Child of the Cloud Page 11

  Reluctant to abandon their feathered friend, the three rats attempted to coax him forward with some gentle encouragement. When their kind words proved unsuccessful, they resorted to the hardier tactic of pushing and pulling. Unable to squeeze him through the tightest section, they resigned themselves to the fact that he was simply too large to continue.

  ‘Wait here for us to return,’ Whisker said, leaving Chatterbeak with a lantern and a box of matches. ‘If we don’t appear by nightfall, head back to the dome.’

  ‘Aye, aye,’ Chatterbeak clucked. ‘Nightfall it is.’

  ‘Sorry to leave you like this,’ Horace said, giving the parrot a friendly scratch with his hook.

  ‘Caw, caw,’ Chatterbeak chirped. ‘Look on the bright side. At least the eagles can’t follow you through.’

  ‘True,’ Ruby whispered, making her way up the passage, ‘but outside it’s a totally different story.’

  Leaving Chatterbeak cooing softly to himself, Whisker lowered his head and crawled silently after Ruby. A bend in the passage concealed the source of the light, but it didn’t stop a ghostly wail of wind reaching his ears. With it came the high-pitched cry of an eagle, ‘Wip, wip …’

  ‘Stay low,’ Ruby hissed.

  Discarding her crutches, she edged forward on her elbows and knees, a sword in each paw. Whisker and Horace drew their own swords and followed after her.

  The passage grew larger and brighter as it curved around the bend. Ahead, Whisker saw a narrow band of light spilling across the floor. Drawing closer, he realised the light was coming from a wide gap under a small wooden door. The door was fastened to the wall by two large hinges, designed to swing inwards. It was barred shut with a sturdy hardwood plank, which passed through two brackets attached to the door and a further set of brackets on the wall. Its surface was reinforced with thick sheets of iron, with no visible key hole and no door handle.

  A gust of wind whistled through the gap under the door, sending a flurry of tiny snowflakes eddying around the passage. The sharp trills of eagles echoed from the world beyond.

  ‘We’re here,’ Ruby whispered, ‘Eagle’s Cliffs.’

  ‘And it sounds like the whole flock is home,’ Horace gulped loudly.

  Ruby gave him a furious glare that said keep talking at that volume and you’ll soon be meeting them. Horace took the hint and scrambled off to retrieve her crutches while Whisker helped Ruby to her feet.

  ‘Someone clearly wants to keep the birds out,’ he said, examining the heavy plank barring the door.

  ‘It’s a pity they didn’t install a window,’ Ruby said, frowning at the iron cladding.

  Horace scurried up behind them, hurriedly handing Ruby her crutches.

  ‘It pays to be short,’ he said, dropping to the ground. He squirmed into a comfortable position, with the side of his face pressed against the hard stone, and peered through the gap under the door. He was unusually quiet for several moments before rising to his feet with a look of concern.

  ‘I think you should take a look at this, Whisker,’ he said, gesturing to the door with his hook. ‘It appears the eagles have visitors.’

  Apprehensively, Whisker removed his rucksack, then lowered himself onto his side and shuffled towards the gap. Closing his right eye, he pressed his left cheekbone against the floor and squinted into the misty twilight.

  Eagle’s Cliffs

  The view through the crack under the door was breathtaking. Snow-covered mountain peaks rose to the north-east like dollops of whipped cream, their lower slopes appearing and disappearing between passing patches of mist. Pink-rimmed clouds lined the entire eastern horizon like a convoy of cotton candy. Huge cliffs of grey granite curved in a sweeping arc around the door, dotted with small ledges and eagles’ nests (known as eyries).

  High overhead, golden eagles circled and wheeled in the billowing wind, their sharp cries bouncing off the surrounding rocks. Fine snowflakes drifted past Whisker’s eyes, settling on a thin strip of granite just below the base of the door. The protruding rock blocked Whisker’s view of the mountain immediately beneath him, but the concave shape of the cliffs gave him a clear view to the north and east.

  From his current position, Whisker glimpsed an enormous circular ledge jutting out from the eastern cliff face, far below the door. It was surmounted by a rough, square-sided boulder. Perched on the boulder’s upper surface were four mighty birds: a golden eagle, a black raven, a red-tailed hawk and a peregrine falcon.

