Sword Quest Read online

  Forlath turned to Stormac. “My father is not yet well, so I will help you. I will fly the range, gather forces far and wide, and amass an army. We shall meet you in the frigid seas.” He dipped his golden head. “One warrior’s promise to another.”

  And so, as Forlath departed to gather allies, Wind-voice and Stormac set off for the loneliest, coldest lands.

  The eagle chieftain’s health grew better day after day, and it was not long before he was spotted flying alone, slowly, to the tallest pine on Sword Mountain. Gazing at the starry night sky, he took a deep breath.

  “Fleydur…” His old voice crackled as he cried to the wind. “Fleydur, your father misses you…”

  We who are alive have no idea how desperately the dead struggle to come back to the mortal world.

  —FROM THE BOOK OF HERESY

  12

  THE LAST DEAL

  The dried claws, gripping a piece of charcoal, added a stain to the queue of tallies on the stone wall above the mantle. He counted silently. “No!” The charcoal fell from his claws.

  For Yin Soul, time was measured in months, until today. After their first meeting, Maldeor had had to come to him at the end of every month to drink a potion that infused power into Yin Soul’s magical wing. How Yin Soul flattered and soothed Maldeor at each meeting, advising the archaeopteryx of his quest! Yin Soul needed time to ensure that he would win Maldeor’s trust completely. If only I had been more careful with 013-Unidentified! That bird, with his honesty, would have been a better victim. He regretted his folly, especially when he discovered from Maldeor that 013-Unidentified was also seeking the gemstones.

  Yin Soul’s claws closed into fists. If he had had a heart still, it would have writhed in his chest like a slimy, dying grub. Just a week, just a week! Only a week till his pending destruction: the day of the arrival of a hero. “I must live, live, live…!” Yin Soul strode back and forth across his room looking wildly around, snatching books out of his high shelves. Then, with a distracted howl, he tossed them aside. No books could save him now from his doom, but Maldeor could.

  “If he would agree to swallow my essence!” Yin Soul talked rapidly to himself, his voice growing shriller by the second. “If he would swallow it! Maldeor, Maldeor! Oh, tricky, evil, scheming Maldeor! Once I am inside your body, your soul will gradually die, you hateful bird…but I need you. Savior and fool, come! Come! Yes, he must save me. He will!” Yin Soul’s voice crackled like thunder.

  Then there was an echoing noise. Startled, like a tiny sparrow in the shadow of a hawk, Yin Soul froze and fell silent. His hunchbacked figure cast a crooked shadow on the bookshelves. The noise came again, louder and more insistent now:

  Caw! Caw! Caw!

  “He comes, he comes,” Yin Soul muttered solemnly, rubbing his forelimbs slowly together as he prepared for the last deal—the ultimate trick, the meanest lie.

  He closed his shriveled eyelids. He stood straight as the wind from the raven messenger fluttered his manteau. He waited for the thump of something dropped onto his carpet, and only then did he slowly turn around.

  “Greetings, Maldeor.”

  Maldeor picked himself up from his fall. “Mentor, normally the wing potion gives me strength for a month of flying. Why am I here when only four days have passed?”

  “You must have worked hard, Maldeor, following your quest and ruling your empire at the same time. Ah, it must have put strain upon the magic of the potion…But toiling so hard, you have found many clues, have you not?” Yin Soul tucked the claws of his forewings into his manteau and inclined his head.

  “Of course!” Maldeor said crisply. “One clue I found from actual gemstones; one from you, Mentor, about Hero’s Day. I learned more from a foolish toucan from Kauria.” His face glowed with venomous pleasure.

  “But do you have them all?”

  Maldeor’s pale eyes turned brittle. “I have something better than gems—I know where Kauria itself is.” He leaned forward. “Give me the wing potion. I must depart for Kauria, and the flight will be a hard one.”

  Yin Soul picked up the skull of a bird. In it sloshed the silvery draft. Maldeor almost snatched it, he took it so fast. Head bent, he stretched out a leathery, freckled tongue and violently started lapping up the magic potion.

  “You don’t, do you!” Yin Soul advanced toward the archaeopteryx. Maldeor stopped drinking. “You don’t have all the clues to the sword.” Yin Soul shook his head. “What are you going to do about that, Maldeor, eh? It would be a pity, getting so close, you know, so close! Then, losing it all.”

