‘Get up on the table, Magma. Pump in the air!’
Rocco twirled, once, twice, thrice. On the backhand he struck Harpia. A cut, a bit of blood on her neck.
Vesta and Iggy had driven the Air Marshal toward Magma’s cloud of dust.
‘Ughh –’
He sneezed, reeled away and slammed into the side of the table.
Harpia saw him fall. Rocco hurled himself forward. Harpia whirled away, but Rocco’s blade caught her long billowy skirt. The fabric ripped. He stuck the blade in further, and it caught the thicker underskirt.
Her eyes were vicious.
‘Let me go.’
‘No.’
‘You’ll regret it. You’re a white robe. You don’t have the mental aptitude to rise above your station.’
Rocco flew around Harpia, wrapping her up in her own voluminous dress. In the last turn, he drove her down, staking her dress to the top of the table. She thrashed, gazing up at him ferociously.
‘Got the tethers?’ asked Rocco.
Vesta laid them in his hand. While he bound Harpia’s feet, Iggy drove his sword through Harpia’s sleeve, nailing her more securely to the table. Vesta did the same on the other side, and laid her boot on Harpia’s neck.
‘We could kill you, you know.’
‘Get off me, you – you twit!’
Rocco flew up and ripped one of the long drapes from the glass doors. On his way back, he picked up a basket of dust.
‘Here, we’ll make it easy for you.’
Harpia’s eyes were never larger than when he compressed the pump. The lids closed.
They wrapped Harpia in the drape. Underneath the voluminous fabric of her gown, she was small with narrow, birdlike bones.
‘I’ll find a pole.’ Vesta disappeared into the hall. She returned with a javelin. ‘Here, this should do.’ She passed it up to Rocco, and he shoved it through the knot he had tied in the drape.
‘Ready?’ He lifted one end of the pole.
‘Yes.’ Vesta lifted the other end.
They lifted off.
‘What about Magma?’ Iggy and Rummy had come out to the balcony with Magma.
‘We’ll be back,’ called Vesta.
Iggy hugged Magma. ‘I’m sorry you can’t come with us. But we’ll be back soon, you’ll see.’
With their captive dangling below them, they crossed the darkened city. Everyone slept, inside Krakatoan, as well as Belarica’s forces on the mountainside.
twenty-seven
Return to Krakatoan, the eagle
Rocco and Vesta laid their bundle on one of the logs by the cook’s fire.
‘What’s that?’ asked the cook, looking up from the vat he was stirring.
‘Harpia.’
The cook’s eyebrows pulled together sceptically. He burst out laughing.
‘So you got her, eh? Hooked her on the end of a big old fishing line? Bet she’ll fry up nicely.’
‘Come and see,’ said Iggy.
The cook walked over. He was about to open the drape, but a group of warriors walked by.
‘Come look at the fish the white robes caught!’ The cook hailed them over.
Harpia’s face was already visible through the fabric, but perhaps the cook hadn’t noticed in his haste to open the knot. His mouth fell open. His face turned red. The warriors gaped at Harpia, then at Rocco, Vesta and Iggy sitting together on an adjacent log.
‘We caught her this morning. Last night really,’ said Iggy.
The cook picked up his pots and pans. He banged them together, shouting at the same time. ‘Come see! Come see!’
Warriors came out of their tents. Belarica and the Air Commodore strode over to the fire, their faces full of puzzlement. No one uttered a word as Rocco and Vesta explained everything that had happened since they’d left camp at exactly that hour the day before.
Harpia’s head jerked up and fell back again. Her eyes were closed.
‘It’s the fresh air. She’s waking,’ said Iggy, getting up from his seat and staring into Harpia’s face.
Belarica surveyed Rocco, Vesta and Iggy. The light in her eyes was like the dawn, blue rising over the water. ‘Lock her up. See that she’s unharmed. We’re not barbarians. Harpia must stand trial. Every citizen must bear witness.’
Warriors crowded around Harpia, shooting glances of bafflement, surprise and awe at Rocco, Vesta and Iggy.
Belarica turned to them.
