A Knight of Skye

Upon the Kenning of the twelfth moon of autumn, on Gehenna’s day, all the young horned owls of Skye maketh pilgrimage to the sacred peak known as Ravensmount. They do it in their hundreds. They do it not for food, neither for shelter, nor for mates, nests, or any other thing one might expect to be normal for an owl. Nay, these young wings flap up its sheer and craggy face, facing biting wind and rain for one thing and one thing only, honor. It has been this way since time immemorial, when the twelve Strix first led the owls to Skye and became the protectors of the Vale. It is here that they were gifted the mountain by the ravens, it is here where new knights are made, and it is here where most of them will die. For to become a knight of Skye, one must first be willing to fall, and from this fall only then can they truly rise.

While these ancient customs and legends only permit horned owls to the trial, they do live on in the hearts of all owls, who grow up with dreams of being knights, blessed of Gehenna. Of banishing the black wings of Balor’s flocks in defense of all those who fly, creep, crawl or skitter in the Vale. However, reality does have a way of clashing with dreams such as these, and few, if any, carry them much farther than childhood, when their heads fall from the clouds and into the continuous thrumming patterns of daily living. But not all do, some hold this desire in their hearts until it becomes a burning passion, some carry on despite the naysayers and hope stompers, some believe it with all their being that what they were put on this earth to do is to protect others, some like Artio.

No one ever expected much from Barn Owls. Afterall, why would they? All in Skye knew of the ways of society laid down by the Strix. Horned owls fight, grey owls read, red owls forge, and barn owls, well barn owls feed. They stuck to their farms, their fields and their alms. They cared for the sick, they harvested in the fall, and they fed the warriors who protected them all. A job no less noble, but half as exciting, and for one young barn owl, shackling.

He was tall for his kind, with feathers all of white, gleaming as snow, and a tinge of reddish brown on each of his wings. His eyes were pale blue, and his beak was as pink as fingernails. He lived in a room no bigger than him, festooned with art of the legendary Silverwing. From drawings and books of his legendary deeds, all he wanted was to be like him. Most of his friends had left him behind, refusing to give up his childish pastimes, he clung to them instead, never letting go of his dreams of being a knight of Skye. Out there he was Arty, the legendary screw up, head in the clouds and never in his work, but in here he was Artio, the legendary squire of Silverwing. He was brave, tough, cool under pressure, and he was…late for work!

“Arty! Get your feathers down here right now, it’s almost been an hour since sun up and you’re still resting your beak!” came a booming and scraggly voice, sounding like gravel had been poured down a trumpet

Falling back down to earth from the dreams of knights and villains, he rushed to get ready. Fluttering about his room with all the madness of a headless chicken, a tangled mess of feathers and stress.

“S…Sorry Dad, Ill be right down!” Arty responded, as he kept trying to find his worker’s telescope, underneath all his posters and books. “Great Gehenna were did I put that stupid thing!”

Booming from down below, stood his father, Brig, annoyed, but focused on the task at hand. He was fixing a wheel, well at least trying to. The cartwright had been out of town for a month, and it was almost time to start taking the summer’s produce in to market. A surly barrel-chested barn owl, with dark indigo feathers and a grey tinge, his amber eyes were focused intently on trying to get the

“Blasted cart to work!” he shouted as one of the spokes came loose and pinched his left wing.

“Come now dear, your stress levels are high enough as it is, why don’t you just wait for Fynn to come back, I’m sure he’ll be home any day now.” Said a much softer and sweeter, voice, Arty’s mother, Henna. A slender barn owl, with white feathers like her son’s, but with a reddish pink lining to them, carrying glasses of green milk with her, the strange liquid sloshing about in the cups as she approached Arty’s father.

Putting them down beside him she said “and you shouldn’t be so hard on Arty, you know how hard this week has been for him. What with the Kenning and all.” She looked up to Arty’s treehouse that sat nestled in the branches above the barn built around the tree’s trunk and shaded in its canopy, “you know how much being a knight meant to him, and not being included, poor thing I can’t imagine how he feels.”

