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

by Susie Mander

  This was all the encouragement I needed. I leant forwards. “No I think you were right to be suspicious. I think my mother is stealing my gift.” I told her about how my mother had lied to my father. I told her about the tournament. I told her about my disqualification when Eloyse saw my gift. “She sensed it the moment my mother stepped out of the stadium. It cannot be a coincidence.”

  “Interesting,” Maud said, wiping away a drop of wine making its way down her chin. “Someone as well trained as your mother would be able to use her gift without being conscious of it. My guess is she uses rayta to split her mind in two. One part of her mind is constantly focused on you, the other is given over to her everyday tasks. If I’m right and if she is using her gift almost constantly then her mind and body are under a lot of pressure and have been for a long time. She is at risk of burning out. I wouldn’t be surprised if it interrupts her decision making. It would be very distracting.”

  “Explains a lot,” I said, thinking about her unpredictable behaviour, her irritability and her poor decisions, such as the dismantling of the government. “How long do you think this has been going on?”

  Maud shrugged. “Since you were about twelve or thirteen. Maybe even longer. She would have started working on you the moment she feared you might get your moonsblood.”

  “And you think my gift flared up at the tournament because she was further away from me than normal?”

  “It is possible. Your proximity is important. The further away you are, the harder it is for her to control you. In order to use her gift she must be able to picture you. She sends her mind out and if she can neither see you nor picture you, it is much harder for her. However I think it is more likely she was distracted. Something significant, of course…perhaps even something that forced her to use her gift on someone else. Could she have been attacked by a Talent? Whatever the case, for a very brief moment she let go and even though it is highly atrophied and underdeveloped, your gift showed just enough for the judge to see.”

  I looked up at the ceiling mottled with ash and mould and imagined my ancestors up there watching me. I wondered if they were proud. “How do I stop her?”

  Maud chuckled, getting to her feet. “We must not get ahead of ourselves.”

  I flushed with shame. “No you are right.”

  “First we must test my hypothesis.”

  “How?”

  With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes she said, “With the help of the gods.”

  Maud and I found the red priestesses playing with the boys around the fire pit. “Get me the Book of Prophecy,” Maud said like a fox entering a hen house. She clapped her hands, called for blankets, white sheets, skins, water and more food. She turned to me. “Did you come alone?”

  I cringed, only just remembering Bolt. “My war-wit is outside. We brought you an argutan.”

  “How kind of you,” she said then turned back to the red priestesses. “Fetch the war-wit from the stable and offer him lodging in the house in the olive grove. I don’t want him in here interfering.”

  Ried sprung up from her seat, the red priestesses scuttled away to do her bidding and the consorts disbanded, glancing back at me with curiosity. While we waited for them to return Maud eased herself into the fire pit, taking one step at a time, steadying herself with one hand on her knees and the other gripping her staff. She sat and patted the spot beside her. “Sit.” Outside the wind raged overhead but there was no sound of rain. It was yet another disappointing storm, flaunting itself like a consort who has absolutely no intention of delivering. “What do you remember of your first visit to the temple? Do you understand the significance of the bird? Of the mark?”

  “It is one of my most vivid childhood memories,” I said, placing my hands in my lap. I was no longer nervous and I spoke frankly. “I believe you are searching for a being of sophrosyne born out of good and evil who will save Tibuta from Typhon’s fifth and last tempest, a rogue storm that has escaped the bounds of the compass and can roam at will throughout Longfield.”

  Maud smiled. “Indeed we are.”

  “And you thought it might have been Evada but she died before you could find out. Now you think it might be me.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, nodding. “You have done your research.”

  “My father told me.”

  Maud raised her eyebrows. “Did he now?

  “Yes but he doesn’t believe my mother is stealing my gift. Or if he does, he will not admit it.”

  “Wise man.”

