The Wishbird

by Gabrielle Wang

  Oriole could barely breathe. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘That cannot be, Mellow! You told me that Wishbirds can never die. Is there not a tree or root medicine that can cure you?’

  ‘Dear child, this is an illness of the soul and mind, not of the body. No plant can cure it.’

  ‘What then? There must be something . . . Where is the Kingdom of Pafir? Can we not go there to see the King?’ Tears streamed down Oriole’s cheeks and she brushed them away furiously.

  ‘The Kingdom is far from the Forest of Birds and I am too weak to fly. And even if I could go, I could not help, for the soldiers of Pafir cannot withstand the strength of this huge Barbarian Army.’

  Oriole sobbed, ‘But if you die, Mellow, I would surely die too . . .’

  Mellow turned to her. ‘My child,’ he said calmly and quietly. ‘We have passed twelve springs together and in that time I have taught you all that you need to know. Remember that.’

  Oriole put her arms around her beloved Wishbird, leaning her forehead against his golden crest. It had always been the two of them, her and Mellow. This life was all she ever wanted, all she had ever known, and she thought it would be like this forever.

  But in a day, in an instant, everything had changed.

  The shack where Boy lived with Panther and Rabbit was built from rough planks of wood tacked together with rope and rusty nails. The wind whipped through it in winter and the boys sweltered in the summer, but it was their home. Behind the shack rose the city wall, so thick that a squad of soldiers could march four abreast along its top.

  When Boy turned the corner into Ratskin Alley he saw Rabbit stirring a pot on a low coal-burning stove. Then he smelled something delicious.

  ‘You’re here,’ said the older boy, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and leaving a smudge of coal dust across his cheek. Rabbit was tall and lanky with large ears and a light growth of downy hair above his top lip.

  ‘That smells like real meat, Rabbit,’ Boy said. ‘What are we celebrating?’

  ‘Panther said to cook you somethin’ nice, so that’s what I’m doing . . . mutton an’ turnips an’ your favourite chilli noodles,’ Rabbit replied, grinning.

  ‘For me?’ Boy was confused.

  ‘Boy!’ came a gruff voice from inside the shack. ‘Get in here.’

  Rabbit squatted down and began to fan the coals to bring up the heat. ‘You better go. He’s been waitin’ for you all afternoon,’ he said with a sympathetic nod towards the door.

  Boy grinned and jingled the coin purse in his pocket as if to say, Don’t worry about me.

  As soon as he was inside, Panther pounced. ‘Where you been?’ he demanded, his words ripping through Boy’s body like jagged claws.

  Panther was the oldest of the three boys. He was lean with a high forehead and intense dark eyes.

  ‘I was walking,’ Boy replied.

  ‘Don’t you know there are plenty of bullies on the lookout for mugs like you? You’re an easy target with your sleeves bulging with loot.’

  ‘I was being followed, so I had to hide,’ Boy lied. ‘I got a nice haul, though. You want to see, Panther?’

  Panther lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Boy. He tugged at a metal ring in his earlobe, a habit he had whenever he needed to think. A moment went by. Boy stared straight ahead, not daring to look into Panther’s eyes.

  ‘All right,’ Panther said at last. ‘Show me what you got.’

  Boy dug into his pocket and pulled out the drawstring purse. He dropped it onto an upturned barrel that served as a table. The coins inside made a satisfying metallic clunk.

  ‘Well, well,’ Panther said, looking at the fullness of the bag. He tipped the coins out and began counting them. ‘You did good today, Boy. Real good. There’s enough money here to last us through the winter.’

  Boy smiled.

  ‘Food’s ready!’ Rabbit said as he pushed open the door and carried in three steaming plates. The smell of mutton stew filled the small shack.

  Boy’s mouth watered. Meat was a rare treat. He sat down on the dirt floor ready to eat.

  ‘What we celebrating tonight, Panther?’ Rabbit asked.

  ‘Boy’s test,’ Panther said, putting a juicy piece of meat into Boy’s bowl.

  Boy looked up. ‘Test?’ he gulped. Suddenly he had lost his appetite.

