by Helen Gosney
“Gran always said not to eat them, but if you had to, the only way to cook them…” he laughed again, “You tell him, Rose. He probably won’t believe me.”
Rose was trying not to laugh too.
“Gran always said you had to put the cockatoo in a big pot of water with some herbs and a brick. Of course it’s got to be a proper baked brick, not a mud-brick. Then you keep on boiling it until…” she was laughing almost too much to speak, “You boil it until the brick is soft, then throw out the cockatoo and eat the brick!” the twins finished together, laughing uproariously.
Cris was laughing almost as hard.
“Good thing the pigeons are a bit easier to cook than that,” he managed.
“And tastier too,” chuckled Rowan.
**********
A couple of days later, they were ambling along when Cris suddenly said, in a very surprised sort of voice, “What the hell’s that over there?” This trip through open countryside had shown him how woefully ignorant he really was about anything not connected with Gnash. He was grateful that Rowan and Rose didn’t seem to mind at all.
The twins looked where he was pointing, wondering why he seemed so amazed at yet more trees. After all, trees were trees, up to a point. Certainly Cris didn’t seem to know one from another. But some of the trees ahead looked to be covered with… snow? How could it be snow, here? As they got a bit closer, Rowan stood in his stirrups for a better look. No, it couldn’t be.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, “We were only talking about them, what, the day before yesterday…?”
“What…?” Cris asked.
Now that they were a bit closer he could see that the trees were eucalypts, their branches filled almost to groaning point with big white birds with handsome yellow crests they raised as they called raucously to each other. They had bright, clever black eyes and fierce-looking hooked beaks.
Some of the birds were hanging by their beaks from the long streamers of bark hanging from the tree they were in; they’d flap their wings and swing in wild circles. Others were dancing along the branches, bobbing their heads and flashing their crests at their partners. Some were preening their neighbour’s already immaculate feathers.
Others of the birds were squabbling over the gum trees’ bounty of blossoms and nuts, while still others were simply stripping the bark from the branches and small twigs and snipping off small bunches of leaves with their strong beaks as if to occupy their time while they thought of something else to do. All the activity was accompanied by a cacophony of screeches and whistles and squawks. Cris was entranced by the sheer vitality of the birds.
“They’re cockatoos, that we were talking about, er, whenever it was. I’m a bit surprised to suddenly see them here though,” Rowan said, looking around him for something else. He pointed to a dead tree a little away from the others.
“That’s where the lookout is, see him right up the top by himself? If we get too close, he’ll warn the others and they’ll all go. Not far, but far enough that they feel safe again,” he said to Cris.
“A lookout? You’re joking!” said Cris sceptically, looking at the single cockatoo which wasn’t dancing, squawking, stripping bark or hanging upside down by one leg as all the others were. It seemed to be a very serious cockatoo indeed.
“No, you’ll see,” Rose replied cheerfully. She was as pleased to see the birds as her brother. They reminded her of her home. She couldn’t have lived with herself if she’d let Rowan simply ride off on this journey alone, and certainly nobody could have stopped him once he’d made up his mind and regained his strength. Of course she’d wondered at the wisdom of what he’d thought he was doing, but she’d thought perhaps it might be a way to ease his troubled mind after the loss of his family and the carnage of Messton. And it did seem to be doing that. As they’d travelled further though, she’d come to realise the strangeness she’d seen in the forest at home was everywhere… and not necessarily a good thing either. Still, she missed her home.
As they crossed some invisible boundary, the lookout bird suddenly raised its bright yellow crest and screamed loudly, a completely different sound to all the others they’d already heard. The cockatoo took to the air, still screaming. Instantly, the huge flock in the trees took flight too, calling anxiously to each other as they rose. They looked like an enormous noisy white cloud. The cockatoos were strong accomplished fliers, surprisingly swift for such large birds, but they didn’t seem to travel very far before they settled again. The lookout, or perhaps another bird taking over the role now that the first one had done its job, settled itself in the topmost branches of another dead tree and watched the travellers carefully until they were safely away.
**********
A few days after seeing the cockatoos they came to a fine river that meandered back and forth through the trees, now close to the road, now distant, and now close again. Rowan named it the Catspaw River, for the way it seemed to tease at the road as if tempting it to try and cross.
“It’s a good name for it, Rowan,” Rose said to him, “I think there might be hope for you yet.”
“I hope there is,” Rowan replied with a little smile, “Um… Have either of you noticed the road has gradually swung to the north?”
Both Rose and Cris had vaguely noticed this, but had thought nothing of it, and said so.
“Well... maybe you’re right, maybe ‘tis nothing; but the road has been more or less easterly all this time, and now that it’s turned... I think it’s taking us there...” Rowan pointed ahead to a gap in the trees.
Something seemed to be floating there in the distance, something bright and shining in the clear air. It took them a few moments to realise that it was a mighty range of mountains rearing their snow-covered heads above the horizon.
“Do you think that’s the... the Forbidden Mountains?” Rose asked in a hushed voice.
“There’s no way of knowing really, but I think it must be; unless we’ve been on a wild goose chase all this time...” Rowan said wryly, “What do you think, Cris?”
