HE WAS FALLING, reaching out towards something, anything that would break his unending descent. A scream longed to leap from his throat, yet the rushing wind choked off any breath. Scenes of unknown origin flashed by him in sequence as he passed the level after level. People carried on their lives in each scene. A bird in flight over a large oak. A robed figure hanging over the edge of a cliff. A girl clad in white with judgment in her eyes. They passed him in his descent, claiming familiarity where there was none. Yet the young falling man had little time to consider these as the ground began to rush towards him, malice lingering int the soil.His body longed for release from the plunge. A hand reached out one last time for some support, as word whispered through the air. "Take my hand and I will grant you flight.” The ground raced hungrily toward him.
“Wing, wake up already!” An annoyed voice yelled from over his body. “We are going to be late at this point.” Hands pressed against Wing’s chest in a punctuated rhythm to drag his body from sleep.
“I’m up,” came the grumbled response as Wing slowly began to lift himself from his bed. Aches and pains throbbed around his body in an incessant harmony of a dream now lost. Shaking off the memory of last night’s nightmare, Wing brought his eyes over to the origin of that miserable voice. “For someone who is saying we are going to be late, you don’t look like you are ready for anything, Aron.” The words escaped with the type of vexed venom only one brother was able to have for another.
“Well, at least I’m awake.” Aron stood there in defiance of any reprimand from his half awake older brother. Although they were only about two years apart in age, the differences between the two siblings were striking to anyone looking in. Aron Blackburn stood at an average height for a boy of seventeen, on the cusp of majority, yet his features remained almost awkwardly boyish. His rounded cheeks and other soft facial features never suggested that he was more than fourteen years of age, something that was a point of brotherly humor when the time called for it. Hair the color of a dark oak draped down his neck and the sides of his face, curling only slightly at the ends to augment his established young features. The rest of his body seemed to be trying to change from that of a boy’s to that of a man’s, with increasing muscle tone and mass in their respective places; however, the softness of his features and pale tones of his skin seemed to inhibit him from looking anything more than a overgrown child.
“Just go get dressed before father kills us both.” These words were followed by a quick shove of the air in Aron’s general direction as Wing massaged his scalp. With a few mumbled curses, Aron left the room, rushing off to take care of what he needed to get done. Wing, or Wingin Blackburn as his father had named him and his brother so lovingly shortened, sat upright in his bed watching as his younger brother leave. He was almost the opposite of his younger brother. Where Aron’s face was rounded and soft, Wing appeared to be cut from stone, his features oddly rough, as well as a thin layer of unshaven scruff ever present around the jawline. Raven black hair was cut short in a militaristic fashion, something his father had insisted on once he reached majority. His skin held a more brown complexion, one only hours of work in the hot sun could bring. As a whole, Wing resembled a man of about thirty years more than one of only twenty. It was only reasonable that Aron and Wingin seemed more like distant cousins in appearance rather than siblings if not for the obvious brotherly rivalry. However, they did share one common trait between them. Their eyes were the pale grey of swirling quicksilver, the same color as his mother’s. At least that is what Father always told them.
Once Aron had left the room, Wing noticed that the pale yellow light of the rising sun had begun to enter his room. Usually that light would have been enough to left him from the night’s sleep, but the importance of this day would insist on something going wrong before the main event. Wing sighed as he began to think of the hurried voices and rushing hands as soon as he left the house. Meridy, who was getting married on this very day, would not be all to happy that her closest cousin was running late.
Shaking off the last piece of lingering grogginess from his face, Wing swung himself from the bed and began to dress. He hadn’t bothered to shave since his light beard was becoming a trademark of his. After putting on the traditional white shirt and pants, Wing looked himself in the thin mirror that leaned against the wall of his room, another one of his mother’s heirlooms. The white shirt fitted the straight lines of his body with silver painted buttons running down the midsection. The cuffs hung loose around his wrists. Fortunately the pants were a decent fit as well.
Well, Wing thought, this is not so bad, for what I could afford. After straightening out the shoulders of the shirt, Wing grabbed the colored portion of the outfit: the waistcoat and cravat. Both held the deep green of the forest, the chosen color of the bride and groom. With a smile, Wing knew that if Meridy had had her way, they would be having the wedding in the middle of the forest. That idea actually appealed a little more than the stuffy, local Light Chapel. She was the wild child of the family. Maybe that was why Meridy and Wing had always gotten along so well.
“Are you ready yet?” The exclamation was followed by Aron’s head popping into Wing’s room once more, his own forest green cravat tied horribly around his neck.
“No, but it doesn’t look like you are either,” Wing mocked. Aron’s face colored with embarrassment. Being the impatient boy he had always been, Aron had never bothered to learn how to tie one, especially since in their small town formal attire was not called for frequently. Before Aron could retort to his brother’s taunt, Wing had set his own cravat aside to fix his brother.
