by Maurice Gee
The flames were roaring in the logs when the first Birdfolk stumbled from the spray. Nick ran to them. It took him a little while to recognize Silverwing and Yellowclaw. They looked like two crumpled old vultures, filthy, tattered. Grey mud was caked on their bodies and broken feathers poked out at all angles. They had their eyes closed against the light, and they stood in the gorge side by side, Birdfolk no longer it seemed, but beaten feeble creatures, robbed of strength.
‘Yellowclaw? Nick whispered.
‘Take us where we may wash,’ the Birdman said hoarsely.
He led them down past the fire to the shallow edge of a pool and watched them wade in up to their thighs and spread themselves like grey bats on the surface. Dawn led other Birdfolk down, and Nick ran back, and they were busy then for the rest of the morning, leading Birdfolk to the pool, finding space for them, helping those who had cleansed themselves to the fire, and feeding them; and closing the eyes of a warrior who came out of the cave and lay down and died.
‘Others are dead in there,’ Silverwing whispered. ‘And some tried to turn back. They will die.’
‘There are thirty-four of you,’ Nick said.
‘Nearly half are lost. And now – I feel as if I will never fly again.’
Yellowclaw was standing with his wings outspread in the sun slanting into the gorge. ‘You will fly,’ he said. ‘We will all fly. I am ready now. We have wriggled and twisted like worms and we will not forget the worm in us. Those who have walked in Stone will fly in Wildwood. That is the lesson. Come with me, Silverwing.’
‘Where?’
‘To the top of the waterfall. Another walk.’
‘And if we are wrong? If our wings are not free?’
‘Then we will fall.’ He started away from the fire in his stiff walk. Silverwing followed him. They came to the foot of the water, and began climbing up through boulders at its side, flapping and twisting, bats again; and once more Nick felt they had lost their power, so unnatural they seemed. But when they stood at the top of the fall and spread their wings and leaned over the drop, he believed. Their breasts shone with colour again, light played and shifted on their wings.
The Birdfolk at the fire, and those still washing at the pool, all spread their wings in fellowship. If Yellowclaw and Silverwing failed, all would die. Nick and Dawn felt it. It seemed to them the nation of Birdfolk would die.
‘Go,’ Nick whispered. ‘You won’t fall.’
And Yellowclaw and Silverwing launched themselves. Just for a moment they seemed to drop. Then their wings found purchase on the air and slid them forward as though on a long chute down the gorge. They swept over the fire, scattering flame, and turned on an upward curve, and beat their wings for the first time, and climbed, climbed, out of the grip of the walls. They climbed. And the Birdfolk in the gorge clapped their wings as Yellowclaw and Silverwing flew in forbidden air, took it for their own, and beat and beat, circling up, high over Wildwood.
Chapter Eleven
On Deven’s Leap
The stronger Birdfolk flew back over the mountains and brought weapons and supplies to the ‘army’.
‘Others are coming to the cave. The news is spreading. Soon there will be hundreds coming through.’
‘We can’t wait for them,’ Nick said. ‘You’ll have to fly all night as it is.’
‘We’ll fly forever if you need us.’
They set off after dark, twenty-seven Birdfolk – seven were too weak to fly after their underground journey – with Nick and Dawn in the nests. Far away, deep down in the night, pin-pricks of light showed the location of the Temple. Later, when the moon was up, nothing could be seen but silver tree-tops, and the sea, with the line of Sheercliff marked on it. Twice the Birdfolk rested, once on a hillside, and once by a river Nick recognized as Sweetwater. They saw human villages, with their temples lit up and the wing emblem gleaming like mother-of-pearl. Yellowclaw led them on wide half-circles round them.
An hour before dawn they reached Sheercliff several kilometres north of the Temple. They landed on a slope above the cliff and waited there, and soon Yellowclaw said, ‘A Varg is coming. I feel him in my mind.’
‘That’ll be Ben. Can you feel him, Dawn?’
‘Yes. I’ve been calling. He’s coming with Jimmy.’
‘What about Susan?’
‘I don’t know.’
Soon Jimmy and Ben came down the slope. ‘Good on yer, boy, yer a bloddy bottler.’
‘Where’s Susan?’