“I think you must be right,” he replied, firmly ignoring any thoughts of geese, wild or otherwise. He’d been chased by a neighbour’s pet goose when he was a boy, and he hadn’t forgotten it. “The rhyme said... what was it now...? ‘sacred mountains at the end’...? What else could they be? But how will we know which one of them is the Home of the Gods...? There must be hundreds of mountains there...”
“The road will take us there...” said Rowan with rather more confidence than he suddenly felt, “At least, I hope it will... I don’t want to have to start searching for the Great Pavilion in all that lot.”
**********
As the days passed, the road became much rougher and more broken by the roots of the trees, and the terrain became hillier as they approached the mountains. The river that had teased the road for so long now ran deep and swift below them in a lush valley filled with trees, and the road ran along the valley’s rim.
“Maybe there’ll be a bridge down there somewhere,” Cris said hopefully.
“Aye, maybe... we’ll see where the road decides to take us. You’d think a bridge might be somewhere along here if it’s going to be anywhere. We certainly haven’t passed one,” Rowan replied.
Since they’d left the Dimlit Mere the waystations had become increasingly dilapidated; several had seemed unsafe, while others had been little more than piles of rubble. The road might charitably be described as a rough track. This day they came to a waystation perched above the valley late one afternoon and began to make their preparations for the night. Once again they’d found the smaller buildings unsafe, and they were making themselves comfortable in a corner of the ‘stables’, as they now thought of the other building.
Cris was standing idly in the doorway of the stables, gazing into the valley below to see if he might be able to get a glimpse of the elusive bridge he felt must be there somewhere. Rowan and Rose were trying to decide what they might have for supper. Cris didn’t c
are, really; he knew by now that Rose could make anything taste good. On the days the men decided to give Rose a rest from cooking, Rowan had shown that he really wasn’t too bad at the job either. Not that it’d be hard to be a better cook than me, Cris thought ruefully. He’d probably starve if he had to depend on his own cooking.
“Great Gods! Look at that!” he called sharply.
The twins hurried across to where he stood. Overhead the sky had become much darker and great black clouds were blowing down from the mountains, jagged lightning crackling within them. They could hear the distant rumbling of thunder and the wind was gusting strong and cold. As they watched, the upper levels of the valley were swallowed up by the lowering clouds and they could see a great sheet of shimmering rain marching towards them.
“I wish we had some doors!” Rowan muttered to himself as the rain struck them; but of course there were no doors to be had, and they had to shelter themselves within the walls as best they could.
The storm raged for hours, deep pealing thunder following the brilliant flashes of lightning so closely that there was scarcely a heartbeat between them. Soot and Mica stoically turned away from the fury of the storm and the rain that gusted through the open doorway, but Bess and Max were very frightened. Cris was sure they were in for a very bad time with the poor creatures, but Rowan simply stood between them, singing softly in their ears and running his hands over their trembling bodies, and they were soothed and soon stood quietly.
“We’ll be fine, I think,” Rowan said softly as the horses settled beneath his touch, “Finish your meal if it’s not been washed away, and try and get some sleep if you can in all this noise... don’t worry, I’ll call you if I need you.”
Neither Cris nor Rose thought they’d be able to sleep, but both came awake with a start soon after midnight as a particularly loud crash shook the ground beneath them.
“Great Mother! What was that?” Rose whispered.
“’Twas up the valley a bit, whatever it was... there was a great flash of light and that... that explosion...” Rowan said softly from the darkness, “Quietly now, my pretties, quietly... you’re all right,” he added, stumbling and swearing as Bess and Max tried to move even closer to him.
“Are you all right over there?” Cris said anxiously. He got to his feet carefully, for it was very dark indeed now that their little fire had gone out, and the flashes of lightning didn’t help at all.
“Aye, I’m fine... we’re all fine here. The poor silly creatures nearly squashed me, but truly I’m lucky to have Bess and Max to keep me a bit warmer, that wind is bloody cold.” said Rowan as he picked himself up and calmed the horses again, “Thank the Gods we’re not out in that. At least what’s left of the roof is keeping the worst of it off us.”
The rain was pelting down, huge drops that splattered noisily, and the wind was blowing cold and fierce, and thunder still rumbled angrily.
At last the morning came. They decided that they wouldn’t travel further that day: the rain had gone and there was thin watery sunshine, but the strong cold wind remained, some of their belongings needed to be dried out, and Rowan had had no sleep at all.
**********
23. “I don’t know how he can bear it…”
“Messton has changed him, you know,” Rose said quietly as she and Cris sat together sipping tea.
Rowan had had a bit of breakfast and had taken himself a little away from the others, rolled himself in his cloak and fallen asleep surprisingly quickly. He’d always said it was one of the more useful skills of a Guard. His wasn’t a restful sleep though.
“Mmm… I’m not surprised, by what he told us in Gnash,” Cris replied.
“No… he’s probably told you and Bimm more than he was ever able to tell us at home,” Rose replied thoughtfully. “Really, he’s told us very little of it, he just… he just couldn’t…” she shook her head, “But what we did hear was enough… more than enough.”
