The Sungrown: Wings

By Asher Wismer

The distant future. A sun-blasted Earth, where the remnants of humanity live in uneasy peace with the dominant human/animal hybrids. Life is cheap, and death costs nothing. For Cloth, a warrior under the rule of the winged humanoids called Raptors, life has been a daily struggle to survive. Now she has discovered a mysterious weapon, threatening her people. Tasked by her ruler to find the source of the weapon and eliminate it, Cloth travels to the wastelands. Her companions are doubtful, her road endless, but Cloth has eyes only for the mission.

Struggling against land and living alike, Cloth will be tested to her breaking point, and even her inhuman strength may fail against this ancient threat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wild Wolf Publishing
• Release date: Jul 10, 2017

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The Sungrown: Wings

Asher Wismer

A Wild Wolf Publication

Published by Wild Wolf Publishing in 2017

Copyright © 2017 Asher Wismer

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First print

E-BOOK EDITION

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.wildwolfpublishing.com

This first novel is dedicated to my father, Don Wismer, who taught me the importance of Story; and to my best friend, who knows why.

Part One - Machine Lobe

One day longer, Machine Lobe sang to the burro. It chuffed at him, but dutifully pulled the cart. A makeshift shade shielded its back from the sun. His usual routes kept to the forest, and this bright yellow heat bothered man and beast. Sweat poured from Machine Lobe's fleshy face, and he took a long pull from his waterskin.

We have food for that long, he said. Then we turn back. It is good to know what lies beyond the safe roads, and I will add these empty spaces to my maps when we return.

The burro, as if in response, stopped dead. Machine Lobe tapped the reins, spoke commands. The burro sat heavily on the yellow sands, refusing to move.

It's not that bad, Machine Lobe said, but he dismounted and examined the burro. No sign of injury.

Nothing out there. Look! Endless sands.

Black eyes blinked back in single-minded purpose. Machine Lobe circled the cart, still saw nothing. He walked a few steps out ahead of the burro, pointing.

See? Safe, if boring–

The ground gave way beneath his feet. Machine Lobe flailed out blindly, and his hand caught a cleft in the rock. Sand poured over him, past his face, and he shut his eyes until he felt the movement stop. His legs kicked empty air.

Another chuff from the burro. Eyes still closed, Machine Lobe reached up with his free hand. The leather reins brushed his palm and he gripped. The burro backed up, and Machine Lobe's body grated against the sandy rock until his feet struck solid ground.

Breath returning, Machine Lobe looked up. The endless sands had deceived; instead of an unbroken plain, the ground split past a slight incline, which had hidden the shadowed lip of a deep canyon. Now he saw the broken yellow stone, running jagged against the horizon, and the river at its depths.

He also saw structures carved into the canyon walls; windows, balconies.

And grey-winged Raptors, rising on the canyon updrafts to meet him.

#

Such a strange place, Machine Lobe said.

He stood on one of the stone balconies overlooking the rushing river; its mists filled the air and he could not see either end of the canyon. Around him, inset into the stone, long furrows of fertile dirt grew succulent plants. Stairs and ladders grew moss with disuse, the original carvers having no wings, and the new inhabitants having no further need. Each balcony linked to another with stone ledges; some large spaces carved into the rock showed communal activity, and Raptors flew between, wings flaring in the rising humidity.

We have lived here in Riverfall for generations, the grey-winged Raptor said. He stood a foot taller than Machine Lobe, with a tanned face and barely visible beak under his lips; directing Machine Lobe down the dusty stairs, he had introduced himself as Tannis, Third Courier to their leader. Around them, other Raptors flew through the air, attending to the plants and to other duties. Our people rejected the Talon's rule of Farspar, and this place is out of sight. Few travelers ever come to us. The rising moisture provides us clear water and keeps our food growing.

I've never known Raptors to favor plants over meat. Your world is alien to mine, Tannis.

A matter of convenience. Our bodies are lighter than those outside, with simpler needs, and we have no other Hybrids nor Humans to taint our bloodlines. Don't take my words wrong, healer, we have no animosity with the world outside. We simply choose to ignore it.

Why leave the Talon's protection?

She was too harsh a ruler. We live a simpler life, in tune with our unique nature. Even after the plague, we strive forward, and the evils of the wastelands protect us from the outside.

What plague was this?

Ten years ago, just after the Insurrection, refugees from both the Ageria and Farspar came to this place. They brought a terrible plague, infecting all of Riverfall. Tannis tapped his long nails on the stone rail. Many died before one of the refugees discovered a treatment. Now, the medicine keeps the plague at bay.

Machine Lobe frowned. I've never heard of an endemic plague that cannot be cured.

It was a terrible time, Tannis said. With her wisdom, we survive the continuing plague, and for her trouble we chose her as our leader.

I'd like to meet her, Machine Lobe said.

In time. For now, I wish to hear more about life outside our canyon walls. What of Farspar?

