by A. C. Salter
“There’s no need to call me, Sir. I’m not as high-born as Cramaris. And that’s a long walk you’ve got ahead of you, especially at night with fae going missing. And now that the monster has found a way to penetrate the city’s protection, Farro has become more dangerous. Come,” he offered, tapping the space behind him. “I’ll take you back to the Aviary.”
Feeling thankful, Dylap made his way over to the bird, brushing the soil from his clothes as he went. Luckily, the ground had been dry and the soil slipped from his garments. The hummer bowed its head, tucking its wings in tight to allow him to climb upon its back. Then Dylap suddenly remembered the soap. Dashing back to the block, he scooped it into his pocket before returning to the bird.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
Edvin chuckled. “Don’t worry none, I remember what it was like to be a worm-gutter. That smell still haunts me now. A block of honey soap will be your best friend until you can gut without getting covered in muck. Tell me, is the brownie still as miserable as I remember him?”
“Merrybone? I think he only acts like that because of the way he’s treated by fairies.”
“Merrybone? So that’s his name? Well, aren’t you full of information. How did you know that the monster is a falcon?”
“Jambilee told me.”
“Of course, it’s Jambilee you’ve to thank for being at the Aviary. And Sabesto of course, for being in his cups the day of your judgment. Well, let’s get you home. Hold on tight.”
Edvin grasped the reins and nudged the hummer in its flanks. The bird’s wings began to rapidly beat the air and they rose.
Dylap held fast to the saddle, the queasy sense of vertigo returning as they left the ground and swiftly ascended into Farro.
They flew in a vertical climb, dodging bridges and platforms before swooping over the trail, the forest floor already a long way down. The hummer zipped between beads of hanging lanterns; sun gems glowing in the dimness to light the paths and walkways. Not that they witnessed any fae out in the open. It seemed the warnings of the falcon’s breach had spread.
“What is your job?” Dylap asked, attempting to take his mind off the flight, although he was beginning to feel the thrill of flying. Was this what it was like to fly, to have your own wings?
“I’m a racer and trainer,” Edvin replied, shouting over his shoulder. “Sabesto and Jambilee tame the young or wild birds, then it’s my job to help train them.”
“And the racing?”
Edvin laughed as he flicked the reins and the hummer picked up speed, “that’s for fun.”
They banked over a thick branch, looping upside down before gaining altitude and flying through the canopy. They struck a large leaf and burst through the middle, leaving a hole in their wake.
Surprisingly, a grin had begun to form on Dylap’s face, growing wider as they spiralled around the trunks of the tall reds, making figure of eights as they reached the top. His stomach lurched with each twist and turn, but he felt an immense excitement pulsing through him. So much so that when they landed on the platform in front of the Master House, he felt a pang of sadness.
“Thank you,” he said as he climbed off the bird.
“You’re welcome. And in future, if you’re planning to clean and dry yourself at the stream, leave before the evening.”
“I will,” Dylap replied. “Are you going to re-join the chase?”
Edvin nodded. “They won’t have ventured far from the city’s protection. It won’t take me long to find them.”
“Be careful. Merrybone spoke of a storm coming this evening.”
Edvin raised his chin and sniffed the air. “I don’t sense one, are you sure? Rain will hinder the chase and trap the Prince out if he doesn’t return in time. I better fetch them just in case. Thanks for the warning.”
Dylap waved farewell as the hummer rose and flew out of the Aviary, wondering when he would fly again. The experience had thrilled him.
As he made his way along the branch to the Master House, Ebbin hurried out of the door. Kicking it shut with his heel. When the fairy spotted him, his face lit up in a smile.
“There you are,” he said as he struggled to carry a basket of food. “Where have you been? There’s been rumours that the black monster has broken through the barrier and has ransacked the lower part of Farro.”
Dylap grasped the handle and helped him carry the basket as they descended the steps onto the branch below.
“It did, but it’s gone now. The Prince and his men chased it away.”
