Rocco's Wings (21 page)

‘Off to the left. Now stop!’ An army of feet marching across the courtyard suddenly stopped.

‘Wing stride up. Again. Again. Now draw!’ A flutter of wings beat the air.

‘Forward. Cross!’ Sword on sword, the ring was loud.

Returning to the divan, Belarica told them more of Harpia and the growing division inside the colonies on the topic of wing-cutting. Practised in the First Epoch, wing-cutting had long since fallen from use as barbaric and cruel.

At length Belarica strode over to the fireplace.

‘Tell me more of your friends, Py, Basalt and Magma.’ Placing an elbow on the mantel, she looked at them intently.

Iggy had fallen asleep on the end of Belarica’s divan but his eyes flew open as Vesta began to tell of Magma’s fate. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

‘They just carried him off,’ said Vesta, finally.

Iggy sniffled. It was the first real sound he had made since they’d seen Magma crouched by the fire, holding his wings.

Uttering another croak, as if he were being strangled, Iggy rolled off the sofa and thudded to the floor. He lay there outstretched for a moment before he began to shake.

‘Why did Basalt have to die?’ he sobbed. ‘And why did Magma have to leave us? It’s not fair!’

Vesta started to get up, but when Belarica raised her hand she dropped back to her seat.

‘You have all suffered a great loss, Iggy. Magma was not your hatch-mate. Neither was Basalt. But the bond between fledglings that roost together often becomes equally strong. You live together, and in the normal course, you will die together.’ Belarica paused. ‘Your heart is weeping, Iggy, and it will continue to weep.’

‘That’s not helping!’ Iggy shouted.

‘Anger, sorrow and pain. They are one at a time like this, dear Iggy. Let it wash over you like the rains of Krakatoan. You are torn. But as the rightful Queen of Krakatoan, I tell you also that this particular pain, the ripping of a bond, will heal in time. All wounds heal. It will heal sooner, though, if you cling to your roost-mates, Vesta and Rocco. If you shut yourself up inside your small urvogel head, you will fall ill with separation sickness of a different kind.’

Iggy had been watching Belarica. His eyes were red and swollen. When she was done talking he laid his head back on the floor where he continued to weep.

The monkey, Rummy, who had been lying on Belarica’s divan, jumped to the floor. Taking one small step after another she approached Iggy. She touched his head lightly, checking to see if he might spring up and bite her. When Iggy didn’t move or flinch, Rummy began picking through his hair.

Trachyte appeared with a tray of steaming bowls.

‘Don’t want any,’ said Iggy, lying on the floor with Rummy continuing to groom his hair.

Rocco took a spoonful of soup. He was hungry but his stomach was churning. ‘It’s only a few days until Feldspar’s trial.’ He laid the spoon on the plate beneath it. ‘Only you can save them. Can you come? Can you return to Krakatoan? You said yourself that you are queen.’

‘Oh yes!’ said Vesta. ‘You have to save them!’

The lines around Belarica’s mouth tightened. ‘I wish it were up to me. However much I am entitled to the throne in Krakatoan, it matters not without an army to bring it to pass. Flaminca controls the troops. At supper tonight we will make the case that the time is ripe.’

It wasn’t a very satisfying answer, but what else could they do? Rocco flashed Vesta a look.

After they had eaten their fill Trachyte led them into the hall. They walked along until they came to a corner with a narrow ascending staircase. At the top, a lofty room opened up. A row of open arches ran along the far wall. A breeze swept in. The floor of the room was covered with giant pillows with a low table in the middle. Lanterns, unlit, hung from a sloped ceiling.

‘I’ll be back at seven moon bells to collect you,’ said Trachyte. ‘You must ready yourselves for supper with the Archurvogel Flaminca.’

Flaminca

Dropping their gear by the door, Rocco, Vesta and Iggy crawled out one of the open arched windows, and settled on a small roof overlooking a series of pathways below. There they slept, talked and took turns in the bathing chamber, before returning to the rooftop.

