by Nancy Yi Fan
He said to the Leasorn, “Sing my heart.” The gem responded with the cheery tune that Fleydur first taught them. Smiling, Fleydur extended the gem toward the eaglets.
Dandelion understood. “Sing my heart,” she said.
Olga followed suit. “Sing my heart.”
“And mine,” said Pudding, and all the eaglets chimed in. The tune of each eaglet built upon the rest, adding new harmonies.
As the final eaglet breathlessly whispered the magical words, they found themselves listening to a full-fledged symphony. The eaglets looked at one another, astonished.
Above the music, Fleydur spoke. “Tonight, children, represents how far we’ve come. This was unthinkable mere seasons ago. Just look at each of you; weren’t you strangers to each other then? Restrained by rigid traditions, bound by the angle of your beaks. But now, with new eyes, new ears, you’ve discovered friends in those around you. You’ve found the eaglet in yourselves. Yes, music is the common thread that links us all. Together, you’ve grown; together, you’ve flourished. This is why I want to give music lessons and build a music school,” he said, and then, smiling, beckoned to them. “Come, my children, they’re waiting for us!”
Stepping onto the stage, wing in wing, Fleydur and his students began the first happy birthday song to the king in the history of Sword Mountain. The Castle of Sky was built for a chorus to sing here, Dandelion thought. The large domed hall had been waiting for music to fill its space, and now the air shimmered with the opening notes.
The eagles of the audience leaned toward the music. Morgan listened, tears glistening in his eyes. Even the members of the Iron Nest took off their caps, although they and the more traditional eagles sat there somewhat awkwardly.
The birds of Sword Mountain could not stay silent for long. Eagles began to join in, and it didn’t matter that they’d never sung before; it didn’t matter that their voices were a little off-key.
When the song ended, the birds sat still, in a daze. The smattering of applause soon became full-fledged. “Thank you. That was just …” King Morgan shook his head as he placed a set of talons over his chest, unable to find the words to express his feelings. Fleydur led his students in a slow bow.
And then they sang the song that they, under Dandelion’s direction, had written themselves.
Open your beaks
Sing a song
Open your hearts
From now on.
From the mountain peak
Let our voices grow;
Hear the answer
From valleys below.
In one another,
Echoes of ourselves
Sisters and brothers
Beyond acorn shells …
Dandelion watched as hundreds of eagles swayed to the singing. They were like a sea, rippling with waves of serene faces. Their music was responsible for this, she realized, awed and humbled. Her words, their own tune. She and the other eaglets singing along with her—they had created this happiness!
Though it was winter outside, she sensed, as she sang, a spring thaw in the hearts of the audience. If only you were here, Cloud-wing! she thought.
Afterward, as everybird refreshed themselves with drinks and more cake, Morgan brought up the question.
“The winner? Who has the wish coin?”
Sigrid strained her neck, peering in all directions. The crowd murmured and moved, and there was some confusion, and then a short-legged, triangular-headed figure stood up.
“I do, Your Majesty.”
Tranglarhad the owl beamed.
Sigrid had forgotten about him. Her hunger for the coin overpowered her partiality for the tutor. She could only watch in wrath as the owl shuffled toward the king, displaying a glinting silver coin left and right to muttering doubters. His expression was one of utmost humility.
Inside, however, Tranglarhad’s emotions were churning.
This is my time to act! he thought. How could he best use the wish coin to get hold of the Leasorn gem?
He could ask for the gem itself, but the king probably didn’t have the legal power to give away a national treasure. He could just ask to see the gemstone, but there were hundreds of birds here, all witnesses. If the gem later disappeared, they would know who had taken it. Though he could formally ask for the eagles to stay away from the old mine beneath the mountain, that might draw more attention to the mine. Oh, holy hoot, he thought.
Perhaps it was safer to wish for something else, but … could he pass up this chance? Tranglarhad took a deep breath.
Still a decision could not be made. After he had found out he had the coin, Tranglarhad had written a wish about the Leasorn, and a second wish, on two pieces of paper, and he had put the first in his right pocket, the other in his left.