Arty in his room was about to leave, when he heard his parent’s talking, and as quiet as a mouse he moved closer to the door to listen, balancing on a chai leaned against the window.

“I’ll tell ya how he feels, the same way every little barn owl feels when they grow up, the same way I felt when I was his age.” Brig snorted as he continued to fiddle with the wheels. Looking up to grab a glass of milk, he instead found his wife’s stern gaze, prompting a more sympathetic response.

“Ugh, listen love. I know this isn’t easy for him, it wasn’t easy for me either. But sooner or later Arty’s got to grow up. He’s a barn owl, and we, well we stick to our barns. Its no less noble a job, afterall what would those good for nothing flying tin-cans eat if it wasn’t for us? I’ll tell ya, Sod, that’s what!”

He laughed.

“But maybe there’s something we can do for him, take him down to the Kenning or something, just to watch?” Henna retorted.

Brig sighed, “the Kenning is just a waste of time love, I’m afraid it’ll only torture the boy, let him see up front what he can’t be.”

“It just doesn’t sit right with me, telling our son what he can and cannot be.” She said

“Trust me, it’ll be best for him if he never sees another knight in his life. Besides, autumn is almost done, its Gehenna’s day already, and I need Arty watching the fields to make sure those damn buzzards stay away from the fields while I’m gone.” Brig said in a more sober tone.

Her face drooped with a grim realization “I just wish things were different for him” she said in a depressive tone, as she looked up to Arty’s treehouse.

Her words hit like a knife in the heart, so much so, that Arty lost his balance on the chair he was resting against the window and fell to the floor. Slamming into the ground, he was instantly overcome with a worry that his parents might have noticed him eavesdropping. He quickly flew out the back window, feathers fluttering through the silken curtains that wisped along the breeze in the room. He quickly flew to his post, landing on his perch far away from the barn. When he was far enough away, he began to cry. As his tears fell to the earth, loosing himself in despair he suddenly heard a shout

“Hey what’s the big idea, you trying to drown me or something?” came a tiny almost squeaky voice

Wiping the tears from his face with his wings, he looked down to where the voice originated

“Oh” fighting through sniffles “I…I’m sorry Pym, I…I didn’t see you down there.”

“No one ever does kid, no one ever does. You think you owls got it bad, just try being a field mouse.” Pym said as he crawled up to sit alongside Arty on his perch

“People could step on ya and still wouldn’t know you were there. But what’s got you so upset kid? Your old man riding ya again?”

“No, just realizing that everything I’ve ever wanted to be, my dream, is about as impossible as a rat with wings” he paused and looked down “ugh, no offense, Pym”

“None taken” he responded “besides, if us rodents had wings, we’d take over the whole world” he chuckled to himself. However, he could still see Arty was upset, brushing his paws against his whiskers he attempted to cheer him up.

“Hey, look here, Arty, don’t listen to what your dad said to ya, or what any of those pompous horned buzzards say to ya, I think the world of you, Arty.”

Still sniffling, Arty looked down “R…Really? Why?”

“Remember how we met, kid?”

Arty nodded.

“I was stuck in that web in the abandoned cellar. Man, that gloom spider was about to darn near have me for dinner, I can still smell its breath.” He said as he shivered with disgust at even the thought.

He continued on “I thought I was done for, what an ending for the great Pym, spider-chow. But then you swooped in, like something I’d never seen, with no fear, and you attacked that spider. It must have been twice your size, and you’re this little baby owl, can’t even fly yet, but you didn’t care, because someone needed saving. I don’t care what those old grey geezers say, being a knight isn’t about how many shiny medals you have, or how big your horns are. Being a knight is about protecting others, and you’ve been doing that since you could barely fly, kid. If that doesn’t make you a knight, I don’t know what does.”

Arty’s eyes welled up with tears and grabbed Pym into a hug.

“Thanks, Pym,” he said, while fighting through the tears.

“I couldn’t agree more” came a familiar voice, that caused Arty to shoot right up on his perch.

“Mom?” Arty said in disbelief, “what are you doing here? I thought you were helping dad with the wagon?”

