Bird of Chaos: Book One of the Harpy's Curse

by Susie Mander

  She nods. I strike the gong and tell her all I have learnt recently, about my mother and about the high priestess’s relationship to the Shark’s Teeth. “While it comes as a surprise to me I cannot ignore it.” I strike the gong. “Maud suggests I accept the Shark’s Teeth’s support to take the throne that way. Harry—” I strike the gong “—I am tempted. It is as if a terrible force has entered my body.”

  “You must not.”

  I hit the gong again. “My mother has been stealing my gift, Harry. She has no intention of giving up the throne. I could put an end to the violence and focus our attention on the Tempest. You know my mother does not believe in Typhon or his last creation though the high priestess has proclaimed it true.” As I stack reason upon reason, unable or unwilling to see any alternative, my pride swells and I float higher and higher into the air. “It makes sense for me to take the throne.”

  “You must not…It is upsetting that she will not acknowledge the Tempest and it is true, there are some who say she has lost the faith—” I hit the gong “—but the First Mother’s blood runs through her veins and she is family. You owe her your loyalty. She is your mother, for Heritia’s sake, and you her daughter!”

  “Harry, I know but—”

  “She is holy, Verne. Do not forget it. She is a descendent of Shea.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “With all due respect, your highness, you must not.”

  I think for a while, sitting with my hands clasped in front of me. “While she lives I will not have my gift,” I say.

  “Do you hunger for power?”

  “No.” I hit the gong in anger. “I care only for Tibuta.”

  “Then you must pay your dues. The throne will come to you if you are worthy. You must not overthrow your mother. You are not a monster, not like Ligeia.”

  It is like she has struck me with a pin. I burst and come crashing to the ground, my selfishness revealed. “You urge me to do and say nothing?” I say in disbelief. I am hurt, and embarrassed that she has revealed my weakness.

  “Not nothing. But not this.”

  “You are right.” I say slowly, my mind milling over her opinion. “And yet the high priestess is right too.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “I am sorry, Harry,” I say, getting to my feet. I offer her my hand. “I must do it. There is no other way.” A tear runs down her rosy cheek despite her smile. She nods again and again. I wrap my friend in my arms and hold her to me. “This is my decision. The guilt lies with me.”

  “Whatever your decision you have my support. I have faith you know what you are doing.”

  But do I know what I am doing? This thought plagues me as she puts me to bed and blows out the lamps. If not, then poor Harryet will suffer with me.

  Drayk stands with one foot resting on an aerial root in the filigree shade of a fig tree. He has his back to me and yet I can picture his face as though it were a portrait hanging on my wall. I know each brush stroke, each daub of paint: his grey eyes are serious, a thoughtful frown creating two crevices between them, his skin like honey from hours in the sun.

  He is with his friends Carmyl and Alexis, who sit with their legs crossed looking up at the immortal with adoration in their eyes. Not love—no, there is no need for me to be envious—but respect.

  Their conversation comes to me on the impatient wind, caressing my cheek before flying down the Walk, through the cloisters and colonnades and out of the palace. “The queen has demanded we double our efforts in readiness. We will need women on every aspect of the visitors’ apartments. The emissary from Whyte is anticipated any day now, depending on the weather. Petra will send a convoy to meet him at the Seawall with a score of her best women, who will ensure his safe passage through the districts. Carmyl, you and your hoplites will take the first watch along the south terrace. Alexis will take the royal and state apartments.”

  Alexis sees me first. “Your highness.”

  Drayk turns, his eyes lighting up. He quickly dismisses his friends and I watch them stride towards the barracks.

  “Will you walk with me?” I say and he nods, keeping his eyes on the earth.

  For me, time seems to move more slowly when I am with Drayk. I ignore the hoplites standing off to the side, watching us, and relish every moment. I examine the marble of his chin, the delicate line of his mouth. We speak together:

  “Verne, there is something I want to tell you—”

  “I have to—”

  We laugh.

