The Missing Kin (7 page)

He lay there a moment. One of the simplest
lessons of the Way of the Claw came to him and
he had enough sense to feel chastened:
Watch, listen
and learn before acting, lest you leap off the edge of
a cliff in your haste
.

Adalon picked himself up and brushed sand from his
tunic.
It should be the Clawed Ones' creed
, he thought.
Before leaping, look
. Because of their need for action,
and the impulsiveness that went with it, throughout
history Clawed Ones had been prone to hasty decisions
followed by long, thoughtful regrets. Adalon's father,
Lord Ollamon, had taken great pains to teach this to
him. His life had been a model of patience, of tempering
the Clawed One rashness with cool reflection – but not
losing the quickness of thought and flexibility of action
that was the Clawed One strength. It was something
Adalon strove to live up to.

A pang caught his heart as he remembered his
father and the good saur that he'd been.

To distract himself from the pain, Adalon scuffed
at the sand with a toe-claw. Then he cocked his head
at what he'd uncovered. He recoiled, hissing.

'Simangee!' he shouted. 'I need you!'

By the time Simangee and Targesh had arrived,
carrying weapons, Adalon understood what he'd
found.

'More ruins,' he said, pointing at what he'd thought
were mussel-encrusted rocks. Long and low, broken
in many places, he could now see it was the remains
of a large building half-swallowed by the sand and
the sea.

When he looked along the beach Adalon could
make out more. Rocky outcrops, scattered slabs of
stone poking out of the undergrowth, even pilings
marching out into the waves. 'This must have been
a village.'

Simangee narrowed her eyes. 'So many stone
buildings in a village? A city, rather.'

Targesh grimaced, as if he'd tasted something
bad. 'A'ak.'

Adalon nodded. He kicked at the nearest rock,
dislodging shells. Engraved on the slick wetness was
the unmistakeable A'ak script.

'We're finding A'ak everywhere,' Simangee
murmured.

'They've left their work behind,' Adalon said and
he paused, remembering the map room in the Lost
Castle. He stared out to sea. 'Simangee, I think we
need to consult one of your maps.'

Back at the camp, Simangee spread out the chart,
weighing down the corners with stones. 'This is the
way we came,' she pointed. 'We encountered A'ak
ruins here, here and here. See the blue marks?'

'There's one right here where we are,' Adalon
said.

Targesh leaned over. He ran a claw along the thin
blue line that connected the shore with the Fiery
Isles. 'What's this?'

Adalon frowned in thought, then swept an arm
around the curve of the bay. 'Imagine this place as an
A'ak city. That jumble of rock there could have once
been a pavilion. That one a pier. Over there where
the dunes have buried them, could have once been
homes or workshops.'

Targesh eyed the bay uneasily. 'An outpost?'

'Perhaps. Maybe more than that.'

'Much could be hidden here,' Simangee said
softly. 'We could uncover the mystery of the A'ak
writing here.'

Adalon patted his friend on the shoulder. 'Another
time, perhaps. We need to get to the Fiery Isles.' He
tapped the map. 'And I think that the A'ak had a
way of getting there.'

'What are you thinking?'

He pointed. 'That outcrop, the big one with all
the seabirds. If it's part of the A'ak ruins, I think we
should investigate it.'

Simangee held up a hand. 'Tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow?'

'We've had a long journey. If we're going to poke
around in A'ak leftovers, let's get a good night's sleep
first.'

'Targesh?'

'Eat. Sleep. Get an early start.'

Adalon stared at the waves crashing on the rocky
spit. He itched to see what it held. 'Very well.'

***

The next morning, after a sparse and unsatisfying
breakfast, the three friends approached the ridge
armoured and armed. The seabirds wheeled above
them, challenging their right of way. Waves sent
up plumes of spray that were whipped away by the
wind.

They stood on a sea-slick slab of rock and looked
up. It took Adalon some imagination, but he thought
he could make out the angles of the building it had
once been. The crumbled ruins loomed over them
like battlements – a timeworn reminder of a lost
age.

'There,' Simangee said, pointing. 'We can get
up there.' She led the way, picking through mussel
shells and seaweed thrown up by the waves. Adalon
paused, scanning the hulking rocks. He glanced at
Targesh's ruined profile.

'Are you well, old friend?'

Targesh shrugged and touched the stump of his
broken horn. 'Well enough.'

'Brave words, my friend. But it's not a scratch
you've suffered. I'll be watching out for you.'

Targesh gave a half-smile. 'That'll make a change.
I'm usually looking out for you.'

