Whisker looked down at Horace’s blue-handled scissor sword, still grasped in his paw, and gave it a firm squeeze.
‘I’ll take Horace’s sword to the summit,’ he said with resolve. ‘I can return it to him in person when I reach the cage.’
‘I think he’d like that,’ Ruby said.
‘Speaking of the pint-sized captive,’ Chatterbeak squawked, ‘if he is in the cage with the other prisoners, he’ll have plenty of time to prepare them for the rescue.’
‘That’s one positive to come out of a bad situation,’ Whisker admitted.
‘As long as the birds don’t get wind of it,’ Ruby added.
‘Horace knows when to keep his mouth shut,’ Whisker said, crossing his fingers inside his mitten. ‘But we’ll need to be extra cautious all the same. If the ravens suspect Horace has accomplices hiding in the boulders, they may come looking for us.’
‘I can put out the fire as soon as you’ve left for the summit,’ Ruby said, glancing around the small cavern. ‘Chatterbeak and I can make do with a lantern. With some luck the ravens will assume that Horace was the only rat in here.’
‘Alright,’ Whisker said, eager to depart. ‘And it’s best if you keep your movements to a minimum. I saw several hawks circling Red Tail Rocks on my return from the woods and more will undoubtedly arrive from the prison during the day.’
He gestured to the map in Chatterbeak’s claws. ‘If what I overheard yesterday is correct, the birds will flock to the cliffs around sunset. You’ll need to be in position for the diversion well before then.’ He tapped the triangular shape of the buttress with the tip of Horace’s sword. ‘As soon as the southern side of the mountain falls into shadow, find a concealed spot on the buttress with a clear view of the summit. Wait there until sunset. When you see my signal, fly east, making as much noise as possible.’
‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ Chatterbeak chirped.
‘Remember,’ Whisker said, ‘The moment the birds launch in pursuit, get your tail feathers out of there.’
‘We understand,’ Ruby said. ‘Now what’s the signal?’
‘A rat jumping off the summit,’ Whisker replied. ‘The Ghost Wings are designed to blend in with their surrounds, so you may need a spyglass to see me.’
Removing a mitten, he reached into his drawstring bag to retrieve his spyglass, but Ruby quickly waved him away.
‘I’ve got my own …’ she said scrounging through the pile of supplies on the floor, ‘… somewhere.’ Brushing two small blocks of chocolate aside with her bow, she uncovered a small golden spyglass identical to Whisker’s. ‘Here it is. Essential item number one. Courtesy of our benevolent sponsor, Madam Pearl.’
Whisker nodded, recalling how useful the small items had been.
‘Speaking of essential items,’ Ruby continued, ‘You’ll need a little sustenance where you’re going.’ She scooped up the two blocks of chocolate and handed them to Whisker. ‘The last of our stash. One block for you and one for Horace – though I’m sure Horace won’t mind if you eat them both.’
He will if he’s hungry, Whisker thought, pocketing the chocolate gratefully. At the thought of his gregarious friend, Whisker found his spirits lifting.
He picked up his green-handled scissor sword and slipped it into the right side of his belt, sliding Horace’s sword into his left. With Ruby’s assistance, he delicately collapsed the Ghost Wings, bunching the reeds together above the shoulder straps, and began securing them with short lengths of cord.
‘I was hoping for a taxi ride up the glacier,’ he said, glancing across at Chatterbeak, ‘but the sight of those hawks quickly changed my mind.’
‘I’m assuming you cancelled your test flight, too,’ Ruby said coolly.
‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ Whisker said, squeezing his torso through the waist strap of the Ghost Wings. ‘To steal a line from Horace, I’ll simply have to wing it!’
Ruby gave him a predictable roll of her eye.
Continuing his preparations, Whisker slipped his arms into the shoulder straps, making sure the wings were comfortable. Lastly, he slotted his tail through the two tail straps and stood to attention. The entire construction was surprisingly light and he told himself that he would soon forget the wings were even there.
‘Well,’ he said, turning to face his companions. ‘I guess this is goodbye.’
