The Wishbird

by Gabrielle Wang

  Oriole’s song touched the ears of the soldiers on the other side of the wall. It told them of grassy plains stretching to the foot of snow-covered peaks, of a woman waiting for her husband, of children waiting for their father, of a dog waiting for its master. It was a sad song, a hollow wind song. But it also told of happiness. New grass shoots through melting snow. A family sitting by a warm fire in their home made of animal skins, waiting. While camels and horses graze outside, a dog keeps watch, always alert, always looking towards the south. The Wind brings the smell of battle to its nostrils. It raises its shaggy head as it scents its master. With excited yelps the dog runs out to meet the weary soldier. The wife and children lift the flap of their tent. He has come home at last.

  The soldiers, huddled around campfires and lying wet and cold on the frosty ground, listened in rapt silence. As Oriole’s song carried over the city walls, souls were stirred and hearts began to yearn for the families they had left behind. Why had they come to fight in a strange and distant land? What had this war to do with them?

  They began to mutter and murmur restlessly. Only Big Mo Ding, whose heart was black as coal dust, heard nothing. He threw off the fur that he lay under and stood up, wondering what had come over his men. He looked towards the watchtower and then he shouted, ‘It’s a trick! Pick up your weapons. We attack now!’

  But the soldiers did not move.

  Inside the City of Soulless, the townspeople stepped out of their houses. They, too, listened in wonder. They remembered – yes, they remembered – how it was before the Fell, before the world turned grey. And they remembered how they used to laugh and dance and sing.

  Oriole’s music gave every listener a dream. Boy’s dream was of the garden of his long-ago home. Of his ana and ata making music as birds flew in and out of the trees. As he stood beside Oriole, he felt a strange thrumming almost like music under his feet, as if the walls themselves were trying to speak.

  When Oriole sang out the last note, she had to hold onto the window ledge. The song had taken all of her strength. The walls began to spin and in an instant, as she collapsed, Boy was at her side.

  In a corner of the Palace courtyard, under the shade of one of the gingko trees, two musicians began to play. The man played a three-string violin and the woman a zither. Their eyes were closed and their bodies swayed together. It was an old song, one they had not played in ten or so years. But once it had been the most popular song in the City of Solace.

  The golden notes floated across the courtyard, finding their way to Boy who was sleeping on a mat in the Throne Room. He was dreaming of his mother’s soft skin, a swinging jade earring, a flash of peach-pink silk and a long royal-blue robe.

  He opened his eyes. Then he remembered last night and he sat up.

  ‘Oriole!’ he cried. He had carried her down from the watchtower, step by endless step, before collapsing at the bottom.

  ‘You are awake,’ Lord Taku said as he and Lady Butterfly entered the room.

  ‘Where is Oriole, Lord Taku? Is she all right?’ Boy asked.

  Lord Taku smiled. ‘She is in the Courtyard of Four Gingkoes. Come . . . I want to show you something.’

  Boy rose from his mat and followed Lord Taku to the window.

  ‘If you look down there,’ Lord Taku said, ‘you will see her. And you will also see two other people you might remember.’

  Boy looked down into the courtyard. Oriole was sitting on a rock in front of two musicians.

  ‘They are your ana and ata, Boy,’ Lady Butterfly said, softly. ‘Why don’t you go down and join them.’

  Boy held onto the wall, barely able to speak. ‘But where . . . where have they been all this time?’

  ‘The King locked up all the musicians within the city walls,’ Lord Taku said, his hand on Boy’s shoulder.

  ‘We called them the crying walls . . . we thought it was the wind,’ Boy said, softly.

  ‘Go to them, child. They have been waiting to see you for a very long time.’

  ‘And the city, Lord Taku? Did we save the city?’

  Lord Taku nodded and pointed beyond the city walls. The camp was empty, only the fires were left smoking. The Barbarian Army had gone.

  Boy ran down the steps of the Palace, along the corridor and out into the bright sunshiny courtyard. Then he stopped, shy all of a sudden, breathless.

  Oriole came to him and squeezed his hand.

  Boy’s mother had her hair tied back off her neck with red thread. She was thin and very pale but her fingers were nimble, gliding over the strings of the zither like water slipping over rocks. Boy’s father played a violin. His hair was grey and he had a small beard. His body swayed as he moved the bow.

  Boy looked at Oriole and she smiled back and nodded.

  As the last notes lingered in the air and then melted away, Boy’s ana and ata looked up and saw him. Their eyes glowed with love.

  ‘My name is Boy,’ Boy said, his voice small.

  ‘Hero,’ his mother whispered, her eyes dancing like sun on the water. ‘Your true name is Hero.’

  ‘Come, Hero,’ Ata said, and he patted the space beside him.

  Boy sat between his mother and father.

  Ata placed the violin in Boy’s hand. ‘We will teach you to play music, Hero. Would you like that?’

