Wolf Wing Page 8

  She had always wanted Venn. She’d been supposed to marry Venn. Or Argul. All part of the Ustareth-Twilight plot to breed us all in correct pairs, and produce children even better than we were. (!)

  And I had thought Winter would risk the journey – risk the sea-flight, and meeting Venn.

  She had.

  This much, so far, she’s told me. Flaunting, off-hand: ‘You see, Claidi? I went and got him.’

  Venn doesn’t look ‘got’.

  More fetched. They all do. They were.

  Ngarbo, who insisted on accompanying Winter (he deeply fancies her, that was plain enough at Chylomba) told me the most about their journey to the Rise. But he didn’t say much about when they got there. It must have been uncomfortable for Ngarbo. I don’t know why he insisted on going along. Ngarbo always looks glorious, all in black, skin and (smart, Chylomban) clothes, though not now in his uniform from the Raven Tower. It must be difficult for him, maybe, to grasp that Winter is intent on this other man. Venn really isn’t quite as handsome as Ngarbo, nor a quarter as worldly-wise, not trained to fight or even to fly. Ngarbo’s led a full life, a lot of it spent as one of Winter’s own personal soldiers. He even says he went with her from ‘duty’, as her bodyguard.

  Anyway, when they were at the Rise – guess what. A flying letter came.

  It arrived, not in Venn’s room, either, but fluttered out of the trunk of a tree near where they were sitting.

  Not all the Rise trees are simply trees, then. Like some of the animals – tiger-rabbit vrabburrs – and people – Jotto.

  The letter was from Ironel. It was like the letter we’d had. Ngarbo said basically it told them Ironel had urgent news she couldn’t tell on paper, but which it would be fatal for them to ignore.

  Winter, I gather, said ‘Wolf Tower muck. So what?’

  It was Venn who became slowly and desperately concerned. It was Venn, the one who once claimed to me he preferred to read about things to doing them, who finally challenged Winter to find him a method of flying to the City and Ironel’s house.

  She agreed, because he was Venn. And Ngarbo agreed because she had. But I bet there was a row.

  I began to see a pattern though. Maybe you do. Argul and Venn, they were the two who felt compelled to find out what Ironel had to say, and were also so edgy.

  Venn in fact now looked near to collapse.

  Probably from the journey over here as much as anything.

  Venn’s Power ring hadn’t worked, but it seems Winter was able to recharge it with a chip she’d cracked off the raven statue, which recharges the jewels at the Raven Tower. So off they all set.

  Winter and Ngarbo had had fine weather on the way there. Their Power jewels just breezed them along. (I felt they quite enjoyed it, being free of the Raven Tower and Twilight, and going somewhere new.) They even slept, as it were, on the wing, the jewels keeping them safe and on course. However, no sooner did they take off again, with Venn, from the coast, than they ran into a storm.

  (‘I thought we’d had it,’ said Ngarbo. ‘I know you did,’ spat Winter. Venn merely scowled.)

  The jewels kept them in the air, and held each of them in a kind of protective envelope. But even so, the hurricane-type wind threw the envelopes around, so inside them the travellers were tossed head-over-heels or spun in circles.

  In the end, Ngarbo said he spotted an island. They made for that and took shelter among falling palm trees and blown-over bamboos. When everything eased off, they went straight on.

  They had some food with them – just as well, because there was no more land till they reached the coast. The sea went on and on, and then there was another storm.

  Their general account of this was so angry and muddled – they kept interrupting each other with luridly sarcastic remarks. (Meanwhile, we were standing around in one of Ironel’s big rooms, and Ert and others tried to serve us all tea.)

  I think Winter must sharpen her tongue with a knife each night.

  At last, they said, they made landfall, and then they didn’t know where they were. Even if they were on the right landmass – there are seemingly several.

  ‘Then Venn had this idea,’ grated Winter, ‘of looking out for the places you’d written about so descriptively, Claidi. That was clever of him, wasn’t it? Such a good thing he accidentally read all your diary that time.’

  I stayed blank.

  Also, they told us, they found a town along the coast which had balloons. Worn out with flying in the storms, they bought a balloon and took off inland, and westwards. And sure enough, in the end, Venn ‘recognized’ the House in the desert.

