by A. C. Salter
“Bush rat leather,” Dylap explained. “It was meant to be uniform for the city guard but the colour was too dark.”
“I like it - I think black suits you.”
They came to the end of the bridge and stepped out onto the adjoining branch of the Taming Tree. Two fae were attempting to put a saddle on a young swift which flexed its wings in annoyance, pecking them when they were not looking.
“Swifts are the hardest to tame,” Edvin explained, nodding towards the struggling fairies. “They’ve got a lot of spirit - that’s why they make great steeds for racing.”
The bird succeeded in knocking a fairy from the platform and screamed in protest at the other, the saddle held limp in his arms as he shook his head.
“He’s not ready yet,” Edvin told the fairy as he passed. “Give him another week in the nursery.”
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, rubbing his shin where he had just been pecked. When his partner returned they reluctantly threw a harness over the swift and guided him from the platform.
“Some birds can’t be tamed,” Edvin continued as they sidled along a bough that led to the platform above. “It’s extremely rare to train anything that hasn’t been reared from a hatchling. And the majority of our birds go generations back. Some of the finches have a lineage that can be traced to the old city – or so the rumours say. I haven’t actually seen any proof that the fairies of the old city had any riders.”
“Are there any written scripts from the old city?” Dylap asked, the mention of the alabaster ruins sparking his interest. He still wanted to visit it.
Edvin scratched his chin. “I doubt it. If there are, they would be in the black rowan with the spell-casters and binders. And they get precious over the tomes and scrolls in their possession.”
When they turned the corner, and stepped onto the upper platform they were greeted by several birds and their owners, each eagerly awaiting Dylap. Jambilee was arguing with a pale-winged fae who was stabbing his finger at his bird’s beak before pointing at the book in her arms.
“You’ve caused quite a stir in the city,” Edvin chuckled as he sauntered towards the trunk. “I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”
Dylap waved farewell before pacing over to Jambilee.
“What’s the problem here?” he asked.
“My finch needs to…”
Dylap held up his hand to silence the irritated fairy. “I was talking to Jambilee.”
Pale wings fluttered with anger before snapping closed.
“Mr Bambry, master of the tavern guild, demands that his bird be seen immediately,” she answered. “It has problems when diving and keeps spitting the bit out.”
Dylap turned to Mr Bambry, meeting his glare and matching it. From his stance, he knew that this was a fairy that was used to getting what he wanted and lacked any patience for others that he deemed beneath him. Which, it seemed, Dylap was part of.
“Have you made an appointment?” he asked, knowing the answer already.
“Appointment? Don’t be absurd you jumped-up little wretch. I don’t make appointments. I’m above that.”
“Then I’m afraid, Mr Bambry, that I cannot see you.”
Nostrils flaring, the master of the tavern guild snapped his cane against his thigh, his wings beginning to open, but then closed again.
“You may have some of the common folk fooled, but not me,” he snorted, beady eyes casting hatred up and down. “We will see what Sabesto has to say about this.”
He yanked his bird’s bridle down and climbed on its back, harshly pulling it about.
“The city guard should have thrown you back into the Twine where you belong.”
Jambilee came to stand beside him as they watched the fairy fly the short distance to the Aviary and land on the branch outside the Master House. He flung the reins to the closest person, Spoffle, as he stormed inside the trunk, slamming the door behind him.
“If he thinks to receive any submission from Sabesto, he’s got another think coming,” Jambilee said. “The master’s mood is normally blackest in the mornings. Especially with those coming with demands.”
Dylap heard shouting from inside the Master House. The whining high-pitch of Mr Bambry’s voice briefly spewed from the large balcony to the master’s office, before it was cut short by the booming rumble of Sabesto’s tone. He couldn’t discern the exact words, nobody could, although the entire Aviary and much of the Taming Tree had come to a standstill. Silence descended over them as everyone paused what they were doing to listen to the argument.
