Page 45 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)

Feather, Fire, and Snow

W e approach the Grass Land town with speed I have never experienced before.

Heru is smaller than her other roc counterparts, but she is fast and can maneuver more aptly than her kin.

The fury in her soul matches mine with each sweeping beat of her wings.

I wish I could appreciate the view from up here, the wind in my hair, the ability to see for miles—but all I can see is the burning village before me.

All I can hear are the distant screams of the villagers below, caught unaware by the attack.

Angry red plumes of smoke are visible from miles away.

A large thatched roof of a house blazes with fire, burning wildly until it crumbles within itself, the structure no longer sound.

My heart pangs with worry, hoping no one was still inside.

Wooden fences surrounding the farm houses lay broken on the ground as pigs, goats, and horses run feverishly amongst the chaos.

Castor and Leaf ride below a day behind with the other Watchers, not yet aware of my flight with the Forest Tribe. I had to risk coming. There is no way I’m going to let another small Midland village fall to an Underling attack. If this means I’m in trouble, then so be it.

My fury rages and burns like the flames in the distance, collapsing yet another roof.

Lord Clayoq rides at the front of the formation on a huge brown roc.

Opita flanks on the right, riding a black and white roc, while Tofina leads from the left on a roc the color of rust. None of the other roc riders seem to care that I’m atop one of their beasts in the back of the formation.

Only one Elf, named Garrot the Birdkeeper, offers quick suggestions: keep my body forward, head down, and to lean into each corner.

Garrot’s auburn hair is shaved closely to his head on the sides, exposing different scar-like ruins, too intentional to be accidental scars. A long braid runs down the center of his head to the middle of his back. He rides a midnight blue roc that seems to fly effortlessly beside Heru.

Raising a cupped hand to his mouth, Garrot yelps a war cry that flickers between two notes in quick staccato, summoning the warriors around him to fly fast, to fight .

The hair on the back of my neck raises, nerves beginning to take hold.

Garrot’s eyes are wide, pupils blown with excitement for the battle to come. Both Heru and the dark blue roc seem to respond to his cries with heavier pulses of their wings, beating faster and faster until we are right above the battle.

“Prepare to drop, little human,” Garrot calls over to me. “Swing your leg around and hold with just your arms. Once you get within ten feet, drop and roll. Protect your head.”

Panic threatens to freeze my ligaments, and I clutch the white feathers of Heru’s back.

With no time to think, I spring into action and copy Garrot’s movements.

I swing my legs over the side of Heru until I’m hanging by the leather hand strap, feet dangling in the air.

Our rocs swoop downward toward the snowy field tracked with mud on the outskirts of town.

Panic threatens to overtake my system, my breathing too shallow, too quick.

You can do this.

Drop and roll.

Protect your head.

“Hold,” Garrot calls. We continue the dive down until I am certain we are going to hit the ground. “Now!”

I let go and drop to the hard earth below. My knees buckle at the impact, and at the last second, I tuck myself into a ball and roll. Garrot seamlessly dismounts and is already on his feet, helping me up. Heru and the other roc bank upward.

A single white feather drifts downward, gently swinging side to side like a pendulum in the wind. I grab it before it falls to the ground.

Garrot looks at me in awe. “She has bestowed a great gift upon you, human. A feather is a sign of trust granted only between rider and roc.”

Surely this is a mistake. “But I’m not a rider!”

He chuckles. “You are now. The feather is your connection to her. You can call upon her anytime, and she will heed your call.”

This doesn’t make any sense. “But I’m just a human. I thought rocs only choose Elves as riders.”

“Apparently not, Little One.” Garrot looks at me in wonder. “We have not had a human blessed by the sky in quite some time. You are welcome in the Forest Tribe territory now.”

A nearby scream slaps me out of my stunned silence. Garrot turns, nocks a bow, and shoots an Underling right in the forehead all but ten paces away.

Beyond the few daggers hidden in my leathers, I had managed to grab a sword in the chaos before leaving, but the weight is too heavy, the hilt foreign. Garrot nocks another bow and nods once in my direction before darting into the town.

I unsheath my sword and run toward the achingly familiar sounds of battle ahead. I enter the cobblestone streets, my gut twisting at the sudden recognition.

This is Redrock!

