by Gee, Maurice
The shield grew smaller and smaller, until it was no larger in the sky than a black old-fashioned penny.
‘They go to ask blessing from the sun. That strength and blessing they will bring to you.’
Susan watched until the black spot in the sky merged with the sun. Then for a long while nothing happened. From mountain-chain to mountain the sky was empty. ‘When will they come back?’
‘They are coming now.’
She could not see. The sun burned her eyes.
‘There,’ Nick cried, pointing. She saw something tumbling from the sky. It fell fast and straight as a stone.
‘He’ll be killed,’ Susan cried.
Down, down, the tumbling Birdman came. She saw that he would smash into the crater. But at the last moment, when he was below the rim, his wings snapped out. There was a creaking of bones, a shrieking of air. The Birdman swooped along the crater floor, dust puffed up like a smoke-trail in his wake. But the Birdman gave a flick, he braked himself, climbed in a sudden sickening swoop until he was poised over her head, and dropped with astonishing gentleness at her feet. She looked at him. He towered over her. He seemed to glow with the warmth of the sun, his green eyes shone like suns. She felt them burning into her head. He reached an arm across his body, plucked a feather from his half-folded wing, and laid it at her feet. Then he turned and strode away and took his place on the crater rim.
‘Here comes the next one,’ Nick said.
All through the afternoon they fell, and swooped across the crater, and laid their feathers at her feet. It was a display of superb skill and strength. But it was more. Susan felt herself choking with emotion. The wind of their coming dashed her hair across her eyes, but she pushed it away, and tried to look each one in the eyes. The pile of feathers mounted at her feet. She felt herself growing taller, stronger.
‘Seven hundred and ten so far,’ Nick said.
Redwing came. She smiled as she plucked her feather. Susan saw a drop of blood glistening on its stem. Then the giant warriors fell from the sky. The crater seemed to boom as their wings snapped open. They made great groans of pain. Wanderer came last. He fell, and swooped, and stood in the air over her, and dropped gently as a leaf from a tree. He laid his feather at her feet.
‘Morninghall has praised you.’ He strode away to his place.
Susan turned slowly to Wise One. ‘Can I take a feather?’
‘We would be honoured, Susan.’
She stepped forward and reached into the pile. She did not choose, but let her hand come down where it would. She grasped the feather by the stem and lifted it in front of her. It was a deep blue one, streaked with red. She looked at the Birdfolk ranged about the crater rim. The dying sun had brought out all their colours and made their eyes flash like emeralds. She held the feather high. She did not know what she was going to say, but heard her voice rise into the air as sharp and strong as a trumpet call. ‘I thank you, Morninghall. I have taken your strength. I shall carry it with me into the Darkness, and try to use it well.’
Then she turned and ran. She ran past Nick and Brand and Breeze and through the Council. Behind her a sound like thunder rose. The Birdfolk were clapping their great wings. She ran across the hall and down the passage and came to Redwing’s room. She threw herself on the bed and lay there sobbing, with the red and blue feather hugged to her breast.
Later Nick came in. ‘That was a good speech.’
‘Were they offended when I ran away?’
‘They understood. Wise One says she’s taking you to get the Half in the morning.’
‘Where?’
‘Mount Morningstar. I wish I could come too.’
‘I wish I could stay here. Stay forever.’
‘I don’t. Imagine living with Birdfolk and not being able to fly.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. Where’s Jimmy Jaspers?’
Nick gave a snort. ‘He ate himself silly. Then he found out they’ve got a forge here, where they work iron. So he took off there. He’s been gone all afternoon. Says there’s something he wants to make.’
Redwing came in. She brought food and drink, and stayed with Susan, telling her tales and legends of the Birdfolk until the sun was down and the room was dark. Then Susan slept. She woke in the morning to the call of the silver horn, and bathed quickly and plaited her hair. She ate the food Redwing brought, then walked with a feeling between elation and fear down to the entrance of the hall.
‘Wanderer will carry you,’ Wise One said. ‘It was he who carried Freeman Wells. And I will fly at your side, though I think it will do my joints no good.’ She stretched her old wings painfully. ‘Rheumatism.’