  ‘I want to see if you really are the best thief in the City of Soulless,’ Panther said.

  ‘But we already know that, Panther,’ Rabbit said, grinning at Boy like a proud older brother.

  ‘What do I have to do for the test?’ Boy asked.

  ‘Steal one of the Demon Monster’s treasures,’ Panther said, close to Boy’s ear.

  Boy’s bowl slipped from his hand. He looked at Rabbit. Rabbit’s face had gone white and his lips trembled. ‘You want . . . you want Boy to go to the Demon Monster’s mansion? But Panther, you know –’

  Panther interrupted. ‘Everyone knows the Demon Monster has a mansion full of treasures, but no one’s ever been inside –’

  ‘That’s ’cos he eats children live,’ whined Rabbit. ‘Rips their heads right off with his bare hands, then fries –’

  Panther cuffed him across the ear.

  Rabbit fell silent, rubbing the side of his face.

  Boy was as brave as any boy could be, but just hearing the name ‘Demon Monster’ made him prickle with fear. Some said the Demon Monster was a serpent with eyes at both ends of his body. Others said that he looked like a man, but he had lost his head in battle so he carried it under his arm. Boy’s stomach felt like a nest of seething ants.

  ‘One little treasure is all we’d need,’ Panther went on. ‘Just think, Boy. We could eat like this every night. Rabbit could set up his own stand and cook his specialties just like he’s always wanted. And you . . . you would never have to light-finger again.’

  Boy shook his head. ‘I can’t, Panther,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘Please don’t make me.’

  Panther breathed in deeply, then let out a long disappointed sigh. Boy knew what was going to come next.

  ‘Who saved you from the Song Stealer’s Cart?’ Panther said. His voice had taken on a sing-song quality.

  ‘You did, Panther.’

  ‘And who gave you food and shelter and trained you to light-finger?’

  Boy looked down at his spilled dinner. ‘I’ll bring you back a bigger money purse tomorrow and you can give me a beating, too,’ he said.

  Panther sighed again and stood up. ‘You don’t leave me much choice, do you, Boy?’

  Boy hunched his shoulders, bracing himself for the beating. In the corner of the shack, leaning against the wall, stood the bamboo rod. But instead of picking it up, Panther knelt down and flipped over Boy’s bedding. He began digging in the dirt. Boy bit his lip to stop crying out as Panther turned triumphantly with something in his hands. It was Boy’s treasure box.

  Rabbit looked from the box to Boy and back again. ‘What is it?’ he asked, confused.

  ‘Just some things I kept,’ Boy whispered.

  ‘Kept?’ Panther boomed. He turned the box upside down and Boy’s treasures fell in the dirt. ‘Looks like our Boy’s not been too honest, Rabbit.’

  ‘They’re not valuable, not to anyone but me,’ said Boy, feeling helpless.

  ‘Seems to me they’d be valuable to their owners,’ Panther said. ‘Whose to say they wouldn’t pay to have their precious things back?’

  Boy suddenly remembered the silver box in his sleeve and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Panther cocked his head on one side. ‘What you got hidden up there, eh?’

  Boy broke out in a cold sweat. ‘Nothing, Panther. Honest.’

  Grabbing hold of Boy’s arm, Panther twisted it up and back so that Boy fell to his knees. ‘Listen,’ he said, his voice like tight wire. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You can keep your precious things, including whatever’s up your sleeve, but in exchange you do this job for me.’

  Boy glanced
up at Rabbit for help but the older boy had turned away. Boy looked at his treasures, glinting in the dirt, and his heart twisted. He couldn’t let Panther take them, especially not his latest precious find.

  ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it . . .’ he grunted with pain.

  ‘Good,’ said Panther, letting him up. ‘Now, let’s finish dinner.’

  The stew was cold and Boy was not hungry any more. A moth fluttered towards the candle flame, its delicate wings about to catch on fire. Boy waved it away, holding back his tears. He would never cry in front of Panther, no matter how much he hurt him.

  ‘You’ll go tomorrow, then,’ Panther said, and with that he caught the moth in his hand and crushed it.

