Rocco's Wings

by Murdock, Rebecca Merry

  Cirrus began fluttering her wings. ‘Birds of a feather and all that scat. Where’d you get such an idiotic idea? Sure, we’re flock creatures, but we have individual brains. We’re able to think.’

  ‘Sorry – I just thought –‘

  ‘You just thought – you assumed we were all alike. Ravens get that a lot because we’re so lovely and sleek. Not so much as a feather out of place. We’re not all the same, you know, just because our feathers are black.’

  ‘I didn’t mean – I was talking about urvogels.’

  ‘You didn’t mean ravens, but you’d be well advised to purge your head of such nonsense. Judge matters with your own eyes.’

  Cirrus seemed to know a lot about a great deal of stuff, but she sure was prickly about being part of a flock.

  ‘And you’re a big blue fool if you think you’re going to survive on your own. You’re bald. Those wings are big but they won’t cover all of you, not if the weather turns nasty. Flock birds are able to share their heat. They also take turns sleeping with one eye open so they can see danger coming. Did you know Air Marshals are exceptional at tracking?’

  Rocco shook his head.

  ‘They’ll find you in your sleep. Put your own neck on the line, but why condemn your friends to die?’

  ‘I’m not condemning anyone.’

  ‘Did you know urvogels get separation sickness?’

  Rocco nodded.

  ‘That’s a design weakness for sure, but urvogels have their other advantages. Hatch-mates are very tuned into each other.’

  ‘Hatch-mates?’

  ‘Urvogels hatch on their own – like the eggs of crocodiles or turtles. When they’re ready to come out, the hatchlings coo to each other, causing them to all break their shells at the same time. They see each other’s faces first. That’s the imprint, the obligate bond; it’s what ties all hatch-mates together.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You could be part of that. You’re not a hatch-mate but you roost together, you’re like that small one, what’s his name?’

  ‘Iggy?’

  ‘Yes, he’s from a different clutch, and so is the big one, Basalt. But they roost together, and operate like hatch-mates. You could too. Think about it, and for goodness sake use that head of yours, it’s more than a nutcracker.’

  The sound of laughter had been growing louder, rolling up the side of the roof. Harpia and her guests had come out to the balcony. Harpia’s voice was merry, but also slippery, as if someone was about to fall and break his neck.

  Another peal of laughter floated up.

  The hair on the back of Rocco’s neck prickled. ‘I’m going to think about it, Cirrus, honest I will.’

  Cirrus flew off. She’d done that before, left without saying goodbye. She was just being a raven, thought Rocco. His stomach had more or less settled again. He glided down. His feet came to rest on the path.

  What if Cirrus was right? What if he couldn’t survive in the forest on his own?

  He ran a few paces and stopped.

  Basalt had given him the shanga fruit for no reason except that he was being nice. And they hadn’t shut him out of the troupe after he’d refused to help them last night. That was also a point in their favour.

  What else? He began walking again.

  Today on the raft Vesta had been curious about his feelings. Maybe they were more like him than he’d previously thought.

  The path was empty, but if an Air Marshal spotted him, he’d have some explaining to do. Lifting off once more, he flew along until he came to the breezeway. Pushing open the blue door, he entered the Bathhouse, empty except for the endless drip-drip of water. Taking off his clothes, he slipped into the big pool. The water wasn’t warm like before, but he needed to get the mud off his wings.

  What if all urvogels weren’t all the same, or at least not all cruel like Harpia. Should he risk it? If he did nothing, Basalt and the others might be doomed. He could help them. If they started getting mean, he could leave.

  Death hovered at his back. He twisted around, but only the cavern of the Bathhouse yawned back, dark and hollow.

  Death was teasing him into a game of constantly looking over his shoulder – a strategy aimed at unravelling his mind spirit. He had to focus. He had to lock Death behind the same trapdoor he kept those images of his mother on the kitchen floor, dead, and Jafari on the ground outside, dead.

  Now he had more ugly pictures - of Harpia and her dinner guests to shove in there, too. The trapdoor, and the hole behind it, was getting full.

  He was shivering. He pulled himself out of the water. After flapping his wings in the drying area, he dressed again, ripping bigger holes in a fresh tunic so his wings could fit. He returned outside. At least he’d actually thought it through; he’d weighed everything up in his head, just like Cirrus said.