Two Birdmen brought the chair Susan would ride in. It was, she thought, rather like a shopping-basket, with handles standing high. Wanderer would grasp those and carry her like groceries. She wriggled inside. It was lined with down. ‘You will need it,’ Redwing said. ‘Mount Morningstar is cold.’
Nick grinned ruefully. ‘You can’t smuggle me in?’ Brand and Breeze spoke encouragingly. However it was not the flight that frightened Susan, but the thought of the Half. Soon she would see it, and claim it. What was it like?
Wise One said, ‘I must launch myself from a window. The days when I could leap into flight are gone.’ She went back into the hall, and a few moments later came gliding round the curve of the hill. ‘Come Susan,’ she called, ‘come Wanderer. We have far to go.’
Wanderer touched wings with Redwing. He took two steps and beat up into the air. Then he came gliding back and grasped the handles of Susan’s chair and swung it up easily beneath him.
‘Good-bye, Susan,’ Nick called.
Wanderer climbed in long sweeps. The hills began to stretch and the plains to spread themselves out. Soon Susan felt her ears go pop. She wondered how high they were going. Wise One was far below, tiny as a sparrow. The crater was a dent scooped by a teaspoon, and Morninghall a shrunken old potato. She looked up and saw Wanderer’s breast feathers rippling in the sun. His wings beat heavily and his feathers crackled like paper. An icy wind was rushing about her face. She pulled the hood of her Woodlander cloak tight about her ears and snuggled deep in the downy chair. They must be as high, she thought, as the Morninghall Birdfolk had climbed the previous day.
Wanderer stopped at last and floated on his wings. ‘Susan,’ he called, ‘you can see the whole of our land now. The plains run northward for three days’ flight. All between the mountain ranges is Morninghall land. Eastward you see Mount Morningstar. Beyond are lands belonging to other Halls. We live in peace with them.’
‘Where do the Bloodcats live?’
‘Northward. Far to the north, in the hotlands. They do not come this far unless Halfmen bring them.’ He wheeled round. ‘There is Darkland, with the ocean beyond. You cannot see it for the evil smoke. Where Wildwood ends, that jagged line is Sheercliff. The smoke reaches up. Soon it will swallow the forest. It will come leaking round the ends of the mountains into the plains of Morninghall.’
Susan looked at this lovely land, spread out like a rumpled quilt in the sun. She could not believe she was the one who could save it.
‘Wanderer?’ she said.
‘Yes. You wonder why we do not fight. We who are so strong and pleased with ourselves. Why do we not fly down to Darkland and drop a boulder on Otis Claw and squash him like a maggot? But Susan, there is a law, a dispensation. Some say that in the ancient days the Gods sat on Mount Morningstar and portioned out the world among their creatures. Manhome to Humankind. Wildwood to the Woodlanders. The upland and the mountains to the Birdfolk. And sea and underground to other folk. That is the tale. I leave it to the wise ones who study such things, though I love to hear the legend told in song. But this I know – westward of the mountains we cannot fly. There was some ancient wrong, and we are punished, we are locked in our land. Even so, we try. We sent an army out to crush Otis Claw. That was in the time of Freeman Wells. And many a young birdman has started out alone, thinking to win glory fo
r himself. But none come back. And the army perished. Westward of the mountains a dreadful weariness comes down on all Birdfolk. Our wings fold up, we tumble to the ground and are dashed to pieces. My son, my only son, this last turn …’ He gave a groan and was silent.
‘I’m sorry,’ Susan began, but Wanderer cut her off. ‘So, we turn aside from a task that should be ours and leave it to a weak stranger from another world.’
‘I’m not so weak,’ Susan said. ‘You gave me your strength.’
‘Yes, yes, you have that. There is nothing else we can offer.’ He floated silently.
After a while Susan said, ‘Which is Mount Morningstar?’
‘The central peak. The highest one.’
She had thought that must be it – a mountain standing up like a sword in the sky.
‘In olden times, when Birdfolk robbed and killed, there was a famous brigand called Redclaw. He kept his treasure in a cave on the north face of the mountain. It was abandoned centuries ago. None go there. It is known only to Wise One and to me. There we took Freeman Wells. There he left the Half. No living thing has gone in that cave since.’
