by A. C. Salter
“Luckily, I rode here on Noggin, otherwise it would take all day to cross the city,” Jambilee explained, prompting him to follow.
They made their way to the end of the branch where the forked limb was weaved into another. Dylap held his arms out to either side for balance as he carefully negotiated the joins which bounced and swayed with the wind. Taking tiny steps, he slid each foot in front of the other, focusing on the solid ground on the other side.
“I didn’t think the healer was serious when he told the judge you feared heights,” Jambilee admitted as she encouraged him further out into the void. “How peculiar.”
The weave beneath him suddenly dipped and bounced, groaning loudly as it stretched one way and then the other.
Dylap clenched his teeth, feeling a giddiness seize him and he began to shake. His legs didn’t feel his own and it seemed the entire forest rocked to an alien rhythm that wanted him to fall.
Instinctively, he dropped to his knees and held tight to the woven strands. Digging his fingers into the cracks and gripping so tightly that his nails bit into the material. A clear sap seeped from the wounds and ran down his thumb. The sugary liquid feeling like a cold tear shed from the tree itself.
“Don’t stop,” Jambilee warned as she hovered beside him. “Keep moving. Don’t mind the others.”
Yet Dylap heard the sniggers and felt the jolting tremors passing through the weave as the young fae bounced upon the branch. Squealing with delight as they dislodged a leaf for the breeze to catch and it slammed into his side. The sharp sprig enveloped his body and scratched a line down his arm. His heart suddenly tapped faster than a woodpecker’s beak.
Jambilee yanked it from him and let it fall.
Spinning as it made its descent, the leaf floated on invisible thermals knocking into bridges and branches as it went down. If only he was as light, he may not feel as worried.
“Shuffle along if you must,” Jambilee encouraged, “but keep moving.”
Biting his tongue, Dylap forced his fingers to unlock their hold and gingerly rose.
“That’s it,” Jambilee encouraged, as she flew backwards, glowering at the other fairies who were laughing hysterically. “Not much further.”
Taking tiny steps, Dylap progressed along the strands. Feeling the way with his feet as he struggled for balance. He let out the breath he was holding and slowed the intake of the next, gaining control over his body and attempting to push the fears of falling from his mind. If he was to make a home in Farro, then he would need to act like the others.
“You can look down now,” Jambilee informed him, a kind smile lighting her face.
Dylap did just that and found that he had already traversed the weave and was now standing on a solid branch.
He felt elated having accomplished the feat. The chamber doors at the trunk of the tree he had crossed, seemed a great distance away, maybe nothing to a fae of Farro, but a triumph for himself.
Something solid struck the side of his head, knocking the elation from him.
The apple pip hit the branch, bounced and then skittered over the edge to a chorus of fresh laughter. Dylap followed its progress as it plummeted hundreds of spans below, narrowly missing other fairies. It struck a lower tree limb then hit a bridge, spinning off in another direction and disappearing into the thick foliage. He heard it strike other wooden objects before it finally thudded into the soft earth of the ground.
That could have been me, he gulped.
“How many more trees must we cross, before we reach the Aviary?” Dylap enquired, tearing his gaze away from the drop.
“Maybe thirty or more, depends which way we travel,” Jambilee answered. “But don’t look so down-heartened, like I’ve already said, we can ride Noggin home.”
Not wanting to sound stupid, Dylap remained quiet as he followed Jambilee along the branch, wondering what a Noggin was.
Up ahead, where the limb met the trunk of the tree, a large animal with a thick bushy red tail was gnawing at the bark. As they approached, it turned its head to regard them, sniffing the air and darting a tongue between sharp teeth.
“This is Noggin,” Jambilee explained as the huge furry animal bounced up and down excitedly, making the entire branch bounce with it. “He’s a pin-bush squirrel.”
Dylap watched as Jambilee untied the rope that tethered the squirrel to an anchor post set in the trunk. Then climbed up onto his back and offered her hand. “Climb on behind me,” she instructed.
