by Gee, Maurice
‘We won’t do that,’ Brand laughed. ‘They’ll find us. They’ve found us already.’ He pointed at the sky. It took a lot of searching, but at last the children saw them: two tiny spots turning in the blue. ‘They’ve been there since we crossed the pass yesterday.’
‘Why don’t they come down?’
‘They will when they’re ready. In the meantime, we go on.’
They went on for two days. They followed the stream down the thorny hills and turned north along the foot of the mountains. Always the two dots were in the sky. They circled lazily. It made Susan nervous. But apart from that she was reasonably happy. Sometimes she fretted for home, and at others felt weak with fright at the thought of what she must do, but mostly she enjoyed being with Nick and Brand and Breeze – yes, and Jimmy Jaspers, though he never washed – and enjoyed this strange new world, the jagged hills, the roaring waterfalls, the yellow plains in the distance, and the agile goats skittering up the gullies. At night she lay wrapped in blankets and watched the stars. The Milky Way was there, but everything else was different: no Southern Cross, no Big Dipper, no Venus in the western sky and no red Mars. One of those stars out there might be her sun. That made her lonely and scared. She thought of Marna dying in the landslip, and of Freeman Wells lying with his neck broken at the foot of a cliff. Breeze and Brand were talking by the fire. Nick was sleeping quietly, his face red in the light. Jimmy Jaspers was snoring. Susan felt it was unfair that she had been chosen to save them. She wished the Mark had never been put on her. She wished she was safe in her bed, back on the farm.
On their third day of walking Jimmy Jaspers trapped a goat. They came on it suddenly, grazing by a stream. It was a young one and it made the mistake of running into a blind gully with sheer walls. Jimmy Jaspers was after it and had it by the hind legs before the others knew what he was up to. He dragged it out to a patch of grass by the stream and squatted on it.
‘Now we’ll have some meat.’ He took his clasp-knife from his pocket and opened a blade.
‘No,’ Susan cried. She had seen sheep slaughtered on the farm, but there was food in their bags and no reason for the goat to die.
‘Close yer eyes if yer don’t like it,’ Jimmy Jaspers said.
‘Stop,’ Brand said. ‘Woodlanders do not eat any flesh.’
‘That’s why yer so skinny.’
‘The Birdfolk own these goats. They will punish you.’
‘There’s no sich thing as Birdfolk. Them things up there is eagles.’
Nick looked into the sky. ‘That’s what you think,’ he said.
There was a rushing of huge wings, a buffeting downward wind, and a brown shape fell into their circle and struck at Jimmy Jaspers with its legs and sent him rolling along the ground into the stream.
‘Who steals the herds of Morninghall?’ boomed a voice.
The being standing there, with one clawed foot resting on the goat, was neither bird nor man. Susan shrank from it – she could not tell what it was. She just knew that its green eyes were terrible. They were bird eyes in a human face.
Jimmy Jaspers rose spluttering from the water. He still held his knife. He came up the bank, yelling with rage. ‘That’s my goat, yer hairy stork. By gum, I’ll pluck an’ singe yer. I’ll have yer on a plate for Christmas dinner.’
The Birdman had his giant wings outspread. He brought them smacking together with a sound like a gunshot. The blast of air sent Jimmy Jaspers reeling back into the stream. He rose again, but Breeze called, ‘Look above you, Jimmy Jaspers.’
They all looked up. The second Birdman was floating overhead. His wings were so wide they blotted out the sun.
‘He could lift you as high as the mountains and let you go. Then on the way down Jimmy you could wonder if a piece of meat was worth it.’
The Birdman holding the goat lifted his claw and the animal ran bleating into the rocks.
‘Who comes into our land? Speak.’
Brand stepped forward. ‘I am Brand of Wildwood. This is my mate, Breeze. The three we bring have travelled through the maze of Freeman Wells. We do not know their world. But one of them wears the Mark on her wrist.’
Slowly the Birdman folded his outspread wings. He looked at Susan with his green eyes. ‘This one?’ He stepped up to Susan, towering over her. His human face was suddenly like an eagle’s. ‘Show me.’
She rolled back her sleeve and held out her wrist. The Birdman looked. He called to his companion. ‘Redwing.’ She – something in her face said she was female – dropped lightly at his side. ‘See.’
