Feathers

by Rose Mannering

  “Do you think we will catch up in time?” he asked.

  “It depends on what you want to be in time for.”

  “I’m sick of riddles,” he snapped and kicked at a pebble on the forest floor.

  Arrow barked.

  “Then I suggest you stop learning Magic.” Cala wiped the sweat from her brow and swallowed. Ode realized that she looked just as nervous as he felt.

  “You once told me that Magic is never certain,” he said.

  After a moment she nodded.

  “So, even what we know could be wrong. It could all be wrong.”

  She smiled. “Exactly. You’re learning.”

  Ode sighed and they lapsed into silence.

  Before long, they mounted again and began trotting through the forest. The tribesmen of the Taone had left a trail of hoofprints in the dusty sand of the flatlands, but their tracks were not so clear in the forest. Ode pointed his packhorse in a forward direction and hoped for the best. After a while, they were forced to stop once more to rest before pressing on. It was afternoon by the time Ode heard the screams.

  The packhorses pricked their ears and Arrow growled.

  “They have not been fighting long,” said Cala. “They are still banging the drums.”

  Suddenly, Ode remembered the blood and the violence of his dream and it became very real. He saw his people brutally killed, and he heard the echoes of their cries of pain. Sensing his distress, his horse began to shy and buck. Ode hastily dismounted and threw the reins in Cala’s direction. They were at the edge of the forest now and the trees were beginning to thin.

  “Ode! Wait!” she called. “We cannot walk into the battle unarmed! You have no weapons—they will kill you!”

  Ode stopped and stumbled against a tree trunk, his legs shaking.

  “The horses will go no farther,” he said.

  He was right. The packhorses could hear the sounds of the battle and they were trembling.

  “We will tie them here and approach on foot,” said Cala. “But we will not do anything rash.”

  Ode nodded, and they set off at a jog, following the cries of war. The trees disappeared and the ground became craggy. Great dusty rocks of red and russet brown rose before them in a tall wall, while the battle raged on the other side.

  “No!” said Cala, as Ode started to climb the boulders. “I said we must not do anything rash. You can’t run into the battle!”

  “Then I will fly.”

  “But you—”

  “I might have dreamed wrong!” Ode cried, tears of fear welling in his eyes. “It might not have to be this way.”

  “All right,” said Cala at last. “I will wait here, but do not get yourself killed, little man. Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  To shift was a release and Ode gave himself over to it wholeheartedly. He achieved his smoothest shift yet, but he scarcely noticed. Not for the first time he wished that he could be an eagle or a stronger bird that was not so ungainly or awkward. With some difficulty, he took off into the air, rising above the wall of craggy rocks. Beneath him, Cala looked on, her face taut with worry, and Arrow howled.

  What he saw on the other side of the rocks almost caused Ode to shift back in shock. Just like his dream, the rough ground was covered with blood and bodies. Some were warriors from the Taone; some were horses; and others were creatures Ode did not know existed. The battle raged with the sound of grunts and the smack and slash of weapons beating and hitting. Ode saw the glint of arrows shooting through the air and the flash of spears, but it was not enough. Ode could see that some creatures were fighting with their teeth and claws, but others appeared to be using nothing. Men and women stood with their hands held out in front of them, or their fingers clenched into fists, while tribesmen fell before them, writhing. Ode did not know how they did this, but he suspected Magic and he knew for sure then that the Taone could never win this fight.

  He watched two bear-like creatures take down his father’s piebald stallion, and then they grabbed the chief and dragged him across the ground. Nearby, he saw Blue Moon trying to chase after them, but an unarmed man moved his hands in Blue Moon’s direction and suddenly Ode’s brother was twisting on the ground and yelling in pain.

  Stop! Ode tried to scream, but a strange wordless sound escaped his beak.