‘Shouldn’t we have some sort of strategy for convincing Flaminca?’ Vesta asked. Dressed in fresh white robes she hardly looked the same. Her hair was washed and combed – although she’d never be able to scrub out the small worry line that seemed permanently etched between her brows, thought Rocco.

‘We can tell her that we love Belarica, that she’s our queen.’ Iggy had yet to bathe. He’d been sleeping, the imprint of a roof tile clearly visible in his cheek. His eyes were bright, focused again.

‘She knows that already, Iggy,’ said Rocco. ‘It’s got to be something convincing. Important.’

‘I can tell her that Dolerite, and lots of the blues and golds, are already fighting Harpia. Cirrus told us about the uprising. Maybe Flaminca already knows, but at least the Shalites will have help from inside. They won’t have to fight the war alone.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s good,’ said Rocco. ‘Iggy, you say that Feldspar and the others are going to lose their wings if the trials go ahead. Flaminca needs to know about that.’

‘Is the full moon the same here as the one in Krakatoan?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Rocco. The moon hung, ghostlike, above them in the blue sky. Only six or seven days until Feldspar would be asked to kneel in front of the judges. An army had to fly out today, tomorrow or the day after. ‘I’ll talk about Basalt, how he died coming here, and that his death has to mean something.’

They were ready when Trachyte arrived. The bells began to chime as they followed her out into the hall and down the stairs.

Every room was either dark or the door was closed. Had his father walked in and out of those doors, Rocco wondered as they passed Belarica’s rooms.

Kyanite.
He said the name silently, in his head, feeling at once his father draw near.

At the far corner, they entered another staircase, the twin of the one that went up to their room. Only their room was more of an attic, and this staircase opened up to a wide archway beyond which lay a magnificent dining hall.

Delicious aromas wafted out: savoury spices that pulled Rocco’s nose, along with the smell of steamed rice, maybe noodles and some kind of fish.

Urvogels dressed the same way as Trachyte were arranging trays and dishes on a long table. It was twilight and their wings were just starting to glow. A grey robe spotted them in the door and hastened over.

‘Come this way.’

At the far end of the table sat a round-faced urvogel wearing a diamond-encrusted crown. Her gown was orange, embroidered with glistening black threads.

‘Welcome! Welcome! I am Flaminca, the Archurvogel of Shale.’ She fluttered her wings which were suspended on either side of her by a strange-looking rack. Her feathers were rose-coloured but had black dots. She looked as if she was about to take off from her seat.

‘Thank you for – for letting us come here.’ Rocco bowed.

‘It was a really long way,’ said Iggy.

Vesta went around the end of the table and kissed the Archurvogel’s hand. ‘Your majesty,’ she said.

‘Oh, so nicely mannered. Lovely! Lovely!’ said Flaminca. ‘Please. Take your seats.’

Belarica was seated at Flaminca’s right. She smiled as Vesta and Rocco sat down beside her. She’d changed her dress. Her gown was silver, and her hair was upswept with curls holding tiny birds.

‘This is the Air Commodore,’ said Flaminca, nodding at the important-looking urvogel seated directly on her left. The chest of his flying jacket was covered in coloured ribbons and pins. The Air Commodore glanced up: not exactly a nod, but his eyes passed over each of them.

Along with the Air Commodore, the Vice-Air Commodore and Iggy were seated on the other side of the table. Iggy was between them, small, and looking determinedly at all the food.

Musicians were playing in the corner. The melody rolled over Rocco, soft and every bit as alluring as a summer breeze. He’d have to be careful not to forget the reason they were here.

The room seemed to float. Above his head, up in the corners of the ceiling, carved heads of birds stared down.

‘To remind us of eavesdroppers.’ Flaminca was smiling at him.

‘Every regent has spy birds,’ said Belarica. ‘For me, the cranes and herons.’

‘Mine is the ibis, the white, the green, the sacred,’ said Flaminca.

