The Harpy's Song Page 6

  ‘You thought what? Oh, you thought I’d left?’ Chama tried not to show her joy, sitting with her back to him whilst she started to skin the animals. ‘We can have breakfast first, then…’ She wanted to tell him to stay, that they should go to rus together, but something was stopping her.

  ‘Thank you,’ T'illaá said meekly.

  ‘For what?’ replied Chama.

  ‘For helping me. For being my friend.’

  These words tugged at Chama’s heart.

  ‘I’d forgotten how kind people could be. I’m happy to have met you Chama. If only for the shortest of time.’

  Chama wiped a tear from her cheek before standing. ‘I’m just going to get some daèdlin for the pot,’ she said, before disappearing into the trees.

  When she returned, she was clutching a small bundle of pale blue leaves, peppered with tiny yellow dots. T'illaá was adding wood to the fire.

  ‘No!’ she cried, dropping the herbs to the floor and grabbing the new wood from on top of the fire before the flames could take hold. ‘You can’t put that on the fire without stripping the bark first. The smoke would be seen from as far away as the city.’ Having stamped the wood into the ground and satisfied herself that it was not smoking, Chama reclaimed the bundle of herbs.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ T'illaá hid his face behind his hands.

  ‘It’s okay, I learned the hard way. The first time I made a fire, I stacked it high with vàloop wood and the next day I heard the people in town saying they saw the smoke. They thought it was a bushfire. When I got back to my camp though, someone had taken all my supplies and stuff. I’ve not done it since. It was a good job I didn’t leave anything valuable.’ Chama sat on her haunches beside the fire, tearing the daèdlin into small pieces and adding it to the pot. Then she finished skinning and gutting the animals from the traps. Neither said very much while they ate, but when they had finished Chama collected some clothes and a blanket and handed them to T'illaá.

  ‘Here,’ she said, not daring to look at him directly. ‘These should help make your journey a little more comfortable.’

  T'illaá took them from her, trying to catch her gaze, but he could not. ‘Thank you,’ he said forlornly. ‘Well, I suppose…’ He tried to make Chama look at him one last time. ‘…I’ll be going then. I hope we meet again someday, Chama, I really do.’

  He tied the bundle with a piece of thin rope that lay beside the shelter, slung it over his shoulder and headed out of the clearing towards the city beyond. But just before he vanished, Chama called after him, ‘T'illaá, wait!’

  He stopped and turned back to look at her.

  ‘Maybe we can go to rus together? It would probably make more sense…’

  T'illaá dropped the bundle and ran to her, throwing his arms around her and squeezing tightly. ‘I knew you were my friend. I knew you wouldn’t send me out there on my own again.’

  Chama wrapped her arms around the little boy in front of her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just not used to people anymore.’ She waited until T'illaá released her first before letting him go. ‘Come on. Let’s get this place tidied away, then let’s go to rus.’

  T'illaá’s smile was a warm one, and a real one.

  All the way to the city wall of Bávla, T'illaá talked non-stop. Chama hadn’t the heart to ask him to hush long enough for her to think, but once they entered the bustling city she told him that they should not draw attention to themselves and that meant not talking unless they had to. This lasted for a short while, but soon the boy began asking questions about everything.

  ‘What’s that? What are those people doing? Where are we going? Why is it so busy here? How do we get out of this place?’ He finally stopped to breathe but was not looking where he was going and ran straight into a burly store holder carrying a tray of freshly baked bread. The man tripped, spilling his fare across the cobbled street and landing flat on his behind.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, you little…’ The man pulled himself up, raising a hand to strike T'illaá, but Chama threw herself in front of him and grabbed his arm.

  T'illaá scuttled out of the way, but the man, now very angry, grabbed Chama and threw her aside. ‘You’re going to pay for all this wasted food, even if you have to scrub my floors. One way or another you’ll pay.’

  The man stood over T'illaá, ready to drag him off, but Chama, now back on her feet, kicked the man between the legs from behind.

  ‘Quick, T'illaá, let’s get out of here!’ Chama took hold of her friend’s hand and pulled him down an alleyway.

