When We Have Wings

by Claire Corbett

  Chalcedony and Serein I could file and ignore; one was a recruitment drive, trawling for more fliers to attend the church, the other was a set of policies and strategies centred on Brilliant’s career as an MP.

  Hermes and Pinion, though, these two raised my hackles. The more I looked, the more it seemed Pinion was the most sinister; it was a strategy focused on the church’s enemies, how to discredit them, shut them up—even, if I read between the lines, threaten them. So, the church had a dirt file of its own; it’d been running its own black ops.

  Hermes was the most obscure but what set alarm bells ringing for me was how tightly held under wraps this project was: Brilliant was only communicating with one or two people about it. Understandable if it was small. I started sorting through the financial transactions to be allocated to Hermes on the matrix. After an hour I looked up, got the matrix to run some calculations.

  I ran my hands through my hair and pulled at it.

  Hermes was not a small project. Money was being funnelled through it in regular, large amounts that were always roughly the same and through one person only. Brilliant’s communications to this person, someone calling themselves Sparrow, were cryptic. And the money only went one way; it was all from the church, to . . . whoever. Some trust or account. There was no way I’d be able to work out who really got the money.

  I got up, stretched. Didn’t matter that I couldn’t find out that detail. Others could.

  I looked at the red feather lying on my desk. I was no closer to figuring out who sent the Raptor who’d left that feather; I didn’t know any other fliers. Unless it was Avis, for some weird jealous reason of her own that Peter knew nothing about. That made no sense. Unless she wanted the girl killed.

  Oh shit.

  Unless it was whoever had killed Luisa. After all, the thing had first turned up after I got back from RaRA-land, after I’d been told about Luisa. I couldn’t see how anyone could know about Luisa but I had initiated database searches, I had spoken her name to Henryk. Anyone with enough power and enough paranoia could possibly have hacked those calls and searches.

  I went outside, looked up at the sky. No large dark spots circling. Why would there be? They must have everything on me they could get by now. Unless they were waiting for Peri.

  Henryk did not call or answer my message. Must be busy today, doing something unreasonable like taking the twins to soccer clinic. No reaching him now till Monday morning.

  A message. MK Central Lines Sun am Off Winston. Best Quality Cafe Isn’t It. Thank you, PapaZie. Mira was going to meet me with the information I’d asked for. At least one thing was going right.

  I drank more tea and fell asleep in the wet heat. I awoke to the insistent cricket-chirp of the slick by my head on the kitchen table. I stared at it balefully, not sure where I was or even who I was. Consciousness came more fully as the slick chirped on and on. I was paralysed. I could not reach out to answer it. I left the kitchen to take another shower, trying to wake up fully. Things were going no better than could be expected.

  As I turned the shower off I heard the slick again. I dried myself and dressed. The light outside my bedroom window showed the heaviness of late afternoon. The slick was still shrilling. I picked it up.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  By the time I drove to Chesshyre’s house, dusk was falling. I didn’t enjoy the ride in the flying fox but after Cloud City and the church it held no terrors for me.

  Chesshyre silently received me in the living room and led the way to where he had clearly been sitting for some time, looking over the water, a half-empty bottle of wine on the table next to him. Where was Avis?

  Chesshyre indicated a chair, also facing out over the ocean, then poured me a glass of wine. I hadn’t tasted real wine since my wedding but I had no intention of drinking Chesshyre’s. A breeze was blowing up from the sea, lifting the hot, damp hair off the back of my neck, and the sound of the waves was loud in the room. I realised Chesshyre had retracted the roof and the transparent wall so that we were sitting in the open air. We were silent. Perhaps Chesshyre was waiting for me to speak, to explain what was going on or propose a course of action, but I was so tired that I just sat there for a moment and looked up at the first few stars.

  I listened to the water breaking against the rocks far below. I imagined flying out over the ocean on a still night like this. The temptation would be to fly forever, to join the albatross and stay out of sight of land, skimming fast over the waves. I snapped out of my reverie. Time to ask serious questions.