They sipped their tea companionably, but Rose seemed anxious to talk some more. Cris was happy to listen, if that’s what she wanted him to do, but he hoped he wouldn’t somehow say the wrong thing.
“Rowan was always the leader when we were young. He was quiet in some ways, but full of life and he always knew what he wanted to do… Pa wanted him to stay in Borl Quist, become a timber cutter like everyone else,” she hesitated for a moment, “But, no, he said he loved the forest and he wouldn’t cut it down, he wanted to be a soldier, and nothing else would do. There were arguments of course; Pa is very nearly as stubborn as Rowan is… Anyway, in the end, Pa could see that Rowan simply wouldn’t be happy doing what everybody else thought he should be doing… He was only fourteen when he joined the Guard. I don’t know why they accepted him so young, we hadn’t thought they would, but they did. I cried for weeks after he’d gone. I couldn’t believe that he’d really go, even though he’d told me that he would, one way or another. Glyn made me see that it was best for him, and that it wasn’t the end of the world…”
Cris wasn’t sure what to say, so he just nodded his head; this seemed the wisest course to him. Rose smiled at him.
“Of course, it wasn’t the end of the world… Rowan came home to us when he could, though Den Sorl and some of his other postings are a fair way from home, and later on, Den Siddon was even further. And he was so happy in the Guard… it was what he wanted to do with his life… He was damned good at it too, it didn’t seem to matter that he was so much younger than the other recruits. He’s always been very fit and active, and the skills just seemed to come to him. Remember I told you he was a Weapons Master as well as Horse Master? And he’s the only man to have ever won the Champions’ Trophy twice,” she sighed and shook her head. “Did he… did he tell you he was married?”
“Yes, but he said that his wife had died… he said that’s her ring he wears…”
“Yes… it’s Zara’s ring. They were wed in Sian, nearly three years ago now. I used to tease him that he’d never find anyone who could put up with him; but he did… She was such a lovely girl with beautiful long curly black hair. Oh, she hated those curls. Rowan thought the sun rose and set on Zara. And she thought the same of him. They’d been married about a year, and she was carrying their first child when… when one day every pregnant woman in the province suddenly went into labour. Some were near term and were all right, but Zara was only six months along… their little boy was born too early, too small to even have a chance, and Zara …” Rose blinked back tears, “She died too… ‘the will of the Gods’ they all said. Rowan was devastated… and then a week later he was sent out after Rollo and his men…”
And we hadn’t even known, she thought to herself. She wished she’d at least been able to be there for him when he’d lost his lovely Zarinya and the baby they were so looking forward to.
“Rose, I’m so sorry…” said Cris, feeling inadequate, but knowing that Rose needed to talk. She smiled sadly at him and nodded her head.
“When he came home that last time, he was shattered…” Rose continued softly, “He came through the trees riding Soot, with Mica loose beside him… he had one arm in a sling and half-healed gashes on his face, and his poor nose was broken… and so were a lot of ribs we found out about later. He was trembling with fever and struggling to breathe; he was so ill he could hardly stay on Soot’s back… Gran was furious the Guard had let him leave like that, but he said he was all right when he left Den Siddon, and he was nearly halfway home when he started to get sick, and… well, he’d just wanted to get home. Knowing Rowan, they probably would have had to chain him up to stop him anyway,” Rose was very quiet for a while, remembering that terrible time.
**********
She thought she’d never forget the day her beloved, stubborn, indestructible brother had returned from Den Siddon. She’d been in the garden, collecting vegetables and herbs for supper, when she’d heard hoofbeats in an odd cadence. She’d looked up and seen two horses striding through the forest in an odd gait that looked very s
mooth, but which was at the same time deceptively fast. Two weary, mud-spattered stallions came to stand before the gate, a black and a grey, their long manes and tails tangled with burrs and brambles and who knew what. She’d stared in amazement as the grey unlatched the gate and both horses stepped carefully towards her.
They wore headstalls, with no other harness at all. She could see now that there was a rider on the black, but he looked very ill; he was slumped over, shivering so badly she couldn’t believe he hadn’t already fallen. Well, he obviously had, and how he’d managed to get back on the horse was anyone’s guess. The poor man was filthy, his clothes torn and muddy and blood stained, his long hair dark with sweat and grime and in a braid so dishevelled she couldn’t even really see which clan he belonged to. A single braid, she thought it was Forest Giant, but that was all she could tell. She should have realised then, but she hadn’t. The rider seemed to be trying to brace his side with the arm in the bloodied sling while the other hand clutched a handful of his horse’s mane. His breathing was a horrible rasping gasp and she could hear the damp, wheezing rattle in his chest from where she stood. She’d run to him, calling for her father to come and help their kinsman, when the black stallion had nickered softly and pushed at her with its nose. Oh, Gods! It was Soot! But, but that meant…
Rowan had raised his head a little as she’d tried to steady him and screamed for her father to come NOW. He was deathly pale, his face streaked with sweat and blood and his eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion. He was barely conscious, and seemed to have trouble focussing on her face, but he knew her.
“Rose…? Is it really you, Rose?” he’d managed before the effort had made him cough: deep, racking coughs that left him breathless and groaning with pain, bright blood glistening on his lips.