The Wishbird

by Gabrielle Wang

  It was drawn by two horses and painted black, with four flags mounted on the roof. There was also a small barred window. Boy had never seen anything like it before, but for some strange reason he began to shake with fear.

  Then a shadow stirred inside, and the face of a girl appeared behind the bars. She looked to be only a few years older than Boy with long dark hair and brilliant green eyes that darted about fearfully. Finally they came to rest on Boy’s face.

  The girl’s hands came up to the bars and she gripped them tightly. Her mouth was bound with a cloth but her eyes pleaded for help.

  Boy wanted to help her but there was nothing he could do. Then a beautiful sound came from the girl’s throat. It was strange, and yet familiar too.

  All at once Boy felt a tingling sensation envelope his body and an image rose in his mind. It was the same face he had seen when he had touched the precious treasure in the silver box. This time the woman was sitting tall and straight, her hands gracefully lifting and falling, her head slightly tilted forward.

  ‘Get away from there!’ a soldier yelled, pushing Boy with such force that he fell into the gutter. The image was shattered.

  The wagon moved on with a clatter and the girl was gone. Boy got to his feet and stood, quivering, on the side of the road.

  ‘You get a look at that girl in the Song Stealer’s Cart?’ a woman standing nearby murmured. ‘Haven’t seen one of those carts in years.’

  Song Stealer’s Cart! Boy thought. The same cart that took my ana and ata away . . .

  ‘They say she has the singing tongue,’ the woman went on.

  ‘What’s that?’ Boy asked, still dizzied by an urge to run after the cart.

  ‘Some kind of illness left over from before the Fell,’ the woman said. ‘There were a lot who had it in those days. But they’re all gone now. We can’t have that kind of sound in the city . . . stops people from working . . .’

  She trailed off, looking confused, as if she had forgotten what she was talking about.

  ‘Where are they taking her?’ Boy asked.

  ‘The Palace dungeon, I suppose. Then she’ll disappear, like the rest of them.’

  Boy looked down the road. The King’s Palace sat behind its own great stone wall. The Song Stealer’s Cart, just a small black speck now, stood waiting for the Palace gates to open.

  Boy’s mouth had gone dry. He swallowed but no saliva came. The sound of the girl’s voice and the sight of the Song Stealer’s Cart had stirred something deep inside him, evoked a memory of a long ago past.

  Could that girl lead me to my ana and ata? he wondered.

  He took a step towards the Palace and an image of Panther rose before him, Boy’s treasures crushed carelessly in his hands.

  Boy faltered, then turned away.

  First he would go to the Demon Monster’s mansion.

  Then, if he got out alive, he would find the girl with the singing tongue.

  The land surrounding the City of Solace was devoid of all life. Oriole saw dead tree stumps, hundreds of them stretching all the way to the grey city walls.

  At first she could not understand what had happened. Then she realised with sudden horror that each stump had axe marks cut clean and sharp into the wood. This had once been a mighty forest.

  As the walls towered above her, Oriole felt a sadness emanating through every brick, oozing like blood from a festering wound. Along the top were battlements and watchtowers and soldiers wearing metal helmets and carrying crossbows.

  Oriole was aware of eyes staring down at her as she walked up to the huge wooden gates. A soldier nodded to someone below and one half of the gate opened. A puff of foul air escaped from within. Mellow had told her that humans were unpredictable, that they could be smiling at you and offering their hand while thinking of a way to attack. Oriole tried to stay calm.

  ‘Where are you from and what goods do you have to sell?’ a soldier asked, brusquely.

  Oriole looked at him in surprise. It was not what he said, she understood the words, but his voice was strange and flat – there were no highs or lows and each word ran into the other.

  The soldier looked Oriole up and down and frowned at her cloak of rainbow feathers. ‘Out with it! I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Please, Sir,’ Oriole replied in her bird-like singing voice. ‘I would like to see the King.’

  The guard stepped back, his eyes wide. Then he found his voice and pointed. ‘Seize her. She has the singing tongue!’