  “What I don’t understand,” I said, my face flushing with embarrassment, “is the Tempest. What is it exactly? I have heard so many people speak of it but my mother said it was just people’s superstition, a fairy-tale. On one occasion my father said he believed it. On another he said he didn’t. I think his opinion depends on whether or not my mother is in the room.”

  Maud said, “Typical.”

  Ried’s footsteps were so quiet I did not hear her until she was right above us, clearing her throat. She passed Maud a scroll.

  “Ah here she is, just in time. Thank you, Ried.”

  The dancer disappeared without a sound.

  “There is very little that we know for sure about Typhon’s last creation. Typhon himself was the father of all monsters, a storm demon in the old religion from the mainland. His upper body was human. His arms were the east and the west. His body was a viper’s tail and it was said you could hear him coming because of the hissing from the hundreds of serpent heads that erupted from his neck and shoulders; it sounded like the susurration of the wind through the trees before a storm.

  “Typhon was the father of the Four Spirits of the violent storm winds from the old faith: the northeast wind, the southeast wind, the northwest wind and the southwest wind. But some holy texts speak of a fifth wind, Typhon’s last creation, a tempest to end all tempests.

  “We can rely only on what is written in the holy texts. Listen to this.” Maud blew dust from the scroll and held the fibrous paper close to her face so she could read through squinted eyes. “It says in the Book of Prophecy that the last Tempest of Typhon was trapped on our side when the Elysian Gate was shut.

  “It started as a mere breath of air in the clouds. But over the millennia it grew and now it is said to be moving across the earth, destroying everything in its path. It is pure evil. It has no substance and rides on the power of a storm.

  “Its army is a multitude of anemoi thuellai, or simply anemoi, wind demons, who come before it on the very air. It blasts the cold of winter and burns with the summer sun. It spares no one but is bent on a path of destruction inspired by nothing more than a need to see people suffer.

  “Listen—” she unravelled the scroll further “—When the Tempest comes the great agricultural tracts will produce no grain. The rising seas will produce no fish. The orchards will produce neither syrup nor wine. The gathering clouds will not rain. The masgurum will not grow. He who sleeps on the roof will die on the roof. He who sleeps in the house will have no burial. The seas will rise and consume the lands. The air will suck the earth into its lungs. People will flail themselves from hunger. They will flail themselves from thirst. But still the Tempest will come.” The high priestess looked at me with eyes speckled like warblers’ eggs. “This is all we have here in Tibuta, other than the appendices which speak of the signs of the sophrosyne. I must consult the Oracle but your mother has forbidden me from leaving the temple. Did you know that?”

  I shook my head.

  “She has. She has forbidden a lot of things that make no sense. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I nodded enthusiastically. Just then, the red priestesses arrived in a procession carrying all the supplies Maud had requested. They laid them at her feet like offerings. Once they had retreated, the high priestess looked at me. “Are you ready?”

  “I…I think so. What are you going to do?”

  After she had explained the general principals of her spell—that she would cast a protective shield around
me that would block my mother’s gift—she said, “Do you trust me?” Her voice was gentle, reassuring. I saw no reason not to trust her so I said, “I do.”

  “Then let’s begin.” I did as she instructed and sat on the white sheets beside Shea’s Fire. I arranged the food and drink around me, close enough that I could reach them if I needed them during the night.

  Maud climbed to the top of the pit. “You have everything you need. You are not to move from the pit, do you understand? No matter how afraid you are. You won’t burn. Lie down. Try to find rayta.” Maud clasped her staff with both hands and muttered a prayer to Ayfra under her breath. She pointed at Shea’s Fire and spoke to it, “Those above and below, those on this side and the next. Listen to my words, listen, listen.” With her staff she drew a line of fire along the ground. The fire was faint, barely a flicker, so she knelt and caressed it and it burst to life. She dragged her glowing staff across the floor like flint against steel and another line of fire ignited. She completed the square. The flames grew into four walls. A fire roof closed in to complete my prison.

