Sword Quest Read online

  The battle began.

  Each of the pirates realized he could take advantage of the new opportunities arising from the melee. “Look! Tender young birds,” one frigate bird yelled as he pointed at a row of nests on a ledge. He landed below the ledge before the parents could stop him. Fluffy fulmar chicks peeped over the edge with open mouths, and arc after arc of foul-smelling vomit hit the pirate in the face. “Ahh!” The frigate bird staggered back, wiping at his sticky face.

  “Silly of you. Fulmar chicks always do that!” another pirate snapped at him. “Let’s go over there! There is the gemstone that we need to steal back.” However, Aqual and four terns pelted him with broken oyster shells before he could get near the gem.

  Though the Qua, the seabird alliance, had only crude weaponry, they numbered no less than a hundred. Crowded onto the guano-streaked ledges, ten birds fought with every pirate.

  A tern dressed in checkered pink and red silk swiped at Wind-voice, who ducked and sliced off a piece of the fabric, trying to fight his way toward Stormac’s fallen body.

  Finally Rag-foot tried to organize his dirty pirates. “Now, all of you, get that strange dove! Get him! He’s worth a bag of treasures!” he shouted. The seabirds swarmed protectively around Wind-voice, swinging the rocks on their ropes. Then a well-aimed rock slammed on Rag-foot’s ragged toes. He screeched in pain and plummeted toward the sea. The other pirates stopped what they were doing and followed their captain, trying to steal the bangles and shark-teeth ornaments from their own leader. They fought among themselves. A few more blows from the Qua and they were driven away, still quarreling and wondering why they had come in the first place.

  After the skirmish, Wind-voice dashed down the cliff to where Stormac had fallen. The myna was lying unmoving on the beach. Every time the tide surged up, he bobbed and was carried a few inches farther toward the ocean. The sand around him was wet with blood.

  In a few more moments, Stormac would be lost in the tide. Wind-voice hovered above him, gripping Stormac’s clenched claws. Another wave hit them. Wind-voice could feel the pull of the receding tide as it swirled around Stormac’s body. I must be quick…. Wind-voice ground his beak through his tears. You won’t take him, ocean…he is my friend. He flapped his wings harder, dug at the sand with his free claw.

  Then he felt Stormac’s balled claws uncurl. “Let go, Wind-voice. It’s all right.” Another wave battered against them, and Wind-voice felt their grip loosen. He saw something faint—a sad smile?—on the myna’s face. “I won’t hinder you anymore,” Stormac whispered.

  No! Wind-voice lunged at his friend, and an overwhelming strength he did not know he had possessed in his blood. Suddenly he and Stormac were the only two birds in the world, and all he cared about was saving the myna. He held on fast to his dear friend, turned back toward the shore, and advanced, one strenuous wing beat at a time. The sun hanging low at the edge of the cliff seemed to burn into him.

  At last, the sand held firm under their claws. With one wing supporting Stormac, Wind-voice struggled toward the cliff. The myna’s warm blood flowed onto his feathers.

  Stormac coughed, his whole body shaking. He could feel Wind-voice’s strong heartbeat as he limped along.

  “A few more steps now,” Wind-voice said. The seabirds gathered around them, staring. Aqual started forward as if to help, but Wind-voice wanted to support Stormac alone.

  On a sunny patch of sand Stormac crumpled softly.

  “The wounds on your back!” Wind-voice said, trying to pull out the arrows. His voice was barely audible.

  “Right now, the pain in my heart is far worse than that of my skin.” Stormac struggled to lift his eyes and look at Wind-voice. “It’s too late to regret, I know. It’s strange, isn’t it…when I finally realize I’m wrong, I’m miles astray. When I am eager to seize life, its end is here.” With a feeble cough, the warrior turned his head back and pecked at the knot on his necklace. “Life’s a battle…I’ve lost….”

  “No…you’ve won, brilliantly,” Wind-voice whispered. He looked down in shock as Stormac held out the shining red berry necklace to him. “Stormac…”

  “Take it, take it, please. Then I will always be with you…” Stormac paused and shuddered. “All my life I keep making the same mistakes. Falling for the same temptations. Most of the time I knew beforehand that something was wrong…but I still did it. I…I will never know tomorrow.”

