“Talon,” SpikeFeather began, but RavenCrest ignored him.
“I had heard,” he said as he half turned away, “that the Strike Force had been devastated by the Gryphon, but FarSight? HoverEye? SharpEye? SpreadWing?”
At SpikeFeather’s compassionate look, RavenCrest groaned.
“I had not thought it to be so bad,” he said. “SpikeFeather?” He looked back at the birdman. “Is it so desperate?”
SpikeFeather shook his head, wishing RavenCrest would lead them inside out of the wind, “No, it is not. I believe there is still hope. But, sire, you must order the evacuation of the mountain. No-one can defend this mountain!”
RavenCrest finally motioned him inside. “Send your Wing for some refreshment, SpikeFeather, and we will talk.”
“Sire,” SpikeFeather said urgently, “we spent the night with the Avar, and we are not tired. My Wing can get the evacuation under way. But by the Stars, sire,” SpikeFeather could restrain himself no longer, “why is anyone here at all?”
“You presume, SpikeFeather!” RavenCrest snapped, drawing himself to his full height and glaring at the birdman from under beetling black eyebrows.
But SpikeFeather was not daunted. “I presume nothing, sire,” he said. “I merely ask why you are so lax regarding the survival of the Icarii.”
Everyone within hearing distance froze and RavenCrest took a deep, astounded breath. “Crest-Leader,” he said, “I will see you in my apartments now! As for your Wing, they may await your…or my…orders in the antechamber.”
SpikeFeather could not mistake the threat in RavenCrest’s voice, but still he did not back down. “Talon,” he said, “I am here on orders from the StarMan and the Enchantress. They believe, rightly, that Talon Spike is facing an imminent threat. I am under their orders to hasten the evacuation any way I can.”
If RavenCrest had any doubts concerning his place in the new order, then he was left in no doubt now. “I see, Crest-Leader,” he said softly. “But I would still request that we speak privately in my apartments.”
SpikeFeather inclined his head. “As you wish, Talon. But I have a great deal to do here and I will not have time for an extended chat.”
RavenCrest stared at him, then turned on his heel and stalked towards the closest shaft, stepping into the void and spiralling down on wings stiff with affront.
“Sire,” SpikeFeather said when they were alone, “I did not mean to offend. But time is critical.”
“SpikeFeather,” RavenCrest sighed, “I do understand the danger. But evacuation has been fraught with so many difficulties.”
SpikeFeather shuffled in impatience, but RavenCrest ignored him. “I had to take advice from the Elders, and I had to call the Assembly.”
Oh, for the sake of the heavens! SpikeFeather thought, you called the Assembly on this? Couldn’t you take the initiative just this once?
RavenCrest shrugged. “We were undecided on the matter. Many do not want to go—”
“Then they will die,” SpikeFeather said, hoping to shake RavenCrest into some action.
“And I cannot blame them!” RavenCrest retorted, his violet eyes snapping. “We have lived here in safety for over a thousand years, and we do not know what awaits us in the south!”
“Life awaits you in the south, RavenCrest!” SpikeFeather shouted. “Damn you! What have the Strike Force fought for, died for, if not to win the Icarii back their southern lands? Cities are springing to life, sacred sites are once again open, the forest springs anew, that is what awaits you!” He took a huge breath, the tendons standing out on his neck. “Only death waits for you here. It could be minutes away, hours, perhaps weeks. No-one knows. But what gives you the right to gamble with the lives of our people, RavenCrest? What?”
“He carries many cares, Crest-Leader,” a gentle voice said behind SpikeFeather and he whirled about. BrightFeather, RavenCrest’s wife, had entered through a silent door and was walking towards him. “And has seen the world he has known disintegrate about him. RavenCrest and myself,” she walked to her husband’s side and took his hand, “are of the Elders now, and we find it hard to accept such sudden change.”
“Will you find it easier to accept sudden death?”
RavenCrest rubbed his hand across his eyes. “If I give the order, then where will our people go, SpikeFeather?”
