Sword Quest Page 10

  The young bird flew up to greet them. “My tribe lives on an island not far away.” He had a harpoon in his claws.

  The two birds gladly followed the gull, but the mighty wind was treacherous. Whenever they tried to double their speed, it blew more savagely, enough to make them feel as if they were not making progress, or even slipping backward. The sea below churned and churned. They could hear the waves crashing and the foam hissing. What was frightening, however, was that they could see none of it, as the rain clouds above deposited what seemed like an ocean’s worth of water upon them.

  “It’s storm season,” explained the gull over the wails and howls of the wind. “Do be careful!”

  “I don’t think we can fly against this wind for much longer,” Stormac cried.

  “There!” Wind-voice yelled, spotting something on one of the islands. “It looks like a cave!”

  “You’re right!”

  The gull squinted at the blurry dark shape and called to them, “I’ve seen it from a distance before, but I’ve never been inside. Still, anywhere is better than being out in the weather now!”

  “Quick!” Stormac called. They landed just inside the cave, exhausted and wet. The air was damp and warm, but there was a faint smell of metal and drying seaweed. They all edged backward out of the wind.

  Of the three, Stormac disliked water the most. He backed into the cave as fast as possible, but suddenly he stopped. A sharp, painful prick on his spine sent shivers through him. Was that the knife of an enemy who had slyly waited for this chance to kill them all when they were vulnerable? He stiffened. His blood went cold, colder than the freezing seawater.

  With his heart throbbing, he jerked out his staff and whirled around.

  “Stop where you are!” he shouted at the darkness.

  There was a faint hiss as Wind-voice lit a match. The quivering circle of light fell upon the enemy.

  With a gasp, Stormac dropped his staff and stumbled, sitting down hard. The other birds stared.

  The enemy was a grinning gold statue of a merry little bird holding silver flowers, gemstones embedded in the center of each blossom. Its “sword” was only a long, protruding leaf in the metal bouquet.

  They looked at one another and found themselves all tensed as if ready to fight. Stormac started to laugh.

  “Just a statue!” he tittered, rubbing the sore spot on his back. “Oh my! Getting all upset over this little dancing bird with the flowers.”

  But the gull said, “Look!” and Wind-voice lit a second match.

  Beyond the statue, in big piles, were coins and bars of gold and silver; strings of pearls; necklaces of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires; rings of diamonds, opals, and amber; bracelets of jade, turquoise, and crystal. They sparkled with a dangerous glimmer in the match’s light.

  They all noticed a deep blue stone, faceted and faintly glowing, a little ways off. Wind-voice hopped over and picked the gem up. He turned it over, finding markings.

  “What! It’s the sacred gemstone that was stolen from my tribesbirds and friends!” From behind Wind-voice, the gull’s voice grew shrill. “I’m flabbergasted!”

  They peered at it silently. Another gem with a clue, thought Wind-voice. He tried to read it, but his matches were spent and the light was too dim.

  The pieces of the stand for the gemstone are here, too!” The seagull collected scattered pieces of coral and started reassembling them. Wind-voice and Stormac roused themselves and helped as well. As Wind-voice wandered over near one wall, Stormac and the gull looked near the other. Suddenly a great sparkle caught the myna’s eye. It was a piece of carved red crystal, and it was shaped like a strawberry. Stormac lifted the crystal strawberry up and compared it side by side with the wooden strawberry around his neck. His eyes grew wider when he saw how similar they were. Surely a crystal pendant was better to wear than a flimsy wooden one. “Is this your tribe’s?” he asked the gull, who shook his head.

  “We’ll go to your tribe and return the gem tomorrow, after the weather breaks,” Wind-voice was saying.

  The gull nodded. The gem’s stand was assembled now and held the gem. “But Great Spirit!” he whispered, and shivered. He shuffled his webbed feet, edging toward the cave’s entrance, away from the horde of valuables. “To think that we are to spend the night with this.”

  Stormac’s big eyes reflected the glow of the treasure, and he murmured, “But that’s silver! That’s gold! Look, all sorts of trinkets! What riches! They would last lifetimes.” He also thought again of the crystal strawberry.