  Wind-voice crouched lower at the myna’s side, trying not to cry. The berry charm was heavy. It seemed to carry all the weight of the world. “You’ll be fine. Tomorrow will be better, brother.”

  “Do you still regard me as your brother?”

  “Yes, always, always.”

  “Brother…tomorrow…” Stormac’s eyes suddenly grew fixed on the setting sun. His beak opened rapidly twice, in two shallow breaths, and then he was still.

  The seagulls dug a hole in the rocky turf big enough for Stormac’s body. They stood in a row, white mourning sashes fluttering, as the myna was lowered into his grave. In the background, the wail of a traditional funeral tune sounded from a giant conch shell.

  Wind-voice wished Winger were there to play his harp, or Fleydur were there to sing. Tears rolled down his cheeks. My brother forever, he thought. Wind-voice felt utterly alone and chilled in the seawind.

  When we suffer the worst hardships, our destination may be just a step away.

  —FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  15

  THE BATTLE OF THE ICE PALACE

  Your Majesty,” said Kawaka, thumping his claws on his chest, “the ocean is in view.”

  Maldeor gulped down a cup of the medicine for his toothache. He knew, despite the pain distracting him, that it was time to organize his notes. During the journey from Castlewood, he had written feverishly when ever they set up camp. All his observations, his thoughts, even his conversations with Yin Soul he scribbled down. He took out a carefully wrapped package, undid all the layers of linen, and smoothed each page of the stack of papers and notes inside. His eyes trailed over the words of wisdom Yin Soul had imparted to him. “His words are deep and true. Maybe it would have been better if I had listened to him….” Maldeor whispered to himself. He shook his head, dismissing his doubts. He cut a piece of leather, wrapped it around the paper, and bit holes along the spine. After binding the pages securely with leather thongs, he caught up his quill, dipped it in gold ink, and scrawled on the cover:

  BOOK OF HERESY

  He paced up and down in his tent, waiting for the ink to dry. His sword, sheathed by his side, clanked as he restlessly moved about.

  Thoughtfully he drew the sword and gazed fondly at the plain steel blade.

  “You and I,” he cried in a theatrical voice, “we have been faithful companions. But soon, I shall have another weapon. You have served me well.”

  His eyes lit up as an idea popped into his head.

  He spun around and scuttled to the other side of the tent, where a mirror was propped. Head swaying, drunk with moonlight and arrogance, he raised his sword high in the air and waved it.

  “Hero, hero,” he proclaimed to the mirror, admiring the effect.

  Then he sheathed the sword once more, picked up the Book of Heresy, wrapped a layer of oilcloth around it, and flew off alone into the night. He would find a place to hide his book for safekeeping. He knew that if by any chance things went wrong on Kauria, his thoughts and ideas would survive him.

  The island of the seagulls faded into the distance behind Wind-voice as he soared over the waves. All the clues he had gathered so far made no sense to him. Find flowers amid ice. But no plants thrived when winter sent snow and ice to cover the land.

  “Well, south to the glaciers is as good a guess as any,” he said to himself. Had he been mad to go on this quest, just as Stormac had told him? Had he been too unrealistic to think that he, a former slave, a fledgling with no living family and no tribe, could do anything to help the hero?

  Stormac, maybe you were righ
t, he thought as he flew. Maybe finding the gems is a wild errand. I’m sorry, so sorry, that I brought you with me. You’d still be alive if I hadn’t…

  Blinded by tears, he didn’t notice the low, dark clouds swirling up over the horizon until suddenly he was engulfed in them. The wind that had been carrying him steadily along was suddenly uneven. Gusts blew up under his wings and tossed him from side to side.

  The clouds ahead of Wind-voice seemed to take on a shape. He stared in astonishment as a bird made of black mist spread ghostly wings and raised its head, lifting a huge beak. For a moment, before the winds tore the figure apart, it had looked like the toucan, rising once more to break his chains.

  Everything had seemed hopeless at that moment, too, when he’d been tied to that log in the river. Yet, somehow, he had survived. It would be foolish to give up now. He would keep trying.

  I was named for the wind, Wind-voice thought. I’ll let the wind decide what to do. He stiffened his wings, letting the wind take him where it would. The storm tossed and buffeted him but carried him gradually southwest.