  At once Oriole was surrounded by soldiers with their swords drawn. Two of the men grabbed her by the arms. Oriole had only ever known the softness of feathers against her cheek, the brush of leaves against her legs, the gentle stirring of the Forest. But the soldiers’ rough hands felt like thorny bark and her ears ached from the shouting. She began to tremble.

  ‘Please let me go,’ she said. ‘I have come to see –’

  A soldier covered her mouth with his hand as if her words were poison. His fingers smelled of dead things. They gagged her with a dirty rag and tied her hands behind her back. Then she was led through the city.

  A crowd began to gather. They gawked and pointed. ‘Singing tongue. She’s got the singing tongue,’ they said in their strange monotonous voices.

  The road was flanked by wooden buildings crowded one on top of the other. Everything in the City of  Soulless seemed cold and grey and hostile.

  Oriole was forced into the back of a horse-drawn cart. There was a small barred window that let in some light. The door slammed shut and Oriole looked out at the people staring back at her. Their eyes were dull, their faces expressionless. No one laughed or smiled. There was the smell of decay everywhere; not the earthy decay of leaves and wood like in her beloved Forest of Birds, but the decay of dead things. It poured from the houses. It was on people’s breath. Oriole sank to the cart floor and covered her face.

  The cart came to a sudden halt. The horses stamped their feet, hooves echoing on stone. Oriole stood up and peered out through the bars.

  It was then that she saw the boy.

  His clothes were patched and his hair held back with a piece of frayed cloth.

  I know you! she thought. You are the boy from my dream.

  And all at once it was as if she had found a friend. There was something different about him. It was his eyes, yes . . . they were alive, as if a small fire burned inside.

  Oriole wanted to speak to him, but it was impossible with her mouth bound tight, so she pleaded with her eyes. Pleaded for him to help her.

  Then she realised that the gag did not stop her from humming. She gathered all her hope and began to hum.

  The boy looked startled, then the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile and he stared in a kind of rapture. He stepped towards her and Oriole’s heart lifted.

  Suddenly a guard appeared and threw the boy to the ground, shouting. Before he could get to his feet the cart had clattered forwards and Oriole lost sight of the only person who could rescue her. She sank to the floor again, helpless, as the Song Stealer’s Cart rumbled on.

  Oriole was still sitting on the floor when the cart stopped and the door finally swung open. A big man with a finely trimmed beard scowled at her and jerked his head, silently ordering her to get out. He wore a robe of fine purple cloth, with coloured beads adorning the collar and cuffs. He looked more like a beautiful bird from a forest than the dull grey townspeople.

  He must be important, thought Oriole. Maybe he is the King! She felt suddenly hopeful again.

  But as she stepped down the man snatched her cloak of rainbow feathers from her shoulders and threw it to the ground. Oriole shivered without it. She wore only a dress of spiders’ silk and on her feet were thin shoes the birds had woven from vines.

  ‘What do you want me to do with it, Lord Chancellor?’ the soldier asked as he picked up the cloak and held it away from his body in disgust.

  ‘Follow me. We are going to see the King,’ said the man. His voice was cold and grey, wors
e than any of the voices she had heard so far, and it filled her with dread.

  Oriole followed the Lord Chancellor’s flowing purple robes across a courtyard and into a huge building. One of the dreams she had received from Mellow was of a beautiful palace with high ceilings and walls covered with murals of birds and forests and ladies walking along paths edged with flowers. But in this palace the paint was peeling and the walls were cracked. Only if she looked carefully could she see the scenes that Mellow had given her, like snatches of a fading dream.

  The Lord Chancellor led Oriole into a hall empty of all furniture except a throne on a stone dais. Behind the throne hung a heavy cloth with a forest hunting scene. It, too, was torn and faded.

  ‘Tell the King to come at once,’ the Lord Chancellor ordered one of the soldiers.

  Except for the Lord Chancellor’s loud breathing, all was quiet as they waited for the King to arrive. The cold that came up from the stone floor made Oriole shiver uncontrollably.

