Rocco's Wings (22 page)

‘Thanks!’ Both white robes’ eyes grew large. They scurried away.

The Shalites often asked about the bear. At first, Rocco had taken great care to tell the story accurately, but it was soon apparent that the Shalites were intent on turning the bear into a monster, and him into a hero. They had similarly reimagined the way he’d rescued Vesta and Iggy as a masterful feat of bravery, and his care for the sleeping white robes had become an epic of compassion and hope.

‘Let them have their hero,’ Belarica had said. ‘It’s important at a time like this.’

‘But it’s not really what happened,’ Rocco said. ‘We didn’t get chased out of the Air Marshals’ camp, not that first time.’

‘Were you brave?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Did you press on when it would have been easier to give up?’

‘I guess.’

‘Then let the story live. Let it find its own breath. It’s not about you anymore, but about the sort of tale the Shalites want to tell.’

Rocco watched. The white robes, screeching excitedly, waved their feathers as they ran to their friends who had been watching from the sidelines. The grass bordering the courtyard was full of spectators, most wearing some sort of blue feather. They would cheer Rocco on, or clap at an especially elaborate air sequence undertaken by Vesta. The white robes had their own game of stealth. They would sit for hours, waiting for one of Rocco’s feathers to drop.

Vesta was talking to the Air Commodore on top of the wall. Rocco flew up.

Vesta pointed at a cloud on the distant horizon. ‘The envoy’s coming back.’

A buzz of excitement passed along the top of the wall.

‘Why so many of them?’ asked Rocco. He’d been present with Iggy and Vesta when the envoy, consisting of four Air Marshals, had left almost a week ago. The size of the approaching flock was much larger.

‘We’re about to find out.’ The Air Commodore lifted his arm and waved at the Bell Tower, which stood on the opposite side of the courtyard.

The bell began to ring. The Air Commodore whistled. Air Marshals in the courtyard below dropped their swords. They flew up. Soon eighty or so figures stood on the wall, looking east.

Plymouthians

Iggy pushed against Rocco’s leg. Since arriving in Shale he’d spent most of his time playing with a new group of friends. Belarica had also placed Rummy in Iggy’s care.

‘Can you take her for a time?’ she’d said, placing Rummy’s hand in Iggy’s on the day after their supper with Flaminca. ‘I’m meeting with a siege of cranes over these next few days. Rummy doesn’t find them very amusing.’

Rummy’s hand covered Iggy’s forehead. She was really too big for his shoulders, but neither of them seemed to mind.

‘Are we going to war?’ Iggy stared out at the approaching fleet.

‘Looks like it,’ said Vesta.

The flying troupe was now close enough that Rocco could distinguish the red flying jackets of the four Shalite Air Marshals. The rest of the fleet, twenty to thirty warriors, were dressed in grey.

‘They’re captains from Plymouth.’ The Air Commodore seemed pleased. ‘Settle them there, in the field.’ He motioned to the stretch of grass that lay between the city wall and the edge of the cliffs.

The Vice-Air Commodore and two Air Marshals flew out to greet the troupe. The Air Commodore headed toward the palace, no doubt to tell Flaminca about the warriors’ arrival.

The Bell Tower rang on, drawing the Shalites out to the courtyard.

Together with Vesta, Iggy and Rummy, Rocco flew down to the gathering throng. They sat down on the rim of the fountain and watched as the four returning Air Marshals passed overhead. Two Plymouth captains followed. Dropping to the palace steps, the six disappeared inside.

The courtyard was becoming so thick with spectators that Rocco jumped up to the side of the fountain. Vesta and Iggy joined him. A set of doors opened on the top floor of the palace. Flaminca and Belarica appeared, waving from the balcony. A trumpeter began to blow his horn.

Flaminca raised her hand. The crowd fell silent. ‘We go to war! Plymouth gives its support to Shale and to Belarica.’

The words were clear. Decisive.

The Shalites erupted in a loud cheer. Some raised their fists. Many began to chant, ‘No more wing-cutting. No more wing-cutting.’

Rocco hugged Vesta and Iggy.

‘But it’s already too late for Feldspar, isn’t it?’ Sadness filled Iggy’s eyes.

‘We don’t know that, Iggy. Not for sure,’ said Rocco.

‘But the full moon’s already come and gone. The trials are over.’

‘The uprising may have prevented all that, or the war now that’s going on internally. Plus Feldspar is clever. She didn’t want to leave with us, but maybe she found a way.’

Iggy stroked Rummy’s back.

Vesta threw Rocco a sidelong glance. They never mentioned Feldspar any more. She was a cloud that hung between them.

‘Goodbye.’ With Rummy on his back, Iggy flew over to his friends.

