Windrunner's Daughter by Bryony Pearce Page A

shoulders, but she twisted and ran for the door. She felt her wings catch on something and knew he had her. But the material was slippery as oil and Raw’s curses followed a crash as he lost his grip and fell into one of the other wing-stands.
     
    Wren tossed her weapon aside and slapped at the airlock, racing out before it had completely cycled open. Then she sprinted like never before, heading unerringly towards the edge of the cliff. She had thought to take some time to prepare herself, to replay her brother’s lessons in her mind, but now she would just have to Run.  
    Raw’s shouts spurred her on, but she couldn’t lift off without Jay’s goggles. Barely missing a step she pulled them from her wrist and slipped them over her eyes. She was pulling up her hood as her feet hit the platform; it bounced slightly under her soles, boosting her to run even faster.
    Wren returned her focus to her sprint. She knew Raw was behind her, but she didn’t turn. She had to be running as fast as she could when she leaped from the platform, and she couldn’t go any faster than she already was.
    Her arms pumped by her sides and her wings flapped noisily, muffling Raw’s shouts with their music.
    A blue line blurred past her feet. This was her last chance to stop. Once she passed the red line, a few strides further on, her momentum would take her over the edge, even if she changed her mind.
    For his sake, she hoped Raw stopped chasing her in time.
    Wren did not consider stopping. She pounded past the red line and the ground fell away. She was no longer on Elysium Mons. Now she was running on a platform built over air.
    Twenty lengths below her a net waited, but a falling Runner could miss it if caught by the wind and kilometres below there was only the bone-yard, where every Runner who had ever made a mistake lifting off or landing at Avalon inevitably ended. She put the idea from her head. She had to think only about her own launch.
     
    The end of the platform was a blur. Wren’s heart pounded in time with her feet. She had seen her brothers do this a hundred times, she had heard their lessons; she could do it too.
    Two steps before the platform ended there was a green line. As her right foot thudded onto it Wren threw out her arms. With a flick of her wrists she locked the wings. She allowed a wave of relief to wash over her then she squeezed her eyes closed and leaped from the spring-board. Her body arched.
    At the end of her jump she lurched downwards, but Wren kept her elbows locked as she had seen her brothers do it and the wind caught her. It swept her up, filled her wings with a rattle and whisked her away from Raw’s angry cries, the safety net and Elysium.
     
    At first, Wren let the air simply carry her. Fighting an impulse to return to Avalon, she focused completely on the tension in her arms and legs and the anticipation of another nauseating drop.   
    Gradually she became used to the idea that she hadn’t plunged to her death and her breathing began to slow. She kept her legs stretched behind her and her arms straight, but, tentatively, she relaxed her muscles, allowing the wind to hold her limbs in position.
    She still hadn’t opened her eyes.
    She was picturing her brothers reciting their lessons at the table. The boys often struggled to recall the instructions that her father gave them while Wren stabbed her sewing with vicious frustration and offered the answers in the confines of her head. A thrill of fear shivered through her as she thought of how her father would react to her flight.
    Had Raw been telling the truth? Her shoulders shook and she wobbled and scrubbed the thought away. She had to picture her father’s flying lessons, not imagine him refusing medicine to a dying boy.
    His voice rippled through her memories. “Relax your tongue first and your other muscles will follow. You don’t believe me? Try it now.”
    She tried it. Only when she focused on her tongue, making it flop loosely in her