Ebbin’s eyes widened. “Did you see it? Was it breathing fire?”
“There was no fire. But it does have a mean streak.”
Dylap spent the rest of the evening explaining what had happened. Ebbin demanding every minute detail of the bird attack.
“I can’t believe you fought it off with a block of soap,” he said incredulously. “That’s amazing, but where did you get it?” he asked before stuffing the last of the elderflower loaf in his mouth.
“I met a girl called Elaya. She was cleaning clothes at the stream.”
“I don’t know her. I’ve never heard that name before.”
Dylap lay back against the wall of the nook, lazy hands resting on his full belly. “Her mistress called her Spit.”
“Spit?” Ebbin repeated. “The split-wing?”
“She’s called Elaya and it doesn’t make a difference what she is.”
“I suppose, but try telling the rest of Farro that – especially the older generation. The war with the split-wings has left a bitter taste in their memories.”
A silence began to stretch between them and before it brought a melancholy veil, Dylap changed the subject.
“Edvin brought me back to the Aviary. I flew on the back of a hummer.”
Ebbin’s grin returned. “Did he fly fast? You know he’s the best bird racer in Farro, right?”
“He looped a branch and swooped faster than I believed possible. I can’t wait to do it again.”
Ebbin’s grin faltered. “You probably never will. Sorry, flying isn’t for the likes of us. Only the high-class, bird trainers or the guard get to fly.”
“That’s about as unfair as the way Elaya is treated. Not to mention Merrybone and other ground-dwellers.”
“And yourself, but that’s the way of things in Farro, it isn’t going to change anytime soon.”
“You’re probably right,” Dylap agreed.
Stifling a yawn, Ebbin stretched his arms and wings out before crawling to the entrance.
“I better leave you to sleep and find my own bed. I’ll come and fetch you before dawn. We won’t have any spider silk to help you down so it would be better to make an earlier start.”
When his friend left through the curtain of ivy, Dylap turned the lamp down and lay on his back. His body ached all over. The day had been hard and it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.
Dilbus studied the muddy bank of the Twine. His hand trembling with the effort to hold the lamp above the silt while balancing on a twig. If he placed a foot in the muck it would sink above his boot.
“Are you sure this is the spot you found him?” he asked.
Limble nodded. “Sir, this is where we dragged him out. His body making that strange ‘dylap’ noise when we pulled him free from the Twine. And it was over there,” Limble pointed to the flattened patch of ground which they had probed only moments before, “that we placed him before coming to fetch you.”
Dilbus remembered. That dreadful night that had begun this entire ordeal. He cast a final glance into the mire before creeping back. There was nothing to find. No clue to piece together who the Dylap was.
As he turned, the light caught something sitting just below the smooth surface of the silt. He would have missed it entirely if it hadn’t caught the reflection.
“What is it, Commander Fenwick?” Limble asked.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sending you to fetch it,” he replied, pointing a bony finge
r at the object.
Limble’s shoulders drooped as he slid along the twig, holding onto a blade of grass for balance. Hs portly body wobbled as he leaned one way and then the other, the blade flexing to accommodate the weight until it snapped.
The twig slid away and Limble landed face first in the mud. When he raised his head, spitting silt from his mouth, Dilbus did his best not to laugh.
“Keep your eyes shut,” he warned. “Twine water burns. Use your hands to find the thing stuck beneath you. I think you landed on it.”
Grumbling to himself, his second-in-command began to rummage around his belly, grunting with the effort and resembling a sludge maggot.
“Got it,” Limble said, attempting to rise into a kneeling position but only succeeding in sinking further.
“Grab my cane,” Dilbus offered as he stretched towards him.
Limble blindly flapped his chubby hand around until he grasped the end of the cane. Then part crawling, part squirming managed to reach solid ground. His large chest heaved with the effort as he flopped down and rolled onto his back.
“Well done,” Dilbus chuckled as he took the object they had found.