“Oh, your father got it working by some miracle, he already left for town.” She said.

“Then what are you doing here?” Arty inquired.

“I’m here to watch the fields of course, seeing as how you have other plans and all, someone’s got to make sure those buzzards don’t ravage the meal bags”

“B…But I’m watching the fields, that’s what Dad told me…”

She cut him off “how can you be watching the fields if you’re at the Kenning silly beak?” she said smiling.

Realization flooded his misty eyes and he wrapped his wings around her. Holding her tight, she embraced him, her little baby boy, as warm as all mothers do.

“Thanks, mom” he whispered.

“I don’t know what will happen in your life, Arty, if you can do all the things you want. Your father’s right when he talks about reality. But it isn’t a parent’s place to tell their child what they can or cannot be, it’s their heart’s. And if your heart is calling you to the Kenning, well then, silly beak, I cannot think of any other place in all of Skye you should be then right there.” She responded in an equally hushed tone.

Breaking the embrace, she squawked in a commanding tone “Pym!”

The mouse broke into an almost involuntary salute “Y…Yes ma’am?”

Looking back to her son “as squire and best friend to this young knight, it’s your duty to watch over him on his way to the Kenning, can you do that?” she said in a much softer tone now.

“Yes ma’am” Pym responded confidently, “you can count on the amazing Pym to see this young pair of wings safely to Ravensmount.”

“Good.” She responded. “Now you two better hurry, Gehenna’s day is almost over, and the Kenning is about to begin.”

Scooping Pym up in his beak to place on his back, rushing to get off his perch, Arty spread his gleaming white wings, glittering like snow in the afternoon sun’s amber glow, he took off in a blaze towards Ravensmount.

“Thanks, mom, I love you!” he shouted, as he receded into the distance from her view

Waving a wing to him, she responded, “I love you to, my little knight” Clutching a necklace with a feather shaped pendant she muttered “Great Gehenna, please keep your rainbow feathers over my little boy, show him what he’s meant to be.

Reciting a prayer from the old tongue, she spoke quietly “Fyr na hiya, nyre eesden. Go find yourself, silly beak.”

Ravensmount was hard to miss anytime of the year, but certainly impossible during the time of the Kenning. With thousands of owls flocking to it from all over Skye, it appeared as a black spire with a million wings jutting out of the mists of the Vale. While only horned owls were allowed to participate in the Kenning itself, the event still drew the attention of all manner of owls as well as critters from all over the Vale, who came to watch the spectacular event, in which the next generation of the knights of Skye are chosen. One could see all manner of barn owls selling wears and treats, red owls fixing the weapons and gear of knights, grey owls attending council preparations and various animals from badgers to foxes, all gathering around the coliseum to watch the festivities. It was hardly an understatement to call the Kenning, the largest event in Skye by far. All the senses were to be stimulated, and for a sheltered barn owl like Arty, it would have been a sensory overload. However, for this youngling, as far as he was concerned, only one thing existed. It was not the various sticky and honeyed meats on offer at the street fair, not the confectionaries of all the colors of Gehenna’s feathers, nor the dizzying array of creatures some of which he couldn’t even name. No, for Arty, there was only one thing that existed. Ravensmount, the black spire of legend, where Silverwing and the Strix first led the owls, so many years ago, and where prospective knights truly earn their wings during the Kenning.

Zooming in like a predator homed in on his target, Arty raced towards the central coliseum, where the opening ceremony was about to begin. Even from this high up, he could see all the young horned owls gathered on the outside of the building, ready to walk in and begin the Kenning. They were surrounded by all manner of critters and owls, talking to them, but they remained focused, each no doubt fully aware of the dangers of Ravensmount and the responsibility they have undertaken as squires, now prospective knights.

“Ugh, Arty maybe we should slow down. It’ll be kind of hard to watch the Kenning if we’re dead” Pym squeaked, ever afraid of heights.

“You know I know you owls got the gift of wings from Gehenna, but us mice weren’t so lucky.”