‘Take care of yourself,’ Ruby said. ‘The mountain can be a dangerous place.’
‘I’ll … try,’ Whisker said, suddenly doubting his abilities. He’d flown with enough circus animals to feel reasonably confident in the air. But this wasn’t the big top. There were no safety nets on Cloud Mountain.
The frown of concern on Ruby’s face prompted him to add, ‘I’ll be fine, really. The weather outside is perfect. There’s barely a breath of wind on the mountain, let alone a cloud in the sky …’
Ruby’s frown deepened.
‘Don’t get complacent,’ she said, putting on her sternest boatswain’s voice. ‘Mountain weather has a nasty habit of changing its mind at any moment – unlike stubborn apprentices.’
Whisker shrugged. In light of his recent behaviour, Ruby had a point.
He turned to Chatterbeak and gave the loveable parrot a departing salute. ‘Safe flying, my feathered friend.’
‘You, too!’ Chatterbeak replied chirpily.
Ruby hobbled closer and kissed Whisker lightly on the cheek.
He looked up, surprised.
‘For luck,’ she whispered. ‘And for memories.’
Whisker felt a glorious warm sensation spreading across his cheek. Transfixed, he stood rooted to the spot, committing the scene to memory. It was a memory he’d remember for the rest of his life.
‘I won’t let you down,’ he said, finally turning to go.
‘I know,’ Ruby called after him. ‘You never do …’
And with those words of affirmation ringing in his ears, he clambered up the stairs and began his journey to the top of the world.
Ice and Snow
Whisker crouched on the crest of the low ridge that separated the Erratic Blocks from the mighty ice glacier, his trusty spyglass raised to his eye. The air was clear and fresh, with only the faintest hint of a breeze blowing from the south-east.
His journey through the Erratic Blocks had been slow and uneventful. Moving from the cover of one boulder to the next, he had travelled due west, well clear of the pine trees of Blackbird Wood, then climbed the rocky slope to the top of the ridge. A thick layer of snow covered the slope behind him, its wind-blown crust slowly thawing in the light of the morning sun. Whisker basked in the warmth of the sun’s golden rays, knowing that in a few short hours the bitter chill of the upper slopes would leave his body numb with cold.
There had been a steady stream of birds returning from the prison since dawn, and he watched them now through his spyglass as they gathered on the southern slopes of Red Tail Rocks. Restricted to the far side of the gully, they posed no immediate danger to Whisker, but he was well aware that his current position was under their flight path to Eagle’s Cliffs.
After briefly checking his map, Whisker swivelled his spyglass towards the centre of the glacier to investigate the icy terrain for potential hazards. He quickly noticed a number of large cracks scoring its surface. These crevasses were chasm-like drops, often a hundred feet deep. Formed as the glacier twisted and buckled down the mountain, they resembled giant knife wounds.
Sweeping the spyglass wider, Whisker noticed that the crevasses were more numerous towards the edges of the glacier near the gully walls. Considering a safer route up the mountain, he realised that the centre of the glacier was in plain sight of the hawks. In the end, he decided on a compromise. He would hug the eastern edge of the glacier, only moving to the centre when crevasses blocked his path. They were bunched together, he noted, so he could bypass entire groups at a time.
Returning his spyglass and map to his bag, Whisker set off down the glacial side of the ridge, glancing nerv
ously up at Red Tail Rocks. The sooner he reached the upper section of the glacier, the safer he would feel.
As he stepped lightly onto the snow-covered ice of the glacier he was confronted by just how small and insignificant he was. The glacier was enormous. Ahead of him, the line of white stretched higher and higher up the mountain – still, silent and deadly. He was one tiny rat standing at the foot of an ice giant. What chance did he have against such a foe?
He felt the vast magnitude of the mountain overwhelming him, sapping his will to continue, crushing his spirit before he’d even begun. Untold dangers lurked behind every crest. One careless step could send him tumbling into a crevasse. A loose rock could see him plummeting off a cliff. And then there was the deadly mountain weather. Snowstorms, gale-force winds and white-out conditions could be upon him in minutes. Worse still, he could slowly freeze to death in the sub-zero temperatures, and everything would be in vain.