A woman runs past us, clutching a swaddled bundle in one arm while dragging a wide-eyed child with the other. She skids to a halt when she sees me, tears streaking her soot-smeared cheeks.

“Oh, Sun Goddess above! A Watcher!” she breathes, her voice trembling with relief.

I freeze, caught off guard—then I understand.

With my fighting leathers, drawn sword, and bandolier of blades, I must look like something out of a story.

A true protector. A soldier. She doesn’t know I’m only a cadet.

I don’t have the heart to tell her. Not when her eyes are full of something I haven’t seen in hours: hope.

It hits me, sudden and fierce. I am her hope.

“Please,” she says, “please help us.”

My hand moves before I can second-guess it. I reach for a dagger—then pause, fingers curling around a familiar hilt. Smooth, cool. Bane’s dagger.

The one he gave me when I had no real skill, no confidence. Only fear. That blade made me feel capable when nothing else did. It was my reminder that I wasn’t helpless. That someone believed I could survive.

Wordlessly, I hold it out to her.

She stares at it, then at me. Her lip quivers. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “It kept me safe. It will do the same for you.”

Her hands tremble as she releases her child’s grip and tucks the dagger into her waistband, close to the baby held against her chest.

“Thank you,” she says, voice cracking.

“Go past this house, into the forest,” I tell her. “Stay hidden. We’ll take back Redrock. And when it’s safe, you’ll come home again.”

She nods, jaw tightening with new resolve. Then she turns and runs, disappearing with her children into the trees.

I watch until the forest swallows them whole. The weight of the empty sheath on my belt feels heavier than the blade ever did. But I have to believe they’ll make it. I have to believe that blade— my blade—will keep them safe.

I continue to help innocent civilians escape Redrock late into the evening, providing cover while the Elves fight. The River Tribe delegation made it only slightly after us, able to travel along the rivers and streams faster than the humans on horseback still in transit.

The battle continues through the night. Rogue Underlings charge down the street, axes swinging in mighty arches until met by a barrage of Elven arrows or Kingfisher swords.

The Elves are fearsome warriors, and whenever I try to help, they just shove me to the side.

So instead, I stick to the alleyways, attempting to heal wounds to the best of my ability or continuing to sneak families out of the city.

I’m exhausted and working on fumes, thankful to avoid the worst of the fighting, but the amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins for the entire day is finally starting to ebb.

The Elves are keeping the Underlings out of the inner streets of town, but with each death, more Underlings sprout from the earth.

How much longer until we are forced to retreat?

The sun crests the horizon, casting gold over blood and ruin. Hoofbeats echo in the distance, growing louder with every breath. My heart catches—

The Watch is here!

I wipe the sweat from my brow and step back onto the street, leaving behind the dim safety of the townhome where I’d just finished an impromptu Telling.

Inside, villagers huddled together, clinging to the story like a lifeline.

For a few precious moments, their fear gave way to hope.

Stories aren’t just entertainment, they are an escape.

The Underlings reply to the oncoming Watch with a horn of their own.

My boots tread silently along the cobblestone roads of residential alleyways as I look for more civilians to help.

I weave in and out of townhouses, checking for survivors, sharing short stories to children, and helping the wounded.

The sounds of steel clashing fills the air as the Watch liberates the town.

I finish bandaging a wound on the arm of a blue-haired river elf when a deep, familiar cry pierces the air from ahead. I creep along the edge of an old stone building and peek around the corner to see an Underling fighting with a Watcher. Not just any Watcher, Castor!

“Watch out!” another familiar voice commands from behind me. I look back to find the unmistakable lithe form of my friend running closer, curved sword swinging with each long stride. A friend who now looks really, really unhappy that I’m here.

“Akemi! What are you doing here?” Leaf asks.

“Same as you. Protecting innocent lives.”

“You cannot risk yourself like this, you haven’t even completed your first year, you—”

“Leaf, I’m not a helpless Prentice Teller anymore. I can help. I will help.”

A man yelps in pain, and Leaf and I twist toward the sound. It’s Castor. His arm is cut with a deep gash.

Leaf charges forward in two bounds and claps his hands until a bright flash of blayze stuns the Underling. Castor takes the opportunity to unleash tendrils of myst . The white smoke wraps around the limbs of the beast and rips them clean off.