  ‘Peter,’ I said, ‘it’s time you were straight with me. Peri may still be on her way but I have no idea where she is now. She can vanish, literally, into thin air. And my car was fitted with a tracking device. Someone, your Raptor I presume, was keeping tabs on where I went in RaRA-land. I’m concerned he might’ve caught up with Peri. Is that why she isn’t back?’

  Chesshyre turned on me. ‘So, should I go to the police? What do you propose I do?’

  ‘Yes, of course you should go to the police,’ I snapped. ‘But you never had any intention of doing that. How could they succeed where your bloody Raptor has failed? Worse than failed—killed Peri. Maybe even Hugo. Not much point going to the police if you’re as unforth- coming with them as you have been with me. We need to know what’s really been going on.’

  I heard Chesshyre shift in his seat, the stiff rattle of his feathers.

  ‘Come on, Peter. I’ve been doing my homework. Would you like to know a few of the things I’ve found out?’ I turned to face him and, though his expression was unreadable in the night, I could sense the tense posture of his body.

  ‘So,’ I began. ‘Number one, I know that girls from the country don’t get wings for wet-nursing. Two, I know who gave birth to Hugo and it wasn’t Avis. What I don’t know is why Peri also got permanent residency.’

  Chesshyre was silent.

  ‘Well,’ I continued, keeping my tone more reasonable than I felt, ‘if Hugo is still alive and you expect he’ll just be returned to you, no questions asked, you are mistaken. Things have gone too far for that. There are going to be questions about what you did to get him.’

  ‘No,’ said Chesshyre. ‘That’s why I hired you. Hugo is our baby and Peri has been paid well for her part.’ Paid well. Emphasising that Peri was also to blame.

  ‘It’s not a deal that would stand up,’ I retorted, my fury at Chesshyre returning. ‘Peri was underage, don’t forget. She could not consent to a legally binding contract.’

  ‘You think there’s a court that would award Hugo to her?’

  ‘That’s not my concern,’ I said, ‘but you should think hard about what arrangements you’re willing to negotiate. You don’t hold all the cards anymore. And another thing: a second Raptor, a red one, broke into my flat and trashed it and Frisk has disappeared.’ I wanted him to hear that Frisk was injured, vanished, dead.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ Chesshyre said, ‘that Raptor has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Whose is it then?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Really? You have no idea?’ I stood up. ‘Right. I’m not working for you anymore. Just so we’re clear about that. It’s too dangerous. Plus you’ve lied to me from the start. I’ve already taken this to the police. If you give a damn about Hugo, you will too. And I’ve told them I fear Peri and Hugo are dead.’

  I left Chesshyre sitting in darkness.

  It was only on the drive home that I reflected that Chesshyre had not yet paid my last, big invoice. My rash, self-righteous action had just cost me a lot of money.

  Her fingers were clenched tight, so tight that the pain had passed from agony to numbness. Peri was crouched on the burning circle of metal, pinned by the light, but something was tugging at her; her fingers were prised away from the hot metal and at first Peri was so relieved to be rescued that it too
k a few seconds to realise something was wrong. Something important had been left behind.

  Wait, she cried. We have to go back. No-one heard her. Wait! screamed Peri. Why can’t you wait?

  With each second, as the column of light whirled into a spinning vortex, the winds accelerating, the air shining horribly, the light blinding her eyes as surely as darkness, Peri’s desperation grew as she was torn upwards, higher and higher. She could never find her way back. The loss was irreparable.

  When Peri awoke she didn’t know who she was. Or where she was.

  Her mind was blank. She could see colour and shape but it meant nothing. That expanse of grey there could be a wall or a rock face or a cloud. She felt a heaviness at her back and heard a rustle of feathers as if some giant bird were in the cave with her. So she was in a cave. She wasn’t sure why she had decided this. A surge of alarm washed over her as her most recent memories flooded in, as if this other part of her mind had just opened a door and been overwhelmed. Storm. Black sky. Falling. She remembered who she was and whose wings those were that she felt.

  They were hers.

