Rocco's Wings (8 page)

‘Magma, we have to go, too. We’re a troupe already, at least we used to be, before – before we lost Py.’ Iggy tugged Magma’s hands, trying to make him stand up. .

‘There’s five in a troupe, but it takes twenty to make a cohort,’ said Basalt. ‘That’s the minimum number of urvogels that can fly out safely together. It takes years of practice, and of going a little farther each time. But if we take enough amber venom with us, and if we stay together, we might have a chance.’

‘Just the thought of it makes me sick,’ said Feldspar. Her face, even her hands, were ashen white.

‘Harpia’s not going to let you go,’ said the white robe with the feather necklace. ‘She’ll send warriors after you, lots of them.’

‘I know,’ said Basalt. ‘But the Badlands are vast. I’ve been looking at the wall map in the Book Treasury. There’s an endless number of mountains and hills. They can’t search every gully and crevice. Once we get over the worst of our separation sickness we’ll fly to Shale and tell Belarica everything that’s been going on. Maybe the Archurvogel of Shale will have a change of heart, especially if she knows there’s lots of Krakatoans who are willing to fight for Belarica.’

‘Anyone else willing to come?’ asked Vesta.

Rocco pulled his wings up. He’d felt a draught. He was beginning to shiver again.

‘Rocco, what about you?’ asked Basalt. ‘If you come, at least we’ll be five instead of four. That will increase our chances of making it.’

Rocco shook his head. His limbs were weak. Death was all around him, black and sucking at his last bits of strength. How would it take him? Suffocation? Strangulation? Or a nice clean cut to the throat?

‘Maybe you won’t even get sick,’ said Basalt.

‘I – I don’t think so,’ said Rocco, staring at the broken pieces of the ukelat on the floor. They might talk nicely to him now because they wanted him to come. But as soon as something went wrong – if they got lost, or ran out of food – they’d turn on him. He’d be a punching bag, someone to blame for any amount of things.

‘Why? Why won’t you come?’ asked Iggy. ‘We can look for Py while we’re out there.’

Rocco shook his head. They loved each other, that much was clear. But the circle was closed after that. First sign of trouble, they’d be after him like a mob of birds.

‘Don’t you want to get free?’ asked Vesta.

‘Harpia ordered the Air Marshals to kill me if I tried.’ It was a perfectly solid reason, thought Rocco, looking directly into Vesta’s face. Disappointment flashed into her eyes. For the briefest of seconds he felt bad.

Magma made a disgusted sound with his lips. ‘He’s a mudrock. He’s used to looking after himself.’

‘It’s not that,’ said Rocco, glancing sideways at their slender wings, many of them trembling.

‘Don’t make him,’ said Feldspar.

‘No one’s going to make him,’ said Basalt. ‘I was just asking.’

They were elegant, like the ground-covering flower Wintersweet. Pretty white petals on the outside, but filled with lethal toxins underneath. The villagers used the milky sap on the tips of their arrows.

The discussion moved on. Despite more pleading, none of the other white robes would agree to go with Basalt, Vesta and Iggy. Magma said he’d think about it. Clutching their scraps of paper the white robes started getting up and disappearing into the stairwell. Rocco followed. Once outside, the white robes flew into the darkened trees.

What was he going to say if Basalt asked him again? Rocco waited by the dark hole of the door. Death had followed him out.

He was rotten inside. He’d always known it. That’s why there was only one of him. Nature hadn’t permitted any more. He was even more gnarly and twisted, refusing to die when it was his turn. Harpia had decreed it. Not that she was the queen of everything, but the Air Marshals should have killed him, and left his mother and Jafari alone.

Fog tendrils, roiling up from the ground, grasped at his feet.

Air manoeuvres

Panting heavily, Rocco zoomed after Magma. At least two hundred white robes were gathered in Avian Plaza, practising for the Air Games. Squadrons of various sizes and formations were flying back and forth, often with colourful streamers in tow. Large groups of spectators were gathered on the palace steps.

