Bird of Chaos: Book One of the Harpy's Curse (17 page)

“Sssp—” she sucked on her teeth “—how old are you?”

“Seventeen, by my father’s reckoning.”

“Not to worry, there must be a simple explanation.”

There was warmth there that I had not expected and a familiarity I could not account for. Later, I realised the familiarity was a figment of my imagination, something I concocted because I desired…what? A grandmotherly figure? A family member I could trust? At the time it was a joyous occasion to find a woman who wanted to speak to me, someone who could save me from damnation. I felt a great weight lifting from my shoulders. I clasped my hands. Thinking this might look like I was praying, I unclasped them.

“Have you discussed your gift with your mother?” Maud said.

I shook my head. “We don’t really…She is very busy.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “This is probably a good thing.” Then smiling as if there wasn’t a worry in the world, said, “A gift is a complicated thing. To understand it you must know the teachings of the holy books. You must realise the intricacies of the Golding line and your ties to the First Mother. Has the queen told you the story of Ayfra’s birth?”

“My father has.”

“It is my favourite.” She interlaced her swollen knuckles. “It was from this story that all others were born. It was the first, the most important. Without it you cannot understand the gift or appreciate its significance. Would you like to hear it? I doubt your father did it justice.”

I overlooked her insult and said, “Yes please.”

The younger attendant removed the pipe from Maud’s arm, making her wince. The healer wiped the wound on Maud’s arm with her apron. “That will do for today. Put pressure on it until it stops bleeding,” she said, wrapping Maud’s arm in a strip of undyed fabric. She covered the lesion with a scrunched-up bit of rag, leaving the sheep to dangle on the butcher’s hook. Then she attempted to unhook the carcass. I stood and helped her.

“I will boil some water to clean my tools,” the old healer said, excusing herself. The younger woman took the sheep by its hind legs and dragged it across the floor, leaving a smear of blood behind her. As I shut the door she called for a consort to help her carry the sheep to the kitchen. I resumed my position on the high priestess’s bed and leant towards her, straining to catch every word she spoke in her rich, contralto voice.

“In the beginning the gate between our world and the next was open upon Mount Atha and was guarded by the Ooruk, the disciples of Gnosis, god of knowledge. It was they who determined who should pass between the worlds. They were mighty warrior angels with pure hearts.

“All number of creatures, both good and bad, walked freely on the earth and all creatures could ascend the steps to the top of the temple and take the passage to the Elysian Fields to live with their makers: the goddess Heritia and her daroon Ballus. Do you follow?”

I nodded obediently.

“However, the people of Longfield—”

“The Caspians?” I interrupt.

“All the city-states of our world: the Caspians, the Gregarians, the Whytes, your ancestors the angels of Ooruk, the Isbians, the Forks, those of the Salt Kingdom and even those barbarians on the Bone Coast, all of them—Tibuta had not come into being yet—they abused their freedom and walked too often between the worlds, giving little care to their earthly responsibilities. Too busy were they indulging in the fruits of the Elysian Fields to tend their crops or take care of their herds. Their maize went unharvested, their cows dried off and the canals became clogged with silt. Their children starved and their wives grieved.

“The men of Longfield caused an imbalance between our world and the Elysian Fields which angered Rai, the king of the gods. So, as the Ooruk had foretold, the Elysian Gate was shut. And when the Elysian Gate was shut some beings were trapped on our side, doomed to roam the earth, where they were often shunned, far from their celestial brothers. Not all of those creatures were good. Some were creatures with dark hearts and dark atrama, like rotten flesh.

“Shea was an Ooruk angel and like the others she was stranded outside the Elysian Fields. Though most of them remained on Mount Atha to await the gate’s opening and to guard that holy place, some ventured into Longfield to destroy those who had become evil. Others, especially the young, ventured out from Mount Atha in search of a way to open the gate. One of these was Shea, the daughter of the Ooruk king, but little did she know that the gods had marked her as a sacrifice. From her loins would be born a child of equilibrium, the product of the collision between chaos and order, a daughter who would mother a nation and delivery us from evil.”