The Talon still rules, and contact between the Enclaves is rare. Your kind are the dominant race; some townships still outlaw Hybrids, and others live in harmony. The Ageria is quiet; the Lord Crown has passed reign to his son and died. I travel between townships, trading medicine for food and lodging.

You must be a powerful magician.

All in the Machine, the man said. I carry it and provide its remedies where I can.

Tannis nodded. Your outside world is dangerous and cruel. When you leave, we ask that you do not spread word of our existence.

Have you any messages for Farspar?

We no longer consider the Talon or her people our masters.

No word, then.

Tannis nodded again. Come, we have quarters for you. Your cart and burro are safe in a small stable, long unused.

#

Machine Lobe's burro and cart, in which he carried the magical healing Machine, had been stationed in a high stable, just under the lip of the canyon. As he brushed the burro, listening to its contented chewing, he spoke to himself.

A plague that is controlled but never eliminated. I have never heard of such a thing.

The burro grunted.

I must offer my services, he continued. At least for the help and restocking our supplies. Perhaps when I meet their leader we can use our collected knowledge to find a cure.

#

Machine Lobe, the woman said. She stood half his height, a quarter of his weight, and sat on a raised chair in front of the long hall. A strange name.

Lobe was my name from birth, he said. The prefix of Machine is because of my work.

Tannis said you are a healer.

I carry the Machine, Machine Lobe said. Passed down through my family for generations, and only one of my bloodline can operate it. With a little blood from the suffering and common ingredients, it can create medicine.

I know of medicine myself, she said. I am Keila, formerly of the Ageria. I brought the medicine that cured a terrible plague.

So it is said.

What sorts of afflictions do you provide?

Boils, tainted blood, sexual discomfort. I have only found a few diseases that baffle the Machine, and those have been lucky to not spread.

And you simply carry it with you as you travel?

It was given to me by my mother. I never intended to carry it, but I am the last of my line, and its gifts must be given to the world. Only those of my bloodline can operate it.

Very generous, Keila said. Her eyes shone yellow, her hair pitch black. Many would use its power to extort money and power.

Machine Lobe shrugged. Not in my nature.

And you think you could use your machine to cure our plague? Even my medicines, powerful as they are, can only hold it in check. This plague is not known anywhere else in the world.

May we confer on symptoms and methods? Collected knowledge is always superior.

Keila nodded. Bring your Machine and meet us in the hospital.

#

The 'hospital' was merely a dispensing station. An old Raptor behind the counter measured out drops of liquid onto wheat crackers, handing one to each comer and marking their names in a book.

One dose every day, Keila said. She wore simple clothing, no royal affectations. I would show you what happens when you do not take a dose, but that would be cruel.

Baffling, Machine Lobe said. And you suffer from this affliction as well?

Of course. I tend my own supply in private, and keep the best of the medicine for my people.

Machine Lobe watched the denizens of Riverfall come for their medicines, and watched closely those who seemed to be late in claiming their dosage. After a time, he asked for a sample of blood. It emerged in a stone dish from behind the counter, where masked Raptors mixed liquids in a glass chamber.

The Machine went through its arcane motions, and in a minute a little glass vial popped out, filled with amber liquid.

It creates the glass as well, Keila said, marveling.

I keep it stocked with raw sand. I don't pretend to know how it works, simply how to operate it.

And what of this vial?

If the Machine works on your plague, this will be a full dose to cure an otherwise healthy Raptor adult. If more is needed, it is created on the spot so as to have a scheduled dosage.

Remarkable.

The Raptor whose blood had created the medicine came out, and Keila issued instruction.

The following day, they met at the hospital again. The afflicted Raptor marked the book, indicating a voluntary refusal of Keila's medicine. He then swallowed the amber liquid.

#

I don't understand it, Machine Lobe said. He sat by the dead Raptor's bedside, Keila and Tannis nearby. This has never happened. The worst my Machine has made is an anesthetic that accidentally damaged the mind of a sick woman. It cannot make poison, I swear.

He lasted only an hour, Keila said. Even in the worst of our plague I never saw such pain.

It seems our trust in our leader is true, Tannis said. Healer, we do not blame you. If your cure had worked, we would lovingly accept your help.

Such a shame, Keila said. Arrange his burial. Machine Lobe, a word?

Tannis left the room.

Your machine cannot help us, she said. However, I have ideas about its function here. We could perhaps create some general medicines for other afflictions, so as to have a stock ready in case you do not return for some time.

Of course, Machine Lobe said. His gaze rested on the dead Raptor, his mind a stutter of sad confusion. Even without blood there are manipulations of the Machine that can cure fever, common infections.

A room will be made ready, Keila said. Please accept our hospitality.

#

Three days passed. The Raptors in Riverfall ignored Machine Lobe as he passed among them, and a small store of medicine grew in the hospital, the tiny glass vials stacked neatly in grass baskets. On the fourth day, Machine Lobe descended to the bottom of the canyon and set up a fishing line by the rushing river. After a time, he saw a Raptor sitting on the far bank, watching.

Machine Lobe waved. The Raptor made no motion back, but spread its wings and leaped across the water.

