The Missing Kin (8 page)

Adalon, Simangee and Targesh were marched
through the ruins at spearpoint. Torches and
lanterns nestled on ledges amid the dogged growth that
was reclaiming the stonework. And vegetation wasn't
all that had colonised the buildings. Adalon glimpsed
many scuttlings and whirrings in the shadows, while
clicks, chirps and soft hoots followed their progress.

'This is A'ak work,' Simangee muttered as they
passed under an archway smothered in creepers. 'This
whole place.'

'Quiet,' growled Kikkalak. She poked Simangee
with the butt of her spear, shepherding her and the
others toward a broken staircase.

They were brought into a large, open area. By
its size, Adalon guessed that it had once been a
hall or an assembly chamber of some kind. It was
roofless, open to a sky which glowed orange from
the grumbling mountain. The walls stretched up
high and ended raggedly, crowned with vines and
clumps of white flowers that gave off a heady, sickly
sweet perfume.

Around the perimeter of the open area, flares
were lit on poles. A raised platform stood at one
end, with a wooden throne in the middle. Adalon
and his friends were herded toward it.

Three winged figures dropped from the night
sky and landed on the dais, near the throne. Two
were armed with spears, but the last was smaller
and weaponless. She studied the prisoners for an
instant, then she assumed her throne. The guards
took position on either side.

Kikkalak thumped her spear on the stone floor.

'Hail, Flightmother!'

From the walls all around, scratchy voices echoed
Kikkalak's welcome: 'Hail, Flightmother!'

Adalon stared. The walls were alive. Dozens of
lanterns and torches sparked alight, accompanied
by rustling and whispering, scraping and shuffling.
Scores – no,
hundreds
– of Winged Ones were peering
down at them from ledges and perches amid the
plants that were overtaking the ruin. Their whispers
and mutters made it sound as if a great wind had
entered the hall.

'Oh,' Simangee said, her eyes reflecting the light.
'Such a wonder.'

Adalon nodded in mute agreement. The walls
were covered with flickering glimmers of light. It
looked as if the stars had come down to pay a visit.

With a wrench, he turned his attention back to
the Flightmother.

She was old. Adalon could see grey scales around
her muzzle and loose skin at her neck. Her eyes
were sharp, however, as she leaned forward with
interest. 'So these are the A'ak,' she said in a thin,
creaky voice. 'I had always wondered what they
looked like.'

An amazed whispering came from the Winged
Ones perched in the niches on the walls. The
Flightmother hushed the noise with a gesture.

'We are not the A'ak,' Adalon said. 'We are
ordinary saur who have come to seek your help.'

'They came through the Forbidden Gate, Flightmother,'
Kikkalak said. 'They must be the A'ak.'

The Flightmother waved down the watch leader.
'Careful, Kikkalak, remember the Way of the Wing:
To see better, fly higher – but not so high that your
head is in the clouds
.'

Targesh cleared his throat. 'The Way of the Horn
also has a saying:
Treat strangers well, for one day
you may be a stranger yourself
.'

The Flightmother made a dry, coughing sound
and it took Adalon a moment to realise she was
laughing. 'The Way of the Horn? Is that your code,
large one?'

'Aye.'

'But you've lost one of yours. What does that
mean?'

Targesh lowered his head and shifted his weight
before looking up again. 'We were in danger from
a creature of A'ak magic. If by breaking my horn I
could save my friends and redeem the honour of my
kind, it was the right thing to do.' He took a deep
breath. 'I used it to destroy the menace.'

Adalon felt for his friend. He had rarely heard
Targesh make so long a speech.

The Flightmother stood. 'Hear this, Winged
Ones, hear the youngling! Imagine if doing the
right thing meant giving up one of your wings!
Could you do it?'

More awed rustling greeted this as the Winged
Ones peered at the strangers and shared whispers.

Kikkalak spoke up, her voice shrill. 'Fair words
can hide a foul heart, Flightmother. Are not the A'ak
the liars who enslaved our ancestors?'

'How could we forget?' the Flightmother said.
She peered keenly at the three friends. 'The A'ak
were cruel deceivers. They were masters at getting
other saur to do their bidding.'

Low, angry whistles greeted this statement, the
elevated watchers expressing their displeasure.

