Sword Quest (11 page)

“Harness them immediately! We go tonight!”
I will outsmart you, Yin Soul!
Maldeor thought as he drank more of the medicine.
I shall be the hero!

Many harmful things in life are seductively beautiful, like poisonous mushrooms.

—FROM THE
O
LD
S
CRIPTURE

R
obins hovered above a huge tapestry laid flat on the ground. The design of yin and yang looked like two huge white and black tadpoles swimming together, encircled by orderly lines. It was a surprising sight.

“I knew you would come,” the old robin said evenly as he held the sparkling red Leasorn. “Some say I have the gift of foresight. When I go up the White Cap Mountains
and perch in the mysterious fog, I see snippets of present, past, future…and these, along with the yin and yang, reveal things to me.” He shook a clawful of polished maple wood sticks. “I saw the two of you flying over the ocean, which is why we came to meet you today. We cannot thank you enough. Your places are in the mountains and woods, yet you risked your life to make the treacherous journey across the water to return this to us. This devotion, this virtue, sadly, is rare now. If you are not heroes, who else can be?”

“Sir.” Fleydur bowed. “We are only following the ways of our hearts: The true ways of a bird.”

“If you can see sparks of the future…” Ewingerale began but faltered when he realized everybird was listening. Then he said boldly, “I was wondering if…you happened to see a myna, stout, with a staff and a wooden berry strung around his neck…Or maybe”—Ewingerale exchanged looks with the eagle—“a white dovelike bird?”

Everybird quieted as the robin flung his sticks onto the tapestry below. He flew around and around the yin and yang, his maple-leaf headdress rustling, for what seemed like an eternity. “Go south,” he whispered as he orbited, seemingly not at all conscious of the woodpecker’s question. “Go south, where icebergs float, where
ice storms whirl. You are needed there, before Hero’s Day, when the hero will claim the sword. Danger is coming. There will be slashing teeth and fluttering wings over the ocean. Look for a special current in the sea. The air above it will carry you. Quickly, before it is too late.”

As afternoon came on, Wind-voice and Stormac, after flying all day, finally passed over the southernmost tip of the land, Cape Beak, and flew toward the sea. An archipelago of tiny cays and coral reefs dotted the waters below. It seemed to the two travelers that somebird had scattered stars on the water.

“You want to prevent Maldeor from getting the hero’s sword, but tell me, how many birds out there are like him, evil and wanting to become a hero?” Stormac said suddenly as the vastness of the ocean sent a foreboding chill down him. “How can you prevent them all?”

“I want to do what I can. It’s better than watching those cruel birds and doing nothing. If we lead the way, others might stop other wrongdoers.” Above them, huge clouds that looked like fluffy white versions of the Skythunder Mountains were suspended in the air. Wind-voice gazed at them dreamily. “Then someday the whole world will be peaceful.”

“But it’s a hard, hard thing,” Stormac grumbled.
“Becoming a hero myself is easier than flapping around hampering the bad birds.”

“I hope that you will become a hero someday,” Wind-voice said.

The clouds turned dark gray. Eyeing them warily, the two exhausted birds looked around for a place to rest. Suddenly a cloud shifted in the distance, and in the open stretch of sky they saw a spectacular mansion of exotic trees right by a clear fountain.

“Wow! The birds there must be so rich!” Stormac yelled. He rowed his wings with renewed vigor, adjusting his direction so that he headed straight for the mansion. “I can’t wait to get there!”

“It seems like a mirage, Stormac,” Wind-voice said doubtfully. Sure enough, as they neared the mansion it disappeared. The two flew more slowly now, feeling more tired than ever. Now the sky was turning dark pea green.

Wind-voice caught sight of a young gull in the distance. He called to him, “Where can we find an island big enough for us weary travelers to rest?”

The young bird flew up to greet them. “My tribe lives on an island not far away.” He had a harpoon in his claws.

