Bird of Chaos: Book One of the Harpy's Curse

by Susie Mander

  I overlooked her insult and said, “Yes please.”

  The younger attendant removed the pipe from Maud’s arm, making her wince. The healer wiped the wound on Maud’s arm with her apron. “That will do for today. Put pressure on it until it stops bleeding,” she said, wrapping Maud’s arm in a strip of undyed fabric. She covered the lesion with a scrunched-up bit of rag, leaving the sheep to dangle on the butcher’s hook. Then she attempted to unhook the carcass. I stood and helped her.

  “I will boil some water to clean my tools,” the old healer said, excusing herself. The younger woman took the sheep by its hind legs and dragged it across the floor, leaving a smear of blood behind her. As I shut the door she called for a consort to help her carry the sheep to the kitchen. I resumed my position on the high priestess’s bed and leant towards her, straining to catch every word she spoke in her rich, contralto voice.

  “In the beginning the gate between our world and the next was open upon Mount Atha and was guarded by the Ooruk, the disciples of Gnosis, god of knowledge. It was they who determined who should pass between the worlds. They were mighty warrior angels with pure hearts.

  “All number of creatures, both good and bad, walked freely on the earth and all creatures could ascend the steps to the top of the temple and take the passage to the Elysian Fields to live with their makers: the goddess Heritia and her daroon Ballus. Do you follow?”

  I nodded obediently.

  “However, the people of Longfield—”

  “The Caspians?” I interrupt.

  “All the city-states of our world: the Caspians, the Gregarians, the Whytes, your ancestors the angels of Ooruk, the Isbians, the Forks, those of the Salt Kingdom and even those barbarians on the Bone Coast, all of them—Tibuta had not come into being yet—they abused their freedom and walked too often between the worlds, giving little care to their earthly responsibilities. Too busy were they indulging in the fruits of the Elysian Fields to tend their crops or take care of their herds. Their maize went unharvested, their cows dried off and the canals became clogged with silt. Their children starved and their wives grieved.

  “The men of Longfield caused an imbalance between our world and the Elysian Fields which angered Rai, the king of the gods. So, as the Ooruk had foretold, the Elysian Gate was shut. And when the Elysian Gate was shut some beings were trapped on our side, doomed to roam the earth, where they were often shunned, far from their celestial brothers. Not all of those creatures were good. Some were creatures with dark hearts and dark atrama, like rotten flesh.

  “Shea was an Ooruk angel and like the others she was stranded outside the Elysian Fields. Though most of them remained on Mount Atha to await the gate’s opening and to guard that holy place, some ventured into Longfield to destroy those who had become evil. Others, especially the young, ventured out from Mount Atha in search of a way to open the gate. One of these was Shea, the daughter of the Ooruk king, but little did she know that the gods had marked her as a sacrifice. From her loins would be born a child of equilibrium, the product of the collision between chaos and order, a daughter who would mother a nation and delivery us from evil.”

  “You mean she would give birth to the First Mother?”

  “Yes, child, a woman of both good and evil who would lead her people from the main land, from Caspius across the Vestige Sea to Tibuta. And so we start at the beginning with Shea and the demon.” Maud leant back and closed her eyes. “Shea was silhouetted in the mouth of the cave. She looked like a giant though few had seen such creatures since before the First Age. She was taller than most men, with broad, bronze shoulders and muscular arms, a typical Ooruk of Mount Atha: a warrior. She carried a satchel over her shoulder like a slaughtered deer. Her thighs, barely hidden beneath a leather jerkin and white linen tunic, were like pillars bulging from the weight they supported.

  “She frowned as she stepped from the dying light of the Salt Plains into the cool relief of the grotto’s shadowy depths. Beyond the cave the earth was sandy and dotted with saltbush. Field mice could be heard darting through the dunes to catch crickets and small lizards.

  ‘Here will do,’ Shea said to her slave, Tutuk. He was a tribesman from the Salt Plains, a Tigrineek who wore nothing but a red loincloth. He was barefoot and nimble, his dark eyes able to pick up the slightest movement in the underbrush.

  ‘There be darkness here,’ Tutuk said, reluctant to drop his pack inside the cave. ‘Better to set up camp outside under the watchful eyes of my ancestors.’