She looked at the Mark. ‘Yes.’ She unfolded a downy arm from the feathers on her breast and touched Susan’s wrist. ‘We must take her to Morninghall.’
‘The Mark is true. Marna has examined it,’ Breeze said.
‘The Council must see. They are the guardians of the Half.’
‘How far is Morninghall?’
‘Another day at your groundling pace.’
‘Do Halfmen follow us?’
‘No. We have watched since you crossed the pass. Half a day behind you Halfmen came. Odo Cling was leading, with a Bloodcat. But the Cat would not mount into the snow. Cling whipped it but it would not move. So they turned back. We knew you must be important for Cling to follow so eagerly. We would have come to you sooner but we did not like the look of your friend in the stream.’
‘I don’t like the look of you much either.’ Jimmy climbed dripping up the bank. ‘This world’s like a bloddy fancy dress party. But I’ll tell yer what, Pretty Polly, I’ll leave yer goats alone if yer’ll lay me an egg.’
‘Jimmy,’ Breeze warned. But Redwing laughed.
‘You shall have meat at Morninghall. One who jokes as you do cannot be evil.’
The other Birdman gave his feathers a ruffle. ‘I do not know whether we should trust him.’
‘Jimmy’s all right,’ Susan said. ‘He’s helping us now.’
‘You wear the Mark. We shall take your word. I am Wanderer. I am First Warrior of Morninghall. Redwing is my mate. She likes to laugh. But do not let your friend be cheeky to her.’
‘You hear that, Jimmy?’
‘Yerss. Flap yer wings cocky, an’ dry me out a bit.’
They went on through the foothills for the rest of the day. Redwing and Wanderer flew overhead, lower than they had been in the morning. Now and then Redwing glided down to show them an easier path. Once she brought a large green fruit, harder than a pumpkin. She dropped it on a boulder and it split in two, exposing yellow flesh sweet as cherries. Even Jimmy Jaspers said it was good.
Wanderer found them a place to camp in a hollow out of the wind. As they crouched about the fire, warming their food, Redwing flew in. She carried a leather bag. ‘There, featherless one.’ She thrust it at Jimmy. ‘I flew to Morninghall. Your jokes have earned you dinner.’
In the bag were dried strips of meat and a pan for frying it.
‘And here,’ Redwing said. She took a large blue egg from under each armpit and gave them to Jimmy. ‘Specially laid.’
Jimmy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Yer didn’?’
Redwing pealed with laughter. ‘Ah no, no. They are the eggs of the Bounder bird. I found a nest as I was flying back.’
So Jimmy Jaspers ate goat’s meat bacon and fried eggs. He gave some to Nick. Though her mouth watered, Susan would not touch any. She felt a loyalty to Brand and Breeze. They sat about the fire and Brand told their tale to the Birdfolk, and Nick and Susan told what had happened in their world. They made Jimmy Jaspers’ part sound less wicked than it had been. Wanderer and Redwing stood on the other side of the fire. They could not sit, but rested on their legs and the tips of their wings. Nick guessed they were nearly three metres tall. Their wings, spread out, must cover seven metres. Although their feet were clawed and their bodies covered with feathers and down, they seemed more human than bird-like. He wondered if they were birds that had evolved from humans or the other way round. But when they took off with a great leap into the air – w
ell away from the fire so the storm of wind would not scatter it – he decided that in spite of their human faces and human speech he must think of them as birds; the most magnificent birds he had ever seen. The last bright rays of the sun made a gleam of many colours on their wings as they beat powerfully away to the north.
Next morning the wind had died down. After an hour’s walking they came to the Yellow Plains and followed a slow river along their western edge. Half a dozen Birdfolk were in the sky. Now and then they dropped down for a closer look at Susan. She became a little grumpy at the way the wind from their wings tangled her hair.
By mid-morning the ground was rising again. They climbed towards a rocky hill that stood like a footstool in front of the mountains. More and more Birdfolk appeared in the sky. They flew in from the north and east, or came swooping down from high in the mountains. Some carried goats in harnesses slung beneath them. Cries of welcome and the bleating of frightened animals filled the air.
‘There will be a great feast to welcome you,’ Brand said.