  He saw the creatures set upon the lifeless body of his father, and he saw the remaining Taone warriors lose heart as their chief was defeated. Their weapons stilled in their hands and the enemy took the advantage, seizing them and holding them captive or killing them instantly. Blue Moon still writhed on the ground, his lips foaming and his limbs shaking. It would not be long before his spirit departed, too.

  Stop! Ode tried to cry again, and he began swooping to land on the battlefield. The air rushed past him, a sure sign that he was descending too fast, but Ode did not care. He fell, his wings beating and his body twisting. Down, down, down he dropped, landing with a crash on an unarmed man. The force of it caused him to shift and through his cracked, human lips he cried, “Stop!”

  The man beneath Ode pushed him off and clambered to his feet.

  “No!” cried Ode.

  The man stared at Ode, unsure, his arms half raised.

  “What is going on?” roared a creature nearby, a squirming tribesman pinned beneath its talons.

  “This one just shifted,” said the man. “And it’s speaking in Pervoroccoian.”

  The other creatures were looking over with interest now and Ode attempted to hide his nakedness.

  “You are beaten,” said a woman. “Surrender to us, and we will spare the lives of the others.”

  “The battle will end?” asked Ode.

  “If you surrender.”

  Ode turned to Blue Moon, who had stopped writhing and was trying to stagger to his feet.

  “You can speak to these things?” he asked, swaying with the effort to stay on his feet. “You understand them?”

  “I do. They ask that you surrender.”

  “The chief will—”

  “The chief is dead,” said Ode and his voice cracked. “You are the chief now.”

  Blue Moon’s eyes bulged, and then his knees buckled.

  “What are you saying to one another?” barked another creature. “Surrender quickly or you leave us with no choice.”

  “I am asking the chief,” said Ode, and he turned back to his brother. “Do you trust me?” he asked. “Because if you do then you must surrender for the good of the tribe. For Rippling River and all the children that need what is left of the tribesmen to return.”

  Blue Moon’s face crumpled and his blue patterns blurred.

  “Brother …” Ode persisted.

  “I trust you,” Blue Moon whispered.

  Ode turned back to the creatures. “We surrender,” he said.

  Part Two

  Many seasons ago, two cloaked riders halted their horses on the royal road. The fading light rolled away across the flat, pale land into the distance, where the castle stood like a jagged tooth rising from the sea. Here the road was just a rough track, indented by the wheels of carts and wagons carrying goods to the royal court. Far off, merchants and servants hurried to and from the castle while the tide was out and the way cleared. It would not be long before the sea came in again and the route was cut off for the night.

  Though the distant scene was busy, on this stretch of road there was no one but the riders. The slighter of the two figures lifted her hand to push back the hood of her cloak. The other rider stopped her, his fingers squeezing her wrist.

  “But there is no one around,” she whispered.

  “Take no chances,” he replied.

  Their horses stretched out their necks and tried to snatch at a sprout of grass on the road.

  “It is not so very grand,” said the woman after a pause.

  “That is a lie. Wait until we are closer before you say foolish things.”

  The woman sighed. “I mean … I am not sure it is
worth all this trouble. Why were you not satisfied with Quitma? Why must—”

  “We have been through this,” replied the man.

  The woman looked down at her gloved hands. She was barely a woman really; more like a girl, but her childhood had been ripped from her.

  “How do you know it will work?” she asked.

  “Because I have seen it.”

  “But that does not always—”

  “Have you seen something different?” he interrupted.

  “No,” she lied.

  “Then do not challenge me.”

  The breeze from the sea whistled through her cloak and chilled her cheeks. This land smelled sour and strange, and she missed the rich, hot perfume of her homeland. She missed the intermittent shrieks of the monkeys and the slow burn of the sun. They had left it all behind, and she did not know when they would return. He told her that they were going somewhere better. He told her that this was their prize, but it did not seem like much of a reward.

  “It looks cold,” she muttered.