  Day after day Mellow’s feathers began to lose their lustre. His eyes grew dull, his breath quickened, and there was nothing Oriole could do. The silence in the Forest had deepened, too. She rarely saw the other birds. Where had they gone?

  One afternoon, when she was lying sadly in her nest, Redbill and Droplet alighted on a nearby branch.

  ‘Oriole,’ Redbill sang. ‘There may be a way of saving our Mellow.’

  Oriole sat up. ‘How, Redbill? Why have you waited so long to tell me?’

  ‘Because the way is fraught with danger,’ Droplet said. He glanced at Redbill who nodded back at him solemnly.

  ‘We cannot enter the City of Solace or we will be killed,’ Droplet went on. ‘But you, Oriole . . . you being a girl may not be noticed. You must find the King and tell him that our Mellow is dying.’

  Oriole’s heart gave a lurch. ‘But I have never left the Forest before. How will I get there. How will I know the way?’

  ‘Show her, brother,’ Droplet said. ‘Show her now.’ There was a tinge of excitement in his voice.

  Redbill whistled loudly, a sound that carried deep into the heart of the Forest. Oriole looked at him, confused. How oddly the birds were behaving.

  Then there came the beating of hundreds of wings. Oriole looked up. Above the Forest canopy, shimmering and winking in the afternoon sun, floated a strange coloured cloud. As it drew nearer, Oriole gasped. It wasn’t a cloud but a tapestry woven from leaves and feathers spun together with spiders’ silk and held in the Peewee birds’ beaks.

  The birds landed on the Banyan tree, letting the tapestry drape over the branches.

  ‘We have been weaving it for days,’ said Yellowspot, leader of the Peewee birds.

  ‘So that is why the Forest has been so quiet and why I could not find you,’ Oriole laughed. ‘It is beautiful, but what is it for?’

  ‘With this tapestry we will carry you to the city,’ said Yellowspot.

  ‘Carry me?’ Oriole looked closely at the beautiful carpet and her heart sank. ‘Are you strong enough to fly such a distance?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ said the Peewee birds in unison.

  ‘We are ready to leave straightaway,’ Redbill chirped.

  ‘We can go most of the way with you,’ said Purplewing, reassuringly.

  ‘Please, Oriole. You are the only one who can save Mellow,’ said Droplet.

  The birds shuffled nervously, waiting for Oriole to speak. There was a long silence as she looked out over the Forest, her world of trees and quiet waters, of rocks and endless green. Then she looked at Mellow lying by Fern Pond, so still it was as if he was already dead, and grief and dread settled like a heavy stone in her belly. It is up to me to save Mellow. Nobody else can do it.

  She turned to the birds and nodded slowly. They fluffed their feathers and jumped around on the branches in excitement.

  ‘But first I must say goodbye to Mellow.’ Oriole wrapped her cloak of rainbow feathers around her and climbed to the ground. When she reached the spot where Mellow lay, the birds who were tending him flew up to the trees so that she and the Wishbird could be alone.

  ‘Mellow,’ Oriole whispered.

  Mellow’s eyes fluttered.

  ‘I am leaving now for the City of Solace. I am going to find your King.’

  ‘No . . . Oriole. You must not go . . .’ Mellow tried to get up, but he was too weak.

  Oriole looked at her friend sadly. ‘Goodbye, dear Mellow.’ She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. And before he could say another word, she was gone.

  Mellow had taught Oriole how to receive his dreams. This was the way he taught her about the Outside. When he told her a story, she would open her mind and visions would appear. In this way she knew the form of many things outside the Forest of Birds without ever having left it. But when the birds soared in the air pulling the tapestry behind them, Oriole never imagined the world to be so vast. How beautiful everything was. She felt like she was the Wind, dipping and soaring and swirling.

  They flew over a cluster of turquoise lakes that mirrored the white fluffy clouds above her. There was no time to rest and the birds travelled through the night, taking it in turns to pull the tapestry.

  The following day, the warm morning sun woke Oriole. She threw off her cloak of rainbow feathers and sat up. In front of her, a dark stain spread across the horizon. Oriole was seized by a cold dread. She knew instantly that this was the city of her nightmare, the city of mouthless people.