  The archaeopteryx finished his draft. “Are you saying that I’m a foolish hatchling with half an eggshell over my head? My wits are enough to cover the clues I don’t have!” He was smiling dangerously, his eyes forming into triangular slits.

  “You are clever, little emperor, but do you want to risk losing the sword?”

  Maldeor flipped his bloodshot eyes up to Yin Soul. “No,” he said slowly. “What else can I do?”

  It is time! I shall return to the living world soon! Yin Soul thought. “Remember, Maldeor? Remember when I first met you and gave you your wing, I said that I would have an even better deal for you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, what do you think of the wing? Isn’t it fine? This deal would outshine it. Do you want it?”

  “Yes, do tell me, Mentor.” Maldeor whispered fervently.

  Yin Soul turned aside so that shadows veiled his face. He took a plate from his desk. He must! He must accept this. He will! He opened his beak, strings of shiny saliva sticking to his teeth. His eyes rolled backward and he started coughing vigorously, the veins popping up in his neck, and making nasal noises that echoed in the room.

  He made one last great whoop, and something slid slowly out of his beak and splattered onto the plate he was holding.

  Then Yin Soul wiped his beak with a sleeve. He turned to face Maldeor, who had gone pale beneath his feathers.

  “Drink it! Drink it heartily!” He held the plate under Maldeor’s beak.

  Maldeor felt his own throat contract. An awful smell of rotting flesh triggered an urge to vomit, so he didn’t dare to open his beak. His gaze fastened onto the contents of the plate: What was that generous dollop of something the color of liver—dull brownish purple, flecked with swirls of gray and slightly steaming?

  Disgust almost overwhelmed him. “What is it? What will it do?”

  “Maldeor—oh, Maldeor, if you swallow it”—Yin Soul’s voice was getting higher—“your wing will never need a potion again! Never, I promise you!”

  “Really?” That was something. Maldeor’s beak moved a little closer toward the thick slime.

  “Yes, and if you drink it, you will most definitely get the sword. I assure you, you shall be a hero!” Yin Soul could hardly conceal the feverishness in his voice.

  Maldeor was elated. Yin Soul watched with equal rapture as the archaeopteryx held the plate and made a motion as if to scoop the purple goo into his open beak. Then suddenly the archaeopteryx stopped. Yin Soul’s smile wavered.

  “You still haven’t told me what this is,” Maldeor said. His eyes flashed as realization dawned upon him.

  Yin Soul watched, twitching, wanting to shout, No!

  “Nothing is ever free in this world,” Maldeor whispered. “Why—”

  “I want to help you, guide you, my dear pupil!” Yin Soul gushed. “Give you chances, watch you grow! If you drink it, I will be with you, inside your body. I have skill!”

  Maldeor started to put the plate down.

  “No, Maldeor—oh, you don’t know. You will make wrong choices without me; you will fall into traps. You stand little chance of getting the sword!”

  “I don’t need you stuck to me like some leech. So you want to share the glory with me? I alone shall be the hero. I’ve proven that already. What do you know? I can get the sword, and I will!” Maldeor tossed the plate aside. It shattered against the stone wall. Yin Soul bolted to retrieve his essenc
e. The way Yin Soul ran struck Maldeor as somewhat familiar. He gasped in surprise when Yin Soul tripped on his own sash and the manteau came apart. One leg was a wooden peg. The other was like a wing.

  Scenes flashed before Maldeor’s eyes—the battle with the dove tribe, the gemstone in the prince’s claws, the monster leaping out. More scenes came, faster and faster, till his vision was nearly blinded, stamped with the blurring profile of the four-winged dinosaur. “You! You are that winged creature!” Maldeor’s roar was pure horror and hatred. He could almost hear again the royal prosecutor proclaiming him a criminal, then the chop and thud of the scythe, the crack of bone and the hiss as blood spurted out, the plop when his severed wing fell onto the dust. He could almost feel again that pain.

  Yin Soul scrambled over, turning his head in all directions like a madbird. “No, I’m not! Please!” he howled. “Please, Maldeor!” He crouched at the archaeopteryx’s feet, claws holding tight to Maldeor’s leg. Again and again he kowtowed, sobbing. In his forewing he held his stinky, jelly-like essence upward toward Maldeor beseechingly.

