Rocco's Wings

by Murdock, Rebecca Merry

  Vesta’s voice was swollen with emotion. ‘He can’t fly with us, Iggy, and we have to get going to Shale. We have to bring Belarica back. Everyone’s depending on us.’

  Iggy sobbed louder.

  They weren’t moving. Rocco nudged their shoulders. He crawled back into the grass. They were behind him, crawling too. As soon as they reached the woods, Rocco led them into the thickest part of the foliage. Iggy’s face had gone slack. He wasn’t really looking where he was going.

  ‘Come on, Ig!’ Rocco grabbed his hand. Iggy’s eyes were dazed.

  ‘Just fly in my tail wind. It’ll be easy.’ Releasing Iggy’s hand, Rocco shot ahead. They had to get as far away from the Air Marshals, and as soon as possible.

  Leading the way, Rocco swerved up and down dodging limbs and branches. Every few minutes he or Vesta would drop back and tug Iggy’s wing or grab his flying belt, urging him on.

  They came to a gully with a stream. An air current flowed over the water. A stiff breeze caught their backs. They’d been riding the air current for a distance. Rocco turned to check on Iggy.

  Two Air Marshals were flying parallel to the stream, just inside the first row of trees.

  ‘Iggy! Behind you!’

  Wheeling around, Rocco headed back. He had to get to Iggy first. In his bird eye vision he spotted the Air Marshals as they swung out over the water.

  ‘Come on Iggy! Fly as fast as you can! The Air Marshals are on the other side of the ravine!’ Rocco swung his arms. His palms were sweaty but he was ready to fight them to the death. What else was there to do? One of them, perhaps the one in front, had even killed Basalt.

  ‘Dirty mudrock.’ The whites of the Air Marshal’s eyes shone cruelly.

  At least Iggy had swept past, thought Rocco, swinging hard at the first Air Marshal, the one with cruel eyes. His blade rang loud. Rocco struck again, this time throwing his whole body into the thrust. He had to loosen up, hit left, then right; could he remember what Magma had showed him in Avian Square that day?

  ‘Did you kill him?’ Rocco yelled.

  The Air Marshal grinned.

  ‘Basalt was trying to free the citizens of Krakatoan. It’s not right what Harpia’s doing!’

  The Air Marshal narrowed his eyes. Rocco said it again.

  ‘Yes, I heard you,’ the Air Marshal snapped back. He was breathing heavily; perhaps he would tire out. ‘Basalt was a deserter. He met his fate.’

  ‘What did you do with his wings?’ Rocco shouted.

  Hitting his feet on an open part of a tree trunk, the Air Marshal flew at Rocco. With a wide swing, Rocco struck. The Air Marshal was older and much more skilled at akiva-du, but he, Rocco, was stronger and also heavier. If only he could find out how to use those things to his advantage.

  The Air Marshal flipped forward and back in a dizzying display of acrobatics. Rocco waited, trying to judge the Air Marshal’s next move. He was learning. Every second move he was there in the gap with his sword.

  Downstream Vesta was fighting the other Air Marshal.

  Rocco lunged and dodged, slamming the Air Marshal with his body and, when he could catch him, with his sword. This wasn’t a game. The Air Marshal meant to kill him.

  Clang! Clang!

  The Air Marshal flew to another tree. Rocco followed, hovering several metres away. As the Air Marshal bounced back, Rocco struck him hard in the chest. His sword pushed through. The Air Marshal reeled back, hitting a branch. A great cracking sound split the air.

  Vesta was calling him. The Air Marshal was done for, there was no need to follow him down. Rocco swept out over the stream. His mouth was bitter. It was his life or the Air Marshal’s and he’d made the right choice.

  Vesta caught Rocco’s eye as he flew in behind the second Air Marshal. She kept him busy while Rocco lunged, whipping his blade through the lower half of the Air Marshal’s wing.

  A row of clipped feathers spun off.

  ‘Just like before!’ Vesta called out. Hovering side by side they watched the Air Marshal land in the middle of the stream below.

  ‘This way!’ called Vesta, zooming off.

  At least there’d only been two Air Marshals, thought Rocco, as he zipped in behind her. A hundred metres on, Vesta swung right, disappearing behind a boulder. A moment later she was back again, this time with Iggy flying closely behind her. He’d been hiding behind the rock.