‘I have underestimated your bravery and ingenuity. You, the smallest, have proven to be warriors of the greatest rank. Rocco, Vesta, Iggy. You have honour. You bring pride to a nation. Your father would be proud, Rocco.’
Rocco felt his face grow warm.
‘And Vesta. You are fierce and gifted with the sword. Iggy, you are steadfast and full of compassion. These are all great qualities. Now come. You shall sleep in my tent. It is fitting.’
Inside, Belarica’s tent was as fine as any palace room. A fire burned in the middle and a ribbon of smoke floated up to a hole in the peak. A large day bed, outfitted with silk, stood in an alcove.
‘Maybe we’re not related, Iggy,’ said Rocco as he fell into the musk-smelling softness.
Iggy’s eyes were heavy.
Rocco continued. ‘But we’ll always be attached, by this, by what happened today.’
Rummy was curled up beside Iggy. Iggy’s eyes closed. ‘I love you too, Rocco,’ he murmured.
‘We are roost-mates, after all,’ said Vesta as she tucked a pillow into the crook of her neck. ‘Rocco, I will always know your voice and shape, even in the darkest wood. You too, Iggy.’
The tears were hot on Rocco’s face. He hadn’t dissolved into a puddle of nothingness. They had advanced together, from one awful event to the next. They had struggled, and today they had conquered Harpia.
* * *
It was evening, and the cook was in his usual spot, stirring the vat over the fire. Warriors were seated on the logs.
‘The war is over,’ a warrior announced as Rocco walked over and sat down. Someone handed him a bowl of goulash.
‘Gabbro withdrew as soon as they found out that Harpia was captured. Krakatoan surrendered. There’re hundreds of white flags in the trees of Wildergarten. You should see.’ The Air Commodore was looking at him, nodding with approval.
So many warriors were talking at once. They were smiling. Their faces, dirty and haggard, were full of joy. Vesta and Iggy came out and sat down beside Rocco. They ate. Afterward the three flew to Wildergarten. The rain had stopped, but the air was grey. Just as the Air Commodore had said, white scraps of cloth filled the trees.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Vesta. ‘Like thousands of brooding birds.’
* * *
The next few weeks passed swiftly. Harpia was tried and convicted under the treaty that bound all urvogel societies together. A trio of judges arrived from the Inter-Colonial Council of Regents.
Harpia was brought into the Courthouse with her wings hobbled. A bar pulled them together tautly behind her. A chain ran from the bar to shackles on her feet. She was made to sit in the defendant’s chair, the same seat occupied by Pyroxene, Cristobalite and all the other urvogels who had lost their wings.
‘You are charged with crimes against urvogels, Section five-zero-one, of the Inter-Colonial Urvogel Treaty. How do you plead?’
Harpia refused to answer. She sat like a tree stump, staring blindly ahead. Eventually Air Marshals carried her off to begin serving three hundred and twenty-six life sentences, one life sentence for each urvogel who had lost his or her wings.
That night a celebration took place. Harpia’s wing dust was burned in a bonfire behind Singhurvogel Hall. A gold robe laid a copy of Harpia’s Law on the fire. ‘Should we get the rest?’ someone asked.
Belarica shook her head. ‘We are not afraid of a book. Harpia’s Law does not contain an animated demon.’ Smiling slightly, she signalled to an Air Marshal. ‘Tomorrow, find the original copy of Harpia’s Law and install it under glass on t
he first floor of the palace. See that copies are placed in the Book Treasury. We must all know what treachery has passed. We must drag it out into the light of day and stare at it until we know its shape and understand at last that fear is not the path to greatness as a nation.’
All of Krakatoan attended the palace for Belarica’s coronation. She’d already been crowned once, but after so many years in exile, it seemed prudent to repeat the ceremony.
The royal throne had been brought outside for the event. Raised on a dais, it stood between the massive columns. Rocco, Vesta and Iggy had been given places of honour on Belarica’s right. Two Representatives from the Inter-Colonial Council of Regents were seated on her left.
Rocco scanned the crowd that had gathered on the terraces beneath the palace platform. The Krakatoans no longer had white wings; they were now as multi-coloured as the Shalites’.