  Only a few cracks of light shone out from the beds when he stepped into the sleeping chamber. Iggy was still awake.

  ‘I’m going to come,’ he whispered, squatting down beside Iggy’s bed.

  Iggy’s eyes were large as he rolled over. His wings began to flash. He grabbed Rocco by the hand and pulled him over to Basalt whose wings were flickering dimly beneath his sheet.

  ‘Say it again,’ said Iggy.

  Rocco repeated what he’d just said. Basalt immediately got up. Tapping Magma and Vesta lightly on the shoulders, they filed out to the hallway. Moonlight shone in from a window.

  Rocco explained everything that had just happened. The others’ mouths fell open, twisting in disgust, when he recounted the wing eating. When he told them how Harpia made Cristobalite clean up his own discarded, broken wings, their eyes blackened in rage.

  ‘Cirrus says we should all go together. I don’t know anything about separation sickness, but you can tell me. My mother was a midwife, a healer. She taught me a little.’

  ‘We’re not mudrocks,’ said Magma.

  ‘He’s saying he’ll help us,’ said Basalt.

  Iggy flung his arms around Rocco. Rocco hugged him back. It felt surprisingly agreeable and pleasant.

  ‘We’re glad you decided to come,’ said Basalt, embracing him next. He looked so relieved, half smiling and relaxing the worried lines around his mouth.

  ‘Why – why is Harpia doing this?’ asked Vesta.

  ‘She’s always been selfish,’ said Basalt. ‘She never really put the Krakatoans first.’

  ‘So we’ll leave tomorrow, right after I help Cirrus free the birds?’ asked Rocco.

  Basalt, Vesta and Iggy nodded. Magma finally nodded too.

  ‘What about my idea of going over the wall at Silver Woods?’ asked Rocco. ‘We could stay behind and hide after everyone’s finished playing flight tag.’

  ‘Wildergarten is better. It’s closer to Mount Zetna,’ said Basalt.

  Rocco had never been to Wildergarten but he’d seen it from a distance, wild and dense and growing into the mountain.

  They discussed their plans.

  ‘We’ll look for Py first thing, won’t we? He’s all alone out there,’ said Iggy.

  ‘Yes, of course we’ll look for him, Iggy, but we have to get away from here first.’ Basalt laid his hand on Iggy’s shoulder.

  * * *

  Early the next morning Basalt and Vesta set off to steal, or as they called it ‘liberate’, some amber venom from the Alchemist’s shop in Merchant’s Alley.

  Rocco followed Magma into the Weapons Room, at the end of the corridor along from their Sleeping Chamber. He showed Magma where he’d been stashing some food supplies on the top of a cabinet. Magma removed a sword, silver with a green gemstone set into the hilt.

  ‘This was Py’s,’ he said. ‘You can use it.’

  Magma laid the blade on the pile of swords and knives he had been stacking on the floor. Together they carried the weapons to the Blacksmith’s Shop at the end of Merchant’s Alley.

  ‘We need them this afternoon, sharp and polished. We’re practising for the Air Games,’ said Magma as he dropped
his armload of weapons on the table. Rocco did the same.

  The blacksmith glanced up from where he had been working at the fire. ‘Knives, too?’

  Magma nodded.

  ‘Three sun bells. They’ll be ready.’

  As they stepped outside, Rocco said, ‘Can we stop at the Book Treasury?’

  ‘What for?’

  Rocco explained. Moments later they entered the Cartography Room, a large sunlit room on the main floor of the Book Treasury. A map, so large it took up the entire back wall, was painted in vivid colours.

  Green in the middle, marked ‘Upper Terrakesh.’ Brown on the right, marked ‘Lower Terrakesh.’ A long snaking line, the escarpment, divided the colours from the top of the map to the bottom. None of the villages, not even Gogogamesh, was marked, only the Ebo River.

  A stripe of blue had been painted on the far left margin.

  ‘Is it water or sky?’ asked Rocco, laying his hand on the wall.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Magma.

  Near the top of the map the escarpment hooked to the right, like a shepherd’s staff. Near the end of the hook, a dot marked Shale. Other urvogels cities were marked, like Krakatoan, on the very edge of the cliffs.

