Guardian Wings

It was chasing him and Kellan Jendry did not know why. He did not know what it was, either. Indeed, from the moment he had stepped into the gloomy street and seen it standing there, staring towards him, there had not been a great deal that he could be sure of. It was tall and humanoid, but possibly not human. Its body was broad and misshapen, which Jendry could only hope was due to body armour. There were sharp claws protruding from its right hand, which might or might not be part of a gauntlet. It was difficult to tell whether its face, which was featureless except for two dark, hollow eyes, was a mask. Even the way it moved was otherworldly; steadily advancing with a cold implacability that left Jendry with just that one certainty: it was chasing him.

Jendry was alone and far from safety, so he had no choice but to run. He was not a natural born sprinter and could dash only in short bursts; about as quickly as could be expected of a portly man in his mid-forties who had, until this point in his life, never really had to run for anything. His unknown pursuer seemed to have little difficulty keeping up and, whenever Jendry dared a glance over his shoulder, it was always still there; striding forwards and fixing him with a gaze from those awful, empty eyes.

As he reached a crossroad, Jendry glanced around desperately, his mind foggy with panic, as he tried to figure out which route might take him to safety. He did not know where he was and, in the late dusk, the shadows lent each unfamiliar street a sinister, alien quality that suggested they were just as likely to lead to his doom as they were to shelter. He took deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to think; doing his best to ignore the troubling metallic taste forming in his mouth. To his left, looming tall in the distance, were the Great Towers of Iska. Everyone in the city knew, almost instinctively, that the Towers were dangerous. There was even an old saying: ‘if you are heading away from the Great Towers then you are going in the right direction.’ The sound of heavy, relentless footsteps drawing closer told Jendry that he did not have the luxury of thinking this through any further. He turned southwards and continued his frantic escape.

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‘This city of Iska is a blight upon the landscape, but it was not always so. In ages past, it thrived as a centre of commerce and culture. People flocked here in their millions to seek fame, fortune or whatever other measure of life it was that they considered to constitute success.’

The audience stood in a group: a dozen young men and women carefully positioned in the middle of the flat rooftop. The speaker stood further towards the edge; his silhouette well-defined against the yellow glow from the lights of the Great Towers looming behind him. He was a giant of a man; standing at a little under seven feet tall with the definition of his muscles clearly visible even through his thick tunic. The pair of mighty wings that sprouted from his back accentuated his stature; with feathers a mix of dark grey and white, they seemed broad enough to almost completely encompass the speaker and might have caused comment amongst the audience had each of them not borne their own pair of wings as well. Despite his size, the speaker himself was not at all intimidating. With high cheekbones and a slightly hooked nose, there was an air of nobility about him and, when he spoke, his voice remained quiet and composed.

The speaker continued: ‘as the population grew, the boundaries of Iska were pushed further and further back. The city had become the envy of all: a titanic commercial and industrial powerhouse. As a result, she had her enemies, and that is surely why the ancient Iskans built the city walls. One thousand feet high, solid and unassailable, they were perfect to keep out whatever unknown threat the people of the city feared. With its walls completed and its boundaries set, Iska could not expand outwards, and so she expanded upwards. The Great Towers, that now define the cityscape, were developed. Hundreds of gargantuan monstrosities; built higher and higher until the skies themselves were obscured from view and the sun barely shone on the streets beneath.’

Falling silent, the speaker frowned and gazed beyond the edge of the building and across the city below. The listeners exchanged uncertain glances with each other. They were little more than recruits; here to meet their new leader and to learn a more accurate version of the history of Iska than any they may have learned in the streets. The speaker was renowned for his wisdom and eloquence. The sudden silence was not on the agenda and was, therefore, somewhat uncomfortable. Some recruits looked towards the one who had brought them here: an older man by the name of Clement Moby, who was slouching dourly against a wall, with the jadedness of someone who had heard it all before. Now, even he looked somewhat confused, and he responded to their worried gazes with an apologetic shrug.

At last, with a grim countenance, the speaker glanced back towards his audience. ‘Even today, no-one can truly know what those towers conceal; hidden away in the darkness below.’

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Jendry lurched through the deserted streets, heading toward the corroded remains of a railway track that ran down towards what he knew to be a residential district. Here, the decrepit buildings were from an industrial estate that had long since become disused and unoccupied. The rotted husks of the old factories around him served only to heighten his sense of dread; there may be countless hiding spots for other creatures like the one following him and there were many places that his body might lie undiscovered for weeks.