  ‘You went in very close. They might have used cannon on you,’ I said, ‘just as I so descriptively described in my diary.’

  ‘By that time,’ said Ngarbo, ‘I’d have liked them to.’

  It seems, having survived all the tumult in the air-pockets, now Venn and Ngarbo got seasick in the balloon. Not her. Oh, of course not. She’d just stood there mocking as they heaved over the sides, decorating the undeserving countryside far below.

  ‘We had no ballooneer,’ said Winter. ‘Now I had to manage the thing alone. We followed your described route, Claidi. I did pretty well.’

  I glanced at Venn. He was gazing anywhere but at me, trying to drink a cup of tea and looking ill. Of course, too, trying to see anything-or-one but Argul.

  ‘In the end,’ announced Winter crisply, reaching for a third cake, ‘the balloon was too slow, especially with these two throwing up morning, noon and night. We ditched it, and did the rest under our own Power.’

  Presumably Ironel sent them instructions, too, on how to find her house.

  Winter now strode over to Argul. She stood smiling at him a radiant smile which said, You would never have been sick in a balloon. You would have been a dream. Then she turned to Ironel. ‘We got a glimpse of your City on the way in,’ said Winter. ‘It’s a tip, isn’t it.’

  Ironel gave a yap of laughter. It was Nemian (who’d stayed quiet till then) who had to object.

  ‘It’s one of the finest cities on earth.’

  Winter flicked him a look. Somehow he seemed to recall that when she’d burst in, he’d been lying on the floor. Winter said, ‘How embarrassing you should think so.’

  For a moment I watched him trying to work out if she had apologized to him or insulted him. But even that didn’t cheer me up much.

  They’d finished the story now. (I’ve added some details from my talk afterwards with Ngarbo.) A stiff silence fell. In it could be heard the sound of Ironel’s servants boarding up the shattered window.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Winter, unsorrily.

  ‘Don’t fret,’ said Ironel. ‘I’ll get Twilight to take the cost out of your pocket-money.’

  Winter flushed. ‘I don’t see my mother now,’ she said, nail-hard. ‘We have a difference of opinion.’

  Then I saw that Venn was now looking right at Argul, and Argul looked back at him, unreadable.

  Together like this, they don’t look at all alike. Argul dark-skinned, his fall of hair so black, his assurance, so total. And Venn, fair skin tanned another shade by weather and pale too from nausea, brown hair almost blond today, loosely curling on his shoulders, nervous, arrogant.

  It was Venn though who moved forward. He put his teacup as he passed in someone’s grasp, and went straight to Argul. Venn held out his hand. ‘I greet you belatedly, brother. How do you do?’

  Argul shook the hand. He said, quietly, ‘Likewise.’

  And I thought, He too – he too – is out of his depth in this. Brothers – half-brothers – who’ve never met until now. Lives utterly unlike, couldn’t be more so.

  And her. Ustareth, that mother who left them both, Venn because she had been forced to marry and have him by the Towers, Argul because she had had to die. My heart – turned over. And over.

  Then I realized I was the one Venn had dumped his cup with, as if I were a table or something.

  I put it down, and as
if at a signal, Ironel spoke.

  ‘Thank you, Ert. You and the others can go.’

  They went.

  ‘I think,’ she said, ‘if everyone has had enough tea … Perhaps it’s time I gave you your news.’

  She got to her feet. As she did so, I saw she leaned rather heavily on that cane of hers. And her wicked face – seemed aged under its oldness.

  And in that moment I, too, Claidi, slowest of the slow, I too knew—

  If I could, I would have stopped her.

  But it was already too late.

  ‘We will go into the next room,’ she said.

  So we did. Muddy, windswept Ngarbo, Winter and Venn. Nemian, now glaring at me, having realized who I am, and Moon Silk, serene in her personality-minus state. Argul and I. Dengwi, still the unknown quantity.

  All of us.

  ‘I waited until you had all arrived. I did not wish to repeat this. To say it once will be enough.’

  Yes. It would have knocked her sideways. Of course it would. Any pleasure, she got from knocking all of us sideways too, might only be a slight compensation.