  No one else was in the room, but Rocco kept his voice down. ‘We’ll travel in the opposite direction first, away from Shale. What do you think?’

  The red patch of Magma’s neck had gotten brighter. His face looked sort of green.

  ‘I don’t feel so good,’ said Magma, glancing from the floor to the map then back again.

  He sat down on the floor while Rocco examined the map further. He hadn’t anything to write on or write with, so he tried to forge the images into his mind spirit.

  They flew to Singhurvogel Hall for the midday meal. Magma refused to eat, but he helped Basalt scoop up several rounds of cheese off the gold robes’ table. They all filled their pockets with whatever was left over on the white robes’ tables.

  At the evening meal, Iggy dropped a glass of water on the floor. Sitting on the floor, he began to wail. While everyone turned to watch Iggy’s apparent temper tantrum Rocco slid a whole plate of figs into a cloth. He tied the corners and did the same to another bundle of shangas.

  Meanwhile Basalt, Vesta and Magma busily cleaned out the minionatros’ serving counter, not the hot stuff or anything with liquid, but all the nuts, fruit and bread. Iggy’s wails were just beginning to subside when they hurried outside. They flew back to Roosting Hall where they hid their provisions in the Weapons Room.

  They found Iggy again in Silver Woods. He was sitting under a tree with the white robes from the clatch.

  ‘How long’s it going to take?’ asked Feldspar, looking anxiously from Basalt, to Vesta, to Magma.

  ‘We’ll return as quickly as we can,’ said Vesta.

  The white robe with the gold earrings said, ‘Are you going to make it to Shale and back again before our trials? There’s hardly any time before the next full moon.’

  ‘Twenty-eight days to be exact,’ said Feldspar.

  ‘Of course, we’re going to do everything in our power to bring Belarica back. Once we leave, we won’t be allowed back in, not without Belarica.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll forget about us,’ said the white robe with gold earrings.

  ‘We won’t forget,’ said Basalt. ‘How could we?’

  Jumping up, Feldspar embraced Basalt.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Feldspar, embracing Vesta, then Rocco.

  Rocco examined Feldspar’s face. He’d been doing the same with Basalt, Vesta, Magma and Iggy, looking for any glimmer of cruelty. Since they’d been standing in the hallway last night, their faces had seemed softer, more human.

  An array of feelings – affection, hope, despair – surfaced in Feldspar’s eyes. Basalt’s face was also a constantly shifting sea of emotion. He lifted his brow now, nodding at Feldspar and Rocco.

  * * *

  The half hour bell had just rung when Rocco slipped from bed. He tapped Iggy’s feet on his way to the door. Iggy failed to stir. He was awake though, so were the others.

  The city lay still, except for the distant flashing from Air Marshals on the walkway above the wall. Kneeling by the front steps outside Roosting Hall, Rocco quickly covered his wings.

  eleven

  Crows, ravens and rooks

  Flying over the darkened buildings, Rocco glided down to the loose shrubs at the foot of the northeast corner tower. Above his head, far up in the tower, Air Marshals were talking.

  ‘Lift the latch,’ Cirrus whispered, flying out of the shrubs.

  ‘I thought you said it was a knob.’

  ‘That comes later!’

  The northwest tower looked identical to the other one, where they’d entered on the night of the clatch. Pushing through the foliage, Rocco reached out and found the hard metal handle. With a heave, he opened the door. Cirrus followed him in.

  ‘Wipe the dust off your wing tip. Even I can’t see in the pitch black,’ said Cirrus.

  Rocco did as she bid.

  ‘We’re leaving tonight, all five of us,’ he said.

  ‘Together?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Good. I didn’t find out much,’ said Cirrus as they proceeded down. ‘There’s lots of avian species in Silver Woods, but I wasn’t able to turn up any intelligence on whether any of the night birds are also spies. Some pockets of the forest don’t tolerate snitches. Maybe that’s one of them.’

  ‘We’re going out through Wildergarten anyway. New plan.’

  ‘Your idea?’

