#Otanvall Dumont

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Folly and Friendship

I lay my scene in the lower floor of the Jungenburg Athenaeum. Sunlight streamed down from the many tall windows with pointed arches, illuminating the white walls in glorious amber. Before me, in the center of the lower of two floors, stood rows and rows of widely spaced bookshelves. This palace of knowledge was one of the Central Federation’s premier archives. Its walls contained centuries upon centuries of historical documents, legal documents, and a myriad of treatises about almost any imaginable subject. A wave of joy swept over me as faint rustling serenaded me. As did the occasional scratchy sounds of writing, and the melodic chimes of cast spells. I stood near my favorite subject, history. Especially the histories of the nation states which comprise the Central Federation, the homeland for which I have fought.

A maroon and black tunic hugged my torso, complementing my blue-gray leggings, and my secondary covert feathers, which I had dyed so that they were black with red stripes, rather than black with cream stripes. This was easier than usual because the coloration of my feathers had far greater contrast after my ascension than it was before. A crimson eternal iron ring adorned my left hand. The head of the ring featured a stylized canid skull with unusually large canine teeth, which projected far beyond the ring’s tang. On either side of the skull, sat infinity symbols graven deeply into the ring’s surface. Omen, a tiger gentlecat-soldier, had commissioned a smith to make a set of three matching rings for myself, himself, and our mutual friend, Aira, who ascended with me. The rings were tokens of comradery, but as of late, the rings’ natural regenerative properties have come to represent our friendship.

A small staircase connected the upper and lower floors together. I was not inclined to ascend to the higher floor. Its contents lay outside of my fields of study. If I were going to ascend it, I would walk up the stairs. It was common to fly up there, but I would not. That would be a waste of time and energy. Some consider me to be an excellent aviator, and while I would be remiss to disagree in totality, my wings grant me less maneuverability than the wings of others of my kind grant them. I would crash against a wall.

At a nearby desk, a fellow rainforest eagle perched, entranced by the aged tome they held in their hands. A weathered steel helmet obscured their head from my view, tilted such that I could only see its back and part of one side. Helmet turned a page and their wings fluttered, their down drafts scattering nearby stack of looseleaf texts. What had surprised Helmet, or if they had even been surprised, I could not ascertain. As I turned away, I caught a flash of bronzy-brown. I surmised that I might have seen my friend, Erika, who is a golden eagle. I could not, however, be certain one way or another. Erika has a plain appearance; I often lose her in crowds.

A door in the wall to my left caught my attention. I had seen it often enough, but I had never seen anyone open it. The door was likely closed for a reason, but I itched to know what lay beyond it. I grabbed the door’s bronze handle. I turned it. The door opened with much effort. As the door squeaked open, time crawled to a standstill, and my knees began to buckle, as I felt icy stares on my back. I needed to enter the room, so I channeled my inner flame and let a torrent of courage vaporize the ice.

I am not sure what I had expected. A dagger lay propped up against a corner. Pristine orange columns stood, spaced out around the chamber. A tome and a tarnished plate of metal, its color a muddy green, lay together atop a half column which stood next to a massive urn. Symbols that I could barely recognize—let alone read—graced the plate’s surface. A jagged symbol lay gauged into the stones of the chamber floor beside the dagger. The urn, centered on the floor, sparkled faintly, its rust brown glaze gracing my vision. I registered the symbol as unfamiliar. A similar symbol lay graved in the floor, flipped in comparison to its counterpart, next to the other rusted dagger.

My feathers rose as a chill fought its way through my body. This chamber struck me as odd. Something was wrong with it. My core turned, becoming a sucking void. The glint of gilding caught my eye. A wave of desire swept over me, dissolving my apprehension. The embossed lettering on the cover seemed to call out to me. The title of the book read: Codex Borealis. It was a stately Vesian codex, bound in supple green leather, its pages crisp but aged. My urge to read its contents lay in its topic, not its rarity. I have been meaning to ask Aira about her culture for some time now. This book could help bridge that knowledge gap. I rushed toward the volume.

By the time I registered the other eagle—whose appearance matched mine—running toward me, it was too late. Sweet, searing pain blazed across my face, chest, and arms as I slammed against the well-polished metal plate. I crumpled to the floor before the mirror, my wings stinging as they thrashed against the floor. I lay curled up on the floor, wings splayed beneath me.

My ears registered the sound of footsteps, and I turned my head. “You always find the oddest places to roost, Otto,” Erika teased, offering me a hand.

I took her hand, and I hauled myself to my feet. Erika’s tunic embraced her frame more loosely than mine fitted me. Her leggings and tunic were a sensible, blue-tinged black. “How was your expedition?”

Erika stared blankly at me. “Oh, that.” She chortled after a moment. “My uncle needed help. He's flying on his own wings now.”

I nodded in acknowledgement. I looked at myself in the mirror. My appearance was rather silly. My feathers were all ruffled. My tunic, likewise, lay rippled and disheveled on my torso. I laughed a cacophonous, bellowing laugh. Erika glared at me—until she followed my gaze. Then she also laughed. When she finished laughing, she asked, “Is there a warcat in here that I can’t see?”

I chuckled and smoothed my facial disk with my hands. “That council meeting you were required to attend, what was that about? it seemed stressful.”

Erica handed me my staff. I had not realized that I had left it at the door. Sunlight turned Erika’a brown eyes and feathers golden as we walked out of the mirrored room. “It wasn’t a council meeting. One of the smiths in my hometown finally accepted my application to become her apprentice.”

I leaned against my staff. “Wonderful!” Dropping my staff, I stepped toward Erika, embracing her with my arms. “Have you received any news about Omen or Aira?”

Erika leaned into my embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around my chest. “Omen sent me a letter stating that he retires today. He has also sent you a letter. He mentioned in the letter he sent me that wants to convene at your family’s stronghold with you, Otenvall Dumont, Aira, and a human warrior called Miles Laukkanen.”

After a moment, we withdrew from each other’s embrace. I chuckled, and I said, “I shall prepare a meeting place. You will meet us there, correct?” I knelt and picked my staff off the floor. As I stood, Erika nodded. I studied my ring. I looked forward to speaking with my friends, and perhaps making a new one.