Rocco's Wings (18 page)

Madness and laughter

Rocco pushed his head through the top of the trees.

Vesta pointed. ‘It sounds like Magma, but it’s coming from over there.’ She pointed at the Air Marshals’ camp. The stony stretch was visible as was the top of a few tents.

‘We have to go see,’ said Iggy.

Rocco squinted. It was dangerous going anywhere near the camp.

‘We don’t have to go right in,’ said Vesta. ‘We can just investigate and then decide what to do. You rescued Iggy and me.’

Vesta was right. Magma, if it was him, deserved to be rescued as much as anyone else.

‘It just that it’s more – risky now than it was the first time,’ said Rocco.

A noise, hollow and reckless, filtered up through the trees.

‘See! It’s urvogel, that sound. I’m sure of it!’ said Vesta, dropping into the trees again.

Iggy tugged Rocco’s wing.

They flew down. Rocco kept watch at the back, looking left and right for any signs of an ambush. Another peal of laughter rang out. Whoever it was sounded utterly mad.

‘Here’s the tree I hid behind when I was spying on the camp the other day,’ said Rocco. Standing closely together, they craned their necks around the trunk. Now that they were on the ground again, the laughter was clearer and even more bone-chilling.

Getting down on their hands and knees they crawled through the field of grass. Parting the stalks, they peered into camp.

Magma was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire pit. It wasn’t lit. As if he sensed their presence, his head came up. His eyes were blank.

‘What’s he doing?’ asked Iggy.

Magma’s hands were moving incessantly over something in his lap. As if to show them, he suddenly lifted his wings. They weren’t attached to his back any more. Holding the appendages tightly to his chest, he let out a twisted laugh and then began to rock.

Iggy made a noise in the back of his throat.

Rocco couldn’t look anymore. The sight made him sick.

‘They – they’ve turned him,’ whispered Vesta.

With a hard swallow, Rocco looked back. Magma had been rocking so hard he fell over on his side. His back was exposed: a mass of tissue and dried blood gaped out.

‘It’s horrid what they did to him,’ said Rocco.

A tent flapped open. Out strode a half-dressed, surly-faced Air Marshal. He walked over to the fire and picked up a pair of boots. As he moved away, he used the toe of the boots to hit Magma’s shoulder. With a grunt he returned to his tent.

‘But he can’t fly anymore,’ said Vesta. ‘How’s he going to come with us to Shale?’

‘That’s just it. He can’t.’ Rocco gripped his sword. How would the Air Marshals feel to have their wings, or their arms or legs whacked off?

‘We can’t just leave him,’ said Iggy.

Two fully dressed Air Marshals stepped out of their tents.

‘Get him up,’ said one. The Air Marshal who’d given the order began packing his gear. The other one threw a sky net over Magma, who lay limply on the ground while the Air Marshal bundled him in. The Air Marshals slid a pole through the netting.

‘Got it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Steady.’

The Air Marshals lifted off. Magma hung between them.

Iggy made another choking sound.

‘We could go after them,’ said Vesta.

Rocco held her wing. Maybe she wasn’t serious, but she was leaning in so intently it was hard to know.

‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’ asked Iggy.

Vesta put her arm around Iggy. ‘It’s not like we can stick his wings back on, Ig. What do you think, Rocco?’

‘There’s Feldspar and the others to think of. At least Magma’s alive. They haven’t killed him.’

Iggy began to sob.

Vesta’s voice was swollen with emotion. ‘He can’t fly with us, Iggy, and we have to get going to Shale. We have to bring Belarica back. Everyone’s depending on us.’

Iggy sobbed louder.

They weren’t moving. Rocco nudged their shoulders. He crawled back into the grass. They were behind him, crawling too. As soon as they reached the woods, Rocco led them into the thickest part of the foliage. Iggy’s face had gone slack. He wasn’t really looking where he was going.

‘Come on, Ig!’ Rocco grabbed his hand. Iggy’s eyes were dazed.

‘Just fly in my tail wind. It’ll be easy.’ Releasing Iggy’s hand, Rocco shot ahead. They had to get as far away from the Air Marshals, and as soon as possible.