  “You go first,” Drayk says, face flushed.

  “I’m sorry I missed training yesterday. I was in the Seawall.” It seems like as good a place to start as any.

  “What on earth for?”

  “I snuck out to the temple during the riots.” Before he can say anything, I push on, “Maud and I discovered something…it really worries me and yet…I don’t know what to do…” I chew my thumbnail and spit it out on the ground. The hoplites are still watching us so I take his arm and lead him out of earshot before saying, “I am concerned, Drayk: the high priestess talks of treason.”

  “What? What did she say? Start at the beginning.”

  So I do. I take my time going over every detail. I start with my first visit to the high priestess when I was five and my mother’s insistence that I lie to my father. I tell him about Callirhoe—to my relief he accepts my assumption that she is the bird from the holy texts with a stern silence—and explain how I was suspicious that my disqualification from the tournament pointed to my mother. I tell him of my determination to speak to Maud Lias and my mother’s equal determination to stop me. I describe the sense of dread I experienced upon reaching the temple, the way the gate was so heavily guarded. The storm with no rain, an omen. Finally I reach the part that I cannot avoid. “Maud tested me to see if my mother is taking my gift and she is.” I glance at him, fearing his reprisal, but say it anyway. “She wants me to accept support from the Shark’s Teeth and overthrow the queen.”

  Drayk simply runs his hand through the sandy stubble on his chin. “I feared this day would come. The threads are starting to come undone.”

  “What?” I gesture for him to continue. Leaving the main path, we pass through a narrow passageway that forces us close together. I am aware of Drayk beside me: large, burning with heat and life. He sighs heavily.

  “I am not surprised the high priestess wants you to depose your mother. You would make a valuable ally for the Temple and if you were to succeed in taking the throne—I imagine Maud wants you to restore her power to what it once was or, better still, give her certain concessions that would extend her reach.”

  “She said she wants to stop the Tempest.”

  “That too,” he says, glancing at me then quickly looking away. “Your mother’s unwillingness to acknowledge the Tempest is destroying Tibuta. I believe she is using ancient remedies in an attempt to prolong her life and has no intention of relinquishing the throne.” We pass beneath a footbridge connecting two buildings. “The fact that the queen’s enemies believe in the old monster Typhon and his fifth storm is reason enough for you to do the same.”

  “Well if you believe it, it must be true,” I say sarcastically. “You are an all-powerful, all-knowing immortal after all.”

  “Not all-powerful,” he says with a grin that does not reach his eyes. I pull him out of the way as another two soldiers march towards the kitchen. We huddle beneath an awning and wait for them to pass. A thousand thoughts flash across his face as he struggles with his decision. “You know I live to serve you,” he says, taking my hands. “I act for the good of Tibuta and for the good of Longfield. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “And you know I care a lot about your family and it breaks my heart that it has come to this. Your mother took me in when I was a child. She taught me many things for which I am grateful. Surely you realise I would never do her any harm unless I thought it was entirely necessary.” He drops my hands. “I care about the people, Verne.
All of them: slaves, helots, freewomen…Your mother hasn’t the strength…” His voice trails off and he runs his hand through his hair. “Please, Verne, you must realise that treason is so far from what I had ever imagined for myself but I see that you are a far better choice for Tibuta. I want to follow you even if that means betrayal.”

  My voice is barely audible. “It breaks both our hearts. But I can see no other way. She is not the woman we once knew. She has become…unpredictable. Irrational. I do not trust her, Drayk. Not when she has hurt me like this. How could she so harm her own daughter?” Despite my determination to be brave, a tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it violently away.

  He looks at me in earnest. “We act against your mother because we see the error in her ways, not because we thirst for power or seek revenge. Tibuta needs a leader who will acknowledge the Tempest and fight for the people.”

