I am called Ariana. My mother, the spinster Ms Vytre, raised me. I never knew my father. Mother had to live far from the village, and I think that it was because of me. I always knew I was different. The first time I visited the Girl's Nursery, all the other girls shrieked and ran to hide behind the care-mother. Thus my childhood was a secluded one. I never made any real friends, and Mother and I had to keep away from people. I think that after I was seen together with one of the other children, the other women in the town would come and tell Mother that they didn't want me playing with their children. They didn't need to worry; their kids didn't want to play with me. My wings showed my heritage, though when I asked Mother why the other kids didn't have wings she said that I was not like them; that my father was the reason that I was different. She never told me more until just before she died.

Mother was a good person, and she was never really mean to me, even when I had some accident or other. I always relied on her to be there when I needed her, and she always made the time to talk to me about whatever was bothering me. She stood by my bed during that time when I came down with a fever, and never left me alone when I was scared. After one particularly bad 'joke' played on me at school, she told the kids who were taunting me that she would come after them with her shovel if she found so much as a scrape on my wings.

The other children would often pull pranks at school. Some boys once quietly tied one end of a string around my left wingtip and the other to my chair. When we were freed to go, we all stood up and started out the door. I felt a wrenching pain, and all the class started to laugh at me as I turned to see my chair trying to follow me like some sort of puppy.

I stubbornly ignored the tricks played on me after that, but one time I lost my temper. The other girls would occasionally trip me as they passed me in the hall then scatter my things all over the floor. Once however, as I was walking past the door to the boy's lavatory, a girl ran out straight into me. I was flung across the hall, and fell against a door. The girl, called Clarise, started forward upon seeing me, screaming that I had shoved her into the lavatory. I was stunned. I had never spoken to Clarise in my entire time at school, and had never done anything to make her mad at me.

She came at me swinging her bag, and I raised my wings in front of my face as a reflex. Whatever she had in there was heavy. Even over the sounds of the congregating crowd and Clarise's shrieks, I could hear the bone snap. It was agony. The pain reddened my vision, and all I could see was this merciless attacker beating my already-broken wing. All the pent up rage and frustration that had been building all year burst forth. I lunged forward, catching her off guard, and slammed my right fist into the joint between her shoulder and arm. I couldn't even hear the crowd's shouts and Clarise's sudden screams, I was so mad. Then, before I could strike again, I was pulled away. I was astonished to see that Clarise's sholder was shattered, so powerful was the force of my blow. Afterwards, people would whisper that when I punched her, a pale nimbus flickered around my fist just before it struck.

The other students were sent away, but I and Clarise were taken into the Headmistress's office. With the two of us seated on opposite sides of the room, the headmistress listened to Clarise's story. After that, Clarise was told to go, and the headmistress turned to me. She told me that pushing another girl into the boy's lavatory was punishable by three days' detention, and that assaulting another was worth a week of suspension. I was indignant, but the headmistress ordered me not to speak. Just then, a boy entered the office. He said his name was Aeron, and that he had been in the bathroom when Clarise ran out, and into me.

He told the headmistress that I had not pushed Clarise into the boy's lavatory, that she was there of her own accord to have some time with another boy. He said that he heard her accuse me, and said that he would have helped me, but that he was busy extricating himself from the door of a stall. The other boy had slammed him into it when he found Aeron in the bathroom. My punishment was less severe thanks to Aeron, but I was still punished with a day of detention. After that, I found that the other boys played smaller, less painful tricks on me, and that the girls avoided me altogether. Aeron was the only one who never tormented me, and I suspected that he was the one who kept the tricks from getting out of hand.

In my tenth year, my wings started to really grow. Before, they had hung down limp but now they filled out. My wings grew and soon I could fly, if the conditions were right. That came in handy once, when I had reached only my sixteenth year. I was walking along in the forest and suddenly heard a shrill wailing. Dashing toward it, I saw a woman kneeling at the edge of the nearby cliff. She was screaming for her child to hang on. I knew that the child was panicking, and that the mother would be of no real help. Without pausing for thought, I took a running leap off the cliff.

The exhilaration of that first flight off the cliff was tempered with the terror of falling, but I had a deed to do, and I would not let fear stop me. I looped around and slowed to a smooth gliding stop on the ledge that the child was clinging to. I held out my hand, saying that I would carry him back to his mother. He grabbed me with the strength possessed only by those who look Death in his bony eye-sockets, and together we sailed back to land at the top of the cliff. The child's mother plastered him to herself, and began to scold and caress the poor thing. I turned to go, but the mother bade me wait. She thanked me for saving her son, and offered me anything I desired. I told her that I knew of no reward that I wished of her. Pleased not to have to part with anything, she and her son set out for their home. As they passed out of sight, I thought I heard the boy ask his mother if I was an angel. I am still not entirely sure of her reply, but I think she said that I was.