  She had seen the castle before. She had seen it every time she looked into a fire before they set out on this journey, but it still looked unfamiliar and hostile. There were no castles in Quitma, only huts made from rushes with roofs of wide, fat leaves. The grandest building she had ever seen was a palace hollowed out from a mountainside under a waterfall, which she had once called her home, but even that did not compare to the extravagant scene before her.

  This was hard and precise. A thin road wound from the mainland to the castle through a flat, marshy stretch soon to be engulfed by the dark sea. Built on high rocks, the castle was encircled by a wall behind which twisted cobbled streets, snaking upward toward imposing turrets where the royal court resided in opulent chambers. The castle was huge and imposing, and no matter what she was told, the woman did not think that she would ever be able to call it home. She did not want to.

  “Of course, it is cold,” said the man. “This country is cold.”

  She knew that he was deliberately misunderstanding her and she sighed.

  “Are you sure this will work?” she asked.

  Sensing the man’s unease, his horse tossed its head and sidestepped. The man’s eyes flashed and they might have been silver or gold or violet. Or maybe it was just the light.

  “Yes, of course I am,” he replied.

  But she knew he was lying.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Blood

  The battlefield was awash with lifeless bodies crushed into the brown rock. Despite the dusting of carrion, Ode easily spotted the once-proud, painted feathers of his chief, snapped and beaten into the ground. He weaved his way through the wreckage to his father’s body, trying not to look too closely at where his feet were treading. Gray Morning’s leather armor was torn and matted with blood; the beads and the threads were smashed and snapped. As Ode approached, he saw the blue patterns of his father’s face flattened in agony. The tiniest part of Gray Morning’s spirit was left.

  “Dar?”

  Gray Morning opened his weak eyes and looked on his first son. He took a shaky breath and blood spilled from his lips.

  “Where …” gasped Gray Morning, his body trembling with the effort of speaking. “Where is—”

  “Blue Moon is alive,” said Ode. “You need not fear.”

  “And you …”

  “Yes, Dar?”

  But Gray Morning never replied. He sighed as his spirit left him and then he became still. Ode stayed kneeling at his father’s head, half expecting the chief to speak again. His whole life had been eclipsed by Gray Morning’s strong, dark shadow and he could not imagine what would happen now that he was gone. Ode had always thought that one day he might gain his father’s love and respect, but now it was too late.

  High-pitched wails carried across the decimation as Blue Moon and the Taone warriors sobbed to the sky. They sobbed and screamed under the supervision of the creatures, mourning the loss of their kin and of their freedom. Having surrendered, they expected to be adopted into a new tribe and many feared for their future.

  A black nose nudged Ode’s elbow and he turned to see Arrow. The wolf had tracked him down in the destruction, but there was no sign of Cala.

  “Hey! Hey, we need you!”

  Ode looked over his shoulder at the man calling to him. He had been given permission to seek out his father and was given a scrap of cloth to cover his nakedness, but it was clear that he could not mourn any longer.

  “Hya-Hya-Hya,” he whispered to the body of his father, then he stood on shaky legs and walked away.

  The Taone warriors took no notice of Ode as he stood beside them, too numb to wail or mourn the spirits of those who had passed.

  “We need them to calm down,” said the strange man who had called him over.

  “It is their way,” replied Ode with a shrug.

  The man exchanged glances with a woman beside him, and one of the winged creatures with long talons growled.

  “We need you to talk to our leaders,” said the woman.

  “Me? I am no one,” said Ode. “You will need the new chief for that.”

  The creatures led them to the enemy’s camp. Ode walked beside his brother, the new chief, as they were escorted through the rocky, unfamiliar land. He was alert should Blue Moon need him, but his brother said nothing and kept his head bowed. Behind them trudged what was left of their warriors, sobbing and distraught, and surrounding them on all sides were the creatures, ensuring that the Taone warriors did not try to fight despite their diminished numbers and lack of weapons. Occasionally, one of the creatures would say something and Ode would translate, but Blue Moon never gave a reply.