  ‘I think some of you by now may—’ she paused. ‘But why delay. It’s soon said. My daughter, Ustareth Novendot Vulture-Ax of the Towers, is alive. She is alive and at work far to the south. Beyond the City. Across the sea.

  ‘She told me,’ said Ironel, ‘and instructed me to tell each of you. I know very little of her plans for you. But she has plans. Not for all, it’s true. Nemian, you and your wife … Moon Silk …’ (she seemed to pretend not to recall the name for an instant; maybe she didn’t) ‘you have only been told in order that my daughter Alabaster may also learn, and the Towers. I have no intention, myself, of carrying them this information. You will do it. You may add what is obvious. Ustareth has no fear of them, now. She’s more powerful than any Tower, as perhaps you already believe.’

  She looked her old black-grey look at us.

  As her eyes went over me, I shivered. But not because of Ironel – It was, that second, as if Another looked through her.

  But Ironel was all I could look at. Like Venn now, I couldn’t look at Argul. I couldn’t look at Venn, either.

  ‘The rest of you,’ she said, ‘you six young creatures.’ She smiled. ‘Ah, youth.’ Her voice was regretful, bitter. ‘You have it and think it will always stay. What I could do with that youth of yours, if I had it now. But it comes only once. And you waste it, don’t you. Yet that, of course, is your right.’

  She said: ‘Ustareth invites you, her sons Venn and Argul, Claidis now called Winter, the daughter of Twilight Star, once Ustareth’s friend, and also Claidi once called Claidissa, Dengwi, and Ngarbo –’ (she had no trouble recalling his name, he’s a man, and dishy) ‘– who, though unrelated to her original plan, have come to her notice through their skill and wit, bravery and dash.’

  Are we supposed to be flattered?

  In a way, a dreadful way – I sort of am. Sort of. Because this is Ustareth the Great talking here, through Ironel. Ustareth of the endless games and tests and heartless abandonments – but also the She bold enough to fight the Towers before anyone ever did, and clever enough to win.

  But – oh, she left Argul, too. (Like Venn.) He was ten years old, and she lied and left him. Left his father that she’d said she loved. And the Hulta.

  That’s what she’s really good at. Leaving.

  No. I won’t be flattered. No.

  It was Dengwi who interrupted.

  ‘Why have I been chosen?’

  ‘I told you, girl.’ Ironel doesn’t like interruptions.

  ‘No. You haven’t.’

  ‘You’ve been watched,’ said Ironel. ‘All of you have been watched. She watches everyone.’

  ‘Only a god,’ said Dengwi, ‘could do that.’

  (How does she know about God – I never did till I left the House, which never mentioned anything like that.)

  I saw Venn give Dengwi a hard, angry look.

  Ironel too, impatient: ‘Your valour, Dengwi, on the night of the rebellion, was noted.’

  ‘And what Jizania told me? The other thing.’

  ‘Yes, that too. Jizania has taken her recent instructions from Ustareth. Why else were you cast out of your Garden and brought here?’

  WHAT has Jizania told Dengwi? I mean, this other thing—

  Ironel held up her hand in a wish-I-could-slap-you way. ‘Allow me to finish. I’m old, and this is tiresome. You are to use the transport which Argul and Claidi have been given and which will easily carry the six of you in comfort. You’re to go south. Ustareth has sent to me a scientific code which can be added to Yinyay’s mechanism. It will act like a route map. The journey will then be simple.’

  I wanted to say, Why the hell should we go?

  But it wasn’t for me to say, was it. I’m only someone else she’s found interesting to spy on and mess about now and then. It is for Argul to say, and Venn. They’re – Hers.

  ‘What’s in the south?’ demanded Winter. ‘Apart from Ustareth.’

  ‘She has made a new land,’ said Ironel, ‘a country.’ Yes, I knew Ustareth could do that. She’d made the jungle-forests and the Rise, and the great Star-ship. A country – well, child’s play.

  ‘In that place,’ said Ironel, ‘she’ll meet you. But be warned, the Powers you now have in such lavish amounts, your flight, your defences – even the flying Tower of Yinyay – will lose their ability once you are on her borders.’

  My voice came out very clear. ‘Another game,’ I said.

