Rocco's Wings

by Murdock, Rebecca Merry

  They entered the field of green. Their tunics shone, starkly white in the light of the moon.

  Two white dots appeared in the sky. A pair of urvogels on their way back from Singhurvogel Hall?

  Basalt, Vesta and Magma broke into a run.

  ‘Come on, Iggy!’ Rocco tugged the small urvogel’s sleeve. As they reached the midway point in the field the two dots, still some distance away, passed overhead. They weren’t regular urvogels, but Air Marshals.

  Rocco’s feet hit the ground, stride after stride. Iggy’s feet were faster; they had to be, his legs were shorter. Still two hundred metres to go. Iggy’s waterskin broke free. Without missing a beat Rocco scooped it up.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, tossing it to Iggy. For a fleeting moment, he glanced back. The Air Marshals had landed on the edge of the field.

  ‘Faster!’ Rocco yelled.

  A sharp whistle cut the air.

  Basalt, Magma and Vesta flew up.

  ‘They’ve seen us!’ cried Iggy, lifting off.

  The Air Marshals were signalling, calling to other Air Marshals. They were all out looking for the culprit who had freed the birds.

  Wildergarten loomed near, so dark and thick it looked as if there was no way in. Rocco stared ahead, watching as Basalt, Vesta and Magma were, by turns, swallowed up in the foliage.

  Glancing back one more time, Rocco’s heart pounded in his chest. The Air Marshals were halfway across the field. Behind them the dotted lights of other Air Marshals were amassing.

  Rocco entered the trees. Spotting a thick branch overhead, Rocco flew up and seized it with both hands. Yanking it back, he motioned to Vesta who immediately zoomed into the space.

  They waited. Finally, after several long moments, the two Air Marshals entered the woods.

  ‘You’re it!’ called Vesta.

  ‘Stop! In the name of the Great Urvogel, I command you!’ The Air Marshal flying out in front craned his neck. The whites of his eyes gleamed as he shot ahead, sword aimed at Vesta.

  With a quick and nimble tuck, Vesta closed her wings. She dropped like an arrow. In the same moment, Rocco released the branch. It snapped into place with a thwack that hit the Air Marshal squarely in the chest. Reeling back, he hit his partner.

  Both Air Marshals careened down, flapping hard as they tried to recover their wings. Rocco followed the sound of cracking branches and ripped leaves.

  A thud sounded below.

  ‘Got one!’ Magma yelled up.

  Halfway to the forest floor, Rocco flew up. Vesta and Basalt had begun to fight the second Air Marshal. Unlike the first who’d taken the brunt of the whipping branch, he’d managed to stay airborne. The clash of swords rang loudly.

  ‘You’ll never get away with this, Vespa, or whatever your name is. And you, Basalt, you’re responsible for the white robes’ disgrace. They’re all going to lose their wings because of you.’

  Rocco dived into the fray. He swung left and right.

  ‘You’ve run away with a dog, I see,’ said the Air Marshal.

  It was only bait, thought Rocco, looking through a crack in the leaves. Much bigger problems were upon them. A white circle appeared; was the moon rolling across the field? Blinking rapidly, Rocco stared out. Not the moon, but a great company of urvogels, was hurtling toward them. Their wings, glowing and white, beat against the black earth.

  A stone hit the bottom of his stomach – not a real stone, but the feeling was there, something heavy and lodged out of place.

  ‘More Air Marshals! Look! Look!’ Magma’s voice rose in a shriek.

  ‘I can see,’ said Rocco, slashing forcefully at the Air Marshal as he swung by in his battle with Vesta and Basalt. The Air Marshal was larger and more experienced than any of them, but his glowing wings made him an easy mark.

  ‘Dog.’ The Air Marshal snarled. With a backhand lash, Rocco swung again. This time he cut the Air Marshal’s wing. A spray of white feathers twirled off. The Air Marshal, spinning wildly, plummeted down.

  Basalt and Vesta dived after him.

  ‘Let him go! We have to clear out of here!’ Rocco called. The Air Marshal wasn’t going anywhere, not with a clipped wing.

  Rocco peered ahead. Twenty or more Air Marshals, mere metres away, were almost on them. Their wings beat stridently. A war shield began to throb.

  ‘Come on!’ Rocco veered down. Basalt and Vesta pushed up through the trees.