SpikeFeather made a gesture of impatience. “To the southern cities in the Minaret Peaks. To the Avarinheim. To Sigholt, even Carlon, perhaps even the Island of Mist and Memory.”
“SpikeFeather, there are many tens of thousands of Icarii in Talon Spike. The emerging Minaret cities cannot yet hold them all, and our friends in the Avarinheim have scarcely enough to feed themselves let alone all of us as well. I cannot let my people fly into such an unknown.”
“We will find room for them—”
RavenCrest demurred.
“Then you are worse than WolfStar,” SpikeFeather said with icy deadliness, “for you will have the blood of tens of thousands, perhaps the extermination of an entire race, on your conscience. He has but the blood of two hundred children.”
RavenCrest and BrightFeather both stared at him, stricken. “You cannot mean what you have just said,” RavenCrest began.
“I meant every word of it.”
RavenCrest and his wife continued to stare at him. This was not the SpikeFeather TrueSong they remembered.
“Have the courage to lead your people to safety,” SpikeFeather said quietly. “Or I will do it for you.”
“But where will we go?” fluttered the birdwoman, her great green eyes anxious. “And what will we take? Oh, I think this decision to fly south is far too hasty. I think—”
“I have no time to listen to your qualms, madam,” SpikeFeather said. “If you will just follow the shaft to the flight balconies then you can be off. There is no time for baggage. I’m sure your life and the life of your son,” he bowed at the adolescent boy, “are far more important.” The boy, of a more adventuresome mind than his mother, winked at SpikeFeather and hurried his mother off.
RavenCrest had acquiesced. Once SpikeFeather had the Talon’s approval and, more importantly, his authority, he wasted no time. Every minute might mean a life wasted; every hour several hundred at least.
Many of the Icarii were willing to go; they had been eager to fly south anyway. In the five hours since SpikeFeather had left RavenCrest’s apartment at a flat-out run, over eight thousand Icarii had managed to leave; for the Avarinheim in the first instance, where all would mass, then for wherever there was room. SpikeFeather hoped the goodwill that Axis and Azhure had generated among the Acharites towards the return of the Icarii would stretch to a sudden invasion of tens of thousands of the birdpeople.
But if the younger generations were ready and eager to leave, the older Icarii exhibited a frustrating inability to make up their minds. There was too much at stake; too many uncertainties lay before them; what would happen to Talon Spike if they left it, and who had counted these Gryphon anyway?
To these queries SpikeFeather had no answer save that he believed the Enchantress when she said that she knew. For many of the Icarii, that was not enough. Eventually SpikeFeather resorted to threat and intimidation. He had no patience with those who demurred. He had seen Wing-mates slaughtered and had felt the grip of Gryphon talons himself. And when he shouted, the Icarii listened. SpikeFeather had been to the borders of death and back, and his experience gave him an aura that, when augmented with fury, quieted most objections and convinced most waverers.
Stars save them, SpikeFeather prayed as he stood on the lip of the flight balcony watching another group of Icarii lift off, if the Gryphon strike them in the air. The thermals to the south were black with wings, but, if anything, their numbers gave them some protection, and as soon as they were within reach of the Earth Tree’s Song over the northern Avarinheim they would be safe.
He stood back from the lip and strode into Talon Spike, standing aside briefly for another wave of evacuees
to pass by him. The members of his Wing were accomplishing wonders in getting the Icarii out, and he hoped their names would live in Icarii legend for the service they were doing their fellows.
But there was one task SpikeFeather knew he would have to see to personally.
The children. Those who had not yet developed their wings, or those whose wings and flight muscles were still so immature they would not be able to cope with the flight into the Avarinheim. Infants were carried strapped to their mothers’ breasts, but toddlers and older would have to walk—or float.
SpikeFeather had ordered that the children be grouped in one of the lower chambers of the Talon Spike complex, then he would take them down to the waterways himself, for he thought the request should be made by someone whom the Ferryman had met before.
And what price would he ask?
