‘Ready?’ Rocco spread his wings.
Vesta’s eyes darted through the shadows of the underbrush. ‘What was that?’ she whispered.
Rocco and Iggy peered into the darkened trees.
‘Probably nothing,’ said Rocco, lifting off. ‘Let’s get as far away from here as we can.’ His wings had been so heavy earlier, when he’d been watching from the edge of the forest. Glancing behind him, he felt a sudden jolt of energy. He’d done it – he’d actually saved them!
He soared higher. They had just reached the thickest part of the canopy when Vesta stopped again. She turned, gazing back the way they had come. ‘I think we’re being followed,’ she whispered.
A slight ghost-like figure appeared in between the trees, airborne and about level with them. It stopped, flitting up and down, hovering, seeming to watch them.
‘How long’s it been there?’ asked Rocco. The figure, whatever it was, didn’t look particularly threatening. It was slender, silvery grey in the dim light.
They set off again, watching over their shoulders. The creature continued to follow, but it remained several metres back, pausing when they did but not seeking to lessen the distance. It seemed frail, moving with the slightest breeze and struggling to stay on course.
Whatever it was, it didn’t appear threatening. It could scarcely fly.
The three stopped regularly so Vesta and Iggy could rest. They were weak. The creature behind them also stopped. It would immediately vanish, only to reappear when they were on their way again.
‘Should we try to lose it?’ said Rocco. ‘I mean, do we care if it follows us all the way back?’
‘There’s five of us and only one of it,’ said Iggy.
‘If it was going to hurt us it would have done so already,’ said Vesta.
They came to the lake. After scouting the area thoroughly they flew to the redwood treehouse. Vesta and Iggy collected their gear. Turning west, Rocco found the ravine and the rock face. With Vesta and Iggy trailing behind he climbed the steep ascent to the ledge. Vesta and Iggy landed. They turned to watch the mysterious creature. It made several slow turns before fluttering down into a tree some distance below.
‘What d’you suppose it is?’ asked Rocco.
‘It looks familiar.’ Vesta’s voice caught slightly.
Rocco flew down. Immediately the creature fluttered away. As soon as Rocco returned to the ledge, the creature circled around again before coming to rest in a scraggly tree growing out of the face of the rock not more than twenty metres below the pinnacle. Getting down on their stomachs, Rocco, Vesta and Iggy peered over the edge.
‘It’s –‘ Vesta didn’t finish her sentence. She was gone, flying head first to the scraggly tree.
In the soft moonlight the creature looked almost urvogel, thought Rocco. It had wings, but it was huddled against the branch, barely alive, gaping up with hollow eyes and a hairless head.
Vesta drew near. The creature’s wings flickered.
Iggy’s body jerked. He let out a cry.
Vesta had settled into a branch. She held her arm out.
‘Come, Py… it’s me, Vesta. Don’t you recognize me?’
Bathed in moonlight, the creature was almost bald. Its body was gaunt, a sack of bones held together by a thin sheath of skin. Was it really Pyroxene?
Vesta continued to call but Py – if indeed it was him – only darted suspicious looks at her and up at the others, hanging over the edge. Whenever Vesta moved closer, the creature shrank away.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Basalt as he exited the cave with Magma. Getting down on their hands and knees, they gazed down. Basalt held out his arm.
‘Is it really Py?’ asked Rocco. ‘He’s barely alive.’
‘Come Py, it’s us,’ said Basalt, beckoning.
Py flapped feebly.
Vesta continued calling Py’s name, but the creature wouldn’t let her come any closer. Finally, she flew back to the ledge.
‘You sure it’s him?’ Rocco asked.
Vesta nodded. ‘Hatchlings know each other.’
They took turns for the rest of the night, sitting in the tree trying to coax Py up to the ledge. He wouldn’t budge. When morning came they could see the creature was dead, its arms and legs wrapped tightly around its last hold on life, a bony branch of a tree.
Iggy had been sitting with Py at the last. He began to cry. Vesta flew down. She pried Py’s arms and legs away from the tree and carried him up to the ledge. Tears fell from her eyes. ‘He didn’t have to die.’
A few fire-coloured hairs still clung to Py’s head.