‘Tell yer later. We gotter get under cover. She’s gettin’ light.’
He led them up the slope, with the Birdfolk circling overhead. They broke through heavy underbrush, deep under giant trees, and came to a rocky hollow, a natural amphitheatre, with growth on all sides round the rim. Limpy and his father waited there. The Birdfolk dropped from the sky and gathered round the humans and the Varg.
‘Is this all yer got? They’re a scruffy lookin’ bunch,’ Jimmy said.
‘More are coming. This is Silverwing and Yellowclaw from Morninghall.’
‘Howdy,’ Jimmy said. ‘Meet ole Ben.’
The Birdfolk and the Varg faced each other in the thin morning light. Yellowclaw stepped forward slowly. He spread his wings a little, held them forward, a movement that seemed to enclose Ben. The bear rose on his hind legs. They were equal in height; and equal in every way, in strength, in authority, even, though each was different, in colour. They stood together without making a sound.
‘They are speaking,’ Dawn whispered. ‘Yellowclaw is thanking him. Now they are making a pact – for all Birds and all Varg. In olden times they were enemies. Now they are friends.’
‘I hope it lasts,’ Nick said.
‘They have promised. They do not lie like humans.’
Yellowclaw folded his wings and Ben dropped back on all fours. Then Kenno, Limpy’s father, stepped forward. ‘Now Birdman, will you make a pact with me?’
‘What will you promise?’
‘I can’t speak for all humans. I’m only a fisherman. But I will fight to destroy the Temple. And others will fight. If you help, then I promise friendship. That is all.’
‘It will be enough.’
Nick moved impatiently. We can do this talking later. Will someone tell me where Susan is?’
‘Yeah, well,’ Jimmy said. ‘Fact is, Nick, they got er.’
‘Who’s got her?’
‘Them geezers in the Temple. She done a bunk, yer see. Climbed the cliff with them gloves. She wanted to have a go at this High Priest by ’erself.’
‘And you let her?’
‘She done it once before, Nick. And it didn’t turn out too bad.’
‘How do you know they’ve got her?’
Ben knows. He can sort of feel her. She’s up there in the Temple, locked inside.’
‘How is she? Have they done anything?’
‘She’s scared, son. Real frightened.’
‘My daughter is with her,’ Kenno said. ‘They will throw them off together.’
‘How can we save them? What are we going to do?’
‘Things ain’t exactly equal,’ Jimmy said. ‘But their army’s down below, they only got the guards up here. If more Birdfolk is comin’ we got a chance. And Kenno can get ’is revolution goin’.’
‘What about now? Today?’
‘I’m gettin’ to it. There’s mebbe a hundred an’ fifty guards. That right, Kenno?’
‘Armed with swords, not cross-bows. And there are no dogs in the Temple. But the guards are fanatical. They’ll die for the High Priest.’
‘They might have to do just that,’ Jimmy said. ‘What we got on our side is surprise. Now, Limpy’s been into the town and pinched some clothes. So what I reckon is, Nick and me and Kenno and Limpy goes in with the crowd, in disguise. We get some good seats, right up front – leave that part ter me. When the time comes, the Birdfolk attack. And we grab the girls.’
‘What about Ben? Won’t we need him?’
‘’e’
s our secret weapon. I thought ’e could go in the gate, but now there’s a better way. But we gotter work fast.’ He paused. ‘There’s one other thing. Yer gotter know it.’
‘What?’ Nick looked at Jimmy and felt his mouth go dry.
‘I told yer Ben could sort of feel what’s in there. They got a Bloodcat.’
‘Can Ben – can he fight it?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Once he could. But he’s gettin’ old. Slowin’ down. You know what a Bloodcat’s like.’
‘I know,’ Nick said. Even with his size and strength, Ben would have no chance. The cat would be too savage and too fast. Yet the bear did not seem worried. All morning he slept in the sun, while Yellowclaw and the Birdfolk strung and polished and tested their bows and filed their arrowheads, and Kenno and Limpy and Dawn wove a sling of vines and Jimmy sharpened his axe.
Towards midday, when everyone was ready, Ben rose and yawned and shook himself, and seemed to smile.