After that, I was still avoided but in a different way. People no longer stared and spat in my path, but stared and whispered about how I had saved the child on the cliff. Soon after, I started to visit the town more often and saw my mother less and less. We were still close, but I had my own place to sleep in a boardinghouse in town now.

A sickness struck the village in the winter when I reached my first score of years. Half of the village was deathly sick, and there was no one who knew how to treat them. My mother, versed in the healing of small hurts and the quelling of pain, could find nothing to ease the suffering of the people. Then the old midwife, the same woman who had helped my mother give birth to me, recalled that there was an herb master of great learning in the healing arts on the other side of the great gorge that the river had carved in the stone at the edge of the valley. However, the heavy snows had caused the wooden bridge (already rotten with age) to collapse and there wasn’t another bridge for a day’s travel in either direction.

The healer was said to have been responsible for curing the fever epidemic that swept through the town in my fifth year. He is rumored to have been unable to save the old mayor, and that his healings were hampered by my presence. Those rumors were often accompanied by the whispered accusation that my mother, even though she spent the entire time tending to those with the greatest pain, never came down with the illness herself.

The town council was called, and debated for most of a day. At the end of the deliberations, I was summoned. I dreaded to appear, afraid that they were going to blame me for the sickness. I had packed all that I owned and was preparing to flee when the guards arrived to take me to the town hall. There, to my unending surprise and relief, I was asked - no begged - to help by flying across the chasm to bring the herb master. I was offered half the gold in the town treasury and the everlasting goodwill of the town for this, and the town elders apologized for my early torment. I was so stunned that I started to blush. My blush is very red, and the elders grew nervous and backed away. When I saw that they were afraid of me, I relaxed and said, as soothingly as I could, that I would undertake the harrowing task at once, and that they need not empty the town vault for me. Their sincere apology was a reward far surpassing all the gold in the kingdom. They smiled, and I set out with all speed.

At the edge of the gorge, I halted. The wind was howling through, and a great blizzard was pouring down. There was no sign of the other side. trusting the gift of wings from my father to bear me, I hurled myself into the howling maelstrom of the abyss. As I fell, I opened my wings wide. The frigid wind slammed into them, and I thought they had been torn from my cold body for I had lost all feeling in them. But I saw the side of the gorge, and knew that I was slowing. As I climbed, I oriented myself with the cliff wall behind me. I flew forward until I could see the other side. Landing on a broad ledge on the far side, I tried to fold my wings. The bitter wind and the howling storm had numbed them so much that I had to twist my neck to see if they were moving. I soon gave up trying to fold them and settled for a blanket wrapped around them as I started to climb. I looked down and was startled so much that I almost fell. I was near the bottom of the ravine and could see the frozen river at the bottom. I stared for a while, then shook myself and started to climb with new determination. As I reached the top, I saw that the snows had packed into a solid mass. There was no way to climb the last twenty feet or so. Sighing, I removed the blanket from my shuddering wings and trusted myself to the winds again. I rose swiftly, but was blown along the cliff. As soon as I dared, I landed on the far side of the ravine. I had crossed.

Searching until the fading light made seeing difficult, I saw the old herbalist’s house as the last rays of the setting sun faded. I managed to get my wings folded into my sides to keep them as warm as I could, but I was chilled to the bone, and there was little warmth left. Slumping down on his step, I knocked with all the strength I had left. After a time, a hunched old man with long flowing hair opened the door. He took one look at me and, sighing as he stooped, took me by the shoulders and pulled me into the house. He brought me to the fire and settled me down. He wrapped me in a second, thicker blanket then bustled around making tea. As I took a sip from the steaming fragrant cup he proffered, he asked, "What are you doing here, my daughter?"

I nearly choked on the tea. "Who... How... What?" I was bewildered. The old man chucked ruefully. Squatting down before me, he said "I believe that you are a young woman of about twenty winters. I am many times older than that. Having no living kin, I referred to you as my daughter to put you at ease, though I see that was a mistake. You are here for a purpose unknown to me, and I wish to know why. Does that answer those and any other questions you wish to ask?"

I laughed at that. I didn’t know why, but this man put me in mind of a father. He made me feel accepted. I told him of the sickness in my village and the inability of Mother to alleviate the pain. His face grew grim. He studied me like a gardener studies a report of a new kind of flower-eating insect. I told him how all the roads to this side of the chasm were gone, and the town elders asked me to bring him tidings of the sickness so he could help us. After a time, he straightened and set about packing things into a large sack which he swung onto his back.