  “Look at that, Fleydur!” Ewingerale cried. The two birds had been riding southward on the cold sea wind for two days now. “On that island, a huge white iceberg!

  “The old robin prophet predicted that there would be slashing teeth and fluttering wings in the southern ocean. Did he mean that archaeopteryxes would come?”

  Winger did a quick calculation. “Today is Hero’s Day. The archaeopteryx emperor is looking for the sword. Why would he be so frantic to come here? Unless he is scouring the four corners of the world, trying to find the strange gemstones fallen from the sky?”

  When they reached the glacier, they found a penguin standing on the slope, about to jump into the ocean.

  “We have urgent news for your tribe,” Fleydur cried. “Something terrible may happen.”

  “The archaeopteryxes, yes,” Ewingerale said. “They are finally coming south.”

  “Archaeopteryxes! Here!” The penguin gasped. He immediately led them inside a smooth, blue-white tunnel. Ice sculptures glistened at them from both sides.

  They traveled through the sparkling corridors. Many penguins slid by, sometimes in adjoining tunnels, their black-and-white reflections contorted into mysterious shapes by the undulating ice walls. At last they were led to a huge penguin sitting on an ice ledge in a pale blue hall. She was introduced as Lady Gwendeleine, and Ewingerale told her the travails of their journey.

  When he mentioned the gemstone, Lady Gwendeleine interrupted him.

  “Gemstone—sky! How…I mean, how do you know about it?” Lady Gwendeleine was surprised.

  “My own family had a strange faceted purple stone with carvings on it,” Fleydur confided to her. “We knew from the start it was something special—it just appeared out of nowhere. I thought we were the only ones to have something like that. Our journeys over the last few months showed that a couple of other tribes spread out over the archaeopteryx territories have similar gems, only differently colored.”

  “They’ve something to do with the legend of the hero, and the hero’s sword!” Ewingerale said. “The sword is in Kauria, Island of Paradise. Today is Hero’s Day. If I’m guessing right, Maldeor will certainly be among the archaeopteryxes who shall head here.”

  One penguin adviser wearing ice glasses spoke up. “Perhaps the archaeopteryxes are heading for an island a bit north of us,” he informed the eagle and the woodpecker. “It is a strange land hidden in the mists, which seems to move with the tide. Some time ago, when we swam to its shores, we were greeted by bright purple and green birds and given fruits to eat.”

  “Yes, there is that island. Perhaps it is Kauria,” Lady Gwendeleine reflected. “But they might be coming for something else, too, because we do have a gemstone. It’s pale blue.” She touched a panel of ice near her throne. The panel swung open to reveal a secret compartment. She took out a beautiful gemstone that seemed almost like a polished piece of ice.

  “‘Find the bird who flies through waters,’” Winger read. “Kauria sounds more magical by the minute. If it’s so difficult to find, the archaeopteryxes might mistake your island for Kauria. If they do, then we can take advantage of it. Certainly none of us wants the archaeopteryx emperor to get the sword. If we keep delaying Maldeor till Hero’s Day is over, then he won’t be able to stop the true hero from getting the sword.”

  “You’re right. We will distract them so that they will lose track of time. We will create a diversion with feast and song,” Lady Gwendeleine said.

  Ewingerale’s eyes twinkled as he whispered more ideas to the penguins, who nodded in agreement.

  “My lady!” A small penguin suddenly slid into view from a tunnel hidden in the ice and got up to salute. An ice telescope was hung around his neck. “We have sighted them, coming in a straight course!”

  The advancing archaeopteryx army, in full glory, swept across the sky in one huge V. Maldeor made sure the tip of this deadly avian arrowhead pointed southeast. He was headed toward Kauria. Perched on his great kite, Maldeor was protected inside the V. He frowned at a dark gray mass in the western sky. The air current became bumpier and bumpier.

  Then, all of a sudden, a huge white streak split the sky ahead. A terrible wind rippled the archaeopteryx ranks. Maldeor’s carriage bucked like a living thing. Gripping the bamboo frame tightly with his claws, his cloak flapping madly like extra wings, he screeched, “Careful! Careful! Veer a little east and avoid the storm!” Thunder rumbled. Raindrops the size of grapes pelted them.

