Sword Mountain (4 page)

W
ind screeched across the Skythunder mountain range, wringing the rain clouds till every valley and every hill was glazed with rushing water. In the storm, lighting struck Sword Mountain, the tallest peak.

Crack!
A bolt seared the soaring pillar of stone on the mountaintop.

“It's not just a piece of jutting rock,” Fleydur, an exiled eagle prince, used to explain when his minstrel wanderings took him to birds of the flatlands. “Sword Mountain controls the thoughts of birds who live on it. The mountain
is
law, reinforcing itself.”

One part of that law was the caste system. In the daytime, it was very easy to see which eagles of Sword Mountain were of high rank and which were of low rank. The eagles in the valleys were peasants, herders who kept flocks of rodents. The artisans lived in the forested slopes above them; the elite, in mansions higher up. Above them all was a place reserved for the royal dead. Coffins of kings past were suspended upon the cliff side, as if to separate the other eagles from the king's castle on the very peak of the mountain.

But now each dwelling, whether high or low, was represented by a simple point of light, shimmering in the rain.

Tonight there was one light different from all others. It was a birthday candle.

In a small hut on the ledge of a cliff, Dandelion flapped newly fledged wings. Eagles considered the first day of having completely fledged wings a special sort of birth: They called it becoming sky-born. Today was Dandelion's sky-born day. Soon she would take her first flight.

“What does it take to fly?” the eaglet asked her mother.

“A fresh and steady wind,” her mother replied. She peered anxiously through the rain. Her husband was hunting for a celebratory supper. Was the rain delaying him, or could it be his injuries? Some seasons ago, when the archaeopteryx empire had been at its peak of power, it had conquered new territories in the foothills of the Skythunder mountain range. After joining the Sword Mountain militia to defend the borders, the father eagle had lost all the talons on the toes of his left foot. Without those sharp curved nails, prey often wiggled and escaped.

“But once the wind is there, then what? What can
I
do to fly?” Hearing her eaglet's questions, the mother eagle tried to push aside her worries.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “it does take a bit of reckless courage to throw yourself from a cliff, and it takes stubborn belief.”

“But what will keep me up?”

“Why, that's something that has to come from the heart. It glows in you and propels you up just like a candle does in a sky lantern,” the mother said. “To fly, you must have a special force inside you. Doubt is a heavy stone that will keep you on the ground. You can only fly when you use your force to clear your doubts away.” The mother eagle nodded to herself, and then added, “But to fly well, you have to fall first.”

Solemnly the eaglet looked into the flame of her birthday candle. Had she lived higher up the mountain, there would probably have been a grand cake in the shape of a pair of wings, but her mother was a weaver and her father a hunter. They could not afford such extravagance.

“Why does flight have to begin with a fall?” the eaglet whispered.

Her mother replied, “Doesn't everything in life start with a fall?”

It was at this moment that the father eagle returned. The mother greeted him with relief. “Here's some good news for you,” the father said, beaming. “I heard from the innkeeper up the slope that Prince Forlath's army is returning. They've won! The archaeopteryx empire has been defeated. What a day. And look what I got for your birthday!” He lifted his claws for her and the eaglet to see his catch.

“A tortoise!” exclaimed the eaglet.

Her father had captured it and then flown high in the sky. He had dropped it down to crack it open, and now the shell was covered with fine cracks. “I thought I'd get something tasty,” he said, patting the eaglet's head. “Something special for your birthday candle.” He placed the tortoiseshell upon the stone table, and the mother eagle put the candle on top of the shell.

The little family admired the tortoise and the candle, the light dancing on their faces. “It's a proper cake!” said the eaglet. Her family laughed together.

“Remember, my child,” her father said, “once you blow out the candle, you will not be a hatchling anymore, but a true eagle, as brave as the eagles who fought with Prince Forlath. Eagles don't pull back from a rough wind, but always dare to ride on it—”

The candle flame abruptly slanted. The eaglet held her breath while her father turned at the sound of somebird landing outside their cave. “Who's there?” he called.

They only heard scraping sounds of claws on stone. Then a cough.

The eaglet's smile faded. She looked to her mother for guidance and was tucked beneath her mother's wing. All three saw the profile of a gaunt reptilelike bird appear in the entrance. And the flash of a cutlass. “Food,” a harsh voice commanded. “Give me food.”

It was a rain-splattered archaeopteryx, drawn by the firelight and seeking shelter.

He stepped into the hut.

“Kawa,” the father eagle said under his breath, recognizing the distinct beak of the archaeopteryx empire's head knight. He exchanged glances with his wife. How had this dangerous bird slipped through the lines of the eagle army to Sword Mountain?

Dandelion's father did not look down at her birthday tortoise, but beyond, at the empty cupboards and shelves. The archaeopteryx pointed at the tortoise. “What's that.” It wasn't a question, but a command.

Reluctantly the father picked up the tortoise, and still more reluctantly, he offered it to him. With a snort, Kawaka knocked aside the candle on the shell, and the eaglet watched the flame die, and shut her eyes. She heard the archaeopteryx sniff the meat, taste it, and finally devour it in several huge bites. “More,” Kawaka growled.

“We have nothing else,” said the mother.

The archaeopteryx leaned forward. “You refuse my orders?” His claws tightened on the hilt of his cutlass, but then his eyes fell upon the eaglet, and his expression changed.

The eaglet opened her eyes and saw that the archaeopteryx's beak was disfigured, curved to one side, demonically clownish. His breath stank of carrion. He lifted a gnarled foot and walked forward a few steps. The eaglet edged back. “What a sweet little bird,” he cackled, his eyes fastened on Dandelion.

“Don't you dare lay a talon upon my hatchling!” the mother yelled.

“I do what I wish,” snarled Kawaka. He leaped toward the eaglet, but her mother scrambled forward and was immediately upon him. The force of her attack sent the cutlass out of his claws and knocked both of them over the ledge and into the air below. Despite her mother's anger and size, the archaeopteryx had much more experience with fighting.

“Stay here! Be careful!” her father told Dandelion as he whipped past. He dived repeatedly at the archaeopteryx, raking him with his only talons. From the rock ledge, Dandelion watched, shivering, holding on to her extinguished birthday candle.

“I don't need two of you at once!” she heard the archaeopteryx cry. Kawaka yanked something from his belt and twisted around to face the female eagle. Then he detached himself from her talons and swooped up. But the mother eagle continued to fall, her great wings flapping in the wind like rags. She knocked against the cliff and rolled down a few feet before she disappeared from the eaglet's sight on the forest floor.

“Mama!” Panic seized the eaglet. She dashed to the edge of the cave, trying to peer below. Her mother was slumped on the ground, almost as if she were brooding eggs. Dandelion forgot everything but one thought:
How?
How to reach her mother? Her claws scrabbled on the stone beneath her. She could not climb down the sheer cliff. Then, in a sudden burst, Dandelion leaned forward, beat her wings, and jumped.

First flight.

No, it was a first fall, and an intentional fall. Dandelion didn't want to rise up to the sky. She didn't try to flap her wings. Wind pressed by her ears, cold and full of rain, but she was too numb to feel afraid. She still clutched her candle, clinging to the warmth that had been there only moments ago. Trees below the cliff hurtled into her vision. In the corner of her eye her father roared with pain and fury as he fought with the archaeopteryx, but Dandelion could not forget her mother.

“Please get up, Mama,” she cheeped feebly as the ground rushed up at her.

Then all was darkness.

 

When the wind blows a dandelion seed to a strange land, will it thrive?

—
FROM THE
O
LD
S
CRIPTURE