Wise One came labouring up. They heard her old wings creaking. She took her place beside Wanderer. ‘I have not flown so hard in many turns.’
‘From here it is all down air. I have told her of the cave.’
‘Then let us go. I shall pretend I am young again.’ She banked and started off. Wanderer followed. Then for an hour they raced down the frozen air. Susan huddled in her nest and watched Mount Morningstar grow until it filled the sky. Its west side was unlit, but when the Birdfolk circled to the north she saw huge glaciers and banks of ice shining in the sun. Wise One tilted her wings and sped down like a hawk and Wanderer followed. Below the snowline a black cliff dropped sheer into the forest. A ledge like a hand jutted from its side. Wise One made for it. For the first time on their long flight from the west she flapped her wings. She passed the ledge – it was, Susan saw, about the size of the roof of a haybarn and looped back to it steeply, and came down in the centre, neat as a parachutist. She folded her wings. Wanderer came in beside her and hovered a moment to let Susan out of the chair. She scrambled free and stood shivering on the sun-warmed rock.
‘This is Redclaw’s Hall. There is the door,’ Wise One said.
Susan looked at the egg-shaped opening in the cliff. The sun slanted in, lighting the threshold of a room. It seemed almost welcoming. At her back was only space, the long dizzy drop down to the forest.
‘Do I go in alone?’
‘We will follow.’
She tried not to be nervous. After all, it was the good Half in there. She went to the door and stepped inside. It was a hall large enough for a score of Birdfolk. High in the front wall apertures were cut and bars of sunlight ran into the gloom. There was nothing inside – nothing, not even dust. She wondered where all the treasure had gone, and tried to imagine pirate Birdfolk living in this place, and setting off on raids into the plains.
‘Where’s the Half?’
Wise One and Wanderer had entered behind her. ‘There, at the back,’ Wise One said.
A narrow shelf was cut in the wall. She went slowly towards it. Freeman Wells had come here, now she came. She began to tremble. She put out her hand and drew it back. Lying on the shelf, as though it were some bit of rubbish left in an old empty house, was a piece of amber-coloured glass, shaped like a teardrop.
‘Is that it?’ But she knew. She reached out, and felt her hand begin to travel of its own accord.
With her fingers steady, she picked up the Half.
8
Underhand Chop
Nick went up to the crater rim with the young Birdfolk and watched them practise flying. They spread their wings and glided into the hollow. Now and then one would try a cautious flap, but this usually led to a tumble on landing. They got rather bad-tempered. Nick wandered away. If he had to live here, he thought, he would build himself a hang-glider and show them they weren’t the only ones who could fly.
Jimmy Jaspers came out of the hall. He climbed the rim and set off towards the river. Nick wondered what he was up to. He ran to catch up. Jimmy moved along quickly, hopping like a goat from rock to rock. He bellowed a song about a girl who had loved a sailor and been left in the lurch. When Nick caught up he had stopped at a thicket of thorn trees.
‘What do yer reckon, younker? Reckon I’ll find a good straight one in there?’
‘What for?’ Nick asked.
‘A handle fer me axe.’ He showed Nick an axe head. ‘Cast and tempered ’er yestiddy. Sharpened ’er this mornin’. Feel that edge. Go easy, yer’ll ’ave yer finger orf.’ He rolled up his sleeve and shaved some hairs off his arm. ‘When I catches up with Odo Cling I’ll slice ‘im up fer bacon.’
He took out his clasp knife and hacked down one of the thorn trees and trimmed off its branches. ‘I reckon this’ll do. She’s good tough wood.’
Nick sat with him on a rock while he shaped and smoothed a handle. The old man spat on his hands. He worked easily and fast. His knife was chisel, plane and sand-paper. By lunchtime the axe handle was ready. He fitted it to the axe head and hammered in a wedge with a piece of rock. He whirled it round his head. ‘I reckon she’s right. You ain’t seen me use an axe, ’ave yer younker? I won the underhand chop six years runnin’ at the Fells Bush A and P show. Let’s get up there an’ cut them pretty pollies a bit o’ firewood.’
He worked all afternoon in the crater. Birdfolk flew in with logs to keep him supplied. By sundown he had a stack as high as his head.