As he reached the rails, he dared to glance over his shoulder to see his relentless pursuer was no more than two hundred feet behind him; advancing as steadily as ever. With a stifled cry, Jendry stumbled along the tracks as they curved around the side of some crumbling warehouses. It wasn’t a sharp corner, although was enough to put the buildings between him and the thing following him. Jendry had little doubt that the creature was still in pursuit, but if it couldn’t see him, then that gave him a chance.

Jendry propelled his body forwards in a motion that, by now, only vaguely resembled running. His pace was short, his steps uneven and, with every footfall, he felt as though his knees might buckle and give way. Nonetheless, he kept going, fearing that at any moment he might feel a heavy hand on his shoulder or, worse, one of those cruel claws through his back.

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The winged speaker continued: ‘the Great Towers were all built to a single design and, we suspect, with a single purpose: so that the Iskan Elite could desert the lower city. We cannot be sure what influenced the event we now know as The Abandonment. Perhaps it was an act of survival; with Iska over-populated and isolated from the outside world, there may have been a shortage of resources. It is possible the city had outgrown its means, leaving insufficient food to sustain the people, or inadequate power to operate the technology that so many relied upon. On the other hand, maybe the cause was merely greed and detachment. As the city grew fat and opulent, the same may have been true of her ruling classes. After all, ancient Iska was fully automated. The Elite would have had access to technology that would feed them, clothe them, heat their homes and power their appliances. What use would they have had for a human workforce? It may have been that, to the Iskan Elite, the presence of so many millions of souls within their city had become a mere nuisance.’

‘So it is believed that the Iskan Elite sought their escape by rebuilding the city. They constructed a network of passageways to connect the top floors of their towers, and they relocated all the generators of the city within that network. They created for themselves an entirely self-sufficient and self-contained little world. A city perched atop the city. Once the Great Towers were constructed, all that remained was for the Iskan Elite to retreat to the utopia they had formed. To ensure their complete isolation from the rest of the population, they cut all power to the city below.’

‘This caused the lower city to plunge into darkness and anarchy. Everything in the city had required power. Lifts no longer worked, heat was no longer generated, and most tools and weapons became useless. Worse still, the great gates of Iska could no longer be operated. They were effectively sealed forever shut, rendering the city walls as unassailable from within as they were from without. For those poor souls left behind, there could be no escape from the coming chaos. As gangs, families or individuals, the Iskans fought and died for the few resources that remained. A population of millions dwindled to tens of thousands and those who survived lived on in constant conflict.’

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Jendry staggered slightly as his foot snagged on a twisted piece of rail. Through luck, rather than physical prowess, he caught his balance and used his momentum to propel himself forward. It was not supposed to be like this, he reflected. This place was not like the rest of Iska. This was the Southern Block: the safest territory; far away from the Great Towers. Jendry had heard how difficult it was to live in the shadows of those towering constructs, where resources remained scarce and lawlessness was rife. It was also very dark there: although the streets were illuminated at night by the bright, yellow streetlights emanating from the very tops of the Great Towers; the interiors were shrouded in a heavy, almost impregnable blackness thanks to the scarcity of windows at ground level. It had never really occurred to Jendry that he might have any reason to be envious of those living beneath the Great Towers but, now he thought about it, he realised that such complete darkness would have given him abundant places to hide.

At last, he reached a ruined bridge and bore right, half running, half sliding down the muddy bank to reach the cracked path that ran under the ancient structure. He stopped and, struggling to catch his breath, pressed his back up against one of the cold steel struts that supported the bridge. He closed his eyes, still gasping for air but holding onto the desperate hope that the thing pursuing him had not seen his graceless fall away from the railway line. Any optimism he retained was short-lived, however, and he heard the distressingly unmistakable sound of his pursuer’s heavy footsteps as it strode along the rails. The noise changed to deep, metallic clangs as the creature stepped onto the bridge. There was also a lighter, tapping sound that, Jendry imagined, was created by the creature’s claws playing across the railings.