“You really should learn how to do this yourself,” Wing continued, his hands working mechanically around his brother’s neckline. “But since you are dressed minus this piece of work, go head over to the chapel. Tell Father that it is all my fault. No need for both of us to get in trouble, eh.” Wing knew that Aron needed no prompting to make Wing the scapegoat.
“Well, it is your fault.” Aron’s last words were cut off from the final tightening of the tie.
“You should watch what you say when someone’s hands are around your throat.” Wing laughed menacingly as he let go of his brother, patting him on the shoulders. A reluctant smile crept onto Aron’s face as well as he left the room.
“Don’t forget your jacket,” Wing called after his sibling. Turning back to his own clothes, Wing reached for his cravat. Tying it quickly, yet gently around his neck, Wing remembered how as a child he would watch his father prepare the cravats of not only himself but his sons as well. Alberr Blackburn had always done it so perfectly; however, being the independent child he had always been, Wingin had taught himself how to do it, which took many failures that Alberr found quite humorous and encouraged. A soft early winter’s breeze awoke Wing from his daydreaming.
A shiver crept across the surface of his skin as the air filled the room. Winter’s breath had come a few months earlier than usual, pushing up the wedding date. Chaos erupted at how there would be no time to prepare for such an event. Memories of old women moaning and groaning about what still needed to be done. All the while, Meridy would sit joyfully completing one thing after another without haste or worry. Her husband-to-be on the other hand was not so mild-mannered. Brandle Tanner had been the epitome of stress, his meticulous nature challenged by the change in events. The two of them meshed well, however, balancing each other’s differences rather than aggravating them. Wing thought on these things as he fastened the last button of his waistcoat.
JACKET IN HAND, Wing walked into the side door of the Light Chapel. On the sound of a door opening, all eyes in the room dashed over to him. Luckily it seemed that a few other pairs were missing at least to his last count. A man grabbed his arm, pulling him in. Light spilled into the small side room through the many small windows adorning the walls in a circular pattern.
“Where have you been, Wingin?” Alberr asked, grasping his son’s shoulders firmly. “Meridy has been calling for you, and you know how she is. Her mother has been nagging my ear off to get you here. Now you know how I enjoy making your aunt angry, but on her daughter’s wedding day, I’m not sure if it was wise.” His father looked tired, his green eyes pleading for Wing to go to his cousin. Aron stood at the side of the room with one of the younger groomsmen chatting about who they were going to dance with later that day. Since it seemed that he was needed elsewhere, Wing nodded.
“No worries,” Wing replied, nudging his father’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of Meridy. You hold down the fort here.” Alberr nodded his thanks, letting his son pass without further interruption
The main hall of the Light Chapel was filled with the townspeople, with more drifting in on the far end. Voices filled the high walls and ceiling, coming together as a whole as a constant hum where many voices became one. The building itself had always captured Wingin’s artistic sensibilities. Paintings, depicting ancient battles in sequence, covered the side walls. As the battles raged, they led the watchers eyes to a central statue behind the altar: The Bringer of Light, his legendary sword, Lumin, in hand, raised in victory. A small oculus carried a cylinder of sunlight that drowned the statue, encasing Slyvin in a pillar of light, as the story told. Unfortunately, these were musings for a different time.
“Wing, there you are,” Meridy shouted, running into Wing’s arms for a loving embrace.
“Hello to you to, Meri.” Wing choked out the words through unnatural strength of Meridy’s arms. “You needed to see me?”
“Yes, yes.” Meri backed over to a chair, where it appeared she had been slouching until Wing had arrived. She was the image of beauty on her wedding day. For a woman of humble surrounding, Meri represented more elegance than any noble Wing could ever imagine. An ivory white gown folded in waves of cloth that gave her the illusion of perpetual motion. Her torso was covered with an intricately lace bodice depicting morning glories. Golden hair fell along the edge of the bodice, dancing lightly on the fringes with every movement. Wing could only smile, even though worry lines etched Meri’s face.
“Close the door,” Meridy continued, an unnatural seriousness in her tone. “There is much to discuss.”
“No need to sound all dramatic,” Wing chuckled awkwardly. “It isn’t like we are in the middle of a Collapse. Or demons have rained fire from the sky.” Wing exagerrated each with his tone and gestures meant to urge some laughter out of his cousin.
“Wing, stop that,” Meri half-heartedly giggled. “I wish I could play around a little bit, but there is something I have to talk to you about.”
“Alright, then spill.” Wing leaned against the closed door. His eyes wandered to Meridy’s hands, which were gently rubbing against something small in her hands.
“You make it sound so easy.” Meridy bowed her head with a pause. “This began a few days ago, and I didn’t know how to bring it up to you. Wing, it deals with your mother and I know how talking about her makes you.”
