Bird of Chaos: Book One of the Harpy's Curse (18 page)

“He watched her breasts grow. Then her belly. He suspected he knew what was happening but he could not bring himself to acknowledge it. ‘Should I let her die?’ he asked his ancestors, but received no answer.

“Before he could bring himself to thrust a knife into her belly, the contractions started. He held her hand while she screamed. She pushed and sweated for days, it seemed, each moment indistinguishable from the one before.

“The little monster ripped her open and broke through her skin with a howl. It killed Shea and her body lay in a pool of blood. Tutuk closed his eyes, bringing his bloodied hands to his forehead, and howled in agony, furious at the ancestors who had abandoned him and furious at the gods who had sacrificed his mistress.

“A whimpering sound made him open his eyes and he was surprised by the baby’s pink skin, its tuft of brown hair and its tiny hands; it was more human than he cared to admit. He ran a hand over its cheek and the baby gurgled. The slave smiled. But then the child burped and a burst of flame escaped its tiny mouth. ‘She must die,’ said the slave. He produced his knife and hovered over the child, blade raised. His heart was loud in his chest and his breathing was laboured. A voice at last spoke to him: ‘It is the gods’ will that she should live.’ Still, he was filled with doubt.

“The baby blinked and its eyes were Shea’s eyes. ‘I can’t do it,’ he said in a flood of shame. So he closed up the cave and departed. He fed the child rats’ milk and honey, but it was not enough. She cried for her mother.”

Maud stopped to wipe her eyes.

“What happened next?” I said.

“He sent the child away. On the third day, the sea appeared in the distance, a grey-blue line across the sky, the clouds behind like hazy mountains. Small red crabs patrolled the beach while the waves crashed violently to shore. Tutuk felled a tree to carve a canoe with his hunting knife. He wrapped the child in his leathers and placed her in the boat. He waded out past the breakers and there he let the canoe go to be taken out to sea where the gods would determine the girl’s fate.”

She stopped as if that was the end of the story.

“And the child survived.”

“Of course she did. That was the First Mother, Ayfra. The Queen of Caspius’s daughter, Elder Golding, who lived in Alaira, came down to bathe in the water and saw the canoe on the sand. She sent her maids to inspect it and they found the child. The text says,
Behold, the baby cried. And on its breath was fire.
Elder Golding was filled with dread but she said, ‘If the gods ordained it to be so, then who am I to interfere?’ She had compassion for the child and took her in. She named her Ayfra Golding, and she was the first mother, the child of good and evil, a woman of balance, or sophrosyne, and your ancestor.

“Ayfra Golding grew up to lead the Ooruk of Caspius, who were persecuted by the local Caspians. It was she who said, ‘If woman could only suppress man’s destructive nature and bend his will to hers, society would prosper.’ She had this in mind when she abandoned the men of Caspius and escaped across the sea on a serpent’s back to found a new world. Those who are descendants of the First Mother have the gift: some in a wonderful combination of both good and bad, others are imbalanced. If the First Mother’s blood runs strong in your veins then your gift is powerful and should be feared.”

The high priestess put her hands on her knees and pushed herself up. “Can I offer you anything?” she said then before I could answer, “I’ll have Ried fetch us something. I’m famished.” She shuffled across the room and stuck her head out the door. “Ried!” She paused, then repeated more loudly, “Ried! What do I have to do to get some food around here?” There was no malice in her words and after a time the red priestess appeared with a tray of bowls of cold smoked eel, fresh bread, cheese and olives. She carried a bottle of sweet wine under her arm.

“Quit your whingeing. All you had to do was ask,” she said, plonking the tray unceremoniously on a low table between us. She piled a small plate with food and passed it to the high priestess. “There you are, your majesty,” she said sarcastically. Maud scoffed but there was humour in her eyes. Ried poured wine into two shallow kylixes, wine bowls with double handles, sloshing ruby liquid onto the table.

“Go on. Get out. We have important business,” Maud said, waving Ried away as she placed the blanket over Maud’s knees.