The road was paved with marble and the cart rolled on it with a friendly sound. It was almost as if she were having a ride at a fair, Susan thought. Instead of ponies though, priests pulled the cart, and ahead of them the Candidates walked in single file, each with his attendant at his back. The road shone in the sun, snaking on the cliff edge, and down on her left, far down, the swamp and bush lay like a rumpled blanket. She tried not to look that way, but turned her face to the mountains. Soona sat beside her, holding her hand, sitting straight, but the make-up on the fishergirl’s face was streaked with tears. Susan wondered if hers was the same. She did not know if she had been crying or not. It seemed important to try to appear brave.
It’s a beautiful land, she thought, it’s only the Temple that’s ugly. A saying of her mother’s came to her: There’s a worm in every apple. The High Priest was the worm. His cart was rolling behind, pulled by priests too, and guarded by his deaf mute guards and followed by the Bloodcat. To Susan he seemed more terrible than the cat because he knew what he was doing.
She looked up into the clear blue sky. There were no Birdfolk there, and no Birdfolk coming from the mountains. She had never really believed Nick would succeed. But she knew that somehow Jimmy and Ben and Limpy would try to save them, and she wished there were some way of telling them not to try. There was no need for them all to die.
‘I wish you hadn’t broken your flute,’ she said.
Soona made no answer but gripped her hand tighter.
The road climbed towards Deven’s Leap and the priests hauling the cart leaned into their work. But instead of following the fork that led round to the front of the Leap they went towards an opening in the stands and pulled the cart through towards the centre of the arena. Susan felt the chill of shadow and saw a bank of white-clad priests shining in the sun. She heard the hideous chatter of Ferris bones. They came out into a baying like that of hounds. It eat on them and forced them back into the velvet seats of the cart, crushing their wings.
Susan looked up at the tiers of priests. Their faces were white, encircled by white leather, and their bones were yellow and hands yellow. She turned her face away, unable to look at them without feeling sick, and saw the townsfolk on the seats opposite. They were dressed in brown, in cloaks and robes with hoods turned back, and their faces seemed innocent and ordinary, even though they too were shouting for the spectacle to begin. The High Priest’s cart, draped in black and silver, rolled into the arena, and the priests stood, with ritual high-pitched cries, and beat their Ferris bones. The sound was deafening, yet it had no weight, it was ghostly and unnatural and cold, seeming to come out of some fracture in the daylight world from places warmth and light would never penetrate.
The two carts rolled side by side down towards the open end of the arena, where the Leap had been smoothed and paved with marble, and a platform like a scallop shell hung over the drop. The High Priest, in leather too, with yellow bones and painted face, sat with his clerkish hands folded on his belly, looking sternly left and right. She felt her gaze drawn further round, against her will, to where the Bloodcat walked behind his cart, and found the animal’s eyes fixed on her. It leaned towards her as it walked, keeping its chain taut.
The carts stopped and the High Priest climbed down and mounted a dais built on the paving. Beyond him the shell stretched away fifty metres – like a tongue, Susan thought, poking from the mouth of the arena. The guards arranged themselves four-deep about him, and the Bloodcat was led to the dais and fastened on a ring. On the highest tier above the crowd trumpeters sounded a fanfare. It stilled every other sound. When it was over the High Priest began to speak. His voice seemed to scrape against the silence – a thin voice, like a blade, a voice that cut and had the power almost to draw blood. Now and then he paused and the massed priests gave a roar. Susan did not listen to his words – they were part of a ritual and she willed it to go on so the next part should not arrive. She looked about cautiously for Nick and Jimmy. Soona gave a cry and gripped her arm. ‘My father. I see my father.’
‘Don’t point. Speak softly. Where?’
‘In the front row. Close to the end. My brother is there too.’
Leaning back in her seat, pretending to be faint, Susan looked at the row. At first she saw only brown cloaks, strange faces – then one stood out, two, as though their focus had changed. Nick and Jimmy sat there: and further along Limpy and Kenno. Jimmy had a grin on his face. He winked at her. But Nick gave a small shake of his head, warning her to look away. She turned back to the High Priest, who was now shrieking unintelligible words. Flecks of foam whitened the corners of his mouth. It seemed to Susan he was working himself into a sort of madness. Suddenly he fell silent and the only sound in the arena was his panting. A man in black and white robes, like a harlequin, advanced to the dais with an inlaid staff topped with silver wings, and knelt and offered it. The High Priest took it, held it at his side, and laid his hand on the man’s brow. His voice was sharp, yet had an eager note.
