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

by Susie Mander

  Petra steps out of her skirt of bronze and bone plates. “I thought I had their support. My men appeared to follow my orders. They spoke openly of their hate of the queen. But they fooled me. Or they changed their mind once they heard the queen speak of unification.” She removes her sandals and wipes one sticky foot against the other. “I don’t know what happened to Drayk.” She wipes her hands on her thighs. “As it stands we have some thousand casualties. We are outnumbered. The queen has two thousand armed hoplites and another seventeen thousand helot infantry, plus the Whyte soldiers and the orca. True, some three thousand hoplites and a further three thousand helots have joined our cause, and there are said to be close to ten thousand Shark’s Teeth but we cannot be sure of their numbers or their loyalty. We are a disjointed army. And I don’t know how we will stop the royal family when they have their gifts. I underestimated them. I thought…I honestly believed our archers could stop them. Adelpha and Thera were too quick.”

  I help her lift the cuirass off. “Your soldiers fought valiantly. We must put today’s battle behind us and prepare ourselves for the queen’s counter-offensive. She will attempt to squash us before we can assume a defensive position. I am sure of it.”

  “If only you had a gift.”

  “Soon,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I let silence permeate my very being. I have accepted my fate and yet I too appreciate my disadvantage.

  Slowly, reluctantly, like lost children, the defectors come, their heads bowed and their eyes showing their vulnerability. Petra sends them to me where I sit in the pit around Shea’s Fire. They are nervous, glancing over their shoulders as if the queen might appear from the shadows to reprimand them for their defiance. They tell me of their desire to fight for Tibuta in the greater battle for freedom against the Tempest.

  Alexis and Carmyl are among them and I greet them like old friends, taking their hands in both of mine. I miss Drayk, I realise, and this reminder of him is an unexpected interruption.

  Alexis stands with her arms by her side and her back perfectly straight. The light from Shea’s Fire illuminates her short-cropped red hair. “We want to personally apologise, your highness. We failed you. We were unable to open the gate.”

  “What happened?”

  Carmyl flicks her long golden plait behind her back. “Piebald, that’s what. He swapped half of our ranks for new recruits. They refused to open the gate. We fought. At least a third of those loyal to Drayk were killed. We were lucky to get away.”

  “How many have come with you?”

  “Less than a thousand. Those who got away are downstairs. They refuse to be tested. They await Drayk’s instruction. They say they’ll leave if he doesn’t show. They fear it’s a trap.” Her blue eyes are full of concern.

  I thank them and go in search of Maud but before I reach the end of the sanctuary, a shriek reverberates around the room. I focus on its source. My cousin Gelesia of Minesend fights against the Shark’s Teeth who hold her back. “Let her go,” I say and to my relief the rebels obey.

  “Verne, it is true,” Gelesia says, flustered. Her expression is tormented by red, weeping grief and some excited rhapsody that means not one of her limbs is still. A storm has passed through her body. Her hair is matted and strewn with leaves and feathers. Her clothes are dishevelled, twisted. I step out of the fire pit to meet her. Gelesia takes both of my hands in her claws and shakes them. “I knew it. They said you were behind the attack at the marketplace. But I already knew. I knew you had left us. I knew from the start. Yes, yes. Of course. It all makes sense.”

  I am filled with fatalistic calm. “Why are you here?”

  “I always said, after your mother turned her back on the gods, I said it, didn’t I? I said to Chase, Verne will be a troubled child, just you wait and see. She is special that one. Mark my word. But he didn’t believe me, no. No one ever believes old Gelesia. He said I should keep my nose out of others’ affairs. He said I was a meddlesome pest. But I knew. I could see it in your eyes. And now you have gone and done it. Good for you. Good for you.” She falls quiet and nervously looks around. She whispers, “I hope you do not mind me coming. I know they are listening but I don’t care, no. Not any more. Chase would have wanted it this way.”

  “Who is listening?”

  “Them.”

  I glance around but apart from the odd red priestess we are alone.

  “Gelesia, it is not safe for royalty here. You should go to Minesend, rest.”