Up Magma flew, somersaulting over Rocco’s head. A moment later he reappeared, slamming his feet against Rocco’s chest before spinning away in a dizzying whirl of wings and robes.

Flight tag, the game the white robes had been playing yesterday in Silver Woods, was the easier, no-rules, version of
akiva-du
. Before taking off, Magma had told Rocco the basics. The ‘game crèche’ or territory was marked with flags on poles staked around the outer edge of the buildings on Avian Plaza.

Two to four competitors would catapult around the crèche, bouncing off any vertical or horizontal surface, including each other.

Points were gained by nicking an opponent’s shoulder or upper torso with the tip of a sword. A certain number of complete body spins or flips were required; he’d lost track of how many. Points were lost by leaving the crèche, hovering too long, or touching the ground more than twice during a game. The winner was the first person or pair to achieve twenty-one points.

Rocco raced ahead, his eyes fixed on Magma. So what if he could barely manage the chase part of the game. He was leaving tomorrow night, he’d already decided. He would escape into the trees north of Silver Woods, and disappear into the Badlands, the forest going up the mountainside. All he had to do in the meantime was gather up more food, and decide the best hour for getting over the wall.

Knowing how to defend himself with a sword wasn’t a bad idea either. Perhaps, if he could manage it undetected, he would steal a sword.

He would have preferred escaping to Lower Terrakesh, but the land was flat, and there was very little to eat this time of year. If what Basalt said was true, Upper Terrakesh offered many more places to hide. There was also bound to be fruit, given all the trees.

The Book Treasury stood at the far end of Avian Plaza. The bell tower, suspended over a broad arch, stood at the entrance to the grounds and building beyond. He had to get in there and examine the wall map Basalt had mentioned last night. How big was Upper Terrakesh anyway?

His wings, large and lumbering, would have enabled him to beat Magma over a long distance. But here, the turns were short and he was always dodging up or down, moving out of the way of other white robes.

Magma had just disappeared behind the bell tower. As Rocco rounded the corner, Magma’s feet landed on his shoulders. He flapped hard, trying to regain his elevation. The bell began to toll. The gong was loud, rocking his entire body.

Coming out again to Avian Plaza, Rocco scanned the crowd. On the ground below, small urvogels, about three or four years old, were learning the twelve positions of
akiva-du
. He’d been watching them earlier. Vesta and Basalt, swords flashing in the sun, were fighting above the fountain. No Magma.

A prick hit his shoulder.

‘Point.’ Magma smirked.

Rocco thrust his sword. His blade caught air. So what if Magma, now only a few wing strides ahead, wheeled back and got off an easy point. Rocco didn’t have any real stake in the match, or anything else going on in Krakatoan.

Passing low over the spectators, Rocco pursued Magma, counting the sun bells as they clanged loudly. Eleven.

Down below, the Alchemist waved from the palace steps. Why didn’t he just push off? Rocco had only just arrived in Avian Plaza when the Alchemist had turned up.

‘All settled in?’ the Alchemist had asked.

‘Yup.’

‘It’s important to keep those wings strong and agile.’ The Alchemist’s eyes passed closely over his wings.

The Alchemist had asked a few other questions.
Are you eating? Sleeping? Finding some new friends?
Rocco nodded or said
yes,
anything to get the Alchemist moving on his way again. But he didn’t move. He called Magma over.

‘Have a couple of rounds with the mudrock,’ the Alchemist said.

‘But I’ve got my own squadron practice,’ Magma replied.

‘That can wait – up, up now, get the mudrock moving. Harpia wants a report on his wing stride.’

Whatever Harpia was up to, it didn’t matter. In a few hours he’d be gone.

Around and around, Rocco chased Magma, dodging white robes and narrowly missing several swinging blades. Finally Magma landed. He gestured Rocco down.

‘I’ll show you a few basic moves,’ said Magma.

‘Okay.’

