Dylap

by A. C. Salter

  “Then there is no hope,” Dylap said, letting the silver key fall as dust back into the pouch. “You do know she is innocent?”

  “I do, but the rest of Farro don’t. And even if they found the real killer in the future, it would be too late for Elaya.”

  “Not that they would feel any remorse for a split-wing. Will she be executed?”

  “More than likely,” Ebbin replied, his gaze falling on the door as footsteps approached, followed by a light knocking upon the carved wood. It swung open and the baker came inside.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, fumbling with the hem of his apron. “But I’ve heard the news about Elaya, has she said anything yet?”

  He closed the door behind him and removed his hat. “It’s just that we’re desperate to know what happened to Genili. Is there any hint as to where she might be?”

  “I’m sorry,” Dylap said, holding back the anger towards the large fairy. It was clear that he believed Elaya had kidnapped her along with the others. “It wasn’t her, she is innocent.”

  “But the guards have arrested her. They found Genili’s hair comb amongst the things in Elaya’s hut. Why would that be there if she had nothing to do with it? She must know something.”

  Tears began to form in the well of the baker’s eyes and run down his chubby face. They formed in the dimple of his chin before falling to the floor.

  “I can’t help you,” Dylap said, going to him and patting him on the shoulder as he led him to the door. He wanted to bestow words of comfort but couldn’t find any. Instead he watched the fae waddle along the corridor, his chest heaving with sobs.

  “Everyone else feels the same,” Ebbin offered. “I think some believed it was her even before the things were found.”

  “I’m going to the gem fields to look at the hut for myself,” Dylap said, feeling that he ought to be doing something. “Maybe the gem collectors or polishers have missed something. Any one of them would have access to Elaya’s old hut. It wasn’t as if she locked it.”

  For the first time while riding Noggin, Dylap’s mind was so preoccupied with Elaya that he found no joy in the journey to the gem fields. Ebbin remained quiet, leaving him with his thoughts until they arrived at the tall elm.

  “Suppose it is one of them,” Ebbin said as they climbed from Noggin and crossed to the branch leading to the row of huts. “They’ll no doubt get desperate if we start asking questions.”

  “No doubt,” Dylap replied, not caring what happened, as long as Elaya was proved innocent.

  He glanced around, searching for a fairy to talk to when his eyes fell on an approaching gem collector. The fae seemed agitated, stuffing dulled gems into a sack.

  “What do you want?” He demanded as he noticed Dylap and Ebbin staring at him.

  “We just want to ask you a few questions,” Dylap answered. “About the things that were found in Elaya’s hut.”

  “The split-wing, you mean? I’ve answered enough questions about her to the guard. Should never have taken her on in the first place. That one was always going to be trouble.”

  He placed the sack into a nearby cart and sat on an acorn rocker that was perched outside the hut.

  “She is innocent,” Dylap said, yet was getting used to the weary looks he was receiving from the fairies he was saying it to. “Please, we just want to know the facts. The real attacker is out there and may strike again.”

  The collector glared around him, as if the attacker would pounce on him at any moment. Then as his demeanour softened he shook his head.

  “I found the pieces myself,” he said, nudging his thumb towards the hut. “I was cleaning it out, ready for the next apprentice when I found a sack full of stuff. A coat button, a pair of spectacles, a handkerchief, a spoon and a comb. I found it odd, all these strange items. I was going to send them on to the Aviary, but I thought, why would she have these? Instead, I flew to the night watch and it was the captain that found the truth of the matter.”

  “It’s not the truth of the matter,” Ebbin said, folding his arms.

  “If she had nothing to do with the disappearances, then why are those items in her hut? Nobody came and went in there since she left. It’s a shame, because she was a hard worker. She could thread a net and polish the gems better than most who had been here for years. But I tell you, it wasn’t anybody else. If it’s answers you want – then I suggest you ask the split-wing herself.”

