shade. The cries and shrieks of shades fade into the night as they zoom into the skies above, following the moon to its safe haven, an island only miles away from the mainland. What would take hours by boat only took minutes by limb.

Landing was difficult, muscles strain, teeth clenched, a tumble and stumble onto the sandy shore.

Esra falls flat, wings splayed in an awkward angle, body heaving and tears dripping in time.

“Tala, you’re… you’re such a-!”

“You did it!” She sits down in front of him, hands cupping his face and adoration and pride.

“You flew Esra this is, this is amazing!” She laughed with glee, eyes shining with mirth.

Esra pouts, wings twitching as if unconsciously taking in the praise.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry, you were scared-”

“N-no, well I mean, I thought I hated the idea of flying, the idea of not having anything solid around you.” Esra starts, face relaxing into Atala’s hold.

“I think what I was actually afraid of was the idea of not being in control of myself. Not being able to decide what I wanna do when I wanna do it, you know?” Atala squishes his cheeks at the statement.

“I didn’t want to fall like him.”

“I know you were scared, but look at what you just did. In your first few hours of having these wings, you were able to fly and evade shades.”

Esra sits up and looks back towards the cliff face, the outline of darkness blocking the stars only telling them they were gathering at the edge, as if assuming we fell to the foamy sea below.

He shakes his head and turns back, eyes set ablaze with newfound determination.

“I’m not afraid anymore.” He stands on wobbly legs, wings trying to help find the newfound balance with this extra weight, with the world, with destiny, or the crown that weighs heavier on their head.

“You're not afraid.” Atalas stands with conviction, a mage ready to serve their prince, a friend ready to run to the end of the line.

“Not anymore.”