“Don’t worry Pym, I won’t let you fall, but it’s almost about to start. I can’t have come all this way and miss the opening ceremony. Hold on.” As he said that, he withdrew his wings

“Ugh Arty, what are ya doing?” as Pym said this Arty went into a full dive, straight into the city square landing with a thud against a cart of apples, jostling them all around the market floor. As he looked up, apples falling down his body, he saw the young horned owls march by on their way to the coliseum. Claws gritting into the cobblestone streets as they walked lock step with each other, not even paying him any mind. To many, this was a display of the typical martial arrogance of the horned owls, to Arty this was awe inspiring. Suddenly spotting one owl amongst the group, a stocky and black feathered fearsome looking youth he cried out.

“Eskel, hey, Eskel, over here!” waving his wings like a dopey toddler might as he cried out.

As the marching continued, the horned owl tried to ignore these calls, but as he came closer and closer, and as Arty became louder and louder, it started to draw the attention, and even some of the ire of the other owls.

“Eskel, it’s me Arty, don’t you remember!” he continued to shout

Finally approaching Arty, he broke ranks to shut him up, clamping his claws down on Arty’s beak.

“What are you doing here! I thought you were supposed to be on your father’s farm, its Gehenna’s day, shouldn’t you be keeping the buzzards out of the meal bags like a good little barnie?”

Mumbling through the grip on his beak, Arty managed to speak

“I just wanted to come see the Kenning, I thought maybe you’d be happy to see friends cheering you on in the crowd.”

“Friends? I could never be friends with a barn owl. We played a few games when we were younger and that’s it, when are you going to grow up.”

Pointing to his horns, characteristically large for a horned owl of his size, almost fearsome looking as if they could actually draw blood.

“You see these? These mark me out as a somebody, and what separates me from the nobodies like you. Do us all a favor and go back to your barn like a BARN owl is supposed to do, and leave the real work to those of us blessed by Gehenna to protect you all. You can thank me after I become a knight.” As he said this, he released his grip on Arty’s beak and shoved him into the ground, rejoining the troupe of knights towards the coliseum.

Arty just lay there, looking shocked. Pym looked up at Arty.

“Can you believe that guy”, dusting Arty off, “what a jerk. You don’t listen to him, Arty.”

Arty, getting up, could only look at Eskel marching off

“I just thought, he’d be happy to see me. I thought we were friends.”

Pym snorted out “if you’re his friend, I’d hate to see how he treats his enemies. Come on Art, let’s grab a seat, the ceremony is about start.”

Before they could, another voice called out to them, as sweet as nectar, chiming through the misted air like a soft bell.

“Hey Arty, you okay, that was some dive.”

Arty knew that voice anywhere. Looking over his shoulder he caught sight of the most beautiful owl he’d ever seen. Golden and pink feathers, and the deepest purple eyes he’d cast his gaze upon.

Half mumbling, he spoke

“Oh, Lyra it’s you.”

“Sorry about Eskel, ever since his horns came in, he’s been a real vulture. Here, let me help you up.” Lifting up his wings, Arty was closer to her than he had been in a long time, not since they were kids. He could smell juniper berries and honey, the kind that her family use to grow in their garden to make juices from when he would visit as a youngling.

“Uh, thanks…Are you here to watch Eskel?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. But not by choice, father insisted.”

In a mocking patriarchal voice, she said “every single Thena has sent their sons off to the Kenning for eleventy seven generations since Silverwing’s discovery of Ravensmount, and this generation shall be no different.”

Back to her regular voice, gazing up at Ravensmount, she continued “being nobility has its perks I suppose, but everything comes with shackles, Arty. What about you? You here to watch Eskel as well?”

“Well, I was, but I don’t think he wants me here very much.” He said.

“Don’t take it too personally, he’s like that with everyone. He gets it from our father, all the pressure of being a Thena gets you when puberty does, I suppose. Well, I better get going Arty, my family’s waiting for me up in the box. It was nice seeing you, we should do this again.” As she said this, she extended her wings and flew up to the head of the line and disappeared into the coliseum.