"I won't ask you to brave that storm again. Stay here, I will find some way to cross the ravine. This disease sounds like something I read about in an ancient text on healing. If left unchecked, even for a little while, I fear it may spread and cause widespread suffering. I swore an oath not to let people suffer needlessly. And I must uphold that oath, though it be the death of me." He opened the door and left. I soon fell asleep by his fire, fast asleep.

The next day, I awoke to the smell of the fire's ashes. Struggling to my feet, I set about exploring the house. As I did, I found that the old healer had a great store of scrolls. I read many of them over the course of the three days I spent recovering my strength, and set the rest into some semblance of order. On the morning of the fourth day, I was awakened by a sound at the doorstep. Blearily, I stood, tottered over to the door and opened it. The old healer was there, seeming worn but otherwise alright.

"The danger has passed," he said, as he came in and shucked his coat. "The disease is not the one I was thinking of, and most of the ill are recovering. Your mother was invaluable." He sank into a chair. "I had to go far out of my way to reach a part of the gorge that was shallow enough to cross, but I got there and I stayed on my feet until I saw to all those who were sick." He leaned near the fire. "I still wonder how you managed to cross the ravine so quickly," he said, turning to me. Then his eyes widened. My wings, still unfolded to catch as much warmth as possible were unmistakable. I cast my eyes downward as he stared.

"Well! That solves that mystery. But how in the name of all that is holy, or unholy for that matter, did you come by such a feature? You seem to have transmuted my first mystery into another!" He stared for a while more then arose and strode toward me. I shrank back and folded my wings as best I could as he caught my hand.

"I only wish to see the wings of the angel of mercy that saved so many lives this week," he said in a low voice, "Many lives were saved because you got to me so quickly. And your mother's aid saved many more." I could see the kind curiosity in his eyes. There was no trace of either the fear or the loathing that so often marred the eyes of others who saw my wings for the first time.

Slowly, I unfurled my wings. He stroked them so gently that it felt like a feather touch. I squirmed a little, and he stepped back.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No," I replied, squirming a little. "It tickles."

Grinning, the healer ran his hands skillfully down the outer folds of my wings and back up the inner surfaces. He stroked the joints carefully, examining them minutely. Finally, he seemed satisfied.

"You seem to have a remarkable gift," he said, sitting in a chair by the fire. As he gazed at my wings, a strange far-off look came into his eyes. "I wonder... Is it possible... ?" He got up and moved across the room. Gazing into my eyes, he seemed to search for something. After a time, he glanced aside, and muttered something.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing, forget it." He sighed, and moved nearer the fire. At that moment, there was a knock on the door. As he stood, the door opened, and a small boy almost fell in. It was the same one I had saved from the cliff four years earlier.

"What has happened?" the healer cried, as I caught the boy.

"Angel's. Mother. Sick. Dying," the lad gasped.

Quick as lightning, the healer grabbed up his sack of supplies and headed out the door. I followed, carrying the boy. At the lip of the chasm, he turned to me.

"I'm afraid I must impose on you to convey us across. This lad seems near to death from his trek, and his message is of great importance. We must get him to a fire, and I must get to the lady he speaks of. Your mother, I assume."

I nodded, my throat too dry to speak. Setting the boy down with an injunction to remain where he was, I turned to the healer. He put his arms around my neck like a child being carried by his mother, and I lifted him into my arms. Moving as swiftly as I could, I ran straight over the lip of the gorge. Opening my wings, I bore us up and over, setting the healer on the far side. He took off without a backward look, and I sailed back over the ravine. I knew that Mother was very ill, or else they would not have sent this lad to the healer. Pulling the boy close to me, I prepared to bridge the gap for a third time. As I did, the boy whimpered. He opened his eyes and said, "Your mother said to tell you... She wants to talk about your father..." I stared at him, a sudden icy feeling in my stomach that had nothing to do with the cold air of the morning. Mother had said that only her impending death would force her to discuss Father.

The boy whimpered and clutched me tight as I tightened my grip on him. I spread my wings and, even as I saw the gorge yawn beneath me, a wind gusted at my back. I did not touch down on the far side, but kept on flying over the forest at the edge of the gorge. I flew until the pain in my wings was too great to ignore. Only then did I set foot on the ground, but then I was running. I ran until my legs were as sore as my wings and my lungs burned with every breath. Still I ran, and did not stop until my legs buckled beneath me. The boy, who had until this time remained in my arms as still as a statue of the hardest marble, scrambled to his feet. Helping me to mine, he supported me as we stumbled up the path leading to the village. His legs weak from his trek in the night, mine from the trek in the dawn. We walked until a large group of men ran down to meet us. One of them was Aeron, my childhood friend, now a young man of twenty years. Although we were never close, he had been the only one who had seemed compassionate to me in our youth. He swung me up into his arms and, not even slowing down, arced back up the path and ran at full tilt into Mother's cottage. The healer had not reached us yet, but it was clear that he was needed. Mother was gasping and struggling, as she grappled with the dread specter of death.