  “Despite his protests, they set up camp in the mouth of the cave and Shea sent him hunting.

  “Shea entered the cave, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the light. Some said the kings of the Salt Plains hid their plunder in the caves along the border between the mountain ranges and the desert. She hoped to find a cache of gold.

  “At the back of the cave was a low tunnel, and Shea paused and listened. From within the hole she heard the earth sighing. She returned to the camp for a lantern and, though their supply of whale oil was running low, she lit it using flint and steel and returned to the tunnel. Lying on her stomach, she pushed the lamp ahead of her. Another vast cave opened up after a short crawl, and she eased herself out into it, standing gracefully on the sandy ground.

  “Shea took careful steps, feeling the surface with her bare, hardened feet. The sandy ground was warm, like a beach bathed in sunlight. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark and she saw a vast cave, like the inside of a whale’s skeleton, with stalactites oozing from the ceiling. High above, bats filled the cave’s crevices, forming dark ink stains against the stone. In a deep pool she could see a writhing mass of serpents’ white lava.

  “At the back of the cave was a tunnel and she ventured down it, the sand beneath her feet growing warmer as she went. She trailed her hand along the walls, which seemed to sweat. A glowing light appeared up ahead and she was drawn to it like a moth.

  “At the end of the tunnel was a small cave. A hairline crack ran along the cave’s bottom and from the crack came a golden light.

  “Shea bent down and traced the fissure with her finger. And lo, it was warm and moist and she tried to force her finger into it, to pry it open, hoping to uncover a seam of gold. Her face was aglow, her brow creased in concentration and dripping from the heat, which grew in intensity.

  “There was a rumble beneath her feet, like the earth belching. The walls of the cave shook and the opening grew. Shea took a step back. ‘Tutuk!’ she called but there was no response. The earth split open, inch by inch. Golden liquid seeped out of the hole, a few dribbles at first and then, quickly, more. She backed away as the mass grew. Bold heat hit her face and she turned away. ‘Tutuk!’ she called but to no avail. She climbed a rock to escape the bubbling magma flooding into the cave and surrounding her island. She was trapped.

  “Something like a giant eel, dark and slippery, moved beneath the surface of the burning pool. It emerged slowly, the tip rising from the surface like a wisp of smoke, moving left and right in an intricate dance. It took the form of a man twice the size of Shea. ‘What angel, what image of a perfect woman has woken me from my slumber?’ said the man.

  ‘What black magic, what devilry conjured you, strange man?’ Shea retorted. ‘Will you come out from your magma prison so I might see you better?” The man obeyed. With averted eyes and his hands in front of him to cover his nakedness, he stepped out of the burning gold. ‘What being are you?’ Shea said, approaching. A radiance emanated from the gentle giant and when she reached up to run her hand along his jaw she felt that his skin was hot. Heat surged through her limbs and into the pit of her stomach. Her touch made the man stir and he was ashamed and looked away. ‘I am the Fire,’ he whispered close to her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘You are in danger here.’

  “Shea was overcome by a desire so strong it was otherworldly. ‘I can look after myself,’ she retorted, and he said, ‘I can see you are very strong. Perhaps you are the one I have been waiting for.’ She stood on
tiptoe to throw her arms around the man’s neck and cover his burning lips with her own and, with a smoky gasp, he bent to kiss her back.

  “When she told him to, the beast lay on the stony ground and let her lower herself onto him. She moved against him, enjoying the rhythm of their lovemaking. But as they got closer to ecstatic relief, a strange thing happened. The creature bellowed in despair, and his skin ignited and he transformed into the Fire, his black eyes two smouldering holes, his mouth a vast pit of ash and smoke.

  “Shea felt him move inside her again and again and the flame seemed to lick at her very womb. She screamed out in pleasure and pain and pummelled the creature with her fists. The fire bit into her skin and seemed to burn the very flesh from her bones. With a great roar the beast sent its burning water inside her. Finished, it flung her body off and she landed on the hard earth.”—The high priestess interrupted her story to look at me—“Highness, are you unwell? Your face is pale.”

  I told her I was well enough, though in truth the story upset me, and I begged her to continue.

