by A. C. Salter
Dylap felt exhausted. It had been hard work and now he was covered in sickly gore. Bits of grey flesh, intestines and blood, clung to his only clothes.
“Your job’s almost finished,” Ebbin reassured him. He was about to slap him on the back but paused as he couldn’t find a clean place to do so. “All you need do now is ride the cart back to the ground. The brownie…Merrybone, will collect it and take care of the beetles before midday. I’ll fetch the feeders before Spoffle gets wind of our tardiness.”
Dylap raised his arms. “And me? These are my only clothes.”
“Before you begin the climb back up to the Aviary, it might be a good idea to wash in the stream,” he chuckled.
6
Split-Wing
Dylap flicked the reins a final time and steered the beetles up the slope of granite to where Merrybone leaned against the roots of a tree, chewing a strand of liquorice. He twizzled it in his mouth as he came to take the cart.
“You’re covered,” he said, wafting a hand in front of his bulbous nose. “Looks like you cut a worm open and climbed inside.”
Dylap stared down at his clothes. The gore had gone dry and gave off a foul, fetid odour. The ride down had taken longer than the journey up. The busyness of the city forcing him to halt the cart at every bridge and fork and with each stop the fairies would stare and make faces, as if finding him and his appearance as disgusting as the smell he carried.
“It appears so,” he muttered.
Taking the reins, Merrybone began to lead the beetles away, but paused before disappearing through the tall grass, his face rising to sniff the air.
“There will be a storm later. Not so good for you fairies, but there’ll be plenty of wrigglers for you in the morning.”
Dylap glanced up at the patches of blue between the canopy and couldn’t see a single cloud. He was about to ask Merrybone how he knew what the weather was going to do, yet the brownie had already loped away.
Sighing deeply, Dylap made his way towards the stream. He couldn’t return to the Aviary smelling the way he did. Ebbin had warned that if he came too close to a hungry finch, it would peck him.
Fresh air carried down the stream as Dylap sought a secluded spot. But the winding waterway was teeming with washer women, scrubbing clothes and placing them on the rocks to dry. They scowled at him as he wandered passed, some even going so far as to gather up their clothes thinking he would take them.
Making his way down, he noticed that the further he went the poorer dressed the workers were. As if the small society of washer women had their own micro class-system and the richer you were, the fresher the stretch of water you could use. The same with the bridges that spanned the stream which had leaf-thatched roofs to blot out the sun’s rays, the further downstream you went, the less grand they were. Even further down, the stream flowed swifter, creating eddies around rocks before sweeping out into the vast River Twine. The twin colours of violet and turquoise dancing and undulating with each other, but the two river waters which shared the same space, never blended.
He climbed over a boulder and found a natural pool that fed from the stream. Quiet and secluded, the still water was inviting. A large dock leaf curved overhead, shading him from the sun and the prying eyes of the washing fae.
A single fish floated lazily beneath the surface, its golden scales reflecting from the stones and sand at the bottom.
“How do you do?” Dylap offered, bowing courteously to the fish which was easily twice his size. This, he thought, was the reason the others wouldn’t venture down to the pool, even though the fish was harmless.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked as he hunkered down and rolled up his trouser legs.
Dipping his toes into the pool, Dylap felt the aches in his feet melt away. He debated whether to take his clothes off but as he was just as filthy under them, decided to simply slip entirely into the cold water.
If the fish minded him being there, it didn’t show it. Instead, carrying on its lazy search of the pool bottom, its mouth opening and closing.
Dylap stepped closer to the centre until the rock he was standing on dropped away and he began to tread water.
He could swim. The idea of him not being able to, hadn’t occurred to him. Maybe on some unconscious level he knew he could, although any memories of him doing so, did nothing to present themselves.
The worm gore that was on his clothes began to dissolve, forming a milky cloud as it spread in the water. His aquatic companion paused in his interrogation of the floor, flicked its tail, splashing drops of water on the bank, but was in no hurry to leave.
Laughing, he rubbed the remaining worm essence from his jerkin and britches.
“Well, at least I’ve a friend in you,” he said, watching its gills flutter.
“Are you talking to the fish?”
Dylap snapped his head about to seek out who spoke. His eyes fell on a girl, roughly his own age. Dressed in a simple slip, she carried a bundle of clothes in a basket and regarded him curiously, dark eyes ringed with darker lashes staring through muddy brown hair.
Dylap shrugged. “He seems friendly enough and won’t make any judgments on what I look like.”
“This is true,” she said as she ducked under the dock leaf and set her basket on the ground. As she knelt, Dylap noticed that she had two pairs of wings on her back like those of a dragonfly. They were transparent yet when they caught the light, shimmered with the colours of a rainbow.
“You’re a split-wing,” he said, then realising how rude he must sound, tried to say something else.
“I am,” she snapped, glaring at him for a moment until she dropped her gaze to her feet. “That is my forbearers fault and I will carry the shame.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s perfectly alright to be who you are, right?”
She glared at him again, her cheeks momentarily flushing red before she sighed and began to dip the clothes into the water.
“Wrong.”
Dylap swam closer, stretching an arm out to the stem of a dandelion to rest his legs.