The two birds gladly followed the gull, but the mighty
wind was treacherous. Whenever they tried to double their speed, it blew more savagely, enough to make them feel as if they were not making progress, or even slipping backward. The sea below churned and churned. They could hear the waves crashing and the foam hissing. What was frightening, however, was that they could see none of it, as the rain clouds above deposited what seemed like an ocean’s worth of water upon them.

“It’s storm season,” explained the gull over the wails and howls of the wind. “Do be careful!”

“I don’t think we can fly against this wind for much longer,” Stormac cried.

“There!” Wind-voice yelled, spotting something on one of the islands. “It looks like a cave!”

“You’re right!”

The gull squinted at the blurry dark shape and called to them, “I’ve seen it from a distance before, but I’ve never been inside. Still, anywhere is better than being out in the weather now!”

“Quick!” Stormac called. They landed just inside the cave, exhausted and wet. The air was damp and warm, but there was a faint smell of metal and drying seaweed. They all edged backward out of the wind.

Of the three, Stormac disliked water the most. He backed into the cave as fast as possible, but suddenly he
stopped. A sharp, painful prick on his spine sent shivers through him. Was that the knife of an enemy who had slyly waited for this chance to kill them all when they were vulnerable? He stiffened. His blood went cold, colder than the freezing seawater.

With his heart throbbing, he jerked out his staff and whirled around.

“Stop where you are!” he shouted at the darkness.

There was a faint hiss as Wind-voice lit a match. The quivering circle of light fell upon the enemy.

With a gasp, Stormac dropped his staff and stumbled, sitting down hard. The other birds stared.

The enemy was a grinning gold statue of a merry little bird holding silver flowers, gemstones embedded in the center of each blossom. Its “sword” was only a long, protruding leaf in the metal bouquet.

They looked at one another and found themselves all tensed as if ready to fight. Stormac started to laugh.

“Just a statue!” he tittered, rubbing the sore spot on his back. “Oh my! Getting all upset over this little dancing bird with the flowers.”

But the gull said, “Look!” and Wind-voice lit a second match.

Beyond the statue, in big piles, were coins and bars of gold and silver; strings of pearls; necklaces of rubies,
emeralds, and sapphires; rings of diamonds, opals, and amber; bracelets of jade, turquoise, and crystal. They sparkled with a dangerous glimmer in the match’s light.

They all noticed a deep blue stone, faceted and faintly glowing, a little ways off. Wind-voice hopped over and picked the gem up. He turned it over, finding markings.

“What! It’s the sacred gemstone that was stolen from my tribesbirds and friends!” From behind Wind-voice, the gull’s voice grew shrill. “I’m flabbergasted!”

They peered at it silently.
Another gem with a clue,
thought Wind-voice. He tried to read it, but his matches were spent and the light was too dim.

The pieces of the stand for the gemstone are here, too!” The seagull collected scattered pieces of coral and started reassembling them. Wind-voice and Stormac
roused themselves and helped as well. As Wind-voice wandered over near one wall, Stormac and the gull looked near the other. Suddenly a great sparkle caught the myna’s eye. It was a piece of carved red crystal, and it was shaped like a strawberry. Stormac lifted the crystal strawberry up and compared it side by side with the wooden strawberry around his neck. His eyes grew wider when he saw how similar they were. Surely a crystal pendant was better to wear than a flimsy wooden one. “Is this your tribe’s?” he asked the gull, who shook his head.

“We’ll go to your tribe and return the gem tomorrow, after the weather breaks,” Wind-voice was saying.

The gull nodded. The gem’s stand was assembled now and held the gem. “But Great Spirit!” he whispered, and shivered. He shuffled his webbed feet, edging toward the cave’s entrance, away from the horde of valuables. “To think that we are to spend the night with this.”

Stormac’s big eyes reflected the glow of the treasure, and he murmured, “But that’s silver! That’s gold! Look, all sorts of trinkets! What riches! They would last lifetimes.” He also thought again of the crystal strawberry.

