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

by Susie Mander

  I have had only glimpses of my new sister. She has been more of a prisoner than a guest. Or a lion in a cage, waiting to pounce.

  Days have passed and still I have had no word from Maud.

  The grey canopy opens and I listen to the pounding of the rain against the slate roof. Fitting for it to rain on a day like today, I think. It is the first time it has rained in Tibuta in five years—the first rainfall since my twelfth year, when Callirhoe first appeared. It can only be a sign that Ballus sheds his water because Adelpha has disturbed the balance.

  As the evening closes in, carts dig up the lawns to deliver candles for the tables, straw for the floor and wreaths of dry herbs and wild flowers to disguise the stench of our guests, who come from all over Tibuta: from Veraura, Bidwell Heights, Lete, Elea Bay, Lizard Island, Tibuta Minor, the Island of the Dead and even the lesser islands.

  I laugh when, on sundown, the guests begin to arrive. A quagmire has formed outside the ballroom and the fleets have to carry the guests over it like babies in swaddling cloth, the mud sucking and slurping around their knees. The women’s dresses, so fine and so delicate, drag in the mud. Their headpieces of feathers and flowers are plastered to their faces.

  We wait in the wing for the minstrel to announce us. My mother straightens her crown and flattens the folds in her heavy black silk peplos but says nothing to me. My father’s long hair is braided into a thick rope and he chews on the end like a nervous toddler. Adelpha is immaculate. Viscous light catches the gold dew in her hair, which cascades down her back in thick black ringlets. A striking figure in gold, she is taller than me and far more beautiful.

  I glance down at my own plain dress, fringed in mud, and want to laugh. People like my sister take great pride in their appearance because they believe it sets them apart. What they fail to realise is that if they treat their bodies like canvases then they invite the world to judge them like pieces of art; their value becomes subjective. And yet despite this observation I envy my sister. And herein lies the dilemma. No woman wants to be ugly.

  I smooth down my hair. Through a slit in the curtain I watch the nobility take their seats. They whisper rumours of another princess, one with a mighty gift who could be the chosen one, their heads almost touching as they say, “Yes I know,” and “I heard the same thing.” The musicians silence the crowd with a flurry. We are announced. My mother and father lead the way. Adelpha and I follow.

  Adelpha is poised, as if she was born to make grand entrances. A child runs forwards to offer her a bouquet of elder flowers, which she accepts graciously, patting the girl on the head. She steps confidently up the three steps to the high table.

  The walls are Tibutan Gold Marble: the room glows. Enormous chandeliers hang low, swinging ever-so-slightly, and I imagine one of them falling, taking the ceiling with it like icing ripping from the top of a cake, the huge iron wheel pinning people to the earth. Flames rip along the floor to the tapestries that line the back wall and woof the whole place is burning. I blink and the image is gone.

  I scan the crowd in search of Drayk with no luck.

  We are seated in this order: my father, my mother, me then Adelpha.

  My mother stands and addresses the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow nobility of Tibuta, Thera Brunt of Lete and Bidwell Heights—” Thera is smiling smugly “—Gelesia of Veraura and Minesend—” the district leader stares at her hands “—honoured guests. We are gathered here today to welcome a daughter of Tibuta and what a glorious day it is. The heavens have opened and given us rain, proving that not all the prophecies are true. We give prayer in thanks to Ballus.” My mother nods at Adelpha. “I would like to present the cause of this blessing. She was lost to us many years ago. She left this palace under confused circumstances but by the grace of Ayfra she was found. I welcome my first daughter, Adelpha Golding.”

  There is a clamour. “Is she the chosen one?” someone calls from the back of the room. “Does she have a gift? Does this mean the unusual weather has gone forever?”

  “She is a true daughter of Tibuta and she has a powerful gift,” my mother says, ignoring their questions. “She is a loyal member of the Golding family and is committed to making Tibuta prosper.”