‘I’m surprised he could even fly,’ said Basalt, stretching out a wing tattered and punctured with holes.
‘He wanted to be near us,’ said Iggy.
Magma kicked a stone. It bounced off the ledge and clattered to the ravine below.
‘Harpia killed him,’ said Basalt. ‘She severed him from the colony. She knew it was a death sentence.’
‘If only we’d found him earlier, a day or two, maybe he would have survived,’ said Vesta.
They carried Py’s body to the forest below and laid him to rest under a forever green tree.
‘We can’t make a fire,’ said Basalt. ‘It’s too risky.’
Instead, they gathered rocks which they used to make a grave.
The sky had become heavy again, pressing down forcefully as it had done when the white robes had been asleep.
Rocco laid a stone on Pyroxene’s grave. He stood up. A draught shot up his spine. Shaking his arms and wings, he gazed dizzily into the rock grave. Py’s eyes were closed. He was dead, gone forever, leaving behind a gaping hole, a rip in the fabric of Terrakesh. Did urvogels become stars like the dead of Lower Terrakesh?
‘We see you, Py. We see you.’ Vesta plucked a feather from her wing. She brushed it until the yellow shone out again and tucked the feather in between the rocks. ‘You will always be our hatch-mate.’
Death was behind Rocco, nudging his back, trying to make him fall into Pyroxene’s grave.
‘It was all for nothing,’ said Magma. Bending over, he stuck a green feather into the rocks.
‘At least Py didn’t give up his wings,’ said Iggy. ‘That’s something. He was himself right to the end.’
‘But he’s dead now, isn’t he?’ said Magma, standing up stiffly.
No one said anything. Was Magma going to lose his temper again? His jaw was rigid. His eyes were stormy.
seventeen
Defector
Rocco shuffled back. Magma wasn’t going to start hurling rocks, was he? The River Gang boys did that whenever they were angry, or trying to make a point.
‘I - I’ve decided. I’m going home,’ said Magma.
What was he saying? Was he serious? Rocco glanced over at Basalt. He hadn’t expected it either, nor had Vesta, judging from their expressions.
‘You can’t! We have to find Belarica!’ Iggy cried.
‘Belarica lost the war, remember?’ said Magma. ‘She couldn’t even save herself.’
‘But she’s got help now from Shale.’ Iggy threw a desperate look at Basalt.
‘Why doesn’t she swoop in and reclaim Krakatoan then? Surely she knows about the wing-cutting, but she’s not doing anything to stop it, is she?’
‘I don’t know!’ Iggy splayed his arms and wings open wide. ‘Maybe she wants to but she can’t.’
‘Exactly! I’m not waiting around, clinging to some thread of hope. We’re not going anywhere out here. Every step we take just keeps pushing us back. I’m not going to try any more. It’s too hard.’ Magma jerked away. He flew into the burial tree, the forever green tree. He jostled around agitatedly.
What was the matter with him? Was he trying to fight the tree?
Rocco flew up. ‘Come on, Magma. Let’s talk about things. We just have to keep trying. Feldspar and the others are counting on us.’
‘What do you know? You’re not one of us.’
The words stung, but pe
ople said all kinds of unexpected, sometimes nasty things when they were delirious or sick. So his mother said. Perhaps urvogels were the same.
The limbs of the burial tree were thick. For all his struggling, Magma couldn’t seem to find his way into a branch. Grumbling loudly he flew to another tree. Rocco approached again.
‘Stop following me,’ snapped Magma.
Iggy and Basalt flew up.
‘If you go back now, Harpia will take your wings,’ said Basalt.
‘So? It’s better than dying out here,’ said Magma.
‘She might do worse to you,’ said Basalt. ‘Harpia might decide to make an example of you. She could punish you terribly.’
‘I’ll just say you forced me into it.’
‘You wouldn’t!’ Basalt’s eyes flashed. He was angry.
‘Come on then, if you want to fight me.’ Magma leaned down. One side of his hair was a mat, but the other side hung wildly around his face.
Iggy hadn’t said anything so far. Now he pleaded. ‘Oh Magma, do come down.’