“You mean she would give birth to the First Mother?”

“Yes, child, a woman of both good and evil who would lead her people from the main land, from Caspius across the Vestige Sea to Tibuta. And so we start at the beginning with Shea and the demon.” Maud leant back and closed her eyes. “Shea was silhouetted in the mouth of the cave. She looked like a giant though few had seen such creatures since before the First Age. She was taller than most men, with broad, bronze shoulders and muscular arms, a typical Ooruk of Mount Atha: a warrior. She carried a satchel over her shoulder like a slaughtered deer. Her thighs, barely hidden beneath a leather jerkin and white linen tunic, were like pillars bulging from the weight they supported.

“She frowned as she stepped from the dying light of the Salt Plains into the cool relief of the grotto’s shadowy depths. Beyond the cave the earth was sandy and dotted with saltbush. Field mice could be heard darting through the dunes to catch crickets and small lizards.

‘Here will do,’ Shea said to her slave, Tutuk. He was a tribesman from the Salt Plains, a Tigrineek who wore nothing but a red loincloth. He was barefoot and nimble, his dark eyes able to pick up the slightest movement in the underbrush.

‘There be darkness here,’ Tutuk said, reluctant to drop his pack inside the cave. ‘Better to set up camp outside under the watchful eyes of my ancestors.’

“Despite his protests, they set up camp in the mouth of the cave and Shea sent him hunting.

“Shea entered the cave, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the light. Some said the kings of the Salt Plains hid their plunder in the caves along the border between the mountain ranges and the desert. She hoped to find a cache of gold.

“At the back of the cave was a low tunnel, and Shea paused and listened. From within the hole she heard the earth sighing. She returned to the camp for a lantern and, though their supply of whale oil was running low, she lit it using flint and steel and returned to the tunnel. Lying on her stomach, she pushed the lamp ahead of her. Another vast cave opened up after a short crawl, and she eased herself out into it, standing gracefully on the sandy ground.

“Shea took careful steps, feeling the surface with her bare, hardened feet. The sandy ground was warm, like a beach bathed in sunlight. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark and she saw a vast cave, like the inside of a whale’s skeleton, with stalactites oozing from the ceiling. High above, bats filled the cave’s crevices, forming dark ink stains against the stone. In a deep pool she could see a writhing mass of serpents’ white lava.

“At the back of the cave was a tunnel and she ventured down it, the sand beneath her feet growing warmer as she went. She trailed her hand along the walls, which seemed to sweat. A glowing light appeared up ahead and she was drawn to it like a moth.

“At the end of the tunnel was a small cave. A hairline crack ran along the cave’s bottom and from the crack came a golden light.

“Shea bent down and traced the fissure with her finger. And lo, it was warm and moist and she tried to force her finger into it, to pry it open, hoping to uncover a seam of gold. Her face was aglow, her brow creased in concentration and dripping from the heat, which grew in intensity.

“There was a rumble beneath her feet, like the earth belching. The walls of the cave shook and the opening grew. Shea took a step back. ‘Tutuk!’ she called but there was no response. The earth split open, inch by inch. Golden liquid seeped out of the hole, a few dribbles at first and then, quickly, more. She backed away as the mass grew. Bold heat hit her face and she turned away. ‘Tutuk!’ she called but to no avail. She climbed a rock to escape the bubbling magma flooding into the cave and surrounding her island. She was trapped.

“Something like a giant eel, dark and slippery, moved beneath the surface of the burning pool. It emerged slowly, the tip rising from the surface like a wisp of smoke, moving left and right in an intricate dance. It took the form of a man twice the size of Shea. ‘What angel, what image of a perfect woman has woken me from my slumber?’ said the man.

‘What black magic, what devilry conjured you, strange man?’ Shea retorted. ‘Will you come out from your magma prison so I might see you better?” The man obeyed. With averted eyes and his hands in front of him to cover his nakedness, he stepped out of the burning gold. ‘What being are you?’ Shea said, approaching. A radiance emanated from the gentle giant and when she reached up to run her hand along his jaw she felt that his skin was hot. Heat surged through her limbs and into the pit of her stomach. Her touch made the man stir and he was ashamed and looked away. ‘I am the Fire,’ he whispered close to her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘You are in danger here.’

