by Paul Stewart
‘Armed guards patrol every corner of the tower,’ Rook continued without a breath, ‘each one trained to kill first and ask questions afterwards. The Tower of Night is impregnable. To attack it from the ground, you’d have to go through Screetown.’ He shuddered. ‘They say it’s inhabited by strange, glistening creatures that constantly change their shape – rubble ghouls, they’re called. And rock demons … And if you survived all that, there’s the Sanctaphrax Forest – a mass of timber scaffolding that holds the rock up. It’s infested with rotsuckers and razorflits, terrible creatures by all accounts. No, the only way to attack the tower is by air and, as you say, a skycraft is just too small—’
‘But a sky ship isn’t,’ said Twig.
‘A sky ship,’ Rook breathed. All around them, the banderbears listened closely.
‘Oh, Rook, lad,’ said Twig, ‘it would be like the old days when I sailed with my father, Cloud Wolf, on raids against those great over-stuffed league ships. The trick was to go in hard and fast, I remember, and be off again with whatever loot they had stashed away before they knew what had hit them. And that’s what we shall do, Rook – in the Skyraider!’
‘The Skyraider?’ said Rook. ‘But, Twig, we don’t have a crew.’
Just then there was flurry of movement behind them, and Rook turned to see the great female from the Foundry Glade, Wuralo, stepping forward. ‘Wuh-wurra Tw-uh-ug-wuh,’ she said, and raised a great paw to her chest. I shall go with you, Captain Twig, friend of banderbears.
Twig leaned forwards and clapped the great beast on the shoulders. ‘Wuh-wuh,’ he said, and swept his hand round in a languid arc. Welcome! Friend!
A second banderbear – a huge male with a deep scar in his shoulder – stepped up beside her. ‘Wuh. Weega. Wuh-wuh.’ I, Weeg, shall also go with you. ‘Wurra-wuh!’ He pointed to the skies, touched his scar and raised his head. I served upon a sky pirate ship long ago, in the old days of which you speak.
‘Wuh-weelaru-waag!’ boomed the giant black bander-bear. I know nothing of flight, but I am strong! They call me Rummel: he who is stronger than ironwood.
Rummel was immediately joined by three others:
Meeru and Loom – twin males who had once tended timber barges – and Molleen, a wiry old female who’d worked long ago as an assistant to a stone pilot. Her lopsided grin revealed several missing teeth and only one chipped tusk.
‘Wuh-leela, wuh-rulawah,’ she yodelled softly. I can tend your flight-rock, Captain Twig, if you’ll have an old bag of bones like me.
‘Wuh-wuh,’ said Twig. Welcome, Molleen. She who is a friend of stone. He took a step backwards, and raised his arms. ‘Thank you, friends,’ he said. ‘From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all. But we have enough volunteers.’ He turned to Rook. ‘I think we’ve found our crew.’
‘Wuh-wuh!’ came an insistent voice, and Rook turned to see Wumeru forcing her way through the crowd of banderbears. Take me! Take me!
Twig smiled. ‘And what experience of skysailing could you possibly have, my young friend?’
‘Wuh,’ said Wumeru, her great head hanging low. None. But my youth is my strength. I am powerful and eager …
‘Thank you, young friend,’ Twig began, ‘but as I said before, we now have enough volunteers—’
‘Wuh …’ Wumeru faltered. She looked at Rook forlornly, imploringly. ‘Wuh …’
Rook turned to Twig. ‘We’ll need a ship’s cook,’ he said. ‘And Wumeru is an excellent forager, I can vouch for that.’
‘Wumeru?’ said Twig. ‘You know each other?’
Rook nodded. ‘We are friends,’ he said.
Twig’s face crinkled into a warm smile. ‘Friendship with a banderbear is the greatest friendship there is,’ he said, pulling a pendant – a discoloured banderbear tooth with a hole through its centre – from inside his hammelhornskin waistcoat, and looking at it thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I know.’ He turned to Wumeru. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said. ‘But I give you due warning. If you should ever serve up pickled tripweed, I shall have you sky-fired!’
Just then the rising sun broke through the high ridge of trees surrounding the valley and shone down brightly on the small group of waiting banderbears. Twig raised his head. ‘Come, then, my brave crew,’ he announced. ‘Let us delay no longer. The Skyraider awaits us in the Edgelands.’