Great heaps of food were passed around: lentils, rice, pickled vegetables, olives, steamed beats and turnips and – Rocco had been right – lemon-roasted fish and eel. Several minutes passed before he managed to look up from his plate, but he’d been listening. Belarica had been saying quite a lot about their escape from Krakatoan, but no one was saying anything about taking an army there.

The dinner plates were cleared away. Plates of fruit and cheese were laid out, along with a fresh craft of wine.

Belarica cleared her throat. ‘The Shalites have shown great favour to the fledglings upon their arrival this afternoon. They’ve been greeted as heroes. Rocco’s father, Kyanite, was an Air Marshal – one of the ones who brought me here so many years ago.’

Flaminca nodded.

‘These three outwitted Harpia, but they have survived.’ Belarica spoke passionately. As she swayed toward the table and back again, the tiny birds – not mere decoration, but alive – flew out of her hair and in again, whistling softly.

‘We are pleased to have the fledglings with us.’ Flaminca smiled at Iggy and dipped her chin at Vesta and Rocco. ‘I would like to hear more about how you managed in the woods. I suspect you, Rocco, were key. Is it true that you are not affected by separation sickness?’

‘No.’

Belarica interrupted. ‘The white robes confirm that the discontent in Krakatoan has turned into an actual rebellion. We must do something.’

Finally!
thought Rocco.

‘We’ve been over this countless times, Belarica. Shale is small. You know this. We don’t have the troops to fight a colony as large as Krakatoan. The white robes’ arrival changes nothing.’ Flaminca sat back in her chair.

‘I’ve been thinking about that as well.’ Belarica glanced at Vesta and Rocco. ‘Perhaps the fame of the fledglings has spread to Plymouth. I beseech you to send an envoy there to find out. If Shale and Plymouth stand together with the rebels in Krakatoan, I am certain we shall see victory.’

Flaminca wiped the corners of her mouth with her lap cloth and surveyed a dish of orange and yellow fruit that a grey robe had just placed in front of her.

‘But our friends are going to lose their wings, if you don’t help them.’ Iggy’s eyes were large. He sat forward. ‘Please – please help us. Feldspar and our other hatch-mates are going to stand trial at the full moon. It’s rubbish what the charges are – you tell her, Vesta – but it’s not fair, none of it! Harpia’s evil. She doesn’t love us one bit!’

Flaminca’s feathers twitched but she said not a word.

Vesta began. ‘There’s an uprising in Krakatoan. We want Belarica back. It’s not just the white robes, it’s the blues and golds. There’s been a lot of unhappiness, for a long time. Even though Harpia drugged us with her wing dust, lots of citizens are able to find their feelings underneath it all. They know it’s not right what Harpia’s doing.’

Flaminca gave Vesta a tight nod. She was telling her she’d heard, but she still wasn’t convinced.

Rocco leaned over his plate, trying to get Flaminca’s attention.

‘If the time ever were right, it’s now.’ Belarica laid her hand on Flaminca’s arm. ‘It’s not just Krakatoan that’s at stake, the other colonies are also wrestling with this issue. I’ve heard many reports that other cities are discussing the merits of minionatros.’

A flicker surfaced in Flaminca’s eye.

‘Reports. From whom?’ asked the Air Commodore.

‘My cranes,’ said Belarica.

‘Yes, yes, we’ve all had such reports – rumours, really. Is any of it corroborated by urvogel tongue?’ The Air Commodore didn’t look any more convinced than Flaminca.

‘It’s not just Krakatoan –‘ Rocco had been planning to tell Flaminca about Basalt’s dying, but another idea popped into his head. ‘At the dinner party, where Harpia ate the urvogel wings, it wasn’t just gold robes and Air Marshals from Krakatoan.’

Suddenly everyone was looking at him.

‘There was a guest from – what’s that other colony called, Vesta? They were there for the Air Games.’

‘Gabbro? Syenite?’ offered Vesta.

‘Gabbro. I don’t know his title. He was wearing a gold sash, over his robe which was the colour of an olive tree. He ate the wings, too.’

Flaminca’s eyes darkened. She sat forward again. Both the Air Commodore and Vice-Air Commodore lowered their brows, looking at Rocco intently.