  “Get off!” Maldeor kicked Yin Soul.

  “No, Maldeor…I gave you a wing…I gave you power!”

  “If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have been stripped of my rank, accused of treason! I would have never been de-winged! I would have never been cast out! All my troubles were because of you. I deserve this new wing. You gave me nothing! I owe you nothing!” Maldeor yelled for the raven to take him out.

  “What are you talking about? There are so many of my kind out there…you must have mistaken me for another creature! No, don’t leave me…You can’t…” Yin Soul gasped. His eyes peered up at Maldeor. Tears were streaming down Yin Soul’s face, real ones this time.

  The raven messenger beat his wings and hovered about Maldeor, who jumped up and grabbed his feet. They started to rise. Yin Soul fumbled with his torn sash and drew out a magical knife capable of separating a body from a spirit. Grunting, he rose into the air and slashed at Maldeor. Feathers floated to the ground. When he finally managed to get the blade against Maldeor’s throat, he hesitated. He is my last hope…

  In that moment of hesitation, the raven and Maldeor rose out of Yin Soul’s prison. Yin Soul’s knife dropped to the ground. He fluttered up as high as he could go in the confines of his dwelling, his face a wrinkled contortion of pain as he screamed and pounded madly on the walls—boom, boom, boom! His eyes desperate and shining brightly, he flung out his crooked forewing at Maldeor’s disappearing figure.

  “Your wing shall not last you across the ocean! You will come back tomorrow! YOU WILL!”

  Everything is ready. Provisions are packed, soldiers fed and trained, clues studied—so why am I still nervous? Only six more days left. One hundred and forty-four hours…How many of those hours are to be spent flying over a tossing ocean? The magic wing was already jerking in spasms. Curse Yin Soul…but I’m not flying! I’ve already arranged for a sky carriage to be built just last evening when I came back from Yin Soul, so why am I still nervous? Maldeor moaned in his sleep and threw off the sheets. The silk felt sticky and suffocating. By his cushioned hollow, his leather armor was laid out piece by piece, with his sword alongside it.

  Outside, the sun, deep yellow like Yin Soul’s eyes, rose slowly above the horizon.

  You will come back tomorrow! YOU WILL!

  A strange wind picked up in the valley. Vitelline, brown, and khaki, the archaeopteryx empire’s tooth-edged flag fluttered wildly above the castle. The design in the center, an archaeopteryx wing, shook like a drowning bird’s limb. Then the wind drifted lower and lifted the curtains of Maldeor’s chamber.

  One bright ray of sun seized the chance and darted through.

  It fell across the face of the sleeping Maldeor, shining on the teeth of his half-opened beak. Will I go back? Will I need Yin Soul’s help? The curtains fell back again and the light was gone, but Maldeor started to shiver and his breathing grew faster and faster. No, I don’t…I don’t! I am myself, and only myself. Is that you, raven messenger? Fly back—I will not go! I shall not see Yin Soul today! Be gone, Yin Soul. Away! Away! Away! When I get the hero’s sword, I won’t need your potion anymore. His claws fluttered aimlessly on his embroidered silk sheets like heavy moths; suddenly they scrunched up the fabric.

  Maldeor sat bolt upright, his eyes bulging like eggs, his claws gripping his wide-open beak.

  “Ah—ah—ah…!”

  The unearthly scream tore through the castle, ripping apart the silence. In frightened unison, the three hundred birds of the archaeopteryx army sat up rigid on their perches.

  Maldeor had a toothache.

  He rolled to the left: The pain erupted there. He rolled to the right, and it did not falter. Whimpering, screaming, cursing, he slapped his own cheeks left and right, pulled feathers out of his face, and even flipped onto his back, feet peddling in the air. “It is Yin Soul’s doing!” he gasped to himself finally as he performed a headstand propped against his castle wall and found temporary relief.

  “Servants, call the royal dentist!”

  When the bird came, Maldeor gestured to the tooth that pained him and ordered it to be pulled.

  “No, Your Majesty. It is seriously infected!” the dentist said, recoiling. “The only way is to take medicine, but it is highly unpredictable—”

  “Nonsense. Bring it here!”