  “Riches that have an evil glow,” Wind-voice said.

  “Pirates’ loot,” agreed the gull.

  “Don’t touch them, Stormac,” Wind-voice warned. “If we take anything that belongs to birds we don’t know, we might be mistaken for the actual robbers if we chance to meet those birds!”

  “Oh.” Stormac moaned slightly but joined the others in moving away from the loot. He wanted the crystal strawberry.

  That night, as the gale still raged, the three birds stayed put. While the two other birds slept, Stormac’s eyes were open, riveted on the treasures, feasting on the radiance. I could leave my staff in this cave tomorrow morning and pretend to forget it, he thought. Then I’ll be able to come back to retrieve it… After he managed to fall asleep, he dreamed of the little statue of the bird holding the flowers dancing around and around, chanting in a singsong voice to the clinking of jewels and coins, “Oh, look at us! Gold! Silver! Take us, take us, take us and you will be happy forever…”

  The next morning the sky was so clear that it seemed as if it had been washed and scrubbed clean of yesterday’s dirty gray clouds.

  Stormac was quieter than usual all morning. The three birds had a soggy meal and left the pirates’ cave, flying toward the gull’s island home, the biggest island in the archipelago.

  Since Wind-voice was preoccupied with the discovery of the seagull’s gem, Stormac managed to avoid his attention, flying behind his two companions. By and by he said to the young seabird, “Ah! Forgot my staff. I’ve got to fetch it. Be back in a couple of wing beats’ time. Don’t tell Wind-voice. I don’t want him to worry.”

  The island appeared on the horizon. The seagull, sensing nothing wrong in particular, nodded and kept silent. The myna sped away.

  Stormac’s wing beats grew quicker the closer he got to the cave. When he reached it, he snatched up his staff, lying under the flower-bearing statue, and hopped farther inside. Within a few seconds he was standing, lost in ecstasy, the prized crystal strawberry in his claws. How realistic it was! His beak almost watered. He was about to untie his necklace and replace the drab pendant with the new one when a thought struck him—if he went back with the crystal berry on his neck, Wind-voice was bound to notice and question him. If he stuffed it somewhere in a knapsack, Wind-voice might see it sooner or later, too.

  The conversation with Wind-voice from the day before floated into his mind. A voice deep inside him said, You know it is wrong, Stormac. What about your wooden strawberry? Remember what it is supposed to remind you of—your past.

  “I have no need for this,” Stormac said firmly. He flung the strawberry away with all his might. He must not be lured. The crystal landed somewhere deeper in the cave.

  He was about to turn and leave when he saw a beautiful ivory club, its handle studded with tiny rubies, laying within a few clawsteps. In an instant a picture formed in his mind—Stormac the myna, in battle against the archaeopteryxes, wielding his glittering white club, famed in legend and song. He dropped his shabby wooden staff, ran over, picked the club up, and hefted it. It wasn’t like the crystal strawberry, after all. This was a weapon. It was useful.

  But then the little voice inside him said, Your wooden staff is good enough for you. It’s tough, realiable, and solid, like you are. You know that you just want this elaborate thing; you don’t need it.

  Stormac reluctantly let the sparkling weapon fall from his claws. “That’s true. Must get the needs a
nd wants straightened out,” he muttered.

  His eyes, searching for his old wooden staff on the floor, focused next on a compass. Wind-voice hadn’t seen that yesterday. Now, this was definitely something necessary. It would be foolish, after all, to travel so far with nothing to guide them. They might be grateful for it later on. The voice inside him hummed in agreement. He picked the instrument up with confidence and would have marched out of the cave if he hadn’t suddenly smelled a terrible odor, then felt a shadow fall across him.

  “Shiver my feathers! If that isn’t one of those birdies on the archaeopteryxes’ wanted posters,” a harsh voice exclaimed.

  This time the enemy was real.

  Self-blame stings more than putting salt on one’s wounds.

  —FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  14

  BROTHER FOREVER

  Where’s Stormac?” Wind-voice said quizzically when he and the gull almost arrived at the island.

  “Oh, he forgot his staff and he went back to fetch it. He said not to worry; he would be back quickly. I think he will have no problem finding us here.”