‘You have to lead with your right foot and also your right hand. Keep the other foot back, like this.’ Magma posed. It looked easy enough.

Raising his blade, Magma skipped forward while Rocco fell back. They reversed the dance.

Soon the bell was chiming twelve. In a single fluid sweep, the white robes swooped west.

‘Where’s everyone going?’ asked Rocco.

‘Food,’ Basalt called over Rocco’s head.

Rocco joined Basalt in the air. Basalt hadn’t said anything that morning about the white robes getting charged or wanting to escape. He’d said very little since they’d left the clatch. Now as they flew side by side over the city buildings and across the green field, he said nothing at all. Not to Rocco, or to his friends.

They landed on the portico of Singhurvogel Hall. Located in the northwestern quadrant of the city, the honey coloured building was surrounded by the rolling field of short cropped grass.

They ate in silence. Ten minutes later, Basalt was gone. A half hour later, Rocco followed Vesta, Magma and Iggy outside. The sun was hot as they walked along the side of the building.

‘Basalt said we should carry on doing things normally,’ said Vesta. ‘So – so we don’t attract attention.’

So they hadn’t changed their minds, or lost their nerve overnight, thought Rocco as he followed them up. Instead of flying back to Avian Plaza, they continued north to the back of Singhurvogel Hall and over Thrush Lake. A large wooden raft appeared out in the middle. One by one they landed.

Vesta pulled a tin from her pocket. Opening the lid she hooked a worm on the end of a fishing line that was already lodged in a corner of the raft. Ankle bangles jangling non-stop, she sat down and pulled a small leather-bound book out of her robe.

Iggy flopped down on his stomach on a corner of the raft. Reaching his arms out, he stroked the water. ‘Come, froggy, come.’

Magma had pulled a sack out from under his robe. Opening the top, he dropped the contents, an assortment of bones, onto the raft. He began to stack them, not sloppily, but precisely as if each piece was of critical importance.

‘What is it?’ Rocco asked.

‘I’m just seeing how high I can make it,’ said Magma.

‘What are they?’ Rocco asked.

‘Possum. Rat. Rabbit. Mostly bird.’

So they were to spend the afternoon hanging out on the raft? Is this what they always did? It might prove useful, thought Rocco, lying back so that he was propped up on his elbows. Across the distance, beyond the trees of Silver Woods, Air Marshals were walking along the north wall. He’d been watching the Air Marshals steadily since he’d arrived. One pair made laps around the entire wall. Other pairs stayed on a designated side. Ten Air Marshals on any given shift.

‘Look,’ said Vesta, holding up a flattened flower stem that she had just pulled out of her book. ‘The leaves grow perfectly even. One here, and another one there.’

‘I thought books were illegal,’ said Rocco.

‘There’s not a scratch inside.’ To prove the point, Vesta opened the pages, which fanned out revealing blank sheets with leaves and flowers pressed in between.

The bell clanged two. A pair of Air Marshals, moving black dots, had just landed on the walkway of the east wall. Rocco watched as they walked along before disappearing into the northeast corner tower. On the north side wall, two Air Marshals had just stepped behind the trees overhanging the walkway.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Vesta glanced up from her book.

‘Sure.’

‘We’re not like you –’

‘No--.’

What was she going to say? Her face was tense.

‘What’s it like to have a mother?’

‘Air Marshals killed my mother.’

‘We heard.’ Vesta inserted the flower stem into her book. ‘Does it hurt? In here?’ She touched her chest.

Rocco nodded.

‘Us too,’ she said. ‘Py’s gone.’

Iggy made a sniffling noise.

‘Maybe you can find him,’ said Rocco glancing at the dense trees going up the side of the mountain.

‘We’re planning on it,’ said Vesta.

‘Where’s your mother?’ asked Rocco. It sounded a tad rude, but Vesta had brought up the topic. She couldn’t very well get mad at him.

‘Don’t have one.’

‘How’d you get here then?’ asked Rocco.