Wing had no idea what to say. Just at the mention of his mother, tears formed at the sides of his eyes. Flor Blackburn died when Wing was only eight years old. She gave her life protecting her son, and Wing had never forgiven himself for that. Meridy must have sensed his feelings through the silence for she decided to continue:
“A few days ago my mother came to me in my bedroom. We chatted about the upcoming ceremony. You know, girly things. This damned dressed was dragging too much. You should have seen me trying to walk in this thing. It took hours before I was able to do it with any grace. My mother’s wedding circlet fell off my head with every motion. The whole thing was a disaster.” Meridy shook her head as if to throw off her thoughts.
“Yes, yes. I’m getting off of topic.” Her tone returned to the solemness that still pervaded through her brown eyes. “Well as my mother and I were talking, she took me to the side to give me something she said was a family heirloom.
“‘Meridy,’ she began. ‘You have grown into majority more beautifully then I ever expected. This marriage has made your father and I so proud and joyful. We actually were not sure if this day would come. You had always been a wild one, running off into the woods to play with your troubled cousin, Wingin. However, he couldn’t even hold you back from making a good match. There is something I want to give you in commemoration of these events.’ Before I go on, I want to remind you that our mothers were never the most loving of sisters, and please don’t be too angry with her.
“‘This is something passed down from eldest to eldest in my family.’ My mom held out a small wooden box. I was already suspicious at this point since as we both know, Flor was the elder of the two, but I don’t think she was thinking through this too much. Anyway, let me stop interrupting my own story, so she continues:
“‘Since you are now setting out to form a family of your own, as well as being my only child, I am happy to give you something that has been in this family since even before The Collapse. As it was told me, this heirloom was given to our ancestors by none other than The Light Warrior himself. Isn’t that wonderful? When I took - I mean - was given this, I felt as if I was actually there, being handed this simple gift by Slyvin himself. You can only imagine the excitement in my young heart. Our ancestor received this pendant after being the sole survivor of the Battle of Shadow’s Keep. After defeating Tazinon the Demon, Slyvin was only able to save one child, Gabriel Morningrose. And it is this gift, that I give to you now, Meridy.’
“She left soon after that spiel. I had seen the loophole in her story, even though she might have thought I would ignore her slip up. This wasn’t meant for my mother. This heirloom wasn’t meant for me to carry. Even though the story was fantastical, I couldn’t keep it from you.” Meridy took a breath, turning her eyes to the floor.
“It was my mom’s.” Wing only let out the softest of whispers. Anger began to pool inside his chest, choking him. A yell begged his lips to part. Fists yearned to be flung. Despite this, Wing stood still, any movement ready to snap him.
“Yes. Yes, it was supposed to be hers.” Meridy stretched out a hand in which lay a small, redwood box. The box was no larger than her palm, with rounded edges rather than pointed. Something seemed to have been carved along these edges, but Wing didn’t give them much thought.
“Thank you,” Wing said, forcing a smile. He took the box into his own hands. Surprisingly the box was unnaturally smooth to the touch, so much so that Wing almost lost his grip. He looked for an opening that would reveal what the box held, but no such thing was present. It was almost as if it was a puzzle. Wing hated puzzles.
“I’m not sure what is in it.,” Meridy continued. “She never told me how to open it. I don’t think she knows how to. I know the story sounds far-fetched to say the least, but those engravings along the edges prove it is very old. It is in some language I don’t know.”
“Thank you again Meridy,” Wing repeated. His anger slowly faded to a dull throb in the back of his mind as he placed his mother’s heirloom into his pocket. “Usually the bride is the one receiving the gifts not giving them. Now my gift will not seem nearly as meaningful.”
Meridy laughed softly her less serious demeanor returning. “Well I’m sure Brandle will at least appreciate it.”
“Good, somebody should enjoy my hard earned gift.” Wing replied as if the unsettling story had never been told. Today was for Meri, and Wing intended to let nothing more disrupt, especially not his own feelings. “On another note, have I told you how beautiful you look in your pretty little dress.”
“Oh there it is, the flattery I have so longed for today,” Meri teased. “It is not as if I have not heard my share of it from every passerby. In all serious, I feel very silly in this pretty little dress.”
“Well it is the day where any woman must be told she is more gorgeous than the moon,” Wing continued jokingly. The two of them continued in this fashion for a while more before the other women were asking after the bride. Meridy sighed as they fussed over how late the wedding was becoming, how everyone was waiting in frustration, and al the other things Wing was glad to be not at the center of.
Wing entered the main hall once again looking up at the statue of Slyvin. He stood victorious. Light drowned him. This was the man that saved them. The man that had apparently once given something to his ancestor long ago. Unconsciously, Wing’s hand reached inside the pocket that held the heirloom. As he pressed against it, the redwood box felt hot against the palm of his hand.
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