A roar of approval resounded all round the Valley of a Thousand Echoes, and the cheering assembly of bander-bears stepped aside to let Twig, Rook and the seven volunteers pass between them.
‘Cowlquape, my young friend,’ Twig muttered under his breath, ‘I have lived too long with failure. This is one quest that will not fail!’
They made excellent progress through the Deepwoods. Never resting up for longer than an hour at a time, they travelled by both day and night, orientating themselves by the sun and the East Star as they headed north – always north – through the deep, dark forest and on towards the treacherous Edgelands.
Back in the saddle of the Stormhornet, Rook flitted through the trees above Twig and the banderbears as the group pressed on. The great creatures were speeding through the forest silently and swiftly. And unlike Wumeru who, as if in a trance when she was answering the call to the Great Convocation, had battered her way through the undergrowth leaving a trail of destruction behind her, the banderbears left not a single sign of their passing. Rook could only marvel at their agility, their deftness, their stealth.
It struck him as strange that banderbears were such solitary creatures, for together they worked so cohesively and well. They each took it in turn to lead, falling back to be replaced by another when they tired; each kept an ear open and an eye out for any potential danger. Intrigued, Rook approached Wumeru during one of the short breaks they took to forage and take their bearings.
‘Why do you live apart from one another?’ he asked. ‘You should form tribes. Work together. You’re good at it!’
Wumeru looked up, ears fluttering wildly. ‘Wuh-wuh. Wurra-waloo.’ She slashed her paw through the air and tossed her head. You are wrong. Banderbears can never live together. Together, we invite the fiercest predators. Alone, we can live longer, for we attract less attention. She looked about her and smiled, her tusks glinting. ‘Weeru-wuh!’ Though to be in a band like this, I almost wouldn’t mind dying sooner.
‘Wug-wulla-wuh,’ said Twig, approaching, his arms spread wide. Don’t speak of death, young Wumeru – though I am honoured to be facing it with you at my side.
There was a rustle in the undergrowth and the huge figure of Rummel emerged, his arms full of branches of hyleberries. ‘Wuh-wuh!’ he grunted. Quick, eat, for we must keep moving.
They continued through the forest, Rook scouting ahead on the Stormhornet until, with a tug of the pinner-rope, he would twist elegantly round in the air and fly back the way he’d come, checking every inch along the strung-out line of banderbears. Weeg was currently leading the group, the great scar on his shoulder glinting in the half light. Meeru and Loom, walking side by side, followed some way behind. Shortly after them came Wuralo, her mottled shoulders hunched, and after her, the massive Rummel, with his strange, loping gait. There was then a long gap before Rook came to Wumeru who, though young, seemed to have less stamina than the others. Finally, after another long gap, he came to the stragglers: Molleen, who was older and slower than the rest, and Twig himself.
As Rook swooped down, the old sky pirate captain waved to him. Rook waved back, proud of the great captain’s acknowledgement. And as he soared back into the air, he heard Twig murmuring words of encouragement to Molleen.
Not long now, old-timer. The flight-rock awaits your expert touch.
Darkness fell, but the banderbears – with Rook still up in the air above them – kept resolutely on. Through the night they journeyed, never easing up on their relentless pace, never making the slightest sound. The moon rose, crossed the sky and set far to their left. The sun came up, heating the damp, spongy earth and sending wisps of mist coiling up in
to the bright, glittering air.
All at once there came a yodelled cry from up ahead. It was Wuralo, now at the front of the line. The Edgelands! We have reached the Edgelands!
Twig yodelled back. Wait for us. We’ll soon be with you.
Impatient to see the notorious Edgelands for himself, Rook gave full head to the skycraft sails and darted forward. Beneath him, the trees grew fewer and the undergrowth thinned. Silhouetted against the pale yellow sky ahead was Wuralo, looking back. She spotted the approaching skycraft and waved.
Rook signalled back and, shifting the weight-levers and sail-ropes, swooped down towards her. As he flew lower in the sky, the rising mist swirled around him, chilling him instantly to the bone. He landed on a flat slab next to the waiting banderbear, jumped down and wrapped the tether-rope round his hand.
‘Wuh-wuh,’ Wuralo greeted him. ‘Wulloo-weg.’ She hugged her arms tightly round her great stomach. This place fills me with dread.
