Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (best ebook for manga txt) 📕

the raptor with my left foot. As I do, there is a guttural growl that startles me. We curl around the bend, in which the eagle dips slightly and soars faster. I slip. The outstretched wing is there to stabilize me, but I mistakenly look down to see the class below, and they are so far away. My stomach churns, and I put my eyes back at my level. Too much excitement. I need to get back to ground level.

The wind on my face feels amazing, and I can see the horizon off in the distance through the archways. An astonishing view. Then, my stomach gets left behind when the bird dives at an angle I’m not comfortable with. The erratic movement sends my mind into a whirlwind. I picture myself dismembered on the ground below, and my mind goes into a frenzy.

Step four is stay on. That was an easy one to remember because why would you not stay on? Easier remembered than executed, though. What was step three? I scramble to pick my brain for the answer. My mind skips around to the various topics I’ve been learning, overwhelmed by the numerous texts Astor has been forcing on me. All the new regeneration techniques I’ve been learning from Master Luwin come to the surface, but that’s not what I need now. Then, my mind jumps to the exam I have coming up in my History of Azure course and how ill-prepared I am—I get a bit more uncomfortable at the thought. I have all the knowledge I’ve learned in the past month swirling around in my head, but I can’t seem to pinpoint what the third step of flight is. It had something to do with controlling the bird. Why did he make me go first? I wish he would have mentioned us taking flight prior to today so I could have better prepared mentally.

The bird continues diving as I squeeze the reins. The wall on the opposite side of the flight chamber is closing in rather fast. The bird isn’t turning. It keeps at its suicidal dive, heading toward the wooden wall in front of us. How do I control this thing?

I kick it hard with my left foot to signify the urgency. It works on a tiger, why not a bird. Our course remains the same. I shift the reins to my left hand and tap on its wing. It has no effect on the flight pattern, so I hit it harder. I don’t know if the bird reacts to my blows or the wall in front of us, but it lifts its wings and angles its tail down, coming to a complete halt in the air. The sudden change in velocity forces me from the eagle’s back, leaving me hanging vertical from a bird that I never wanted to get on in the first place. I curse out loud to the man that made me get on this thing.

With one foot secured in the foothold, I attempt to climb back atop the bird. I grab a fistful of feathers with my free hand. For a moment I make headway, but I fall back when the feathers pluck free. They flutter into the air, and Zephyr shifts into distress mode. The bird flaps its wings fiercely as if I’m a predator. It attempts to peck at me while in flight, but it can’t reach me, so it lifts its enormous talons and wraps them around my loose leg. To avoid having my other leg ripped off, I scramble to shake it free and find myself hanging upside down in the bird’s grasp. It circles the building, sending out fierce screeches periodically until it decides I’m no longer a threat. I feel its talons loosen and soon find myself drifting through the open air, unaccompanied by the raptor.

It suddenly occurs to me. Third principle: don’t pluck a bird’s feathers.

“Stone? Stone, are you awake?” a soft voice inquires.

I inhale a deep breath of honeyed lavender. My eyes flicker open to see Astor standing above me. Her silver-blonde hair is draped over her shoulder in a braid, and her beautiful silver eyes sparkle like stars in the night. The sight of her dampens my pain and brings a smile.

“Yes,” I reply in a hoarse whisper. Astor returns a smile.

“You’ve had a rough day.”

“What makes you say that?” She lifts me onto my side then pulls my trousers down and pricks my rear. “Ouch! What was that for? I think a bit of sarcasm is acceptable after a near-death experience.”

“Master Sephyre said you made flying look difficult. He said you were bold enough to attempt to fly without the raptor. Is that true?” I refrain from answering that mocking question. “Don’t worry about the prick. It’s only an experiment.”

“What? I thought I was clear when I said I didn’t want you using any of your magic on me.”

“Chanting provocative verses and boiling love potions is magic,” she says, offended. “Look at this flower.” She pulls a yellow flower from a vase and hands it to me. “Smell it. It smells wonderful, yes? It looks beautiful, yes?”

“Yes. Why are you changing the topic?”

“Now, would you say it is the flower that smells so delightful, or would you question what you already know, seeking the true reason the flower is aromatic?”

“It’s obvious the flower smells good. Why question it?”

“What if it isn’t the flower but merely you’re perception of the flower? Could it be the pistil, or the pollen that are so aromatic and not the flower as a whole? Always questioning the known and obvious is science. Always looking for a better answer to an unproven theory is science. Discovering the facts is science. It is primarily the petals that have the scent, in case you were wondering. And that is what I’m doing. It’s known