It was as long as his forearm and curved. Taking his canteen, he washed the mud from it, revealing a shiny hard surface beneath. Once cleaned, he handed the bottle to Limble to rinse his face while he brought the lamp closer to the find.
“Is that a shard of glass?” Limble asked as he splashed his face.
“It appears so. Crystal of the highest quality, most probably from something goblin or even human made. I don’t believe it has anything to do with our little friend.”
Wiping it dry with a cloth, Dilbus noticed that along one side of the broken glass was the outline of a symbol etched into the surface. And another on the opposite side, although it was incomplete.
“I’ll take it to the inventor in the morning. It maybe something he’s come across before.” And he can fix my mechanical wing while I’m there, he added to himself.
A fat raindrop struck the bank, a span away from Limble, the splash drenching him in smaller droplets.
Dilbus stared up into the night and watched as more raindrops descended from above. Crashing through the leaves and grasses, bending stalks and knocking the tall bulrushes into rocking.
Helping Limble to his feet, the pair of them took refuge inside the crook of the closest roots, while the storm began to cascade around them. The finch which he had flown down on, had torn away from the twig he had tied her to and had flown back to the Aviary. He couldn’t blame her. Nobody wanted to fly in this. Yet it left him without a means to return home.
Dilbus hooked the lamp onto a dead sprig that jutted from the earth and leaned against the thick root, resigned to the fact that they would need to wait until the storm abated.
The damp began to seep into his joints and his knee throbbed as he hunkered down onto a dry pebble.
“We’re here for the night,” he told Limble. “So, make yourself comfortable.”
Limble stared out into the deluge, eager gaze searching for a dry path. He sighed heavily as he came to terms with their predicament and sat heavily beside him on the pebble.
“Why are we out here anyway?” he complained, resting his filthy chin upon filthier hands.
Dilbus twisted the shard of glass in the lamp light, and watched it shimmer through all the colours of the rainbow.
“We’re night watchmen of Farro,” he reminded him. “We do our duty and keep watch.”
“But the black monster is out there.”
Dilbus shook his head. “Do you really think it will fly in this?”
A shriek cut through the night. Loud and sharp, it penetrated through Dilbus’s aching bones.
“Tis a bad omen, Commander Fenwick,” Limble complained, searching the darkness for signs of the beast.
Dilbus couldn’t agree more with his companion, but didn’t say as such.
7
The Old City
Waking early to the sound of drips falling outside, Dylap crawled from the nook. The ivy curtains were saturated. Cold water clung to the vines, although the storm itself had mercifully abated. Drops still fell from the canopy, long sweeping tears that cried onto the city below - hitting leaves and breaking stems, knocking them from their perch to drift down onto the dark sea. The sun had yet to rise, but a full moon glistened over the forest, stretching a silver pool all the way to the horizon.
With the cold beginning to penetrate his jerkin, Dylap clambered up to the higher branch to wait for Ebbin. He expected the Master House to be in darkness, so was surprised to see that the door was open; warm light spilling from within. He crept closer and smelled baking bread. It was enough to make his mouth water. Venturing inside, he snuck along the polished floor feeling like a thief in the night, although he had as much right to be there as any other in the Aviary. He only hoped that Spoffle or one of his cohorts didn’t stumbled upon him, or he would be swiftly removed.
Stepping carefully, he followed the smell passed Master Sabesto’s antechamber and along a corridor until he arrived at the kitchen. Peering inside, he saw two fae hard at work.
A rotund fairy with creases in his neck that spilled over a white apron was singing to himself while kneading dough on a baking stone. His stripy blue wings were partially open and fluttered in time to the tune. The other was a young girl of maybe ten who was placing flat pastries onto a tray, ready for the oven. Her wings were of a similar colour and so Dylap took them to be father and daughter.
“No Genili, space them out, they’ll spread when they begin to bake,” explained the larger fairy. Then his round head twisted to the door, a warm smile forming dimples in his wobbling cheeks.
