Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

risk just before getting on the beast? It’s the last thing I want to do before taking flight. But all the literature says otherwise. Maybe they’re wings are more powerful than they look.

“Elder, you remember the four basic principles of flight, I trust?” He doesn’t pause for an answer. “Always fly with a harness. It’s your lifeline. Always minimize resistance and maximize your aerodynamics. With your mass added to the raptor’s, this is vital for the bird’s stamina. You don’t want to cut a flight short unexpectedly. Third, don’t pluck a bird’s feathers. It’ll go into a frenzy. And last, stay on.” He claps his hands together. “Alright, let’s get to it. We have several others who need to take flight today as well. Once you get mounted, circle around the building once and come to a landing right back here. Understood?”

“Umm…sir?”

“What is it, Elder? Quickly.”

“Isn’t this dangerous? Are you sure you should have your students climbing atop an unfamiliar eagle?”

“I see what’s happening here. You’re afraid,” he suggests.

“I’m not afraid!” I snap back, probably more assertively than I should toward the Master of Flight. But why would he call me out like that in front of the entire class? “I just know danger when I see it, and this is dangerous.”

“Of course there is danger. There’s danger in the Broken Forest. There’s danger aboard a fishing vessel. Heck, there’s danger in a pillow house.”

The class snickers. Why would he mention all those things? It’s just coincidence, right? They are common places.

“Your fear is only what you make it. You can fear danger, or you can get closer to it, understand it, and conquer it. The choice is yours.”

“Okay… I choose to watch somebody else take flight first.”

“Don’t be a fool. The choice isn’t yours. Get on the raptor. Just remember the four principles of flight, then Zephyr will handle the rest. There is no need to be afraid.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Master Sephyre hands the reigns to me, which aren’t typical reigns you’d use on a tiger or any other land beast. It’s a flat leather harness attachment shaped like a wishbone with two handles. I look to the bird, and its wing remains lowered to the ground, outstretched for climbing aboard.

The four basic principles of flight. What were they again? Damn, he just listed them.

I carefully step onto the bird’s wing, awaiting some kind of rogue upsurge. Nothing. The bird doesn’t so much as twitch its feathers. The wing isn’t the most stable of platforms, so I cautiously put one foot in front of the other until I’m close enough to mount it. Terrified I might stumble, I plop down onto the bird’s back with force, causing it to cry out an ear-piercing screech. It doesn’t throw me off as I anticipate, and hope for.

First step: always fly with a harness.

Got it. Without the harness there would be nothing to grip. Using a harness is the only safe way to take flight. Key word, safe. Focus on that. The harness has three main components, the collar around its neck and another strap with footholds buckled just behind its wings. And the reigns I hold in my hand are the final piece. I fasten the end of it to the leather collar with a single clip. Doesn’t seem quite sturdy enough. Then, I secure my feet in the footholds properly and grip the reigns. Now what?

I don’t want to ask any foolish questions, but I don’t know how to make it go. I look to Master Sephyre with a dumbfounded look on my face, silently asking for help. Then I look to my peers, whom I see bantering and snickering amongst each other. I look back to Master Sephyre for guidance.

“Fly!” he shouts.

The eagle raises its massive wings in the air and beats them until we are no longer safely planted on the ground. It flies upward at an alarming angle, higher and higher, flapping its wings with incredible force. Its muscles flex and relax as the wings push down and up, down and up. Powerful wings indeed.

Second step: minimize the wind resistance and maximize the aerodynamics.

I lean into the eagle. I’d sit upright if I were trotting along on Helios. But the force of the winds could easily rip me from the bird up here. I squeeze the bird tighter with my thighs at the thought.

The large chamber looks even larger from this perspective. My classmates down below are small, blurry dots. The chamber spins, and I grip the eagle even tighter. We climb higher, reaching heights above the redwoods. Nearing the ceiling. And the eagle stops lifting and lets its wings hold steady. I let out a deep sigh and realize my head is hugging tight against the bird, my arms snug around its neck. The length of its wings fully outstretched gives me a sense of safety, even if it’s a false sense. I try to refrain from looking down.

With my head flat against the bird, angled sideways, I can see inside most of the hollows. Some have inhabitants. They appeared empty from ground level, but there are roughly two dozen in which I can make out a beak or some dark shape hiding inside. Our flight nears the corner of the chamber. In the shadows there is a slightly larger hollow. I can’t imagine a bird getting larger than the one I’m mounted on, but this hollow could house a bird twice the size. As I stare at it with intrigue, I see movement. There’s a bird in it.

Intrigue overcoming fear, I give the harpy eagle a little tap with both feet to signal him forward instead of banking left. He’s probably intelligent enough to turn before getting too close to the wall, I hope. The bird soars forward.

It’s too dark to clearly see inside. I shrug my shoulders and tap on