“My name’s Dylap,” he offered, attempting to draw the girl into a conversation.
“I know who you are. There isn’t anyone in Farro that doesn’t,” she replied as she began to scrub the clothes with a bar of sweet-smelling soap, although her gaze drifted to the spines on his back.
“What’s your name?”
She paused what she was doing. “Why would you want to know? I’m as low and wretched as any fae you will find. Even my own kind abandoned me. And you won’t get rid of that putrid reek without soap.”
Dylap thought he had washed the smell away. “So, the Farrosians are as friendly to you as they are to me?”
She began to scrub once again and acted as if he wasn’t there. Dylap couldn’t decide if she intended to slight him or simply didn’t care.
“I’m treated the same way,” he admitted, dropping his head to see her face beneath her hair. “And at least you have wings to fly, whereas I have these useless things.” He picked up a spine to show her then let it fall back into the water. “So some even regard me as a lowly ground-dweller.”
She finished scrubbing the items and began to fold them back into her basket. “Elaya,” she said. “Not that anybody uses it.”
“Elaya,” Dylap repeated. “Don’t your friends call you by your name?”
“I’m a split-wing. I don’t deserve friends,” she said as she stood and placed the basket under her arm.
“You do now. Unless I’m beneath you of course.”
The corner of Elaya’s lips began to curl, but a piercing voice from behind the dock leaf frightened the coming smile away.
“Spit? Spit? Where is that awful child?”
The leaf was torn aside as a plump fairy marched to the edge of the pool. She was middle-aged and had ginger hair which matched her dappled wings. When her glower fell on Elaya and then dropped to Dylap, they fluttered rapidly before stretching out.
�
��What is this?” she demanded.
“Nothing Mistress,” Elaya pleaded as she bowed her head.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Is that the Dylap?” she asked incredulously, her voice rising until she spoke his name in a high-pitched shrill. “Get away, shoo,” she snapped, taking Elaya by the arm and forcefully shoving her from the bank. “It’s bad enough that Farro is cursed with a split-wing. Why must we tolerate this…this…”
“Dylap?” Dylap finished for her.
“Don’t speak to me,” she snorted before turning and gripping Elaya by the elbow. “Back to work, you can find another stretch of stream to wash in.”
Elaya gave him an apologetic shrug as her dragonfly wings began to hum and she ascended into the air with her mistress.
Dylap shook his head as he waved goodbye, wondering if he would ever see her again. Sighing deeply, he was about to return to the other side of the pool when something struck the water beside him.
There, bobbing on the surface was a small block of soap.
He glanced up and was about to wave a ‘thank you’ but Elaya had already disappeared with her mistress.
Grasping the soap, he put it to his nose and inhaled the sweet honey aroma. It smelled good enough to eat.
He climbed onto the bank and slipped his jerkin and britches off. Within moments he had the clothes lathered up with bubbles and began to rinse the worm grime away. The berry juice was more resistant, taking several attempts at removing it, but it too dissolved leaving his garments clean. Once he was satisfied, he spread them out on top of the dock leaf to dry, then lay down on the bank to wait.
Placing his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and lounged in the sun, feeling the warmth brush over his body. He was tired and thought a brief nap may perk him up, ready for the long journey back to the top of the big red.
A bird’s cry pierced the sky and tore Dylap from his sleep.
He was cold. And when he sat up, realised that most of the afternoon had passed by and Farro was now preparing for the evening. Sun gems began to glow from the windows and balconies in the trees above.
Shivering, he gathered up his clothes and slipped them on, cursing himself for sleeping too long. He found the block of soap and wrapped it in a portion of dock leaf which he had torn off, before stuffing it in a pocket. Then pushing through the foliage, he was about to set off on the long journey home when a large shadow engulfed him, followed by the piercing cry once again.
Instinctively he dived to the ground as a bird flew above. Sharp talons brushing his hair as the huge predator banked around an oak before coming back.
Long wings spread out either side of its sleek body. Black feathers glistening as they tucked in tight, hooked beak raised; narrowed eyes bristling with violence.
It was the black monster that had plagued Farro for the last few months.
Dylap froze, his body screaming at him to jump into the pond while his mind urged him to run. But he knew that either option was futile. There was no outrunning the beast.
Hunkering down and curling himself into a tight ball, Dylap pulled the dock leaf back, bending the stem. His arms shook with the effort at holding it in place while he waited for death to arrive.
Talons rising before it, the falcon swooped low, ready to strike.
Dylap leaned into the leaf, about to let go when the stem suddenly snapped and he sprawled onto his back.
His chin struck the ground and he bit his tongue, but the pain was something he only experienced at the periphery of his mind as the fright of the oncoming onslaught forced him onto his back. He brought his arms protectively in front of his face as the bird closed in. The ground shaking as it landed, talons digging into soft earth to either side of him. It pinned him down with his own useless spines. His attempts at struggling only earned him a burning pain that stretched down his back.
The falcon opened its beak and cried triumphantly, the sound echoing about before it snapped it closed and began to lower its head, its gaze hungry beneath the thick bone that crested its brow.