  “The beast stretched high, roaring, ‘I told you I am the Fire, cast out of the Elysian Fields and sent to the underworld. Why wouldn’t you listen?’ Liquid fire flowed from its head. Shea sobbed, all pleasure forgotten in the burning agony inside her. ‘The gods curse you,’ she said. It seemed to her as if a voice whispered to her from beyond this realm. The voice was joined by another and another. She knew that sound; it was a chorus of knowledge speaking to her in soothing tones from beyond this world. Her ancestors’ shapeless words filled her head with an incantation so powerful its blast opened her senses and sent her spirit souring into the sky. In that moment she knew she was an instrument of the gods and they would use her to save humankind.

  “She faltered at first as she tried to speak the incantation, her voice coming in sharp spurts, but as she gained momentum the words took on a power of their own and filled the room. Her spell grew from a whisper to the clashing of cymbals, until it consumed the very heat rising from the earth and smothered the air.

  “The beast recoiled as if Shea’s words caused it pain. Putting its hands over its ears, it bellowed ‘No!’ and dropped below the surface, slowly shrinking until it was nothing more than a ribbon of black oil. The magma receded, vanishing into the earth, and the crack snapped shut with a puff of smoke. There was no evidence of the beast’s existence at all.

  “Shea was left alone on the cold stone, smouldering.

  “When at last he found her, Tutuk ran to Shea’s naked, blistering body. Her skin was hot to touch and her loin was smoking and ashy in parts. He invoked the gods and with hands shaking ran to the camp to fetch a bladder of water, which he upended on her.

  “Back and forth the slave ran, between his mistress and the underwater stream, filling the bladder with water, and returning to pour it on her still body. When at last the smoke cleared and her skin, though hot, was cool enough for him to hoist her onto his back and stagger from the cave to their camp, the dawn chorus was sounding. He fell to his knees in exhaustion.

  “In the following days he gathered honey to soothe the skin as well as garlic, oil of oregano and olive leaf to prevent infection. He found maggots, which he used to clean her wounds. And somehow she lived.

  “Each night Tutuk sat by his mistress’s side, keeping guard. He wanted to pray but could not find the words. When she sat up and fed herself for the first time he cried with relief. But she neither smiled nor spoke, not for some weeks. When she did, it was in desperation. She clenched her stomach and writhed in pain: ‘It’s killing me, please, make it stop!’

  “Tutuk watched her face contort in agony but he could not bring himself to put an end to it. Every day the pain worsened and he could do nothing to stop it. Despite his attempts with herbal teas and ancient remedies, she was consumed by the agony within her. Her nose bled and he was sure there was something evil at play. Then the vomiting started. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘No more.’

  “He watched her breasts grow. Then her belly. He suspected he knew what was happening but he could not bring himself to acknowledge it. ‘Should I let her die?’ he asked his ancestors, but received no answer.

  “Before he could bring himself to thrust a knife into her belly, the contractions started. He held her hand while she screamed. She pushed and sweated for days, it seemed, each moment indistinguishable from the one before.

  “The little monster ripped her open and broke through her skin with a howl. It killed Shea and her body lay in a pool of blood. Tutuk closed his eyes, bringing his bloodied hands to his forehead, and howled in agony, furious at the ancestors who had abandoned him and furious at the gods who had sacrificed his mistress.

  “A whimpering sound made him open his eyes and he was surprised by the baby’s pink skin, its tuft of brown hair and its tiny hands; it was more human than he cared to admit. He ran a hand over its cheek and the baby gurgled. The slave smiled. But then the child burped and a burst of flame escaped its tiny mouth. ‘She must die,’ said the slave. He produced his knife and hovered over the child, blade raised. His heart was loud in his chest and his breathing was laboured. A voice at last spoke to him: ‘It is the gods’ will that she should live.’ Still, he was filled with doubt.

  “The baby blinked and its eyes were Shea’s eyes. ‘I can’t do it,’ he said in a flood of shame. So he closed up the cave and departed. He fed the child rats’ milk and honey, but it was not enough. She cried for her mother.”

  Maud stopped to wipe her eyes.

  “What happened next?” I said.