  ‘No, Basalt’s. Says it’s closer to the mountain, which it is.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  They arrived at the bottom. Passing under an arch, they entered a broad corridor. Moonlight streamed in from a row of windows high on the wall. Flying up, Rocco stared out at the Endless Plains. The pale grass rippled like waves in the night breeze. In the middle of the plain stood the lonely tree.

  The sight of it sent a stabbing ache into his chest. Just a few days ago, everything had been different. He had knocked the thorns off a branch. He had laid his head to rest on the bough. His mother and Jafari had both been alive then.

  ‘Over here. It’s a nasty piece of a knob!’ Cirrus was fluttering up and down by a door on the other side of the corridor. ‘It’s made deliberately, I’d say, so it can’t be released with a beak!’

  Rocco tried the latch. It wasn’t one he’d encountered elsewhere in Krakatoan. The handle was round; its mechanism required a twist, not a push of the thumb.

  ‘Nasty, nasty knob!’ squawked Cirrus.

  ‘Be quiet! Someone’s going to hear us!’ They were quite far underground, but Cirrus’ voice was shrill.

  The door swung open. Dust, bird scat, and other damp and icky smells blew out, along with a scurrying sound of feet or wings. Rocco squinted in at a wire fence behind which sat a wall of cages, filled with birds. A few beat their wings, but most were sitting listlessly on the bottom of their cages.

  Rocco plugged his nose.

  ‘We need to do this quickly,’ exclaimed Cirrus. ‘You open the fence and the cages and I’ll come behind and tell everyone what we’re doing.’

  The fence was locked, but after retrieving a key off the wall, Rocco unlocked the fence and began opening the doors to the cages. Cirrus jabbered away in her mother tongue.

  One by one, the birds hopped out, some covered in droppings and all with broken feathers. Didn’t anyone care that they lived in squalor? They were stunned, flying down to the floor where they sat for a period before flying off. Brief squabbles broke out. Soon the cages were empty except for a raven with a grey beak.

  ‘I want to thank you, young urvogel,’ it said, bowing low.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Rocco. Bending over, he shook the bird’s wing.

  Ever so regally, Grey Beak lifted off, disappearing into the corridor. Through some miracle the bird had managed to keep its dignity.

  ‘Do only some of them speak?’ />
  Cirrus snorted. ‘They all speak, mudrock. Can’t you hear them?’

  Outside, the bird calls had risen to a din.

  Rocco locked the fence gate again. Returning to the corridor he flew up and tossed the key out the window. Whoever had locked the birds up wasn’t going to be able to use the cages again, not without a lot of trouble.

  Opening the door to the second room, he stared in at more cages, this time full of crows. The third room held magpies and rooks; the last, starlings and red-winged black birds.

  By the time all the birds were free, the cawing and screeching had risen to a deafening pitch. Rocco hurriedly threw the last key out the window. The sky was black with birds.

  ‘I have to get out of here.’ Rocco ran toward the stairwell.

  ‘Go. Go, and thank you.’

  The sound of beating wings and calling birds was even more powerful outside. The air trembled with vibrations. He dusted his wing tip in a patch of sand. Keeping low to the trees, he zoomed across the city. Air Marshals filled the air, rising from the windows of their Roosting Halls and out of the palace doors.

  A large dark drove of birds was congregating on top of the palace dome.

  * * *

  ‘Hello?’ Rocco heard the echo of his own voice.

  They’d agreed to meet in the Bathhouse, but where were they?

  Basalt, Vesta, Magma and Iggy, faces drawn and pale, stepped out from the shadows. Their wings, already covered in soil, hung stiffly at their sides. They were loaded with so much gear, how would they ever fly?

  ‘Here,’ said Vesta, slinging an empty waterskin and flying belt stuffed with food over Rocco’s shoulder. Magma handed him the silver sword with the green stone in the hilt inside its sheath. He put it on.

  ‘Look,’ said Basalt following Rocco to the door. ‘There’s no way to explain all this gear, so if anyone tries to stop us, just get to Wildergarten as fast as you can.’

  They hurried into the path. Basalt strode out in front. Rocco took up the back, right behind Iggy. Flying would have been faster, but they’d all agreed it would attract more attention.

  Rocco’s sword kept bumping against his leg. Mid-stride he adjusted the belt. It was awkward, all this stuff, but it was all they had to get by with for the next few days.