  ‘Wait! My blanket!’ T'illaá turned back, but Chama yanked his arm.

  ‘Leave it, we don’t need it.’

  They kept running until they reached the factory district, just a short distance from the harbordrome.

  ‘We need to find a vessel bound for rus,’ said Chama as she removed the bag from her back and stowed it behind a stack of barrels.

  ‘But how do we get on board? No one’s just going to let a couple of stray children on their vessel. Unless we’re paying?’ T'illaá looked at Chama expectantly.

  ‘No, somehow we need to hide in the cargo. We need to see the manifests for all the day’s departing galleons.’

  ‘I can do that,’ said T’illaá, already walking away with an enthusiastic grin on his face.

  ‘Wait. What are you going to do?’ Chama started after the boy.

  ‘Don’t worry, I have a plan. You wait here, I won’t be long.’

  Chama watched T'illaá disappear into the busy street at the bottom of the alleyway.

  He crossed over and kept to the shadows on the opposite side, then ducked into a long yurt where a vendor sold hand-woven carpets and, with a few strides, the small slave boy became a tall, bearded merchant who headed confidently towards the harbordrome.

  Chama was sitting with her back against the wall when the boy returned. He stood beaming, holding something out to her.

  ‘You’ve been gone ages,’ she complained, folding her arms and turning away from him.

  ‘Yeah, but it was worth it.’ He took a step closer and pushed a leather-bound ledger under her nose.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Chama, trying not to sound intrigued.

  ‘It’s the ledger from the harbordromemaster’s office. It’s got all of today’s departures and destinations,’ said T'illaá triumphantly.

  ‘Okay, it was worth it,’ Chama conceded. ‘So, what does it say?’ She took the book from the boy’s hands and began flicking through its pages. ‘Look, here The Feral Scylla is going to rus and it’s the first vessel cleared for departure.’ Chama stood, pulled her bag from behind the barrels and slung it over her shoulders. ‘C’mon, let’s go,’ she said, but as Chama began towards the harbordrome, T'illaá grabbed her, pulling her back.

  ‘Wait,’ he said as he opened the ledger. ‘This one would be better. It doesn’t leave until much later.’ T'illaá waved the book at Chama.

  ‘Why should we wait, when we could be halfway to rus by then?’ she protested with wild exaggeration.

  ‘Because it’ll give us more time to prepare, and it’s moored on the city side of the harbordrome, so it’ll be easier to get on board.’

  ‘What do we need to prepare for? It’s ideal. With all the chaos of the cargo being loaded, no one’s going to notice us.’ Chama couldn’t understand the boy’s insistence on getting on the later vessel.

  ‘Yes, but look.’ T'illaá held up the ledger once more. ‘The cargo for this one’s still in the warehouse. I checked. They’re carrying antiquities.’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘Look what it says in the ledger.’

  Chama sighed but took the ledger from T'illaá. On the line next to where it said the name of the vessel, the Cockatrice’s Breath, Chama read the list of cargo. ‘Wine, grain, týrilel…’ Chama looked quizzically at T’illaá.

  ‘It’s illegal,’ the boy said. ‘The last thing they’re going to do is start popping the lids off those crates.
All we have to do is get inside one in the warehouse and wait to be delivered to the vessel’s hold.’ T'illaá felt the girl’s eyes burn into him.

  ‘And you found all this out when you went to the harbordrome?’ Chama looked incredulously at the small boy before her.

  ‘You learn a lot as a slave.’ T'illaá smiled meekly at his friend.

  ‘Okay, we’ll do it your way.’ Chama tossed the ledger onto the floor and began to walk away, but T'illaá threw himself after it.

  ‘We’ll need to put this back or else the harbormaster might delay the launch.’

  At the harbordrome, they quickly found the warehouse. Inside were lines of huge crates waiting to be loaded into the hold of the Cockatrice’s Breath. They walked around, peering through holes in the crates to see which one would make the best make-shift home onboard the vessel. Once they had chosen one, T’illaá told Chama to get inside while he returned the ledger.

  ‘What if someone comes?’ Chama worried, wanting to go with the boy.