'So,' the Flightmother said. 'Perhaps you are not
all A'ak. Perhaps one of you is, and has enslaved the
others.'

Adalon frowned. Where was the Flightmother
going with this?

The Flightmother snapped her beak. 'Done. If
one of you dies, the other two will go free. Tell me
which one of you is the A'ak.'

For a heartbeat, the three friends looked at each
other. Then Adalon stepped forward. 'Take me,
Flightmother. I am A'ak.'

Claws dug into his shoulder and Adalon stifled
a yelp as he was dragged back. 'No, don't listen to
him,' Simangee said as she vaulted past him. 'He's
a little daft. It's me you want, not him.'

Adalon was about to protest when he felt a
mighty hand on the back of his neck. Simangee
jumped when a similar one took her neck and gently
eased her aside. 'No,' Targesh said. 'It's me.'

Simangee stamped. 'Dolts! Don't you know
what's good for you? Just be quiet and let me take
care of this.'

'Flightmother,' Adalon appealed. 'They are
injured, weak, brain-fevered. They don't know what
they're doing. Take me.'

The Flightmother held up a hand. 'Enough,
enough.' Her eyes were bright in the torchlight. 'You
cannot be A'ak, none of you. The A'ak would never
volunteer themselves for death.'

'They wouldn't?' Simangee said.

'No. The A'ak were utterly selfish. They cared
nothing for others, only themselves.' She nodded.
'Be at peace. You all may live.'

Adalon let out a great breath. 'This was just a
test?'

'Just? There was no just about it. Each of you
was prepared to sacrifice yourself for your friends.
That is no small thing.'

Adalon glanced at Simangee and Targesh. They
all shared hesitant smiles. He felt honoured to have
such staunch friends. He knew he'd do anything for
them, and they for him.

The Flightmother gestured to the guards who
were holding Adalon, Simangee and Targesh.
'Release them. Bring them to my perch.'

Flanked by her personal guard, the Flightmother
went to the rear of the dais. The old Winged One
leaped into the air and was gone, disappearing into
the darkness beyond.

Once freed, the three friends were led through a
tumbledown doorway and up a flight of stairs. The
guards stayed close, but the Flightmother's command
had changed the way they treated the prisoners.
No more prodding with spear butts.

Kikkalak brought them through a curtain of
hanging leaves. Adalon looked around, then stopped
still. Targesh bumped into his back. 'Careful,' Adalon
said, putting out a hand to prevent Simangee bustling
into the room.

Targesh grunted and took a step back.

Opposite, where once a solid wall had stood,
the entire side of the room was open to a dizzying
drop. The smoking mountain was close by, to the
right, belching more fire. By its lurid light, Adalon
could see jungle stretching out in front of them.
They were high above the crowns of the tallest trees,
and Adalon swallowed, putting a hand on the stone
doorway, glad to feel its solidity. An iron bar had
been hammered into the floor and projected out into
empty space. On it was the Flightmother.

She made the dry laughing sound again. 'You
don't like the view?'

'The view is a wonder,' Simangee said. 'I just don't
like the idea of falling out while I'm admiring it.'

More laughter. 'We Winged Ones forget about
things like that. It must be sad to be earthbound.'

'We're accustomed to it,' Adalon said. 'It reminds
us that we belong to the land.'

The Flightmother hopped from her perch and
came close. She peered at each of them. 'Strange as it
may seem, so do we, youngling. The air is our home,
our domain, but we know that everything – in the
end – comes from the land and returns to it.'

Adalon bowed his head for a moment. The
Flightmother's words gave him confidence. 'The land is
in danger, Flightmother,' he said. 'It needs your help.'

'Ah. The A'ak have returned?'

Adalon frowned. 'No. They haven't been seen in
Krangor for ten thousand years.'

'That is good.' She paused. 'They will return, you
know.' The Flightmother jerked her head angrily.
'Every Flightmother has known this. We each pray
that it will not happen in our own lifetime.'

'The threat, Your Majesty, comes from Thraag,
one of the seven kingdoms. The Queen of Thraag
wants to conquer and rule all Krangor.'

The Flightmother stared. 'She's mad. That will
break the compact with the land. It will rebel.'

'She thinks she is doing it for the good of the saur.
One kingdom, one ruler.'