“What will the master do?” Dylap whispered.
Jambilee shrugged. “He has a dislike for the higher-classes, but I doubt he would hit him. Not unless pushed.”
The final intelligible word from Sabesto echoed around the Aviary, made louder by the silence that enveloped the two tall reds. Then Mr Bambry flung open the front door and marched to his bird, yanking the reins from Spoffle. His face had gone the colour of a plum as he leapt upon his bird and wheeled it about to face the balcony doors as they burst open. Master Sabesto, his shirt unbuttoned, took two bounding strides to the balustrade and hurled a broken cane out into the air. It was Mr Bambry’s, now snapped partially in two and held together by a single splinter. The cane struck the branch and skittered over the edge to fall to the forest canopy.
“And if you come back, I’ll break your scrawny neck,” Master Sabesto shouted, the tendons in his arms straining as if he wanted to leap over the rail and throttle Mr Bambry as a parting gift. But the high-born fairy saw the danger and flew away from the Aviary, only glancing back once he was beyond the nests and out of reach.
Finally realising that he had an audience, Sabesto glared at the fairies around that had been watching. “And the rest of you can go back to work.”
Dylap had never seen so many fae rush to go about their business so quickly. It was almost comical.
“What do you think Bambry said to the master to get him so riled up?” Dylap asked as they wandered out onto the platform, ready to begin the day’s work.
“It doesn’t need to be much if he’s been in his cups the night before,” she replied. “He used to be friends with Bambry, but things went sour in the war.”
“After his son died?”
Jambilee nodded. “But then, Sabesto had a lot of friends in those days, including the King. Sadly, his only friend now is the bottle.”
The day passed swiftly. The pair of them working through the feathered patients until the sun had begun its slow fall from the sky.
“Going to see the Tangilup’s hummer again?” Jambilee asked when they began their walk to the trunk.
“Yeah,” Dylap confirmed.
“This will be the seventh evening. The bird should be losing weight by now.”
Dylap grinned. “She’s doing well, only a few more visits and she should be as flighty as a newborn. Why? You don’t look so happy about it.”
Jambilee paused before entering the trunk, offering him a sad smile. “Just be careful. Fairies have been talking.”
“What about?” he asked, but already had an inkling.
“You’ve been seen riding with the split-wing,” she held her hands up defensively. “Not me, I’m not here to judge you. I’m only warning you that some in Farro have been gossiping, you know what they’re like.”
“And?” Dylap retorted, although he hadn’t directed his irritation at her. “What is it that they’re saying?”
Ebbin’s shadow crept between them as he approached, leading Noggin by the reins. “That you’re getting overly familiar with Elaya,” he answered.
Dylap clenched his teeth. “Is it so wrong? Elaya deserves a friend just as much as anyone.”
Ebbin lay a hand on his shoulder. “She does, more so than anybody else. Yet it doesn’t change what she is. You know what the city feels towards split-wings.”
“I’m sorry Dylap,” Jambilee said. “Make tonight your last visit to the tailors. The Blessed
Mother only knows what would happen if Sabesto found out that you were making friends with a split-wing, let alone teaching her how to ride.”
Dylap hadn’t thought of that. He felt a heavy lump fill the pit of his stomach as his mind wandered over the possibility of never seeing Elaya again.
“Fine,” he mumbled as he turned to leave, feeling as far from fine since his waking at the bank of the Twine.
“Dylap?” Jambilee shouted after him, but he chose to ignore her.
“Hey,” Ebbin said as he caught him up. “It’s not her fault. She’s only warning you of what everyone is saying.”
“And you?” Dylap asked, casting his friend a sideways glance.
“I’m the one who’s going to come up with a plan so that we still find time to spend with Elaya. Stuff Farro.”
Dylap felt his mood subtly lighten. “Yeah, stuff Farro,” he said, masking the trepidation that still irked him.