They climbed a grassy hill and as they reached the top Wanderer and Redwing dropped down at their sides. ‘Here is Morninghall. Welcome, Susan Ferris. And welcome to your friends. No human, mixed or half man, has come here before, except Freeman Wells, and perhaps no human will come again.’
There was a hollow like a crater in the hill. It ran back smoothly to the cliffs of the footstool. There an opening large as a cathedral led into the mountain. Birdfolk were flying in and out. The mouth of the vast hall was lit by the sun, but further back lamps glowed on the walls and smaller openings led even deeper into the hill. Closer, in the hollow, fires burned. The smell of roasting goat meat drifted up. Birdfolk tended the fires, turning carcases on spits. Some flew in with loads of firewood. Others carried cooked food on iron platters up into the mouth of the hall and placed it on high tables set up there.
‘Come,’ Redwing said, ‘the Council is waiting. The feast is ready to start.’
They went down the hollow among the fires. Everywhere Birdfolk called greetings and came forward to look at Susan more closely. At first she was pleased and excited, but by the time they reached the hall she was feeling oppressed. It was their tallness, she felt, the way they towered over her and fluffed their feathers out as a sign of respect. It made them seem fat and overfed. Yet she saw they were light, almost stringy, under their feathers. Their legs were long, with down extending to the claw. Most of their weight was in the upper body, in the muscles round their shoulders and chest, where the driving strength for their great wings was stored.
Wanderer and Redwing guided them into the hall. There a group of Birdfolk stood apart, watching them come up. ‘Here is our Council,’ Wanderer said. ‘And this is Wise One. It was she who welcomed Freeman Wells.’
A tall grey-feathered Birdwoman stepped out from the group. ‘I welcome you, Susan Ferris, and your friends. Wanderer and Redwing have seen the Mark. The Council would see it too. But I can see you are tired, and perhaps a little deafened by the welcome of our folk. Redwing will take you to a quiet place where you can rest. Return when you are ready. Do not hurry. We have waited twelve turns for your coming. We can wait a little longer.’
This kindness made Susan feel like crying. How had Wise One known that to be alone for a while was what she wanted more than anything? She did not even want Nick. Redwing led her deep into the hall. Then she branched off into a side hall, and from that into a long bright tunnel leading into the hill.
‘Redwing?’
‘Yes, Susan?’
‘What I’d like is a bath. And somewhere to wash my clothes. They’re filthy.’
‘That is where I am taking you.’ She pushed aside a feathered drape and they entered a room. ‘This is where Wanderer and I live.’ A window opened on to a view of the plain and river. Susan went to it and looked out. The mountain chain ran northward. In the east, beyond the plain, other mountains rose, with a dark forest on their foothills.
‘It’s beautiful. It’s a lovely land.’
‘Worth saving, Susan?’
‘Yes.’
‘The burden is very great for one so young.’
‘I can do it.’
‘Yes, I see you can. Freeman Wells chose wisely.’
‘He didn’t have any choice.’
‘Perhaps some greater being made it then. But careful child, do not fall out. You don’t have any wings.’ She drew Susan back from the window and led her across the room. ‘Here is the bath. There are hot springs in the mountain. It is not deep, see.’ The bath was in a wide hollow in the floor. Redwing stepped in, fluffed her feathers out, half opened her wings, and splashed water everywhere. Susan almost giggled. She was like a giant parakeet in a giant birdbath. She stepped out, shook herself dry, and said, ‘That is better. Stay in as long as you like, Susan. I have made a human bed in the other room if you want to sleep.’ Susan watched as she went into the main room, stepped on to the windowsill, launched herself, and glided out of sight round the mountain.
She washed her clothes in the bath. Her shorts and shirt were filthy and her Woodlander cloak stained with berry juice and dust. Water ran into and out of the bath continuously. When it was clean again, she lowered herself in and lay there with steaming water lapping her chin. There was no soap but that did not seem to matter. She felt all the dust and grime, all the ache and tiredness of her journey soaking out of her. She almost went to sleep in the bath.
Later she slept on the bed Redwing had made. When she woke Redwing was watching her.
‘What time is it? Are they waiting for me?’
‘Yes,’ Redwing said. ‘The feasting is done. I have brought you food. Then I will take you to them.’
‘Where are my clothes?’