The squirrel scratched at the ground, long hook-shaped nails digging into the wood as its tail whipped about. The soft fur brushing against Dylap’s face as the creature tentatively sniffed him.
“It’s alright,” Jambilee offered, “it’s the first-time Noggin has met an outsider. You probably smell unusual to him.”
It was the first time Dylap had seen a squirrel. The animal was easily twice his height and most probably weighed several times heavier. Although he didn’t sense any animosity from the creature. He gingerly held out his hand, allowing Noggin to lick his fingers.
“I think he likes me,” he said, stroking the squirrel on the side of his head and was nearly bowled over as it rubbed up against him.
“Which is a good thing,” Jambilee replied. “If he didn’t, he would have extended the pins in his tail and knocked you clean off the oak. Now climb up - it would be best to return to the Aviary before the rumours do.”
Dylap grasped Jambilee’s hand and was pulled onto Noggin’s back. His legs slid either side and he immediately felt himself slipping off. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Jambilee’s waist. The tops of her wings tickling his nose.
“I can trust you, right?” Jambilee asked. “I mean, you’re riding behind me and could do anything. I don’t really know who you are.”
“That makes two of us,” Dylap responded. “I don’t know who I am either.”
“Like being born afresh, you’ve everything to re-learn.” Jambilee suggested, shaking her head. “For instance, touching another’s wings is considered rude and discourteous.”
Dylap let go of her waist and leaned away from her wings. “Sorry,” he said, gripping tightly to Noggin’s fur.
Jambilee shrugged it off as she slipped her goggles down over her eyes. “Now hold on, Noggin is quite excitable.” She took hold of the rope and looped it under the squirrel’s chin. “Take us home,” she ordered.
Dylap was suddenly flung back and almost slipped completely off Noggin, as the squirrel leapt forwards and scrambled onto a higher branch. He scurried along at a frightening speed, weaving between the knots in the limbs and skipping over leaves and stems, his tail swishing from side to side to keep balance.
“Lean with him,” Jambilee shouted over her shoulder, “it’ll make it easier to stay on.”
Careful not to touch her wings, Dylap leaned closer to Jambilee, her hair billowing out behind and catching his face. He spat the loose strands from his mouth as she concentrated on the way ahead.
Noggin’s feet tapped lightly along the branch as he nimbly skipped onto another tree limb before jumping onto the trunk itself. Dylap’s grip intensified as they scampered up the vertical climb. The squirrel’s claws biting into the bark they ascended, darting a zig-zag path as they spiralled around the tree’s girth and careening between the many doors, balconies and windows. Passing fairies dodged out of the way, shocked faces merging into the blur that was becoming the scenery. Their shouts of complaints lost amidst the rustling leaves and snapping twigs.
Abruptly, Noggin changed direction and dashed along a narrow bridge that arced over to an elm. The two fae that were working on the structure, dabbing the beams with golden sap, needed to take flight to avoid a collision. One of them dropped the pot he had been holding while his partner threw the brush down in anger.
“Take more care, Noggin,” Jambilee scolded the squirrel, waving an apology to the pair, although Dylap thought he heard Noggin chuckling.
At the end of the bridge they hit a pla
tform that was suspended from a higher tree limb by rope. The circular flat of wood bounced and then swung as they pelted across its smooth surface. When the edge lurched towards them, to his horror, Dylap realised that there was nothing but a sheer drop. He prepared himself for the squirrel to suddenly change direction. Instead, Noggin simply leapt into the void, his tongue poking out through a mischievous grin, furry ears sticking out as they made a whistling noise with the air.
Dylap felt his body rise from the squirrel’s back as gravity sucked them down. His legs left the animal’s body as they fell, his hands aching with the effort to keep a grip on the fur. Then all at once they slammed into another trunk and he was wedged up close to Jambilee.
“Sorry,” he uttered through squashed cheeks as he eased himself from her wings.
If she heard him, she chose not to reply. Not that he would have had the luxury of responding as Noggin scaled this new towering tree.