  “Your mother as good as killed my Chase. I will never know whose spear inflicted that fatal wound but—ark!—as far as I am concerned, she killed him.” She coughs. “Demon! Demon!” Then more quietly, pulling me in to conspire, she whispers, “All I want is to avenge him, Verne. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Gelesia,” I say as calmly as possible; Chase’s death has clearly sent her mad, “your presence warms my heart. Tell me, what are they saying in the palace? Do they call me traitor?”

  “Traitor and ingrate. They say the high priestess has filled your head with lies. They say Drayk the immortal has dripped poison into your ear. They say the Shark’s Teeth is an abomination and—”

  “What do you think?”

  “Ark!” she squawks. “She created the Shark’s Teeth when she discredited her brother Kratos, didn’t she? And is therefore responsible for each of their murders. She should have listened to Kratos. He was the only one who saw any sense after Tansy and Evada died. And now this. Without her there would be no need for dissidence. She failed the people. But you won’t fail, will you? No, you cannot fail.”

  I appreciate the weight of her words. “I will do my best. What about the other districts?”

  “Lete is in utter confusion. Let Thera die beside the queen for all I care. She never paid me any attention, banishing me to Veraura and giving me Minesend for my efforts.” She speaks the districts’ names with lemon on her tongue. “I would rather fight with you than see my Chase dishonoured. Anyway, Thera is a traitorous dog, bringing that, that harlot Adelpha into the palace when she promised to kill her. Why your mother didn’t just slit her throat I do not know. But!” She holds up her finger. “I will not fight beside them.” She looks around her at her invisible enemies, wagging her finger in my face.

  I call for Ried and ask her to find Gelesia a quiet room at the back of the sanctuary. “When the time comes I will need you to fight. We must all bear arms against those who would sacrifice us to the Tempest. Get some rest.”

  Hero is next to arrive. He enters the sanctuary looking unsure of himself but determined. He walks with forced confidence, his shoulders back, chin tilted upward. I cross the room to stand a few feet from him.

  “Verne.” His voice is tired.

  “Hero. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. But I thought it would be safer if you didn’t know.”

  A great internal battle plays on his face as he tries to fight his despair. “No one has ever accepted me except you,” he says, his voice catching. He wipes his cheek. “The others, because of my giftlessness, they…Odell…I cannot help it and yet they treat me as if I want to be this way. They call me an aberration.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  “They have never made any sense to me but you…you are like me. And yet despite your handicap you rise above tyranny. You stand for something. I just wish you had included me.”

  “I’m sorry. You said you didn’t want to be a part of it.”

  “And I didn’t. But it was a mistake. I want your strength, Verne. I want to be like you. And maybe once the fighting is over the high priestess can test me too.”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  “I am no good at combat but perhaps I can be of some other service to you. I want the queen to be punished. I want—” he sobs “—I want the pain to end.”

  “Hero, my dear, dear cousin,” I say, taking him in my arms. His tears soak my shoulder. “Don’t you see? You are already strong. By coming here today you have demonstrated great courage.” I h
old him at arm’s length and wipe the tears from his eyes. “I would love you to join me. It is lonely when your entire family is at war. I am overjoyed that you have come. You cannot know how much your support means to me.”

  “I have very few skills, cuz, but I have always been good with my hands. Needlecraft, especially. I thought—”

  “If you can handle the blood you can help the red priestesses with the wounded. I will have someone show you around the hospital. It would be good to have you helping those most in need. Your generosity can be your gift. Find Ried,” I say and as he turns to leave I call after him, “And Hero, do you have news of my father?”

  He is apologetic. “He is with your mother.”

  “Of course he is.” I lower my head. Hero silently acknowledges my pain and retreats.

  It is right that he should be with her. His loyalty is unwavering, I think.

  I accused my father of hating himself, of impotence, of tainting the past and damning the future, of subordination. He promised and then withheld his support. He said, “I am proud,” but meant, “Give up.” He was both my friend and my enemy. He is the last person I expect and the one I hope for most. He is…No, I must forget him.