That night the twenty-five captains from Plymouth ate with the Shalites in a grand open-air feast spread out in the courtyard. Rocco and Vesta helped the grey robes dress the tables. Lanterns were lit. Musicians arrived and, at evenfall, a banquet of food was rolled out, more lavish than any Rocco had ever seen. After they’d eaten, Rocco, Vesta, Iggy and Rummy retreated to the top of the wall.

‘It hardly seems right,’ said Rocco. ‘Having such a big party when there’s a war going on in Krakatoan.’

The lanterns flickered over the tables below.

‘Maybe it’s the last time everyone will be together,’ said Vesta.

She wasn’t saying it, exactly, but he knew what she meant. Not all of the warriors would make it back.

The sun was already rising when the last Plymouthian found his tent in the grassy field.

The next morning Rocco was enlisted to help the blacksmith. He spent his mornings and evenings practising
akiva-du
, and the afternoons hammering arrowheads on an anvil. Iggy was recruited to peel potatoes, since the army would need many loaves of potato bread. Vesta taught the Shalites and Plymouthians the basic aerial manoeuvres of
akiva-du
. ‘The older Krakatoan Air Marshals don’t use this style, but the younger ones do,’ she explained.

‘Is Belarica going to let us fight?’ Rocco asked, upon joining Vesta late one afternoon. The number of Air Marshals practising in the courtyard was growing larger each day. The white robes watched from the sidelines.

That evening Rocco and Vesta visited Belarica in her rooms.

‘Come in. Come in.’ She was sitting at her desk.

‘We’ve been practising a lot,’ said Rocco.

‘Yes, I can see from my window,’ said Belarica.

‘Will we be allowed to fight?’ Vesta blurted out.

‘You are clearly very skilled, Vesta. The Shalites appreciate your tutelage. But you are young, and not yet fully fledged.’ Belarica frowned.

‘But we already fought the Krakatoan Air Marshals,’ said Rocco. ‘Can’t an exception be made?’ He and Vesta looked like warriors. They’d come in deliberately wearing their swords. Rocco flexed his arms. He’d been eating more. With all the practising he’d been doing, his muscles were strong.

‘You’ve both seen a lot of death already. You lost Py and Basalt, and your friend Magma lost his wings. These are great weights for anyone to carry. Tell me, how are you sleeping?’

‘Fine,’ said Vesta.

‘Fine,’ said Rocco. It was only a small lie. Since he’d arrived in Shale, Death had awoken him twice by poking him in the stomach. But he was armed now. He had his father’s name.

‘
Kyanite,
’ he had whispered into the black that hung above his head.

‘There’s one more thing.’ Rocco looked up at Belarica.

‘Yes?’

‘My father was a warrior. He protected you, and it’s my job to carry on in his footsteps – er, wingprints, as urvogels say. Don’t deny me this. I want to do it. So does Vesta. We’ll fight together, watch out for each other.’

‘Thank you, Rocco. You are young, but you are brave, and loyal. And – it’s obvious that your presence does much to bolster’s everyone’s spirits.’

Rocco grasped Vesta’s hand.

‘The Shalites need Vesta,’ he said. ‘She’s very skilled at
akiva-du
. Did you see?’

Belarica rose from her chair. She laid a hand on Rocco’s shoulder, and another on Vesta’s. ‘
You may go
.’

You may go. The words buzzed around his head.

‘Iggy must accompany you,’ continued Belarica. ‘Krakatoan is his home, but he’s much too young to fight. Find something useful for him and Rummy to do.’

The Shalites readied themselves for war. Large quantities of food were prepared. Six cooks were recruited for the battlefield. Three dozen newly fledged urvogels became porters, responsible for carrying gear and provisions.

Every Air Marshal was prescribed a vial of amber venom that he or she was to start taking immediately. ‘It’s not a cure for separation sickness, but it will alleviate your symptoms. If your flock remains robust, this elixir should stave off death,’ said the Alchemist.

Finally it was the eve of the first contingent’s departure. Everyone had assembled in the courtyard. The moon was up. The stars were out.

‘We will settle into Mount Zetna in two phases,’ explained the Air Commodore. ‘My fleet will fly out first. We will organize the camp. Two days later Belarica and the Plymouthians will arrive.’

Several hundred Air Marshals lifted off. Rocco, Vesta, Iggy and Rummy were flying at the back: a good spot, thought Rocco, as the tailwind was greatest there. They would take turns carrying Rummy. She looked half terrified with her arms wrapped around Iggy’s neck. She was wearing her own waterskin. Iggy had taught her how to open the spout and drink.

The dark line of the escarpment stretched below.

They’d only been guests in Shale for a little less than a month, but Rocco felt like a different person. His muscles were bigger, tauter. His skills at
akiva-du
had grown sharper. Death still hovered in his bird eye vision, but it was beginning to lose its grip.

They flew all night, sleeping for a few hours in a sheltered area beneath the cliffs, and rising after the sky waters had passed. Upper and Lower Terrakesh were drenched in rain. Another long night of flight and they arrived at sunrise on the slopes of Mount Zetna. Autumn was falling. The trees were changing colour. A dense fog filled the mountain forest.

