Luka skystorm's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Luka Skystorm had no feet, so he floated a hand above the grass, and now a hunter thought he was game. The elf drifted between two trees, his cape hanging where his legs should have been. A curse had stolen his feet years ago. He still hunted the truth behind it, because he wanted to walk on real ground like anyone else. Right now, though, he only wanted to live. The hunter crouched near a boulder below. He carried a sleek sword with a green sheen along the blade. Poison, Luka guessed. The man watched the floating shape and licked his lips. "Never seen prey hang in the air like that," the hunter said. "Hold still. This'll be quick." Luka's heart slammed. He couldn't run. He had no feet to run with. He could only drift, and the hunter tracked every drift. He rose higher instead. The cape snapped in the wind. The hunter drew the poisoned sword and threw it. The blade hissed past Luka's ear and stuck in a branch, dripping green. Luka grabbed the hilt before the man could climb. Now he held the hunter's own weapon. He pointed it down. "I'm not an animal," Luka said. His voice shook. "I'm cursed. There's a difference." The hunter froze. Talking prey scared him more than a raised sword. He backed toward the boulder. "A ghost," he muttered. "A floating ghost." A shriek cut the air. A falcon dropped from the clouds, green eyes bright, a small saddle strapped to its back. It dove at the hunter and raked his shoulder. He screamed and stumbled. Luka knew that bird. His falcon had found him at last. He whistled sharp. The falcon wheeled and beat the air near his hands. "Take me up," Luka said. He gripped the saddle straps. The falcon strained and lifted, dragging him above the treetops. The poisoned sword still hung in his other fist. The hunter ran now. He crashed through brush, clutching his torn shoulder, and did not look back. Luka watched him shrink to nothing below the leaves. The falcon carried him over the forest until the trees opened. Luka's arms burned. He let the bird set him down on a wide stone terrace beside a still pool. A grand mansion rose in front of him. Tall windows caught the light. Stone steps climbed to carved doors. Someone rich lived here, and Luka had landed in their yard holding a stolen, poisoned blade. He steadied his cape over the empty space where feet belonged. The falcon perched on his wrist, calm now. "We lost him," Luka whispered. "But look where we are." The great doors ahead began to open.