SpikeFeather shrugged. That was hours into the future, for he doubted the children would be able to negotiate the stairwell any faster than the adult Icarii. But he underestimated the enthusiasm and agility of the children.
SpikeFeather spiralled down into the chamber where the children had assembled under the guidance of two members of his Wing, and then he hovered, gape-mouthed in astonishment. He had assumed there might be a score of children, perhaps two score, but he had not expected to be confronted with almost six hundred bright and eager uplifted faces.
He slowly settled to the floor and turned to FairEye, one of the Wing members. She shrugged, understanding SpikeFeather’s astonishment. “I reacted the same way, Crest-Leader. I did not realise how many children there were.”
SpikeFeather turned back to the throng before him. “Stars save me,” he muttered, “what is the Ferryman going to say?”
There was nothing for it but to lead them downwards. So SpikeFeather waved the two Wing members back to their duties shepherding the adults out of the mountain, and turned back to face the children.
He cleared his throat, then realised he had no idea what he would say. SpikeFeather was not very good with children.
“Ah,” he began lamely, “no doubt you’re wondering…” No, that wouldn’t do.
“Um, we’re about to embark on a remarkable adventure…” Stars! That was even worse!
“Listen,” he said eventually, using his normal speaking voice and not patronising them at all, “Talon Spike faces a terrible danger.”
“Gryphon,” one tiny child piped up from the front.
“Yes, Gryphon. Gorgrael the Destroyer—you’ve heard of him?”
Hundreds of faces nodded.
“Well, Gorgrael has thousands of Gryphon, and many fear that he will throw them at Talon Spike.”
“We’d be slaughtered if we stayed,” one red-haired girl said, her voice practical, and SpikeFeather glanced at her.
“Yes, everyone would die. So I’m here to organise everyone to safety, and because it’d be too dangerous to lead you down the ice paths by the Nordra, I’m going to try something different.”
“FairEye said that we’re going to go by the waterways!” an excited child cried. “What are the waterways?”
For the next ten minutes SpikeFeather explained about the UnderWorld and the Charonites. He related how he had travelled the waterways with Rivkah, the Enchantress and StarDrifter some two years ago, and that all had travelled safely and with minimal fuss.
“So,” he finished, “do you think you’d like to try the waterways?”
A chorus of excited voices assured him that they would, and SpikeFeather could see no child who looked overly nervous about the prospect. Asking the older children each to take a younger child’s hand, SpikeFeather shepherded the crowd towards the first of the tunnels.
He led, because only he knew the correct turnings to take, and he had to trust that every child followed obediently. What if one took a wrong turning and the hundreds who followed got lost with him? What if one of the younger ones panicked, and the back ranks refused to go any further?
But no-one took the wrong turning and no-one panicked, and all kept up with no complaints. After ten minutes or so one of the children lifted her voice in song, and within heartbeats every child had taken up the melody. It lifted SpikeFeather’s heart, and reminded him that there was hope for the future.
It took them just over an hour and a half to reach the well to the UnderWorld.
Many of the children remarked on the beautiful well that wound down into the earth, and traced the carvings of the dancers in the walls with their fingers. And each stepped eagerly onto the translucent pink marble staircase that wound down about the walls of the well.
And so, softly singing, the children of the Icarii nation walked lightly down into the UnderWorld.
Previously, SpikeFeather had travelled with injured Icarii, and the children made much faster work of the descent than the adults had. They needed no breaks, and every time SpikeFeather paused to look at the staircase above him he could see line after line of children filing down, all singing, all holding hands.
“If I never do anything else in life,” he murmured to himself on one occasion as he stood watching the children step down two-by-two, “then I am glad I have seen this. Pray that I am not leading them to their doom.”
After several hours they gathered in the stark grey chamber at the base of the well, SpikeFeather making sure that none of the children ventured too close to the lip of the waterway. They were silent now, overawed by the solemnity of the chamber and by the water flowing gently by, stars gleaming in its midst.