Despairingly, he tried to block out the negative thoughts, telling himself he was going to succeed. But his own words fell on deaf ears. Staring down at his boots, he realised there was only one way to fight the doubt holding him back – and that was to act.
Blocking out everything but his two feet, he took a step forward. Then another. One foot at a time, he moved silently up the glacier, urging himself on.
Left foot … right foot … left foot … right foot …
It was all he could do to maintain the rhythm. With every step, he felt the emptiness draining away, his footprints the evidence of what he’d accomplished. He was one tiny rat but he was climbing a giant, determined to reach the top and look the beast straight in the eye.
Walking in the shadow of the giant buttress, Whisker continued upwards, winding his way past crevasses until he reached a sun-drenched patch of snow.
The autumn sun still carried a trace of summer’s warmth and Whisker moved from the shadow of the buttress to discover the surface of the snow had melted.
The thin layer of water acted as a mirror, reflecting dazzling white light into Whisker’s eyes. Struggling to cope with the blinding glare, Whisker wrapped his scarf tightly around his face, leaving only a narrow slit for his eyes.
Like an Egyptian mummy sloshing up the side of a melting pyramid, Whisker resumed his methodical pace up the slope.
Left foot … right foot … Ever upwards.
Turning back to check for hawks, he was startled to see how far he’d already come. The snout of the glacier was far beneath him and, even with a spyglass, the single hawk circling Red Tail Rocks was nothing more than a brown speck in the sky. In the distance he could see the sparkling surface of Lake Azure and the autumn shades of Falcon Island. Further still lay the distant township of Hawk’s View with its miniature buildings, matchstick jetty and ant-sized boats. From where Whisker stood, it was a picture perfect scene.
The powerful gust of wind that blasted him from below quickly spurred him back into action.
Onwards he climbed, the glacier growing steeper. The strengthening wind whipped around his back, battering the folded wings. Hunched over, he held a scissor sword in each paw, using them as walking sticks to steady his movements. With every metre he ascended, he could feel the air thinning and his head growing lighter.
The sun continued its rising arc across the sky, creeping past the summit, and Whisker was once again in total shadow.
He drew level with the top of the buttress and stopped briefly to replenish his energy levels. Breaking off a few squares from his block of chocolate and stuffing them into his mouth, he surveyed the scene ahead, planning his next course of action. To either side of him, the walls of the gully had closed in, squeezing the glacier into a narrow band of ice. Beyond the glacier, the gully walls transformed into mighty cliffs, extending to the upper slopes. The two cliffs joined in the centre, forming a thin, chimney-like cleft in the rock, running vertically upwards.
Before Whisker could attempt the treacherous climb, he had to pass one final obstacle. A short distance from the northernmost end of the glacier, a gaping crevasse spanned the entire width of the gully, marking the spot where the moving glacier broke away from the permanent ice cap above it.
As he drew closer to the deep crevasse, Whisker realised in despair that the gap was wider than he had first anticipated. Running his eye along the trench-like structure, he saw no snow bridges, no shallow sections and no conceivable paths up the steep gully walls. Any thought of jumping was instantly ruled out when he considered how much higher the uphill side of the crevasse was, compared with the downhill side on which he was standing.
Lowering himself onto his stomach, he shuffled forward, extending his head over the edge of the crevasse. He peered down and examined the icy blue walls, wondering if he could climb down one side of the crevasse and then scale the other. On seeing the glassy-smooth surface sparkling back at him, he concluded that climbing would be far safer with a set of ice picks and a safety rope. He shook his head when he realised that the only rope he possessed was cut into pieces and holding his wings together.
He drew himself up, preparing to retreat from the edge, when an intense gust of wind caught the tail of his Ghost Wings, threatening to lift him off the ground. In panic, he flattened himself against the snow and waited for the wind to ease. It eventually subsided sufficiently for him to scramble to safety, but even then it still felt like a hurricane against his back.