“Shea was overcome by a desire so strong it was otherworldly. ‘I can look after myself,’ she retorted, and he said, ‘I can see you are very strong. Perhaps you are the one I have been waiting for.’ She stood on tiptoe to throw her arms around the man’s neck and cover his burning lips with her own and, with a smoky gasp, he bent to kiss her back.

“When she told him to, the beast lay on the stony ground and let her lower herself onto him. She moved against him, enjoying the rhythm of their lovemaking. But as they got closer to ecstatic relief, a strange thing happened. The creature bellowed in despair, and his skin ignited and he transformed into the Fire, his black eyes two smouldering holes, his mouth a vast pit of ash and smoke.

“Shea felt him move inside her again and again and the flame seemed to lick at her very womb. She screamed out in pleasure and pain and pummelled the creature with her fists. The fire bit into her skin and seemed to burn the very flesh from her bones. With a great roar the beast sent its burning water inside her. Finished, it flung her body off and she landed on the hard earth.”—The high priestess interrupted her story to look at me—“Highness, are you unwell? Your face is pale.”

I told her I was well enough, though in truth the story upset me, and I begged her to continue.

“The beast stretched high, roaring, ‘I told you I am the Fire, cast out of the Elysian Fields and sent to the underworld. Why wouldn’t you listen?’ Liquid fire flowed from its head. Shea sobbed, all pleasure forgotten in the burning agony inside her. ‘The gods curse you,’ she said. It seemed to her as if a voice whispered to her from beyond this realm. The voice was joined by another and another. She knew that sound; it was a chorus of knowledge speaking to her in soothing tones from beyond this world. Her ancestors’ shapeless words filled her head with an incantation so powerful its blast opened her senses and sent her spirit souring into the sky. In that moment she knew she was an instrument of the gods and they would use her to save humankind.

“She faltered at first as she tried to speak the incantation, her voice coming in sharp spurts, but as she gained momentum the words took on a power of their own and filled the room. Her spell grew from a whisper to the clashing of cymbals, until it consumed the very heat rising from the earth and smothered the air.

“The beast recoiled as if Shea’s words caused it pain. Putting its hands over its ears, it bellowed ‘No!’ and dropped below the surface, slowly shrinking until it was nothing more than a ribbon of black oil. The magma receded, vanishing into the earth, and the crack snapped shut with a puff of smoke. There was no evidence of the beast’s existence at all.

“Shea was left alone on the cold stone, smouldering.

“When at last he found her, Tutuk ran to Shea’s naked, blistering body. Her skin was hot to touch and her loin was smoking and ashy in parts. He invoked the gods and with hands shaking ran to the camp to fetch a bladder of water, which he upended on her.

“Back and forth the slave ran, between his mistress and the underwater stream, filling the bladder with water, and returning to pour it on her still body. When at last the smoke cleared and her skin, though hot, was cool enough for him to hoist her onto his back and stagger from the cave to their camp, the dawn chorus was sounding. He fell to his knees in exhaustion.

“In the following days he gathered honey to soothe the skin as well as garlic, oil of oregano and olive leaf to prevent infection. He found maggots, which he used to clean her wounds. And somehow she lived.

“
Each night Tutuk sat by his mistress’s side, keeping guard. He wanted to pray but could not find the words. When she sat up and fed herself for the first time he cried with relief. But she neither smiled nor spoke, not for some weeks. When she did, it was in desperation. She clenched her stomach and writhed in pain: ‘It’s killing me, please, make it stop!’

“Tutuk watched her face contort in agony but he could not bring himself to put an end to it. Every day the pain worsened and he could do nothing to stop it. Despite his attempts with herbal teas and ancient remedies, she was consumed by the agony within her. Her nose bled and he was sure there was something evil at play. Then the vomiting started. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘No more.’