by Tony Roberts
“Think they were here when this place was built?” Faer asked.
“Dunno – I’ve never seen birds that big before. Nor with those sort of faces. Don’t really look like proper birds, do they? Sort of bird people.”
“Aye – I wondered why they looked odd to me. The men over there, those other statues, they look really fierce. Warriors, aren’t they?”
Markus nodded. “I think so – I suppose that’s what warriors look like.”
Faer stood up and looked towards the door at the back of the chamber. Her vision was spoiled by the fire and she had an urge to see what lay beyond the chamber. She picked her sword up and weighed it inexpertly in her hand.
“Where you going?” Markus asked, alarmed.
“Just to see what lies beyond that door. I won’t be long.”
Markus looked uncertain. “Hey, you don’t know what is beyond it – it could be dangerous. Wait till morning!”
Faer shrugged. “Morning won’t make any difference; it’ll still be dark in here. I’m just going to pop my head round and see what’s there. Won’t be long.”
She walked along the space in between the two rows of statues, looking up at the stern countenances of both birds and men, feeling overawed by them. Behind her Markus stood up, a blazing branch in his hand, concerned that she may be going into danger. Loose stones on the floor crunched under her boots and she approached the silent door at the back of the chamber. Again, it was a double set, the dimensions just as big. These were shut.
Against the wall next to the doors to the right was a pile of something. Webs? Dust? Fallen masonry? She couldn’t tell, save that it was grey, denoting a normal room temperature. It wasn’t alive. She poked it with her sword tip and pieces fell off. Ribs. A skull grinned up at her. She hissed and stepped back in a reflex motion. There was a rusted helmet lying there with cobwebs all over it, and a broken spear tip resting by the wall.
That had once been someone, someone who had lived here, and who had died here. How long ago? So long that all that remained were a few bones, dust and rusted remnants of a set of armour and a spear. The wooden shaft was gone.
She put her hand on the door knob and pushed. The door held for a moment, then with a click it opened inwards slowly, creaking on hinges that had long seen any care or oil. The dry air had preserved it for longer than the outer doors had fared with the damp air of the outside world.
“Faer, go careful,” Markus’ voice came to her as she hesitantly put her head through the opening.
She screamed.
FOUR
Markus came running, the torch he held flickering in the air. Ahead, in the doorway, Faer was backing away, into the chamber, her sword held out in front of her. “What is it?” Markus demanded reaching her, an arm sliding round her shoulders protectively.
“A-A thing – it flew at me!”
Markus grabbed the door handle and tugged, closing the door. “What did it look like?”
She shook in fear. “I-I only got a glimpse… big, winged, horrible face!”
“Alive?”
“Oh yes – it was red and glowing! Very alive. It-it looked like those winged bird people here,” she jerked her head at the statues behind them.
Markus took her firmly and pulled her with him. “Let’s stay away from the door then – we’d be best staying by the front door. Do you think it could open the door?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t seem to have hands. Just wings and a beak and feet. It flew up into the air when I looked in.”
“Maybe they were pets of the people who lived here and they survived when the people went away.”
“They died, the people. I found one of them over there,” Faer pointed to the pile of bones by the door. “He’s been dead long enough for the wood of his spear to rot away.”
“A long time then.” They both stood and listened. Nothing. No scrabbling at the door, no opening of the portal. “I think you scared it off, whatever it was.”
“It scared me!” She shook and meekly allowed Markus to guide her back to the fire.
Markus sat her down and kept his arm round her shoulders. He enjoyed the feel of her against him. “Stay by the fire; animals and birds don’t like fire. I’ll make sure it stays lit. You get some sleep; you’ve had a nasty shock.”
“What about you?”
Markus grinned, popping another thick piece of wood onto the fire. “I’ll make sure all’s well first before sleeping. Come on, here, rest on my legs.” He manoeuvred himself to sit against the closed door of the two outer ones so he could see out, and patted his fleshy thighs.
Faer looked uncertain, but gave in and cautiously put her head down, looking towards the back of the chamber. Her sword was by her side. Markus stroked her hair and smiled down at her. She looked up, smiled awkwardly, then closed her eyes. The feel of someone stroking her hair was comforting; her mother had used to do that, always comforting her in times of stress and upset. It had always settled her down at night and the same was happening again.
Markus traced her ear with his finger. So different in shape from other people. Long elongated tips. The base was similar, just the top half was different. He stroked it half a dozen times, softly, and he then realised she was looking up at him. “Oh – I’m sorry…”
“No, don’t stop,” she said softly. “I always found it settles me when mother used to do that at night, especially after a day when the villagers had been particularly nasty to me.”
Markus hesitantly touched her ear again, then ran his finger down the long outside edge. He felt her settle more firmly on his lap and ran his two fingers back up again more confidently. She almost sighed in pleasure. “I’ve always wanted to touch your ears,” he said by way of conversation, amazed at how easily she had allowed him to. The off-hand Faerowyn of a day or two ago might well never had existed.
“You find them ugly?” she asked sleepily.
“No, not at all. They’re just right for you – with your long black hair, your dark skin, those slanted eyes of yours. They might look odd on someone else, but not on you. It’s just – you. So right.”