'That's better! Now, let's see what we can
find.' Adalon bounded up the rocks in search of
Simangee.

They found her at the top of the ridge, on a broad
flat area the shape of a rough arrowhead. Pools of
water had gathered on the broken stone. A tumble
of rocks was heaped up at the pointy end closest to
the sea. Simangee was standing there, fists on her
hips, peering into a large, dark hole.

When they joined her they saw that the hole
sloped toward the open sea. 'What's down there?'
Adalon wondered.

Targesh squatted and sniffed. 'It's dry, not wet.'

Simangee tilted her crest from side to side. 'It's
magic, strong and constant. I can't say any more
than that.'

Adalon stared over the sea toward the far-off
Fiery Isles.
Yes
, he thought.
It makes sense
. 'It's a
tunnel,' he declared. 'The A'ak used it to get to and
from the Fiery Isles.'

'Why wouldn't they just sail across?' Simangee
asked.

'Reefs,' Targesh said. He pointed at the sea.
'Doesn't look safe.'

Adalon shrugged. 'None of the stories I've heard
speak of the A'ak as great sailors. Maybe they're like
Horned Ones – afraid of water.'

'I'm not afraid of water,' Targesh said. 'Cautious,
is all. And don't say Horned Ones are like the A'ak.'

Adalon laughed. 'I won't. Now, let's see what's
down there.'

'It's too dark to see much,' Targesh rumbled.

Simangee patted the leather pouch at her waist.
'I have light potions.'

'Forward then.'

Adalon stepped over the knee-high rubble and
onto the down-slope. For a few paces, sunlight kept
him company. He turned and saw his friends outlined
against the blue sky. 'Time for your light potion,' he
called to Simangee.

'I don't think we need it,' she said, pointing.
'Look ahead.'

Adalon swivelled. The darkness had vanished.
Soft, violet light came from the walls of the tunnel.
He turned a full circle, staring at what it revealed.

The tunnel was broad enough for two wagons
to pass each other and so high that Adalon doubted
if he could reach it with a jump. The rock walls were
smooth as mirrors and betrayed no sign of toolwork
at all.

'I think we've found our way to the Fiery Isles,'
he said.

The rest of the day passed as they laboured through
the magic tunnel, bathed in the soft violet light
as they went. Their journey was an odd mixture of
boredom and concern about the weight that must be
bearing down on the tunnel. Adalon found himself
worrying about its age and kept looking for ominous
trickles of water.

Finally, after a steep, uphill stretch, they reached a
stone arch in much better condition than the ruins of
the mainland entrance. A'ak script stretched around
it, sharp and angular.

'If only we could read it,' murmured Simangee.

They paused at the mouth of the tunnel and gazed
out over the Fiery Isles at night.

Not far away, a large mountain thrust up out of
the sea like a fist punched through silk. The mountain
rumbled and belched red light and smoke. In the
near distance, Adalon counted five other islands,
each with a prominent peak smoking and groaning
away, and countless smaller islands scattered across
the midnight sea. Adalon shuddered. It was an angry
place.

The night air was tropically hot. A riot of bushes,
creepers and trees grew among boulders on the broad
and rocky area that surrounded the tunnel mouth.
In front of them the land tumbled away into dark
and shrouded valleys. The spicy smell of damp earth
and rot mingled with the tang of ash and sulphur.
A jungle animal shrieked from the darkness – a
cackling, demented sound.

'Who would live here?' Simangee wondered.
'A land of ash and jungle?'

'Our allies,' Adalon answered.
I hope
, he
thought.

He stepped out of the tunnel. Simangee and
Targesh followed and, as soon as they left, the violet
light went out behind them.

Adalon blinked, his vision awry from the sudden
change. As he did, the night came alive. Dark shapes
swooped through the air. Adalon whirled and drew
his sword. 'Targesh! Simangee! Beware!' he cried,
but then he cursed as he was jerked from his feet
by ropes. He fell and rolled, but whirling cords
weighted with stones wrapped around his legs.
He slashed with his sword, but the attackers dived
and darted, easily evading his blade. More of the
twirling, weighted cords spun at him. The stones
pummelled and the ropes tripped, until he was
tangled and helpless, with weighted cords pinning
his arms to his body.

He lay with his cheek resting against the root
of a jungle tree. A curious beetle stared at him then
scurried away. Adalon hoped Simangee and Targesh
had managed to escape, but these hopes vanished
when two heavy shapes thudded next to him.

'This is embarrassing,' Simangee grated.

I hope that's all it is
, Adalon thought. 'At least
they haven't killed us outright.'