  ‘We can’t both go,’ he said. ‘Besides, the captain would have paid off the harbordromemaster. No one will come in.’

  ‘What if they start loading and you’re not back?’

  ‘It doesn’t leave for ages.’

  ‘But what if they do!’

  ‘Okay. You keep out of the way. I won’t be long.’ T'illaá slipped out of the warehouse towards the quayside.

  Instead of waiting in the crate, Chama paced about the warehouse impatiently, looking at all the curious items not yet crated up. As she weaved her way between the piles of goods, she felt a niggling sense of unease, so, with trepidation, she made her way to the warehouse door and heaved it open just a crack to peer through. Through the hustle and bustle of the quayside, she spotted T'illaá talking to a merchant. She watched as T'illaá handed the ledger to him and then pointed towards the warehouse.

  Chama felt sick. She felt the betrayal cut through her like a cold knife. In her panic, she ran out into the harbordrome. From somewhere above, a voice announced that The Feral Scylla was about to disembark. She remembered the berth number and ran as fast as she could towards it, hurtling up the gangplank just before two crew members arrived to pull it back onboard. She made for the cargo hold and hid between some sacks of dried food, just as the galleon lifted into the air.

  On the harbordrome below, T'illaá watched as the vessel rose high above him. ‘Don’t worry my friend,’ said Zolýrus, ‘the Cockatrice’s Breath will beat that old crate back to rus with time to spare.’

  7

  The Mai-Fairy

  TREVOR SLEPT SURPRISINGLY well through the night and woke to find the sun shining brightly in the early morning sky. The little cottage glimmered with playful streaks of light that flickered through the smoke-filled room. A discordant rhythm of hammering came from outside. At first, Trevor didn’t realize the significance, but then he remembered: the cart was almost finished and today was the day they would go to see Ormostrious.

  It had been two days since Trevor arrived in this strange world and most of his time had been spent helping Burtlùs to make his dungfuel cart ready to carry him and Mèlli into the city. Yet, despite this distraction, he had been unable to prevent himself from worrying about his mother.

  Two days! Trevor could only imagine what she must be going through, what she must be thinking. But he was powerless to help her; all he could do was concentrate on trying to get home.

  He pulled himself out slowly from his makeshift bed on the floor, trying not to wake Mèlli who was still sleeping soundly beside the fire. Mèlli had been even more intolerable the previous day. Trevor thought it was a reaction to having let his guard down the night before; he probably wasn’t used to talking about his parents.

  Outside, the morning air was cool and refreshing. Trevor made his way round to the rear of the tiny cottage, where he found Burtlùs working on the cart. He stood behind him, watching unnoticed until he turned round to grab a handful of nails. With a start, Burtlùs stumbled backward and fell over against the cart he was working on.

  ‘By the Watchers! You made me jump!’ he exclaimed, pushing himself upright, one hand still clutching a large hammer. ‘What are you doing up so early?’ Burtlùs chuckled to himself in a way that was becoming quite familiar to Trevor.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologized. ‘I just came to see if you needed any help.’

  ‘No, no, it’s all finished. I just wanted to add a strut on either side, to make sure it will take the extra weight. Come and have a look.’

  Trevor hopped up onto the bed of the cart to admire Burtlùs’ handiwork. The large, narrow compartment with its hinged lid reminded Trevor alarmingly of a coffin. As he imagined lying down in it and being buried beneath several layers of dungfuel, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of claustrophobia. He took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts aside; this journey was something that he needed to do. But then he realized: Mèlli would be in there too!

  Burtlùs mumbled something and, before Trevor could ask what he had said, he disappeared around the side of the cottage leaving him alone.

  The sun was climbing steadily higher into the cloudless sky, casting long shadows across the yard. A flock of brightly feathered birds hung above Trevor’s head before cascading in a swirl of color towards the forest, where they landed in the low branches of the nearest trees. Intrigued, he jumped down from the cart and crept over to have a closer look. He stood perfectly still, as close to the forest as he dared, and scanned the trees looking for the birds, but all he could see was colorful blossoms on the branches. A slight movement and a second glance revealed these flowers to be the birds themselves, with their tails fanned out to resemble conical petals. Trevor was mesmerized. He leaned even closer to the nearest branch until he could see the bird’s tiny head quivering as it looked at him. Then a twig snapped beneath his feet and the birds were gone in an instant, deep into the forest.

