by Nancy Yi Fan
SWORD MOUNTAIN
NANCY YI FAN
DEDICATION
TO ALL WHO HAVE WISHED UPON A DANDELION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
MAP
PROLOGUE
The Blank Letter
1.
A Light on the Mountain
2.
The Castle of Sky
3.
An Underground Affair
4.
Uprooted
5.
Pain in Painting
6.
Between Mother and Son
7.
Birds of a Feather
8.
Aloft
9.
Clash of Words
10.
A Gap in the Iron Nest
11.
Masquerade
12.
The Flight Home
13.
On the Making of a Tutor
14.
A Legitimate Scandal
15.
Owl Philosophies
16.
Packages of Trouble
17.
Tension
18.
The King’s Birthday
19.
The Common Thread
20.
Within a Hundred Beats
21.
Out of Control
22.
Hurrying
23.
The Castle of Earth
24.
Consumed
25.
Funeral
26.
The Bronze Scales
27.
Excerpt from Songs and Records of Fleydur
EPILOGUE
Rising
MAJOR CHARACTERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CREDITS
COPYRIGHT
BACK AD
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
MAP
An ember that survives the rain burns to start another flame.
—FROM THE BOOK OF HERESY
PROLOGUE
THE BLANK LETTER
Kawaka tore open his emperor’s last letter.
The war had been lost and Emperor Maldeor had been slain. Even the fire ants were attacking Kawaka as he lay on the battlefield. The archaeopteryx yearned for a message that would catapult him out of defeat and resurrect his empire.
Cryptic letters swirled on the parchment. Kawaka rubbed his eyes—no, there were only patterns of fire ants. He flicked the insects left and right, trying to see what they had obscured.
In the moonlight, the page shone blank.
Could that be Emperor Maldeor’s entire legacy? He rattled the envelope again. Out fell another piece of paper, folded into a minuscule square. He held his breath as he smoothed the creases away. This time, he found directions to a cave.
The archaeopteryx’s relief was cut off by the pain of an ant bite. “You think you have won?” he said to the ants as he tracked down the anthill. The thought of the eagles who’d led the opposing army made him demolish the mound with a kick.
Kawaka stuffed the blank page into a pocket and picked up the directions. For the next few hours he crossed a strait of the Kaurian Sea and continued inland. By dawn, he arrived before a cave.
Inside, he saw a book, a torch, and a glass vial on a stone pedestal against the back wall. He lit the torch and picked up the book. Three gold-inked words glinted at him from the leather cover: Book of Heresy. On the first page was a picture of the flag of the archaeopteryx empire billowing in the wind: khaki, saw edged, with an archaeopteryx’s upheld wing emblazoned in the center. Below the illustration ran a bold script: “Archaeopteryxes are invincible—the empire forever lives on!”
The sight choked Kawaka with emotion. “Forever!” he cried. He clasped the book of his emperor, awed, for it contained wisdom gleaned from crushing a thousand enemies, fighting a thousand battles, and ruling the largest empire on the face of the world. Kawaka tucked the book carefully inside his uniform.
There was, however, still one item left. Kawaka grabbed the glass vial of liquid, opened it, and sniffed. Awful. His cry of disgust turned into a scream when a spilled drop splashed onto his foot. It was as if he had released invisible fire ants on himself. Kawaka yanked the blank sheet from his pocket and wiped frantically. He was about to crumple it up when he saw that where the liquid had touched the paper, words appeared.
Kawaka poured the rest of the liquid over it; soon a whole message rippled into view. “Not all is lost. Eradicate the golden eagles, and take their Sword Mountain to be our new capital. A map, weapons, and funds for this task are beneath the pedestal.”
He heaved aside a panel of loose rock that hid a small passageway. Gold coins lined the floor; cutlasses hung from the walls. Kawaka armed himself and crammed the pockets of his uniform with gold.
Then Kawaka snatched the map. Mere anthills, he thought as he glanced at the map’s mountains. He bit a talon till it bled, and with blood drew a scarlet circle around the tallest summit on the mountain range. “My Sword Mountain,” he whispered.
The first taste of flight brings a sky of exhilaration or an abyss of terror.
—FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE
1
A LIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN
Wind screeched across the Skythunder mountain range, wringing the rain clouds till every valley and every hill was glazed with rushing water. In the storm, lighting struck Sword Mountain, the tallest peak.
Crack! A bolt seared the soaring pillar of stone on the mountaintop.
“It’s not just a piece of jutting rock,” Fleydur, an exiled eagle prince, used to explain when his minstrel wanderings took him to birds of the flatlands. “Sword Mountain controls the thoughts of birds who live on it. The mountain is law, reinforcing itself.”
One part of that law was the caste system. In the daytime, it was very easy to see which eagles of Sword Mountain were of high rank and which were of low rank. The eagles in the valleys were peasants, herders who kept flocks of rodents. The artisans lived in the forested slopes above them; the elite, in mansions higher up. Above them all was a place reserved for the royal dead. Coffins of kings past were suspended upon the cliff side, as if to separate the other eagles from the king’s castle on the very peak of the mountain.