As he walked closer, he debated again with each heavy step.
Right or left? Right or left?
In front of the king, Tranglarhad stuck his talons in his pockets. He closed his eyes as he searched slowly. A few long, anguished seconds later, he fished out a grubby rolled-up piece of paper from his left pocket. Mumbling civilities and bowing, he placed it and the coin in the claws of the king.
Everybird watched as Morgan unrolled the paper with some difficulty.
The king’s eyes glided across the paper. He stiffened. His eyes rolled slowly upward and his head drooped to one side, a raspy moan coming from his open beak.
“Your Majesty!” shouted the physician.
“Father!” called Fleydur.
“No!” Forlath cried out.
The crowd bellowed, “What did you wish for?”
As birds pushed in from all sides, Tranglarhad shielded himself with his claws. “No, I didn’t—I didn’t have … I only … I …” The owl huddled against a wall. “I j-just wished t-the king—”
Morgan stirred, shaking his head as if waking from a nightmare. “Stop, I’m all right!” he said. “It’s nothing, a faint headache or some such, I’ve had it on and off today since breakfast, but I’m quite fine. My apologies,” he said to the owl, who nodded numbly.
“Why, this is the first time ever in my reign that a bird did not ask me for something for himself!” The king looked kindly at the owl. “You are the new tutor, aren’t you?”
Tranglarhad nodded again.
“It is fortunate that we have birds like you,” boomed the king. “Thank you.” Turning toward the expectant and still angry crowd, he read from the paper. “May the king have good health and long life.”
Applause filled the banquet hall.
“Aye, to the king!” Tranglarhad laughed nervously and raised a glass. His eyes met Morgan’s. “To the king!”
Morgan felt weary in his bones. The headache crept upon him again, worse this time. Perhaps it was the effects of champagne, or the noise, or maybe he was just too old and tired. “Sigrid,” he said slowly.
“What is it, Morgan?”
“I want to return to my room.”
“But the celebration’s far from over.”
“Yes, but I just decided something,” said Morgan. “I think—I think I need to start on my will.”
Sigrid stood up immediately, helping Morgan stand. He was swaying now. “You stay here, my dear,” he told Sigrid. “Don’t worry about me.”
“His Majesty King Morgan is retiring to his chambers!” announced a herald.
“Oh, go on and continue to enjoy yourselves. It’s a royal order,” Morgan said. He was assisted out of the banquet hall.
“Well, then, we should ring the life gong early, shouldn’t we?” asked a member of the castle staff.
According to tradition, on the night of a king’s birthday, a special gong would be struck once for every season of the king’s age, with an interval of ten seconds between strikes. For Morgan this year, there were would be a hundred beats.
“You may start,” said Sigrid.
But she wasn’t thinking of gongs or age. She was thinking about the will Morgan had just said he would write. The king had a
ctually seemed to enjoy Fleydur’s foolish concert. Suppose, just suppose he chose Fleydur as his heir. And now that Fleydur’s concert had been so well received, the Iron Nest might even side with him. Then it wouldn’t be long before Fleydur would, vote by vote, reshape the mountain!
Sigrid could not allow this monstrosity to happen. She didn’t have the wish coin today, but she did have a backup plan ready. It was riskier, but, by the Book of Heresy, she would see it through.
As she walked past a guard on her way back to her seat, her face staring straight ahead, she whispered, “Fleydur’s package.”
The guard nodded curtly, signaled to a companion, and the two glided off.
Sigrid smiled at her son Forlath. “It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it?”
As they settled in their seats to watch the rest of the concert, they all heard the first gong strike.
When a talon strikes a mirror, a spiderweb of cracks blooms.
—FROM THE BOOK OF HERESY
20
WITHIN A HUNDRED BEATS
Meanwhile. Tranglarhad had retreated to a corner.
Was that a chance lost? Was it? he wondered between beats of the gong. Each time the thought came to him, he raised his glass and gulped a beakful of cold water to calm down.
