The Last of the Sky Pirates: First Book of Rook

by Paul Stewart

  ‘Over there are the Goblin Nations,’ he said. ‘And there, due south, is the Foundry Glade. See how the sky is darker in that whole area? That’s the filthy smoke constantly belching out from their factory chimneys.’

  Rook could see the heavy black clouds, tinged with red, far in the distance. ‘It looks like a terrible place,’ he observed.

  ‘Take my advice, friend,’ said Knuckle earnestly. ‘The Foundry Glade is no place for the likes of us. Ten times worse than Undertown, so they say – a place of fiery furnaces and slaves—’

  ‘Slaves?’ said Rook, shocked.

  ‘And worse,’ said Knuckle darkly. ‘Not at all like the Free Glades.’ The slaughterer smiled. ‘Now the Free Glades are a sight to see, believe me!’

  ‘Which way are the Free Glades?’ said Rook.

  Knuckle turned him round, till Rook was standing with his back to the sinking sun. ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘Just beyond that ridge of ironwood trees; the most beautiful place in all the Edgelands.’

  ‘So close?’ said Rook, trembling with excitement. As he peered into the darkness, he was filled with a mixture of happiness and sadness. Overjoyed to discover that he had almost reached his destination, he had momentarily forgotten that his companions were not with him …

  ‘Rook!’ The voice echoed up on the swirling wind from the other side of the tower. ‘Rook!’

  ‘Magda?’ said Rook, hurrying to see. He clutched the rough wooden balustrade and looked down. A group of ant-like slaughterers were staring up. When Rook’s head appeared they all started waving and pointing and shouting at once. ‘Come down!’ ‘Come here!’ ‘Your friends …’ And three individuals from the crowd were pushed forwards.

  Rook cried out with joy. ‘Magda!’ he shouted. ‘Stob! Hekkle!’ And he turned on his heels, clambered down the ladders leading on to the walkways, and finally hurried down a creaking zigzag staircase.

  ‘Rook!’ Magda cried as he emerged at the bottom, and she rushed forwards to hug him, before bursting into tears. ‘We … we thought we’d lost you for certain,’ she sobbed. ‘Then we saw that slaughterer swooping down …’

  ‘And I thought I spotted you clinging on, brave master,’ said Hekkle.

  ‘You did,’ Rook beamed and turned to Knuckle, who had followed him down. ‘Knuckle, here, saved my life.’

  Hekkle turned to him. ‘You are a true friend of earth-and sky-studies,’ he said.

  Knuckle nodded uncertainly. Talking to a shryke clearly felt strange to him. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘I just did what anyone else would have done.’

  Magda broke away from Rook, and wrapped her arms tightly round the startled slaughterer. ‘You’re too modest, Knuckle!’ she said. ‘Thank you and thank you and thank you again,’ she said, planting three kisses on his forehead.

  The other slaughterers roared approvingly. Knuckle blushed, his normally red skin turning a deep shade of purple.

  Hekkle’s voice rose above the hubbub. ‘It is time we left,’ he said. Ignoring the protests and politely declining the offers of refreshment and a bed for the night, he raised his hands and appealed for quiet. ‘Tonight,’ he began. The slaughterers fell still. ‘Tonight we will sup, dine and sleep in the Free Glades.’

  A cheer went up. And as Hekkle led his small party away, the slaughterers waved and cried out. ‘Good luck!’ they shouted. And, ‘Earth and Sky be with you!’ And, ‘Don’t forget us!’

  Rook turned. ‘Never!’ he shouted back. ‘I’ll never forget you! Farewell, Knuckle! Farewell!’

  The sun had set by now, and the colours on the horizon behind them had become muted and shrunk away to a thin, pale ribbon of light. Above their heads the stars were coming out and, as they climbed the steep ridge of ironwood trees, the first of the night creatures were already calling to one another in the darkness.

  ‘The Free Glades,’ Rook breathed. ‘So close.’

  ‘Not long now,’ said Hekkle.

  Though on a gentle incline, the ridge seemed to continue for ever. Each time they reached what they thought was the top, the slope continued upwards. The moon rose and shone down brightly. Rook wiped his glistening forehead. ‘It’s further than I thought,’ he said. ‘Knuckle made it sound so—’

  ‘Sshhh!’ Hekkle stopped and cocked his head to one side. ‘Can you hear that?’ he whispered.