  Even from a distance, Whisker could make out a line of singed feathers on the falcon’s lower left wing.

  The King of the Falcons, Whisker thought, recognising the bird from its attack on the Ice Maiden. He studied the other three birds closely, wondering if they too, were rulers of their own flocks.

  The golden eagle was by far the largest bird present, and made a point of stretching out his dark brown wings as he spoke, further increasing his size. He towered above the rock, the golden feathers at the back of his neck reflecting the amber tones of the dusk sky. The sharp black tip of his yellow-hooked beak snapped open and shut with every word. Whisker felt a sick feeling of dread flowing though his body as he pictured the eagle’s sharp beak tearing through flesh.

  He listened attentively, the wind carrying the occasional voice in his direction, hoping to glean something from the conversation. The eagle and the falcon spoke in a primitive bird dialect, unfamiliar to Whisker’s ears. The red-tailed hawk, presumably accustomed to dealing with prison authorities, used a mixture of high-pitched kee-eeeee-arr sounds and the common Aladryan language. There was no mistaking the words ‘Emperor Eagle’ and ‘full moon feast’ he used on several occasions.

  Watching the hawk’s cinnamon-coloured tail fan out to emphasise a point, Whisker realised the final preparations for the feast were in full swing.

  The raven, in response to the hawk’s gesture, hopped up and down in one spot, crowing loudly and pointing the tip of his coal-coloured wing to a spot on the cliff, not far from Whisker.

  Although Whisker’s vision of the cliff was blocked by the rocks framing the door, he heard the words ‘no more,’ squawked loudly by the hawk.

  No more what? Whisker wondered. Birds? Prisoners?

  Curious, he slowly shifted his body to the opposite corner of the door to give himself an unobstructed view of the cliff. His right eye followed the thin ledge a short distance along the cliff face until it reached a strange structure of sticks positioned on the furthest and widest section of the ledge. The sticks, of various shapes and sizes, had been interlocked to form a long wooden cage, running from the cliff face to the very edge of the ledge. The sticks were so tightly packed that any gaps in the walls were less than a paw’s width in diameter.

  The low, sloping roof of the cage was covered in long sheets of pine bark, dusted with a thin coating of snow. In the centre of the nearest wall stood a square door. It was large enough for an eagle to pass through, and constructed in a similar fashion to the rest of the cage, with strips of bark woven between the sticks to create a solid veneer. The door was held in place by a forked branch, wedged between the door and a shallow groove in the rocky ledge. The branch could easily be removed from the outside, but the thick covering on the door meant there was no chance of prisoners dislodging it from within.

  Glimpsing a small movement through one of the gaps, Whisker shifted his attention from the cage to its dark interior. In the twilight, he struggled to see anything beyond a hazy shadow moving from gap to gap.

  Paws trembling in anticipation, he slowly removed the spyglass from his bag. Concealing its polished surface under his grey scarf, he silently slid it through the wide gap under the door, training it on the longest wall of the cage.

  For weeks he had been searching for his sister – blindly at times – hoping and praying she was still alive. Now was the moment of truth. It seemed almost absurd that a rugged mountainside could provide the answer to a question spawned in the heart of the Cyclone Sea, but he knew that answers were
often found in the most unexpected places.

  He moved his eye to the lens of the spyglass, adjusted the focus and stared through.

  Tiny fingers and toes appeared in the spaces between sticks. Flashes of brown, white and amber-coloured fur moved across his vision. Whisker saw eyes, small and terrified, peering through the cage. With every blink, he imagined the horror they were facing as they tried to comprehend what lay ahead.

  Do they even know their fate? Whisker wondered.

  From his position, it was impossible to tell how many prisoners were trapped in the cage, or even if Anna was among them. Refusing to accept uncertainty as his answer, Whisker studied the eyes more carefully. It seemed like an eternity since he’d seen his little sister and he knew she must have grown considerably in the months they had been apart. No longer a tiny infant, he wondered if he would still recognise her. Anna’s eyes were brown. But in the near-darkness of the densely packed cage, every iris looked black.