Many of the Krakatoans were also wearing blue feathers, some in their hair, others on chains around their necks, or fastened to jewels and clipped to the shoulders of their wings.
‘Rocco, Vesta and Iggy, come forward.’
A Representative from the ICCR fastened medals on each of them. They were then handed decorative belts with ceremonial daggers.
‘You are now master-warriors!’ the Representative announced. ‘All of Krakatoan loves you!’
Rocco seized Vesta’s and Iggy’s hands. He raised them up. His chest swelled. His heart had never felt so full.
The urvogels knew his name. They really saw him, greeted him in the streets of Krakatoan. He wasn’t just a story, a bit of gossip to be laughed over. He was flesh and blood, no longer just blue wing, but Rocco, son of Kyanite and Anah. Friend of Jafari, Basalt, Vesta and Iggy. Magma too.
The urvogels staring up, their eyes were clear. Harpia’s bond had been severed.
Rocco, Vesta and Iggy returned to their chairs. Minionatros began to fill the platform. When all three hundred and twenty-six were assembled, the Representatives fastened a gold medallion on each shoulder.
‘For you, the Queen Belarica Medal of Honour. You are hereby given the option of immediate retirement, or of continuing in service with greatly enhanced benefits.’
‘Yay! Hooray!’ Everyone cheered.
Finally the Representative said, ‘Belarica, come forward.’
Belarica knelt on a stool. The Representative placed a small red crown with slender, reed-like spindles on her head.
‘Queen! Queen! Queen!’ chanted the throng.
Queen Belarica rose. The air vibrated with whistles, clapping and shouts of joy. She had the bearing of a queen: her back was erect, her gaze unwavering. She was kind. Queen Belarica’s crown glittered in the light of the setting sun.
‘Thank you, citizens of Krakatoan. I am returned to you. I am your protector and your Queen. From this day forth there shall be no more wing-cutting.’
Iggy reached over and nudged Rocco’s leg. ‘Are we done yet?’
Queen Belarica’s voice carried on.
Rocco, Vesta and Iggy slipped quietly off the side of the platform. Every urvogel they passed bowed, nodded, or acknowledged them in some way. That was the best part, thought Rocco: to be seen. Not just a part of him – his blue wings – but his whole entire face.
When they came to the edge of the crowd, they lifted off. They flew across the city to the southeast corner tower.
Magma, proudly wearing his new medal, was waiting for them. ‘Whose turn is it?’ he asked.
‘I think it’s mine,’ said Vesta.
They began doing fly-jumps off the wall, keeping their wings furled to make it fair. Feldspar arrived with her troupe. Everyone’s wings were starting to glow in the gathering twilight.
Run-run-run, jump, step-step and flip.
Run-run-run, jump, step-step and flip.
Rocco got in line behind Vesta. The queue moved ahead.
It was autumn in Upper Terrakesh. The leaves were turning colour. A draught crept up Rocco’s back. It might have been the wind. It wasn’t Death. As he’d become stronger, Death had become weak. All he had to do was utter his father’s name, Kyanite, and Death shrank back into the shadows.
Maybe he was getting over his grief.
A pair of eyes, he could feel them, pierced into his back. He turned.
A hundred or so metres away a woman was squatting on top of the wall. She was wearing a striped grey dress, tattered, with a white bib on her chest.
The woman blinked, though her eyes remained oddly open. He couldn’t see very well through the fading light.
Everyone’s feet shuffled. The line was moving again. Glancing back, the creature was getting ready to fly off. A pair of wings, which he hadn’t noticed before, flopped into view.
She was looking at him; her eyes were sharply focused as she gazed out over her wing, now brought forward to partially cover her face.
‘What is it?’ asked Vesta.
‘I don’t know –’
The creature lifted off.
‘It looks like a harpy eagle.’ Vesta’s voice trailed off for a moment. ‘They’re from the south. They never fly up here.’
The bird circled, still seeming to watch them. Finally it turned west, toward the mountain. Past the trees, and into the dark, the grey bird flew on.
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Rocco's Wings Page 22