  When Drayk arrives in the afternoon he is already a stranger, his appearance foreign, the lines too severe, the edges rough. The firmament around him feels different, unholy. “What happened?” I say, fingering the stone around my neck. He blushes as if I am touching him. We both hang back, reluctant to acknowledge the intimacy we have shared. He will not look at me but walks the parameter of my room, telling the story Alexis told me about Piebald and the new recruits. “I tried to save as many of my soldiers as I could.” I can sense the desperation in his voice, the need for absolution.

  “The gods left us today. We failed, Drayk.”

  For a long time, neither of us speaks. Finally, he lets out a sigh like the expulsion of air through a whale’s blowhole. “Tides I missed you.”

  Such relief, such blissful relief. “I missed you too.”

  We embrace and in doing so break down whatever barrier held us apart. My senses are inundated with his smell, his touch, and his warm, rumbling voice near my ear. “I feared…when we couldn’t get the gate open I thought you might be killed in the marketplace. I don’t care that you failed only that you survived.” It is a lie, or at least not the entire truth, and yet I appreciate his attempt to conceal his disappointment.

  “I tried to kill her,” I whisper before melting into his chest. Tears prick my eyes. My small self creeps out of hiding to whisper, You are a failure, Verne. See, without your gift, with an atrophied mind you are—

  “The reality is—” I start but he holds his finger to my lips.

  “Reality is cruel. But it is those who recover from their mistakes who prosper. Success is simply a lifetime dedicated to enduring defeat. You must rise above it. One mistake, once. Never again,” Drayk says.

  “Never again.”

  He presses his warm lips against my forehead.

  “I’m going to wash, will you join me?” I say in a moment of pure fearlessness which is, in part, inspired by a sense of impending doom. The immortal nods so I take his rough, blood-stained hand and lead him along the dark hall and down a narrow set of spiral stairs into the base of the pyramid. Pulling back a heavy timber door, I peek inside the small bathhouse. To my delight it is unoccupied. I shut the door behind us, muffling the sound from the rooms above. A low ceiling keeps in the heat that radiates from the hot springs below. The floor is warm beneath our feet. The air is steamy. Within moments our skin is dripping.

  I push Drayk against the tiled wall and knot my hands in his damp hair, kissing him with a ferocity that is entirely new to me. I focus on the fullness of his bottom lip as I suck it and the contour of his body as I run my hands up his chest. His response is hesitant, almost respectful as he lets me take the lead.

  Laughing, I pull away. I kick off my sandals and cross the room to kneel by a deep stone pool—all right angles and slick, blue surfaces—built beneath a stone fountain. Drayk hovers by the door. I can sense him watching me, preparing to consume me, and my hand trembles as I grip the bronze handle and turn it.

  Slowly, warm spring water pumps into the bath via a triple helix screw that draws water up a long shaft. Drayk comes up behind me and as I work the handle, he works my neck and shoulders. An animalistic groan escapes my mouth as he goes deeper and deeper, relieving the tension that has accumulated in my shoulders from wielding two swords.

  When the bath is full, I stand, our bodies so close I can feel the friction between our clothes. “Shall I undress you?” he says and I nod. He peels my filthy tunic over my head. He seems perplexed by my body and as excited as a child unwrapping a gift. He works my pants down around my ankles then stands back to look at me. All I wear his is serpent stone. It hangs between my breasts, a symbol of the promises we have made to one another, a symbol of ownership. His gaze is that of a man admiring a new treasure.

  Self-conscious—of my new position, of my childish body—I step out of my clothes. Drayk has none of my inhibitions. He removes his shoes slowly, tossing each one aside with enviable nonchalance. He undoes the bronze bow fibula at his left shoulder and places it on the step. He lets his tunic fall to the ground revealing his body in full. My breath catches. He is sculpted into rolling hills and valleys; a sparse forest sprouts below the lake in his neck and winds its way down to the golden jungle between his legs. Legs that are splattered with blood.

