The Harpy's Song Page 5

  Now Hèvich turned his attention to the parchment; licking his lips with anticipation, he broke the wax seal. He studied its contents into the early hours of the morning. Concentration came easiest in the pre-dawn when the doors of The Grind House were closed and the streets outside were empty. Despite himself, Hèvich felt disturbed by the information he read. This girl, depicted in such innocence in the familiar, had killed both her parents for a rare artifact which, Hèvich assumed, had great value. She had managed to escape from the authorities and was last seen on the continent of Natorós. Hèvich disliked the southern continent, with its arid climate and overcrowded cities. Not to mention the nydárcs! But he knew the perfect person for the job.

  T’illaá had worked for Hèvich on numerous occasions and was always ready to work for him again. His skill set was unique. He was a Póntèkian—a shapeshifter. There were few of his kind on Ëlamár. Those that were left were scattered across the continents, preferring to live solitary lives with no country to call their own.

  Hèvich didn’t hesitate to set the wheels in motion. After recruiting T’illaá, he employed the services of the merchant Zolýrus, whose galleon, the Cockatrice’s Breath, was available to charter at short notice.

  The voyage south lasted for half a moon, avoiding the busy trade routes. Upon arrival in Bávla, Zolýrus remained in the harbordrome with his moored vessel, whilst T’illaá journeyed west to the small mining town of Záaté where the girl had last been sighted. T’illaá found it easy to acquire the necessary information to track her, by posing as her grief-stricken mother. Several townsfolk recognized the girl from the familiar and one confirmed that she had left for Bávla just days before.

  Hot on the trail, T’illaá tracked her back to Bávla, where her trail was lost amongst the chaos of the big city. Using the information that he had been given by Hèvich, T’illaá thought that the best place to begin his search was the confinement houses, where the girl would have been taken if she had been caught by the authorities. He disguised himself as a zaktár bird, almost featherless and reptilian in appearance, with feathered wingtips of bright orange and a black crest on its head, and took to the skies. He joined with a flock as they flew across the south of the city over the moisture farm district, heading north to the city center. As the flock banked eastwards, T’illaá broke formation and swooped to land on a roof adjacent to the municipal building in the town square. He scanned the area and identified the confinement house, just a short distance away. With a downward beat of his wings, he took to the skies, flew over the rooftops and glided around the yard several times before entering the open eves of the confinement block.

  Inside, a wide path divided two rows of cells made of hard stone and lined only with damp hay and listless bodies. T’illaá flew down the aisle but was unable to identify anybody from the crowded mass of tangled limbs in each cell. So, landing at the opposite end, he hopped back along the dusty floor of the corridor, peering into each cell in turn. Now, with a better view, he could tell that the girl was not here.

  He exited the confinement house the way he had entered, and flew out into the late afternoon sky. The sun hung like a ball of fire on the horizon. With little of the day left and despite his nagging tiredness, he repeated his search at the city’s two remaining confinement houses. But there was no sign of the girl.

  T’illaá’s search continued the following day with the rising of the sun. He searched the markets, bazaars and antique dealers; the harbordrome and warehouses of the merchants’ quarter and, in a desperate last attempt, the farmland surrounding the city, but to no avail. Exhausted and despondent, he came to rest atop a firestone lantern on the edge of a road near to a group of trees. Beneath one, sitting cross-legged and reading, was a girl with long, unkempt locks of golden hair concealing her face. She looked up thoughtfully from her book and her hair fell back—to reveal the girl from the familiar.

  Solitude

  I never have enjoyed the company of others. Their inconsequential ramblings about the weather, their ailments. They insist on forming false reliances based on nothing more than a forced smile, a courteous word. Even as a boy, in a previous life of which I have no memories, I preferred my own counsel. If it were not for the excited scribbling contained within the worn cover of a journal I kept as an adolescent, they would appear to me only as obscure fragments of someone else's dream.

  I like it here. The quiet suits me.

  Even the sound of the wind making its way across the landscape had become intolerable. That coupled with the infernal screaming of lullocks and other pointless dwellers of the world outside my window.

  No. I like it down here. I can think—which is fitting considering the task that has befallen me. I now know why I am here, why I was chosen. And although this world has become too small for me, I know I must save it before I leave it.

  A woman's voice sometimes calls out to me when I allow myself to be taken by sleep. It distracts me from my work, which is at a critical juncture. I try to banish her, but she always manages to creep back in. If only I knew who she was, why she insists on tormenting me, then maybe I could rid myself of her.

  My work is all that matters to me now. All I can think of.

  Time is running out.

  But I am so close, so close. A precipice awaits the world outside, into which it will fall. I can feel the end lingering before me as it edges closer. I look success in the face.

  Time is running out.

  I work nonstop, and have done so ever since…

  It was me who found their secret. Me who pieced it all together.

  Down here in the silence.

  There is barely a space on the work surfaces, the walls, the floor, that some fragment of my research does not occupy. I know every piece of it though. How it all fits together. To the eyes of another, it would appear chaotic. Incomprehensible. But I know every bit of it.