‘We need you, Magma. We’re your friends, your hatch-mates. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’ Vesta had flown to the branch above Magma. She leaned down.
Glowering up, Magma rubbed the side of his head. The stain on his neck was red again. It matched the splotch on his wings.
‘It’s stinking awful out here! I don’t feel like myself,’ said Magma. ‘I can’t stand it. I didn’t really want to come in the first place.’
‘It’s not going to be like this forever!’ said Vesta, her voice steady. ‘As soon as we’re strong again, we’ll find Belarica. She’ll make everything right, you’ll see.’
They didn’t even need to win the war against Harpia in the time that was left. They only had to start the war, thought Rocco, counting the days again.
‘The trials won’t likely go ahead, not if there’s a war on. Think about it, Magma,’ Rocco said. If only they could get Magma talking about something else. He was always so bleak. He had nothing to hang onto, not a shred of hope. No wonder Py’s death had tipped him over the edge.
‘Who cares?’ snapped Magma. ‘We don’t even know the way to Shale. We’re out here in the Badlands where everything is wild. There aren’t any rules. It’s chaos. I hate it. Anything can happen. No wonder Dolerite and the others didn’t want to come.’
‘Oh Magma! Please come down!’ Iggy fluttered back and forth at the end of Magma’s branch.
‘Rocco will make a fire and I’ll – I’ll heat some water for tea,’ said Vesta, pushing in a bit closer. ‘You’ll feel better then.’
‘I want to go home!’ Magma screamed.
If Magma left, maybe they’d all want to go back, thought Rocco. Sort of like Magma’s stack of bones: pull one lever and the whole thing might fall apart.
‘We haven’t got a home any more. It’s just us.’ Iggy hovered, pleading.
‘I want to eat what the cook makes and sleep in my own bed. We’re nothing but a steaming pile of dung out here!’ Magma’s voice rang loud and tight.
Iggy flew into the tree. He said something softly, and Magma answered him back in an equally quiet voice.
After a moment the talking stopped.
‘He says he needs to be alone for a while. He’ll come back later, when he’s feeling better. Come on. Let’s leave him be.’ Iggy’s feet were pointed. His wings clapped shut as he glided down.
‘Want me to come with you, Magma?’ said Rocco. ‘I can tell you some stories about goats and living out on the plains. Once I stole a slab of meat off a lion. A whole pride of them were eating, and I flew down with my knife. I almost got killed.’
Magma cracked his wings. ‘I don’t want to hear your stupid stories. I’ll be back when I feel like it.’ He flew off.
Rocco followed Basalt and Vesta down.
‘There’s other kinds of ailments than the ones you can see,’ said Basalt. ‘It’s his head. He’s not himself.’
‘What are we going to do if he heads for home and doesn’t come back?’ asked Vesta.
‘It’s not really safe here.’ Rocco looked around ‘Air Marshals are probably scouring the area.’
Rocco, Basalt, Vesta and Iggy returned to the pinnacle. As soon as they touched down, Basalt vomited.
Was he getting sick again? Would he fall asleep and not be able to fly?
‘It’s only my nerves,’ said Basalt, slumping near the entrance of the cave.
‘You wait here,’ said Vesta. Motioning to Rocco and Iggy to follow, she flew down to the forest. The three carried armloads of soft boughs up the rock face and laid them in a pile on the floor of the cave. Basalt sank into the bed of pines. Returning to the forest, they gathered up leafy bushes, which they organized in clusters around the top of the pinnacle.
Vesta, Rocco and Iggy sat down behind their leafy lookout. ‘Maybe we should go and find him,’ said Vesta, parting the branches for a better view.
‘He’ll come back. He said he would,’ said Iggy.
Magma still wasn’t back by nightfall. They waited on the ledge until the moon came up. The next morning it was drizzling. Rocco got up and walked outside. He stared at the treetops below.
‘We can’t wait any longer. It’s not safe. They’re going to find us,’ he said, when Vesta came to stand beside him.
Basalt emerged. ‘Any sign of him?’
‘No,’ said Iggy, who’d been standing silently beside Rocco. He reached up and slid his hand into Rocco’s.
‘What if he just went back, without telling us?’ asked Rocco.
‘He wouldn’t do that,’ said Iggy.