  Boy felt the instrument in his hand and it felt right, it felt good. ‘Yes, I would like that,’ he said, his face shining.

  Then they drew him in close. Their heads touched, images whirled, spun, flew. For the moment there was no need for words.

  Oriole walked into the Throne Room and found Mellow sitting on the windowsill, preening himself.

  ‘Where are Lord Taku and Lady Butterfly?’ she asked.

  ‘They have returned home to free the birds,’ Mellow replied.

  Oriole looked out the window. ‘When are we going home, Mellow?’

  ‘You forget, child, that I am the King’s Wishbird. I cannot go back to the Forest of Birds. Now that the King is well it is my duty to stay here. I belong here.’

  Oriole’s heart gave a lurch. She never thought that she would have to return to the Forest of Birds without her beloved Mellow.

  ‘Oh, but I thought . . . yes, of course,’ she said, hiding her disappointment. ‘And Grandfather? I would like to say goodbye to him before I go.’

  ‘He is in the Chamber of Celestial Notes,’ Mellow said, watching her intently. ‘Go down to the Hall of Virtue, turn left into the Waterfall Room. It is the eighth door on your right.’ Then he turned back to look at the city.

  Oriole followed Mellow’s directions with a heavy heart. She had not realised how big the Palace was. She had only seen a quarter of it and she had never been in this part before. It was dark and dusty and had obviously been shut off for years.

  She counted the doors . . . four, five, six, seven . . .

  When she reached the eighth door, she found it ajar. She quietly pushed it open.

  The windows were folded back and sunlight splashed across the floor. The King stood at a carved table, his back to Oriole, unaware that she was there. The tabletop was bare except for a long thin box, which sat in the centre. The King touched the lid, running his finger lovingly over it. Then he lifted the corner of his robe and began to wipe off years of dust. The wood underneath was so beautiful it gleamed and Oriole could see the King’s reflection in its surface. His face was sad and wistful.

  With two hands he carefully lifted out a wooden instrument.

  The King brought the flute to his lips and began to play. Oriole’s body tingled. The sound was like that of a bird, with notes so sweet that tears welled in her eyes. It gave her a dream of her Forest home. And her heart ached for her friends, for her nest in the ancient Banyan tree, for Fern Pond and Fire Rock.

  The notes lingered long after the King had finished.

  There was a silence, then Oriole said, ‘That was beautiful, Grandfather.’

  ‘Music reflects what is in one’s heart,’ the King replied,
turning to face her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Grandfather, my heart tells me that I must go back to the Forest of Birds even though Mellow will stay here with you.’

  ‘This is your home now, Oriole. You belong here in the Palace. When I pass on, this Kingdom will be yours to rule with Mellow at your side.’

  Oriole sighed. ‘I have seen so many things here that make me sad and I cannot make myself unsad about them. Only the Forest of Birds can do that.’

  ‘Together we can change these sad things, Oriole,’ the King said. ‘There are many people here who love you – Lord Taku, Lady Butterfly, Hero, Mellow, and of course me, your old grandfather.’ He smiled. ‘In the Forest all you have are trees and birds and insects. Even your mother wanted human company in the end.’

  ‘Mother and Father chose to stay in the Forest too, Grandfather,’ she reminded him. She put her hand in his. ‘I will miss you all, but I will visit, often . . .’

  ‘I beg you to stay. You are my only family. We will replant the forests and the birds will return and so will the music. The City of Solace will live again.’

  ‘I know you will do that, Grandfather. Mellow will help you. He will mend the broken threads of the world as he has always done.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I am tired. I will sleep now. But I will leave tomorrow.’

  That night Oriole left the window of her bedroom wide open so that she could gaze out at the moon as she always did from her nest in the ancient Banyan tree.

  She heard a fluttering and something flew through the window and landed on the bed beside her.

  ‘Listen, Oriole, and do not speak,’ Mellow said.

  Oriole sat up, hugging her knees to her chest.

  ‘You belong here with your grandfather. It is not only he who needs you, the entire Kingdom of Pafir does too. The Forest of Birds will always be there, just as it has been since the first seed of the Banyan tree blew from across the Kun Lun Mountains and burrowed into the ground. You have come home now, Oriole. Home is here. And here is where you belong, where you are loved, where you will one day be a great and gracious Queen.’

  ‘But what if I do not want all that, Mellow? How can I live in a Palace with walls, in a city with walls, with so many humans who make noise, when all I have known is the Forest and green and quiet?’

  ‘What about Hero? Will he not grieve for you?’

  ‘He has his ana and ata now. He has a home where he belongs,’ Oriole said. ‘I belong in the Forest climbing trees and eating roots and berries, like I have always done.’

  ‘I will not stop you from leaving, Oriole, for you are now grown and are strong and wise. But think carefully before you choose to go.’