Ried ignored her and turned to me. “I’m sorry, your highness: I meant no offence. I should have served you first. Old habits,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Can I offer you anything?”

I could barely suppress a smile. “Thank you, I will serve myself.”

“Just call if you need me.” Ried bowed her head and left in a flurry of red dress and dark hair.

I helped myself to some exceptionally smelly blue cheese. After chewing in silence for a while I built up the courage to speak. “Do you think the First Mother’s blood is strong in me?”

“I know it is,” Maud said between mouthfuls. “I tested you myself and I have been right about every child I have tested. Now tell me, has there been
any
sign?”

It caused me great discomfort to speak of it and I swallowed. “Not that I have been aware of. I have done spells and made incantations. I have prayed and I have sung hymns. I have sacrificed a whole array of beasts and I have made my offerings. I have had neither my moonsblood nor any indication that it is on its way.”

Callirhoe had been disturbed by Ried’s sudden appearance and now waddled over to inspect us with beady eyes. I tore off a bit of bread, leant down and offered it to her. She eyed it suspiciously, cocking her head to the side, then snatched it out of my fingers and fluttered backwards, out of reach. She retreated to her corner. “Silly bird,” I said, laughing.

Maud placed her plate on the table and interlaced her fingers. A cloud moved across her face. “I have often thought…When you came to visit all those years ago I was thrilled to discover you would be a Talent. I expected your mother to be equally excited. I was surprised by her response. She seemed…anxious. Annoyed even. At the time I assumed she was simply concerned. You know how mothers can be? They want their children to be perfect. But over the years her reaction ate away at me. I could not forget it. You know, it just seemed so strange.” She sighed melodramatically. “But we must not jump to conclusions.”

This was all the encouragement I needed. I leant forwards. “No I think you were right to be suspicious. I think my mother is stealing my gift.” I told her about how my mother had lied to my father. I told her about the tournament. I told her about my disqualification when Eloyse saw my gift. “She sensed it the moment my mother stepped out of the stadium. It cannot be a coincidence.”

“Interesting,” Maud said, wiping away a drop of wine making its way down her chin. “Someone as well trained as your mother would be able to use her gift without being conscious of it. My guess is she uses rayta to split her mind in two. One part of her mind is constantly focused on you, the other is given over to her everyday tasks. If I’m right and if she is using her gift almost constantly then her mind and body are under a lot of pressure and have been for a long time. She is at risk of burning out. I wouldn’t be surprised if it interrupts her decision making. It would be very distracting.”

“Explains a lot,” I said, thinking about her unpredictable behaviour, her irritability and her poor decisions, such as the dismantling of the government. “How long do you think this has been going on?”

Maud shrugged. “Since you were about twelve or thirteen. Maybe even longer. She would have started working on you the moment she feared you might get your moonsblood.”

“And you think my gift flared up at the tournament because she was further away from me than normal?”

“It is possible. Your proximity is important. The further away you are, the harder it is for her to control you. In order to use her gift she must be able to picture you. She sends her mind out and if she can neither see you nor picture you, it is much harder for her. However I think it is more likely she was distracted. Something significant, of course…perhaps even something that forced her to use her gift on someone else. Could she have been attacked by a Talent? Whatever the case, for a very brief moment she let go and even though it is highly atrophied and underdeveloped, your gift showed just enough for the judge to see.”

I looked up at the ceiling mottled with ash and mould and imagined my ancestors up there watching me. I wondered if they were proud. “How do I stop her?”

Maud chuckled, getting to her feet. “We must not get ahead of ourselves.”

I flushed with shame. “No you are right.”

“First we must test my hypothesis.”

“How?”

With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes she said, “With the help of the gods.”

Maud and I found the red priestesses playing with the boys around the fire pit. “Get me the Book of Prophecy,” Maud said like a fox entering a hen house. She clapped her hands, called for blankets, white sheets, skins, water and more food. She turned to me. “Did you come alone?”

I cringed, only just remembering Bolt. “My war-wit is outside. We brought you an argutan.”