  Dylap saw no reason to stay. It was clear that the collector’s mind had been made up. In fact, he was sure that the rest of Farro would all agree that it was Elaya who was guilty.

  “You can’t be serious,” Ebbin said as they climbed onto Noggin’s back. “The guard won’t allow you near Elaya.”

  “I’m not going to see her. I’m going to find whoever was last to see Genili alive.”

  “And who is that?”

  “The black monster,” Dylap answered as he kicked Noggin into a dash along the branch. They flew through the air and landed on the neighbouring oak. “Remember when I connected to it, before it dropped me into the storm? I had an image of her. The falcon saw what happened, I’m sure of it.”

  “How are you going to make a connection without it tearing you to pieces?”

  Dylap gripped tightly to the reins as they scurried up the bark of an ash and along the thick limb which extended out to a joining-bridge. He was harbouring similar thoughts.

  Dylap had never flown as high as he did now. The vast tree-scape below him extending to the horizon in all directions, the white leaves of the Alabaster Tree shining bright against the many shades of greens and reds. It was a long way down, they were so high the sounds of the forest couldn’t reach them. Only the sun and the scattering of clouds accompanied Edvin and himself.

  “This is madness,” Edvin exclaimed as he edged his swift higher. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like Ebbin,” Dylap said, talking to Edvin’s back as he scanned the canopy below for any sign of the falcon.

  Ebbin had tried to persuade him from this task, but if he wanted to save Elaya from execution, he must make the connection and seek the culprit.

  “Don’t worry. If it doesn’t work, you can blame me. I know you’re against this.”

  “If it doesn’t work you’ll be twice dead and in an ugly way,” Edvin said, blowing warmth into his fingers. They were so high that the air felt thinner and had an icy chill. Even the swift cried in complaint. “If the monster doesn’t rip you apart and devour you, you’ll be splattered against the ground, or impaled on a stick or twig. At best, you would end up in the Twine, but from this height the impact would kill you.”

  “Thank you for the encouragement,” Dylap replied.

  The altitude was necessary. The falcon was easily the largest bird of prey in the area. It glided on thermals high above the forest canopy, seeking smaller birds or fairies below. Yet, Dylap sensed that it didn’t pay attention to what was above.

  “There,” he said, pointing down. A large black bird was hovering over the river, its wingspan forming the curved W shape of the falcon.

  Edvin glanced over his shoulder as he adjusted his goggles. “Are you sure?”

  Dylap nodded, touching the pouch of silver dust that he had tied to his belt for reassurance - not that he felt any.

  “Then hold on tight, and good luck.”

  Leaning forwards, Edvin put his swift into a vertical dive, his body lying flat with the bird’s sleek body. Dylap lay as low to Edvin’s back as he could, feeling the wind tear at his clothes and hair. He felt gravity pull as the swift tucked its wings in tight, air gushing over them and making his cheeks ripple with the force.

  It seemed to Dylap that they were plummeting faster than a shooting star, it would have been thrilling on another day, but with the target closing in, he pushed any enjoyment away to swallow his fear.

  They began to sweep level, the hurtling speed they had picked up on the decent making the manoeuvre
hard, but Edvin seemed to know what he was doing as they swooped over the falcon.

  “Now,” Edvin screamed as he guided the swift into a climb once again.

  Dylap let go and let the momentum of the fall carry him down to the huge black bird below. He spread his spines as he fell, attempting to control his fall.

  He struck the falcon’s back, landing with his legs either side of the shoulders at the base of the neck.

  Instantly the bird tipped its head up to scream, large black eyes boring into his, full of malice. It tried to rake its talon to dislodge him, but couldn’t reach.

  Dylap held tight to the feathers, hooking his feet below the neck as he opened the pouch and summoned the silver dust.

  It flowed around the bird’s head and coiled around the hooked beak, pulling it closed. The falcon thrashed its head in an attempt at shaking the dust off.

  “Calm down,” Dylap shouted attempting to soothe the bird, but the falcon had no intention of calming.

