by A. C. Salter
The two fairies were quickly joined by others, Jambilee among them, as they attempted to calm the swift. Jambilee, approached the bird, making calming gestures with her arms but it ignored her and carried on pulling against its restraints.
“I’ll go and fetch Master Sabesto,” the feeder offered. “He’ll know what to do?”
“What and miss the fun?” Spoffle said, holding the fae back. “It’s about time those tamers had a taste of what hard work is. Especially that Jambilee, just look at her, not so high-and-mighty now.”
“But its crazed,” Ebbin put in. “It might rip the Aviary apart.”
He went to leave but the scraper pulled him back and shoved him to the floor. “You’ll do as you’re told,” he spat.
With all attention given over to the thrashing bird, Dylap climbed from the trolley and went to Ebbin.
“What does it mean if it’s gone crazed?” Dylap whispered to Ebbin as he pulled him to his feet.
“It means that it’s out of control. Something has either scared it witless or its simply lost its mind. Either way, it’ll writhe around in blind panic until it’s pinned down or shot,” Ebbin explained as he turned to watch the out of control bird. “In the meantime, it will crash and break anything close, and if it reaches the Aviary it may start the other birds off. Then we’ll be in a world of trouble.”
The swift whipped its head about, knocking Jambilee from the platform before turning its beak on another fairy who had thrown a rope over its body. The fae dived out of the way but let go of the rope and the bird began to bounce, feet slamming into the wood.
Jambilee returned, hovering above the swift. She waved for the others on the Taming Tree to clear out of the way but as the larger creature began to flap, it rose and knocked her into the bough. Her wings tangled with the leaves, trapping her as the bird flapped wildly, knocking into the limbs and branches before careering towards the Aviary.
The nesting birds which had momentarily gone quiet were now chirping excitedly. Heads bobbed, beaks snapped as feathers floated down from rocking nests.
“It’s coming this way,” one of the feeders blurted as he took flight and glided away from the branch.
“Get out of my way!” Spoffle screamed as he shoved the scraper in his haste to be gone. But as his friend went down he grasped Spoffle’s arm and they both tumbled into the trolley. The others flew away, leaving the bigger fairies to scramble through the worm guts in their rush to crawl beneath it.
“You need to alert the others and fetch the master,” Dylap said as he pushed Ebbin towards the house. “I’ll follow.”
He began to run along the limb, chasing Ebbin’s shadow as he glided above. He hit the staircase at the same time his companion landed beside the door and entered the house.
From behind, he heard the birds begin to cry in earnest. High-pitched shrieks as the swift struck the framework of the nests and crashed into the bridge. Rope snapped as it kicked and thrashed, raining parts of the timber down. Feathers bent as its wing trapped into a weave which held it as it ripped through the remainder of the ropes.
A brave fairy flew from the Taming Tree and landed on the platform below. He knelt into a firing position and set an arrow into his bow. Dylap recognised the mouse leather riding clothes and hoped that Edvin wouldn’t miss.
The swift cried, tearing at its bonds and ripping rope and weave. The weight of the structure suddenly sagged and as one, the bridge and bird collapsed onto the platform below.
The impact shook the entire Aviary. Dylap gripped the stair rail for support until the branch ceased wobbling. When he regained control, and looked at the devastation, his heart slammed wilder than the crazed bird below.
The bridge lay in pieces, a large beam having fallen on Edvin, pinning him to the platform. Only his head and an arm were visible amongst the wreck of wood and rope as the swift struggled above him.
“Edvin,” Dylap shouted as he ran down the steps and leapt from the branch to the platform.
He clambered over the detritus the bird created and shoved the larger pieces aside before reaching Edvin.
“What are you doing?” Edvin growled, forcing words through a split lip. The weight of the beam pushing the air from his lungs, “run.”
“No,” Dylap said as he attempted to lift the beam that pinned the racer. It didn’t budge. The weight of the crazed swift adding to the already heavy beam made the task near to impossible.
“Go before it kills you,” Edvin ordered.