  We take it in turns to wash each other with a brush and a bucket of water, scrubbing away the muck and the bad memories. I turn, and descend the steps into the water. Sinking down until my chin is resting on the surface, I move to the opposite side of the pool to sit beneath the fountain. “Are you coming?”

  He eases himself into the water and I am reminded of a shark stalking its pray. His eyes bore into me, his hunger obvious in his face. He stops in front of me but does not touch me. He waits for me to make the next move. I wrap my legs around him and pull him to me. I kiss along his stubbly jawline. My breath caresses his nape making him gasp. Lips thrusting, exploring, nibbling. I push him back against the hard stone wall and devour him. The water sloshes around us.

  When I send him to bed, he leaves a trail of puddles behind him like some sort of sea creature that has grown legs and miraculously walked out of the ocean. I wait a moment then call for a clean himation, wrap it around my wet body and follow him. My entire body longs for him but I force myself to walk slowly, with dignity.

  Back in my tiny room Drayk lies on his back in my cot like a sacrifice. I climb on top of him so we are face to face, my thighs hugging his chest. Our wet nudity excites me. He runs his finger along my shoulder and slips off one side of my gown. I long to feel his lips against mine, to dive into the depths of him, but I hesitate, prolonging this moment of liberation, of avoidance. Tomorrow we fight but for the moment I will not think of it.

  I trace an invisible line from his nipple, which hardens at my touch, down through the forest to his bellybutton and along his waistline. I pull up my robe. We interlock like two pieces of a puzzle. I am aware only of the spiderwebs in the corner of the ceiling. The undulation of my body. He cups my face in his hands and kisses my eyelids. He kisses my neck and the tops of my shoulders. He lingers in the crevice between my breasts.

  The rhythm of our love comes naturally. It is an ugly yet beautiful thing as we move slowly then with greater intensity towards our goal: release and knowledge. I gasp when I see that illusive bright light on the horizon, a mere speck that grows the more I concentrate. I know Drayk has seen it too. It recedes for a moment and I despair, fearing I have lost it. Then it reappears and I chase it. We both do. I am on it. I am overtaking it. And yes, I have collided with it. I call out and my voice, so earthly and hoarse, drags me back to my body as Drayk shudders beneath me.

  Afterwards, we sleep. By morning, our joy has been replaced by dread. War is upon us.

  I rem
ember the dream while kneeling in front of the statue of the First Mother trying to pray. I have wrapped myself in a silk gown and traipsed barefoot into the sanctuary, my hair knotted, my cheeks flushed. The silence is contagious. Bodies slump on straw mats in rows, like the carrion of war. They appear lifeless until they stretch and begin to whisper their secrets: fear and excitement about the battle to come, regret for those they have already killed. They are united in their vulnerability. Together, they will rise reinvigorated.

  My knees ache. I cannot find the words for prayer. And then I remember. The vision came to me in that moment after ecstasy and before deep sleep. It was so vivid, so life-like that I knew it had to be real. And in the distance I heard Callirhoe calling to me, confirming that this was not mere fancy but a revelation, a warning.

  In my dream a leather marquee was hidden amongst the dead olive trees beneath the temple. A warm light glowed from within, illuminating the war-wits and orca who stood guard. I saw the path I had to follow to get to the tent, the trees behind which I should hide to avoid the sentries. I saw the new strategos of the army. I entered the tent and saw my mother, my sister and the prince. I saw the detail of their surrounding: the red crystal glass on the table, the maps, and the weapons in the corner. I saw how to kill her. I saw my blade slicing through my mother’s flesh.

  Maud glances at Demostrate from her position at the head of the table. “Speak.”

  Strategy by committee can never work, I think, and yet it is so tempting, that pretence of collaboration, that spreading of blame like disease, coughing, spluttering.

  “We should divide our forces. Make them split up. Corner them, otherwise—”

  “We tried your way and it failed,” Petra says.

  “Because Drayk fell short of his promise. How do we know your women won’t be next?” Demostrate says.

  Drayk accepts her criticism but Petra slams her fist on the table. “My women are loyal.”

  “Your women are brassbound recreants.”