  New pieces of the jigsaw reveal themselves to me every day. New pieces that make sense of this forgotten art. The people who wrote upon these parchments, an immeasurable time ago, used a form of writing unlike any other found in the world. I found their secrets and now I will use them to rid this world of the decay that festers beneath its surface. Then I will join them.

  My path has not been an easy one. I have suffered for my cause, but down here I am shielded from all those who may try and take it from me. Soon though, I will emerge changed. Better. Better than the man who came here many moons ago.

  It is quiet down here.

  And despite what would be seen, inside I am strong. And so close now. Soon it will not matter what is seen.

  As I step over the fragments littering the floor, I see the patterns within them. It makes sense to me.

  Even before I hold it, I can feel the metal in my hands, so familiar and yet so alien. I close my eyes and run the tips of my fingers over the glyphs that stand off from its surface. It is habit now. They are still sensitive…

  It is hard sometimes to decide which one. Which one? They both have given me so much.

  Soon though, they will give me so much more.

  Which one today? It matters not.

  I admire it. I lay it on my desk and look over its surface.

  I admire it.

  Beneath the surface, the reflection taunts me. Reminds me. I ignore it and finally see the object and nothing else.

  I take the scroll from its box and unroll it as I have done every day since…

  The symbols match those on the metal surface.

  It is the key, the cipher that showed me its power.

  6

  Quarry

  HAVING FOLLOWED THE girl the short distance from the city, T'illaá remained in the form of a zaktár bird and watched from his treetop perch as she moved around her makeshift camp. She had gathered firewood and had almost finished stripping the silver bark, which she placed in a pot hanging from a trestle above the unlit fire. T'illaá regarded her with admiration for the skills she had learned in so short a time. Not on
ly had she learned that the bark from vàloop trees created an immense plume of smoke when burnt, but also that it could be boiled to provide a nourishing broth. He continued to watch as she made ready her camp for the night, lighting the fire and then disappearing into the trees on the far side. She re-emerged moments later with the carcass of a small animal ensnared in a trap that she had set earlier that day, and immediately began skinning and gutting it, before chopping it into pieces and adding it to the pot that now bubbled over the fire.

  Whilst he observed the child, T'illaá considered the best way that he could gain her confidence and her trust enough to lure her back to the Cockatrice’s Breath. These thoughts brought with them a growing sense of unease, as he felt an unfamiliar emotion welling up inside him. After such a short space of time, he felt drawn to her. A kind of fondness was developing that conflicted with the job he had undertaken. Shaking these feelings aside, he spread his wings and glided silently to the ground. He took a few steps forward and was a bird no more, as a young boy, with tousled hair and dressed in rags, appeared at the edge of the clearing.

  Cautiously, he approached her and lingered several steps away as she stooped over the fire, prodding at it with a stick. Seeing that it was burning nicely, she turned and immediately froze in alarm as she glimpsed the outline of a pair of arms and legs, their bare skin glinting in the light of the fire. Instinctively, she grabbed the stick she had been holding and held it out, ready to defend herself, as she flicked her head from side to side looking for other intruders. Satisfied that he was alone, she scrutinized the newcomer warily, taking a small step towards him to get a better look. He immediately cowered in fear and dropped down onto his haunches, shielding his head with his scrawny arms. ‘Please, please, don’t hurt me,’ he said in a small, hollow voice.

  The girl lowered her stick and regarded him sympathetically, surprised by his reaction. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ she said, bewildered. ‘You startled me, that’s all.’

  Slowly the boy uncurled and looked up at her, doe-eyed. As he did so, the cooking pot started to froth and spit on the fire behind them and the girl quickly dropped the stick to tend to it, lifting the pole holding the pot from the trestles and resting it on a slab of stone beside the fire. The boy edged a little closer, licking his lips. The girl looked from the boy to the pot and back to the boy again. ‘There’s enough for two if you’d like some.’

  Cautiously, the boy rose and moved sheepishly towards the fire. The girl found a small wooden bowl, carefully spooned in some of the hot liquid and offered it to him. At first, he just looked at the bowl as if waiting to be ordered to take it. The girl nodded to him and moved it closer. Slowly he raised his hands and took the steaming hot broth, cradling it in his arms as if shielding it from would-be thieves. The girl, unsure how to respond, sat in the entrance to the shelter, blowing spoonfuls of the scalding liquid before sipping it noisily.

  As she ate, she watched the boy out of the corner of her eye. He was more visible now in the light of the fire and she was surprised to see that he was much younger than she was. Through the rips in his clothing, she could see thick scars on his back and fresh bruises on his wrists and ankles. The boy caught her sideways gaze. Feeling embarrassed, she turned away quickly, but when she looked back, he was smiling at her.

  ‘So…uhh, what’s your name, and what are you doing all the way out here?’ she asked nervously.

  The boy’s smile faded and he looked back to his bowl.

  ‘You can stay the night I suppose,’ the girl offered. ‘But I’m leaving in the morning so you’ll have to find somewhere else to go then.’

  They sat in silence, watching the dancing flames of the dying fire.

  ‘T'illaá. My name’s T'illaá,’ the boy said, his gaze not moving from the fire.

  ‘Mine’s Cha…Chama,’ the girl stuttered. ‘I’m Chama.’