Still entranced by her presence Arty half mumbled “bye, Lyra.”

Pym snapped him back to reality, screeching in his ear “earth to Arty, earth to Arty, stop staring at your girlfriend”

Arty fell back to earth, if only in his head “Shoot! We’re late, come one let’s go.”

Pym retorted “go where, we don’t have tickets, we gotta get some first or they won’t let us get into the arena.”

“We don’t need a ticket Pym” Arty chuckled

“Okay, Mr. Wiseowl, then how are we going to get in, to see the Kenning? You know the whole reason we came here, not just to gawk at your girlfriend there.” Pym snarked.

“She’s not my girlfriend, and we don’t need to get into the coliseum. There’s an old spot that my dad and his friends would watch from when they were my age, down by Widow’s Watch, we’ll go there.” Scooping Pym up again, they were off into the sky, certainly before the angry merchant could return to his apple stand.

Flying for a few minutes, they eventually came across Widow’s Watch, a small rocky outcropping near Ravensmount that gave them a perfect view of the coliseum’s interior arena and parts of the Kenning’s trial course inside Ravensmount. It was a depressing looking place, whose disposed locale only served to remind Arty just how much on the outside of this world he really was, a feeling no doubt his dad had felt coming to this place many times as a youth. But Arty didn’t care, his heart drew him here and by Gehenna he was going to soak up every aspect of the Kenning if it killed him. Landing on one of the larger rocks, bespeckled in ancient runes and swirls near a willow tree, him and Pym settled in to watch the beginning of the ceremony, as the last of the horned owls and patrons filed into the arena.

AS they watched on, they saw the Sable Court emerge from the gatehouse at the head of the coliseum, just in the shadow of the base of Ravensmount. Arty had never been so close to them before, the grey owls of the legendary Sable Court who ruled over all of Skye were certainly an awe inspiring sight for the young owl. At the head of the council was Greywing, the oldest owl in Skye, who some say has lived for over eighty winters. Dressed in white, black and grey robes, holding in one wing the scepter of Gehenna, the symbol of rulership in Skye, he approached a large wooden podium assembled in the middle of the arena, overlooking all the knightly candidates. Opening his beak to speak, he addressed them, and Arty was all ears.

“They say there are two times an owl get’s their wings. The first is a gift from Gehenna to all owls when they are born. The second time however, they must be earned. They must be earned through great pains under the passages of Ravensmount. Only once you have braved its depths, and faced the darkest version of yourself, and come out the other side can you call yourself four wings on the four winds. Only then can you become a knight of Skye. It has been this way every since Silverwing led us here and was gifted the mountain by the ravens. At the start of today you are all two winged, but by the end of Gehenna’s day some of you will be four, and some of you will be no more. Such is the burden of all those who accept the Kenning’s call, and I ask you, do you accept the call?” he said building up into a stern shout.

All the horned owls in attendance, Eskel loudest amongst them responded in one voice “I accept Gehenna’s call!”

“Then fly young owls, show the mountain your worth, and it will show you its own!” he rasped, his voice clearly aged but barely showing any loss of commanding power, as all the horned owls rose in a flurry of wings and claws towards the Maw, the large opening behind the coliseum that led into Ravensmount.

“Would you look at that, pretty spectacular, huh, Arty?” Pym said from his little rock next to Arty.

“You bet, Pym, I can see Eskel from here. He’s at the head of the flock.” He said, but quickly a sadness fell over him to replace the initial excitement of seeing the start of the Kenning.

“You know, Pym, Eskel’s not wrong. He was always stronger than me, even when we were little and he didn’t have his horns. He was always faster, braver, smarter. Maybe dad’s right afterall, I mean, look at them. I could never compete, maybe Gehenna made me this way for a reason.”

Pym looked up at Arty “hey listen, Arty, one thing I’ve learned in my life. We’re all made for a reason, but sometimes we just don’t know what that reason is until it shows itself. Who knows, maybe one of Gehenna’s rainbow feathers is gonna fall down and ya and grant ya your wish.” He chuckled to himself.