‘Susan grants you the gift.’
The man rose, a smile on his face. He walked past the dais, along the shell to its end, stood and raised his arms like wings. He was like a bat standing there. Then he fell, leaning his body to a point of balance, falling past it, vanishing as though he had never been. The crowd made a single throb, an exhaled breath of satisfaction.
Soona, pale, whispered, ‘It is part of the ritual. Each year the staff-bearer dies. The new one is coming.’
Another man, identically dressed, with the same look of expectation on his face, approached the dais. The High Priest laid the staff in his hands.
‘What is the staff?’ Susan said.
‘The holiest relic. The wings are said to be the wings that grew on Susan’s back when she flew.’ Soona smiled faintly. ‘When you flew.’
Susan looked at Nick again. His eyes were gleaming angrily, but he made the same quick shake of his head and she turned and found the High Priest watching her. The Bloodcat watched too – its eyes never left her.
‘Now,’ the Priest said – and he spoke to them alone -‘now my dears, you will discover the foolishness of opposing the Temple.’
Guards came to the cart and motioned them out. They climbed down and let themselves be led to the dais. The Bloodcat strained at Susan, but the High Priest spoke sharply and it cringed. He spread his arms and Soona and Susan found themselves placed one under each palm. He spoke in his grating voice and every word rang in the arena.
‘A hundred turns have passed, and now we are in the holy time. A hundred turns, on this day, at this very hour’ – no, Susan whispered, it was dusk – ‘Susan came to this rock and flew. And in that very moment the Temple was born. Men belonged to her, and to it. To her Priest – that is, to me, her seventh High Priest. And on this day she is here again, though we do not see her, and if she favours us, then one will fly. She will grant it.
‘You see two girls before you. This is the Chosen One.’ He lowered his hand on Soona’s head. ‘She is chosen for holiness and purity and
learning. If Susan wills it, she will fly, and she will sit beside me in the Temple and rule O in Susan’s name. But if you have sinned, then she will fall. And you must pay. Suffering and penance will be your lot.’
The crowd raised its voice: ‘She will fly. She will fly.’
The High Priest smiled. Slowly the crowd grew still. ‘This girl,’ the Priest said, ‘this second girl, we did not expect on this holy day. But she is a heretic and must be tested. And she will make holy bones – for she has said that she is,’ he made them wait, ‘Susan Ferris.’ As he spoke the name he lowered his hand on to Susan’s head, and jerked it back as though it had been burned. A yell of rage came from the priests. They lurched forward in their seats, as though they would rush at her. Susan felt the weight of their hatred, she felt as if fists were striking her, as if she were burning and shrivelling up. She struggled to stay calm, and she looked for Nick and Jimmy and found their faces in the crowd. Jimmy winked again. That kept her standing straight. And Nick gave a derisive grin. But he was concerned with something else. He held his hand across his chest and pointed with his finger, and when she made a question with her eyes, pointed again, nodding his head. She understood. He was telling her what to do. When the time came he wanted her and Soona to walk down to the end of the shell, to the edge of the drop. Whatever they were planning would happen there. Perhaps – perhaps … But she could not think. Too many things were happening. The High Priest had raised his hands and stilled the crowd.
‘We shall sing the story, we shall make the invocation. And then perhaps we shall take our gift.’ The trumpets sounded again. When they were silent the crowd began to sing. Susan did not listen to the words, though now and then she heard her name, and Nick’s and Jimmy’s, and Otis Claw’s. She looked at the horse-shoe arena and the banks of spectators – townsfolk brown and grey, somehow human colours, and priests bone-white – at the guards and their polished swords, and the Candidates, and the High Priest standing, singing, like a headmaster, and, always, at the Bloodcat, resting at the dais. It was only a metre or two away. Its eyes never left her, and every time she looked at it its claws unsheathed and its lips curled back from its teeth. She saw muscular tremors under its hide. The sun beat down, the crowd shimmered. Sweat trickled on her face. She knew if she stood much longer she would faint.