  Were they still so strange? Would they ever be part of her?

  Something worse was coming into consciousness and she cringed as if one of the thin stabbing suns of lightning were about to strike and she knew what it was but had no image and no words to put to it but it was coming and it was about to crack. The silent sharp edge of light cut her. She was illuminated and would have given anything to remain in darkness a moment longer.

  Hugo was not there.

  Peri sat up, throwing off a light, warm blanket, and looked around wildly. Was Hugo asleep in the cave with her? There was nobody else in this small space, more overhang than cave. What had happened in the storm? She’d lost consciousness in the dark. No memory of being brought here surfaced. Whoever had helped her might say to her, Baby? We didn’t see any baby.

  Sobbing with fear, Peri searched around her, though she knew Hugo wasn’t there. ‘Hugo! Hugo!’

  Her terror increased when she realised that her skims were torn and dirty and her hands and feet and ears were bandaged. A thin grey bracelet circled her wrist. Peri jumped up and ran out of the cave, its entrance half obscured by a green curtain. It was not even a thought, only a recognition, as she ran, that the green curtain was a hanging, dripping swamp, starred with flowers, like the vertical swamp behind Peter’s house.

  She was falling through the air. The swamp had obscured the drop at the very lip of the cave.

  I’m going to die.

  The air was cold, with a pre-dawn chill, and silent. The cliff sped upwards past her in a blur.

  I can fly and I shouldn’t be falling like this but it’s happening too fast and I’m stiff and cold and . . . there. Now. Peri’s wings were pushing her upwards even as she was thinking this. They had come to life themselves and were saving her, just as if they really were part of her body and took seriously their job of preserving that body’s life.

  Each wingbeat thrust her higher and she was rising into grey still air. A slash of orange burned along the edge of the world. Peri soared over the clifftop. Blue mist pooled between bronze trees. A cloud rolled over one cliff face like a waterfall, pouring white and thick into the valley. On a landslide down one cliff to the west, facets of jumbled rock, giant dull cabochons, started to catch the morning light. A pair—no, a trio—of eagles revolved against a cliff face rising from the other side of the valley.

  ‘There you are,’ said a voice above her in the still air. The voice was deep but its tones were soft and clipped so that Peri hardly heard the words.

  Startled, she looked up. Above her soared the biggest flier she had ever seen, his wings glossy dark chocolate with undersides shaded copper with hints of purple.

  Peri angled her wings to spiral upwards so that she was flying alongside him. ‘Hugo?’ she gasped, the urgency of her question so great she could not find other words. The man looked puzzled but the dread on Peri’s face must have struck him for he said, ‘Oh, you mean the baby! He’s fine. So that’s his name, eh? We’ve been calling him Storm.’

  Peri’s wingbeats faltered. The man said, ‘Stay close and just a little behind me. Our people need to see that you’re with me.’

  Peri followed the man as he folded his wings a little, falling in a controlled dive towards the trees on top of the cliff where she had fallen from the cave. As he dived below her she was intrigued by a patterning on his wings that she’d never seen on any flier: a lightning bolt flashed diagonally in golden feathers down the deep brown of his wings, one half of the jagged bolt on each wing. The flash was echoed by another golden bolt shining in the glossy black of the man’s short hair.

  The man pulled out of the dive while he was still well above the trees. Now Peri could see a white thread unspooling down the cliff wall. They aimed for the thread, dropping until it grew into a ribbon. Above and behind the waterfall, Peri could see a small beach bordered by a semicircle of green river flat dotted with fliers. The man arrowed down towards a pool in the river, splashing into it in a flurry of wings and water. It was a splendid sound, surrounding her in the grandeur of Flight. Peri was conscious her landing in the pool was more albatross than swan—she tumbled over herself, swallowing a mouthful of river, then righted herself and waded onto the shore, water sliding from her wings.