  “Can you prove it?” someone calls from the side. “Show us your gift!” There is laughter. I search for the source of this challenge and my eyes fall on Piebald. He leans against the side wall with his arms crossed and I know, I simply know my mother has put him up to it.

  Odell is on his feet saying, “I will prove it.” He interlaces his fingers and cracks his knuckles. He grins before raising his hand and pointing at Adelpha. A stream of ice shoots from his finger straights towards her. She reaches out with her hands as if throwing an invisible force. Nothing happens. The stream of ice keeps coming. She shakes her hands in confusion and tries again, with the same result.

  I glance at my mother. Her eyes are locked on Adelpha. A single blood-tear oozes from her right eye. She is consuming my sister’s gift. Just before the ice strikes my sister in the face, I pick up my plate and intercept the stream. Ice and plate shatter onto the white tablecloth. The onlookers gasp.

  “She did nothing, see? She has no gift,” Odell says. Others clap, but nervously.

  “I do have a gift. She was taking it.” Adelpha points at my mother. “Let me try again. Go again and I will show you.”

  “Enough!” my mother roars.

  Thera sits with her arms crossed, furious. “If I may continue,” my mother booms. “I would like to raise a toast to my daughter.”

  At first I think she is speaking about me.

  “Will you raise your kylixes?” my mother says and people take hold of their cups, still muttering about what they have just seen. “To Adelpha. May Ayfra see to it that you feel at home here. This house is your house and—” lightning drowns out her words “—to her health!”

  I grab a cup just in time to toast. There is a discordant noise of timber scraping over marble, people calling for mead, and dubious laughter.

  “She set me up,” Adelpha mutters under her breath, tucking her dress beneath her as she sits.

  “Get used to it,” I say and turn my attention to my food.

  Guests lurch outside and vomit unceremoniously along the wall. The tables are pushed to the side and the music starts. A man plays an airy aulos while a woman keeps time with a tympanum held above her head, her hips swaying to the beat, the folds of her peplos so loose her breasts threaten to tumble from her gown.

  I excuse myself and walk slowly down the steps, not wanting to seem overly eager in my search for Drayk. Vaguely aware of Bolt watching me, I weave in and out of the dancers towards the huge timber double doors opposite the high table. Someone reaches out and touches my arm. I stop abruptly, turning to face a woman familiar but out of context, almost hidden beneath a yellow shawl. She whispers, “Your highness, a word?”

  I frown in puzzlement at her beautiful, angular face. “Ried?” I say, finally recognising the red priestess who walks like a dancer. I point my chin at the door, indicating that she should follow.

  There are no stars in the sky. Water gushes through the drains, cascading over the awnings and splattering into the mud. A woman is pinned against the wall with her skirt around her waist and a man between her legs. A group pushes past us—Bolt fends them off—and staggers down the marble stairs only to get stuck in the mud in the courtyard below.

  Bolt keeps watch near the ballroom entrance; Ried and I duck around the corner and huddle against the wall. “We spoke to Harryet. A nice girl. Brave to be travelling to the temple, considering,” she says.

  “And lucky. Would you really have let her die if she had failed your test?”

  “Not our test, the Shark’s Teeth’s. And probably not. Not if we’d realised who she was in time.”

  “She said Maud would be in touch,” I say with a hint of impatience.

  “In fact, she would like to speak to you now.” Before I can protest, Ried throws back her h
ead. Her mouth opens and she writhes as if a serpent slithers inside her, her head thrashing from side to side. Her mahogany hair changes colour, starting at the roots, until it is pure white. Wrinkles appear on her skin like cracks in the parched earth. Her head snaps forwards and she peers at me with speckled eyes. Her transmogrification complete, Ried speaks with the high priestess’s gravelly voice: “Little bird.”

  “Maud?” I say, taking hold of Ried’s hands and finding them withered.

  “Child, I was so pleased to hear from you. It warms my heart to know we are fighting for the same cause. You are far braver than you realise.”

  “Is that really you?”

  “Of course it is, dear.”