  ‘They’re done. Both of them,’ said Vesta.

  Magma and Iggy popped into sight.

  ‘Come on!’ Rocco darted deeper into the trees. His sword was out, a longer arm to move the leaves and otherwise protect himself from anything approaching head-on. How deep was Wildergarten, anyway, and would the Air Marshals follow them up the mountain? Of course they would.

  His neck and the back of his head was dripping with sweat. Even the wind, swirling around him, couldn’t manage to dry it off. Overhead, branches began to crack. Had a second contingent of Air Marshals come around the other way, to block them off?

  The muscles in his arm tensed as he got ready to strike. Any moment now he was going to feel the ugly snap of a sky-tether on his wing.

  More flapping, but as he listened through the throb going on in his ears, the beats weren’t slow and hard like urvogel wings. The flaps were short, flicking with a snap against the leaves. A black mass was moving through the upper reaches of the trees.

  A small dark wing whizzed over his head.

  ‘Thank you, blue wing,’ said a voice.

  Birds?

  The small wings of black birds darted everywhere around him. He flapped to stay on course as the birds hurtled past. The birds dipped down, or flew up, all taking care not to hit him and his friends.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Iggy sounded scared.

  They weren’t just any birds – they were black birds, the ones Rocco had freed. They were angry, screeching and cawing so nosily the sound filled the air. The cavalry of birds was heading straight for the Air Marshals.

  More and more birds swept past.

  The war shield stopped beating. A single shout rang out in the field, followed by a flood of shrieks.

  ‘Get off! Get off!’ the Air Marshals cried.

  The mass of birds had become so dense that Rocco could no longer fly. Basalt, Magma, Vesta and Iggy flew astride. They all gaped at the passing stream of ravens, rooks, crows and starlings.

  ‘They’re here – helping us?’ said Basalt.

  As if in answer, another bird flew past. ‘Thank you, Rocco. Thank you.’

  With the Air Marshals on one side, and a never-ending swarm of birds on the other, Rocco shot up. He stuck his head through the top of the tree canopy. A moment later Basalt, Magma, Iggy and Vesta pushed through beside him.

  Out in the field, the Air Marshals were under attack by the mob of birds. They beat their arms and wings, ducking as the birds dive-bombed their heads. Some lashed hopelessly with their swords. A volley of bird cries and urvogel shrieks rang out.

  The army of birds was much larger than the birds Rocco had freed from the cages. Ten or a hundred times as many, way too many to count.

  A handful of Air Marshals broke away from the melee. Four – no, five were fleeing back toward the city. Breaking off, a hoard of birds gave chase.

  ‘Let’s go,’ shouted Rocco.

  Dipping down into the trees, they pressed on through Wildergarten. The corner tower appeared, so thickly covered in vines that the stones were hardly visible. Not a single Air Marshal appeared. Perhaps they were inside, or out in the fight on the field. It mattered not as they swept over the wall and began a steep ascent up Mount Zetna.

  Great stands of trees with branches sloping down like feathers – forever green trees – stood in rows so dense the ground was nowhere to be seen. A wondrous tangy spice odour wafted up. Sometimes the terrain jutted up or down, revealing a treeless rock or a crack in the mountain’s surface.

  Rocco listened. He knew Iggy’s wing stride and also Basalt�
��s. It wouldn’t be long before he could tell Vesta and Magma apart. Close behind him, they flew up, higher and higher, gaining altitude as the air grew cold.

  At the very top of the slope they came to a flat rock. Hovering over it, they gazed back. The lights of Krakatoan twinkled, as if the place was cosy and full of welcome.

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever see home again?’ Iggy’s voice was thin, like a weathered reed.

  ‘When we arrive here again, it will be with Belarica,’ said Basalt. ‘Hang onto that, Iggy.’

  ‘We barely made it over the wall,’ said Magma. ‘If that mob of birds hadn’t come along, we’d be captured by now.’

  ‘Look,’ said Vesta, ankle bangles chiming in the wind. ‘We’re not even at the top yet.’

  twelve

  Treehouse

  Rocco scanned the mountainside. They weren’t at the top at all. More jutting peaks rose in the distance, each one higher than the one before it.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked, watching his breath puff out and circle away. They had to get moving. But they’d done it; they’d actually escaped. Surely that was the hardest part, following through on the decision to run.