This time Dylap was prepared and leaned with the squirrel as he weaved skyward. The tree’s many limbs were darker than that of the oak, its bark was smooth and had less foliage to negotiate. Noggin reached the upper portion in moments before scrambling over a branch and ran to the tip. Again, they jumped. Hopping from one tree to another. Leaping between limbs, bouncing along platforms and bridges – scurrying and darting through Farro as they traversed the Royal City.
Far below, dividing the ground was a body of water. The sun rays which found it, made sparkles on the rippling waves. A team of fairies were at its edge, washing clothes and cloth and laying them out on the surrounding rocks to dry. Further along the stream was a network of cogs that were connected to a large waterwheel that spun on the gentle current. Ropes and belts tied to the mechanism fed acorn buckets into the stream, gathering up the water before rising into the city.
Dylap strained his neck as far as he could, interested to see where the buckets went, but with Noggin’s next leap they left the darker tree and bounded down a pale birch. Skipping between limbs they hopped onto a rowan. The leaves curled and charred, the bark was festooned with strange symbols carved into its blackened surface. The holes in the dark trunk were sunk deep and a crimson glow radiated from within, leaking a foul odour of ash and rotten eggs.
“No, Noggin,” Jambilee hissed. “You know not to touch the House of Magic.”
She yanked on the rope around the squirrel’s neck and he suddenly jumped onto the adjacent tree.
“Never venture onto the black rowan uninvited,” Jambilee warned over her shoulder. “The guild of casters and binders are a superstitious lot and wouldn’t think twice about slamming you with a curse.”
Dylap nodded that he understood.
“In fact,” Jambilee continued. “Don’t go anywhere uninvited. Farro doesn’t take kindly to strangers, not since the war.”
Skittering over several more branches, they made their way through the veils of three willows before landing on a large rock. The huge stone boulder sat in the crook of the stream, bending the body of water to run around it, like the joint of an elbow. A portly fairy, sitting on the shoulders of a hare, watched them as they darted over the rock. He shook his head as he drew smoke from a pip pipe and blew it through pursed lips. The hare beneath him stamped its feet in frustration as the smoke drifted into its eyes.
From the rock, they bounded into the long grass, the lush green blades parting as they pushed through. The sweet smell of daisies and honeydew came on the breeze as they passed below the white and gold petals of the sun-reaching flowers. How he remembered the names of the plants from their scents when he failed to recall his life before the Twine, Dylap couldn’t say. Was there another place out there waiting for him to return to? His thoughts were snatched away as they reached the roots of another oak with reddish-brown bark, and Noggin scrambled up the trunk to the very top. Higher and higher they scaled. Leaving the grass and stream far below. Dylap began to feel dizzy from the height and so kept his attention on the way ahead. Surely there couldn’t be much more of the oak left to climb?
The thick green leaves of the canopy swatted at them as they scurried through, Noggin having to scamper between stems until they emerged on the other side.
The new vista stole Dylap’s breath as he surveyed the world before him. Bright greens and reds of the forest roof swayed and flowed to the wind. Dipping and curling to an unseen current that went untouched into the distance. Undulating and flowing in all direction with only the vast blue sky above. It felt as though they were on top of the world. A mountain range jutted out on the horizon. Tall grey teeth rising from the waves that were so far away he couldn’t make out any real detail apart from their snow-capped peaks.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Jambilee asked. “From up here you can see for leagues.”
“Beautiful,” Dylap remarked, unable to hide the smile that he felt on his face. He even felt the fear of the great height dwindle away. The lush canopy having hidden the ground from view.
“It’s like an ocean,” he remarked.
“What’s an ocean?”
“It’s the…” Dylap began as he struggled to find the words to describe what it was he wanted to say. But the more he strived towards the answer, the further the memory slipped away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“That’s the Palace,” she informed him as she steered Noggin around.