“I wonder why the others hated me so. I always thought of myself as ugly; all the other boys used to laugh at my ears and eyes and – well, everything. Only my mother told me I was beautiful and I just thought she was being my mother, as all mothers are.”
Markus shook his head in the half dark. “I think your mother was right. After all, you are a princess.”
She smiled ironically. “With no kingdom. A princess – me! It’s so funny, isn’t it? I don’t know what I’m a princess of, and only that letter of my father’s to tell me so, and now that’s been destroyed. Who would believe me?”
“I do. You look so much like a princess ought to.” He ran his fingers along her slanted eyebrows, the thin, fine hair vanishing two thirds along the eyebrow, pointing up at forty-five degrees. His fingers ran down the thin, narrow bridge of her nose and followed it up as the tip protruded, making the nose upturned. She wrinkled her nose and smiled. He smiled back down at her. “You ought to smile more often, Faer; it makes you look really lovely.”
“Oh, stop it,” she said quietly. “I’m not used to people saying nice things about me.”
“Well I think you’re lovely.”
“Yes and I don’t know why – I don’t know why you of all those villagers ended up being so different towards me. You took a lot of hatred from those stupid people for it. Why, Markus? I’ve never asked you before, but I must know why.”
He took a deep breath, but stopped himself from saying the first thing that had come into his head. “I don’t know – I suppose I thought it was terrible the way everyone was behaving towards you. I mean, you’d never done anything bad to anyone, you never said anything nasty, yet there you were always being set upon. I couldn’t see any reason for their behaviour, so I sided with you.”
“Thank you, Markus.”
“What for?”
“For not saying you f
elt sorry for me. That I didn’t want to hear.”
“Of course.” Markus had no idea why she hadn’t wanted to hear that; he was going to say something like that, and he silently thanked the gods of the seas for not saying so. He didn’t want to upset the girl lying in his lap. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and didn’t want the moment to end. “That would not have been right.” He still had no idea why she hadn’t wanted his pity, even though that was the original reason he had rallied to her side.
“Mmmm… thank you all the same. You’re a good man, Markus; much better than the others.”
“I should hope so too,” he said, then grinned at her.
She smiled sleepily. Then she yawned. “Oh, sorry. I’m so tired.”
“Go to sleep, Faer, I’ll watch over you.” He watched as her eyes closed and after a few moments her breathing became deeper and more regular. He stroked her deep black hair again, taking in every contour of her face, the smooth dark brown skin, the upturned nose, the soft mouth. A finely chiselled chin and below that a soft, delicate looking neck and throat. The rest – he just had to guess, but her build was slim and slight, some would say athletic. Her legs were fairly long which made her taller than some girls. To be truthful, he’d heard the girls of the village speak bitchily about her because they all recognised her beauty and poured jealous hatred on her, making the boys too frightened to speak of her looks in any other way than scorn.
Nobody had the courage to compliment her for fear of attracting hatred and anger from the others, and it was easy to gang up and bully one person when nearly everyone in the village despised – or appeared to despise – the lonely half-elf.
He thought on that; half-elf? What did proper elves look like then? Where were they? Where did they come from? Did all elves look like Faer? Did all women elves look like Faer? He wondered if he might one day see their city, Keria, wherever it was.
No matter, he had all he wanted with him at the moment.
The morning came with more cries from the birds outside. Markus’ eyes jerked open in alarm and he looked up, dreams of giant winged monsters receding rapidly from his memory. He looked down. Faer was curled up against him, her sleeping form nestled half on his lap and half on the stone floor. Her features, bathed in the morning light filtering through the gap in the doors, made his heart ache. Oh, Faerowyn.
He looked away. His gaze went to the back of the chamber. He couldn’t see. His vision only went so far. The fire had gone out sometime in the night. Cursing, he knew he would have to wake the girl. He needed to relieve himself. “Faer, Faer, wake up, it’s morning.”
He tickled her ear, thinking it would be the gentlest way of waking her. She stirred, groaned, then opened her eyes. “Mmm? Oh – hello, did you sleep alright?”
Markus nodded. “Yes, I’ve got a numb bum, stiff neck and I really need to wee right now.”
Faer nodded and levered herself up. Markus sprang up, got to the gap in the doors but couldn’t get through. Almost sobbing in frustration he turned to her. “Please Faer, look away.”
She stood up and turned her back. He heard him fumbling and then sighing in the longest exhalation of pleasure she had ever heard anyone make. She smiled to herself despite everything and tried to hold back the giggles that rose up from her stomach. Her shoulders shook and her hand clamped over her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought hard to keep quiet.
“Oh by the gods of the seas,” Markus exclaimed in relief, “that’s so much better.” He saw her shaking back and frowned. “What’s up with you?”
“You,” she turned, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “That’s so funny.”
“What is?”
“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. What have we got left to eat and drink?”
Markus decided not to pursue the girl’s thoughts. “Well, a little bit but not much. We’ll need to find food and drink today.”
“Very well. Get a fire going and I’ll catch a couple of those birds.”
“With what? You can’t fly!”