  Whisker wanted to shout out her name. He yearned to see a pair of those sorrowful eyes light up with recognition at the sound of his voice. He longed to hear Anna call back to him, ‘Wen,’ – the name she always called him. Wen, short for Wentworth.

  But Whisker knew he must be patient. Becoming a tasty appetiser through an act of reckless abandon was no way to save Anna – or any other prisoner. He had quickly realised that the rescue mission went beyond his sister. He had a duty to release all of the captives – rats, mice, rabbits – whoever they might be. He could never forgive himself if he didn’t.

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ Ruby whispered, waiting impatiently in the gloomy tunnel.

  Whisker quietly rose to his feet, leaving the spyglass lying on the ground.

  ‘I’ve located the prisoners,’ he said, gesturing for Ruby to take his place. ‘They’re being held in a wooden cage not far from here.’

  ‘How far, exactly?’ she asked, lowering herself to the floor.

  ‘Twenty metres,’ he estimated. ‘The entrance can be reached by following the narrow ledge outside this door.’

  ‘Is your sister in there?’ Horace asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Whisker replied honestly. ‘It was too dark to see.’

  Horace patted him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure she’s safe.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Whisker sighed.

  Ruby positioned herself behind the spyglass and took stock of the situation.

  ‘I can’t see any chains or ropes securing the prisoners,’ she whispered. ‘The forked branch securing the door appears light enough for a rat to remove. I’m guessing we could be there and back in under a minute –’ She wiggled her injured foot and added, ‘Make that two minutes with crutches.’

  ‘Presuming the eagles don’t pick us off first,’ Horace said sceptically.

  ‘That is a problem,’ Ruby admitted, angling the spyglass further up the cliff. ‘There are too many birds to sneak past during daylight. Hmm –’ She thought for a moment. ‘We might have a chance to approach when the eagles are asleep in their eyries. From what I can see, most of the nests are positioned above the cage and set back against the cliff face. When the eagles are roosting, they’ll have next to no visibility of the cliff beneath them, despite their clear view of the sky above.’

  ‘Are there any sentries guarding the cage?’ Horace asked.

  Ruby shifted her position to see further down the cliffs. ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ she relayed. ‘The attention appears to be focused on four birds standing on a square rock.’

  ‘Ara, the altar of sacrifice,’ Whisker said quietly.

  ‘Right now it looks more like a boxing ring,’ Ruby said, removing the spyglass. ‘Here, take a look.’ She gestured for Whisker to join her.

  Whisker squeezed his body beside her, suddenly aware that the squawks and screeches of the birds had risen in intensity. The raven, a master of mimicking voices, was slipping between various bird calls and easy to identify phrases.

  ‘What are they arguing about?’ Horace said, dropping to his knees and trying to wriggle between the two rats. ‘Move over. Let me see.’

  Ruby brushed him aside and continued staring at the commotion. Whisker shuffled closer to Ruby, making way for Horace.

  ‘From what I can gather, the blackbird is arguing over which flock should carry the prisoners from the cage to the altar during the feast,’ Whisker explained.

  Horace pointed his hook at the vast empty space between the cage and the circular ledge.

  ‘Is there any way down there?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t see any stairs connecting the ledges,’ Whisker observed, ‘so perhaps the prisoners will be flown down one-by-one during the feast.’

  ‘That’s one way to draw out their macabre ritual,’ Horace murmured in distaste.

  ‘Shush, both of you,’ Ruby hissed, ‘I can’t hear anything over your chatter.’ She gestured to a scuffle breaking out between the raven and the hawk. ‘This might be important.’

  The three rats watched in hushed silence as the two birds faced each other in the centre of the slab, flapping their wings angrily and clawing at the ground with their talons.

  The raven’s repeated use of the words, ‘jail birds,’ and ‘traitors,’ made it clear that the disagreement was somehow related to the prison. It didn’t take Whisker long to formulate a theory.

  ‘If the hawks offered their services to the prison guards in return for a plentiful supply of captives, they’d naturally consider it their right to take the lead in the full moon feast,’ he thought aloud. ‘On the other hand, the raven is acting like the whole prison arrangement is somehow un-birdlike.’

