1st day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.

Azanthea’s colours lined the village’s dirt roads. The ornate flags hanging in their rickety mountain town made Kuba feel uneasy. The flags weren’t usually there. They were too new, too expensive, too foreign for the mountain Village of Zar. Kube tried to look away, but every few steps there was another wooden post that towered over him. Their white banners flapping in the wind, the dull whooping sounding overhead a constant reminder that they were there.

Kuba’s stomach lurched and a prickling sensation crawled up his arm. He rubbed the back of his neck through his thick, charcoal hair trying to sooth the feeling of unease.

The whipping of the cloth in the breeze drew Kuba’s attention back towards the white flag with the angular black wings. Each thick stroke of black representing a faction of the United Azanthean Army; one long stroke down the centre of the flag and five angular lines on each side, for a total of eleven. Eleven reminders that today was Kuba’s least favourite day of the year and the Highwings flag was always here to preside over his misery.

Kuba’s swallowed the lump in his throat, he hated today. He brought his gaze back down to the the ground in front of him. If only he could make it all go away.

“Y’okay there m’ah boy?” said a familiar voice with a thick accent. Kuba looked up with his round, honey-brown eyes to see his Uncle Malek looking down at him. The deep lines of his face drawn back in a warm smile.

“I’m… alright,” said Kuba. A shiver crawled up Kuba’s spine. Instinctually, he rubbed the back of his neck.

His Uncle’s strong hand came down gently on his shoulder, almost too gently for someone of his massive size. Kuba had always been smaller than the other kids his age, but he felt particularly small in his Uncle’s large grip. The weight of his firm hand stopped the creeping shivers in their tracks.

“Don’t ya fret m’ah boy,” said Uncle Malek, taking a knee in front of Kuba. They were stopped in the middle of the moving crowd. “Today we are just spectators.”

“But the next year…”

“Is next year,” Uncle Malek said with both his hands firm on Kuba’s shoulders. His bright blue eyes sparkled and the lines around the corners of his eyes crinkled. “And you do not have to worry about it right now. We’ve been training, just like we did with Ion. Try to relax.”

Kuba looked frantically around the crowed at the mention of Ion’s name. Where was he?

“He’ll be here Kuba, don’t worry.”

Kuba sighed, shrinking even more under his Uncle’s grip. The thought of going to Allegiance Day still irked him, but with Ion around it was always bearble. Uncle Malek was right though, Kuba was still underage. At twelve he was still mandated by a proclamation from King Apollyon himself that all youth attend mandatory lessons. Next year he’d be thirteen though, and then his fate would be up to the Skies. Kuba squirmed at the thought.

“Boys!” Aunt Evie’s cheery voice ring out from further up in the crowd, Kuba could see her hand peaking out above the heads of the other villagers. “Let’s go! Come on now!”

“Shall we? We shouldn’t keep Evie waiting, else she’ll be giving us away today.”

Kuba choked out a laugh. Uncle Malek was right, you could not keep Aunt Evie waiting, at least not calmly.

Kuba inhaled deeply.

“Let’s go,” Kuba said pushing forward out of his Uncle’s grasp. Uncle Malek chuckled and stood up, brushing the dirt off of his knees.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. “Today is not the day to worry.”

Kuba smiled up at his Uncle, who returned the gesture and tousled his short black hair. Kuba playfully smacked his Uncle’s hand away.

The problem is though, Kuba did worry. Sometimes it felt like he worried about everything. Especially about Allegiance Day.

The day that, nine years ago, that Kuba lost his parents.

#

Ion rolled over in the bed, the sunlight peeking in from the slit in the mud wall. He sat up and rubbed his swollen eyes, the thin silk sheet rolling off him and bunching up around his toned waist. Ion pulled his legs over the edge of the bed and managed to walk over to the window. His head pounded. He had been out late the night before at the village Drinkmaster’s.

Ion looked out at the sky, the sun hovering far above the horizon. Much too late apparently.