Rook nodded as he looked around the broad expanse of greasy, grey rock. He had never been anywhere that made him feel so uneasy. Even the endless tunnels of the Undertown sewers, with their muglumps and vicious piebald rats, were nothing compared with the barren Edgelands.
It howled and sighed as the chill wind swept in from beyond the Edge and whistled along the cracks and gullies in the sprawling granite pavement. It clicked and whispered. It hummed and whined, as though it was alive. A sour, sulphurous odour snatched his breath away. His skin turned to clammy woodturkey-flesh as the coils of fetid mist wrapped themselves around him. The wind plucked at the Stormhornet, bobbing weightlessly by his side.
He saw Wumeru emerging from the woods, followed closely by Rummel, with Weeg and the twins – Meeru and Loom – behind him. Like Wuralo, they seemed deeply troubled by the eerie atmosphere of the bleak Edgelands, and clustered together for warmth and safety.
Twig and Molleen reached the desolate rockland last. Twig clapped a hand on Rook’s shoulder. Rook could see he was trembling.
‘I never thought I’d return to this terrible place,’ said Twig, looking around uneasily. ‘But somewhere out there the Skyraider is waiting for us. Follow me,’ he said. ‘And search the horizon for the great black demon crag!’
Twig strode off into the mist, with Rook by his side – the skycraft bobbing behind him as he slipped and slid over the treacherous rocks. The group of banderbears, still huddled together, followed close behind.
The wind continued to whine and whisper in Rook’s ears and, as he trudged on, trying hard not to listen, wispy fingers of mist seemed to caress his face and stroke his hair.
‘Ugh!’ he groaned. ‘This is a terrible, terrible place.’
‘Courage, Rook,’ said Twig. ‘And keep looking for the crag.’
Rook strained to see through the dense, coiling mists. Ahead of them, the flat pavement seemed to stretch on for ever.
‘Wait for the mists to clear,’ said Twig. ‘They will, if only for an instant – but that’s all we’ll need to spot our goal.’ He pressed on. The wind howled round his ears, and strange voices seemed to snigger and jeer.
As Rook stumbled after him, the little skycraft at his side twisting and turning in the oncoming breeze, he could only pray that Twig was right. The mist closed in, blurring his vision and muffling his ears. ‘Is everyone still here?’ Twig called back. ‘Wuh!’ the banderbears replied with one voice. We are all together.
Occasionally, sudden squalls of turbulent air blew in, slamming into Rook’s face and pitching him off balance. He would drop to the ground, clutching on tightly to the tether-rope, and wait for the wind to subside. The last time it happened, the air had cleared and, for the briefest of moments, he thought he caught a glimpse of the Edge itself. But then the mist had closed in again, and he’d been plunged back into whiteout blindness. ‘I can’t see a thing!’ he called out nervously.
‘It’s all right, Rook,’ said Twig. ‘Trust me.’
Just then the mist thinned again, and Rook glimpsed the cliff-edge a second time. Far in the distance a dark shape loomed. The mist thickened, and Rook lost sight of it. ‘Did you see it, Captain?’ he said excitedly. ‘The crag!’
‘I saw it,’ said Twig. There was an odd catch in his voice. ‘But I didn’t see the Skyraider.’
They forged ahead in the face of the gusting wind and swirling mists, struggling to see more than a few feet ahead.
‘I don’t think I can go much further,’ gasped Rook as he battled with the Stormhornet. Twig looked stooped and exhausted; the banderbears around him, bedraggled and miserable.
‘We’ll stop for a few moments,’ shouted Twig above the howling wind.
The banderbears formed a huddle round Rook and the old sky pirate, offering a shield from the gale. Rook shivered unhappily. If only those mocking voices would stop, he would at least be able to think.
‘We’re lost, aren’t we, Captain?’ he said.
Twig didn’t seem to hear him. He was gazing straight ahead. The wind had died down momentarily and the mist was rolling away. ‘Look,’ he said simply.
And there, looming above their heads, was the largest sky vessel Rook had ever seen. Its great battered prow alone was the size of twenty Stormhornets, its pitted, scarred hull as big as an Undertown tavern, while its mast towered up into the sky like a great ironwood pine. A mighty anchor chain descended to the black crag ahead, its dark bulk shielding the vessel in its lee.