  “It is not a betrayal to destroy one woman to save thousands,” I say though I am not so sure. I am dismayed because Drayk is a man of integrity. I am a woman of integrity and yet I have taken up the blade that will cut the ties holding my mother and me in a sacred bond. What else am I capable of? I fear I am capable of terrible things. I fear I am capable of destroying everything I know and love.

  For once my little self is silent. She hides in the far recesses of my mind.

  “Maud is right. The Shark’s Teeth are a formidable enemy and the fact that my mother is stealing my gift is only further proof that she has lost sight of what is best for Tibuta. When you think of those who will die when the Tempest reaches our shores, now is the time to take the throne.”

  He nods, glancing back at a hoplite marching towards us. We wait until he has passed. “With the army behind you as well as the Queen’s Guard your mother will have to step aside. I can give you the Queen’s Guard.”

  “And Petra?”

  “She has her price. Her daughter was executed and buried in the killing fields. She would do anything to have the body returned to her so she can dispose of her remains appropriately. Though she would never admit it.”

  “Petra’s loyalty is to the institution of Tibuta and the queen.”

  “So prove that the queen herself is antithetical to Tibuta, offer her redemption, offer her Styla’s remains and you will have the army.”

  “I will try,” I say, pushing off from the wall. We are both silent for a long time as we contemplate our ruthlessness. “Will you excuse me?” I say and when he nods, I leave him in that shaded place, wanting to be far from talk of treason. My love for Drayk has taken on a new face. He is no longer simply trainer and friend. He is co-conspirator. He is damned.

  I envision myself wielding a sword dripping with blood. My mother lies before me on the grass in a pool of crimson. Behind me all of Tibuta cheers.

  Reaching my apartment I remember that Drayk had wanted to tell me something too. Whatever it was goes unsaid.

  Strategos Petra Golding stands beneath the Tibutan flag outside the barracks. Her soldiers seem to go on forever, a sea of them in tusked helmets and pointed spear surging into the palace grounds from Minesend. Their sandals thud, thud, thud and they turn, approach, and click their heels. “Attention!” The hoplites salute and wait to be dismissed. Dust fills my lungs and nostrils. A crowd has formed along the parapets to watch the soldiers’ return but they do not cheer. Not when it is possible that these soldiers have killed their brothers, sisters, or neighbours who are, ashamedly—perhaps unavoidably—members of the Shark’s Teeth.

  Petra’s expression is fierce and I almost lose my nerve. She is my mother’s cousin and the captain of the army, having bypassed the rank of chiliarch to become strategos thanks to her ties to the royal family. A dark and stern woman, she is known as Petra the Loyal, a stickler for the rules, She-Who-Puts-the-Law-Above-All-Else. She is so named, feared and loved because her own daughter, Styla, joined the Shark’s Teeth aged fifteen and it was Petra who ordered her arrest. It was Petra’s women who dragged Styla kicking and screaming in front of my mother. It was Petra who stood by dispassionately when her daughter faced the Queen’s Justice. It was Petra who said all Tibutans must live and die by Tibuta’s law. To show favour to any man or woman, especially those who join the traitorous rebels, is to undermine the very foundation of our society. She did not flinch when her own flesh and blood—her heir—was shoved into the Seawall to be immured then hanged.

  It was also Petra who was most vocal when my mother disbanded the gerousia and expelled the ephors. It took great effort on my mother’s part to convince her that she was acting for Tibuta, that the elder-women were no longer Tibuta’s champions but parasites.

  I shuffle closer and clear my throat. “An impressive force. You must be proud.”

  Petra glances at me but says nothing. She smooths down her stiff uniform and turns back to her army.

  I watch the remainder of the parade in silence beside my war-wit. Unit after unit files past, sixteen women abreast. Their faces are blank. Some look close to tears. There is no pride in fighting their countrymen.