‘Go on,‘ said Flaminca.

He hadn’t bothered to tell this part to Belarica before. It hadn’t seemed important. ‘There isn’t much to tell.’ He looked around. ‘I said it already, except it wasn’t just Krakatoan – it was Gabbro too. He was a high-ranking official there for the Air Games. He, or someone else, I can’t remember who, said that Syenite would also be attending the Royal Feast on the Eve of the Opening Ceremonies.’

No one spoke for a moment.

‘If Gabbro and Syenite are eating wings given to them by Harpia, it means they’re going to start having minionatros too!’ said Vesta. ‘That’s how Harpia started all of it. She made
Harpia’s Law
. She had her scribes write it all up to make it sound like she loved us, and she wanted us to have the best sort of life. But it was only a trick to do what she wanted and – and look after herself instead of the citizens.’ She paused. ‘Oh dear! I think I’m going to be sick!’ Springing to her feet, Vesta ran from the room.

Iggy stood up, his eyes brimming with tears. ‘You have to do something. You are good. Oh – why did we even come here?’ He ran after Vesta.

No one said anything.

Should Rocco go after his friends? The door and hallway were empty.

‘The fledglings are quite impassioned on the topic.’ Flaminca pushed her chair away from the table. She looked at Belarica, then at the Air Commodore. Finally her glance came to Rocco. ‘You are quite certain of this?’

Rocco nodded.

‘Then we cannot sit idly by and let Harpia take us back to the Dark Epoch. Perhaps the time has come. AC, send an envoy to Plymouth in the morning. See whether they’re willing to make an alliance.’ She nodded at the Air Commodore.

The birds in Belarica’s hair tweeted softly. Belarica turned and smiled at Rocco.

* * *

Vesta ran up the side of a building. Twirling thrice, she flipped and landed on her feet. ‘You have to throw your whole body into it,’ she said hoisting her sword out.

Rocco tried the sequence. As his feet hit the ground, he raised his sword.

Clang.
Vesta hit his blade. He swung back and away they parried, over the courtyard, up into a tree and down again. Their swords echoed. As she had done each morning since their arrival, Vesta was teaching him
akiva-du.

‘How can I hit you if you keep jumping all over the place?’ asked Rocco, lunging forward again.

‘That’s the point,’ called Vesta as she flew off again. ‘The one who controls the chase, controls the fight.’

Air Marshals, also practising in the courtyard, had stopped to watch Vesta catapult from the ground to the air. The style of
akiva-du
from Krakatoan was much more athletic, even acrobatic, so Rocco had heard one of them say.

Whether on the ground or airborne, the Shalites only fought in an upright position. Vesta, on the other hand, flipped and tumbled, using any vertical or horizontal surface to propel herself forward, backward or sideways.

Vesta’s face was bright with sweat as she struck out at Rocco again.

‘You’re tired out already.’ Rocco thrust his sword.

‘Am not.’

‘Y’are.’

So many eyes were on them as they crossed the plaza. The Air Commodore appeared. He attended twice each day, once in the morning to give practice instructions to the Air Marshals, and again in the afternoon to observe their progress.

It was still morning. Why was he here again? Striding past the Air Marshals, he gazed at the top of the wall.

Clang. Clang.

‘Something’s up,’ said Rocco, nodding after the Air Commodore.

As Vesta turned, Rocco dived, nicking the arm of her tunic.

‘Point.’

Pulling a face, Vesta jumped to a metre-high retaining wall. Rocco followed. They fought.

The Air Commodore, now on top of the wall, was staring with his hand lifted to block the sun.

‘Did you really fight a bear?’ asked a voice.

Vesta dropped her sword. ‘I’ll be back.’ She flew toward the wall.

Two white robes, about Iggy’s size, were behind him on the ground. One held a large blue feather that had fallen from Rocco’s wing. The other was staring enviously at it.

‘It was ferocious,’ said Rocco, plucking a feather from his wing and passing it to the second urvogel.