  Indeed, the large island was easy to locate and the place where the seabirds lived was hard to miss. Dozens of nesting petrels, gulls, albatrosses, and tropic birds had formed an alliance, called the Qua.

  Chief Aqual’s sallow cheeks lifted into a smile when he saw the gem. “Thank you, thank you! Those cruel pirates have limited us in many ways…but now our treasure is back. This calls for a celebration. Take out the stores from our cellar and share our food with our new friend!”

  All the birds present hushed as a dozen fishes were carried out to the stone table.

  “Please help yourself to our fish,” Aqual said kindly, but Wind-voice was rooted to the stone ledge. The fishes were curled up as if in embarrassment of their half-rotten, mildewed state. One fish’s round shriveled eye stared at Wind-voice. How poor these birds must be, and still they share their food! he thought. When Wind-voice looked up, he found that dozens of birds had crowded around the table.

  “Why don’t you eat too?” he asked.

  “Guests first,” said the leader, smiling.

  Wind-voice ate a pungent sliver out of politeness. Soon, the rest of the seabirds joined in, rapidly devouring the fishes. A sealed pot was carried up to them by several tottering gulls. It was the second course. The gulls opened the clay jar, and a slippery, shiny green-gray mass, cut in thin slices, was solemnly hooked out and placed in scallop shells. Beaks opened and murmurings of aah swept through the crowd. Some birds drooled in anticipation. Right beside Wind-voice, a small gull chick’s mouth gaped open and it nearly fainted at the sight of the rare food.

  “Spicy pickled kelp,” said Aqual with evident delight.

  For the final course, the gulls served coconuts. Most of the fruits were not green but a deep brown, and the few green ones were unripe. The sour odor that came from the bruised skin of one was sickening.

  The chief had been beaming at Wind-voice, but now he looked ashamed. “Alas,” he said apologetically, “the coconut trees on our islands have just been raided by the pirates. However, do try them; they are more nutritious than the preserves, and being so aged, they have actually acquired a flavor very close to ale.”

  “I have something to contribute to the feast as well.” Wind-voice took off his sack and poured half of his remaining supplies into a pile. The gulls stared at the acorn-flour cakes, raisins, thistleseed bread, and dried worms before them. Wind-voice took a fragment of acorn and ate it to demonstrate. Small seabirds unknowingly drifted forward, their beaks opening and closing in time with his. The chicks leaned out of their nests, their heads bobbing with hunger.

  “Thank you, thank you!” Aqual said thickly, and the group of seabirds fell upon the food, eating happily, saving bits for the old, the young, and the weak among them.

  Contented, thankful smiles grew on faces as the food diminished. Wind-voice told them of his journey to stop Maldeor from getting the hero’s sword.

  “I have heard that the carvings on the gem contain some hidden wisdom,” said Aqual thoughtfully. “Still, we have nobird with us who can read Avish, I’m afraid. Our lives are so hard now that all must strive to find food every day; we have no time for scholarship.” He held out the gemstone and gazed at it sadly.

  Wind-voice leaned in. “It looks like it says, ‘Find flowers amid ice.’ Avish! Oh, I miss Ewingerale,” said Wind-voice slowly, then looked up in alarm. “And where’s Stormac? He should be here by now.”

  “Look here, mateys! What a nice catch we’ve got!” a pirate sniggered, scratching a salt-crusted beak.

  The twenty or so jaegers, skuas, and frigate birds chortled. Sleek and shimmering in scraps of silk and satin, they piled around the entrance of the cave. Stormac looked around frantically. He was trapped.

  Captain Rag-foot squeezed himself in front, waving a curved dagger. “Stop the fool laughing, you lot.” A skua, speckled brown and riddled with fleas, he wore strings of shark teeth draped around his neck and shoulders, and the webbing on one of his feet was mangled.

  Rag-foot jabbed his dagger at the myna. “My scout here says you were spotted with the white one, the one worth the biggest reward. Where has he gone?”

  “You must have seen a small cloud.” Stormac tried to muster his bravery. “I don’t know who you’re speaking of.”