“Riches that have an evil glow,” Wind-voice said.

“Pirates’ loot,” agreed the gull.

“Don’t touch them, Stormac,” Wind-voice warned. “If we take anything that belongs to birds we don’t know, we
might be mistaken for the actual robbers if we chance to meet those birds!”

“Oh.” Stormac moaned slightly but joined the others in moving away from the loot. He wanted the crystal strawberry.

That night, as the gale still raged, the three birds stayed put. While the two other birds slept, Stormac’s eyes were open, riveted on the treasures, feasting on the radiance.
I could leave my staff in this cave tomorrow morning and pretend to forget it,
he thought.
Then I’ll be able to come back to retrieve it…
After he managed to fall asleep, he dreamed of the little statue of the bird holding the flowers dancing around and around, chanting in a singsong voice to the clinking of jewels and coins, “Oh, look at us! Gold! Silver! Take us, take us, take us and you will be happy forever…”

The next morning the sky was so clear that it seemed as if it had been washed and scrubbed clean of yesterday’s dirty gray clouds.

Stormac was quieter than usual all morning. The three birds had a soggy meal and left the pirates’ cave, flying toward the gull’s island home, the biggest island in the archipelago.

Since Wind-voice was preoccupied with the discovery of the seagull’s gem, Stormac managed to avoid his
attention, flying behind his two companions. By and by he said to the young seabird, “Ah! Forgot my staff. I’ve got to fetch it. Be back in a couple of wing beats’ time. Don’t tell Wind-voice. I don’t want him to worry.”

The island appeared on the horizon. The seagull, sensing nothing wrong in particular, nodded and kept silent. The myna sped away.

Stormac’s wing beats grew quicker the closer he got to the cave. When he reached it, he snatched up his staff, lying under the flower-bearing statue, and hopped farther inside. Within a few seconds he was standing, lost in ecstasy, the prized crystal strawberry in his claws. How realistic it was! His beak almost watered. He was about to untie his necklace and replace the drab pendant with the new one when a thought struck him—if he went back with the crystal berry on his neck, Wind-voice was bound to notice and question him. If he stuffed it somewhere in a knapsack, Wind-voice might see it sooner or later, too.

The conversation with Wind-voice from the day before floated into his mind. A voice deep inside him said,
You know it is wrong, Stormac. What about your wooden strawberry? Remember what it is supposed to remind you of—your past.

“I have no need for this,” Stormac said firmly. He
flung the strawberry away with all his might. He must not be lured. The crystal landed somewhere deeper in the cave.

He was about to turn and leave when he saw a beautiful ivory club, its handle studded with tiny rubies, laying within a few clawsteps. In an instant a picture formed in his mind—Stormac the myna, in battle against the archaeopteryxes, wielding his glittering white club, famed in legend and song. He dropped his shabby wooden staff, ran over, picked the club up, and hefted it. It wasn’t like the crystal strawberry, after all. This was a
weapon
. It was useful.

But then the little voice inside him said,
Your wooden staff is good enough for you. It’s tough, realiable, and solid, like you are. You know that you just want this elaborate thing; you don’t
need
it.

Stormac reluctantly let the sparkling weapon fall from his claws. “That’s true. Must get the needs and wants straightened out,” he muttered.

His eyes, searching for his old wooden staff on the floor, focused next on a compass. Wind-voice hadn’t seen that yesterday. Now, this was definitely something necessary. It would be foolish, after all, to travel so far with nothing to guide them. They might be grateful for it later on. The voice inside him hummed in agreement.
He picked the instrument up with confidence and would have marched out of the cave if he hadn’t suddenly smelled a terrible odor, then felt a shadow fall across him.

“Shiver my feathers! If that isn’t one of those birdies on the archaeopteryxes’ wanted posters,” a harsh voice exclaimed.

This time the enemy was real.