Elaya was already standing beside the hummer when they arrived, smiling awkwardly as she stroked the bird.
“Shall we begin?” Dylap asked, eager to get away from the tailors and the two portly silhouettes that stared out at them from inside the shop.
Within moments they climbed upon the hummer and were airborne, cutting a path through the limbs of the tree to the canopy above. They flew in silence, her delicate hands guiding the bird while he searched for something to say to break the awkwardness that was settling between them. Instead, it was Elaya who spoke first.
“May we fly somewhere new?” she asked. “A part of the city we haven’t flown over before?”
“Yes,” Dylap responded. “Where would you like to fly?”
They had flown across most of Farro in the past week and he couldn’t think of a place they hadn’t been.
“Truthfully, far away,” she sighed. “To the other side of the forest or even beyond.”
The thought sparked a pang of excitement in Dylap. A childish sense of freedom and adventure.
“You know we can’t do that, Elaya. Fairies don’t survive for long, away from the protection of the city.”
“I know that,” she replied, a sad tone to her voice. “It was simply a thought of fancy. It would never happen.”
Dylap fought the urge to put his arms around her. It was clear she was upset.
“What’s the matter? I thought you were happy with the Tangilups.”
Elaya made a humphing sound through her cheeks as she steered the hummer around the trunk of a large oak and set out towards an elm.
“I am, or at least I was. Fairies have been talking and now Mrs Tangilup is looking for a reason to be rid of me.”
“So I’ve been told. It’s a shame the fae of Farro can’t mind their own business. Why, what has she said to you?”
Elaya shook her head. “Nothing, but when you’ve been passed from place to place and shoved from home to home, you get to recognise the signs. I’ll be gone within a day or two.”
“But that’s not fair?”
“I’m a split-wing, remember. I don’t deserve fair.”
Dylap stared into the city below, the sun gems illuminating the homes of the Farrosians. He wanted to help but didn’t know how.
“Maybe I should have a word with the Tangilups. Explain that it is vital that you continue your care with their hummer.”
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, the bird picking up on her anger and chirping in complaint.
“There must be something I can do.”
“You already have. This past week has been the best in my miserable life. Nobody has ever treated me the way you have and I will cherish it forever.”
They glided out over the Shroom Tree and followed the stream to the clearing, the bird’s shadow flowing with the bubbling water as it meandered over the rocks, flowing in and out.
“But…” Dylap began, then noticed another larger shadow join their bird’s. The dark shape silently closing in and swallowing the hummer’s.
The black monster’s cry pierced the night. The shrill caw clutching at Dylap’s heart as Elaya let out a cry of her own.
Glancing up he watched in horror as the huge falcon dived towards them, talons spread wide, hooked beak open. It would tear them apart in an instant.
Instinctively he placed his hands on the hummer’s flanks as he leaned forward, putting him into a dive as he attempted to cover Elaya’s body with his own.
Grasping at the bird’s mind, he was overwhelmed by the animalistic panic, barley holding onto the contact as he guided him low to fly above the surface of the stream. Droplets struck the hummer’s beak as it frantically beat its wings, Dylap using the bird’s fright to add speed.
The monster screamed again, this time closer – it was directly above. The tips of razor-sharp talons caught against Dylap’s hood as it flapped in the wind.
Without knowing he had done it until after it happened, Dylap raised the spines on his back and touched the falcons exposed belly.
A jolt of energy passed through him and the large bird of prey screeched in pain. It opened its wings wide to gain altitude, seething with anger.
Using the sudden gap between them to his advantage, Dylap steered the hummer into the thick foliage, darting through bracken and weaving between the tree roots.
“Where is it?” Elaya yelled, her hair coming loose from the band that bound it and filling Dylap’s face with fine brown strands. He spat it from his mouth before replying.
“Still above us,” he answered, making a zig-zag out of their flight path. He didn’t add that it was gaining on them and that it would strike at any moment. They desperately needed shelter.