But now each dwelling, whether high or low, was represented by a simple point of light, shimmering in the rain.
Tonight there was one light different from all others. It was a birthday candle.
In a small hut on the ledge of a cliff, Dandelion flapped newly fledged wings. Eagles considered the first day of having completely fledged wings a special sort of birth: They called it becoming sky-born. Today was Dandelion’s sky-born day. Soon she would take her first flight.
“What does it take to fly?” the eaglet asked her mother.
“A fresh and steady wind,” her mother replied. She peered anxiously through the rain. Her husband was hunting for a celebratory supper. Was the rain delaying him, or could it be his injuries? Some seasons ago, when the archaeopteryx empire had been at its peak of power, it had conquered new territories in the foothills of the Skythunder mountain range. After joining the Sword Mountain militia to defend the borders, the father eagle had lost all the talons on the toes of his left foot. Without those sharp curved nails, prey often wiggled and escaped.
“But once the wind is there, then what? What can I do to fly?” Hearing her eaglet’s questions, the mother eagle tried to push aside her worries.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “it does take a bit of reckless courage to throw yourself from a cliff, and it takes stubborn belief.”
“
But what will keep me up?”
“Why, that’s something that has to come from the heart. It glows in you and propels you up just like a candle does in a sky lantern,” the mother said. “To fly, you must have a special force inside you. Doubt is a heavy stone that will keep you on the ground. You can only fly when you use your force to clear your doubts away.” The mother eagle nodded to herself, and then added, “But to fly well, you have to fall first.”
Solemnly the eaglet looked into the flame of her birthday candle. Had she lived higher up the mountain, there would probably have been a grand cake in the shape of a pair of wings, but her mother was a weaver and her father a hunter. They could not afford such extravagance.
“Why does flight have to begin with a fall?” the eaglet whispered.
Her mother replied, “Doesn’t everything in life start with a fall?”
It was at this moment that the father eagle returned. The mother greeted him with relief. “Here’s some good news for you,” the father said, beaming. “I heard from the innkeeper up the slope that Prince Forlath’s army is returning. They’ve won! The archaeopteryx empire has been defeated. What a day. And look what I got for your birthday!” He lifted his claws for her and the eaglet to see his catch.
“A tortoise!” exclaimed the eaglet.
Her father had captured it and then flown high in the sky. He had dropped it down to crack it open, and now the shell was covered with fine cracks. “I thought I’d get something tasty,” he said, patting the eaglet’s head. “Something special for your birthday candle.” He placed the tortoiseshell upon the stone table, and the mother eagle put the candle on top of the shell.
The little family admired the tortoise and the candle, the light dancing on their faces. “It’s a proper cake!” said the eaglet. Her family laughed together.
“Remember, my child,” her father said, “once you blow out the candle, you will not be a hatchling anymore, but a true eagle, as brave as the eagles who fought with Prince Forlath. Eagles don’t pull back from a rough wind, but always dare to ride on it—”
The candle flame abruptly slanted. The eaglet held her breath while her father turned at the sound of somebird landing outside their cave. “Who’s there?” he called.
They only heard scraping sounds of claws on stone. Then a cough.
The eaglet’s smile faded. She looked to her mother for guidance and was tucked beneath her mother’s wing. All three saw the profile of a gaunt reptilelike bird appear in the entrance. And the flash of a cutlass. “Food,” a harsh voice commanded. “Give me food.”
It was a rain-splattered archaeopteryx, drawn by the firelight and seeking shelter.
He stepped into the hut.
“Kawa,” the father eagle said under his breath, recognizing the distinct beak of the archaeopteryx empire’s head knight. He exchanged glances with his wife. How had this dangerous bird slipped through the lines of the eagle army to Sword Mountain?
Dandelion’s father did not look down at her birthday tortoise, but beyond, at the empty cupboards and shelves. The archaeopteryx pointed at the tortoise. “What’s that.” It wasn’t a question, but a command.
Reluctantly the father picked up the tortoise, and still more reluctantly, he offered it to him. With a snort, Kawaka knocked aside the candle on the shell, and the eaglet watched the flame die, and shut her eyes. She heard the archaeopteryx sniff the meat, taste it, and finally devour it in several huge bites. “More,” Kawaka growled.
“We have nothing else,” said the mother.
The archaeopteryx leaned forward. “You refuse my orders?” His claws tightened on the hilt of his cutlass, but then his eyes fell upon the eaglet, and his expression changed.
The eaglet opened her eyes and saw that the archaeopteryx’s beak was disfigured, curved to one side, demonically clownish. His breath stank of carrion. He lifted a gnarled foot and walked forward a few steps. The eaglet edged back. “What a sweet little bird,” he cackled, his eyes fastened on Dandelion.
