Page 34 of Caged

The look which crosses Sylas’ face is one I never want to see again. He clamps his lips together and does a curt nod.

“Once. I am…I was…not chosen again,” he says.

I find I want to grab his sword and hunt down those who run the dome, those who have brought this proud, handsome, strong, and brave creature to such depths. Forcing him to do things he finds utterly abhorrent.

The transport slips from the main air thoroughfare and onto a side one, taking a route over an area which is now mostly dwellings. Sylas kneels and looks over the edge.

“I won’t be long, little feather,” he says. “Sit tight.”

And then he dives over the side.

ALEX

“Sylas!” My call of his name is whipped away on the wind, which is far too strong for me to hang out any further without risk of being sucked into the airstream.

I probably shouldn’t worry. He does have wings after all. He can actually fly with them…can’t he?

It occurs to me I haven’t seen a Gryn fly. Not in the brief snippets the hovering vid screens showed of the dome, nor at any point when I’ve been around Sylas.

Sure, his feathers appear functional, although the main primary feathers are more like steel than keratin, but none of that equates to actual flight.

I rush to the other side of the transport in the hope I can see him, but there’s still nothing. I’m at a loss what to do when the thing takes a sickening lurch to one side, and I grab at anything to hold on. We’re descending, and fast, in a way which doesn’t seem controlled enough for my liking. Perhaps the Oykig driver saw Sylas fall, although he doesn’t strike me as the type to be a hero and go after him.

After what seems like a lifetime of almost freefall, the vehicle bottoms out hard, crushing me against several bagsof unidentifiable vegetables. Several containers fall from the precarious piles around, one catching me on the side of my head, and I scramble away.

The transport is nearly on the ground, swaying from side to side and slowing down. There’s still no sign of Sylas, and as it comes to a halt, I hop out without any further thought.

I amnotdoing that again any time soon.

We’re in the dusty outskirts of Tatatunga. Buildings are becoming sparse, with short rows of red mud dwellings poking up from the amber soil like broken teeth and the occasional market stall, all of which seem to be selling dust.

For a slave on the run and a gladiator getting the hell out of town, it feels very exposed.

And there’s still no sign of Sylas.

I make my way hesitantly up to the cab area of the transport, a dark bubble which conceals the driver. With no warning, the entire thing shatters and an avenging angel, all dark wings and flashing sword bursts from it, Oykig grasped in one clawed hand. He beats hard into the air, circles, and lands.

“Who are you working for?” Sylas bellows at the gibbering Oykig.

The creature’s eyes are glazed from the drug he’s been using, and I’d be surprised if he knows what nova-day it is.

“Karil Supplies!” he calls out, his entire body shaking. “My boss is Karil. I just do deliveries.”

“You were taking us to the amphitheater,” Sylas growls, shoving the blade of his sword at the driver’s neck. “You were going to give us up!”

He shifts his grip on the blade and some drops of green blood appear on the Oykig’s scales.

“Sylas!” I’m running towards him.

This is not the dome. I can’t let him do what he so obviously does best out in the open, no matter what he thinks of the Oykig’s intentions.

I grab his sword arm. He looks at me, surprise and anger painted on his face. Then the Oykig is instantly forgotten.

“Eregri!”The weapon clatters to the floor, and I’m wrapped in feathers and hard, vibrating muscle. “You are injured?”

My head throbs. I put my hand up and it comes away wet and red. My vision dims for an instant.

“When we…” I’m panting because I’m trying to keep it together, for his sake. “Some things fell on me.”

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