The Flightmother was silent for a moment. Then
she clacked her beak. 'Not an ignoble aim. Peace,
prosperity, all saur united – '

'But at what cost?' Simangee said. 'War, blood,
death for many.'

'No more bond with the land,' Targesh rumbled.

The Flightmother stalked to her perch. She hopped
into the air, flapped once, then gripped the iron bar
with her foot claws and looked out at the smoking
mountain. 'We came here long, long ago, fleeing the
A'ak.' She turned, the orange mountain light reflecting
in her eyes. 'They made us, you know.'

Adalon's eyes widened. 'The A'ak made you?'

'Winged Ones existed before the A'ak, but only
as dimwitted cousins of the saur. We had no hands,
you see.' She stretched out her wings. Adalon
could see the fiery mountain's glow through them.
'Before the A'ak, we could not grasp tools. The A'ak
used their magic to change us, giving us arms and
hands separate from our wings. We were meant to
be their slaves, to be their magnificent soldiers of
the air.'

Adalon's tail twitched as he imagined the A'ak
commanding legions of Winged Ones. Combined
with the fierce A'ak land armies, they would never
have been defeated. 'You refused.'

'Of course. We who had tasted the freedom of the
air could not submit to the rule of others. We resisted,
we fought, but our young race was no match for the
might of the A'ak. Some of our ancestors managed
to flee and find refuge here, in the Fiery Isles.' She
laughed – again the dry whistling sound. 'Strange,
isn't it? We found a place the A'ak had abandoned
and took it for our own. For age upon age we've
lived here, our numbers growing, but always fearing
that the A'ak would find us.' She paused. 'It is good
to hear they are gone.'

'You never returned to Krangor?' Simangee
asked.

'Never, much as we wanted to. The A'ak were
everywhere on the continent. We hid, and feared
their return to the Fiery Isles.' The Flightmother
hissed. 'A single lesson in the Way of the A'ak was
drummed into our ancestors when they were still
slaves:
Patience, endurance, revenge
. That's all.
Patience, endurance, revenge
.'

Adalon shivered. He heard Simangee flute a soft,
mournful sound. Targesh shook his neck shield. 'But
will you help us against the Queen of Thraag?' he
repeated.

The Flightmother paused again. She cocked her
head to one side. 'Our traditions say that one day we
will return to Krangor. When the time is right.'

A deep rumble came from the smoking mountain.
Adalon felt the stone floor tremble beneath his feet.
The Flightmother stretched her neck and gazed at
the jets of molten rock bursting from the mountain
vent. In the distance, over the sea, other mountains
answered, roaring and grumbling. The sky was thick
with smoke and Adalon's eyes stung.

He pointed. 'The time is right now. The land is
in danger from Queen Tayesha's madness. Help it.
Help us.'

'For the good of all saur,' Targesh said.

'You're needed,' Simangee said.

'It will be the innocents who suffer most,' Adalon
said, 'if Queen Tayesha goes ahead with her plan
to invade and conquer each of the other kingdoms.
Males, females, children who have no part in the
great plans of queens and generals – they will lose
their homes as armies trample through. They will
starve. They will be enslaved. They will die.'

'Aye,' said the Flightmother. Her wings crept
around her slight body and she bowed her head.

'Come home,' Simangee urged. 'Come home to
Krangor.'

The Flightmother glanced sharply at Simangee.
Then she opened and closed her beak before hunching
her shoulders in thought.

Adalon looked down at the landscape of ash and
jungle, turned ruddy by the mountain's glow. Further
away, the other five islands grumbled in the night.
Adalon glanced at his friends. Targesh brooded, his
brow furrowed, brawny forearms clasped together.
Simangee fidgeted, her tail twitching, her gaze never
still, her crest nodding to music only she could
hear.

The Flightmother looked up, her face firm. 'It is
not our battle. We will remain here.'

Adalon was downcast, but he understood the
Flightmother. Why should the Winged Ones join
them? Here, they had peace and safety. A struggle
against Queen Tayesha promised nothing but pain.

But Simangee was not so resigned. 'You can't
abandon Krangor!' she burst out. 'If Queen Tayesha
is successful, it will mean the end for us all.'

The Flightmother was silent for a moment. 'Not
for us all. The Fiery Isles do not belong to Krangor.
We left Krangor behind long ago.'