“I’m not leaving you,” Dylap said as he reached beneath the heavy column of wood and gripped Edvin’s bow.
His gaze was locked on the bird as it pecked at the rope and thrashed in a frenzy. The whites of its eyes stood out as it darted terrified glances all around.
Pulling the bow free, Dylap realised that it had been broken when the bridge collapsed. Instead, he stood tall and cocked it onto his shoulder, ready to swing it when the swift came closer.
“Dylap, clear away,” Jambilee shouted as she landed beside him. “Run.”
She gripped him by his elbow and tried to steer him away, until he shook her off.
“How do we stop it?” he asked, when he saw that she had stayed with him.
“We can’t. Its crazed. When it’s free of those bonds, it will attack anything that moves and won’t think twice about snapping your neck. It is out of its mind.”
Putting himself between Edvin’s trapped body and the bird, Dylap gripped tight to the bow - willing his legs to stop shaking. He scanned the Aviary in search for something to use but found only chaos and wild hysteria coming from the other birds in the nests and from the fae themselves.
“It’s breaking free,” Jambilee shouted, as she picked up a broken length of wood.
The final weave which held the swift’s wing snapped and the bird lurched towards them, its beak opening wide as it screamed. Heavy feet bounced on the broken bridge as it came closer, feather-twisted and angry.
Jambilee hurled the wood she had been holding and it struck the bird’s head. But either the swift didn’t feel it or was so demented in its rage that it didn’t care. They wouldn’t stop it.
“Go,” Edvin hissed as the bird swung its beak about to peck at Jambilee.
Dylap whipped the bow from his shoulder and hit it on the side of its neck where the thin wood instantly snapped. Feeling desperate, he pushed Jambilee hard, sending her skittering along the platform floor before facing the swift. Hoping to buy her enough time to escape and to distract the bird’s attention from Edvin.
The swift towered over him, sharp beak poised above his head, screeching as it roughly bumped its chest into him.
Dylap staggered back, yet kept to his feet. It was a lot smaller than the black falcon which had attacked him days before, but would still kill him outright when it struck. He was shoved by the huge chest again and was pushed up against a broken bridge strut. Trapped.
Wings flapping into a frenzy, the swift brought its head down, hot breath reeking of worm guts.
Such a fitting end, Dylap thought as he closed his eyes. He smelled of worm guts in life and would now die smelling of the same foul stench. Above the cacophony of screams and screeches he heard Jambilee shout his name and thought that at least one, maybe two if he included Ebbin, would mourn his passing.
Forcing his gaze up, he stared into the face of death. What he hadn’t been expecting was that his spines had risen again and were now touching his attacker. The long useless strands extended either side of him like skeletal wings, the tips penetrating the feathers to touch the skin beneath, pushing the swift back.
He didn’t know why, but Dylap reached up and placed the palm of his hand against the bird’s head and instantly felt a presence sing out to him.
It was a frightened soul that writhed in pain, brimming on the edges of madness. Anguish pushing her into despair. It was the swift, or her thoughts at least.
Calm yourself – nobody will hurt you, Dylap thought and felt the bird soften
as it listened. That’s it, easy now.
Cocking its head to the side as if intent on hearing his words, the swift stepped back and sank into a sitting position, wings tucking neatly behind it.
That’s good, he soothed, stroking his hand down the feathered neck and sensing that the bird was composed and relaxed, if not still in pain. In his mind, he sensed that she felt a burning sensation inside her mouth – sharp, piercing and incredibly painful.
He dropped his hand to her beak and willed her to open it. It’s alright, I can help. Slowly the bird opened its mouth and Dylap glanced inside.
There, jammed between her tongue and the roof of her beak was a blackberry thorn.
Easing his fingers behind the spike, he flattened the tongue and slowly twisted it out.
Instantly, he felt the burning sensation from the bird disappear, replaced with gratification.
He stroked the swift again before stepping away from her, then watched as she took flight and gracefully glided back to the Aviary as if the entire chaotic episode had been forgotten. It was then that Dylap became aware of how eerily quiet things had become.