Arty joined in on the laughter, driven half by emotion and half by the company of a dear friend. As they were enjoying their laugh, they were still watching the other owls begin the Kenning as they swarmed into Ravensmount. Arty couldn’t see much, but he could see enough from the holes in the mountain, the beginning of the real trial. The horned owls were all kitted out in their armor, many coming from noble families had gotten theirs made for this very occasion, and its craftsmanship was the finest in all of Skye. Golden filigree and intricate patterns tailored to each noble family; they were like a swarm of shining beetles moving in unison till they arrived at the central terrace. There they were greeted by a large red owl, with fur the color of deep amber like a tree’s sap, with blood red tinges running through it that looked as fresh as a new kill. He had a large scar across his eye, and wore straps of leather armor, the color of a used shoe. That must have been the meanest looking owl Arty had ever seen, and he was the instructor. He looked out over the new recruits and boomed the instructions to them.

“Alright you, chicks, here’s how this is gonna go. The Kenning is at the same time simple, as it is difficult. All you lot gotta do is fly from one end of the mountain to the exit hole at the other end. Sound simple? Well, that’s ‘cause it is” he chuckled to himself, sounding like gruff sandpaper was stuck in his throat.

“But be warned, the mountain ain’t just going to sit there and let you waltz on through. No, she’ll come at you with everything she’s got, or rather everything you got. Wings up, and you’re off!”

The moment he said that, they all took off, and Arty started moving from perch to perch to get a better view through the holes in the side of the mountain. He kept his gaze mostly fixed on Eskel. Everything seemed fine, until he and all the other owls heard it. A swelling scream that started to resound throughout the mountain. It sounded like a piercing eagle’s call, but much louder and as if it were in pain, calling out for bloody vengeance. All the owls, were confused, dazed by the noise they all began to fly into one another and into the mountains various rock formations. Some injured their heads, and wings, falling into the deep dark abyss below. Some took to a perch to appraise the situation, Eskel took point leading them, commanding them to be courageous. Then, as quickly as it started the screaming stopped, and all was calm. Arty was transfixed, he couldn’t look away.

Eskel had managed to get the remaining owls to form a unit, bracing against whatever was next, whatever else the mountain had to throw at them. Some of them, thought that was the end of it, and let out cheerful cries, but these were quickly silenced by Eskel, who for a moment allowed himself to hope. However, that was far from the end of it. Suddenly a calm, but chilling breeze began to flow, Arty could even feel it outside the mountain, ruffling through all their feathers, and then they saw them. Eyes the color of fresh blood, and wings as black as shadow, the shades appeared. Large black owls suddenly appeared opposite of Eskel and the other owls, sitting there perched on rocks. Each was a mirror reflection of one of the horned owls looking back at them, but dark and twisted, as if remembered in a nightmare. With serrated beaks and shattered claws, they echoed out predatory screeches and lunged at their prey taking flight, each seeking out the owl that looked like them. The owls broke in fear, many of them in confusion smashed into each other, and Eskel in trying to keep order was knocked unconscious, and fell onto a rocky perch a few meters down, sliding towards the abyss. Many of the other owls fled, fearing for their lives as they were set upon by their dark doppelgangers.

“Eskel!” Arty shouted, “Pym, I have to do something!” he shouted, getting restless and half flapping his wings.

“Woah there, Arty, you see those things? Those are horned owls, biggest in the land with the best armor money can buy and look what those freaks did to them! Your mom told me to watch over you and that’s what I am gonna do, so you sit your little feathered butt down back on that rock.” Pym shouted

“but I can’t just sit here and do nothing, watch Eskel get killed!” Arty exclaimed.

“Better than getting killed yourself!” Pym shouted back

“But what about all that stuff you said earlier about being made for a reason, was all that just nonsense then, huh?” Arty responded.

“I don’t know, kid, I was just saying stuff, I didn’t think you take that to mean jumping into a death pit was a good idea.” Pym retorted.

“Well, what if this is my reason for being here?” Arty said as he looked down at Pym. Pym looked up at Arty’s big blue eyes, clear as crystals, tears welling up in front of pools of pure determination.