‘She’s magnificent!’ gasped Rook, then shook his head sadly as a thought struck him. No matter how wonderful it was to have created a wooden skycraft, the Stormhornet was, he realized, nothing compared with the Skyraider. The so-called Second Age of Flight, of which the librarian knights were so proud, was the merest shadow of what had existed before. So, so much had been lost.
‘Come on, lad,’ Twig called him, ‘we have no time to lose. We must leave this accursed place! Take your sky-craft and board the Skyraider. Throw down the rope-ladders and we’ll climb aboard. Quick, now. Before the winds pick up again.’
Hurriedly Rook climbed onto the Stormhornet and took to the air. In moments, he was level with the battered balustrade of the mighty ship’s foredeck. He secured the Stormhornet to the mast and jumped down to the deck. With trembling fingers, he untied the coiled rope-ladders and let them down. Instantly, the bander-bears began clambering aboard, followed at last by Twig himself. As he set foot on the sky ship, the old sky pirate captain fell to his knees and kissed the deck.
‘Thank Sky!’ he whispered. ‘I thought for a moment that I’d lost you.’ He sprang to his feet. Suddenly, he no longer looked stooped. The years seemed to fall away, and a youthful glint came into his eyes. ‘Come!’ he cried. ‘Let’s get the Skyraider airborne!’
As one, the banderbears dispersed. Twig went with them. Rook was left on his own. He scuttled round the Skyraider, snooping into cupboards and locker-rooms, peering down below deck and watching the banderbears as they hurried this way and that, busily making the great sky pirate ship skyworthy Wumeru headed for the galleys below deck. Rummel unfurled the mainsail, checking it and double-checking it for any sign of major rents in the material. Wuralo saw to the ropes. Meeru and Loom climbed over the balustrades – one on the port side, one on the starboard side – and clambered round the hull-rigging beneath, ensuring that the hull-weights and rudder-wheel were all secure and in alignment. Weeg scaled the mast, inspecting the great wooden shaft for any trace of wood-rot or the tell-tale hairline fracture of timber fatigue as he climbed right up to the caternest at the very top.
From behind him Rook heard a hiss and a soft roar. Curious, he followed the sound, and stumbled across Twig himself – his head between the bars of the central cage – staring intently at the surface of the flight-rock. Beside him, adjusting the flames of the now blazing torches, was Molleen.
‘Is it all right?’ Rook asked.
Twig pulled away from the flight-rock and looked round. ‘It shows no sign of the sickness,’ he said.
&nbs
p; ‘But that’s wonderful news!’ said Rook. ‘We can fly!’
‘Indeed we can,’ said Twig. ‘But we must make haste. For I fear the unseen sickness may already have struck.’
Rook frowned. ‘But how?’ he said.
Twig swept his arm round in a wide arc. ‘Through the crew,’ he said. ‘You heard what they said. Most of them have had experience of life on board a sky ship. The danger is that one – or all – might be carrying the terrible sickness.’
Rook trembled uneasily. ‘But how can we tell?’ he said.
‘We can’t,’ said Twig. ‘Maybe the flight-rock has already been contaminated. Maybe not. Certainly, the closer we fly to the crumbling Sanctaphrax rock, the greater the risk. Make no mistake, Rook, this is a one-way voyage. The Skyraider won’t be coming back. We must just hope and pray that it holds out long enough for us to make it to the Tower of Night.’
‘Earth and Sky willing,’ said Rook, his face pale and drawn.
‘But cheer up, lad,’ said Twig, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘This is the beginning of a great adventure. Come with me.’
He turned away and, leaving Molleen to tend to the flight-rock, hurried round the narrow skirting-deck and up a short flight of stairs to the helm. He seized the great wheel and released the locking-lever. Then he tested the individual bone-handled flight-levers, one after the other, making sure that the ropes moved smoothly; raising and lowering the sails and hull-weights in preparation for take-off.
As he did so, the yodelled cries of the banderbear crew filled the air as, one by one, they announced that the various sections of the great sky pirate ship were just about in working order. When the last – Weeg – called down from the caternest that the mast was skyworthy Twig clapped his hands together with glee.
‘Prepare to launch!’ he bellowed. ‘Make ready to drop the anchor chain!’
‘Wuh-wuh!’ the banderbears bellowed back. Aye-aye.
With a mighty shudder and an ominous creak, the Skyraider began to lift up into the air. Twig let the heavy anchor chain fall away with a resounding clang.