  The birds lowered the tapestry gently to the ground. They were exhausted, but more than that she could sense they were deeply worried for her.

  ‘We must leave you here. We cannot go any further, Oriole,’ Redbill said. ‘When you wish to return, send us a message with the Wind.’

  ‘And please be careful,’ the Peewee birds sang together.

  Oriole sniffed back tears. She looked at her friends and wondered when she would see them again. Mellow had said that he had taught her all she needed to know. But was it going to be enough? In all her life she had never met another man, woman or child. She had never been into a city, never walked along roads, never been so afraid before.

  But she could not let her friends know how scared she felt, so she lifted her chin and smiled and said, ‘I will seek out the King and save our Mellow. Now off you go, dear ones, back to the Forest.’

  While the birds gathered up the tapestry of woven leaves and feathers, Oriole turned and began to walk.

  It was not until she heard the whoosh of departing wings did her tears fall like winter leaves from the ancient Banyan tree.

  While Oriole stood at the gates of the City of Soulless, the wind howled around the shack at the bottom of Ratskin Alley. Boy was tossing and turning, dreaming about the Demon Monster. He often heard the city walls whispering, but tonight they seemed to be crying out in pain. If only I could hold back tomorrow, he thought.

  But only Xi He, Goddess of the Sun, can stop night turning into day. And so the morning light came, like a pale ghost creeping through the cracks of the shack.

  Boy looked across at Panther and Rabbit, lying on their backs and snoring. Rabbit would be the first one up, but not until the gong of the first daylight watch.

  Boy quickly tied back his hair with a strip of frayed cloth and stepped outside. The air was foul with the stench of refuse strewn along the alleyway. A scrawny dog, with ribcage showing through tawny fur, skulked off when it spied him.

  Where Ratskin Alley crossed Pickle Lane, Boy turned right to the market square. Panther had decided that market day, with its crowds of people, would be the perfect time for Boy to climb over the wall without being noticed.

  The City of Soulless had begun as a small town, walled for protection from bandits. Over a thousand or more years, as the city grew, new walls were built and the old inner walls began to crumble and decay. There were four gates but only one was used and it was usually locked. This was not to keep strangers out, but to keep the people in, for nobody was allowed to leave the city without the King’s permission. Some had tried, but they were all caught. And then they disappeared.

  The Northern Gate was always heavily guarded. But once every month, like a fresh wind blowing from across the desert, traders from the Borderlands were allowed entry to the city to sell their wares
– vegetables, fruits and spices, cloth, clothing and handicrafts, tools, furniture, pots and pans. It was a chaotic day of noise and smells and different languages. And for that one day every month Boy could feel a stirring of something close to happiness in the people around him.

  Boy always looked forward to market day, but this morning his stomach heaved and his legs felt weak.

  The place was already bustling with people setting up their stalls. Shelters of woven cane were strung between posts hammered into the dirt. Men with baskets swinging from each end of a bamboo pole carried on their shoulders trotted past huge melons sitting on the ground like the heads of green giants. Gourds, cabbages, lotus roots and radishes were displayed in baskets.

  In another section were the stalls of the cloth merchants. The cloth merchants were only allowed to sell colours that were dull and dark – browns, greys, blues and blacks. It was all that the townspeople wore. But Boy had heard these desert merchants groan about their carts, sitting outside the gates, full of beautiful, brightly patterned materials that were banned in the City of Soulless.

  Once, Boy had seen a trader try to smuggle in some cloth trimmed with aqua and orange. He had been thrown out by the guards. Then, at the last full moon, Rabbit said someone had smuggled in an instrument made from the wood of the dragon-blood tree. Boy didn’t know what an instrument was, but it was obviously something dangerous for it was seized and burned in the Courtyard of the King.

  As Boy walked down the main street that led to the market square, he heard the sound of horses and the rumble of wagon wheels. He quickly stepped out of the way as the wagon pulled up alongside him. A camel was sitting in the middle of the road, refusing to get up. The soldiers guarding the wagon ran on ahead, shouting at the camel’s owner to move, and Boy turned to look at the strange wagon.