Ahead, rising above the canopy was a pure white tree, its thick foliage dazzling under the sun. At its peak was a watchtower carved into the trunk. Armed guards standing vigil with sharp spears. Above them circled bird-riders. Flying in long meandering sweeps as they scanned the ground below as well as the rest of Farro. They kept glancing at a large black bird that circled even higher. Its sharp beak parting to scream across the forest.
“That’s the big black monster the fae in the Chamber of Justice were arguing about,” Dylap said. “They couldn’t decide if it was an eagle or hawk.”
“It’s neither,” Jambilee explained. “It’s a falcon, and a real nasty one at that. It’s been attempting to breach the fairy protection ever since it showed up with the last fresh moon.”
“Fairy protection?”
“It surrounds Farro, keeping large predators out. It’s the only reason why the city thrives. We wouldn’t do well with owls snatching the fae in the night, or snakes swallowing people in their beds.” She glared at the falcon. “It senses that the city is here, but cannot properly see it. I wish it would go. It’s been frightening the birds in the Aviary and they’ve become impossible to tame of late.”
Jambilee tapped her heels into Noggin’s flanks and they began to ascend further up the tree. “This is one of two tall reds,” she continued as she pointed to the tree beside it. “The only trees, other than the Alabaster of the Palace, that reach above the canopy.”
Dylap began to feel the weight of the forest below him as they climbed impossibly higher. The canopy replacing the ground as his fear of heights returned.
Noggin skipped onto a thick limb and ran along its length to the neighbouring tree. Most of the leaves and foliage had been preened away to reveal a vast network of branches that criss-crossed each other to form hundreds of grids with a twig nest in each. Birds twittered from the perches above, making a cacophony of noise but quieted the moment Noggin leapt onto the platform that ran along the centre.
“This is the nesting ground,” Jambilee informed him. “There are over sixty adult finches and hummers and over three times as many hatchlings. And in the Taming Tree, where I live, there is over a hundred kestrels. Those are for the city guard.”
Dylap felt the gaze of all those birds and wondered if they saw him as a threat or as food.
“Do all the fae in Farro have a bird?” he asked as Noggin made his way through the Aviary at a slower pace.
“No, much less than a quarter, only royalty and the upper-class are permitted to fly inside the city.”
“Upper-class?”
Jambilee sighed as she brought Noggin to a halt. “You’ve got a hu
ge amount to learn,” she said. “But the most important thing is to know what you are and where you fit in. Every fairy has a place and in that place, they must be. And I don’t mean simply physically, but socially. That’s how the city works.” She set Noggin to a steady walk as she explained. “Royalty at the very top, you can’t get any higher than the King, Queen, Prince and Princess. Then there are the cousins and other members within the royal house. If they live in the Alabaster Tree, the Palace, then they are Royalty of some degree. Below them are the upper-class,” she continued, her hand flicking around and making gestures as she spoke. “They live in the trees that surround the inner-circle and are made up of the rich or high-born. Those born from nobility and that have links with the royal household. Some of the guild and house masters are of this ilk, including our own, Master Sabesto, although to see him you wouldn’t believe so. Do you understand so far?”
Dylap nodded.
“Good, below them are the working-class, such as myself and the vast majority of fae that dwell in the city. But even the working-class has its own sub-divisions. For instance, I am a bird-tamer. My rank is lower than bird-healer, yet higher than a feeder. And a feeder is higher than a nest-builder.”
Surveying the Aviary, Dylap spied a young fairy scraping the white spats of bird dung from the branches. He had a cloth wrapped around his nose and wore heavy gloves. Sweat stuck his lank hair to his forehead as he worked. But no sooner did he scrape one portion clean than a finch leaned out from its perch and dropped a fresh load. It splashed the branch and the fairy both.
“I guess his is the lowest rank of the Aviary,” Dylap suggested, gesturing towards the fairy who’d begun to scrape back the way he’d come, shoulders sinking as he set about the task.
“Not even close,” Jambilee replied. “There are several ranks below the scraper, right down to the ground-dwellers. But they are all equally as important. Without the dedication of one, the others above would soon crumble.”