  Ironel speared me with her sad, cruel eyes. ‘What else is any of it? Yes, Claidi, you truly rid my City of the Law, and made it dull for my grandson Nemian. But there are other laws. Everything is subject to a law or a rule. How many will you break before you give up?’

  And I heard myself say,’ Every one I can.’

  She sighed. ‘You’re young,’ she said.

  Like small pebbles struck by a much larger stone, we’ve separated from each other. We wander about Ironel’s mansion.

  Nemian sulked because he’s been formally recognized as Useless, and left out. He did try, despite her put-down, to flirt with Winter, who just said, ‘Go away.’ (In fact she said something else, but that’s what it meant.) So then he sulked about that too. To me he wouldn’t speak. One bright spot.

  Venn also hasn’t spoken to me.

  Argul – Argul hasn’t spoken to me.

  I walked along here, to the spiral staircase, half looking for Dengwi, but didn’t find her. I am staring down at the murky lake in the bottom storey. Thu is here too, very happy to look at the (fishy) water.

  I did meet Ngarbo, that was when he added the bits about the journey and the letter.

  The weirdest thing was I passed Moon Silk in a gallery, alone but for her cat. She was stroking the cat, which purred and looked beautiful. She was beautiful too, but as I went by, she spoke to me. Hey, she can speak.

  ‘Thank you for your kindness,’ she said.

  !!!!!

  I stopped. Why is nobody ever what you think?

  ‘What kindness?’

  ‘Long ago. Bringing him back to me.’

  ‘Oh. You mean Nemian.’

  ‘Yes. And for destroying the Law. You were very brave. The Law was so awful. I had always feared it. Now it’s gone.’ (So, that at least truly is settled. I think.)

  But she too looks sad. She’s so beautiful and calm and – well, one-dimensional. You don’t see she’s sad at first. Then you do.

  He is such a heel, Nemian. He goes off with other women at the first chance. But he loved Moon Silk once, I remember he cried when he saw her again that first time. And she loves him, or why else did she thank me?

  Poor Moon Silk. Poor all of us.

  I know we’ll be going south. Because how can Venn and Argul resist the magnetic pull of this wondrous/terrible vanishing/reappearing mother?

  I just wrote that, and then—

  Am I going mad? But Thu saw too.

  He t
hought it was a fish at first. (So did I.) A disturbance in the flood-water down there. And then we both jumped. Out of the depths, rising like a horrible waterlily, a tube of stone, a hat like a gold upside-down umbrella, a face that was a mask—

  It was there – and then it sank, and was gone.

  We are ‘watched’. Are they, too, Her watchers? But more than that, what are they? And how have they followed me all the way here from Peshamba?

  ROUGH CROSSING

  I have called my horse Mirreen. It’s a Hulta name, and a bit like Sirree, of course – why I chose it. Also something I could decide.

  We’ve been fast sail-flying for some days. The coast is already behind us. Nothing much to say. (Didn’t see the City of the foul Towers.)

  Before we took off, Argul and I did talk. Of course we did.

  We exercised the horses and Thu, before we left Ironel’s. After we’d ridden for about an hour round the lake, we took a breather. It was then.

  And it was raining, naturally. It never stopped all the time we were there. But this was a faint light rain.

  I was trying so hard to – not to say anything, because he hadn’t, not about any of THIS, and now I felt I’d burst. I meant to turn to him very reasonably and murmur, I understand if you just can’t talk about this – but, if you would like to, here I am. Perhaps we should.

  What came out was, ‘Argul, I’ve had enough of this. I can’t stand it. Say something to me.’

  ‘Great weather,’ said Argul.

  ‘No, I don’t want jokes.’

  Then we dismounted, left the horses to browse the wet thin grass, while Thu chased his own shadow.

  We trudged slowly along a hill. Again, no one spoke.

  Then he said, ‘It’s awkward, Claidi.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know it is. But—’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it much.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Somehow I knew, in a way. I knew since Peshamba. Half knew. I dreamed of her one night, I can’t remember what. But it was Zeera – was Ustareth. And after that I felt – she was alive, but I couldn’t see how.’

  We stopped. We gazed out as if admiring the divine view of all that sloshy nil.