“Arty, y…you saw how he treated you, are you really gonna risk your life for him?” Pym asked.

“We were best friends once Pym.” Arty responded, wiping away the few stray tears which had fallen down his cheek, looking back down at Eskel.

“that’s gotta count for something.” He said.

With a large sigh Pym broke the silence. “Well then go, I can’t stop ya.”

“Why do you say that?” Arty responded.

“It’s because I’ve seen that look before, kid, it’s the same look you had in your eyes the day you saved me. Once you get that look in your eyes, I know they ain’t gonna be anything that can stop ya. Someone needs help, that’s how you were made.” Pym squeaked weakly.

He looked back up at his friend, wiping his whiskers with his paws.

“Well then, kid, go show em why you were made that way.”

“Thanks, Pym.” Arty responded, before taking off like a bolt of lightning, climbing high into the sky before retracting his wings and pulling into a dive. Diving fast, he flew threw the hole in the mountain nearest Eskel, who was just about to be set upon by one of the shades, clicking its beak ready to devour its prey. Before it could, however, Arty slammed into it, with the full force of his dive, causing it to lose its footing and let out a bloodcurdling shriek as it tumbled into the abyss below.

Landing on the perch, he began to help Eskel up on his wings. Taking off his armor to decrease the weight so he could carry him and fly at the same time. All the commotion caused Eskel to waken just for a moment, enough to see Arty helping in. Shocked, but still weak from his head wound he called out.

“Arty, what are you doing here? Why are you helping me” Coughing as he did so.

“Eskel, I couldn’t just stand there and watch you die. Now come on, you big old meal bag, help me out, climb onto my back and we’ll fly out of here together.”

“Arty, those things, they’re too fast, they’ll kill you. I can’t even fight them off.” Eskel responded weakly.

“that’s not what Silverwing would say, Eskel, you know that, now come on!” Arty screamed as he struggled to get Eskel onto his back, letting the now removed armor tumble into the caverns below. Just as he managed to get the horned owl secured, he looked and saw another shade appear across from the perch they were on. Looking like him, but many times larger, with the same wicked serrated beak and shattered claws, blood red eyes transfixed on his every movement, Arty could feel the blood in his veins pump even faster.

“Eskel, you with me?” Arty asked.

Eskel managed a weak head nod, as Arty prepared for the flight of his life.

“Hold on and don’t let go!” he screamed as he jumped on the perch into a dive, before spreading his wings out and making a straight shot for the end of the mountain. As he did so, almost like a mirror, the shade did the same thing, and Arty could hear the violent scraping its claws made as it pushed off its perch launching itself into its pursuit. As Arty flew, he could feel his heart pound with every flap of his wings, and down below him, the bodies of all the other candidate owls littered the perches, and many more were lost to the abyss below. But Arty pushed them out of his mind, he couldn’t think about that now, he had to fly faster than he had ever in his life. He flapped harder and harder, but every one of his flaps were echoed by the shade’s, and with every second he could feel its cold breath get closer and its shrieks grow louder. It claws were scraping across different rock formations, as it pushed off and on again, to gain more momentum, gaining more and more speed.

Eskel opened his mouth, pleading with Arty “you’re never going to outrun it, Arty, none of us could. Just leave me, you might have a chance, if it goes for me.”

“Not a chance” Arty responded, “We’re both leaving here, and you’re gonna see Lyra again, she’s waiting for you on the other side!”

As Arty was saying this, the shade had caught up to him, it was right on top of him. Slashing with its claws wildly, in a crazed madness, cutting up all manner of rocks around him, before striking him in the tail feathers, drawing blood as it did so. Arty cried out in pain, his heart was pounding even harder, as self-doubt began to trickle into his mind, maybe he was wrong, maybe this was all a mistake. He started to think of his mother, his father, he’d never see them again. He started to feel sorry, and a deep darkness began to overtake his heart. He started to slow, and the creature began to ready its final strike, shattered claws and serrated beak at the ready to deliver a death blow.

