The Eerikki were a proud people. They ruled those under them with the rule of fear, with iron laws and a merciless arm. Their eyes were sharp to find the ones who broke their statutes, and their hearts were cold and hard. Their castle was made of stone and steel, and the town surrounding it was silent. The houses of the city were filled with the Unwinged, the ones who were not Eerikki. No children ran through the streets of the city. No laughter rang from their houses. All was quiet. All was still. The Unwinged who were strong enough worked in the harbor, or in the factories, or in the mines. Those who could not work stayed home. The children learned to walk quietly and to speak softly and to fear the Eerikki. The brush of the Eerikki’s wing or the sound of their stern voices struck fear into the hearts of all. Every day the strongest of the Eerikki raised their wings together and together flew over the city. Anyone who was found to have broken a law was brought to the castle and then to the dungeons. There was no justice there, no hope for the Unwinged. The Eerikki were their rulers. It was the way it was. 

But the Eerikki were not all seeing and they were not all knowing. Though they guarded their children with the watchful eyes of eagles and the strong arm of a parent and the powerful wings of the Eerikki, they were not all powerful. One had escaped them. A boy. A boy with small wings and quiet feet who slipped past their gaze and darted through the city and flew through the forest and was gone. 

Sylvan sat on a rock, looking over the ocean and watched the sun set. He had hardly ever seen the sun before, for his guardians, the Eerikki would never let their children catch more than a glimpse of it. And for this, he hated them. They had imprisoned him in the cold stone and forbidden from him every freedom and joy. Sylvan had wanted to see the sky. He had wanted to raise his wings and fly into it. He had wanted to chase the sun across the horizon and dance with the trees and the birds. But first, he had to escape the watchful eyes of his guardians; he had to conquer his fear. The longing dreams of the bright free sun had given him his first burst of courage. He had flown and run all that day and the night before. His wings were tired and his legs were scratched, but he was free. Free from the rules and laws that he had so hated; free from the marches and the drills and the never ending stone and iron. However, from the most important thing, Sylvan was still not free. He was still not free from the endless pounding fear that accompanied him every day: fear of the Eerikki, fear of his peers, fear of the Unwinged, fear of the punishment of being caught. That fear was like a constant pounding, slowly destroying the last courage of the young Eerikki. Sylvan stood up from the rock and stretched. His wings gleamed red in the setting sun, and his black hair was tousled by the wind of the ocean. He raised his tired wings and ran over the warm sand and lifted off the ground.

 His muscles ached as he glided over the smooth beach, but he continued on, determined to find the freedom he so desired. The sun shone red on the water, and the sky was without a cloud. Sylvan sighed as he watched the sun and the sand and the cool smooth sea. As he flew alongside the setting sun, though his fear was still not gone, Sylvan felt a peace like he had never felt before. Why did the guardians keep this from me? He wondered. From us. There is such peace here that I never imagined! Such freedom! Why did they keep us inside that block of stone? Away from all of this? The sudden sound of a wingbeat broke the calm. Sylvan quickly turned his head. Close behind him were three guardians. Three Eerikki. Their wings were strong and fast, and their eyes were cold and hard. They looked neither to the sun nor to the sea, but only to their lost charge. Their faces were like the stone they lived in: cold, hard, unyielding, betraying nothing, caring for no one. Sylvan’s heart was filled with that familiar pounding fear. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. He was parilized in the air, terrified. Then he looked once more to the sun. He saw its throbbing brilliance and its raw beauty and he took courage. He remembered the familiar iron doors and stone walls. He would never again feel the gentle wind or the warm sun or see the trees or the mountains. He had finally found freedom, and he could now never go back to the forced marches and the strict rules of the castle. They had imprisoned him, and for that he hated them. 

“Eerikki,” shouted one of the pursuers, “you are commanded to return to the castle. Do so now and your life will be spared.” His voice was cruel and harsh, and he demanded what Sylvan despised. 

“My name is Sylvan, and I’m never going back to that prison ever again!” 