Faer smiled enigmatically. “You can make fires and send me to sleep; I can catch food. Leave it to me. I need to go too, by the way, and I’m not going to do it in the doorway! Go start the fire. I’ll return shortly.”
He nodded, pleased she had smiled twice already that day. It promised to be a good day. He fumbled about in the ashes and remnants of the fire. Some of it was still hot which was good. That meant he wouldn’t have to work too hard on starting a new fire. A little blowing here and there should do the trick.
Faer meanwhile had arranged her sword and sheath in a comfortable position on her back, using a strap from her backpack which she was in two minds whether to discard or not. She squeezed out and looked round. There was a place off to one side she could get some privacy. Stepping over a rather large puddle on the platform she made her way off, glancing at the ground.
A few moments later she emerged into the open, a couple of stones in her hand. She went to the doors again. “Markus, you got any spare strip of cloth, about as big as a hairband?”
“Oh, yes, wait a moment,” he said and she heard him rummaging about for a moment. He passed a length of cloth to her and she nodded in satisfaction.
Thanking him she looped it and put a stone in the loop. One end of the cloth she held in two fingers. The other end she held more tightly. She stepped towards the canyon and spied the black birds circling. “Come on, a little lower,” she said softly, beginning to spin the cloth above her head.
The birds seemed to be unconcerned and kept on flying about. She selected one, a big specimen, and sucked in her breath. Whirring the cloth faster and faster, she held her breath, then released the end of the cloth, sending the stone hurtling up at the bird. The projectile struck the bird, knocking it sideways and sending it crashing into the stone wall of the canyon. It plummeted to the ground, feathers falling into the air, and Faer was over to it in a heartbeat, grasping it by the neck and twisting sharply.
The other birds rose into the air, making a cacophony of noise, enraged. Faer realised these birds were not afraid and were swooping lower at her. Alarmed, she picked up the corpse and ran full pelt for the doorway. One passed right by her head and she waved her free arm to drive it away. The sky was full of screaming birds and she crashed into the doorway, bouncing through, falling to her knees.
“What in the name of the gods have you been up to?” Markus demanded, his eyes wide. “You’ve brought the entire mountain down in uproar!”
“Killed one,” she held up the limp form of the bird. “The rest went mad.”
The door rattled to the impact of furious birds and they looked round in alarm. A dark shape flapped in the opening and Faer pulled her sword free and hacked at it, striking it clean on the left wing. The bird fell to the ground, screaming in pain and outrage. Another blow and it lay still, the other birds screaming in fury. Faer scooped the second dead bird back with her sword and flailed at more trying to get into the chamber. “Shut the door, Markus!” she shouted.
“We’ll be trapped!” Markus said.
“No choice, they’ll get in in a moment!”
Markus pushed the door and it protested, creaking and groaning, but the gap closed. It didn’t shut entirely; the hinges were too far gone to allow that, but now the gap was half of what it was. The birds outside now couldn’t get in. Neither could the two now get out. “Now what?”
Faer grabbed the two dead birds. “I prepare them for eating. We eat, we then explore this place. There’s got to be another way out.”
“What, and face the giant bird in there?” he pointed to the far end of the chamber.
“Or face a flock of smaller ones out there, if we can open these doors again, and go back to the village. This path goes only one way and that’s here. The headsman says the path goes through the hills, so it must carry on, through this place.”
Markus sighed, sitting down by the fire. “Funny he didn’t mention this building. You would have thought he wo
uld have.”
“Nobody’s come this way in ages; it’s probably an old village tale, how to get through the hills. Bet nobody’s come this way in a few centuries.” She began to pluck the birds, tearing the feathers out. While Markus watched fascinated, Faer used her mother’s knife to gut them, chop the heads and feet off, then place them on sticks and let them rest over the fire, turning each once in a while.
“What do they taste like?” Markus asked suspiciously.
“Birds,” Faer said unhelpfully. She shrugged. “Not like fish.”
“That’s a big help,” he said morosely.
“Sorry. Are you worried about being trapped here?”
“Mmm,” he replied. “Don’t fancy dying of starvation in this place.”
Faer agreed. She tested the bird, and picked off a piece of flesh, tasting it. “Mmm, perfect. Try a piece. Use a knife.” She passed him her knife. Markus got a small knife of his own out, passing Faer’s back to her.
“Fish gutter, something I got a few years back.” He tried a piece, and chewed slowly. He made a pleasantly surprised sound. “Not bad. Wouldn’t choose to live on it, but not bad all the same. You’re a genius.”
Faer snorted. “No more than you. We did our own bits to make this meal. Since I wasn’t allowed to come fishing I had to learn to hunt other food. Oh, sure, I found washed up marine life on the beach from time to time, and cooked that, but mostly I hunted birds or small mammals. Got quite good at it.”
“So I see. Didn’t know you could use the sling like that.”
“Easy to hide, nobody could accuse me of having a weapon then. All you got to do it use a piece of cloth and any old stone lying about. You use a fish spear?”
Markus nodded.
“There you go then. I can’t; never been taught. We have different skills. As a pair we combine them and it’s twice as good.”