  The moon, which had been bright before, was covered in a veil of clouds. Hopefully it wouldn’t rain, or snow. He’d never seen snow before but the scholars in Gogogamesh talked about it: cold white flakes that looked like sugar but were neither ice nor water.

  Rocco moved into the slope. The tops of forever green trees rose silently below: such neat rows. They dipped into a ravine, rising again as they came to a new wall of trees.

  ‘We can’t fly this close,’ Rocco called back over his shoulder. ‘It’s just going to make our journey longer.’ He pulled higher. As soon as the others joined him, he climbed another twenty metres.

  Basalt and Iggy were flying on his right, by his shoulder. Magma and Vesta were on the other side, flying in a ‘V’ formation, just like migrating geese.

  Hill after hill stretched ahead, dark swollen humps hunkered down in the night.

  If he ever saw Cirrus again he’d have to thank her. She was responsible for organizing the birds. How else did they know to fly into Wildergarten at exactly that moment?

  As they passed each darkened ridge, more bluffs, ravines and tree-lined slopes came into view. On and on they flew.

  ‘It’s big, isn’t it?’ Basalt called over.

  Rocco nodded. Upper Terrakesh was massive, also completely uninhabited by urvogels. They had not seen a single light in the trees below.

  His shoulders were heavy but they didn’t stop, not until the sky began to lighten from blue-black to gold. They were dead on course, with the sun rising directly behind them. They had to find somewhere to sleep. Iggy could hardly keep up. Rocco’s own limbs were wooden.

  Small lakes dotted the mountain forest below.

  ‘Come on, Iggy!’ Vesta kept calling.

  A lake came into view, larger than the others and surrounded by the same dense trees they’d been passing over the entire night. Rocco dropped altitude. A large flat rock sat at the end of the lake, a perfect place for landing. He swooped down.

  His feet hit the rock. Knees buckling, he almost slipped, he was so tired. Basalt landed, then Magma. Their faces were haggard, their eyes circled in shadows. With a thud Vesta and Iggy came to a stop.

  ‘This place is scary,’ said Iggy, looking around.

  ‘There’s no one here. Not a single urvogel anywhere. It’s up to us now.’ Rocco dropped his gear. His back ached something fierce. Maybe a swim would wake him up. He jumped in. The lake snapped back, or so it felt, the water was so bitingly cold.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Basalt asked, gaping down from the flat rock.

  ‘It’s freezing.’ Beating his wings, Rocco jumped out again.

  ‘Do you think anyone followed us?’ asked Iggy.

  ‘I didn’t see any Air Marshals,’ said Basalt.

  ‘Me either,’ said Vesta.

  ‘There’s nothing here but trees,’ said Magma, scouring the woods.

  A small clearing separated the forest from the lake. They couldn’t very well sleep out in the open. They needed some kind of shelter, in case it rained, or to protect them from whatever meat-eaters might be roaming the woods. It didn’t seem like the kind of jungle lions might like. They were too heavy to ramble along in trees – at least the big male lions.

  Rocco’s limbs were already stiffening up, but he forced himself to fly to the edge of the trees. So tall, they were, he couldn’t even see the tops. From the ground they appeared to be two or three times taller than the biggest trees in Krakatoan. With a sharp crack of his wings, he headed into the grove.

  ‘Do you think it’s safe?’ asked Magma, his eyes wide open as he looked around rattling his pocket full of bones.

  ‘Nothing’s going to jump out and scare us,’ said Rocco. ‘If that’s what you’re asking.’

  Animals weren’t crazy. The forest was infinitely green which meant there was lots to eat. Grass-eaters ate the green stuff, and the meat-eaters came along and ate them. That’s how it worked.

  Just to be safe, Rocco cracked his wings again.

  ‘I don’t have the leaf,’ said Vesta. A few steps into the giant trees she had stopped to pick up a leaf, which she was now comparing to the other leaves in her book. ‘But I think it might be a redwood.’

  ‘What are we looking for, anyway?’ asked Iggy, pushing in behind Rocco who had been moving from one tree to the next, inspecting the lower boughs.

  ‘A branch big enough to sleep in,’ answered Rocco, stepping over a log and around a patch of flesh-coloured mushrooms.

  ‘You ever sleep in a tree before?’ asked Iggy.