  Buffeting the air with its wings it wrenched itself to the right and then the left before folding into a dive. Its attempts at dislodging Dylap increasingly becoming more violent as it tore at the sky with its talons.

  They reached the forest canopy and punched through, the bird’s wings clipping branches and twigs as it sought a path through the foliage. Dylap held tight as he fought to keep control over the silver dust, one false move and he would be dead.

  Light found them again as they rushed over the clearing and banked about, flying over the Twine with the falcon still shaking his head as its talons thrashed at the water before bearing them into the air.

  Feeling the bird’s strength was ebbing, Dylap guided more of the dust to flow around the bird’s head to form a blindfold over its eyes.

  Screaming in frustration, it tore at the dust but it easily reformed, blocking the birds vision.

  “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you,” Dylap shouted above the noise of the thrashing wings. Once his legs were firmly locked in place, he summoned the dust to stretch from the beak to his hands, forming reins. He yanked on them, pulling in the opposite side to where the head pulled.

  “I’m not giving up,” Dylap screamed, yanking the head the other way. “I will control you.”

  He leaned back, pulling the reins with him and the falcon rose, clipping the leaves of the canopy as they soured into the big blue. The beating heart of the falcon reached him through its ribcage to his feet. It thumped wildly, but Dylap sensed it easing as little by little he released the pressure on the silver reins.

  “Good,” Dylap said, speaking softer as he placed a hand against the feathers on the neck, pushing his fingers through until he felt the warm skin.

  He felt for the connection with the bird’s mind and was surprised by the ease in which they bonded.

  Easy now, I mean you no harm, Dylap projected, striving to find peace with the huge beast. He felt it sense him, the falcon’s thoughts moulding into a shape to flow into his inner vision. It felt familiar, like a path often travelled, as if he had made this link hundreds of times before. But that can’t be right.

  The falcon gathered his thoughts and filled it with laughter. Joy on a copious scale.

  Welcome back, brother, the falcon said and made a vertical climb to sour high above the forest, projecting a delight that transferred to Dylap.

  Brother? Dylap repeated. The link was like no other he had made before. Other birds who he had made a connection with were less intelligent, only showing what was asked in a dream-like state, but the falcon spoke like his mind didn’t belong to a bird at all.

  I thought you were lost, Falon. I’ve searched for years to find you, to bring you back. You’ve been gone for so long.

  Falon, the name sparked a pang of recognition. It was his name, his real name.

  You know me?

  The falcon extended its wings, catching the warm air as it rose and began to circle the city below.

  Not sensing any danger from the beast, Dylap withdrew the dust from its eyes, feeding the silver back into the pouch.

  Know you, brother? We are almost the same, bonded by blood – created by the same god. You remove the blind from my eyes yet I can see through yours, and you can see through mine. But I sense you have forgotten much.

  You tried to kill me, Dylap projected, throwing the image of when he was dropped into the storm.

  No, not kill. You needed to be storm-kissed, to feel the raging energy that must pulse through your being. You are a storm, Falon.

  Storm-kissed? Pulsing energy, the words sounded right, but his mind still held back the memories that he wanted.

  Where am I from? He asked, suddenly becoming eager to seek the knowledge of his identity. His real name was a start, but he wanted to know so much more.

  We were from here, but much has changed. It has been a long time. It has been a millennium since you have flown upon my back.

  It wasn’t making sense, yet he did recall the image of the obelisk, a newer straighter version of the one in the clearing. Could it be that it was the same one, only witnessed from over a thousand years before?

  But that is not possible.

  There is much to explain, Falon. Much to discuss and I can only fill in some of the pieces, you must tell me the rest. Do you not remember my name, brother?

  Crayl. It came to him, riding the crest of other memories which he reached out for, yet as they receded back into oblivion he held firm to the name.

  Crayl, he repeated, wishing that he knew more. But there would be time for that. First, he was desperate to seek the knowledge about the disappearances. He portrayed this to Crayl.