  Surprisingly, I was calm. The heat was bearable. There was no ash. I could see Maud shimmering through the blaze. She called to me over the crackling and hissing, “If your mother is behind this, we will find out.”

  I nodded and did as I was told, lying down with my arms beneath my head so I could watch the inferno coiling and dancing overhead. The high priestess watched for a moment, pleased with her work, and then left me.

  The only sound was the roar of the fire. Soon, the smell of smoke was so strong it made me weep and cough until it was easier to do as Maud had suggested and hide beneath the damp cloth and sleep.

  My slumber was disturbed. Even in my dreams the fire burnt. Images played in front of my eyes. I saw my mother marching down the hallway to my apartment carrying a whale-oil lantern with her army—Piebald and her war-wits—behind her. She did not stop to announce herself outside my door but, seeing Bolt was missing, burst in on Harryet, who was sitting in my solar by the unlit fire in the centre of the room, sewing. Their voices were like a distant echo.

  “Your majesty,” Harryet said, startled. She jumped to her feet and curtsied.

  “Where is she?”

  My friend’s voice quivered like a lyre string. “I…I don’t know. Perhaps she’s in the kitchen. Sometimes she goes down there when she’s hungry.”

  “She’s not in the palace. I can’t feel her.” My mother took a turn around the large room with its high ceilings as if looking for me in the shadows. “What is she up to? What plan did she concoct? Speak, girl, or face the Seawall.”

  To her credit, Harryet shook her head. “I am sorry, your majesty, if there was a plan she did not share it with me.”

  Piebald sneered. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Yes, thank you, Piebald,” my mother said, shooting him a deadly look. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her flowing black peplos. “Nike, Adamon. Put her in the Seawall.”

  In my dream I screamed and lashed out at my mother. Harryet, in comparison, accepted her fate like a martyr and let the war-wits lead her from the apartments.

  I surfaced from the dream with perspiration on my brow and a scream on my lips. Panting, I took a deep sip from the water skin beside me. I dunked the sheet in the water surrounding Shea’s Fire and placed it back over my head. I ignored the flames and dove back into sleep.

  This time Drayk was sitting at the end of a long bench in the mess hall opposite his friends Alexis and Carmyl. Alexis and Carmyl were both file leaders in the Queen’s Guard, one rank below Drayk and destined to surpass him within a few years. Alexis was tall and broad, a true descendent of the Ooruk. Carmyl was kindly looking with soft features and long flowing hair. Theirs was a friendship uncomplicated by lust or jealousy, which made me only more conscious of my age and my isolation from the immortal’s world. The two women rested their heads in their hands.

  “I’ve not felt this way about anyone since I met my first wife,” Drayk said.

  “Then you must tell her,” said Carmyl, pushing her long flowing hair behind her ears. “Otherwise it will be too late.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t.” Alexis laughed.

  “I am so far below her she would never accept me and even if she did, her mother wouldn’t approve.”

  “This is Tibuta. She could take you as her second.”

  “Or third,” said Alexis and Drayk shot her a disapproving look.

  I woke before I heard his retort and assumed the dream was about the woman in red. I was clenching my chest. My breath came in heavy rasps. Fragments of my dream drifted around my head and were forgotten.

  After that, I slept soundly until morning when I woke, stiff and hungry, to discover that the flame had burnt out. All that remained was a line of ash. I inspected my white sheet. It was stained with three tiny red droplets of blood; three times the proof.

  “So?” Maud said, appearing at the top of the pit.

  I nodded. “There is blood.”

  Both of us were reluctant to speak. This was neither a joyous occasion nor one for tears. It was a time of mourning and of reflection. It was a time for making plans. She offered me her hand and helped me out of the pit. “Your mother has betrayed the very gods by doing this to you,” she said.

  One question burnt in my chest: “What is my gift?”

  “There is no way to know. Not until you experience it in full. It is always subtle at first, and then it grows as you train it.”

  “What should I do? Can you stop her long enough for it to grow?”