Leading the way, Rocco swerved up and down dodging limbs and branches. Every few minutes he or Vesta would drop back and tug Iggy’s wing or grab his flying belt, urging him on.

They came to a gully with a stream. An air current flowed over the water. A stiff breeze caught their backs. They’d been riding the air current for a distance. Rocco turned to check on Iggy.

Two Air Marshals were flying parallel to the stream, just inside the first row of trees.

‘Iggy! Behind you!’

Wheeling around, Rocco headed back. He had to get to Iggy first. In his bird eye vision he spotted the Air Marshals as they swung out over the water.

‘Come on Iggy! Fly as fast as you can! The Air Marshals are on the other side of the ravine!’ Rocco swung his arms. His palms were sweaty but he was ready to fight them to the death. What else was there to do? One of them, perhaps the one in front, had even killed Basalt.

‘Dirty mudrock.’ The whites of the Air Marshal’s eyes shone cruelly.

At least Iggy had swept past, thought Rocco, swinging hard at the first Air Marshal, the one with cruel eyes. His blade rang loud. Rocco struck again, this time throwing his whole body into the thrust. He had to loosen up, hit left, then right; could he remember what Magma had showed him in Avian Square that day?

‘Did you kill him?’ Rocco yelled.

The Air Marshal grinned.

‘Basalt was trying to free the citizens of Krakatoan. It’s not right what Harpia’s doing!’

The Air Marshal narrowed his eyes. Rocco said it again.

‘Yes, I heard you,’ the Air Marshal snapped back. He was breathing heavily; perhaps he would tire out. ‘Basalt was a deserter. He met his fate.’

‘What did you do with his wings?’ Rocco shouted.

Hitting his feet on an open part of a tree trunk, the Air Marshal flew at Rocco. With a wide swing, Rocco struck. The Air Marshal was older and much more skilled at
akiva-du,
but he, Rocco, was stronger and also heavier. If only he could find out how to use those things to his advantage.

The Air Marshal flipped forward and back in a dizzying display of acrobatics. Rocco waited, trying to judge the Air Marshal’s next move. He was learning. Every second move he was there in the gap with his sword.

Downstream Vesta was fighting the other Air Marshal.

Rocco lunged and dodged, slamming the Air Marshal with his body and, when he could catch him, with his sword. This wasn’t a game. The Air Marshal meant to kill him.

Clang! Clang!

The Air Marshal flew to another tree. Rocco followed, hovering several metres away. As the Air Marshal bounced back, Rocco struck him hard in the chest. His sword pushed through. The Air Marshal reeled back, hitting a branch. A great cracking sound split the air.

Vesta was calling him. The Air Marshal was done for, there was no need to follow him down. Rocco swept out over the stream. His mouth was bitter. It was his life or the Air Marshal’s and he’d made the right choice.

Vesta caught Rocco’s eye as he flew in behind the second Air Marshal. She kept him busy while Rocco lunged, whipping his blade through the lower half of the Air Marshal’s wing.

A row of clipped feathers spun off.

‘Just like before!’ Vesta called out. Hovering side by side they watched the Air Marshal land in the middle of the stream below.

‘This way!’ called Vesta, zooming off.

At least there’d only been two Air Marshals, thought Rocco, as he zipped in behind her. A hundred metres on, Vesta swung right, disappearing behind a boulder. A moment later she was back again, this time with Iggy flying closely behind her. He’d been hiding behind the rock.

‘Can you hear any more?’ asked Rocco as they crossed the stream and flew into the protective covering of the trees.

‘Can’t hear any.’ Vesta shook her head. She took the lead, and Rocco took up the rear with Iggy flying in between.

Rocco counted. The morning on the flat rock was day twelve, which made today day fourteen. Only two more weeks and the trials would start.

One forested hill gave way to another. They stopped to eat some chestnuts and garlic, raw, without the benefit of a fire. Iggy nibbled on a clove of garlic. He hadn’t spoken since they’d been hiding in the field spying on Magma.