The bird would begin the meal by tearing open his belly. Dylap didn’t know where the memory came from or why it chose that time to remind him, but he wished it hadn’t. Predators often started by ripping open the stomach and feasting on what was inside before devouring the outside. Not that it would make a difference to his grisly outcome.
Why would the gods see fit to spit him from the Twine only to be devoured by a monster weeks later?
Dylap clenched his fist, readying himself for the inevitable when he realised he was clutching the block of soap.
Using his other hand, he stripped the leaf wrapping away and fumbled the gift above his chest as the falcon’s head sunk towards his face, inspecting its meal before it heartily tucked in.
Seeing his chance, Dylap quickly lathered the soap in his hands and then hurled the foaming block into the wide grey eye.
Shaking its head, the monster screamed in pain and anguish. Flapping large wings as it kicked at the earth.
As the talons rose and released the pressure on his spines, Dylap rolled out of the way and scrambled beneath the roots of the closest tree, having to dig down to squeeze his body under the groaning wood.
Screeching with pain, he watched the falcon thrash about, flinging specks of the soap from its reddening eye. But for all the pain it must be enduring, it didn’t take to the safety of the sky. Instead, it hopped closer to Dylap’s hiding place and began to scratch frantically at the roots. Angrily digging with beak and talons into the wood to reach him.
Earth cascaded around him as Dylap folded his legs and arms as close to his body as possible. The persistent bird didn’t seem to be giving up. He wondered how long it would take the beast to break through. The roots began to tear and the snapping of wood cracked with each blow.
“Here it is,” a voice came through the dimming light. “I’ve found the monster.”
Two thrushes flew into view, their riders leaning hard against the saddles as they swooped above the falcon. The closest notched an arrow into a bow and let it fly.
It struck the wing of the black beast, causing it to scream in complaint as it turned to face its attackers before jumping into the air.
The city guard flew above and then circled the falcon, the thrushes being able to move swifter than the bigger bird as it rose through the trees. Screaming into the city, the falcon banked around an oak before flying off into the forest, the guards giving chase.
Dylap watched them leave before crawling out of the damaged roots, his heart hammering loud in his ears. Then as other birds swooped into view he attempted to dive back into hiding.
“You there,” shouted a commanding voice, pinning him to the spot, “Are you hurt?”
Several humming birds hovered above and he recognised the Prince riding one of them.
Immediately, Dylap dropped to one knee and bowed.
“No, your Majesty,” he replied.
The Prince along with two of his entourage, landed on the roots of the tree. One was finely dressed in garments as rich as the Prince’s while the other wore sensible mouse leather for riding. All three appeared only a few years his senior.
“Is that the Dylap?” asked the richly dressed companion, pointing a silver riding cane at him. Wide shoulders flexed beneath his silks as he leaned closer. “Should have let the eagle eat him before we took chase. It would have slowed him some and there would have been the chance that those hideous spines would have caught in its throat.”
This brought laughter from some of the fae still in the air, although Dylap noticed that neither the Prince or his other companion shared the amusement.
“It was a falcon,” Dylap pointed out, correcting the speaker.
“Falcon? Don’t be ridicules. The monster is plainly an eagle,” the cane-waver snapped, jabbing it in his direction. “And you will address me as, Sir.” He turned to the rider in mouse leather, shaking his head. “Really, I don’t understand why Sabesto has taken on thi
s creature. He is one of yours, is he not, Edvin?”
The rider shifted in his seat, easy hands resting over the saddle horn. He offered Dylap an apologetic smile before answering his companion.
“He is of the Aviary yes, but not of the Taming Tree,” Edvin explained. “My guess, he’s beginning his career as worm-gutter and is still learning the ropes.”
“Worm-gutter yes,” agreed the other, “a fitting job for the upstart, falcon indeed.”
“Actually,” Edvin continued, attempting to conceal a smirk that was being matched by the Prince, “it is a falcon. That’s why we can’t catch it. Even my racing bird won’t match its speed.”
The pompous fairy stuck out his chest, cheeks flaming red as he gripped his cane tighter. He opened his mouth to speak, lips trembling with anger, yet struggled to find the right words.
“Indeed,” was what he growled out, snorting disdainfully. “Then perhaps we better make chase before it disappears.”
“Calm yourself, Urlmince,” the Prince chuckled. “Don’t let the stress of the chase affect you. You don’t want to end up as bald as the general.”
“My father lost his hair before the war,” Urlmince replied, straightening his silks. “But I see your point, your Majesty. It is a curse of the house Cramaris that we men lose our hair.”
“Then let us not dally any more,” the Prince said, kicking his mount back into the air. The humming bird’s wings blasted Dylap with a cold wind as it rose, moving so fast that they became a blur of motion. Likewise, Urlmince took to the air. They circled for a moment, the Prince waving a final farewell before the pair joined the rest of the riders above.
Dylap waved back and watched as the group of fae headed after their quarry.
“Is it true that you can’t fly?” Edvin asked, leaning over his saddle.
Dylap wondered why the fairy hadn’t joined the others, but was glad for the company. He still felt shaky after the incident with the monster.
“Yes, Sir, but I seem to be just fine at walking.”