  When the last woman is through the gate, Petra addresses them. I listen as words of encouragement and praise carry across the Lower Ward and through the colonnades: “Go, put the strains of battle behind you. Have a bath; find a consort; you’ve earned it.” There is a spattering of laughter. “And let us pray that this day is never repeated.” I wait until she has turned away then join her as she marches up the tree-lined Walk. Bolt pursues at a distance.

  “They did well to supress the Shark’s Teeth, considering we expect them to kill their own brothers and sisters, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Indeed,” she says, striding more purposefully towards her destination. I have to skip to keep up.

  “It must be difficult sending your women against their countrymen.”

  “What are you getting at?” Petra says, turning to me. People mill around us, slowly returning to their duties or hesitating beneath the shade of the date palms to discuss the state of the army.

  I shrug. “I imagine it is hard to send your army to slaughter their own just as it was hard for you to give up your daughter.”

  Petra’s eyes are piercing. “It’s my job.”

  “As it was my mother’s job to have your daughter assassinated…I supposed.”

  Petra’s face is taut with anger. “It was the Shark’s Teeth who killed my daughter when they seduced her with their lies and turned her against the monarchy.”

  I cock my head, glad that her discipline means she will be constrained. “And yet it was the queen who called for her execution, was it not? It was she who buried Styla in the killing fields?”

  Petra’s nod is almost imperceptible. “Yes, but—”

  “I heard she refused to return your daughter’s remains so you could conduct the flight ceremony? Should the gate to the Elysian Fields open, Styla will remain buried in the earth. I wonder if she has made arrangements to have the Shark’s Teeth returned to their families or if they, too, will end up in a mass grave?” I straighten, crossing my arms. “It seems a shame when they were Tibutan citizens. Rebels, yes, but citizens all the same. I can’t help but think that the queen simply slaughters those who dare speak against her, those who speak in Ayfra’s name. She is sending her own army against people who love Tibuta.”

  Petra crosses her arms over her chest. “The Shark’s Teeth don’t love Tibuta.”

  “Don’t they? Is it not possible that Styla, like the Shark’s Teeth, saw the truth and was punished for having the courage to speak it?” I am impressed by Petra’s self-control. Her fury fights to break free like a wild argutan and yet she reins it in.

  “The Shark’s Teeth are treasonous dogs.” She spits on the ground. “It was the Shark’s Teeth who corrupted my Styla. I was lucky to keep my position considering—”

  I raise my finger, forcing her to bite off the rest of her sentence. “Explain to me how it is good fortune to serve a queen who murders her own people? It was the queen, your cousin, who punish
ed Styla, who humiliated you. It was she who showed no mercy but instead, chose the harshest of punishments, immurement, for an insignificant, unsubstantiated crime, not the Shark’s Teeth.”

  Petra steps back from me. “I will not dignify that with an answer.”

  I wait until a pair of soldiers has passed. “This is an unnatural war. Tibuta is a nation built on divine doctrines. Her foundation is the teachings of the First Mother. She relies on our loyalty, on our adherence to those doctrines. The queen threatens to destabilise us, to undermine that balance. If we don’t do something, the queen will destroy us.” I pause. “Am I right, you love Tibuta?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Of course I do. I have dedicated my entire life to protecting her.” I can see she wants to hit me and if I wasn’t the heir apparent she probably would.

  “Then surely you see it is possible that the queen has lost her way?”

  “What you suggest is treason.”

  “The truth can be treasonous, and subversion can set us free. Think on what I have said. We will talk again.” I turn abruptly like a player leaving the stage and march away, heart pounding. I am proud of myself. I am proud that I did not stutter or mutter, that I did not um or ah. I spoke truthfully, from the heart. My only fear is that Petra will go straight to my mother.

  Chapter nine

  From that moment on worry is my companion. Or, more precisely, paranoia. It sets my jaw on edge and makes my heart beat unusually fast, makes me cringe whenever the Queen’s Guard marches past. The limestone and marble walls of the palace close in. My world becomes narrower and narrower. I am constantly afraid that Petra will turn me in.