  ‘Thank you. I will, Mellow,’ she said, and she stroked his golden crown of feathers.

  When Mellow left to return to the King’s chamber, Oriole lay down. She drew her coat of rainbow feathers around her and thought about her nest in the arms of the ancient Banyan tree. It will need repairing. And it will be full of leaves. She smiled. The pull of the Forest was strong, like the moon pulling the tides. But Mellow would not be with her. Would the Forest of Birds be the same without him? And Hero would not be there. Hero, whom she loved almost as much as Mellow.

  But I can visit the city whenever I please. I can fly now. If the Wind is kind it will only take me a day.

  She turned and lay on her side. Her hand touched the silver box that held the turquoise blue feather, her mother’s feather.

  She snapped open the box and held the feather up by its quill. A hush fell over the room.

  Perhaps Mellow is right, she thought. Perhaps my place is here in the Palace with Grandfather and the people I love. I could make the City of Solace beautiful, as beautiful as a forest even. I would plant trees in every empty space and the birds would return. Yes, the birds would return just as the music and the laughter has.

  A smile, only a small one at first, grew on Oriole’s face. She lifted her eyes to the window, to the open space of the midnight sky.

  And there in the distance, on the old city wall, a nightingale sang to the moon.

  Come, take a stroll with me down the Palace Road and through the market place, for I want to show you something. It is busy today with camels and carts and sweet brown-eyed donkeys. It is market day. People from the Borderlands are setting up their stalls. Tarpaulins of every colour are strung between bamboo poles. Laid out on the ground beneath them are exotic rugs, silver and bead jewellery, jars and vases and pots in all manner of shapes, colours and sizes. There are instruments from all over the Kingdom of Pafir – violins, flutes, zithers and trumpets. For music can be heard now down lanes and alleyways, from doorways, from windows, and even from rooftops.

  Now we are passing Lord Taku’s walled garden. See there . . . a gate has been built and children are playing hide-and-seek in the trees.

  There is Lady Butterfly sitting with Hero at a small food cart by the wall. Rabbit is chatting and rolling dough, making his special chilli noodle broth. He has become quite famous now in the City of Solace. He waves at us, inviting us over for a snack, but we do not have time to stop.

  Are you looking around for Panther? You won’t find him hanging around here. He has disappeared, and nobody has seen him since his betrayal.

  We are leaving now through the Western Gate. It is not very far, the thing I want to show you. Just over the other side of those flat rocks. Tread carefully and watch your step, for the thing I want to show you is still so young and precious and fragile.

  Here we are. Bend down and look closely. There, can you see it?

  See that tiny brave tree pushing up through the dry cracked earth? That is the first tree of a mighty forest that will one day grow lush around the City of Solace. And do you know where it came from? It is a seed from the ancient Banyan tree, borne here by the Wind. It sprouted on the dawn of that day, the day when I first sang the Song of the Wishbird.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  So often an author sits alone, eyes gazing inwards, writing about the pictures she sees on the wall of her imagination. Yet at the same time there are many who help along the way, from the book’s conception to its birth. And these are the people I would like to thank.

  The idea for The Wishbird goes way back – to a time before I was born. The year is 1935. My mother is twelve years old. One day she finds a book tucked away in a cupboard in her classroom at Rathdowne Street Primary School in Melbourne. The book is called Green Mansions. It is written for adults but the story so captivates her that it awakens a life-long love of books.

  As an adult my mother scoured Melbourne for a copy of Green Mansions. Only after years of searching did she finally find it in a second-hand bookshop.

  I was fourteen when she first gave Green Mansions to me to read. The story about a forest-dwelling girl called Rima has haunted me ever since. I did not know, then, that I would be a writer and that one day this book would be the seed for one of my own books. But what a strange and wondrous thing life is. Something that you think is unimportant can grow into a mighty forest.

  And so the first person I would like to thank is the teacher who, more than eighty years ago, left Green Mansions in the classroom cupboard for my mother to discover.

  Thank you also to those at Penguin: my friend and publisher, Jane Godwin, and my editor Katrina Lehman and book designer Tony Palmer for their faith and patience and understanding.

  To my daughter, Lei Lei, who spent many hours with me editing the early drafts in her New York apartment.

  To my son, Ren, who read and edited and made so many valuable suggestions.

  To my dog, Hero, who lent his name to my main character and keeps me sane while I’m working.

  To my wonderful husband, Steve, my first editor and ideas man of knowledge, the one who is always there to give me encouragement and inspiration when I need it.

  To Varuna, the writers’ house in the Blue Mountains, and their Fellowship retreat which allowed me the space to write and illustrate in such a seren
e and beautiful setting.

  Lastly, thank you to my mum who read and edited the manuscript and for being that inquisitive little girl in the classroom.

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  First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2013

  Text and illustrations copyright © Gabrielle Wang, 2013.

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