  “He sent the child away. On the third day, the sea appeared in the distance, a grey-blue line across the sky, the clouds behind like hazy mountains. Small red crabs patrolled the beach while the waves crashed violently to shore. Tutuk felled a tree to carve a canoe with his hunting knife. He wrapped the child in his leathers and placed her in the boat. He waded out past the breakers and there he let the canoe go to be taken out to sea where the gods would determine the girl’s fate.”

  She stopped as if that was the end of the story.

  “And the child survived.”

  “Of course she did. That was the First Mother, Ayfra. The Queen of Caspius’s daughter, Elder Golding, who lived in Alaira, came down to bathe in the water and saw the canoe on the sand. She sent her maids to inspect it and they found the child. The text says, Behold, the baby cried. And on its breath was fire. Elder Golding was filled with dread but she said, ‘If the gods ordained it to be so, then who am I to interfere?’ She had compassion for the child and took her in. She named her Ayfra Golding, and she was the first mother, the child of good and evil, a woman of balance, or sophrosyne, and your ancestor.

  “Ayfra Golding grew up to lead the Ooruk of Caspius, who were persecuted by the local Caspians. It was she who said, ‘If woman could only suppress man’s destructive nature and bend his will to hers, society would prosper.’ She had this in mind when she abandoned the men of Caspius and escaped across the sea on a serpent’s back to found a new world. Those who are descendants of the First Mother have the gift: some in a wonderful combination of both good and bad, others are imbalanced. If the First Mother’s blood runs strong in your veins then your gift is powerful and should be feared.”

  The high priestess put her hands on her knees and pushed herself up. “Can I offer you anything?” she said then before I could answer, “I’ll have Ried fetch us something. I’m famished.” She shuffled across the room and stuck her head out the door. “Ried!” She paused, then repeated more loudly, “Ried! What do I have to do to get some food around here?” There was no malice in her words and after a time the red priestess appeared with a tray of bowls of cold smoked eel, fresh bread, cheese and olives. She carried a bottle of sweet wine under her arm.

  “Quit your whingeing. All you had to do was ask,” she said, plonking the tray unceremoniously on a low table between us. She piled a small plate with food and passed it to the high priestess. “There you are, your majesty,
” she said sarcastically. Maud scoffed but there was humour in her eyes. Ried poured wine into two shallow kylixes, wine bowls with double handles, sloshing ruby liquid onto the table.

  “Go on. Get out. We have important business,” Maud said, waving Ried away as she placed the blanket over Maud’s knees.

  Ried ignored her and turned to me. “I’m sorry, your highness: I meant no offence. I should have served you first. Old habits,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Can I offer you anything?”

  I could barely suppress a smile. “Thank you, I will serve myself.”

  “Just call if you need me.” Ried bowed her head and left in a flurry of red dress and dark hair.

  I helped myself to some exceptionally smelly blue cheese. After chewing in silence for a while I built up the courage to speak. “Do you think the First Mother’s blood is strong in me?”

  “I know it is,” Maud said between mouthfuls. “I tested you myself and I have been right about every child I have tested. Now tell me, has there been any sign?”

  It caused me great discomfort to speak of it and I swallowed. “Not that I have been aware of. I have done spells and made incantations. I have prayed and I have sung hymns. I have sacrificed a whole array of beasts and I have made my offerings. I have had neither my moonsblood nor any indication that it is on its way.”

  Callirhoe had been disturbed by Ried’s sudden appearance and now waddled over to inspect us with beady eyes. I tore off a bit of bread, leant down and offered it to her. She eyed it suspiciously, cocking her head to the side, then snatched it out of my fingers and fluttered backwards, out of reach. She retreated to her corner. “Silly bird,” I said, laughing.

  Maud placed her plate on the table and interlaced her fingers. A cloud moved across her face. “I have often thought…When you came to visit all those years ago I was thrilled to discover you would be a Talent. I expected your mother to be equally excited. I was surprised by her response. She seemed…anxious. Annoyed even. At the time I assumed she was simply concerned. You know how mothers can be? They want their children to be perfect. But over the years her reaction ate away at me. I could not forget it. You know, it just seemed so strange.” She sighed melodramatically. “But we must not jump to conclusions.”