Rocco handed Iggy his waterskin. He’d just refilled all three from a small water fall. Iggy took the strap. Without so much as a glance he lifted it over his shoulder.

Aided by a southern breeze, they covered long tracts of forest. Gone were the giant redwoods of the south. The trees were smaller. Vesta called out their names: maples, chestnut, aspen and birch.

The sky was still light when they found a stand of forever green trees, dense enough that they wouldn’t be spotted, but without too much room for stalking if there were wolves afoot. Rocco had spotted a pack running along a bluff several kilometres back.

‘How about this one?’ Rocco nodded at a tall chestnut tree surrounded by the forever greens.

Iggy didn’t say anything. His eyes lifted to the tree Rocco was looking at.

‘We’ll have to sleep
in
the tree,’ said Rocco. Iggy had been curious about the logistics of sleeping in a tree before, but now he uttered not a word. He didn’t even look curious.

‘I’ll help,’ said Vesta, looking at Rocco worriedly over the top of Iggy’s head.

Iggy sat at the base of the tree and closed his eyes. He was tired – they all were – but they might as well let the small urvogel rest himself. Rocco set to work gathering branches. Vesta helped.

When the pile had grown to a metre high, Rocco carried an armload up to a forked branch. Intertwining the branches together he began building a nest. Iggy flew up. He dropped an armload of limbs. He didn’t say anything, nor did he even look at Rocco, but he continued on helping. He knew what was going on.

Soon Rocco had built a night nest. He moved up to where Vesta had begun constructing a second night nest. ‘It’s for Iggy and me,’ she said, laying in an exceptionally long branch.

After lining their nests with leaves, they built a fire over which they roasted the remains of their chestnuts, garlic and fish. They would need more food for the trip tomorrow, thought Rocco, looking into the understorey that was sparser than the redwood forest. He and Vesta could get up early and see what sorts of nuts lay about. Maybe they could eat some flower petals.

He’d been thinking about what Vesta had said that morning. Maybe he had imagined it all – being stalked by Death. How would he know until it was too late? He couldn’t very well leave them. That was clear. They’d started out with five and now they were down to three. Any more blows and they might lose Iggy.

Iggy sat with his legs pulled up to his chin, gazing at the fire. At least he’d eaten a little.

‘It’s just the three of us now,’ said Rocco. ‘Everything depends on us. It was Basalt’s idea to go to Shale and bring Belarica back. He gave everything, even his life. We have to carry on with the mission.’

‘We have to. The Badlands are hostile, it’s cold and not very nice out here.’ Vesta scanned the surrounding grove. ‘But we’ll be in Shale soon, Iggy, you’ll see.’

‘Is it true that you’d never been outside the colony before?’ asked Rocco.

Vesta nodded.

‘Not even once?’

‘No.’

It was hard to think of. He hadn’t been very far, but he’d been to Gogogamesh often enough, and his mind spirit had been stretched just that one day he’d flown up to the cliffs.

After the fire had been put out, they flew up to their nests. Iggy got in beside Vesta. Rocco sank into his bed of leaves. His whole body ached.

All he could see was Basalt’s lifeless body slumped on the floor of the cave. Next he saw his mother, dead in the kitchen, and Jafari lying face down in the dirt. So many lives cut down by Harpia, and all because she wanted wings.

She was selfish. She only cared about her own twisted desires and not about making life better for the Krakatoans. They had so many riches, but they were all so afraid.

Death was all around him. Maybe it was a figure stalking him, but it was also Harpia. She was the one giving all the orders. She’d told the Air Marshals to kill Basalt, Jafari and also his poor sweet mother.

Harpia made them all feel small. Why, he’d felt as small as a field mouse standing in front of her that day on the palace platform. She wanted him to be small, nothing more than a fleck on the end of her shoe.

Starting tomorrow he would do the opposite. He’d become a raptor, a bird of prey. He would be strong, not weak. He would act, not wait for everything to turn out wrong. It wasn’t just about survival anymore; it was about convincing Belarica and the Archurvogel of Shale to invade Krakatoan. Harpia wasn’t even really the rightful queen.