As the last child stepped into the chamber, SpikeFeather took a nervous breath and stepped over to the golden tripod that held the bell. He hesitated, then reached out with his fingertips and struck it.
Three clear chimes rang out, and some of the children stirred nervously.
“It is all right,” SpikeFeather said gently, turning back to the crowd. “The Ferryman will take some hours before he—”
Then he noticed that the children were not looking at him, but staring down one of the tunnels from which the water emerged.
There was a light bobbing in the distance.
How quick the Ferryman was! SpikeFeather clenched his fists briefly, nervousness raising the dark red feathers on the back of his neck.
A large, flat-bottomed boat glided into the chamber, a cloaked figure seated in its stern, his hands folded, his hooded head bowed. As the boat stopped by SpikeFeather, the Ferryman raised his head.
“Who summons the Ferryman?” he asked in a gruff voice. “Who rings the bell?”
SpikeFeather stepped forward and bowed so low he almost knelt; behind him his wings scraped the surface of the stone floor as they spread out three paces either side of him.
“I do, Ferryman,” he said, his eyes downcast, “Crest-Leader SpikeFeather TrueSong, of the Icarii Strike Force.”
“What?” The Ferryman’s voice sounded surprised. “What, SpikeFeather—and don’t think that I don’t remember you—no Enchanters this time to harry and annoy me?”
SpikeFeather raised his eyes. “No, Ferryman. None but myself and the innocent children of the Icarii race.”
The Ferryman burst into laughter and pulled the hood back from his face, revealing the bald cadaverous features surrounding his incongruously child-like violet eyes. “No children are innocent, SpikeFeather, for the moment they draw breath they draw in the experience of life. Come now, stand up, and tell me what you do here.”
SpikeFeather straightened. “Ferryman, I come to ask you a great boon.”
“A boon? Surely you know better than that, SpikeFeather.”
SpikeFeather licked his suddenly dry lips. “Ferryman, Gryphon threaten Talon Spike and we must evacuate. These children cannot fly, and we cannot use the exposed icy walks by the Nordra. Ferryman—”
“No.”
“You have not heard my request!” SpikeFeather cried, stepping forward, his hand out in entreaty.
The Ferryman stared at him. “You want me to somehow spirit these children to safety, Spike
Feather.”
“Yes, I—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I do not particularly like children, and this is such a rabble of them!”
SpikeFeather’s lips thinned. “They are well behaved and polite, Ferryman, and they deserve the chance of life.”
The Ferryman shook his head, and slowly drew his ruby hood over his head.
“Axis sent them to you!” SpikeFeather cried.
“I have fulfilled my debt to Axis.”
“And Azhure!”
The Ferryman’s hands paused, but then he drew the hood further over his head, shading his entire face. “No.”
“I am willing to pay the price.”
The Ferryman’s sallow face peered out from beneath the ruby hood. “The price?”
“The greatest mystery of all, Ferryman. A life.”
Orr stared at SpikeFeather. The birdman stood very tall now, his dark eyes calm, his entire bearing dignified and proud, his dark red wings held out slightly away from his body.
“Whose life?” the Ferryman whispered.
SpikeFeather gazed steadily at him. “Mine.”
The entire chamber was silent. Every child’s gaze was fixed on SpikeFeather.
“You are willing to give your life for these children, SpikeFeather TrueSong?”
“It is a tiny price to pay, Ferryman.”
“But you are young, vital…courageous.”
SpikeFeather was silent, holding the Ferryman’s eyes in his own.
“Very well,” the Ferryman said, closing the deal, “I accept. Your life for transportation of these children.” But he still watched SpikeFeather closely.
SpikeFeather relaxed in relief. “Thank you, Ferryman,” he said. “I am honoured that you think me worthy the price.”
No, I am honoured, the Ferryman whispered in his mind, for few would have offered themselves. Even when I told StarDrifter of the price he glanced about the group he led, never once considering himself. No, I am honoured, SpikeFeather TrueSong.
“Now, where would you like these children to go?”
Starman Page 40