Glancing back the way he had come, Whisker observed that the ever-narrowing gap between the gully walls had created a wind tunnel. The closer the walls were together, the faster the wind was being funnelled through. After dismissing every other option for crossing the crevasse, it became obvious that his best hope was strapped to his back. The Ghost Wings simply needed wind, and there was an abundance of the stuff blowing in his direction.
Finding a patch of snow well away from the crevasse, Whisker removed the Ghost Wings and placed them on the ground. As he began untying the cords securing the folded frame, he heard a sharp CRACK … crack … crack … from somewhere high above him.
Startled, he jerked his head upwards, his eyes searching the cliffs for movement. The mighty walls of rock towered motionless above him, silent and foreboding, revealing nothing. He looked higher, beyond the cliffs to the patch of white marking the start of the upper slopes. The snow of the slopes was dead still.
The dull echo slowly faded, leaving no clue as to its origin.
Where did it come from? he wondered, half expecting the sound to repeat itself. The summit? The glacier? The buttress?
He remained crouched next to the Ghost Wings, not daring to move, continuing to scan the terrain for answers. He was well aware of the ever-present threat of avalanches, and reminded himself that any loud sounds were to be taken seriously. The previous evening’s heavy snow fall, deposited on graupel from the blizzard, was a recipe for disaster. If disrupted, the graupel could act like tiny balls, allowing the entire layer of snow above it to slide freely.
A slab avalanche, Whisker thought, recalling the name his mother had once used.
Hearing nothing but the roaring wind blowing loose snow across the ground, he eventually resumed his task of unfolding his flying machine. He slipped his arms and tail into the straps and, keeping his body low to the ground, tested the craft experimentally.
Pivot the tail upwards to gain altitude. Flex the tail downwards to lose altitude. Extend the wingspan for greater resistance. Reduce the wingspan for less resistance.
The manoeuvres appeared simple in theory, but Whisker still felt apprehensive about how they would work in reality. The dangerous nature of the crossing meant there was no margin for error. If he failed to gain sufficient altitude to clear the upper edge of the crevasse, he would plummet into the icy abyss, with no hope of escape. He wished he had time for a test flight, but midday was approaching and he had to reach the summit by sunset if he was to have any hope of seeing his sister and Horace again.
Accepting what had to be done, he rose to stand with h
is back to the wind, then stretched out the Ghost Wings and leapt into the air. The wind raced over the back of the wings, jerking him forward. At the same time it forced him downwards and he crashed ungraciously to the ground.
Dragging himself out of the snow, he repeated the manoeuvre by adding a few running steps before jumping, but the result was still the same. Frowning, he wondered if the Ghost Wings were such a brilliant idea after all.
There’s got to be a better way to approach this, he thought, refusing to give in. A kite can get airborne, so why can’t I?
The answer was simple. Because a kite faces in the opposite direction!
Picturing the act of running into the wind with a kite trailing behind him, Whisker spun his body until he was staring directly into the face of the howling wind. Stretching the wings as far as they would go, he let the wind take hold of him.
The result was instantaneous. He felt his feet leaving the ground as he was blasted backwards in one mighty motion. Before he could act, he was high above the snow, hurtling tail-first at a blistering pace, too fast to stop, too high to come down.
Beneath him, the gaping crevasse appeared like an open mouth in the ice, ready to swallow him.
In an instant, he had reached the other side.
With a terrible feeling of dread, he realised the real danger was yet to come.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the massive walls of the gully closing in to form the chimney. The wind was carrying him straight towards the shadowy cleft in the rocks, his speed increasing with every second.
He was on a collision course with the cliffs and he had only moments until impact.
Up, Up and Away
The Ghost Wings continued to rise higher above the glacier, and for a split second Whisker had the impulsive urge to ride the wind to the very top of the chimney. But he dismissed it instantly when he felt his left wing shudder violently in the turbulent wind.
Child of the Cloud Page 15