Between Showyth and Arenard, "It" Appeared

Madigan gritted his teeth.

“Are you always this dramatic?” he asked.

The day was filled with panicked cries. Madigan’s earbuds were about to burst. Every dive and turn would send waves of terror through Isolde. He felt it in the way her body trembled against his, like a scared bunny. At least she didn’t vomit all over him – but still being forced to deal with her endless shrieks, that was bare minimum.

“I’m not dramatic,” she insisted. “How else am I supposed to react? We’re thousands of feet in the air!”

“Of course we are! I’m a whole Flier, you idiot. Did you think I’d just ‘slowly hover’ right over the ground?”

“I— yes, you’re right. Guess this shouldn’t be much of a surprise…”

“Gee. No kidding.”

“And— I also suppose I must not be the most tolerable rider you’ve had.”

“You got that right,” then darkly he said, “Granted, there’s only one other person to compare you to.”

“Really? Just one?” her tone was one of surprise, “But isn’t that one of the jobs of a Flier, to help us around?”

“Most are too dumb to realize we have a choice in the matter. Mind you, I only agreed to this ‘deal’ out of pity.”

“I see… Then, this first rider must’ve been someone special, right?”

Madigan hesitated to say anything, allowing the beating of his wings to fill the silence. Beyond the snow-capped mountains, the land was starting to lose its freeze, patches of dull grass below with small trees here and there. A day had passed since they left Isolde’s village, and even after occasional stops, he didn’t feel anywhere near rested enough from all the needless noise.

Another day of turmoil was unimaginable. If distracting her was what it took, then so be it.

Despite the wounds.

“Yeah. Real special,” he said. “And he loved it.”

Madigan still remembered the laughs that left him breathless. Or how the heights never startled him yet made his little heart race with joy. If only he had grown his wings – the skies were made for Luka.

Isolde peered down at Showyth and a shiver probably ran down her spine, since Madigan felt her move back as soon as she did it. “That makes one of us… So, um, did you know him well?”

“More than ‘well.’ He was my son,” he stiffened, “did you just laugh?”

“I’m sorry, it just makes me glad. If I may be… Blunt, you’re so rough around the edges that I feared you didn’t have anyone to love.”

The word was a cause for scorn. Love. It still had no use.

And yet, this wholly useless thing was his driving force to find Yohan.

“But it must be hard as a father, with – you know,” Isolde continued, “How old is your son? Is he still young?”

“Seven. Last time I saw him, anyway.”

“Oh… So, you are estranged?” her hands on him became looser as she said, “I know it’s not my business, but – I think you should see him. We’ve only got a limited time left, and if I were him… Well, I know I’d like to see my father again.”

Something broke in him. Maybe a thread in his brain. Whatever it was, it made Madigan forget – before either of them knew it, he flew over 180°. Isolde, having lost her grip, let out a bloodcurdling scream as she plummeted to the surface while her body flipped and sprawled in all directions.

Madigan, after overcoming his own shock, was at her level in an instant. He snatched her up by the collar with a talon, right before her skull was mere inches from a mountain peak. He was that much away from giving up his head to Olga. A toss back up, and Isolde was safe on top of him again.

“I— you, wha— Why!?” she cried.

“To be frank, I don’t got a clue.”

“You almost killed me and you don’t know why?”

…

“Hello!”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re just sorry!?”

It was the best he could say, unable to come up with any explanation for why her words triggered the past.

He hadn’t done that move in years. It was Luka’s favorite to be flung around in the air mid-flight. And a little dad-and-son secret to keep away from “Mom” at all costs. Completely irresponsible. He never got hurt though, so no harm in innocent fun, Madigan believed. No matter what, he always caught him.

Until he didn’t.

But he couldn’t delve much into thought. Isolde’s relentless tirade prevented that. Shouts of horror exchanged for ones of infuriation. At least it made him a bit pleased, since she finally wasn’t acting so passive. If anything, that’s what bothered him the most about her. Someone without a backbone. Even that “hag” Olga was preferable.

“I mean, honestly! Imagine my sister’s distraught! Do you know what would’ve happened if you didn’t catch me? I’d be dead!”

“Alright, alright – I get it, okay? It won’t happen again—”

Something shot past, too fast for Madigan to see its form. He blinked with confusion, then raised a finger to his ear, only to see blood on the tip. He surveyed the terrain – the mountains lowered into hills, and the once-lone trees gathered into forest. But that was all.

“Hey, dramatic. Did you catch what that was?”

“Not really, but – it looked like… A spike, or something?”

A spike.

That wasn’t good.

No, it couldn’t be what he thought.

Madigan increased his speed, his wings briskly propelling him ahead. His eyes were serious as he stalked the earth, aiming to spot even the slightest movement – and then, there it was. A black, shadowy creature, lurking in the canopy. The largest of its kind Madigan had ever seen. Its long claws reached for its back, where it pulled out a ghastly spike straight out of its flesh.

It pointed the weapon upward, right towards its moving target. The thing’s deep, haunting roar echoed, and even the birds were wise in taking heed. Madigan swerved, yet to no avail, it was too late. The spike seamlessly travelled the air like an arrow – until it hit his wing, along with another.

“I-I’m sorry! I tried to stop it, but it has no thread! What is that thing!?”

Isolde was terrified. Madigan was falling. Tried as he could, his right wing was immobilized, and his left barely kept them afloat. They had abandoned the clouds, the treetops were incoming – but suddenly, the branches raised. Fortunately, the Weaver was useful enough for something.

The leaves served as a barrier to lessen the damage. Somewhat, at least. Maybe with a more skilled Weaver, it would’ve protected them totally. But as they crashed through the forest, it was the most Isolde could do. They landed with a hard thud, their bodies painfully scraping along the grass, until roughly hitting a trunk.

Another roar. Distant. Madigan didn’t know if it was because the anomaly was actually afar, or if the muffle was due to him losing consciousness. His sight went from darkness, to the unknown surroundings – to darkness, to Isolde safely wrapped in his wings – and finally again, to darkness.