All about him fairies stared with shocked expressions, all motionless as they watched on, gazing with complete fascination.
Feeling his cheeks flush with the attention, Dylap cleared his throat and handed Jambilee the blackberry thorn.
“This was stuck in her mouth and when you put her bridle on earlier, the bit shoved it deeper,” he explained.
Jambilee appeared dumbstruck as she took the thorn, her expression matching those of the fae around them.
“How did you…” she began, but her words were cut short by the booming voice of the master as he came bounding across the platform. His shirt was unbuttoned as if thrown on in a hurry and his hair was as wild as his beard.
“You,” he bellowed jabbing his finger towards one of the feeders who remained hidden behind a cauldron, “fetch the city guard.” When the young fairy didn’t move, his voice grew in volume. “Go, now! And you,” he said, pointing to another,” bring that beetle cart about. The rest of you come here.”
The fae instantly shook themselves from the delirium they seemed to be under and came to the master’s side as he approached the fallen bridge. The huge fairy knelt and placed his hands beneath the section that pinned Edvin and yelled for the others to do the same. Dylap too, found a place beside Sabesto and as one, they raised the beam high enough for Edvin to be dragged out. Although, Dylap thought that the master could have lifted it by himself.
Once Edvin was free, they dropped the wreck of the bridge and it slammed down onto the platform, sending it swaying on its chains.
Sabesto then picked Edvin up as if he weighed no more than a child and delicately placed him on the back of the beetle cart.
“I’m fine,” Edvin murmured as he attempted to rise into a sitting position.
“I’m sure you are,” Sabesto replied. “But you’ve had the weight of a bridge come down on you.” He turned to Ebbin. “Take him to the healers and don’t allow him to talk you out of it.”
“Yes, Sir,” Ebbin said as he climbed upon the seat and started the beetles moving.
“The rest of you can help the feeders put the stew into the bellies of the birds,” Sabesto continued.
Dylap noticed that Spoffle was covered in worm gore from hiding beneath the trolley which had spilled the slop over him. As he passed them Sabesto grasped his arm and steered him back towards the mess he had left.
“This will need cleaning up. I don’t want a spot of worm gut left on my branch,” he said.
Spoffle’s face twisted once again into shock. “But that’s his job,” he exclaimed, pointing a sticky finger at Dylap. “He’s the worm-gutter.”
“Not anymore,” Sabesto replied, his huge barrel chest rising as Spoffle was about to argue. “That’s an order, Spoffle, I don’t care what house you’re from or how pure your wings are. You’ll do as I say or you can leave.”
Biting his lip and screwing his face up when he tasted the worm ichor, Spoffle’s shoulders dropped in resignation.
“Sir,” he mumbled before shuffling away, yet spared a glare for Dylap. Hatred and anger written deep within his scowl.
“Look lively,” Sabesto bellowed to the Aviary in general. “I want you all to return once the tasks are done. The engineers and city guard will need all the hands they can when they repair the bridge.” Then slamming a meaty hand down on Dylap’s shoulder, roughly spun him in the direction of the Master House. “You will follow me, you as well, Jambilee.”
“Err…yes sir,” Dylap said as he paced after the large master, Jambilee striding beside him.
Sabesto lead them through the door and down the corridor until he reached his antechamber, finally realising that his shirt was hanging from his shoulder,s he hastily buttoned it up. Then shoved open his office door and motioned for them to enter.
“Sit,” he ordered as he paced to the other side of his desk and threw himself into his chair.
Dylap eased into one of the comfy seats while Jambilee took the other. The room was cool, the sun only having risen enough to begin working its way over the balcony to spill through the open door. He noticed that the room was tidier than his last visit. The scrolls and parchment had been tidied away along with the clutter of wine bottles and empty glasses.
“What you did out there,” Sabesto began, leaning over the desk and resting his elbows on the surface; fingertips coming together to form a steeple. “Calming the swift – have you ever done it before?”