  Maldeor uncurled a whip and snapped it above the bodies of the twelve geese pulling his carriage. “Faster, faster! If we get too wet, we’ll fall down!” A goose on the left could not keep up with the rest and was dropping altitude from fatigue. Growling, Maldeor leaned forward and cut off the leather harness from the faltering slave. The goose plummeted down and disappeared in a white circle of foam.

  Without the drag, Maldeor’s carriage moved faster. He waved his dripping wings in the air. “Don’t let the lightning strike us!”

  It’s never wise to battle with the army of nature. The archaeopteryxes drifted about like a tattered group of beggars. Once the storm had passed, they continued on south, faster than ever, trying to make up for lost time. They did not realize that they had missed Kauria altogether. While his feathers dried, Maldeor peered through a telescope. “Look, there’s Kauria!” he cried to Kawaka, his toothache temporarily forgotten as his confidence returned. He pointed to a huge white iceberg. “Direct the army to it!”

  “The clue said, ‘Find flowers amid ice.’ There’s ice on the island, but no flowers anywhere!” a scholar flying nearby protested.

  “Fool! Can’t you see that the clue is a literary metaphor? That huge iceberg looks just like a white water lily. Of course this is Kauria. Onward!” he yelled triumphantly.

  When the archaeopteryx army arrived above the island, Maldeor ordered guards to span overhead so that any other bird coming to find the sword would be stopped and killed. He, the geese, and the rest of his army landed. They folded up the carriage.

  “Welcome to our island,” a penguin said, greeting him. “Come in!”

  Maldeor followed him, gaping at the intricacy he saw all around him. Though he was familiar with riches and luxury, the mysterious splendor here was a sight to see. Some walls were so thin they were like glass, while others let only a blue shimmering light filter through.

  “This is indeed like paradise!” he exclaimed as he slid along the corridors. He grinned with delight when the penguin bowed and gestured for them to come into a low, wide hall. “What hospitality! A feast!”

  Scallops and clams were arranged in circles around heaps of pinkish krill. There was shining black fish roe and diced mackerel, shrimp, and seaweed. A huge silvery fish, the catch of the day, lay on a platter. Two penguins on either side were busy at work, using an ice saw to slice off succulent steaks. The centerpiece, a speckled red starfish, was the most eye-catching of
all.

  Most of the archaeopteryxes dug in eagerly, but Maldeor ate little because he kept thinking of the sword. “Thank you for all this,” he said politely to Lady Gwendeleine. “I was wondering, perhaps, if you might show me the hero’s sword?”

  “Which one do you mean? We have many. But a long way you’ve come! After you’ve eaten and rested, we’ll show you around.”

  Maldeor did not argue. He knew that he and his soldiers were in bad shape after their exhausting journey. He held an ice shard against his cheek to ease the pain of his toothache. All through the feast, while his soldiers buried their faces in their plates, he stole glances at the corners and the tunnels. Where is the phoenix, Pepheroh? Where are the other toucans? Then he caught sight of Ewingerale and Fleydur. What! Why are a woodpecker and an eagle here? Are they also trying to find the sword? The eagle looks tough.

  Maldeor signaled to one of his knights to keep an eye on the two. But then…maybe they actually do live on this cold island. It’s magical. Perhaps the phoenix and the rest are hidden somewhere. Perhaps this is a test.

  After the feast, the penguins gave a concert on their ice xylophones. Maldeor continued to worry. Today was Hero’s Day. The atmosphere was pleasant enough, but the weather was too cold for an archaeopteryx. If he could get the sword immediately, he would fly back to warmer lands.

  When the last music piece ended, Maldeor strode fretfully up to Lady Gwendeleine. “Lady, would you be so kind as to show me your swords now?”

  With Winger at her side, Gwendeleine nodded. “Come and bring the special swords,” she called into the empty tunnels, as planned. There was a soft pattering of feet on ice as stocky penguins entered, balancing weaponry on cushions on their toes. Each bowed courteously and asked Maldeor, “Sir, is this it?”

  Besides steel and iron swords, there were even ones made of ice. After inspecting twenty of them, he started to feel foolish and angry. Yin Soul had hinted that the magical sword had the eighth gemstone on its hilt. None of the swords here had a gemstone anywhere. There’s something behind this, he thought, narrowing his eyes. Something wasn’t right. Again his doubts clouded his mind, and then quickly he formed a plan.