‘I reckon I’m in trim. Bring on yer Odo Cling.’
A Birdman landed with a flurry of wings. ‘They are coming. Wise One and Wanderer and Susan.’
Nick peered into the east, where the distant mountains stood out in the dying sun. In a moment he saw two dots moving on the pink and yellow sky. He felt as if he were in an airport, waiting for a plane to come in from Australia. Then the strangeness of things rushed in on him and he almost cried out with disbelief. This was Morninghall, on the planet O. Those dots were Birdfolk. Susan was flying home with the Half, coming to save the world. He grasped Jimmy Jaspers by the arm.
‘Easy, son,’ the old man said. ‘Yer gotter roll with the punches.’
Wise One came down in a flat glide and landed by the entrance of the hall. Wanderer dropped more steeply and put Susan’s chair down light as a cushion. Susan climbed out. Her cheeks were flushed with cold and she looked tired.
Wise One faced the crater. She spread her wings, though they shook with weariness. ‘Morninghall,’ she cried, ‘your guardianship is over. Susan Ferris has claimed the Half.’
The Birdfolk clapped their wings, softly, gravely. They seemed a little sad.
Nick ran up to the entrance. Brand and Breeze came running. The Council gathered round. Nick gave Susan a hug.
‘Can I see?’
But she shook her head. She had her fist shut tightly. Her knuckles were white. ‘No, no, I can’t show anyone.’
‘Why?’
‘Because … because …’
‘Leave her,’ Redwing said; and Breeze, peering at her anxiously, said, ‘Do not trouble her now. She needs to rest.’
The Birdwoman and the Woodlander led her away.
Nick moped about. He felt left out of things. He sat with Brand and Jimmy by a fire and ate his meal. He worried about Susan. What would happen if she got sick?
Later in the evening Breeze knelt beside him. ‘Susan would like to see you.’
‘What happened? Is she all right?’
‘She will tell you. Do not keep her talking.’
Nick went back through the hall, along the passage, and into Redwing’s room. It was lit with flames burning in pans of oil. Susan was lying on the bed, with coverings up to her chin. The light was dull, but he saw the flush was gone from her cheeks. She smiled at him.
‘I’m sorry, Nick. I’m not usually like this.’
‘What happened?’
‘They took me to a cave on the mountain. It was high up, like – like a kingfisher’s nest in a bank. No one had been there since Freeman Wells. I got the Half.’
‘Can I see?’
‘It was lying on a shelf at the back of the cave. Just lying there. I picked it up. And Nick – I thought I was – I thought I was going to break into little pieces. Something went right through me. It was like electricity. I felt every part of me – my heart and my muscles and bones. My eyeballs and teeth and toenails. It was horrible. They all separated. And then, somehow, they all came back together. But I felt I was different. I was changed. Something was added to me. Does that make sense?’
‘No.’
‘You have to feel it yourself. I’m the only one who can ever feel it. I suppose the Half was just saying – saying it knew me.’
‘Is that why you won’t show it to anyone?’
‘Yes. It’s too important. Nick, it’s light as a wishbone. But when I picked it up it felt like lead. I felt I was picking up half of everybody in the world. I wouldn’t even show Redwing or Breeze. It’s not like a new bangle or hairclip – everybody going Ooh! and Aah!’
‘They wouldn’t do that.’
‘I know. I can’t be fair. But I’ll show it to you. You’re the only one.’
She drew her fist out from the coverings. She held it out to him and opened it. The Half lay on her palm. Nick looked at it and pulled a face. ‘It doesn’t look much.’ Like Woolworth’s plastic jewellery, he thought, or something made of perspex and polished up. Its shape was interesting: a teardrop, curved like a moon. He saw how the other Half would fit into it and make a circle. And its colour was rather nice – like weak lemon tea. There was a tiny spot in it like a tea-leaf, dark red, almost black.
‘Have you put it on your birthmark? Is it alive?’
‘No. I’m frightened it would take all the good out of me. I’m going to wait till I’ve got them both. Till I’m at the Motherstone.’
‘If you get there.’
‘I will. I know it now.’
She closed her fist and pushed it under the blankets. ‘I’m tired. I want to go to sleep. Good-night, Nick.’