Urging more speed from the hummer, they flew over the rock where he used to collect worms from the brownie and zipped across the clearing towards the old city.
“What are you doing? It’ll catch us out in the open,” Elaya shouted.
“No, it won’t,” Dylap reassured her as he dug his heels into the bird’s side. It stretched its neck and pointed its beak as the wind flowed over the body. “But you might want to close your eyes.”
“Why?”
Dylap didn’t have time to explain as his full concentration was given over to the hummer. He steered it suddenly right, before sweeping low and coming up at a sharp angle, aiming directly for the obelisk that suddenly loomed out of the gathering mist.
“Dylap, we’re going to crash!”
Elaya’s final word stretched into a shriek that matched the chasing falcon’s as Dylap spun the bird onto its side and forced him to fold its wings.
The scream had yet to finish as they emerged on the other side of the hole carved into the ancient stone. The loud thunderous smack of the larger bird colliding with the obelisk cutting it off.
Glancing over his shoulder, Dylap saw that the falcon had gotten its head wedged into the hole they had darted through. Wildly thrashing its body from side to side as it freed itself.
It had bought them time, but the bigger, faster bird would be upon them again in moments.
Searching for shelter, his eyes fell on the fallen alabaster. Its greying roots sticking out of the earth like old bones. They covered the distance in a heartbeat and flew between the ancient wood, stumbling deeper into the decaying foliage.
Disembarking from the hummer, Dylap grasped the reins and pulled them further into the dense root system. Clothes and feathers snagging on thick twigs and sharp brambles until he was satisfied they were too far in for the falcon to follow.
The black monster struck the first of the thick roots with its talons. Ripping and tearing at the royal wood, yet barely scratched the surface. It screamed in protest, black eyes narrowing on them as it snapped its beak shut.
“It can’t reach us, can it?” Elaya asked as she grasped Dylap’s shoulder, clutching with fright.
“No,” came Dewella’s voice from behind them, making them both jump.
A fat spider emerged from a hole in the wood, its feet tapping a rhythm as it reared on its back legs to show
its fangs before settling down onto all eight.
A row of black orbs stared at them, casting Dylap’s own reflection back many times over.
“The falcon will not reach the old city, but best you come deeper and out of sight. Its hunger will keep it there until it is satisfied that you are gone.”
Elaya clutched tighter as she hid her face in Dylap’s chest. Apparently, she feared spiders as much as the black monster.
“Why wait? There is a forest of prey for it out there. And easier to catch.”
The spider’s mandibles clicked as it spoke in Dewella’s voice. “But not as tasty as the prey it seeks. Follow me, Dylap.”
The hairy body swung around as it crawled over a clump of soil and through a broken root.
“How does it know your name?” Elaya whispered, her wide stare locked on the arachnid.
“Dewella controls the spiders,” Dylap explained as they cautiously followed the fat arthropod, leading the hummer which was as reluctant to go as they were. “For some unknown reason, she thinks I’m special.”
Elaya entwined her fingers within his, gripping tightly as more spiders began to arrive, blocking their exit back and creating a funnel for them to proceed along.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered.
Dylap swallowed his fear as he put his arm protectively over her shoulder. “Me neither, but if she meant to hurt us, she would have done so already.”
They climbed over a fallen branch and dropped onto mulched soil littered with decaying leaves. Ahead, where the thicker roots flowed into the base of the trunk was a large hole, gaping wide like the mouth of a giant carnivore. Earth-coated tendrils fell from the roof of the mouth, waving in a draft that came from the belly of the tree, carrying the smell of rot.
“We’re not going in there,” Dylap informed the spider as it scurried inside. Its body knocked dust from the tendrils as it spun around to face them.
“Your lives are safe,” Dewella said, “the passage only takes a small turn before re-emerging on the other side. Unless of course, you want to return by the way you came. Although my children tell me that the falcon still remains.”