  Whatever anger I felt melts away. “You were right. There is no way forward with my mother alive. I wanted to come myself so you could instruct me but she has practically locked me in the palace. I despair when I think what I might have achieved had we spent hours training my gift the way Drayk trained my body.”

  Maud wheezes, “You are more than your gift. Tibuta is more than her army. A woman must rule with her mind. In time your gift will come and you will learn to wield it.” She inhales. “But if you must fight for it, then so be it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Hush, child. Have faith.”

  But faith is what draws us to the water when we hear of a tsunami, I think.

  “It is our nature to thumb our nose at terror, to believe good will prevail. And so we must. What other choice do we have?”

  “So we fight.”

  She nods, making her cobweb hair waft around her bony face. “And soon. Time is running out. Since the massacre at Minesend and the execution of Theodora the Shark’s Teeth have become restless and I fear they are losing sight of their purpose.”

  “I am trying to win Petra. With the army’s support, victory is guaranteed.”

  Maud leans against the balustrade and peers out into the dark, ignoring the sound of people thrashing in the mud. “It will be difficult to convince the Shark’s Teeth to fight alongside the army. They have been enemies for so long.” She turns back to me. “Our goal, though, has always been to unify Tibuta in preparation for the Tempest. I will do my best to convince them but you must hurry. If you don’t win Petra, I fear Tibuta will descend into a bitter civil war and innocent people will die. We need the army to make a swift strike against your mother.”

  “I am close.”

  “The minute you have her, leave the temple.”

  I indicate my compliance.

  “Now, tell me, I have heard rumours of a new princess. A woman claiming a right to the throne. Is it true?”

  I nod and tell her about Adelpha. “My mother has no intention of giving up the throne. Not to me; not to Adelpha. This evening she publically humiliated her so everyone thought she was giftless.”

  “Interesting,” Maud says, running her hand over her chin. “If she splits her mind in three, her body will suffer.”

  “Enough to kill her?” I say but Maud shakes her head and laughs.

  “I am afraid it won’t be that easy. Not if your mother is taking measures to prolong her life.” A crowd exits the ballroom. “I should go. I will leave Ried for you.”

  “One last thing,” I say, watching a man peel away from the group. “Before she was killed the woman from Taveni Island mentioned seeing a bird flying above the Tempest and I think it was Callirhoe. Do you know what it means?”

  Maud thinks for a moment. “Birds are mentioned in the old religion from the mainland but I must check the Holy Texts. We will speak again once you have the army. Hurry,” she says, glancing at the man.

  When I look back the old woman’s eyes have cleared. Her skin is taut. Her hair is vibrant. Her voice is Ried’s: deep and melodic. “Your highness, Maud has offered me as a means of communication. If you could find an inconspicuous position for me in the palace, I can remain in hiding so you can call on me should you need to contact the temple.”

  “I know the perfect place.”

  Cook shouts obscenities at the serving boys who decorate tiny chocolate cakes with gold leaf. His face is smeared with brown and his apron is filthy. The crowded room throbs with heat and sweat.

  “Highness, not again,” Cook says, then points at one of the serving boys. “Friance, have that one sent to the high table.” The boy nods as he swerves past carrying a tower of desserts, ignoring me completely. His face is bright crimson. I cringe at the memory of our brief interlude. “And Amos, take the truffle meringue now. Don’t trip.”

  Cook approaches, wiping his brow with the edge of his apron. He takes me by the arm and pulls me into a quiet corner. “What is it this time?”

  “I need you to find a job for Ried.”

  “Bad timing.”

  “Please, it is important.”

  Cook looks the red priestess up and down. “Oh yeah?”

  “I need you to give her a job and a place to stay with the other serving women. Please, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. And no it can’t wait until morning.”

  Cook raises his eyebrows then turns his attention to the boys working along the table. “Get a move on. Odell is still waiting for his seconds.” He turns his attention back to me. “Who is she?”

  “She is a red priestess from the high temple. Maud sent her. She is very important to me. She must be made available at all times.”