  ‘Can you hear any more?’ asked Rocco as they crossed the stream and flew into the protective covering of the trees.

  ‘Can’t hear any.’ Vesta shook her head. She took the lead, and Rocco took up the rear with Iggy flying in between.

  Rocco counted. The morning on the flat rock was day twelve, which made today day fourteen. Only two more weeks and the trials would start.

  One forested hill gave way to another. They stopped to eat some chestnuts and garlic, raw, without the benefit of a fire. Iggy nibbled on a clove of garlic. He hadn’t spoken since they’d been hiding in the field spying on Magma.

  Rocco handed Iggy his waterskin. He’d just refilled all three from a small water fall. Iggy took the strap. Without so much as a glance he lifted it over his shoulder.

  Aided by a southern breeze, they covered long tracts of forest. Gone were the giant redwoods of the south. The trees were smaller. Vesta called out their names: maples, chestnut, aspen and birch.

  The sky was still light when they found a stand of forever green trees, dense enough that they wouldn’t be spotted, but without too much room for stalking if there were wolves afoot. Rocco had spotted a pack running along a bluff several kilometres back.

  ‘How about this one?’ Rocco nodded at a tall chestnut tree surrounded by the forever greens.

  Iggy didn’t say anything. His eyes lifted to the tree Rocco was looking at.

  ‘We’ll have to sleep in the tree,’ said Rocco. Iggy had been curious about the logistics of sleeping in a tree before, but now he uttered not a word. He didn’t even look curious.

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Vesta, looking at Rocco worriedly over the top of Iggy’s head.

  Iggy sat at the base of the tree and closed his eyes. He was tired – they all were – but they might as well let the small urvogel rest himself. Rocco set to work gathering branches. Vesta helped.

  When the pile had grown to a metre high, Rocco carried an armload up to a forked branch. Intertwining the branches together he began building a nest. Iggy flew up. He dropped an armload of limbs. He didn’t say anything, nor did he even look at Rocco, but he continued on helping. He knew what was going on.

  Soon Rocco had built a night nest. He moved up to where Vesta had begun constructing a second night nest. ‘It’s for Iggy and me,’ she said, laying in an exceptionally long branch.

  After lining their nests with leaves, they built a fire over which they roasted the remains of their chestnuts, garlic and fish. They would need more food for the trip tomorrow, thought Rocco, looking into the understorey that was sparser than the redwood forest. He and Vesta could get up early and see what sorts of nuts lay about. Maybe they could eat some flower petals.

  He’d been thinking about what Vesta had said that morning. Maybe he had imagined it all – being stalked by Death. How would he know until it was too late? He couldn’t very well leave them. That was clear. They’d started out with five and now they were down to three. Any more blows and they might lose Iggy.

  Iggy sat with his legs pulled up to his chin, gazing at the fire. At least he’d eaten a little.

  ‘It’s just the three of us now,’ said Rocco. ‘Everything depends on us. It was Basalt’s idea to go to Shale and bring Belarica back. He gave everything, even his life. We have to carry on with the mission.’

  ‘We have to. The Badlands are hostile, it’s cold and not very nice out here.’ Vesta scanned the surrounding grove. ‘But we’ll be in Shale soon, Iggy, you’ll see.’

  ‘Is it true that you’d never been outside the colony before?’ asked Rocco.

  Vesta nodded.


  ‘Not even once?’

  ‘No.’

  It was hard to think of. He hadn’t been very far, but he’d been to Gogogamesh often enough, and his mind spirit had been stretched just that one day he’d flown up to the cliffs.

  After the fire had been put out, they flew up to their nests. Iggy got in beside Vesta. Rocco sank into his bed of leaves. His whole body ached.

  All he could see was Basalt’s lifeless body slumped on the floor of the cave. Next he saw his mother, dead in the kitchen, and Jafari lying face down in the dirt. So many lives cut down by Harpia, and all because she wanted wings.

  She was selfish. She only cared about her own twisted desires and not about making life better for the Krakatoans. They had so many riches, but they were all so afraid.

  Death was all around him. Maybe it was a figure stalking him, but it was also Harpia. She was the one giving all the orders. She’d told the Air Marshals to kill Basalt, Jafari and also his poor sweet mother.