“How kind of you,” she said then turned back to the red priestesses. “Fetch the war-wit from the stable and offer him lodging in the house in the olive grove. I don’t want him in here interfering.”

Ried sprung up from her seat, the red priestesses scuttled away to do her bidding and the consorts disbanded, glancing back at me with curiosity. While we waited for them to return Maud eased herself into the fire pit, taking one step at a time, steadying herself with one hand on her knees and the other gripping her staff. She sat and patted the spot beside her. “Sit.” Outside the wind raged overhead but there was no sound of rain. It was yet another disappointing storm, flaunting itself like a consort who has absolutely no intention of delivering. “What do you remember of your first visit to the temple? Do you understand the significance of the bird? Of the mark?”

“It is one of my most vivid childhood memories,” I said, placing my hands in my lap. I was no longer nervous and I spoke frankly. “I believe you are searching for a being of sophrosyne born out of good and evil who will save Tibuta from Typhon’s fifth and last tempest, a rogue storm that has escaped the bounds of the compass and can roam at will throughout Longfield.”

Maud smiled. “Indeed we are.”

“And you thought it might have been Evada but she died before you could find out. Now you think it might be me.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, nodding. “You have done your research.”

“My father told me.”

Maud raised her eyebrows. “Did he now?

“Yes but he doesn’t believe my mother is stealing my gift. Or if he does, he will not admit it.”

“Wise man.”

“What I don’t understand,” I said, my face flushing with embarrassment, “is the Tempest. What is it exactly? I have heard so many people speak of it but my mother said it was just people’s superstition, a fairy-tale. On one occasion my father said he believed it. On another he said he didn’t. I think his opinion depends on whether or not my mother is in the room.”

Maud said, “Typical.”

Ried’s footsteps were so quiet I did not hear her until she was right above us, clearing her throat. She passed Maud a scroll.

“Ah here she is, just in time. Thank you, Ried.”

The dancer disappeared without a sound.

“There is very little that we know for sure about Typhon’s last creation. Typhon himself was the father of all monsters, a storm demon in the old religion from the mainland. His upper body was human. His arms were the east and the west. His body was a viper’s tail and it was said you could hear him coming because of the hissing from the hundreds of serpent heads that erupted from his neck and shoulders; it sounded like the susurration of the wind through the trees before a storm.

“Typhon was the father of the Four Spirits of the violent storm winds from the old faith: the northeast wind, the southeast wind, the northwest wind and the southwest wind. But some holy texts speak of a fifth wind, Typhon’s last creation, a tempest to end all tempests.

“We can rely only on what is written in the holy texts. Listen to this.” Maud blew dust from the scroll and held the fibrous paper close to her face so she could read through squinted eyes. “It says in the Book of Prophecy that the last Tempest of Typhon was trapped on our side when the Elysian Gate was shut.

“It started as a mere breath of air in the clouds. But over the millennia it grew and now it is said to be moving across the earth, destroying everything in its path. It is pure evil. It has no substance and rides on the power of a storm.

“Its army is a multitude of anemoi thuellai, or simply anemoi, wind demons, who come before it on the very air. It blasts the cold of winter and burns with the summer sun. It spares no one but is bent on a path of destruction inspired by nothing more than a need to see people suffer.

“Listen—” she unravelled the scroll further “—
When the Tempest comes the great agricultural tracts will produce no grain. The rising seas will produce no fish. The orchards will produce neither syrup nor wine. The gathering clouds will not rain. The masgurum will not grow. He who sleeps on the roof will die on the roof. He who sleeps in the house will have no burial. The seas will rise and consume the lands. The air will suck the earth into its lungs. People will flail themselves from hunger. They will flail themselves from thirst. But still the Tempest will come.
” The high priestess looked at me with eyes speckled like warblers’ eggs. “This is all we have here in Tibuta, other than the appendices which speak of the signs of the sophrosyne. I must consult the Oracle but your mother has forbidden me from leaving the temple. Did you know that?”