Firm hands jerked him upright and he was held,
facing the tunnel they'd so recently exited. Standing
there, in the flickering, red-tinged shadows thrown
by the fiery mountain, were the creatures he'd only
seen as statues.

The Winged Ones.

A score or so of winged warriors uncovered
lanterns then studied Adalon, Targesh and Simangee
with steady yellow eyes. They were small, but their
chests and upper arms were strong with muscle.
Their limbs were thin. A bony crest like a knife rose
from the top of their heads while their faces were
hard with short, beaky snouts. They wore leather
trews and harnesses. Hands with claws painted
black gripped the shafts of spears. Giant, leathery
wings were folded on their backs.

One stepped forward. She glared at the three
friends. 'We have guarded the Forbidden Gate for
untold years,' she rasped. 'Alert, ready, we have
been. And now, on my watch, the A'ak appear! The
Great Enemy has come back!'

Rattling spears and angry mutterings followed
this pronouncement.

'We have come from far away,' Adalon said,
battling his astonishment, 'but we aren't the A'ak.'

The watch leader spat. 'The A'ak built the Forbidden
Gate. You use the Forbidden Gate. You must be
the A'ak.' She jerked her head. 'Net them,' she croaked
and she jabbed a finger at one of the warriors. 'You.
Fly with all speed to the Retreat. Tell the Flightmother
that Kikkalak is bringing A'ak prisoners.'

The warrior nodded, then ran off and launched
into the air with huge beats of his wings.

The other Winged Ones unrolled large nets.
Adalon, Targesh and Simangee were each tumbled
into the centre of a net, with a Winged One gripping
a corner apiece. 'Fly!' Kikkalak cried.

The Winged Ones ran, bouncing their prisoners
along, then they reached the edge of the rocks.
Adalon's stomach lurched as the Winged Ones threw
themselves off the cliff and dropped through the
warm night air.

We're all going to die!
Adalon thought. He
strained and struggled as they plummeted toward
the dark jungle below with no other thought than to
break free of his bonds. Then, as one, the wings of
his four guards snapped open. Their hurtling descent
became a swooping glide. The mighty wings began
to beat, thrusting them upward and forward.

As he peered down, Adalon hoped that the net-makers
were skilful. Ahead, a brilliant burst of
orange light lit the night as the mountain cleared its
throat. Adalon twisted his head and saw the other
Winged Ones, some dangling nets that he assumed
carried Targesh and Simangee.

The smoking mountain grew nearer. Adalon saw
that one flank stretched out until it was swallowed
by the jungle, with rocky cliffs breaking through the
vegetation like the weathered bones of an immense
creature. When they drew closer, Adalon realised
that what he had thought was rock was in fact the
ruins of an enormous castle that looked suspiciously
like an A'ak construction. Vines, creepers and ferns
enveloped the ruins, making it look unkempt. Lights
appeared in dark holes as the Winged Ones came
closer. Bent figures scurried from the shadows.

Their captors folded their pinions and plunged
toward the ruins. Adalon gritted his teeth. He hated
feeling helpless, bound and carried as he was, but he
hesitated to use his thumb-claws on the net. It was
the only thing between him and a long, long fall.

With a jolt and a scrape, the Winged Ones landed,
running a few steps before dumping the net and
muttering complaints. Adalon stifled a grunt, then
hands pulled him upright to stand with his friends.
The Winged Ones unbound their legs and Adalon
flexed, trying to work them back to life.

'What a ride!' Simangee said. Her eyes caught the
lantern light. She hummed a few bars of a jaunty
tune. She turned to the watch leader, Kikkalak,
who was muttering with one of the Winged Ones
who had emerged from the shadows. 'You're so
lucky to be able to fly. I wish I could.'

Kikkalak narrowed her eyes. 'Quiet, A'ak. Do
not try to work your magic on me.'

'The A'ak are gone,' Targesh said. 'A long time ago.'

Kikkalak took two hopping steps. 'You lie,' she
hissed. 'The Great Enemy always lied to the Winged
Ones.'

'It's true,' Adalon said. 'The A'ak haven't been
seen in the seven kingdoms in ten thousand years.'

Kikkalak lifted her spear. 'You A'ak try to trick us.'

Adalon shook his head. 'The A'ak are gone, but
the land is facing another enemy. We've come to seek
your help.'

Kikkalak tilted her head to one side, disgust and
anger clear on her face, then, slowly, tilted it to the other
as she considered Adalon's words. Finally, she clacked
her beak. 'The Flightmother will deal with you.'