  Soon this dreadful ordeal will be over. I will tell the King how far I have come, how ill Mellow is, and everything will be better, she thought.

  The wall of the Demon Monster’s mansion bordered the market place where the cloth merchants laid out their wares.

  ‘Want your fortune read?’ an old woman asked Boy.

  Boy shook his head and slipped behind her. He studied the wall. He had to find a way to get over it, but it was very high and smooth. There was nowhere to place your feet or hold on to.

  The old woman spoke again, her voice thickly accented with tones from the Grasslands. ‘If you never ask, you will never find out,’ she said, folding her fabrics and laying them in neat piles on the ground. Blues in one pile, greys in another, browns in the third. She stood up and smoothed back her wispy grey hair, adjusting a headband that was embroidered with dancing horses. ‘Remember this, son. It is not up you want, but down.’

  Boy turned and looked at her, puzzled.

  The old woman leaned forward and whispered in his ear, ‘In darkness seek the light. In stillness is motion.’ Then she turned away to serve a customer.

  How strange, Boy thought. ‘Not up, but down,’ he repeated.

  He bent down on one knee and felt behind the weeds that grew along the bottom of the wall until he found a small depression. He pushed his hand further in and met no resistance.

  There was a hole! It was not big enough for him to crawl through – he would have to work at making it larger. But the market place was too busy now. He stood up to think. And the old woman’s other words flashed through his mind.

  In darkness seek the light.

  Boy shook his head. I can’t come back when it’s dark. It’s scary enough in daylight. And yet the lady’s words were insistent, prodding him . . .

  In darkness seek the light. In darkness seek the light.

  Boy grimaced. There was no other way.

  The street sweepers, their twig brooms laid across wheelbarrows of rubbish, were leaving. The market square lay silent and empty. Dark clouds gathered overhead.

  Boy found the spot in the wall where he had felt the hole earlier that day and began kicking it with his foot. Pieces crumbled away easily and before long the hole was big enough for him to crawl through. Vines that had crept inside tugged at his clothes as if to hold him back, to warn him of danger. But he pulled forward, until his head was through the wall.

  What Boy didn’t expect on the other side was a garden – a garden thick with trees. From the market square, you couldn’t see them at all. But here they were, towering above him, reaching to the blackened sky. And they seemed to be murmuring to him as their branches rubbed together. The murmuring was drowned out by a rumble of thunder.

  Boy touched a tree trunk, feeling the roughness of the bark against his palm. The only trees in the City of Soulless were short stunted bushes. He had never seen anything as tall as these. He put his nose to the wood and breathed. It smelt so sweet. Rain hitting the top of his head made him look up. A flash of lightning illuminated the black sky. When he looked back at the forest it seemed darker than ever.

  Then he spied a tiny light. It danced and disappeared and reappeared. Was it a firefly? He couldn’t tell if it was near or far away, or if it was big or small.

  His heart began drumming in his ears. Keeping the light in sight he set off along a winding track.

  The trees opened up abruptly. On the other side of the clearing, revealed in a flash of lightning, was a house with a candle flickering in the window. Boy drew in a shivery breath as he looked at the Demon Monster’s mansion.

  Another fork of lightning rent the sky and he spied something out of the corner of his eye. He realised suddenly that he was surrounded by four huge statues: a tiger, a tortoise, a dragon, and a strange creature with many limbs.

  But wait. Did that tiger just move? Boy turned around very slowly to face it.

  The tiger, which appeared to be made of stone, was definitely not where it had been standing in the last lightning flash. Boy heard a roar followed by a booming peal of thunder. The thunder seemed to awaken the dragon from its sleep. It stirred and Boy stumbled backwards. Then the tortoise stretched out its neck. Only the many-limbed creature remained still.

  Boy wanted to run, but in which direction? The wall was somewhere back through those dark trees. The house was closer. Either the Demon Monster would eat him or the figures would. He took off towards the light as fast as he could. But as he passed the strange creature it too began to move. Then it leapt into the air, claws extended, eyes blazing.