“No, this can’t be the end!” Arty shouted, and he felt something surging inside him, a warmth he had never felt before, made him feel invincible just like Silverwing was. He knew he couldn’t outrun it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t outsmart it. Looking around he saw how powerful the shade’s claws were, capable of damaging even stone. Looking around at all the stalactites in the cavern, he started looping his way around them, just as through it were the spider’s web that trapped Pym. The shade started slashing wildly, hitting each stalactite that Arty flew by, weakening them, as it tried to shred Arty. Arty then flew back towards the entrance of the cave, much to Eskel’s confusion, and the shade followed, hot on his heels. Arty then dived suddenly, Eskel almost tumbled off his back, but Arty used his beak to bite down hard into Eskel’s wing so that wouldn’t happen, drawing blood in the process. The shade also dove, but being large it was more cumbersome, Arty then started flying back towards the stalactites as fast as he could. Being smaller, he was able to weave through them all, but the shade was not. As it started knocking into the earthen pillars, already weakened by its frenzied strikes, they began to fall, loosening the cavern ceiling above them. Growing angrier at this realization, it doubled its efforts, flying closer to Arty despite being buffeted by the debris. The whole ceiling started to collapse, but Arty could see the light at the end of the tunnel and flew harder than he had in his whole life, so fast that his wings felt as though they were going to tear off, with the shade right behind him, he knew this was it. Suddenly larger chunks broke off from the ceiling, Arty was fast enough to dodge, but the shade already shaken by the debris falling, was not fast enough to react, being hit by the boulder, just as it was about to strike Arty, who tucked his wings, held on to Eskel and sailed through the exit and into the gleaming light of the coliseum. Landing in a heap of feathers and blood in the very center, he collapsed from exhaustion. Looking at Eskel he was just happy they had made it.

“Eskel, are you okay?” Arty asked.

Eskel merely looked at him in disbelief, barely even remembering to nod, before passing out from the stress and pain of the whole ordeal. Arty was going to as well, but not before the guards assembled around him. Quickly assessing that he was no horned owl, they began to shout “seize him for violating the rights and rules of the Kenning!” The crowd was in an uproar, chaos descended until one booming voice silenced the arena.

It was Greywing, who had parted the crowd and walked up to Arty. He spoke, and the whole arena listened.

“What is your name, young one?”

“A…Artio, my lord.” He responded meekly, still in disbelief.

“Clearly you are no horned owl” Greywing retorted.

“No, he isn’t, and he violated the rules of…” one of the guards spoke up before Greywing hushed him with a flick of his wing.

Flicking through his beard of feathers, he spoke “It is true that our laws and customs say that only a horned owl may attempt the Kenning.

The crowded hawed at this statement, and Arty sunk into himself.

“However,” Greywing added, and Arty perked up to listen. “It also says that those chosen by Gehenna are not subject to this law, afterall, we must remember that Silverwing himself was not a horned owl, but one chosen by Gehenna herself. Risking his life, breaking laws, all to do what was right, saving a life, is that not what all knights should strive to accomplish?”

Arty mumbled to himself “chosen by Gehenna, what do you mean?” as he looked back up to Greywing.

The elderly owl chuckled to himself, “look up, young one, let us all look up” and at once the whole stadium turned their gaze upward to see the most spectacular rainbow forming in the sky, with colors as bright as the sun, appearing as almost to have been painted onto a canvas. Everyone was transfixed by this sight, stretching across the whole sky, casting its light down on the whole of Ravensmount which was gleaming in its glow.

“It appears Gehenna has great plans for you, my little barn owl” Greywing spoke,

Arty was in disbelief as he began to pick himself off the sanded bloodstained floor of the coliseum.

“Now rise, Artio, as a knight of Skye.” Greywing said and as Arty did so, the coliseum erupted into thunderous applause. Arty felt tears began to trickle and a thrumming in his chest that he had not felt since he was a youngling pretending to be a knight for the first time. As he looked up towards the rainbow and past the cheering crowd, he could see in the distance a rainbow feather gently dancing on the wind, gently as a breeze and he knew dreams do come true.