CHAPTER TEN

ARIBI

DAYIEL

Dayiel accepted a few coins, handed over the last of his cheese and milk in exchange, and cast a glance at the darkening sky. The buyers in the market square had all waited until late afternoon to make their purchases, and he’d be late getting home. Azar would be waiting for him.
Don’t talk to the birds, Azar.
Had she stayed out of the forest? He didn’t like the birds that tried to keep her away from him. Anxiety made his fingers shake as he closed the stall and readied the horse and cart for the journey home. The horse had long since given up speed. There was no hurrying the animal. Normally, that didn’t bother him. He and the horse had been friends for years and understood each other. Dayiel didn’t even have to guide the horse to get home or to the market. They’d made the journey together so many times neither of them had to think about it anymore.
The half-hour trip along a bumpy road was fast for the plodding horse, but seemed to take hours tonight. At home, Dayiel freed the horse from the cart and tended to him, glad for the familiar routine. Animals were easy to get along with. Their expectations were clear. Simple needs easily met.
Where was Azar? She normally rewarded the horse with a bit of apple, carrot, or sugar for bringing her father home safely, but she didn’t welcome them home today. Dayiel left the horse in the barn and crossed the yard. The cottage remained dark.
“Azar?”
He pushed open the front door, already knowing his daughter wasn’t home. 
The forest. The birds!
Dayiel sprinted into the trees.
A rush of black feathers burst from the treetops, spiraling into the sky. A man with black wings. He carried something… Someone in his arms. Dayiel’s mind wasn’t the sharpest anymore, but he knew the color of his daughter’s hair.
“Azar!” Dayiel’s cry came deep from within his soul and rang through the forest.
The black-winged man disappeared, taking Azar with him. Streaks of orange, gold, and red flashed, then the sky was empty. 
Dayiel fell to his knees, grief immobilizing his body.
What should he do? What could he do? He didn’t have wings. Why did the birds hate him? He lived in a perpetual fog. He knew he didn’t know all the things he should. Had he done something to the birds? He was a burden. Things had only been more confusing after Adeen went with the birds. And now Azar had gone with a bird, too. 
He dropped his face into his hands and wept. A jumble of memories threatened to fracture his mind further — fire, swords, wings, grotesque faces, screaming. Everything whirled together and swept him away, tearing his mind to pieces again.

The moon was high in the sky when Dayiel came back to himself. He shivered and climbed to his feet. What was he doing near the forest? He had to get home. Azar would be worried. If she came looking for him, she might wander in the forest and talk to the birds.
He hurried to the house. It was dark. Azar wasn’t home.
Azar and black wings. Black wings stole Azar!
Pain spiked through Dayiel’s head, dropping him to his knees as he struggled to remember. He had to remember. Flames. More wings. Swords. Blood. He held up his hands, stained a dark red. 
Glancing down, he touched rough fingertips to his chest. Beneath the worn fabric of his shirt, the raised skin of his scars formed a map of his battles won and lost.
Scars?
He pulled his shirt over his head and ran his not-red hands over smooth skin. The scars seemed more real, even though he couldn’t see or feel them anymore.
Dayiel staggered to his feet and stumbled into the house. He crashed into the rough, wooden table he and Azar ate their meals at, sending it sliding across the floor and knocking the chairs over.
Azar. Azar was gone. He had to save her. Where was his sword?
His sword?
Hidden. The word drifted through his mind.
Why was it hidden? Where was it hidden?
As he reached for one of the toppled chairs, an image of the planks underfoot flashed before his eyes, spiking another stab of pain in his head. He shoved the chair away and dropped to his knees again, searching the floorboards for the knothole. Was it real? Yes. There it was. He paused. If he pulled up the plank and found nothing, it would only confirm he was losing his mind. But if there was a sword under the floor, what did that mean?
Something like a song trilled in his head. Urging him to look. Calling him to action.
Dayiel held his breath as he slipped his finger into the hole and lifted. Nothing happened. There was a hole, but it was empty and dark. He laughed, the sound high-pitched and half sob as confirmation of his insanity loomed in that small space.
But that song in his head grew louder, more insistent. He had to quiet that music or it would drive him completely into madness. Dayiel reached into the hole, unsure if he could trust fingertips that felt scars his eyes couldn’t see. Or maybe he shouldn’t trust his eyes. He closed them.
Untrustworthy fingers touched metal. Dayiel’s eyes flew open as his hand closed over a hilt and bright light flashed from the contact. The music crescendo-ed in his head. Agony seared across his skin as the map of scars etched itself onto his body. 
Dayiel pulled the sword… His sword out of the dark and held it up. Its blade glowed silver, the hilt in his hand gold. Memories snapped firmly into place, making him more himself than he’d been in decades.
There were more hidden things.
He pried up the surrounding floorboards, catching his breath as he stared. Silver armor gleamed, nestled in black leather. He stripped off his linen trousers and sandals to pull on the leather pants and boots. A strap holding a scabbard went over his head to lay cross his chest. He lifted each metal piece and held it to his body. The armor melded to him, covering his arms, legs, chest.
Rising to his feet, Dayiel sheathed his sword. Two lines of pain etched down his back, one on either side of his spine. He waited expectantly, but pain was all that came. What was he waiting for? 
Shaking his head, only mostly convinced this was real, Dayiel headed for the door. He couldn’t remember doing this before,  yet this felt familiar — getting ready to go to war.
Maybe he was crazy, but he’d already lost Adeen.
Delusional or not, he was going to get his daughter back.