  Rook listened. ‘Oh, no,’ he groaned as, from his right, he heard the unmistakable – and terrifyingly familiar – sound of hissing. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘A logworm,’ Magda gasped.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Hekkle whispered nervously. ‘The woods all round the pastures are infested with the brutes. The pickings are just too good.’

  ‘What shall we do, Hekkle?’ whispered Stob.

  Rook noticed that his apprentice companion’s voice had lost its usual arrogant tone.

  ‘Find a tree,’ whispered Hekkle, ‘and climb as swiftly and silently as you can. Go, now!’

  They did as they were told. Quickly, noiselessly, they scaled an ironwood tree and crouched in its huge branches, like ratbirds, beneath their cloaks of nightspider-silk. The hissing grew louder as the logworm approached, and a flurry of leaves rose up in the air. The next moment its great slavering snout poked out from between the trees; its eyes and teeth glinted in the moonlight.

  They held their breath and remained as still as their pounding hearts and trembling bodies would allow. Rook willed the creature to go.

  Please, please, please …

  All at once it grew darker as a cloud fell across the moon. Rook glanced down. Something was flapping past.

  ‘Snickets!’ he gasped.

  ‘So that’s what they’re called,’ he heard Stob mutter beside him.

  The logworm hissed louder, and turned in their direction. Rook shrank back. Below them, the whirring swarm of snickets was spiralling up through the darkness like a great arrow-head. As it approached, the moon burst forth again and shone down brightly on the countless silver-black beating wings. The snickets were heading straight for them.

  Rook groaned. If the logworm didn’t get them, the snickets would. And when they were so close to their journey’s end …

  All at once and with no warning, the logworm swerved round to face the swarm. Rook gasped as the logworm convulsed. The snickets were being sucked up into the vast, dark tunnel of the logworm.

  It writhed and wriggled, sucking in more and more of the little creatures, its high-pitched hiss sounding like a great kettle letting off steam. As the last of the swarm disappeared inside the logworm, Rook turned to Hekkle.

  ‘It’s destroyed them all,’ he said.

  ‘On the contrary, brave master,’ said Hekkle. ‘Things in the Deepwoods are seldom what they seem.’

  ‘But—’ Rook began.

  Just then the logworm let out a deafening cry of pain. The sound echoed round the trees, making the leaves tremble, and Rook felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. As he watched, transfixed, the entire log-worm seemed to disappear before his eyes. The snickets were consuming it from within, each and every scrap! For a moment the vast swarm resembled the great hovering log it had just devoured. Then, as if at some unseen signal, the snickets twisted round in the air – no longer together, but singly and in pairs – and fluttered off in all directions.

  Legs shaking, Rook climbed down from the ironwood tree. ‘I … I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Why did the swarm disperse like that?’

  Hekkle clambered down and stood beside Rook. ‘Their feeding frenzy is over,’ he said. ‘They will only swarm again when their hunger once more drives them to it.’ He laughed humourlessly ‘Now it is the turn of other creatures to feed,’ he said. ‘Many of their number will be picked off by predators.’

  Rook shook his head in wonder. He’d read so much about the delicate balance of life in the Deepwoods, about the constant battle between predators and their prey. Now he was experiencing it first hand. It was fascinating how it all slotted together. How no sin
gle creature seemed ever to get the upper hand. How victor became victim and victim became victor, and the whole violent yet intricate process continued for ever and ever.

  He thought of the treatise that lay ahead, and the banderbears he wanted to study. They, at least, were gentle creatures. Noble. Humble. Loyal. At least, that was what everyone believed – even Varis Lodd. Soon he wanted to find out for himself …

  ‘Come, brave friends,’ said Hekkle, setting off up the ridge once more. ‘We’re almost there.’

  Stob and Magda followed. Rook brought up the rear, his heart thumping with expectation. As they approached the brow, he almost expected it to give way to yet another slope, and another one beyond that.

  This time, however, they really had reached the top. The ground fell away before them, and in front – spread out in all their magnificence – were the Free Glades. To their right was a pool of honey-coloured lamplight. To their left, a flickering circle of burning torches, and beyond that, the low red glow of furnaces. Whilst far in the distance, shimmering like silver beneath the moon, were three lakes. In the centre of the largest one, twinkling brightly, was a tall, spired building, bedecked with coloured lights. It was there that, for the months of study which lay ahead, they were to stay.

