The rest of the day passed as they laboured through the magic tunnel, bathed in the soft violet light as they went. Their journey was an odd mixture of boredom and concern about the weight that must be bearing down on the tunnel. Adalon found himself worrying about its age and kept looking for ominous trickles of water.
Finally, after a steep, uphill stretch, they reached a stone arch in much better condition than the ruins of the mainland entrance. A'ak script stretched around it, sharp and angular.
'If only we could read it,' murmured Simangee.
They paused at the mouth of the tunnel and gazed out over the Fiery Isles at night.
Not far away, a large mountain thrust up out of the sea like a fist punched through silk. The mountain rumbled and belched red light and smoke. In the near distance, Adalon counted five other islands, each with a prominent peak smoking and groaning away, and countless smaller islands scattered across the midnight sea. Adalon shuddered. It was an angry place.
The night air was tropically hot. A riot of bushes, creepers and trees grew among boulders on the broad and rocky area that surrounded the tunnel mouth. In front of them the land tumbled away into dark and shrouded valleys. The spicy smell of damp earth and rot mingled with the tang of ash and sulphur. A jungle animal shrieked from the darkness – a cackling, demented sound.
'Who would live here?' Simangee wondered. 'A land of ash and jungle?'
'Our allies,' Adalon answered. I hope, he thought.
He stepped out of the tunnel. Simangee and Targesh followed and, as soon as they left, the violet light went out behind them.
Adalon blinked, his vision awry from the sudden change. As he did, the night came alive. Dark shapes swooped through the air. Adalon whirled and drew his sword. 'Targesh! Simangee! Beware!' he cried, but then he cursed as he was jerked from his feet by ropes. He fell and rolled, but whirling cords weighted with stones wrapped around his legs. He slashed with his sword, but the attackers dived and darted, easily evading his blade. More of the twirling, weighted cords spun at him. The stones pummelled and the ropes tripped, until he was tangled and helpless, with weighted cords pinning his arms to his body.
He lay with his cheek resting against the root of a jungle tree. A curious beetle stared at him then scurried away. Adalon hoped Simangee and Targesh had managed to escape, but these hopes vanished when two heavy shapes thudded next to him.
'This is embarrassing,' Simangee grated.
I hope that's all it is, Adalon thought. 'At least they haven't killed us outright.'
Firm hands jerked him upright and he was held, facing the tunnel they'd so recently exited. Standing there, in the flickering, red-tinged shadows thrown by the fiery mountain, were the creatures he'd only seen as statues.
The Winged Ones.
A score or so of winged warriors uncovered lanterns then studied Adalon, Targesh and Simangee with steady yellow eyes. They were small, but their chests and upper arms were strong with muscle. Their limbs were thin. A bony crest like a knife rose from the top of their heads while their faces were hard with short, beaky snouts. They wore leather trews and harnesses. Hands with claws painted black gripped the shafts of spears. Giant, leathery wings were folded on their backs.
One stepped forward. She glared at the three friends. 'We have guarded the Forbidden Gate for untold years,' she rasped. 'Alert, ready, we have been. And now, on my watch, the A'ak appear! The Great Enemy has come back!'
Rattling spears and angry mutterings followed this pronouncement.
'We have come from far away,' Adalon said, battling his astonishment, 'but we aren't the A'ak.'
The watch leader spat. 'The A'ak built the Forbidden Gate. You use the Forbidden Gate. You must be the A'ak.' She jerked her head. 'Net them,' she croaked and she jabbed a finger at one of the warriors. 'You. Fly with all speed to the Retreat. Tell the Flightmother that Kikkalak is bringing A'ak prisoners.'
The warrior nodded, then ran off and launched into the air with huge beats of his wings.
The other Winged Ones unrolled large nets. Adalon, Targesh and Simangee were each tumbled into the centre of a net, with a Winged One gripping a corner apiece. 'Fly!' Kikkalak cried.
The Winged Ones ran, bouncing their prisoners along, then they reached the edge of the rocks. Adalon's stomach lurched as the Winged Ones threw themselves off the cliff and dropped through the warm night air.
We're all going to die! Adalon thought. He strained and struggled as they plummeted toward the dark jungle below with no other thought than to break free of his bonds. Then, as one, the wings of his four guards snapped open. Their hurtling descent became a swooping glide. The mighty wings began to beat, thrusting them upward and forward.
As he peered down, Adalon hoped that the net-makers were skilful. Ahead, a brilliant burst of orange light lit the night as the mountain cleared its throat. Adalon twisted his head and saw the other Winged Ones, some dangling nets that he assumed carried Targesh and Simangee.
The smoking mountain grew nearer. Adalon saw that one flank stretched out until it was swallowed by the jungle, with rocky cliffs breaking through the vegetation like the weathered bones of an immense creature. When they drew closer, Adalon realised that what he had thought was rock was in fact the ruins of an enormous castle that looked suspiciously like an A'ak construction. Vines, creepers and ferns enveloped the ruins, making it look unkempt. Lights appeared in dark holes as the Winged Ones came closer. Bent figures scurried from the shadows.
Their captors folded their pinions and plunged toward the ruins. Adalon gritted his teeth. He hated feeling helpless, bound and carried as he was, but he hesitated to use his thumb-claws on the net. It was the only thing between him and a long, long fall.
With a jolt and a scrape, the Winged Ones landed, running a few steps before dumping the net and muttering complaints. Adalon stifled a grunt, then hands pulled him upright to stand with his friends. The Winged Ones unbound their legs and Adalon flexed, trying to work them back to life.
'What a ride!' Simangee said. Her eyes caught the lantern light. She hummed a few bars of a jaunty tune. She turned to the watch leader, Kikkalak, who was muttering with one of the Winged Ones who had emerged from the shadows. 'You're so lucky to be able to fly. I wish I could.'
Kikkalak narrowed her eyes. 'Quiet, A'ak. Do not try to work your magic on me.'
'The A'ak are gone,' Targesh said. 'A long time ago.'
Kikkalak took two hopping steps. 'You lie,' she hissed. 'The Great Enemy always lied to the Winged Ones.'
'It's true,' Adalon said. 'The A'ak haven't been seen in the seven kingdoms in ten thousand years.'
Kikkalak lifted her spear. 'You A'ak try to trick us.'
Adalon shook his head. 'The A'ak are gone, but the land is facing another enemy. We've come to seek your help.'
Kikkalak tilted her head to one side, disgust and anger clear on her face, then, slowly, tilted it to the other as she considered Adalon's words. Finally, she clacked her beak. 'The Flightmother will deal with you.'