  “Cloud! Imprudent bird, tell us what you know.” The pirates stepped closer.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Rag-foot clacked his beak. “Certainly there are things to tell! Why are you here? This is our cave.”

  “I was—”

  “Passing by? A woodland myna, yes, very likely. Your companion took the blue gemstone, too.” Rag-foot stared at the myna for a long time. Stormac could not think of anything to say. Around him, pirates twiddled with their bludgeons and knives.

  The silence was abruptly broken by smacking eating sounds. “Hmm…the reward for this one is plenty, but it says only the head is required,” Rag-foot called to another pirate, a smirk settling on his face. “He looks nice and juicy. Lots of fat on him. Seize him and build a cooking fire.”

  To Stormac’s dismay, he was bound to his own staff. “You careless fool,” he moaned to himself, but it was too late for regrets now.

  A pirate pulled out an enormous cooking pan the size of a tub. Two birds crouched on their bellies to blow at the coals, and a third poured coconut oil into the pan.

  “Now,” said Captain Rag-foot, “pluck him!”

  Beaks shot forward and grabbed Stormac’s feathers. His head spun and he writhed in pain. “No! Stop!” he cried.

  Rag-foot gestured and his minions stepped back. “Tell us immediately where the white bird went,” he growled. “Speak up!”

  “I don’t know,” Stormac whimpered. A pirate came forward and tore another clump of feathers away. “I don’t know…I really…don’t…”

  The captain shook his strings of shark teeth and glared. “Enough! Fry him!”

  A dirty seabird wearing a bandanna dragged Stormac and his staff to the sizzling pan. Four birds, two on each side, raised him over the pan and lowered him slowly.

  Stormac screamed and screamed as the hot oil splattered onto his bare skin where his feathers had been torn away. “If you lead us to the white bird, you might not end up in our bellies,” Captain Rag-foot added sweetly as he squashed a flea in his feathers.

  No, Stormac thought. I can’t. Not Wind-voice. I can’t betray him. But the pain filled his mind until he could think of nothing else. “All right! I will!” he agreed.

  The pirates pulled him from the pan. One came forward and snapped a chain around Stormac’s right foot. Three pirates held the other end of the leash.

  “You must promise to draw him out in the open for us. Don’t you dare try leading us on some false trail,” the pirate captain warned. “Or there will be worse to come for you…”

  Stormac gulped, nodding.

  All along
the way, he flew as slowly as he dared. His eyes couldn’t see properly, but this time the mirage was not in the sky but in his head. He remembered how, when others, even Fisher, had sometimes had faint doubts about him because of his past, Wind-voice had never seemed to doubt him for an instant. He remembered the times when he had fought side by side with Wind-voice, together driving the enemy away. He remembered how Wind-voice proclaimed that they were brothers. What a wonderful friend Wind-voice was! The bird was always caring for others.

  Now I am betraying him, Stormac thought. So selfish. So terrible. The tears of shame in his eyes nearly blinded him. Could he truly do it?

  “Where is Stormac?” Wind-voice said again, pacing the cliffs in agitation. He looked up and scanned the sky…and this time he saw a figure winging his way. It was the myna, all right, yet strangely he was not holding his staff. A chain trailed from his feet.

  Wind-voice jumped into the air to greet his friend.

  Stormac banked, screaming, “Stop, Wind-voice! Go back! Pirates!”

  The myna darted toward Wind-voice, wings outstretched as a hissing rain of arrows filled the sky behind him. But none hit Wind-voice. The myna’s outspread wings protected the white bird from harm.

  Wind-voice dove forward, but before he could reach Stormac, a swarm of figures surged up and over the myna, blocking him from sight. In the motley group of outcasts a bedraggled frigate bird held an outrageously curved sword while a swaggering jaeger clutched a spiked bludgeon. Wind-voice saw flashes of silk and gold among the extravagant weaponry. Despite their diversity, what unified them was their greed and their stink of rotten fish.

  “Stormac!” Wind-voice screamed. He charged, spinning his sword to hack the pirates away. Behind him, the seagulls burst out of their caves, holding fish spears and swinging rocks on ropes.

  “Robbers!” they screeched.

  “Murderers!”

  “We won’t stand this anymore!”