The young Eerikki found his courage and turned swiftly towards land. He fled away from the sun, though it bathed his back and wings in its dying warmth. Sylvan’s wings found their energy once again, and he barreled through the tops of the foliage and into the forest. He turned quickly again and again, dodging through branches and trees struggling to see in the dimming light. The Eerikki flew quietly above him, for their wings were too large to navigate the wood. They shouted down to him as they flew, their voices calm and steady. 

“Little Eerikki, you have chosen poorly. Return with us and face the punishment like the warrior you will one day be. You cannot go floundering about in the wilderness down there. There is no sun to guide, and you will hurt yourself. Join us up here. The air is clear and the night is still. We will fly home together.” 

Sylvan did not answer. He was tired and frustrated and afraid. He did not want to return to the castle, but he could not continue flying through the forest. The night was dark, and there was no light to guide him. The sun was gone, and Sylvan was afraid. He dropped to the forest floor. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, scraping them against the ground. Sylvan was tired of running away, of trying to escape. His hope abandoned him, and he felt like he was once more trapped by the stone hallways and the iron doors of the castle. A tear fell from his eye and onto the ground like a shining diamond, like a falling star. Then he thought once more of the sun, and once more he took courage. He could not live in a place where the beauty of the world was shielded from him. Where he could not feel the warm sand or see the swaying trees or the towering mountains. He could not live in a place where the light of the sun was hidden from his eyes. Then, for the first time in his life, Sylvan forgot his fear for the Eerikki. They could not catch him. They would never imprison him again.  

He raised his wings with strength and courage, and, as he burst through the tops of the trees, Sylvan remembered the warmth of the setting sun on his back. He climbed higher and higher, and he remembered how the sun shone red over the ocean. He flew higher than he had ever dared to fly before. Above the forest, above the Eerikki, above even the tips of the mountains. He did not look down on the dizzying heights below him but thought only of what the sun had shown him. The joy of the bubbling brooks, the peace of the quiet lakes, the freedom of the great eagle. He no longer thought of the iron gates or the stone ceilings or the stern gaze of the Eerikki, for the sun would rise again to show him the wonders of the world in which he lived. Sylvan yelled for joy and looked up into the bright eyes of the stars. Then he looked down. The Eerikki were there, circling below him, not daring to fly as high as he.

Then a cloud enveloped him. It was cold and wet. Sylvan rose above the cloud and followed it for a while across the sky. Up here, the Eerikki could not see him, and they could not find the courage to fly into the stars as he had. Sylvan played with wisps of cloud stirred up by the steady beating of his wings. He flew in the place below the stars and above the earth, always to the east. He left the sea behind, and the forest, and the Eerikki. The Eerikki would not follow him to the east, for the land was unknown and wild, and for this they despised it. For many hours Sylvan flew, as free as the great eagle. Then his wings refused to beat and his eyes drooped with weariness. Sylvan sank down slowly to the ground and stood in the tall grass under the stars. He lay down in peace amongst the swaying grass and slept a dreamless sleep without fear. The Eerikki, and the castle, and the stone and iron, were far away, and his fear was forgotten at last.  

When he woke he scrambled back and jumped to his feet quickly in panic. An Unwinged was standing in the tall swaying grass staring at him with wide eyes. It was a boy, younger than him, with a smooth wingless back and sandy brown hair. 

“You're Eerikki!” The boy said. “My mama told me about them once! Can you really fly? Will you teach me?” 

Sylvan remembered all the stories of the Unwinged he had heard at the castle. Stories of horror and fear. Stories that struck terror into his heart and made his legs and wings tremble. Then he looked into the wide eager eyes of the boy before him, innocent, curious. Behind the boy was the sun, rising again, new and fresh. And Sylvan wondered why he feared the Unwinged. Did he trust the stories that his guardians had told him while they shielded him from the joy and freedom of the world outside the castle? No, surely he did not. Sylvan forgot his last fear and embraced the joy of the new day. He looked down into the eyes of the Unwinged and held out his hand. 

“Sylvan,” he said. 

“Arki,” said the boy, taking Sylvan’s hand in his firm childish grip. 

Together, the Eerikki and the Unwinged walked through the tall damp grass under the light of the rising sun. Arki pointed to a small cottage at the edge of the forest and called it home. He asked if Sylvan would call it the same, and Sylvan’s heart was filled with joy.