Page 63 of The Guardians of Dreamdark
“Ach,” Calypso croaked. “Don’t get in a frazzle. Just think on the next thing to do. The Magruwen, now, what’re ye going to tell him? He weren’t quite itching to help, as I recall.”
A flush came to Magpie’s cheeks as she imagined actually speaking any of the words that might tell the Djinn King the truth of her.You didn’t mean to, but you dreamed me up to save the world, Lord. Ha!
“Hoy there,” called Mingus from the rear of the flock. “Looks like we’re being followed!”
“Followed?” called Magpie, turning to look back.
“He dipped into the canopy just now, but he’s on us, I ken. ’Tis a small falcon.”
“Falcon, indeed!” Magpie declared. “It’s that lad. Let him come.” With a twinkle in her eye, she added, “Let’s give that skin a good test. Come on!” She doubled her speed, zinging so fast forward the wind unworked her braid in no time and had her hair streaming loose behind her.
The crows sighed and groused. “Don’t she know we’re no spring chicks?” Bertram grumbled, but the birds picked up their pace behind her.
And farther back, so did Talon. When Magpie sped up, he followed suit and found with a thrill that the faster he flew, the smoother he glided and the easier it was to stay aloft. He hadn’t soared like this since early sprouthood when his father, keen to accustom his small son to the rush of flight, had carried him in his arms.
Those times were like little jewels he kept wrapped in velvet in his memory. Sprouthood had veered after that into darker times, when the other sprouts had lined up on the ramparts, gathered their courage, spread their wings, and leapt. Some had soared on the first try. Others had faltered and fallen into the waiting arms of uncles and aunts, to be carried up and encouraged to try again. He alone had never stood there and leapt. Not until today, leaving Nettle and Orion behind with their mouths hanging open.
He smiled and flew on.
It wasn’t how it had been in those young days in his father’s arms, though. He could still remember the feeling of swimming in sky, the way the air swirled and eddied around you, tangling itself in your hair, filling your mouth. The weavework of his falcon skin was like a glove, muting that sensation, so when a cool whisper of pure air hit his neck, he knew something was wrong. He remembered the lass’s djinncraft knife pressed to his throat, and he swore.
“Bilge!” he cursed, trying to see the hole. “Skive!” But he had no more luck seeing his own throat than was to be expected, and he couldn’t pause to feel it with his fingers without dashing himself out of the sky. “Skiving blast!” he muttered, and he began to slow.
The crows and the lass were growing smaller in the distance, and the air hitting Talon’s throat was more than a whisper now; it was a steady flow. His perfect falcon skin was unraveling.
He knew he should turn aside and head back home before it gave out altogether and dropped him from the sky like apiece of windfall fruit. Where was the lass going, anyway? There was nothing down in southeastern Dreamdark but some recent Black Annis sightings and a whole lot of hedge imp warrens. It would be a long walk from here back to Rathersting Castle, long enough to catch him out after dark, and there were far worse things than the Black Annis abroad in the night these days.
He knew he should turn aside.
But he didn’t.
Talon Rathersting whooped, and all the years of longing, all the nights of standing on the ramparts wishing, poured into his arms and uncommon wings, and he surged forward and began to bridge the distance between himself and the crows. Within moments, he knew they weren’t headed for southeast Dreamdark at all, but beyond. Beyond. He caught a glimpse of the southern hedge, and on the far side of it an immense roof, a tower, and land rolling away to the south in a vast patchwork.
The human world.
The crows had scattered and disappeared into the forest just short of the hedge. Talon approached with caution, landing on an oak branch from which he could peer over and up the tidy lawn and gardens to the human place. For a moment, he forgot Magpie and the crows and stared at the gargantuan brick structure, its dozen chimneys, and the massive cattle grazing in the distance.
“Slap the slowpoke!” Magpie cried, suddenly dropping down from overhead and giving him a light cuff to the back of the neck. Talon nearly jumped out of his skin. Her hair wasloose and wild over her shoulders, her eyes sparkled, and she was smiling. “A game we play,” she told him as a couple of crows fluttered round on the branch. “I’d smack you harder, but you didn’t know the rules. So you get one pass.”
“Nice flying,” one of the birds said jovially. “But hoy, have a care for your skin, neh?”
“Aye,” agreed Magpie. “You’re undone.”
Talon parted the skin and it slid aside, revealing his face, neck, and shoulders. He examined the hole and found it to be as big now as his fist. “A djinncraft knife will do that,” he muttered.
“Ach! Did I do that?” Magpie cried, dismayed. “I’m sorry! I’d never want to wreck a thing like that.”
“I can mend it later,” he said, stepping the rest of the way out of the skin and folding it away into his pocket. He looked back out through the hedge. “The Magruwen’s here?”
“Aye, down a well over in the garden.”
“What is this place?” Talon asked.
“Just a school for human lasses to learn their books.”
“Humans can read?”
Magpie nodded. “Sure. They even write their own books. It’s funny about mannies. They’re no eejits. The things they can build, like bridges and ships? And they carve statues you’d swear could start breathing. But...theyareeejits! All the killing! They’d as soon kill as look at one another half the time. But then I’ve seen ’em sleeping all scooched on one side of the bed so not to wake a little kitty. I can’t figure ’em. Ach, there’s one now.”