  They ate the rest of their broth without exchanging another word. Afterward, Chama took the boy’s empty bowl and dunked it in a bucket of water a few times to clean it, before drying it with a rag. Rather than making conversation, she busied herself around the camp, stoking the fire and tidying. T'illaá just sat and watched her from next to the fire, hugging his bare legs to keep warm. Chama noticed his shivering, fetched a blanket from the shelter and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  ‘Why are you being so kind to me?’ he asked in a small voice.

  Chama just shrugged. ‘It’s not like I was expecting any visitors. Anyway, it looks like you haven’t eaten in weeks.’ Their eyes met and Chama resisted the urge to look away. To her discomfort, T'illaá returned her gaze with a steely resolve.

  ‘You could easily have forced me away. You didn’t have to feed me and be kind to me. How did you know I was alone? It could have been a trap.’

  Chama was taken aback. ‘I don’t know. You looked like you needed help.’ She threw some more sticks onto the fire, hoping that the questions had finished.

  ‘That’s how they got me,’ T'illaá said, hugging his knees and staring into the fire.

  ‘Who?’ Chama asked after a pause.

  ‘Slavers,’ the boy spat angrily. ‘One night this man came into our camp and collapsed. My parents and a few of the others rushed to help him, but when they turned him over, he stabbed my father. Before anyone could do anything, a load more men appeared and killed all the adults.’ T'illaá paused for a moment as he composed himself. ‘There were five of us left. They dragged us off and put us in crates on the back of some carts.’

  Chama wanted to wrap her arms around him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. ‘How did you end up here?’ she asked finally.

  ‘They shipped us from place to place and eventually sold me to some miners over in Kaiùs. I’ve been there for the last eight moons. I never saw any of my friends again.’

  ‘So how did you escape and get all the way here?’ Chama crouched down next to T'illaá.

  ‘I learned to do as I was told very quickly and, being young I guess, I gained their trust. I used it to get away. One of the men sent me to fetch water. I went to the well and there was a supply cart there unattended. I climbed under the cover and, well, here I am.’ T’illaá went back to watching the dying flames of the fire.

  ‘Oh. So what are you going to do now?’ asked Chama, immediately biting her lip and wishing she hadn’t.

  ‘I don’t know,’ T’illaá replied vacantly.

  ‘Have you got anyone else? Family, I mean,’ Chama asked softly.

  ‘What I would really like to do,’ T'illaá began, but then paused, almost resisting his own instincts, ‘is get to rus.’

  ‘rus?’ Chama’s eyes widened. ‘Why rus?’

  ‘I’ve heard that’s where a lot of runaway slaves go. It’s wealthy, which means rich pickings.’ T’illaá studied Chama’s every reaction, wondering whether he’d overplayed his hand.

  ‘Runaway slaves? In rus? I’ve never heard that before.’ Chama paused thoughtfully.

  ‘Oh, you know rus? You’ve been there?’

  ‘Umm, yes…yes, once or twice,’ Chama lied, having been caught off guard. ‘That’s where I’m trying to get to as well,’ she said, looking at T’illaá through locks of hair that hung down in front of her eyes. At first, T'illaá smiled cordially at her, but his smile sank into a frown.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Chama.

  ‘Really? That’s where you’re going?’ he hugged his legs tightly, resting his chin on his knees and not looking at the girl.

  ‘Yes, really. I’m like you. I have no parents.’ Chama couldn’t stop herself continuing. ‘I need to get to rus, there’s something there I need to do. But…I…’

  Sensing the girl was getting upset, T'illaá seized the opportunity to align himself with her once and for all. ‘It’s hard, isn’t it, without them? I thought I would die down a mine, but today I’m here with you and we’re heading to the same place. Zúbenelgenúbi has been watching over us.’

  Chama examined the boy’s excited face
for a moment. ‘Look, I don’t mind sharing my food, or even my camp for a night. But I travel alone. You can make yourself comfortable but, like I said, I’m leaving in the morning. By myself.’

  She ducked into the shelter, reappearing a moment later with some blankets. ‘Here, take these,’ she said, thrusting the bundle at T'illaá.

  He raised his arms from under the blanket he was hugging around himself and took the heap from Chama, who went back into the shelter and rearranged her pillow so her head was no longer at the open end. She climbed between the covers and lay on her back looking up at the roof.

  T'illaá spread the blanket on the ground outside the shelter and made himself as comfortable as was possible. As the night crept on and he was sure the girl had slipped off to sleep, he sat up, unaffected by the cool night air, and watched her. He was still feeling that strange emotion that had taken hold earlier that day. A part of him wanted to get up and leave, saving this wonderful child from whatever fate awaited her back in rus. It would be easy. Who would doubt him if, on his return, he were to claim he couldn’t locate her? Or better still, say that he found her dead?

  It was almost light when T'illaá heard her stirring. He carefully and quietly slid under the covers and pretended to be asleep. Chama tried to be as quiet as she could as she lit the fire to boil some water. She went to check the snares, returning with three small animals, to find T'illaá awake and sitting up.

  ‘I thought you’d— ’ the boy began, but cut himself off short.