You won't catch anything, she said. Raptors have no mammalian breasts, and her uncovered chest showed only the crop of a bird surrounded by powerful flying muscles. The river is too strong for fish.

It is a relaxing thing, Machine Lobe said.

Perhaps. She sat cross-legged next to him, her ivory wings furled. I am Len. I understand you tried to heal my brother.

Gods, Machine Lobe said. I am so sorry. There was no way to know–

I know, she said. It is not your fault. I have other opinions on the matter, but I want you to cure me.

I cannot. The Machine will not fix you plague, and you will die.

If so, it is a welcome death. My brother was the only good thing in my life.

I'm sorry.

Don't worry about the past, she said. Here is my blood. She held out a rubbery leaf, cupped and tied with string. From me, and no other.

Machine Lobe took the leaf, saw how she had split it down the center and filled it with fresh blood.

Len stood and unfurled her wings. Meet me here when you have the vial. I will not take my dose today, but don't worry. Missing a single dose is unpleasant but survivable.

#

Incredible, Machine Lobe thought, is the only word. The young Raptor's blood had produced six vials, all of clear liquid, far different in texture and smell than the amber liquid from before. Each evening for three days, Len met him at the river's edge to receive a single dose of his medicine each day.

In his time at Riverfall, Machine Lobe had noticed that a missed dose was grounds for shaking and sweats, and Tannis told him that the longer someone missed their dose, the stronger their seizures and loss of muscle control.

Len had no such symptoms.

You were not given my brother's blood, she said, accepting the fourth vial. I don't know what they gave you, but it produced a poison for Raptorkind. Deliberate. Keila does not want the plague cured.

But why?

She is pleasant on the outside, Len said. However, I understand from rumor that she has … specific tastes. Violent and sadistic. Not with adults, either.

And this is allowed?

She is the only one who can produce the medicine, Len said. I think those who know prioritize their own survival.

I must speak with her.

No, Len said. Keep on working on your medicines, but leave as soon as you can. She has great magic, and no power on this Earth can withstand it. Only once since she took power was it challenged. Their bodies hung on the walls for six weeks.

She swallowed the dose and rose into the air.

#

That night, Raptors came to Machine Lobe's room. He accepted their entry, and was not altogether surprised when they escorted him back to the royal chambers.

Keila stood by her chair, in which another sat; Len, throat cut, blood shining on the skin of her chest.

Machine Lobe stood very still.

I do not take kindly to meddling, Keila said. You may leave this place without your Machine.

You have no medicine, Machine Lobe said. It is an addicting drug, keeping symptoms of withdrawal at bay. You are using this place for your perversions and keeping them addicted so your crimes will not be judged.

Keila made a dismissive motion. No matter. This is how things are.

I will not leave my Machine with you.

And you have such a choice in the matter?

The Raptors grabbed him and slammed him to the floor. In shock, he felt the sting of a sword on his hand, and his horrified eyes came to rest on his left index finger, now severed.

You may still leave, Keila said. I am not without mercy. But never return, and never tell anyone of this place.

Old rages clicked in Machine Lobe's mind. His right hand yanked from its attacking grasp and shot underneath his body. Continuing the motion, he rolled, striking upwards with pinched fingers. The Raptor holding his left hand fell back, gurgling through a ruined throat. Machine Lobe leaped to his feet and sprang for the door. Looking back, he saw Keila waving Len's hand in a gesture of terrible satire.

#

Machine Lobe stopped at the door to the stable. His cart lay in ruins on the straw, and nearby a dead Raptor slumped against the wall, a blackened bruise in his delicate chest. The Machine was gone.

Machine Lobe's burro lay on the floor, blood pumping weakly from its throat. Machine Lobe knelt, and took the beast's head in his hands. It gave a troubled chuff, and its black eyes watched those of the human, confusion overpowering the pain. Machine Lobe spoke soft words to the burro, gently scratching behind its ears.

When the blood stopped and the burro's eyes closed, Machine Lobe stood and took a hammer from the wall. He carefully pulled the iron shoes from the burro's feet, and with a powerful motion bent them around his hands. Striding from the stable, he passed a number of Raptors, and all ignored his passage.

At the gate to the Royal House, a guard stopped him.

You are expelled from this place, he said.

I wish to regain my Machine and leave, Machine Lobe said. His voice held no hint of anger.

Your machine will now provide us with the medicine we need, the Raptor said. We have been issued our orders. Your sacrifice is of great meaning, human, and we will honor you in your absence.

Machine Lobe cocked his head. And my burro?

It fought. We mourn its life.

I see.

Machine Lobe turned slightly as if to leave, but his foot shot out with a speed that belied his bulk. The Raptor's kneecap shattered and before he could scream Machine Lobe punched him in the throat with his iron knuckles. The Raptor died with a gurgling hiss.

I never wished to be a healer, Machine Lobe said, and entered the Royal House.

#

Two rooms later, Machine Lobe crashed through another door, Raptor blood dripping from the iron knuckles. Many had fled, some trying to fire arrows at him from cover, but Machine