  ‘Lake Landing!’ said Rook, pointing. ‘Our new home.’

  Lake Landing

  pirits soaring, Rook, Magda and Stob raced down the steep incline, with Hekkle flapping behind them, clucking noisily. ‘Careful, brave masters!’ he called out breathlessly. ‘Not so fast, brave mistress!’

  They emerged from the trees onto a track – flattened and hardened by the passing of countless booted feet and wooden wheels – and there in front of them, like some magnificent jewel-encrusted tapestry, were the glades themselves.

  Rook’s pulse quickened as he looked round in wonder. In the moonlight, the diverse dwelling places of the numerous Free Glade denizens were picked out in luminous silver and long, sharp shadows. The three apprentices stopped and stared. The air was filled with smells and sounds. The tang of leather, the odour of stale beer, the aromatic scent of spices and herbs. And Rook could hear the buzz of distant voices – joyful voices, and singing and laughter. Hekkle bustled up behind them and tried to catch his breath. The feathers on his neck stood up in a ragged ruff and his thin pointed beak quivered. ‘Over there, that’s where the webfoot goblins live.’ He nodded towards a group of huts floating on shimmering marshland to their left. ‘Great eel-fishers,’ he said, ‘but not too particular in their personal habits. And those,’ he said, pointing over his right shoulder to a tall, steep, pockmarked hill, ‘are the cloddertrog caves. Now, they’re really a sight to see. They say whole clans live in a single cave together; sometimes hundreds of them—’

  All at once there was a clatter of hoofs behind them. They turned to see two gnokgoblins on prowlgrins approaching. Both the goblins and their mounts wore tooled-leather armour; the gnokgoblins carried long ironwood lances and large crescent-shaped shields. One stopped and, standing tall in his saddle, scanned the area. The other rode towards them.

  ‘Advance and identify yourselves,’ he barked.

  Hekkle stepped forwards and produced the bloodoak-tooth medallion, which he held up. ‘Friends of Earth and Sky,’ he said.

  Rook and the others revealed their medallions, too. The guard nodded. Up close, Rook noticed that the burnished leather of his armour was pitted and scratched with the scars of battle.

  Just then a third guard appeared. ‘Hey, Glock, Steg,’ he shouted. ‘Marauders have been sighted up in the Northern Fringes. We’re needed there at once.’

  The guard turned back to Hekkle and his three charges. ‘Pass, friends,’ he said, ‘and fare you well.’

  He tugged the reins, kicked hard, and galloped off after the others, his prowlgrin throwing up clods of earth with each bound.

  ‘The Free Glades are beautiful and peaceful, brave friends,’ said Hekkle. ‘But many a brave soul has had to lay down his life to keep them that way. Come, let us continue to Lake Landing.’

  They walked down a broad set of steps lit by huge, floating lanterns, and passed by a towering copse of dark trees, immense against the slate-grey sky.

  ‘Who lives there?’ said Rook.

  ‘Waifs,’ answered Hekkle. ‘That is Waif Glen. Only the invited may go there, for the ways of waifs are secretive and mysterious, even here in the Free Glades.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ said Rook excitedly, turning to his right.

  In the distance, rows of lights illuminated narrow streets and the windows of clusters of ornate buildings – some broad and squat with spreading roofs; others tall, thin and topped with elegant towers.

  Hekkle turned. ‘That, brave master, is New Undertown. You’ll find it very different from the old one. There is a welcome to be found for all in New Undertown – a hearty meal, and a free hammock in the hive-huts for those who want it.’

  ‘Hive-huts?’ said Rook excitedly. ‘You mean those buildings over there – the ones that look like helmets?’

  ‘That’s right, brave master, they’re—’ Hekkle began.

  ‘And what in Earth and Sky’s name is that called?’ said Rook, pointing at the tall, angular building with latticed walls and a high spire which dominated New Undertown.

  ‘It’s the Lufwood Tower, brave master,’ said Hekkle. ‘It’s like Vox Verlix’s palace in Old Undertown – except all are free to go there and speak their minds in its meeting chamber.’