  After swallowing a teaspoonful, Maldeor leaped out of his chamber to check the progress of the sky carriage he had ordered to be built.

  In his courtyard, a wild-looking structure was being assembled by sawdust-covered carpenters. It was shaped like a kite, with tough canvas stretched over a bamboo frame. There was a hollow in the very center, where Maldeor would ride.

  “Your Majesty, we’ve gotten a dozen sturdy goose slaves to pull your carriage.”

  “Harness them immediately! We go tonight!” I will outsmart you, Yin Soul! Maldeor thought as he drank more of the medicine. I shall be the hero!

  Many harmful things in life are seductively beautiful, like poisonous mushrooms.

  —FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  13

  TREASURE CAVE

  Robins hovered above a huge tapestry laid flat on the ground. The design of yin and yang looked like two huge white and black tadpoles swimming together, encircled by orderly lines. It was a surprising sight.

  “I knew you would come,” the old robin said evenly as he held the sparkling red Leasorn. “Some say I have the gift of foresight. When I go up the White Cap Mountains and perch in the mysterious fog, I see snippets of present, past, future…and these, along with the yin and yang, reveal things to me.” He shook a clawful of polished maple wood sticks. “I saw the two of you flying over the ocean, which is why we came to meet you today. We cannot thank you enough. Your places are in the mountains and woods, yet you risked your life to make the treacherous journey across the water to return this to us. This devotion, this virtue, sadly, is rare now. If you are not heroes, who else can be?”

  “Sir.” Fleydur bowed. “We are only following the ways of our hearts: The true ways of a bird.”

  “If you can see sparks of the future…” Ewingerale began but faltered when he realized everybird was listening. Then he said boldly, “I was wondering if…you happened to see a myna, stout, with a staff and a wooden berry strung around his neck…Or maybe”—Ewingerale exchanged looks with the eagle—“a white dovelike bird?”

  Everybird quieted as the robin flung his sticks onto the tapestry below. He flew around and around the yin and yang, his maple-leaf headdress rustling, for what seemed like an eternity. “Go south,” he whispered as he orbited, seemingly not at all conscious of the woodpecker’s question. “Go south, where icebergs float, where ice storms whirl. You are needed there, before Hero’s Day, when the hero will claim the sword. Danger is coming. There will be slashing teeth and fluttering wings over the ocean. Look for a special current in the sea. The air above it will carry you. Quickly,
before it is too late.”

  As afternoon came on, Wind-voice and Stormac, after flying all day, finally passed over the southernmost tip of the land, Cape Beak, and flew toward the sea. An archipelago of tiny cays and coral reefs dotted the waters below. It seemed to the two travelers that somebird had scattered stars on the water.

  “You want to prevent Maldeor from getting the hero’s sword, but tell me, how many birds out there are like him, evil and wanting to become a hero?” Stormac said suddenly as the vastness of the ocean sent a foreboding chill down him. “How can you prevent them all?”

  “I want to do what I can. It’s better than watching those cruel birds and doing nothing. If we lead the way, others might stop other wrongdoers.” Above them, huge clouds that looked like fluffy white versions of the Skythunder Mountains were suspended in the air. Wind-voice gazed at them dreamily. “Then someday the whole world will be peaceful.”

  “But it’s a hard, hard thing,” Stormac grumbled. “Becoming a hero myself is easier than flapping around hampering the bad birds.”

  “I hope that you will become a hero someday,” Wind-voice said.

  The clouds turned dark gray. Eyeing them warily, the two exhausted birds looked around for a place to rest. Suddenly a cloud shifted in the distance, and in the open stretch of sky they saw a spectacular mansion of exotic trees right by a clear fountain.

  “Wow! The birds there must be so rich!” Stormac yelled. He rowed his wings with renewed vigor, adjusting his direction so that he headed straight for the mansion. “I can’t wait to get there!”

  “It seems like a mirage, Stormac,” Wind-voice said doubtfully. Sure enough, as they neared the mansion it disappeared. The two flew more slowly now, feeling more tired than ever. Now the sky was turning dark pea green.

  Wind-voice caught sight of a young gull in the distance. He called to him, “Where can we find an island big enough for us weary travelers to rest?”