His wish, though, had not gone completely to waste. Touched by Tranglarhad’s unselfishness, the treasurer sought to join the tutor by his corner near the door. Tranglarhad noticed the treasurer had had a little too much champagne. After draining another bubbly glass, the treasurer blurted, “Remember our talk? About my son?”
Tranglarhad nearly choked on his water. “How could I forget it?”
“It was removed,” said the treasurer thickly. “For Fleydur’s music students to see, in the rehearsal room. Just before the performance. Didn’t you want to take a look at it?”
This was all Tranglarhad needed to know.
“More champagne, good tutor?” the treasurer said.
“Oh, no,” said the owl. “I must, er, plan; yes, plan. For my class. It starts within the hour.” Tranglarhad hurriedly refilled the treasurer’s glass before he rose and left.
“How dutiful! You are a paragon of virtue,” said the treasurer, tears glistening on his face. “I am glad that my son is under your guidance.”
Tranglarhad slipped away from the banquet hall, flinging a cloak he had hidden under his tutor robes around himself and pulling up the hood. On ghost wings he quickly caught up to Sigrid’s guards. One of them was carrying a package.
They paused in front of the rehearsal room where Fleydur had held his final music lesson. Tranglarhad hung back, hiding behind one of the birthday banners on the wall. More birds were in the room!
The treasury guards inside smiled to be relieved so soon, and hurried toward the celebration, flying right under Tranglarhad.
From an intersection, the sound of more wing beats carried to the owl. This time, Fleydur and Dandelion came around a corner and headed in the direction of the rehearsal room.
The treasury guards saluted as they passed. “Evening, Prince Fleydur!”
Fleydur returned their greeting. Tranglarhad grew tense, afraid that Dandelion might glance up and notice the owl-shaped bulge behind the birthday banner, but she and Fleydur took another turn and flew away.
Relieved, the owl redirected his ears toward voices now coming from the open rehearsal room.
“Here it is.”
“What did the queen say? Put it into the package?”
Tranglarhad sucked in his breath, resisting the urge to dash forward and peek. “Patience,” he said to himself.
He pressed back into an alcove in the wall as Sigrid’s soldiers emerged in the hallway. The package they carried looked more stuffed. “You hear something?” said one eagle.
“Just the gong,” said the other. “We have to be quick.” They headed toward the other side of the castle, and Tranglarhad followed them, the three birds moving in a triangle. They went through the Hall of Mirrors.
Had the two soldiers even glanced at a mirror, they could have seen the owl, tagging along behind them. Tranglarhad felt dizzy as he noted hundreds of Tranglarhads in the reflections, sneaking alongside him.
The guards finally stopped before a half-open door near the top of the south tower. They entered, placed the package on the desk, and left.
Tranglarhad waited in the shadows, his eyes gleaming. The vibrations of the gong beats tingled in his blood. The owl rushed into the study, flipped the package upside down, and slit it open. The Leasorn gem! He tossed the book that had also been inside the package onto Fleydur’s desk; the silk cloth that had been wrapped around the gem fluttered to the floor. He thrust the shining, faceted prize into his pocket and made for the door.
The gong beats had masked approaching claw steps. Uri, Fleydur’s valet, was not far away down the hall. “Hey! Who are you?” Uri hollered.
Tranglarhad jumped into the air, pulling out a cleaver. He would not lose this one precious chance! He slashed at Uri as he rushed past. Uri drew his own weapon and struck off the tip of one of Tranglarhad’s talons. Biting back his hoot of pain, the owl fled into the depths of the castle. Astounded, the valet did not chase him.
Back in his office, Tranglarhad hurriedly changed into a loose-fitting suit, dropping the gem into a hidden pocket over his heart. As he tried to swab his toe, a knock sounded at his door. Tranglarhad jumped.
“Tutor?” said the treasurer. “I realize you are going to your lesson. I want to talk more about my son’s studies as we go down the hall. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all, not at all,” said the owl. He managed to put on a wavering smile. He must stay for the lesson and avoid suspicion.