The heavy footsteps drew steadily closer before stopping almost directly above him. He placed a hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to quell his still-quickened breath, but he remained exhausted from running and his chest heaved even as he gagged against the vacuum created in his palm. His heart felt as though it was battering against his rib cage, threatening to burst through at any moment. All the while, the thing stood atop the bridge in silence. Perhaps surveying the surrounding land, perhaps listening for a clue. It was no longer moving and, Jendry realised, this meant that it had not seen where he had gone. For the first time, he dared to believe that he might be able to escape.

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The speaker cast an eye across his listeners. ‘The dark days of the Abandonment were many generations ago,’ he said, ‘and we have come a long way since then. Iska’s population has started to recover, and it has done so only because of a strong disciplinary force. The people of the lower city need policing and they need protecting. They need rules to follow or else all will fall apart. This is where we come in. You are here as new recruits of Reynard’s Wings: the sole hope of this forsaken city and a catalyst for her rebirth. We are organised into four Castes: the hawks of Caste Raptor; the owls of Caste Tyton; the swans of Caste Cygnus and the gulls of Caste Laridae. Each has its role to play. You have all been selected to join Caste Laridae and, as Laridae, you will act as the envoys of Reynard’s Wings. You will be the main line of communication between the Wings and the various tribes and gangs of Iska. You will provide aid to those in need. You will identify those who cannot follow our laws. I am the Head of Caste Laridae and it is my duty to know everything that happens in this city: who has what; who needs what and who has taken what. You will be my eyes and ears and you will report everything you see to me. Iska has seen dark times and we never know what the future will hold. But whatever transpires, we must always be there to uphold order and provide relief to those who wish to live their lives in peace and comfort. This is the cause to which your lives are now dedicated. It is the cause we all follow.’

‘But as you follow it, you must, above all, be cautious. There remain many dangers in this city. No-one is ever truly safe, and the fight is never truly over. Let your guard down, even for the smallest of moments, and it may very well be the last mistake you ever make.’

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After a moment of silence had passed, Kellan Jendry began to relax. He lowered his hand and breathed out; a sound that was far louder than he had expected. It seemed almost explosive after the stillness that had preceded it, and he clapped a shaking palm back over his mouth, eyes widening in horror.

There was silence again, but a different sort now. It was cold, menacing and caused the hairs on his neck to stand on end. Trembling in terror, he looked up to see a large hole in the bridge where the metal had, over centuries, rusted away. Through it, he could see the creature staring down towards him with those terrible, hollow eyes.

Jendry staggered to his feet, but it was far too late. The Clawed Man dropped through the hole and grabbed Jendry; forcing him against the strut that had served as his hiding place only moments earlier. He lashed out hopelessly as he attempted to struggle free of the thing’s grip. With a grunt, the creature struck back; its claws effortlessly piercing the flesh of Jendry’s shoulder before embedding themselves in the ancient steel of the bridge; pinning him in place.

‘Where is it?’ the creature demanded. The voice was deep and hoarse, but unmistakably human. Knowing that his assailant was not some otherworldly creature was by now, however, of no consolation to the stricken Jendry.

‘I… I don’t…’ Jendry spluttered. It was the most he could manage through the agony.

‘Novus,’ said the Clawed Man. ‘I know you know what that is. I know you know where it is. Where is it?’

Jendry shook his head, his mind battling desperately against the fog of pain. The Clawed Man was after that? How did he know about Novus? Who was this man?

‘What do you want with it?’ Jendry stammered, his eyes watering.

‘That’s none of your concern. Where is it?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

The masked figure drew closer and twisted his claws in Jendry’s shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain. He gritted his teeth and looked directly into the dark, hollow eyes that were now only inches away from his own.

‘Novus is our hope for the future,’ Jendry said, struggling with every word. ‘If you take it, you forever condemn our entire way of life.’

‘Good,’ the Clawed Man snarled.

Jendry’s head sagged forwards. There was just no reasoning with that.

‘Kellan,’ the Clawed Man said. ‘This is your last chance. Where is it?’

Jendry looked up sharply. The Clawed Man knew him by name. His mind raced as he realised that the voice of his assailant, although not overly familiar, was one he could nonetheless recognise. His heart sank. Whatever he said about Novus, he was going to die anyway.

‘May the Drazel take you,’ Jendry spat, managing a moment of uncharacteristic bravado in the face of the inevitable.

The Clawed Man tutted and slashed diagonally downwards, cutting deep across Jendry’s chest. Kellan Jendry did not, and could not, cry out and instead let out one last ragged and bloodied breath as he spilled forwards.