  Cook’s laughter is from the gut. “If the queen finds out I’ll only be hung from the Justice Tree. But what do I care? The gods damn my soul. What’s your name?”

  “Ried,” says the red priestess, scrunching her nose in distaste at his blasphemy.

  Cook swings around and takes an apron from a peg on the wall. “Well, Ried,” he says and throws it to her. “You’ll have to work hard. There are no slackers in my kitchen.”

  Ried’s expression is one of blank indifference.

  “And you ought to know, I don’t take kindly to those who bang on about their religious views. You would do well to keep your opinions to yourself. Do that and we’re bound to get along.”

  The woman nods, her face deadpan.

  “She’s a real joker, isn’t she?” Cook says to me.

  “Thank you, Cook,” I say and squeeze his arm as I pass.

  “Anything for you, my dear,” he says and grins before turning back to his staff. I exit into the cool relief of the night to the sound of Cook’s jocular profanities directed at poor Amos who has tripped again as he inevitably would.

  Chapter thirteen

  I stare at the heaving tide of guests and imagine myself with Drayk admiring our unruly vegetable garden. Tomato vines slither across the earth sprouting red fruit, carrots push through the mulch, and kale and cauliflower compete for space. There are chickens rooting nearby. Such a simple life, like the one Harryet painted for me, a life free of sin, free of intrigue, free of betrayal. A life given over to physical labour, which purges the mind of visions of grandeur. An ignorant life. A good life.

  Drayk enters through the main door furthest from the high table. Though he is not vain and takes no pleasure in his appearance he knows a chiliarch is more than just flesh and blood. A chiliarch is bronze buckles, medals and shiny boots. He sees me and I nod in acknowledgement. I look up as he draws nearer. We stand side by side against the cool white marble. I am aware of Adelpha watching us. I scrutinise my mother, who leans across my empty spot to converse with the imposter. She laughs at something Adelpha has said but it is a false laugh for a doting audience.

  Around us men and woman link arms and whirl about, barely in control, while those around them stomp to the beat or clap their hands. It is a wonderful sight, like watching children play, but Drayk does not smile. A bleak mood sits on his shoulders. “What do you think of your new sister?” he says.

  “My whole life I dreamt of having a brother or sister, someone to look out for me.”

  “She came just in time,” he says with irony and I smile.

  “Thankfully I
had you,” I say and squeeze his arm affectionately. A dancer whirls dangerously close and Drayk and I move to get out of his way. “She is nothing like I imagined a sister might be. No more my sister than that chair or that table.”

  “Why call her sister, then, if she does not fulfil the responsibilities of the title?”

  “Precisely. She falls so short of my expectations and speaks openly of her intention to take the throne. But what am I to call her? Person? Thing? Nathos? If I cannot call her ‘sister’ then can I really call my mother ‘mother’ or my father ‘father’? They have hardly fulfilled their roles.”

  “If you take that line of thought then what claim do you have to the title ‘daughter’?” he says.

  “Or ‘queen’,” I say.

  “Or ‘friend’.” He will not look at me.

  “I did not realise you doubted my friendship,” I say. He finally turns to me and I notice the dark circles under his eyes, the deep frown which extracts all light from his face.

  “You are more than simply a friend,” he says then quickly changes the course of the conversation. “What of this woman’s claim to the throne? Could she be queen?”

  I wait for a moment before responding, deciding whether or not to let him divert our conversation. I choose to wrestle it back on course. Two hands wrap around my chest and squeeze. “You are more than just a friend to me too,” I whisper.

  Drayk looks at me, blinking wildly. “Excuse me,” he says and marches towards the exit.

  I peer along the colonnade. There is no sign of the immortal so I turn to my war-wit. “I’ll meet you back at the apartment.” I pull my dress up, leap over a puddle and run through the mud towards the barracks. Behind me the ball is a distant glow of noise, the pulsing of debauchery. In the distance the Throne Room is black against a grey sky, the full moon hidden behind rolling thunderclouds. The guards are a silent threat, menacing like the remnants of a bad dream. I ignore them.