| |
The Eagle Has Crash Landed
Just when you think you’re saved...
My heart does a cancan when I spot the incoming flight, sweeping around on approach to the stone runway. We’ve had our moments, but I cheerfully acknowledge that Wings in full flight is an impressive sight, particularly when he’s dangling a mangy grey wolf in one claw and a ginger bear in the other. There’s a bulky leather bag strapped to his undercarriage and I’m ruminating on the amount of strength that ageing bird is displaying, when his head goes up like he’s gargling with barbed wire, the wingspan buckles and down he plummets like a divebomber.
Claws open and drop two furry missiles on the heads of surprised guards, whilst Wings thunders onto the turret, slides down the slanted roof and lands on the upper sill, legs in the air like an oven ready chicken. At the very least he’s out cold, with that bag lying on his chest. I refuse to consider any other possibility.
I’m too far away to hear anything, so all I can do is lean back and stare up at the roof, praying Curt and Adamo will overcome the guards. A good pair of binoculars would come in handy right now.
There.
A pair of ginger ears and a bear snout just popped above the wall, so Adamo’s alive.
Curt, where are you? Where’s that flaming wolf?
Yeesh. There he is, all snarling, tearing maw of him. Bits of fur and a cloud of feathers fly into the air and flutter in the wind. It’s like one of those ‘smack a mole on the head with a hammer’ pop up toys. There’s a grey ear, ginger paw, a scrawny leg from an upside down bird and a shaggy grey tail.
Adamo’s face pops up and he smacks his forehead into the back of an eagle’s head. I can’t see the eyes, but I’d lay money they’re crossing. This fight’s going on too long and they’re outnumbered three to two.
Wait.
Wings just sat up and gave a tentative flap. Yay, he’s ok. Alright, he’s swaying a bit under the weight of that pack, but he’s not dead, so it’s a win. His beak opens and I’d guess that’s a battle shriek because he plummets down into the melee. That’ll even it up, three against three.
Now there’s only flashes of movement behind that wall, so I can’t tell what’s happening at all. Come on boys. Please.
All movement suddenly stops, my heart and breathing along with it. Are they too injured to move? What if they’re dead? Stop crying, woman, the tears will freeze on your face.
Oh, I see an eagle’s head. Which one? Turn around so I can... it’s... definitely Wings. Thank God. Now where are the others? The back of my neck feels nailed onto my head, it’s so stiff, but I can’t tear my eyes away from that wall.
A ginger head and torso rise up as Adamo’s bear stands tall on his back legs. Two massive paws shoot into the air in celebration of winning the boxing match. I’m applauding with frozen, burnt palms, but he can’t hear me. Curt has to be fine. Adamo wouldn’t play around like that if he was injured. As though in answer to my thoughts, two scraggy grey feet smack right in the middle of Adamo’s furry chest and he rolls over backwards.
Mussed grey hair and tightly muscled, naked shoulders clear the edge of the wall as Curt regains his human form and grapples with the pack’s leather lashings on Wings. As soon as it drops clear of his torso, Wings changes. The fleeting appearance of a cuff, a boot and a belt strap tells me they’re all dressing.
Erm, best let them know I’m here, because I’d like to be rescued right about now. Feminism can wait until I’ve thawed out. I try yelling and waving, but the wind steals every word and brings on a lung shredding coughing fit. I’m racking my iced up brain cells for a way to get their attention, when I catch sight of my burnt cuff and realise I’m wearing a bright yellow beacon.
You try getting the blasted thing undone when your fingers are completely numb and you’re running out of time. If they disappear off that roof, or don’t see me, I’m going to die here before they figure out where I am, assuming they’ve come for me as well as Dulcis.
I’m fumbling like a walrus in a dinner jacket and, in the end, lose patience and rip the thing open. A shower of buttons splats against the wall and slowly slides down the syrupy mould. Howling like a banshee, I lean out of the window and maniacally wave the jacket back and forth, praying, ‘Please God, let them see it.’
Curt and Adamo must be heading across the roof because I can see grey and ginger hair sliding along the top of the wall. They’ll be gone in a moment.
“No. I’m here!” I screech, high enough to make dogs bark. But not wolves, apparently. A massive flurry of snow fills my wide open mouth and I choke, honking like the dying swan.
Would you believe it, that did the trick? The birdman’s bald bonce pops up and down as though he’s leaping on the spot and he sees the yellow flag, and yours truly waving it. Great, the look on his face before it shot out of view wasn’t encouraging. What if he decides I’m best left to expire up here? One less problem to deal with.
I can’t see anyone now. Have they left the roof? What am I going to do?
Curt, please...
Curt pops up first, at the far end of the roof, his long grey hair flapping up and down as he jumps on that damaged hip. Adamo appears in counterpoint, waving like crazy every leap. Next time Curt appears he’s pointing straight at me. As he drops, Adamo rises, pointing at himself. Last up, Curt waves at the end of the roof, towards that crumbling archway.