They touched down, and proceeded to set up camp. They had their own tent, which they pitched on a flat stretch of ground under a maple tree. The porters arrived with blankets and bed mats. Iggy snuggled down with Rummy. Rocco and Vesta returned outside to wait for any sign of the rebels.

Spy birds had been sent out earlier to alert the rebel Krakatoans of the arrival of Belarica’s army. One hour passed, then another. The woods were silent until, out of the mist, walked a solitary figure. His wings were extended. He was unarmed.

The urvogel was ushered directly into the Air Commodore’s tent.

‘I think it’s Dolerite,’ whispered Vesta. They were sitting on a log by the cook’s fire.

‘I never met him,’ said Rocco. The figure was thin, and his robes tattered.

Moments later the Air Commodore emerged from his tent and walked over.

‘Vesta, the Krakatoan asks for you.’ The Air Commodore beckoned. ‘You too, Rocco.’

They entered the tent. Vesta ran forward and flung her arms around the figure in tattered clothes.

‘Dolerite! It is you. You’re alive!’

Dolerite’s face was full of grimness, but he smiled. ‘Vesta, it warms my heart to see you so fit and alive. You have done us well.’

‘Here’s Rocco, too!’ Vesta pulled Rocco forward.

‘I’ve not had the pleasure before,’ said Dolerite.

Before he knew what was happening, Dolerite had embraced him.

‘We have much to thank you for Vesta and Rocco. It was an unlikely mission. I – I’m sorry that we doubted you. The blue robes should have given you some support. Basalt pleaded with me to come, but I refused.’

‘We must make Basalt’s death mean something, Dolerite,’ said Vesta. ‘Tell us what we can do.’

‘Yes,’ said Rocco. ‘We want to see the end of Harpia. We’re here to help.’

Dolerite turned to the Air Commodore. ‘Where’s Belarica?’

‘She comes tomorrow or the day after. I came first to secure the terrain and ready her tent.’

It seemed some kind of friction had been going on before. Now the Air Commodore seemed relieved, perhaps even pleased, as he rolled out a map on the floor. Dolerite pointed to the caves where the rebels were hiding. ‘We’ve been at a stand-off for the last few days.’

‘Where’s the battleground?’ asked the Air Commodore.

Dolerite pointed at the western wall.

‘You’ve not been able to breach it?’

Dolerite shook his head. ‘The rebels are far outnumbered.’

Rocco and Vesta sat down and listened while the Air Commodore and Dolerite discussed strategy, and how to take advantage of their position at a higher elevation. At length an Air Marshal was dispatched to tell everyone that they should rest, familiarize themselves with the surrounding terrain, and be ready to strike at dawn.

Darkness fell. Having eaten, Rocco carried a bowl of soup for Iggy. Vesta held a sack of grapes for Rummy. Both were asleep, snoring softly, when they stepped into the tent.

‘You afraid about what’s going to happen tomorrow?’ asked Rocco, setting the bowl beside Iggy’s head. Iggy could eat it later, if he woke up hungry.

Rocco lay down on his bed mat.

‘Nope,’ said Vesta.

‘We might not make it.’

‘I know.’ Vesta’s voice was sleepy. ‘But I only think about winning.’

Rocco closed his eyes. He saw himself standing on the edge of the cliffs looking down at the lonely tree. It was him, standing in the wind and rain and not falling over or giving in. He hadn’t done it alone, he thought, looking over at Vesta again. They were in war together, and no matter what happened, he knew that he loved them.

Rolling over he kissed Vesta’s cheek. Bending back the other way he kissed Iggy. Iggy loved the monkey, so Rocco kissed Rummy too.

Urvogels weren’t all the same. They were as distinct as any human.

* * *

At daybreak, the forest was damp and full of fog. Rocco and Vesta ate a silent breakfast with the rest of the army. A great rustling arose as several hundred urvogels lifted off. Around the mountain they glided. The wall of Krakatoan, overhung with trees, loomed out of the mist.

A bird whistled. The Air Commodore who was leading the charge had given his
all clear
signal.

The warriors swept over the wall.

‘It’s awfully quiet,’ said Vesta.

The trees of Wildergarten stirred in the wind. Only there wasn’t a wind. Harpia’s army, camouflaged in the leaves, was rising, advancing forward to attack.

Rocco held his sword out. If he was travelling fast how would he know the enemy? Everything looked grey in the morning drizzle.

At the front, battle cries broke out. He and Vesta flew on, advancing with other warriors from the rear of the fleet. Two Krakatoans, their flying jackets all muddied (Harpia was clever to disguise them so), were fighting a Shalite. Rocco attacked. The Krakatoan’s sword caught his and up they flew, blade to blade, their clashes drowned out in the din of battle.