“Not that I remember, Sir.”
The master stared at him, dark eyes giving away nothing. “You don’t remember anything?”
“My life before being pulled from the Twine is hidden beyond my reckoning.”
“You’re a bird-soother boy and by the Blessed Mother, an exceptionally talented one. You must have worked with birds before. Your gift is rarer than alabaster fruit. Jambilee, when was the last time we had a bird-soother in the Aviary?”
Jambilee fidgeted with the tips of her wings as she screwed her face up in concentration.
“We haven’t had one in my lifetime,” she said, dropping her hands onto her lap.
“No, nor mine,” Sabesto confirmed. “I had a knack when I was younger. And when I say a knack, I mean that after spending several days with a bird I might have an incline as to what mood they were in and attempt a subtle bond. It was usually broken with the next distraction. Anyway, I lost that ability after the war with the split-wings. Edvin can link with his bird during racing, but that still doesn’t come close to what you can do. That swift was crazed and should have been beyond help.”
“Oh,” Dylap said, unsure what else to say. He was still baffled with what had transpired out on the platform.
“You saved Edvin’s life and probably Jambilee’s too. Not to mention the damage it could have done to the Aviary and the other birds.”
Dylap glanced out of the balcony doors, unable to hold Sabesto’s intense stare for much longer.
“Jambilee, take Dylap with you to the Taming Tree. His gift is wasted in the Aviary. See if he can help you with the lame finch.”
“Yes Master,” Jambilee said, then rising from the chair, nodded to Sabesto before ushering Dylap from the office.
“Dylap,” Sabesto said, pausing them at the door. “Get yourself some new clothes.”
He tossed a large coin through the air and Dylap caught it. He held it before him, a silver deboon. Probably enough to buy him four or five sets.
“Thank you Master.”
“And Jambilee,” Sabesto continued before they departed. “Maybe you ought to give Dylap lessons in flying.”
9
Bird-Soother
Dylap brushed the cold feathers of the finch. The clammy bird was tired and shivered from his touch. His eyes were sunken and the whites gone a sickly yellow. Like the burning sensation he sensed from the crazed swift earlier in the day, he felt the pain in several parts o
f the finch’s body and heat smouldering from its stomach.
“He hasn’t eaten in over a week and hasn’t drunk any water since yesterday,” Jambilee informed him as she paced along the branch.
Unlike the Aviary, the Taming Tree was divided into three platforms with the already tamed perched high up on a network of boughs and limbs, awaiting assignments to the city guard, the night watch or to be bought or hired by the high-class of Farro.
“Poor thing,” Dylap said as he wiped away a tear that rolled down the bird’s face. “I think he has a blockage.”
“Blockage?” Jambilee repeated, her wings fluttering with agitation.
“It’s something he’s eaten that’s sitting in his belly. Its wedged in deep so nothing else can get through.”
Dylap pressed his palm to the finch’s brow and concentrated.
There there, he soothed, attempting to calm the bird. Sleep, drift off to the night place – you’re safe…sleep.
“Is he dead?” Jambilee blurted as the finch’s neck sagged and Dylap controlled the head until it relaxed onto the laboured chest.
“No, he’s asleep. I believe he has a stone or pip wedged in deep. It has to come out soon or he will die.”
Jambilee stared at him, lines creasing below the goggles that sat upon her forehead.
“By the Blessed Mother, did you just put the bird to sleep?” she asked incredulously.
Dylap shrugged. He had a hard time believing it himself. But if he was to save the creature’s life, he needed to act now.
“Fine thread,” he blurted out. “A great length of it, and the smallest spoon you can find.”
By now there was a small gathering on the platform to watch. The rumours that were no doubt spreading throughout Farro had reached enough ears to feed the steadily growing crowd.
“I’ve some thread in the workshop,” said one fairy excitedly and sprang into the air, wings spreading wide.
“And I’ll fetch the spoon from the kitchens,” another offered.
“What are you going to do?” Jambilee asked, keeping her voice low so only he could hear.