  ‘Yeah. A few times.’ Touching the trunk, rough and solid beneath his hand, he proceeded around its considerable girth. A hole, a door of sorts, appeared on the far side. Basalt, Magma, Vesta and Iggy followed him in.

  The interior of the tree was hollow and as large as a room. The floor was empty and flat, except for several large roots sticking up.

  ‘It’s a perfect place to roost.’ Basalt flapped his wings. A waft of cool air blew in.

  ‘It’s filthy!’ Magma kicked a stone. ‘And the air isn’t moving. We’ll suffocate!’

  The floor was a bit dusty but perfectly fit for sleeping on, thought Rocco.

  ‘Where else are we going to sleep, Magma?’ Vesta’s voice was strained.

  ‘I don’t know but I’m not sleeping here!’ Magma was still wearing his sword. Pulling out the blade, he began whipping it through a cobweb, barely missing Rocco and Iggy who were forced to duck.

  ‘You’re going to hurt someone!’ Basalt clamped a hand on the hilt of Magma’s sword. ‘Take it outside!’

  ‘I will!’ Magma stomped out.

  He was in a rage, or some fit of temper. Couldn’t he control himself? Stepping outside, Rocco began searching in the undergrowth for leaves and moss, anything to make the floor of the treehouse softer.

  ‘He’s not used to it, being out here in the wilds,’ said Basalt stirring a pile of leaves with his foot. The four gathered up several armloads of spongy moss, listening all the while to Magma’s footsteps as he tromped around in the underbrush.

  ‘Magma! Come and help!’ Vesta shouted. Magma’s footsteps would stop, but as soon as they started talking again, the stomping resumed. Soon the floor of the treehouse had been lined with a soft bedding. They found a thicket of blackberries over by a stream deeper into the woods. Cutting off large pieces, they assembled a door, which they opened and closed with the tips of their swords.

  Basalt, Vesta, Iggy and Rocco carried their gear into the treehouse and stacked it against the wall.

  ‘Is he coming?’ Rocco asked. Magma hadn’t done a bit of the work, but they couldn’t very well leave him outside. Rocco laid his head down on his waterskin, which he had half-filled from the stream. Half-filled so his head would nestle into it, like a pillow.

  Basalt and Vesta were stretched out, prepari
ng to sleep.

  Iggy crawled to the opening.

  ‘Aren’t you tired, Magma?’ he called through the brambles. ‘We’re going to roost now.’

  The crunch of Magma’s footsteps stopped.

  ‘Magma!’ Iggy called again.

  The footsteps started again.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked Rocco.

  ‘He’s just tired.’

  Rocco could barely keep his eyes open. The moss smelled sweet.

  A scratching sound erupted near his head. Magma was coming in. Rocco sat up to let him pass, pulling the brambles back into place before he plopped back down.

  ‘Tomorrow, we’ll look for Py,’ said Vesta sleepily.

  ‘Can’t even breathe in here. We’re worse than animals,’ Magma muttered as he flopped down between Iggy and Vesta.

  ‘If we fall into a stupor, keep us warm, okay Rocco?’ Basalt sounded worried. ‘We’re not warm-blooded like mammals, but we’re not cold-blooded either. We’re in between.’

  So not like a human, and not like a crocodile either. ‘Okay,’ said Rocco.

  ‘The Alchemist always keeps a fire going in the rooms of the sick Air Marshals,’ said Basalt. ‘I think it’s important, the heat.’

  Rocco knew he should ask more but with his body falling asleep he sensed that Death had entered the hollow. It was hanging above his head. He closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Iggy had been crying. His cheeks were streaked. Rocco reached over and pushed the hair from Iggy’s eyes.

  Rolling over to his knees, Rocco poked the brambles away with his sword. The forest was dark, the light of the moon couldn’t even penetrate the leaves. They’d slept the whole day and into the following evening.

  Something crackled in the underbrush, likely a rodent.

  There had been no sign of urvogels living this deep into the Badlands. Whatever creatures lived in the forest weren’t used to eating urvogels. They ate other things.

  The ground was vibrating. He could feel it up through his knees. He crawled outside. With his sword firmly clenched in his hand, he stood up. Why was he so afraid? Lots of animals smaller than him lived in the trees. He only had to get used to the dark and the way everything smelt.