‘Brightfeather is drying them. She is one of my brood.’
Susan looked out the window. A young golden Birdgirl was looping and diving in the sky, with Susan’s clothes trailing on a string behind her. Susan laughed. ‘You think of everything.’ She ate her platter of food. Then Redwing called Brightfeather and the Birdgirl swooped down and landed neatly on the windowsill. ‘Greetings, Susan Ferris. I dropped one of your socks but I managed to catch it.’
‘Thank you,’ Susan said. She unwrapped herself from the bed coverings and dressed. ‘Oh I wish I had a brush, my hair’s all tangled.’
‘A brush?’ Redwing said. ‘Brightfeather.’ The Birdgirl launched herself and flew away. A moment later she was back with a beautiful brush, its back inlaid with coloured stones. She handed it to Susan. ‘I use it for my pet goat. But you can keep it.’
‘No –’ Susan began; but Redwing said, ‘All the Birdfolk would like to give you something, but we know you cannot burden yourself, you have far to go. So take this one thing from my daughter. It shall stand for all we cannot give you.’
‘Well,’ Susan said. The brush ran like water through her hair. ‘Thank you. I’ll keep it all my life.’
When she was ready Redwing led her back along the passage to the great hall and down to the entrance. Wise One came to meet her. ‘Welcome again, Susan Ferris. You have bathed and slept? And eaten too? I see your eyes are brighter. That is good. Your cousin Nick has told us your story. You have come through many dangers. Morninghall will praise you in its songs.’
‘I haven’t done anything yet,’ Susan said. ‘The hardest part is coming.’
‘That is so. But you will succeed.’ Her green eyes burned. Susan began to feel oppressed again, and thought that Wise One wasn’t very wise. She had liked her better when she was being kind.
‘Do you want to see the Mark?’
‘Yes, child. I saw it on Freeman Wells, in this very hall. I would count it an honour to see that sign again.’ She called the Council to her. They came, stately and slow, tall Birdmen and Birdwomen, with their feathers a little ragged from a lifetime of flying. Susan felt small standing amongst them. She rolled up her sleeve. ‘There you are.’ They bent close. She heard their soft exclamations and felt
their breath on her arm. Nick was a little way off. He winked at her.
‘It is the Mark.’
‘The true Mark.’
‘She is the Bearer.’
‘There was never any doubt,’ Wise One said. ‘Cover your arm, Susan. We will trouble you no more.’ She walked to the entrance of the hall and signalled a young Birdman standing there. The young one raised a horn and blew a long silver blast. At once the folk outside were still. Those flying dropped quickly down. Silence filled the crater.
‘Come and stand with me, Susan,’ Wise One said. Susan went to her side. Wise One spread her wings and Susan felt the comfort of a wall of feathers at her back.
‘Folk of Morninghall,’ Wise One cried. ‘I speak for the Council of the Hall. I speak for all Birdfolk. See this human child. She is Susan Ferris. She has come from another world, through many perils. Halfmen have pursued her. She has escaped a Bloodcat. She has fled the Evil Doer, Odo Cling, and come to us. She comes in the footsteps of Freeman Wells – that Freeman Wells who lives forever in our Song. This child wears the Mark of Freeman Wells. He it was who placed the Mark on her. She is his Chosen One. And now she comes to claim from us the Half that rests inside Mount Morningstar. Birdfolk, praise her. Morninghall, give her your strength. For she must journey far, to face that Dark on Darkness, Otis Claw. Give, I say!’
At once the Birdfolk roared. They sprang into the air. Their wings beat like the sea on shingle beaches. A huge wind burst inside the crater like a bomb, scattering fire and wood, throwing rocks about like hailstones. The Birdfolk rose into the air in a great multi-coloured shield. They blotted out the sun.
Susan cowered back in Wise One’s wing. ‘Do not be afraid,’ Wise One cried. ‘They make a gift to you.’
She felt as if she were on the bottom of the sea, watching a giant stingray float overhead.
‘Fly Morninghall,’ Wise One cried. The shield of Birdfolk wheeled away. It mounted, undulating, into the sky, and climbed towards the sun. Redwing was gone with it, Wanderer too. Only the old ones of the Council remained, and those too young to fly.
‘Where are they going?’ Susan whispered.