  A woman with deep blue wings came up to Peri and handed Hugo to her. Peri couldn’t speak. Tears started from her eyes as she took Hugo to a patch of cleared ground on the river flat and sat down with him, her back against a log. Hugo wriggled with delight as she felt him all over, was this really him, was he really okay? She was alarmed to see that Hugo’s hands and feet were also bandaged and his arms and legs were mottled with bruises, but at least nothing seemed broken. How long had she been unconscious? What day was it?

  Peri sniffled and wiped her tears away and kissed the top of Hugo’s head, breathing in his heady scent, that smell she would know anywhere. She kissed his hands and nuzzled his neck, and felt her heart subside into a slower, peaceful rhythm. Hugo cooed and patted her cheek, each soft touch thrilling through her like the flutter of wings. She straightened up and held him so that he could suckle.

  With Hugo settled, nursing, Peri watched the fliers gathered around a small, smokeless fire in the centre of the clearing. As far as she could tell, there were no non-fliers here. What was this place, who were these people? She slid the grey bracelet around her wrist but there was no getting it off.

  Seeing that Peri had finished the first part of her reunion with Hugo, the woman with blue wings came over to her. ‘I’m Finch,’ she said, setting Peri’s waistband at her feet and handing her some energy strips to eat. ‘At least I am here. My nom de guerre, you could say.’

  ‘I’m Peri. This is Hugo.’ Peri rummaged in her waistband with one hand, the other supporting Hugo, and pulled out a tablet of Opteryxin to swallow and a dose of Aileronac to inject. She hesitated, unsure whether to take a second dose to make up for the time she’d missed, then decided against it.

  ‘Can you tell me what these are for?’ Peri said to Finch, pointing at Hugo’s bandages.

  ‘You need to speak to Jay,’ said the woman. ‘He’s the one who gave you first aid.’

  The man—Jay—had disappeared but soon returned with a falcon perched on his gloved fist. He knelt near the shallows of a pool and the falcon fluttered off, splashing and ruffling in the water. There was a clear tinkling sound as the bird moved.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ said Peri.

  ‘He’s giving Shaheen, our peregrine, her bath.’

  Finch sat by her while the others went about their business. They ignored Peri; whether out of tact or genuine lack of interest she didn’t know. The fliers nearer the fire looked young, barely out of their teens, but they were older than Peri and looked confident and self-possessed. Jay was o
lder again, perhaps in his late twenties, and Finch must have been at least forty-five. She was short and wiry, with deep-set blue eyes in tanned, lined skin and long dark hair that was the same indigo as her wings.

  Four of the young fliers, having finished breakfast, conferred briefly, then waded into the river and took off from the cliff edge. They shrank into black dots against the sky and Peri realised the three eagles she’d seen against the valley wall must have been human.

  Peri watched the peregrine finish her bath; the bird shook the water off her breast and preened her feathers. She bobbed up and down as she drank the river water.

  ‘Come on, sister,’ said Jay. ‘Stop bowsing.’ The falcon hopped onto his fist. She was a large, beautiful bird with slate-blue wings, a dark cap, pale face and throat, regular barring on her belly and strong feathered legs. The tinkling sound was made by little bells attached to bands around her yellow ankles.

  Jay brought the falcon over. ‘You’re admiring our Shaheen,’ he said. ‘A fine girl, eh? We did have her mate, a lovely little tiercel, but we lost him, unfortunately.’

  Peri stared at the falcon until Finch turned to her and said, ‘So, what are we going to do with you? Dealing with you alone wouldn’t be too hard, but a baby as well . . . that makes things difficult.’

  Jay squatted on his haunches with the falcon still on his fist. Peri felt a strange sensation watching the mirroring of man and bird, as if a carved Garuda, like a statue she’d seen once in the Church of the Seraphim, had come to life and was looking at the smaller winged creature on his hand, the great sweep of his wings paralleled in the graceful arcs of the falcon.

  Jay said to Finch, ‘Pale Male had a few words to say to me. He said I’d made the decision for the unit by saving her and the baby. He said I’d acted unilaterally and outside the chain of command and I said I had no choice. In a storm like that—it was a split-second decision—I’d like to think he’d have done exactly as I did.’