‘We’re urvogel. The queen goes into the hatchery and lays her eggs in a pool of water. She decides when. There’s a big celebration afterward. But she’s not involved in keeping the water at the right temperature. Minionatros do that.’

‘Harpia’s your mother?’

That seemed pretty impossible. How could one urvogel give birth to or lay enough eggs to populate a whole colony?

‘It’s not like that. We’re more like spores shed from a tree. Once we hit the ground, that’s sort of like being hatched. The rest is up to us.’

‘I saw a pig giving birth once. Cook let me.’ Magma laid a bird’s skull on the top of his stack of bones.

‘Does it hurt? Coming out of a mammal?’ asked Vesta.

Rocco snickered.

‘What?’

‘No one remembers
that.
We’re too small!’

‘How big?’

‘About this big.’ Rocco held up his forearm.

Vesta nodded. ‘Our birth eggs are half that size. Want to see part of my shell?’ Vesta pulled a chain around her neck. A medallion dangled into view.

Scooting over, Rocco took the smooth rock-like stone in his hand.

‘It’s frozen, inside amber resin,’ said Vesta.

The flecked shell was no bigger than the tip of his finger. ‘It looks like a bird’s egg,’ said Rocco.

‘It’s interesting, how things grow,’ said Vesta dropping the chain back inside the top of her tunic.

‘I guess Harpia’s not worried about being invaded,’ said Rocco, turning his attention back to the wall. ‘There aren’t any guards on patrol.’

Vesta’s and Magma’s heads bobbed up.

‘They’re inside for the shift change.’ Magma turned back to his collection of bones.

‘Twenty-four hours. I couldn’t work that long, not without having a sleep,’ said Rocco, glancing over at Vesta’s fishing line. She was trying to hook a fish. He was trying to hook some information.

‘They always change the guards at two,’ said Vesta. ‘Two sun bells and two moon bells. Listen, there’s a special horn that blows right after the new guards take their place. They’re testing the equipment.’

Rocco’s ears began to buzz. Maybe, just maybe, he’d figured out the best hour for his escape. There would be an exchange of information before the new guards took over their posts. That would take time.

‘You never said why your wings are blue,’ said Iggy, pulling his head up from the side of the raft.

‘I don’t know why,’ said Rocco. ‘They just are.’

‘Your wings are pretty,’ said Iggy. ‘Why won’t you come? I wish you would. We all do.’

Rocco fastened his gaze on a water bird some distance away. He couldn’t bear to see the sadness brimming up in Iggy’s eyes.

‘I’ll do anything you ask,’ continued Iggy, sitting up straight. ‘I’ll fetch your food and I’ll – I’ll clean your feathers in the morning. You won’t even have to ask.’

Iggy pulled his sleeve across his face. ‘We’re going to die out there! I just know it!’ said Iggy springing to his feet.

‘I’ve been thinking about that, too,’ said Magma. ‘Once we leave, we won’t ever be able to come back to Krakatoan.’

Their faces were worn, all three of them, Rocco had noticed earlier. They had dark circles under their eyes.

Reaching into his pocket Iggy pulled out three lychee pods, still attached to their stems. ‘Here. You can have these,’ he said, passing the pods to Rocco.

Spreading his wings, Iggy leapt from the raft. ‘I’m going to find Basalt,’ he called over his shoulder.

‘Where is Basalt?’ Magma asked.

‘He’s meeting with Dolerite, trying to get some blue robes to come with us. So far no one wants to come.’

* * *

Vesta and Magma remained on the raft all afternoon. Then, saying they had something important to do and that they’d meet up with him later, they flew off.

Rocco now knew the hour of his escape. Two moon bells. The guards had stayed inside the corner tower for almost half an hour before one pair came marching out. That was more than enough time to scale the wall and disappear. He would be ten or even fifteen kilometers away by the time they came out.

He tilted his face to the sun. These were the same hot rays that fell on the Ebo River.

Was he really never going to see his mother or Jafari again? He swallowed hard.