I take that to mean they’re coming to get me and when Adamo reappears I give him the double thumbs up. Wings’ bald patch glides along the wall to join them. A red faced Curt makes one final leap to blow me a kiss, then they’re gone. I don’t know whether to applaud, collapse with relief or burst into tears, so I chose none of the above and stick to jamming frozen arms back into the torn jacket.
Apart from observing paint drying, or standing in a queue for the ladies loo at the theatre, there’s no longer timespan on earth than waiting to be rescued from certain death, even when you know your saviours are coming. There’s hardly room to sprint around this room, but my wandering circle still shrinks as a light jog stiffens to a robotic march. A hacking cough finally brings me to a halt, leaving only my thoughts to continue spiralling in ever decreasing circles.
Where are they? How long has it been now?
What’s going on in this decrepit castle? Where are all the snakes?
Where’s Curt?
What’s Serpen doing with the hostages? What’s happening to Dulcis?
Where’s Curt?
Where’s Curt?
Curt, where are you? You are coming, right?
Is that footsteps?
An attempt to creep down the steps morphs into a jerky stagger and I arrive at the door leaning sideways. It’s all gone quiet again and I strain to hear, but I’m not putting my ear against the mould on that door; no way. A couple more echoing footsteps, rustling and a low mumbling follow, before that bolt slams back and the door creaks open.
The first face through is a surprise, but Anguis gets a bigger shock when I knee him in the testicles. Agonising pain shoots through my leg, being as I stupidly used my injured knee and not the other frozen one, so we’re both crumpled on the deck, howling our heads off and clutching bits of our bodies.
“What the frulk are you doing?” says Curt, stepping over Anguis with a limp and a hop. I hear his teeth grind as he lands beside me.
“He’s a lying gobshite, like his king,” I snarl, between groans and a hacking cough.
“Fair enough,” Curt remarks, throwing an arm around my shoulders and yanking me against his chest.
Whilst that’s rather appealing, right now I’d prefer a nice warm wolf as a walking hot water bottle instead.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
I lift my head off his pecs and whimper, “I hurt my knee when that miserable bird dropped me on the roof. Then he punched me in the face. Then he threw me in a freezing shower and burnt my hands. Then Serpen had me dragged up here to freeze to death. And I’m freezing. Really, really cold.” That came out on the whiny side, but let’s see how well you’d do in my place.
A flash of ginger trips straight over the rolling Anguis, treads on his hand and lands on Curt’s head with a thud. It might be selfish, but I’m grateful the wally managed to miss me. I’ve taken enough abuse lately. Did I mention I’m freezing?
“Oops, sorry,” says Adamo, bouncing back to vertical and peering down at me. “You alright?”
“The last thing she needs is you breaking my neck,” Curt grumbles.
“She’ll be fine when I carry her home,” Adamo replies. “You can limp down the mountain on your own.”
“That’s not very nice,” Curt growls, but I swear there’s a twinkle in his eye.
“Not to mention we need to rescue Dulcis,” I add, “and I doubt even you can carry us both.”
Adamo shoves Curt out of the way, grabs Anguis by the lapels and hauls him up level with his face, leaving the ambassador’s feet dangling. “Why would I need to carry Dulcis? You told me she wasn’t harmed.”
“She isn’t,” Anguis replies, glaring back at him. “Now put me down.”
Curt bursts into a gale of laughter and even I stare at him in shock.
“What are you wearing?”
I wriggle out from under his arm and lever myself to my feet by leaning on his head. “I’ll have you know vomitus bile yellow is the height of fashion.”
Adamo snorts and I smile at him. It’s then I notice the ageing birdman filling the doorway, behind him.
“Wings,” I say, just as Adamo drops Anguis in a heap. The snake slowly rises, recovering his dignity with a swift smooth down of his jacket.
“We should be going,” Wings states, his thunderous face set in stone as he peers down his nose at me.
Yes, well, I suppose he has a right to be miffed, being as I was the first one to point an accusing finger in his direction, and here he is, flying in the cavalry. Sort of. I think I’m mixing my metaphors here.
“Wings, I think I owe you an apology,” I begin, only to be interrupted by frowning eyebrows and a rasp.
“You think?”
“I never meant to imply you were a traitor.” Nope, that wasn’t what I should have said, since his face has scrunched to the point of murderous. “I’m sorry. You’re here and I’d be in serious trouble if you weren’t, so thank you.”
“I didn’t come for you,” he mutters and stares at a mouldy wall.
“I know, but I’m grateful anyway. I’m sure we all are. Except him,” I add, pointing at Anguis.
“I’m fine, actually,” he says, between gritted teeth, still standing funny.
Wings turns back, crossing his arms as he stares straight at Curt. “What about you?”
“I told you, I never believed it,” says Curt, shuffling on the spot. “I’m sorry if you thought I did.”
Wings just glares. We all stare at Curt, including Anguis.