  He thought about Genili and tried to bring up the image from his dreams as she was snatched.

  Yes, an evil, Crayl agreed.

  Instantly images began to pour into his mind. Of the forest from high above, then of gliding below the canopy to land on the branch of an oak and watch a young fairy wander across a bridge. Dylap held tight to Crayl’s feathers as he picked through the dream-like experience.

  The young fairy was Genili. He watched through the eyes of the falcon as he observed her floating down the berry trail to the lower levels of Farro. She was humming a tune as she sauntered along the roots of an ash, her delicate wings catching the grey light that was slowly vanishing with the rising sun.

  She flew to another roots system and began to pick the petals from a daisy, then paused. Her attention was brought to another fairy that approached from the shadows of a willow. Hidden from view, it enticed the young fae towards it. Genili was smiling as she drew closer, innocence flushing her cheeks as she paused beside a beetle trap, the fairy in shadow briefly showing what was inside and inviting her to look closer.

  “No,” Dylap shouted, his voice merging with the scream of the falcon who had also tried to warn her on the day of the actual event.

  Genili’s face was filled with horror as she turned to stare at them. Dylap recognised this image as being the one that had plagued his nightmares. He was reliving them as he watched the fairy in shadow step closer and place a cloth over her mouth. A moment later and the struggling Genili fainted and her body was hauled into the back of the beetle trap.

  Desperate to see who the attacker was, Crayl had hopped to a closer branch and caught only a glimpse of a pair of wings as they disappeared beneath the veil of the willow. When Dylap saw the wings, his heart froze.

  They belonged to a split-wing. They belonged to Elaya.

  This troubles you, Falon. But let me show you more. Let me reveal what I witnessed next.

  20

  Goblin Heads

  Dilbus’s arms ached with fatigue, the pain juddering through his muscles with each slice. The gristle proved tougher than he had first thought.

  “Hold it steady,” he ordered Limble, whose nervous glances darted about the darkness. “If it keeps rocking it will attract attention.”

  They returned to the body of the dead goblin that remained where they had found it do
wnstream. The cunning plan that Dilbus had dreamt up to rescue Genili, now seemed like a crazy idea that was sure to fail. But he couldn’t think of another and since they had begun it, they may as well see it through.

  Using the sleeve of his jerkin, he wiped sweat from his brow before continuing the painstaking business of sawing through the goblin’s neck, the cords of muscle that remained were dry and flaked with each cut.

  “But there’s bound to be clump weasels and bodkins,” Limble complained as he struggled to keep the head still. “Not to mention the snickle cats and honey badgers – they’d be on us in a flick of a whisker.”

  Dilbus put all of his weight against his sword as the blade met the bony structure of the spine. He worked it back and forth until it was over the cartilage and began to hack through the tough material; brown fluid oozing from a gap in the middle, releasing a putrid stench.

  “No, they’ll be hiding from the snob wafflers. They love a rotting corpse better than most,” Dilbus said between thrusts.

  “Snob wafflers? Here?” Limble whispered in a high-pitched voice.

  Dilbus grinned. “Now hold it steady, we’re almost through.”

  With a final effort, his sword bit through the cartilage and met the solid wood of the roots below.

  Free from the anchorage of the rest of the body, the head teetered and then rolled towards Limble and the jawless mouth swung around to engulf the fairy.

  “Climb out of there,” Dilbus hissed, fighting down the desire to laugh as Limble wrestled the rotting, slug-like remains of the tongue which enveloped him

  Wiping his blade clean on the collar of the headless corpse, Dilbus slid his sword away and began to unroll the sling they had made from grass. It was about a span long and as wide as he was tall. He lay it flat on the ground beneath the head, lining the middle up with the crooked nose. Then placing his hands against the cold cheekbone of the goblin head, began to roll it onto the grass sling. It rocked back and forth before settling, the empty sockets staring up into the night.