  ‘It sounds plausible,’ Ruby agreed, ‘except for one fact. The prisoners don’t strike me as pirates. I saw the terrified expressions of young children in that cage, not hardened criminals.’

  ‘Anna included,’ Horace pointed out. ‘Frightened kids are far easier to subdue than desperate pirates.’

  ‘Alright,’ Whisker conceded. ‘But it doesn’t stop the prison guards handing over children born in the prison or orphans left behind after Thunderclaw’s raids.’

  ‘Surely not!’ Horace gasped.

  ‘They had to get here somehow,’ Whisker said, stone faced, ‘and I doubt the fox is responsible for all of them.’

  ‘No child deserves to be punished for the crimes of their parents,’ Horace said, shaking his head in disgust.

  ‘I know,’ Whisker said resolutely. ‘And that’s why we have to rescue all of them.’

  Horace let out a small gasp. ‘Is that even possible? I mean, it’s four rescuers against four entire flocks of birds.’

  ‘Right now it’s one flock,’ Ruby said, staring intently at the audience of eagles gathering around the stone altar. ‘And it appears they have more exciting things to occupy their attention than a cage of terrified toddlers.’

  Whisker and Horace followed her gaze to the altar. While the raven and the hawk had been arguing, the golden eagles had been circling lower and lower. Now, as the feud grew in intensity, the eagles began landing in droves on the outskirts of the circular ledge, eager to see how the conflict would be resolved. As far as the rats could see, not a single bird was left watching the cage through the patches of evening mist forming around the shadowy cliffs.

  ‘We might not get a better chance than this,’ Ruby said, scanning the sky for any remaining birds. She turned to her anxious companions. ‘It’s your call, Whisker. We either go in the next thirty seconds or we wait until the birds are asleep.’

  Whisker knew there wasn’t time for a detailed plan. He had to trust his instincts and make a decision.

  If Ruby believes we can do it, then I believe we can do it, he told himself.

  ‘We go now,’ he said confidently, rising off the floor. ‘Ruby, keep your eye peeled on those eagles. Horace, lend me a paw with this door.’

  Whisker grabbed Horace’s hook and hauled him to his feet. Without a word, the rats positioned themselves on either end of th
e thick plank barring the door. Making as little noise as possible, they carefully lifted the wood out of the iron brackets and lowered it onto the stone floor.

  At the last second, Horace’s hook slipped and his end of the plank hit the stone with an echoing THUD … thud … thud ...

  Horace shot Ruby a terrified glance and waited for the inevitable. Ruby, still staring through the gap under the door, hissed something under her breath.

  Whisker stood frozen behind her, waiting for the flurry of feathers that would surely descend on the door.

  Nothing happened.

  Ruby finally looked back at her companions and scowled, ‘Could you two clumsy buffoons be any louder?’

  ‘My fault,’ Horace confessed, raising his hook. ‘I seem to be missing a few fingers. But don’t worry, I’ll invest in a claw attachment next mission.’

  ‘If there is a next mission …’ Ruby said through gritted teeth. ‘You’re lucky the raven pecked the hawk at the exact moment you dropped the plank. To anyone watching, it was the sound of a well-placed jab. Now, if we’re done with the sound effects, we need to rescue these prisoners before the raven delivers the knockout blow.’

  Whisker lowered his snow hood over his face and stepped towards the door.

  ‘I’m ready,’ he said, wrapping his fingers around an iron bracket. ‘Stay alert, and be ready for my return.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ruby said, rising to confront him. ‘No one said anything about you going out there alone.’

  ‘I’m saying it now,’ Whisker said. ‘This is a one-rat operation. I can move faster on my own. Besides, any extra bodies will only increase our chances of being seen.’

  ‘And what makes you the sole rat for this mission?’ Ruby demanded.

  Horace let out a snort and pointed his hook at Ruby’s bright red winter coat. ‘No offence, Ruby, but your outfit is hardly camouflage attire.’

  ‘Stay out of this,’ she hissed, moving her paws to the handles of her two scarlet scissor swords.