“We have an early guest,” he said. “Don’t dawdle in the corridor, come in.”
His face warming at being caught watching, Dylap entered the kitchen. He sensed the young apprentice stiffen when her gaze fell on his spines, but the large reassuring arm of the baker settled over her to hush any words that may have sprouted from her mouth.
“The Dylap,” he said, pointing a finger at a stool. “Sit down, let us fix you up with something.”
“It’s Dylap, without the ‘the,'” Ebbin corrected as he crossed the room.
“My apologies, Dylap, please don’t see any offence in my words. Everyone is equal in my eyes – I only see an empty belly that needs filling.”
Dylap smiled. “Not at all,” he said, wishing that others had the same outlook on life as the baker. “But I am a little hungry.”
The folds in the baker’s chin formed tight crescents as he positively beamed. “Then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, gesturing Ebbin, who’d just quietly stole into the kitchen, onto the stool beside him. Then taking up a rolling pin, began to roll out the dough. “Genili will fix you up with some pastries before the cook comes in.”
Dylap watched Genili as she pulled a tray of freshly baked pastries from the oven and set them on a table. She delicately wrapped two pieces in paper and slid them across the table.
“Sweet juniper plushes,” Genili said, “my first batch.”
“I’m sure they’ll be delicious,” Dylap replied, stowing one of the packages in his pocket while Ebbin took the other. “Thank you.”
Genili blushed as she went back to work.
Ebbin tapped his arm and indicated for the door. “We better go. The storm will have made the trail slippery and today we don’t have any spider silk.”
They said their goodbyes to Genili and the baker, before making their way out of the Master House. The Aviary was still quiet with the rhythmic snoring coming from the sleeping birds. The only other sound was the occasional plink of falling drops as they dripped from the ends of leaves. Silver light from the moon glistened over the wet platform, but the bark of the tall red was dry, as was the steps that spiralled to the branch below.
“I don’t believe it,” Ebbin suddenly said, pointing to a long strand of spider silk that dangled beside
the entrance to the nook.
Dylap began to reel it up and coil it around his arm. “It wasn’t here when I woke.”
“Maybe we should leave it,” Ebbin warned, his gaze searching the rest of the tree.
“Why? It’s clear that this Dewella wishes me to have it.”
Ebbin shook his head. “But you’ve got to ask yourself why? I don’t like it.”
Once he had looped it around his arm, Dylap tied a length around his waist. “If it helps us to reach the ground quicker, then it’s a good thing. Without it we’ll be later than we were yesterday.”
“True,” Ebbin sighed as they made their way along the branch to the lower platform. “But I don’t like it. Dewella is not to be trusted.”
“Agreed,” Dylap said as he began to run at the gap.
Landing on the other side he felt a grin reach his mouth. It seemed his sense of vertigo was weakening. It may have been due to the flight with Ebbin or the fact that he was becoming used to the dizzying heights of the tall red. Either way, he was glad.
After descending the various bridges and branches they arrived at the hollow trunk.
“It needs resetting,” Ebbin said, staring at the two-span gap between the level of the corridor and the halo.
He flew to a door carved into the inside of the trunk and opened it. Inside was a tall wooden statue of a troll. A wood knoll, Dylap realised, although didn’t know where the memory came from. Its eyes were no more than black dots, hidden beneath a mop of stringy hair. It was the same shade of oak as the tree they were in. Even the grains on its body, ran in the same grades and lines.
Ebbin tapped on the side of its chest and pointed towards the halo. “It needs cranking up. I think last night’s storm has disturbed it,” Ebbin said.
The wood knoll neither acknowledged that it had heard, or that they were even there. But it stepped out from its hole and paced heavily to a crank lever and began to turn the handle.
Its arms creaked as it moved, face expressionless as it brought the halo up. It was then that Dylap noticed it had a large S carved into its shoulder.
Ebbin saw what he was staring at and added, “Spoffle did that. Carved it in with a worm gutting knife a few years ago.”