“What?” Curt says, scowling like a teenager caught with weed.
“That’s the best you can say to me?” Wings rumbles. “I’ve looked after you since you were a dribbling, shoe chewing pup, and you just stood there. You and your brother stood there and said nothing? You actually entertained the idea that I’d betray you, you whelp?”
Curt coughs and peers at his feet, muttering, “Erm. I’m very sorry?”
Wings is turning purple, so I think it’s time to stick my nose in someone else’s business. It’s my speciality, after all.
“Right. We don’t have time for this.” I point at Curt. “You love Wings like your daddy. He loves you and Alpha like you’re his boys. A big hug and let’s get going.”
Curt and Wings huff, staying where they are.
“Fine. Talking of Alpha, where is he?” I ask.
“At the head of an army, on its way up,” Curt replies. “But it’s a long way.”
“He let you come alone?” When Curt starts shuffling again, I turn to Adamo. “And what about General Ursid, for that matter?” Now the bear’s jigging about as well. The penny drops. “Neither of them know you’re here.”
“Ursid knows,” Adamo says. “He was pointing and swearing as I took off.”
“I didn’t speak to Alpha,” says Wings, with a sniff. “I flew over him though and... ruffled him a little.”
I nod towards Curt. “But you picked him up.”
“He wasn’t with...” Wings tails off and clasps his hands behind his back, like a butler.
“I got left behind.” Curt glares at me, as though I’m pulling his teeth out. “Because my brother said I couldn’t make the climb.”
“Glad you made the flight,” I reply and glance at Adamo. “When did you join this happy band?”
“I grabbed him en route,” Wings admits.
“Ok, why?”
Dear God, not more shuffling and foot examination.
Adamo answers for them. “Probably to trade me in for hostages. Dulcis at least.”
Curt and Wings exchange a look, surprised that the bear has gumption.
“But I’m here to rescue her,” Adamo concludes. “So it doesn’t matter how I got here. I assume you won’t try and sell me now?”
“Over my dead body,” I insist, with all the terrifying gravitas of a middle-aged woman. “Let’s go get my girl.” My steely eyed glare descends upon the snake. “I’ll just knee him again and we can go.”
“Wait a moment,” Anguis says, waving his hands at me, though he doesn’t look particularly scared. “I’m on your side.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’m the one who led them up here. How do you think they found you so quickly?”
I almost froze to death during that wait, I want to shout, but it’ll make me sound pathetic, so I just ask, “Why?”
“Because we need help.”
“We? You’re so not part of this little family.”
Anguis takes a step towards me. “I mean we, the snake people, or what’s left of us. I mean our children.”
“What about your children?” Curt asks.
“They’re struggling to survive.”
Adamo sucks in a huge breath. “Please tell me you’re not feeding our people to your baby snakes.”
Do what? I never thought of that scenario.
“No, of course not, you idiot,” Anguis replies, staring at the ginger prince as though he’s an imbecile. “We only took them to keep your packs at each other’s throats.”
Curt and Adamo peer at one another, both a study in open-mouthed incredulity.
“Why do you want us at each other’s throats?” Adamo asks. “What do you get from that?”
A few pennies are dropping tonight.
“It keeps you from questioning what’s going on here,” says this wise old woman who, despite her brain cells still being on ice, is brighter than your average wolf, bear or eagle.
“What is going on here?” bellows an annoyed and confused Adamo.
“I’ll tell you on the way, but we have to go.” Anguis slips past the door and takes a peek at the terrace. “Now. Before Gulid comes to fetch you.”
Never heard of him. “Who?”
Anguis taps his own nose. “You hit him.”
“Oh, you mean Broken Beak.”
Anguis looses a swift laugh. “No wonder he can’t stand you.”
The feeling’s mutual.
“I thought he brought me up to the tower to die,” I point out. “You were there when the king ordered him, and did nothing, I might add.”
“I knew the king would relent and he did, just after he released Dulcis.”
For the second time in five minutes, Adamo grabs Anguis, this time by the throat, waving him back and forth in his fist. “Released her from what?”
I don’t know how Anguis gets enough air through his windpipe to speak, but when the words come out, the tone is downright scary, serial killer style.
“Get off me. Right now.”
“Your Highness, please drop him,” I say, calm as a cucumber, or is that cool as a... never mind. “Let’s go get those hostages. We’ll need help to get to Dulcis.”
Adamo opens his fingers and releases an angry Anguis. I turn towards Wings, whilst pointing at the snake. “Would you keep an eye on him, please?”
“My pleasure,” replies the birdman.
So out we go, shivering on that snow drenched terrace, staring at one another, when it dawns on us all that we don’t have a clue where we’re going.
“Yes, I wondered when you geniuses would realise,” Anguis hollers, over the howling wind. “Follow me.”
He glides off, leaving the rest of them staring at his back. I, being of sound mind, march after him, those clown shoes slap slapping on the stone.