Ion walked to the bear-skin chair, which doubled as his dresser, in the corner of his small dwelling. He pulled the first pair of trousers he could reach over his long legs. The fabric scratched at his legs as he pulled them up, his skin dry from the drink.

A horn echoed in the distance outside.

Ion sat down on the coarse, furry chair, shaking his head lightly. He had his mother to thank for this headache. At twenty, and gainfully employed as one of the top hunters in the village, Ion was one of the Village of Zar’s most eligible suitors. A family in the village had request he come meet with their daughter. Ion refused at first but his mother insisted he attend, as it was the polite thing to do after being invited. Sarah was her name, Ion had known her since they were young but they were never close. She was indeed very beautiful, and their family hosted him for a lovely meal, but Ion was disinterested. And Ion, not being one to hide his annoyance, decided to have a few too many drinks at dinner and then stumbled into the Drinkmaster’s on his way home.

He was simply not ready for a partner, at least not a permanent one, and most definitely not from the Village of Zar. The Village teetered around a thousand people, and he practically knew everyone. Besides, Ion quite liked his current lack of responsibilities. His days consisted of things he enjoyed; hunting with his parents, spending time with friends, and tutoring Kuba in his lessons.

“Kuba!” Ion jolted out of his seat.

More horns sounded off, this time closer.

“Ciel!” Ion swore. “Allegiance Day!”

Ion scrambled to pull on his shoes, how could he have possibly slept through the sounds of the entire village mobilizing?

Ion sprinted out the door of his small dwelling, still pulling on his shirt. A few stragglers who were still making their way turned to stare as his door slammed. Ion lived wedged between the tailor’s and the butcher’s, but right in the heart of the village so he wasn’t too far.

Ion rushed along the street, his fair hair, which was normally drawn into a knot on the top of his head, was whipping with the wind. He cursed himself under his breath, Allegiance Day meant so much to Kuba, it meant so much to their family. It was the day Kuba’s parents were taken to serve in the capital, Azul. But it was also the day that Kuba was reassigned to their family.

It was the day that Ion gained a brother.

A brother Ion refused to let down. Although Ion hated admitting it, since he moved from his parents’ cabin on the edge of town a few years back, he knew had begun to neglect his older brother duties. Ion was distracted by his independence, his hunting, and his newfound love of women and mead.

Ion tore through the town, the single-story rows of poorly constructed grey houses a mere blur beside him. In less than a couple of minutes Ion reached the end of the buildings and found himself at the top of a small hill, with a roughed dirt road leading down to the giant grassy fields on the edge of the pine forest. Azanthean flags had been erected in a circle with a makeshift stage built in the centre. The entire town was there.

The smell of the mint plants in the field being trampled wafted into the air. Ion was thankful for the refreshing boost. Above the trees, directly east, stood the great mountain of Zar. Ion had spent his entire life beneath the mountain, but the intricacies of it’s jutting icy ledges and the sheer grandiose of it never ceased to stop him in his track.

Ion jogged down the hill scouring the crowd for his family. Each heavy footstep making his head pound. Dozens of horses, mounted by the soldiers of United Azanthean Army, circled through the crowd. Ion focused his eyes on their capes and a wave of relief rolled over him. Most of the soldiers only had partial Highwings on their capes. Just one or two of the eleven strokes. Ion sighed a breath of relief, the First and Second factions of the United Azanthean Army didn’t frighten him, and would make for a much easier day than if a higher faction were in attendance. Though, from what Ion knew, the higher factions rarely spent time in small towns. The highest ranking soldier he had ever seen in their town was a Fifth.

Ion spotted his family on the other side of the gathering as he made it to the bottom of the slope.

Walking through the crowd, across the damp field, Ion passed the ornate carriages, made out of fine-looking cherry wood, that were at a halt next to the stage. The carriages were covered in detailed carvings, with the full Highwings etched in gold on their backs. Ion looked around, but only saw soldiers walking amongst the crowd. The Historians must still be in their carriages.

Ion continued through the crowd.

“Ion!” a high voice pierced through the crowd.