  Boy froze as the terrifying beast hovered above him. There was no escaping it. All he could do was hunch down with his arms over his head. He closed his eyes tight, waiting for the attack.

  Suddenly there was silence. The thunder had ceased. Boy opened his eyes and looked around. The four monsters were statues again, each one sitting quietly on its plinth. Had he imagined it all?

  Letting out a long breath of relief, Boy stood up.

  A cold hand gripped his shoulder. Then a rope fell around his neck.

  Footsteps sounded in the wide hallway. The King, wearing a long orange robe with a plaited black sash at his waist, entered the room flanked by five men. He was a tall man with a straight nose and broad mouth, but his skin looked grey and his shoulders drooped.

  ‘Kowtow before the King!’ the Lord Chancellor ordered Oriole. She knelt down and touched the floor with her forehead like the soldiers around her.

  Aided by one of the men, the King mounted the dais and sat down on the throne. ‘Who is this girl?’ he asked. His voice was weak and his breathing laboured, as if he had not the strength even to talk. Oriole thought of Mellow and the thread that bound him to the King.

  ‘She has the singing tongue, Your High One,’ said the Lord Chancellor in a grave tone.

  ‘Take off the gag and let her speak for herself,’ the King ordered.

  As soon as the cloth was removed Oriole looked up at the King and said, ‘Please . . . Your High One. I have journeyed from the Forest of Birds –’

  The King’s eyes grew wide and he raised his arm to stop her. He began to cough.

  ‘How dare you use the singing tongue in the presence of  The High One!’ the Lord Chancellor said.

  ‘I am sorry, but I cannot speak in any other way,’ Oriole said, confused.

  At that moment the doors burst open and a soldier rushed into the room. He removed his helmet and bent down on one knee before the King.

  ‘I have urgent news, Your High One. A messenger has ridden from the borders of our Kingdom. An army led by Big Mo Ding of the Savagelands is on its way to the city and is destroying everything in its path. What are your orders?’

  The King rubbed his temples. ‘What do you advise, General?’

  The Lord Chancellor stepped forward. ‘Your High One, if I may interrupt. I have heard that Big Mo Ding is not as ruthless as is rumoured providing he meets no resistance. I suggest you send a messenger to meet him and agree to a pac
t. Perhaps you could offer him the low-producing eastern corner of the Kingdom in return for sparing the city.’

  The General frowned. ‘I beg to differ, Lord Chancellor,’ he protested. He turned back to the King. ‘We must act now. Big Mo Ding will stop at nothing to capture the whole Kingdom. We will be at his mercy like pigs to the slaughter.’

  ‘General,’ the Lord Chancellor snapped, ‘you have allowed our army to grow fat and lazy. If you had done your job and trained –’

  The General flushed with anger, but the King raised his hand before he could reply. He gave a rasping cough then said, ‘Both of you, stop this bickering. I am tired. Leave now and take that girl to the dungeon. The sound of her singing tongue has made my head ache.’

  ‘At once, Your High One,’ the Lord Chancellor said. He glanced at the General and Oriole was startled to see an ugly sneer flash across his face. Then he bowed low before the King.

  ‘No, wait, please . . . you have to help . . .’ Oriole tried to speak, but the cloth was tied around her mouth again and she was escorted from the hall.

  As soon as they were around the corner, the Lord Chancellor did a strange thing. He pulled aside one of the guards and whispered in his ear. Now, Oriole’s hearing was better than any human’s. Having lived all her life in the forest, she was sensitive to sound. She could even hear conversations between the insects in their tunnels underground.

  ‘Send a rider out to Big Mo Ding’s camp,’ she heard the Lord Chancellor whisper. ‘Tell him the King is very weak. It won’t be long before he surrenders. Wait a few days, then attack. The city will be easily taken.’

  Oriole was confused. If Big Mo Ding is the enemy, why is the Lord Chancellor sending him this message? When the Lord Chancellor turned towards her, she pretended to be looking out of the window, her thoughts churning.

  They crossed several courtyards to the back of the Palace grounds. Then she was dragged down a flight of curling steps.