Morgan had sent a messenger for Fleydur and Dandelion. As the celebration continued, the two made their way toward the king’s tower.
“That was wonderful, the performance you put on with your students, Fleydur,” exclaimed Morgan. “I am proud of you and your music. I am proud of how you adopted this eaglet and showed us something extraordinary.” He gazed at Dandelion. “The children of the court, they were gloomy miniature adults, never children, until today. And the adults? They were unchanging iron statues, never alive, until today.”
He placed a set of talons gently over Fleydur’s. In the distance, the gong continued to sound.
“You are a born leader, Fleydur. Won’t you stay?”
“I—I will stay until I know I have done enough to help Sword Mountain.”
“Does my ‘enough’ differ much from yours? For I think there’s something a king—”
Uri rushed into the king’s room.
“Your Majesty, I’ve urgent news for Prince Fleydur!” cried Uri. When Morgan acknowledged him, he turned to his master. “Prince, there was an intruder in your room a minute ago! I tried to stop him, but he fled!”
“Who was he, could you tell?”
The valet shook his head. “He was hidden in a cloak and armed. But I cut off a talon nail.” He showed it to Fleydur. Dandelion and Fleydur both stared at it. The nail could have been anybird’s.
“What did he take?” asked Fleydur.
“I don’t know,” Uri said. “But I do know that some birds dropped off a package for you earlier. Come quick, sir!” The gong rang as if to punctuate his remark.
“Strange,” Fleydur muttered as Morgan nodded and allowed him to leave. “Dandelion, you go to class now.” He followed his valet into his study. Nothing was astray, nothing missing. Then he noticed the open package on his desk. “What’s this?”
Fleydur pulled the book from the wrapping. “How fantastic! A printed copy of the Old Scripture, from my old woodpecker friend Winger …” Engrossed, he dismissed the incident of the intruder.
Dandelion was nearly late to class, but this time, the owl tutor did not seem to mind a student’s tardiness.
“Good hiding—er, good evening class,” he said.
Pudding raised a claw.
“Yes, Pouldington?”<
br />
“Mr. Tranglarhad, sir, you’ve buttoned your suit wrong,” said Pudding. Tranglarhad glanced down, alarmed to find it was true.
“Yes, yes,” he said, flustered and annoyed. He turned to one side, undoing the buttons and fixing the problem. As his talons danced rapidly over his suit, Dandelion saw something that made her suck in her breath.
Tranglarhad looked sharply at her. “Oh … ah … ah-choo!” said Dandelion.
The owl relaxed, blinking rapidly, and turned to the class to begin his lesson.
Dandelion didn’t listen to a word. The gong rang. Her heart pounded.
One of the owl’s talon nails was missing.
“The gemstone is gone! The gemstone is gone!” somebird cried in the banquet hall. The birds of the court leaped up as a rush of guards stampeded toward the treasury. “Block the doors! Close the gates!”
“How is it possible?”
“Who stole from the treasury?”
“When was the gemstone last seen?”
The treasurer, coming back from Tranglarhad’s classroom, sobered up immediately from the hysteria. To his dismay, he could not remember the details of the evening, apart from meeting the tutor in his office. The treasurer stammered, bewildered. “Prince Fleydur borrowed the gem to show it to his students earlier this evening.”
“Where is it now?”
“We don’t know!”
“It’s not in their rehearsal room.”
The hall was boiling with voices.
“It wasn’t returned!” shouted the queen at the same moment the gong struck again. She stood and pointed toward Fleydur’s tower. “He is responsible! Ask him!” Birds holding torches flew up the spiral staircase.
Tranglarhad dropped the chalk from his claws as he heard the alarm. Calm, now, calm, he thought to himself. The students jumped off their perches, their lesson promptly forgotten. Tranglarhad opened the door just as a stream of soldiers swooped past. Tranglarhad stopped one. “Pray tell, what is this uproar?” he said.
“Don’t let your students out yet, sir! Somebird has stolen the gemstone of the mountain!”
“Who did it?” cried Tranglarhad, blinking with horror.