“Don’t you dare lay a talon upon my hatchling!” the mother yelled.
“I do what I wish,” snarled Kawaka. He leaped toward the eaglet, but her mother scrambled forward and was immediately upon him. The force of her attack sent the cutlass out of his claws and knocked both of them over the ledge and into the air below. Despite her mother’s anger and size, the archaeopteryx had much more experience with fighting.
“Stay here! Be careful!” her father told Dandelion as he whipped past. He dived repeatedly at the archaeopteryx, raking him with his only talons. From the rock ledge, Dandelion watched, shivering, holding on to her extinguished birthday candle.
“I don’t need two of you at once!” she heard the archaeopteryx cry. Kawaka yanked something from his belt and twisted around to face the female eagle. Then he detached himself from her talons and swooped up. But the mother eagle continued to fall, her great wings flapping in the wind like rags. She knocked against the cliff and rolled down a few feet before she disappeared from the eaglet’s sight on the forest floor.
“Mama!” Panic seized the eaglet. She dashed to the edge of the cave, trying to peer below. Her mother was slumped on the ground, almost as if she were brooding eggs. Dandelion forgot everything but one thought: How? How to reach her mother? Her claws scrabbled on the stone beneath her. She could not climb down the sheer cliff. Then, in a sudden burst, Dandelion leaned forward, beat her wings, and jumped.
First flight.
No, it was a first fall, and an intentional fall. Dandelion didn’t want to rise up to the sky. She didn’t try to flap her wings. Wind pressed by her ears, cold and full of rain, but she was too numb to feel afraid. She still clutched her candle, clinging to the warmth that had been there only moments ago. Trees below the cliff hurtled into her vision. In the corner of her eye her father roared with pain and fury as he fought with the archaeopteryx, but Dandelion could not forget her mother.
“Please get up, Mama,” she cheeped feebly as the ground rushed up at her.
Then all was darkness.
When the wind blows a dandelion seed to a strange land, will it thrive?
—FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE
2
THE CASTLE OF SKY
A mid the jingling of bells, Fleydur the bard knelt and cupped his talons around the little bird’s face.
“She will come home with us,” he said.
Prince Forlath uncovered the broken hilt of a cutlass from pine needles. The troops behind them grew quiet, and all watched as Fleydur wrapped the eaglet into a blanket.
“Fleydur,” murmured Forlath to his older brother. “You know you shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t take care of a little injured one like this?” said Fleydur.
Forlath turned aside, but an eagle warrior behind Fleydur said, “She doesn’t belong on the mountaintop.” The troops mumbled in agreement.
“You know the customs....”
“There is no room for outsiders, not up there!”
“Fleydur, it’ll be too risky for you,” said Forlath at last. “Bringing a valley bird to the castle will not help your cause.”
“My freedom. My life. Aren’t those all I have to lose? I’m making the choice to come back home, and to face any risks I might find there,” said Fleydur. “This eaglet did not choose to suffer like this. I—we—have to help her now.”
Fleydur had not placed a talon in his birthplace for twenty seasons, but he felt that Sword Mountain had been suspended in time. As he led the procession into the audience chamber, he noticed in disbelief that the advisers of the court still stood in the same positions. Their faces, surrounded by a golden swirl of dust motes, bore fossilized expressions.
“You—” King Morgan stood up sharply and hobbled toward them.
The guards flanking the throne all stiffened, their eyes fastened on Fleydur, everybird recalling the last words Morgan had shouted at his minstrel son. “Do you care so much for others, and place them before your own tribe? It’s beneath you.
Go, then. Go to your starving friends and throw your dignity to the winds. You are not my son anymore!” Tension rose in the air, bordering on hostility.
Forlath looked at Morgan. “Father, surely—”
Morgan paid no attention. He rushed to Fleydur, his voice hoarse as he cried, “I expelled you from Sword Mountain. I had your name forbidden. I warned you that I never wanted to see you again, and you had the nerve to come back! This is your punishment—”
Fleydur shut his eyes.
“—come and give your father a hug.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he extended both wings to Fleydur.
The tension shattered as the birds all around burst into applause.
Morgan reached up a claw to touch Fleydur’s face. “I almost cannot believe it … is it really true?” He turned to his younger son, Forlath. “I’m so thankful that you have found and brought to me … my Fleydur.” The patriarch blinked waveringly. “Forgive me, Fleydur. The strains of keeping our kingdom out of the claws of archaeopteryxes made me overreact when I saw you stray from our traditions. I have realized I was desperately trying to maintain order.”
“And there shall be order, Father; worry no more,” Fleydur said. “Forlath and I have helped win the archaeopteryx war.”
Morgan snapped his claws for the attendants to bring over a wooden chest. “Fleydur, Fleydur. How you’ve changed. What travels you’ve been on! But now your journey’s ended—you’ll stay, surely you’ll stay with your father now.” Morgan swallowed. “Won’t you?” Abruptly he busied himself, opening the chest and pulling something out.