‘I don’t know, Iggy. He said some pretty crazy things yesterday. Didn’t you hear him?’ Basalt frowned.
‘He didn’t mean it. He was just mad because – because we weren’t able to save Py,’ said Iggy.
Vesta adjusted her flying belt. ‘Rocco and I will look for him while we’re gathering food. You stay with Basalt, Ig.’
Iggy kicked a stone. It bounced over the edge.
‘Iggy, I know you want to wait for Magma, but Rocco’s right,’ said Vesta. ‘It’s not safe, this place. As soon as Rocco and I get back, we have to go. We have to think of Feldspar and the others.’
Rocco and Vesta jumped off. Iggy must have kicked another stone. Rocco heard it clattering down.
The trees were wet. They pushed their way into the foliage, coming to rest by Py’s grave. The feathers they had stuck in between the rocks were full of dew.
No sign of Magma.
They continued south, in the direction they had last seen him, searching for footprints in the soft areas of the forest floor, or bits of hair or robe that might have become tangled on the branches. They covered lots of ground, dropping down finally to gather some nuts that lay thickly at the foot of a tree.
Vesta hadn’t been talking much. She started gathering chestnuts, stuffing them methodically in her flying belt.
‘Where do you think he is?’ asked Rocco.
‘Don’t know.’ At every noise from the trees, Vesta’s eyes darted up.
It was like that day he met her, sitting beside her in court. She didn’t like to talk when she was worried.
When their belts were full of nuts and some wild garlic that they’d happened upon, they came to a stream. Vesta dropped her gear and walked out to the middle. The water was almost up to her waist. She flung out her fishing line.
They needed the fish, no doubt about it, but Vesta was biding her time. She was hoping Magma would arrive at the cave before them. Vesta didn’t fool him for a minute.
Rocco wove some reeds into a basket. He waded out, dipping the basket into the stream. Maybe it was better to fly at night and sleep during the day. If they left this evening, they’d get a good head start.
A blue feather had come loose from his wing. He watched as it floated down to Vesta. She pulled the feather out, rubbing the filaments between her thumb and forefinger.
‘Do you think that maybe the colour of things isn
’t fixed?’ she asked, looking back.
He’d never really thought about it before. Picking up another one of his loose feathers floating in the water, he held it up to the light. The water made it darker.
‘Did you notice Py’s wings?’ asked Vesta.
‘Yeah.’
‘They were brown.’
‘He was dying.’
‘Maybe you’re right and there is something in Harpia’s wing dust that made our wings turn white,’ said Vesta.
‘The dust isn’t just regular old wing dander. It’s powerful stuff,’ said Rocco. ‘It made you partake of that frenzy. You lost your will.’
‘I feel bad about it now,’ said Vesta.
‘What’s it feel like?’
‘It’s a powerful buzzing and vibration, pulling us all up, and we don’t even think of anything except going with the flow. It’s only after, when we’re coming down again, that I think, I’ve been up in the dome and I don’t even remember going.’
‘Aren’t you angry? If it were me I’d be furious. I hate it when I’m pinned down or someone’s forcing me against my will.’
‘It makes me angry now,’ said Vesta. ‘Before, my head was in a haze. Feels like I’m remembering it all by looking through a – a tinted glass.’
A long-legged water bird flew down and landed metres away. It tucked up its wings, and began to dart its pointy bill into the bottom of the stream.
The three fished in silence. He could tell Vesta to hurry up, but she’d probably just take longer.
‘We should go.’ He couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. Vesta had two fish and he had three. Vesta wrapped up her gear. Soon they were on their way, flying through the understorey, looking for signs of Magma again, on their way back to the cave.
They cleared the first long slope on the approach to the rock face. Vesta had been lagging, but Rocco pushed ahead. Midway up the slope Vesta passed him. Her wing strides had become rigid.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Rocco, pulling up beside her. Vesta’s face was white. She sprinted forward.
Rocco sniffed. Something was burning. It was different, more pungent, than the faint odour of Death he caught occasionally. No signs of brush fire in the trees behind them. He soared up. Wisps of fog were roiling over the edge of the precipice, odd-looking at this time of day.
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