  The ground became steeper and rockier until they were picking their way carefully through the russet-colored crags and boulders. A strong breeze began to whistle through the rocks, carrying an unfamiliar scent that made the tribesmen frown. Suddenly, a shimmer of cobalt appeared on the horizon and the ground leveled and the wind roared.

  The party stood on a cliff face with a blue sheet rushing out before them in all directions. It was not a lake or a river or a stream, and the tribesmen gasped, some stumbling and falling to their knees in awe. The salty breeze blew and the blue sheet rustled and surged. There was power beneath its current calm and Ode found it beautiful and terrifying at once.

  “What are they doing?” asked a man, pointing at the tribesmen.

  “They have never seen anything like this before,” Ode replied.

  The man snorted. “It is just the sea,” he said, adding under his breath, “Foolish savages.”

  Ode glanced at his brother, but Blue Moon remained impassive. Even his first glimpse of the sea could not move him.

  “This way!” barked a small creature with sharp fangs.

  They were led across the cliff face and down a steep pass to a camp. Tents and fires stretched out before them, and Ode knew he had been right when he warned Gray Morning that they would not win against this enemy. There were too many of them. As they entered the camp and followed the creatures, Ode felt eyes watching. They passed children and small animals, as well as other monsters and beasts. There seemed to be people and things everywhere. When the group stopped before a large, rickety tent, Ode knew that he had seen it before in his dreams. He was not surprised when he entered with Blue Moon and discovered an old man and a gray-haired woman waiting inside.

  “Greetings, Asha and the professor,” he said.

  Asha paused and the professor studied Ode with interest. Some of the humans and creatures entered the tent, while the others guarded the tribesmen outside. The flaps of the door were snapped shut behind them, muffling the distant crash and rumble of the sea.

  “We did not tell them your names,” said a man. “And we did not teach him how to speak Pervoroccoian.”

  “Have you dreamed of us?” asked Asha.

  Ode nodded.

  “He is the shifter,” said a creature who had the body of a mountain lion, yet spo
ke with the voice of a man. “He shifted and stopped the battle.”

  It was strange for Ode to hear others speaking about his Magic so openly. He was used to regarding it as a shameful secret.

  “Who taught you to control your Magic?” Asha asked him.

  She wore clothes that seemed strange to him. Her skirt was long and trailed on the floor, already covered in dust and grime. Unlike Ode’s tribeswomen, her hair was not braided into two plaits; instead, it was piled high on top of her head and pinned in place, though much of it was tatty and fell down her neck. Ode thought that she looked old and tired.

  “No one taught me,” he replied.

  “You had no teacher? No guardian or father from whom you inherited your Magic?”

  At the mention of his father, Ode paled.

  “No,” he said. “No one taught me.”

  Asha tilted her head and studied him carefully, as if assessing whether or not she believed what he said.

  “Can you only shift?” asked the professor.

  “What else is there?”

  A woman beside Ode snorted.

  “You mean, you have never met a Magic before?” asked Asha, taking a step toward him so that he could see the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Her olive skin was free of blue patterns and without blemish except the inevitable signs of her age. “You just … discovered that you had Magic?”

  Ode thought of Cala, but he did not want to tell these creatures of his auntie. He knew there was a reason that she had disappeared.

  “Yes.”

  “And that wolf is yours?”

  Ode looked over his shoulder at Arrow who stood, as always, in his shadow. He nodded.

  “Fascinating,” muttered the professor. “I wonder how many more there are across the Wild Lands. New species: Magic Bloods and Magical Beings.”

  “You are a long way from your books,” retorted Asha, folding her arms.

  “Where did you come from?” asked Ode, thinking of the map in Cala’s trunk. Though they were all speaking the same language, each human or creature had a different accent.

  “We ask the questions,” snarled a squat, green animal.

  Ode glanced at Blue Moon, who was letting the foreign words wash over him as he stood in a solemn daze.