  “I can’t stop her: nothing can. Not for any prolonged period. Even if I could make a spell powerful enough to protect you, she would sense it. She has probably sensed this.”

  “So I have to leave?”

  “You can’t leave. Tibuta needs you.”

  “What then?”

  She walked towards the back of the room, expecting me to follow. “You must realise there was a time when your mother trusted me as her most respected advisor. Now her faith is clouded by suspicion and fear. Your mother disregards the old ways. Maybe because of what happened to Evada. Maybe—and perhaps more likely—because she thirsts for eternal power. You must not turn your back on Tibuta because of what your mother has done. You must trust me, Verne.” The high priestess was quiet for a moment. She rested by the golden statue of the First Mother to catch her breath.

  “I do trust you.”

  “Then know this,” she said and continued through the passageways to her room where Callirhoe had been nesting. “The people grow suspicious. They fear your mother is turning her back on the ways of the First Mother. Some whisper that she has abandoned the gods completely.” Our eyes met and in that expression I discovered more than I anticipated. I saw contempt for my mother, yes, but also a deep pain that I did not expect. “Your mother may have lost her faith but the Shark’s Teeth are firm believers. They know the Tempest is coming. They have known it for some time, since your uncle returned from the war. The Shark’s Teeth are not to be trifled with—no, their power is growing, Verne.”

  As she continued down the dark halls, the high priestess’s voice became so faint I could barely hear it. “The Shark’s Teeth trust me as their religious leader. They know I have Tibuta’s best interests in mind. If I asked them, they would follow you. And it is my opinion that you would make a powerful queen with their support.” She reached her door and rested her hand on the knob.

  “It is treason to suggest such a thing.”

  She turned back to look at me. “What is treason to a woman my age? My only wish is to see Tibuta in good hands so I know she will survive once I am gone. You and I want the same thing. We love the people of Tibuta.”

  “How can you suggest I accept the Shark’s Teeth’s support? They want to destroy the monarchy.”

  “Not true. Your Uncle Kratos started the Shark’s Teeth because he knew the child of sophrosyne would need an army
. Admittedly there are those who are misguided and grow restless in their hunger and desperation but a true Shark’s Tooth has no desire to bring down the monarchy. She is concerned only with facing the Tempest.”

  I took a deep breath. “I…I don’t know.” It was a lot to process. I had suffered a serious concussion. I had discovered my mother was stealing my gift. I had barely come to terms with the possibility that I might be the woman of sophrosyne. Now the high priestess, the only woman I trusted, was suggesting my uncle had returned from the war only to build me an army in anticipation of this moment. It was something that would happen to someone else. Not me..

  “The Shark’s Teeth are no different from you or me. They want a leader who believes in the First Mother as they do, who acknowledges the sacred texts as they do. They must see that she is willing to face the Tempest. They must have faith that she is the woman of balance.” She stopped, panting slightly, and continued, “They would get behind the right person, the right Golding. You need only prove yourself.”

  I was quiet for a long time while her words sank in. “You suggest I take the throne by force? Before my time?”

  She shrugged.

  “Be candid.”

  She fixed her milky eyes on me. “You need your gift to prove you are the chosen one. While your mother lives you will not get your gift.”

  Callirhoe squawked from behind the door. She wanted to be liberated.

  Part two

  Chapter eight

  So here we are. Just last night I was lying by Shea’s Fire protected by Maud’s spell. This morning I was discussing high treason. Now I am on my way to the Seawall.

  I know my mother sensed my absence last night. I know she felt the release as Maud blocked her gift, like when you pull on the cork from a wine bottle and it finally gives. But to openly punish me for it would mean admitting she has been stealing my gift and my mother will do no such thing. Even if I confronted her she would deny it. “Don’t be absurd,” she would say before confining me to my room yet again. Or worse. Poisoning me or pushing me off the Wall like her mother did poor Tansy and Evada. No, I cannot confront my mother. Not yet. Not until I have formed a plan.