A smile broke out across Kuba’s face. Ion couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey Kid!” said Ion, sweeping his little brother into a hug. Even though they weren’t related by blood, they were the closer than any siblings he had known. Kuba meant the world to him.

“I’m so happy your here,” said Kuba.

“Well you know, it was this or decapitation by one of the King’s lackeys. And I’m quite attached to my face where it is, thank you very much.”

Ion felt a hard, familiar knock on the back of his head. “Oh stop teasing your brother!”

“The ladies are quite attached my face too mum,” said Ion as he turned to face his attacker, “Sarah especially”. Ion could here Kuba trying to restrain his laughter from beside them. Even his mum couldn’t help but snicker.

“Alright, alright,” his father stepped into the middle of them. Ion’s father eyed him up and down. Ion quickly tried to straighten out his shirt and push his long blond hair out of his face.

“Few too many last night there, son?”

“Just a few, sir.” Ion stood up tall, not knowing if his father was joking around or not.

“Well we are glad you’re here m’ah boy,” said Ion’s father. Ion felt a wave a relief as his pa’s face cracked into a wide smile.

“And were glad you get to keep that face of yours,” Kuba chimed in.

“Glad for the ladies too,” said Ion’s mum, shooting him a mischievous glare. His mum was always good for a joke.

“Precisely,” Ion replied.

The family huddled together giggling for a moment. For that moment, it had seemed they had all forgotten that they were standing in the middle of a field surrounded by their neighbours awaiting address from the Army and the Historians. The moment of peace slipped by quickly though and the group became somber. The gravity of the day was not lost on Ion, nor did it seem to be lost on the rest of his family.

A nuisance coming from around the stage drew their attention to the carriages with the golden Highwings. Ion felt Kuba step behind him. The carriages were opening just as the last horn sounded. The Historians were getting out.

Allegiance Day was about to begin.

#

Kuba had Allegiance Day memorized. Every year it was nearly the exact same. The Historians would be the last to make an appearance. Waiting in their horse-drawn carriages until the last minute. The soldiers were already mingling in the crowd, probably to intimidate people. And it worked, all of the village was on edge.

Kuba had always thought it funny, he would be anxious wreck beforehand, but the routine of the day somehow put a little piece of his anxiety to rest.

The crowd cleared from around the carriages as soon as the first door creaked open. There were two types of Historians, and the first to step out were always the Skreeh. This year was no different. Although Kuba could not see above the crowd, as he was much too short, he could see the brilliant blue of their long, hooded cloaks through the gaps. Kuba had always thought the colour was appropriate considering their studies of the skies.

The Tekera were always the last. Kuba’s eyes darted as they began to exit the carriages. Their robes were a deep purple, a purple so vibrant Kuba wouldn’t have even known colours like that exist were it not for Allegiance Day. He looked down at his own brown and grey clothing and frowned.

His watched the Historians as they climbed onto the round stage, the hoods casting dark shadows on their faces. There were only about ten of them this year, fewer than normal. Kuba narrowed his eyes and scrutinized their faces, although he could only see their side profiles from here.

Kuba was looking for his parents. It was part of his Allegiance Day routine. Even though he was reassigned at three and loved his adoptive family more than anything in the world, and even though he might not recognize his parents if he saw them, it was part of his routine, and he had to do it. The Historians said nothing as they silently lined up on stage, their heads hanging low. Kuba had always wondered why the Historians acted like that. He wondered if his parents also acted like that now. If they become shells just like the rest of them.

A short woman with grey hair and a kind face, dressed in beautiful silky fabrics, mounted the stairs to the stage.

Kuba felt a soft hand on his shoulder. His Aunt smiled down at him, the cheeriness in her eyes never faltering. Kuba felt warm at her touch.

“Here we go,” said Uncle Malek, also smiling down at him. “It’ll be fine m’ah boy.”

Kuba looked up at Ion, who was slightly ahead of him.

“Pa’s right Kuba,” said Ion. “It’ll be fine. Always is.”