"I'm here, Mother. I'm here," I whispered. I didn't have the strength to do anything more. She seemed not to recognize me for a moment.

"My daughter," she managed to gasp, "You've come in time. I must tell you...." She seemed to drift off, and I leaned close to her. "I must tell you about your father. He was, or still is, a formori." I remained where I was, but I was trembling. "A formori, and as fine a friend as there ever was. He and I met in a forest grove by a spring. As I drank, I saw him and he saw me. We could not help ourselves. We loved, and you are the result."

I just lay there. Mother was speaking so low that none nearby could tell what she was saying, and for that I was grateful. A formori! No wonder I had wings! Formori are lesser spirits of the forests and mountains. People of the night, they have no arms. Bat wings they have, and are able to glide for long distances. Formori are said to be able to blend into shadows so well that they can enter one shady spot and emerge at another. If my father was a formori, then I might have this ability as well.

Although formori tend leave humans alone, they will fight with such ferocity to defend their lands that no man can stand against them for long. A formori's talon feet can rip through tempered steel like tin foil. However, their forests are growing thin as humans cut them down for lumber. Formori tend to avoid confrontations with humans now, since humans are getting to be very good archers. Some say that formori are demons out of hell. Others say they are angels that sinned. Whatever their origin, formori are not of this world.

Mother gasped. I caressed her sweat-beaded face, soothing her. She was crying out to her lover, my father, and pleading with him not to go. Then she seemed to see me again. "You have your father's eyes," she moaned, and slumped. Her unseeing eyes were still open, gazing into mine in her last vision before Death took her.

The healer burst in at that moment, saw Mother, and sank to the floor. "I thought she was pale when I left," he moaned and cursed his inattentiveness. Then he saw me. Starting like a deer that sees a hunter, he rose and stared into my eyes. Muttering, he moved close to me, peering into my eyes so much like Mother that I wept, turning to bury my face in her cold arms, spreading my wings to shield her.

"Is she... ?" asked a man's voice.

"No. She isn't a demon. Nor even a half-demon," he said. "She has no demon blood in her. I can see that. A person with any demon blood in them has an air of malice about them, and she does not. But if she has no demon blood, then where did she get her wings?"

"My father," I choked, and the men looked down at my huddled form. "He was a formori." They were silent for a time, then they all started talking about how that explained all the things about me. How I had wings, how I found the nerve to save the child from the cliff, how I had braved the storm in the night to help the village. But one man said that no formori could be trusted. He told a story about how a group of the "fell beasts" drove a poor lost man off the edge of the cliff in the dark.

"She obviously has a pure heart," the healer said in a commanding voice. The other man looked aside. "And, yes, not all formori are good. But I could say the same for men as well. How would you treat one of a race that slaughtered your kindred and usurped your homes? Judge her not on her lineage, but by her actions. She has proved that there is no evil in her heart, and therefore it matters not if her father was evil or good."

I slowly got to my feet. All the talk in the room hushed as I spread my wings wide. "I wish to be alone, now," I said into the stillness. "Go and prepare a grave for my mother. She gave her life for the people of this town." I could have sworn that my last words echoed in the still room.

As the men filed out, the healer moved to the bedside. "Your mother saved many that I could not reach in time. You should be proud of her."

"I am," I murmured, but my voice was choked and my eyes blurred. I saw the vague form of the healer rise and exit the house. He turned in the doorway. He said, "She took a great deal of others' pain into herself last night. But she has no pain, now." He left.

The boy hugged me. "Don't cry," he said. "Angels aren't supposed to cry." His simple belief touched me. I wept and hugged him to me. The tears flowed in both our eyes. I have since learned that he lost his mother to the sickness the night before. Though my mother did all she could to help, her pain became so great that it was the kinder course to let her die a swift and painless death. Comforting me as well as he could in my misery helped him come to terms with his.

Hours passed. The townsfolk came and buried Mother in a place of honor in the town cemetery. The boy went to stay with the healer, to whom I gave Mother's house. He might be needed again in the dead of night, and I have decided not to stay.

Mother has told me the truth about my father. I have sworn to find him, even if I have to traverse both Heaven and Earth to do so.

Heaven and Earth... Or Hell.