  Harpia made them all feel small. Why, he’d felt as small as a field mouse standing in front of her that day on the palace platform. She wanted him to be small, nothing more than a fleck on the end of her shoe.

  Starting tomorrow he would do the opposite. He’d become a raptor, a bird of prey. He would be strong, not weak. He would act, not wait for everything to turn out wrong. It wasn’t just about survival anymore; it was about convincing Belarica and the Archurvogel of Shale to invade Krakatoan. Harpia wasn’t even really the rightful queen.

  He would do the thing Basalt would have done had he been alive. He would fight for the white robes and their right to live – unafraid, and as perfect as the day they fledged.

  He flopped around in his nest trying to get comfortable. Death didn’t seem so close; maybe he’d scared it off with all his brave talk.

  A night bird began to sing.

  ‘Can you hear it?’ asked Vesta.

  ‘Yes. It’s lovely.’

  ‘Birds aren’t afraid of the woods,’ said Vesta. ‘I guess it just takes some getting used to.’

  Soon the wolves began to howl.

  twenty

  Snow-capped mountain

  The sun was a ball of grey.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Vesta called.

  ‘You and Iggy better come down,’ said Rocco. The ground was shaking under his feet. Everything was full of ash: the air, the trees, every blade of grass beneath the chestnut. Even his flying belt which he’d hung up on the side of the trunk.

  There were lots of sandstorms in Lower Terrakesh, but nothing like this. The ash was much finer than sand – so fine it kept getting into his eyes and nose.

  ‘What is it? Why is everything shaking?’ asked Vesta.

  ‘I don’t know but we need to get out of here. The ground is rocking, and – and all the animals are running away.’

  Hooves thumped through the underbrush. Branches and leaves rustled as all the small creatures fled.

  Removing a piece of his torn leggings out of his flying belt, Rocco pulled the tubular fabric over his head and up over his mouth and nose. A makeshift kaffy, but it would do.

  Iggy sneezed. A stick fell out of Vesta’s night nest, clacking as it hit the ground and sending up a pouf of ash.

  Vesta’s wings flapped. ‘Come on Iggy! Over the edge!’

  Down they came, along with much of their nest. Vesta ducked a falling limb. Coming to rest on the ground, she gave Rocco a curious stare. He didn’t even have to explain. Vesta opened her flying belt, pulled out a bit of cloth and tied it around her nose and mouth. She told Iggy to do the same.

  ‘There’s some kind of current, the ground is buzzing,’ said Rocco, straightening his sheath. ‘Can you feel it?’ Vibrations were passing up through his feet and legs, and into his torso. The tips of his wings were trembling.

  Everything was so clogged with ash, it was impossible to see more than a few metres. Clouds wafted up from the ground, stirred by the fleeing animals. Other clouds drifted down, silently covering the flora in a grey blanket.

  ‘We’re going to be covered in ash! Let’s go!’ said Vesta, hurriedly packing up her things.

  ‘What’s this! What’s this!’ A high-pitched voice floated down.

  Rocco’s heart gave a flutter.

  ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ said the voice.

  Rocco squinted up into the swirling ash.

  Could it be?

  ‘Cirrus?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s me.’

  ‘What’s happening? What’s going on? Why are all the animals running away?’

  ‘The snow-clad mountain is spewing ash. She’s a volcano, about to erupt. Good thing you can fly. You’d better follow me!’

  ‘Wow, are we ever glad to see you!’ said Rocco. She looked like any ordinary black raven, but he knew the voice.

  Cirrus swooped down, nodded at Rocco, and they flew up again. Rocco flew in behind her.

  ‘We can’t even see!’ Vesta touched Rocco’s foot. She was right behind him. Iggy was flapping at the back.

  ‘The forest is full of Air Marshals, so think of all this ash as a blessing,’ said Cirrus. ‘Without it, they’d have found you hours ago.’

  ‘An ambush? We didn’t even hear them.’ In between wing flaps, Rocco tried not to breathe. So much ash, his eyes stung.