  Trevor didn’t know what to do next. He looked back over to the cottage but there was no movement; Burtlùs was nowhere in sight and Freya and Mèlli didn’t seem to be up yet. He turned back to the trees and, despite hearing Burtlùs’ warning words in his head, decided to go and explore.

  He moved cautiously into the forest, checking back on occasion to make sure he knew where he was. The forest floor was mossy and covered with a heavy mulch of damp leaves, so the going was easy. The dappled light coming through the tall trees illuminated the spores of vegetation hanging delicately in the air. Trevor enjoyed the silence and solitude of the forest, as well as the opportunity to spend time with his own thoughts after the last two eventful days.

  After some time ambling thoughtfully, Trevor spotted an irregular shape between the trees, which snapped him out of his reverie. With a prickle of excitement, he quickened his pace. As he got closer, the shape revealed itself to be a chimney stack constructed of huge blocks of dark stone. It had an eerie presence as it stood there, out of place in its leafy surroundings. Trevor crouched down to pick up a stick to prod it with and caught sight of his reflection in its obsidian surface. Surprised, he reached out to touch the stone and found that it was smooth and cold like volcanic glass.

  At that moment, a blood-curdling screech cut through the silence. Trevor turned around startled, his heart pounding in his chest. A sickly panic engulfed him as he realized he’d lost his bearings. He spun around, disorientated and terrified, trying to find some landmark that would show him the way back, but there was nothing, just trees in all directions. He ran, panic-stricken and calling out to Burtlùs for help, but was frightened into silence by another screech closer by. He stopped, rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear and trying to quell his noisy breathing. He was starting to wish he had heeded Burtlùs’ warning when he heard a rustling sound from behind him. His body trembling, he pressed his hands over his welling eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong, gargantuan?’ a tiny voice squeaked.

  Trevor held his breath, unsure of what he had heard.


  ‘What’s wrong gargantuan?’ the voice repeated.

  Trevor slowly removed his hands from his eyes and turned from the waist, peering over his shoulder to see a butterfly perched on a branch behind him. He turned around completely and the little voice said, ‘Why are you so upset?’

  Trevor’s fear melted into confusion. ‘I’m sorry, did you just speak?’ he asked the butterfly.

  ‘Of course I did!’ the creature giggled. She flew closer to him, landing on a branch at eye level, and Trevor could see that she was not a butterfly at all. In fact, she looked like a fairy.

  ‘What are you?’ Trevor asked in an indignant tone. The fairy put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

  ‘What am I you ask? Well, what are you?’

  ‘I’m…I’m…Trevor,’ Trevor stammered.

  ‘What is a Trevor?’ The fairy’s tiny face contorted in confusion.

  ‘No, no, I’m not a Trevor. I’m Trevor. That’s my name.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the fairy. ‘I’m Tatreana.’

  ‘Hello Tatreana,’ Trevor responded. ‘I’m lost.’

  ‘But I thought you said your name was Trevor!’ The fairy winked and giggled playfully.

  ‘No I mean I am lost. I can’t find my way out of this forest,’ Trevor explained. ‘I was exploring and I heard this horrible creature and it was coming closer and it was coming to get me and…’ Trevor’s words tumbled out.

  As if on cue, the blood-curdling screech echoed through the forest once again, nearer now, causing Trevor to recoil into a frightened ball.

  Tatreana spun about in fits of giggles, making joyful spirals in the air.

  Trevor uncurled. ‘Huh? Why are you laughing? Didn’t you hear that?’

  The fairy composed herself enough to say, ‘Yes gargantuan, I did hear it. Is that what you’re so afraid of? Oh, Trevor, you are a funny gargantuan. Surely you’ve heard a lullock before?’

  ‘No. No. Actually, I’m a stranger here.’

  ‘But don’t you have them where you come from? They’re everywhere.’