  ‘Can we visit the waifs? And the hive-huts?’ said Rook eagerly. ‘And the Lufwood Tower?’

  ‘Oh, Master Rook!’ Hekkle laughed and held up his hands in submission. ‘Enough! Enough! There’ll be time for all that, but first we must get to Lake Landing.’

  Rook blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just all so … so …’ He swung his arms round in a wide arc. ‘So …’

  ‘Get a move on!’ said Stob grumpily. ‘I’m tired, and so is Magda.’ Magda shrugged and smiled, but Rook noticed the dark rings under her eyes.

  ‘Believe me,’ said Hekkle, ‘the best is still to come.’ He took Rook by the hand. ‘Come, brave master.’

  They continued past Waif Glen, and the Leadwood Copse beyond. Behind them, the sounds of New Undertown receded and, as the moon rose higher in the indigo sky, the air grew strangely still.

  Rook’s eyes darted round – but he kept his questions to himself. There were flowers with huge white blooms, swaying in the silvery light. There were black and yellow birds in the branches, chirruping to the moon. The grass hissed. The path crunched. They came to an archway of sweet-scented woodjasmine, stepped through and …

  ‘Oh, my!’ gasped Rook.

  Before them lay a lake. It was vast and still, and, like a giant mirror, reflected everything in it perfectly. Birds skimming its surface. The trees fringing its banks. And the huge moon, shining down out of the inky sky so brightly.

  On a broad platform at the centre of the lake – wreathed in mist and twinkling with a thousand lanterns – was a tall, sprawling building, jagged against the sky. It had pointed turrets, jutting walkways, arch-windowed walls and long, sloping roofs.

  Rook shook his head in amazement. ‘I’ve never seen anywhere so beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Even in my dreams.’

  ‘The Lake Landing Academy,’ said Hekkle. ‘The jewel of the Free Glades, and beacon of hope to all who love and value freedom.’

  But no-one was listening to the shryke guide’s words any more. One after the other, as if in a trance, the three young apprentices walked slowly down to the water’s edge and climbed onto the long narrow jetty which crossed the lake to the landing of vast lufwood planks.

  As Rook stepped onto the great central platform, something caught his eye and he looked up to see a small skycraft with a gleaming prow and snow-white billowing sails approaching. His heart skipped a beat. It was the most beautiful sight yet. The moonlight played on the ornately carved figurehead and sleek curves of the skycra
ft’s body. The dark greens and browns of the young pilot’s flight-suit contrasted with the warm gold of his wooden arm-plates and leg-guards. The skycraft’s sails seemed to flow through the night air like liquid silver as it circled the landing. It was joined silently by another craft, and then another, and another.

  One by one, they swooped down out of the sky in perfect formation, before touching down lightly on the landing-stage, side by side. Rook stared at the four young apprentices as they climbed down from their craft, and shook his head in awe.

  ‘I’ll never be able to fly that well,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, you will, brave master,’ said Hekkle, coming up behind him. ‘Trust me. You’re not the first young apprentice who’s stood awestruck on Lake Landing, full of self-doubt. Believe me, though, you’ll learn.’

  ‘But—’ Rook began.

  Hekkle clacked his beak softly. ‘No “buts,” brave master. From the first moment I clapped eyes on you, back in the Eastern Roost, I knew you were special. Sky-spirit and earth-sense, I call it.’

  Rook blushed deep pink.

  ‘They’ll teach you well here at Lake Landing, but you’ve got something already – something that no amount of teaching can give you. Always remember that.’

  Rook smiled awkwardly. ‘Thank you, Hekkle,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you …’

  ‘Welcome!’ came a rather shrill voice from the far side of the landing. ‘The new apprentices, is it? My, my, but you look fit to drop! Yes, yes, you certainly do, and no mistake!’

  Rook turned to see a small, shabbily dressed gnokgoblin with a wrinkled face and stubby legs striding towards Stob and Magda, one hand clutching his robes, the other pressed against his heart in greeting. Rook went over to join them.

  Stob had already taken control. ‘Ah, my good fellow,’ he said. ‘See to our bags, would you, and then take us to the High Master of Lake Landing. I think he’ll be interested to see us.’

  ‘Indeed!’ said the gnokgoblin, his face crumpling with amusement. He made no move towards the bags. ‘Interested to see you, yes, indeed!’