  ‘A rebellion has started in Krakatoan and Harpia holds you responsible,’ said Cirrus. ‘She wants to make an example of you now more than ever. She’s hoping that one of your heads on a stake will quash the uprising.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Vesta?’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘She offers a great reward.’ Cirrus had disappeared into the grey again, but her voice was there. ‘Fifty pieces of silver, a title and a post in the palace to anyone who returns with one of your heads. The feathered parts of you are no longer the prize.’

  ‘We’re on our way to Shale. It’s just – we’ve been delayed. So much bad luck we’ve been having,’ said Rocco, panting, and squinting at the fluttering black dot. Cirrus was so small, barely even there, and yet she’d been such a tremendous help, flying in at exactly the right time and giving him critical bits of information.

  ‘I’ve brought a legion of birds with me. They’re all anxious to help again. You’re a hero, Rocco. These are the birds you freed. If you hadn’t come when you did, some of them wouldn’t have made it. The rest, well, their fate was a dinner platter.’

  They’d arrived at the top of the trees. The sky above was full of ash, but mottled with large black clouds interrupted by a lighter grey.

  ‘We’re to have a battle, here in the midst of all this?’ asked Rocco, looking around.

  ‘No. No. This is not the time or place for a war,’ said Cirrus. ‘We’re here to take you to Belarica. The birds will provide a covering.’

  Cawing loudly in her mother tongue, Cirrus swooped up. Vesta and Iggy, noses and mouths covered with kaffies, had reached Rocco. Together they followed.

  ‘Not now!’ said Cirrus. ‘Wait until I give the signal!’

  Rocco dropped back. Through the branches he could see hundreds, if not thousands, of Air Marshals flying in and out of the ashen clouds. They were wearing weird masks that sealed their faces in. Giant circles of glass covered their eyes. They looked like giant bugs, their swords extended like stingers.

  ‘They’re hoping the dust will flush us out.’ Rocco turned to Vesta and Iggy who were hovering beside him.

  ‘Look.’ Vesta pulled a branch down.

  On the distant horizon a mass of black birds was flying toward them. The size of the flock was so vast it looked as though a thundercloud had overtaken the entire landscape.

  The cloud of birds grew larger.

  ‘Now? Should we go, now?’ asked Vesta.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Cirrus, darting above. ‘I’ll tell you when. We have to wait until the congress is directly over your heads.’

  Air Marshals had landed at the foot of the chestnut tree. Almost dire
ctly below, they began to shout. They’d just found the night nests.

  Rocco put a finger to his lips. The blood in his neck began to throb.

  Flock after flock of birds passed overhead.

  Half a dozen Air Marshals passed over the treetops, not more than a few wing lengths away. Had they been looking down, they could have easily seen them.

  ‘Now!’ Cirrus’ call was decisive.

  With a great upward thrust, Rocco flexed his wings. Vesta and Iggy were right behind him. An enormous cloud of black birds swept in, covering them, and drawing them away. The world was black and moving. The rapidly flapping wings were deafening.

  They were safe.

  Vesta was flying off his right and Iggy off his left. Every urvogel wing stride caused the black birds – ravens, crows, rooks and starlings – to bob in the gusts. Closing ranks again, the birds pushed on in a current of their own making.

  The mob climbed higher and higher. Through an occasional crack Rocco could see that the ash was clearing a bit.

  A squabble erupted at the back. The flock of birds was still so dense, and their wings so noisy, that it was impossible to know what was going on. Rocco craned his neck.

  An Air Marshal’s sword flashed briefly.

  ‘They’re here! They’re here! I’m sure of it!’ came a shout.

  Angry caws and flapping wings were cut by an Air Marshal’s sudden shriek as a portion of birds broke off. The main flock leapt forward.

  Concealed inside the giant bird bubble, they flew on, leaving behind the Air Marshal voices. Rocco kept his eyes fixed on the birds beneath him. Periodically the flock parted slightly, permitting him a glimpse of the changing terrain below.

  The snow-clad mountain appeared beneath them, its sheets of white spoiled with grey. Waves of glowing sparks shot up from the mountain’s mouth. The tree-filled slopes were black with roiling dust.

  They travelled on. The sky cleared, but the birds remained fast, holding their fortress of feathers around Rocco, Vesta and Iggy. By midday the mountains were less jagged, the trees thinner. When darkness fell, the birds swarmed down to a deserted moorland. Rocco’s wings felt like lead as he fell against the cold, hard earth.