Sword Quest Part 12

Wind-voice dove through the empty doorway and into a long, narrow tunnel. He soared down the stone corridor.

He was in a great round hall. There were towering panels of stained gla.s.s standing on all sides but no sign of Maldeor. Where had he gone? Wind-voice hurried down the hall, peering around him. As he pa.s.sed the first panel, a candle behind it burst into flame, making him jump back. It showed a finch, dying, crushed beneath the claws of a huge archaeopteryx who, laughing, held a long sword.

Cruel scenes blazed out from each panel as Wind-voice pa.s.sed by. But still there was no sign of Maldeor.

There was only one panel still dark. As Wind-voice dashed past it, the image on it glowed with brilliant color. Wind-voice stopped, hesitated, and came back to look.

The panel showed a group of hopeful birds-a robin, a kingfisher, a penguin, an eagle, a seagull, a parrot-reaching their claws out. Above their heads hovered gemstones.

As Wind-voice stared, the gla.s.s window split and opened like a door.

Inside was a tunnel that curved up and out of his sight. He launched himself forward and pumped his wings for height. The smooth, rounded walls of the tunnel were covered by a smooth white surface, like mother-of-pearl, that gave off its own light so he could see where he was going. The tunnel spiraled, taking him higher and higher. One wing tip lightly brushed the outer wall as he flew faster and faster. The turns were tight but the slope was not steep.

Then he heard vibrating booms inside. They got louder as Wind-voice flew higher.

The tunnel abruptly ended and he nearly ran into the back of the archaeopteryx, hovering, staring at a solid flat wall, a dead end, before him. On the wall hung a carving of gray feldspar. Concentric rings went dizzyingly around a central point, where two flat rocks twice the size of Maldeor overlapped each other. Maldeor jerked his head up at the sound of Wind-voice's panting.

His eyes widened momentarily. Wind-voice was now the same size as he was!

"Trying to stop me, are you? Seeking death?" he snarled. He drew his sword and dove at Wind-voice.

Wind-voice flew to one wall, braced himself against it, pushed off, and leaped to the left. He kept his sword between himself and Maldeor. He must distract him and buy time for the hero to arrive and claim the sword.

"There's something I don't understand," he heard himself saying. "How can you wage such war and yet say that you want to bring peace?"

Maldeor snorted as if it were obvious. "I will make a better world, free of ignoramuses and meaningless fighting, where birds have common sense, like me." Better kill him off immediately now when he has little room to escape, Better kill him off immediately now when he has little room to escape, Maldeor thought. The archaeopteryx unleashed his ultimate move, the Deadly Fate. Wind-voice met it with a vertical slash. His cheek and neck burned and he felt blood beneath his eye. Otherwise he was unharmed. Maldeor thought. The archaeopteryx unleashed his ultimate move, the Deadly Fate. Wind-voice met it with a vertical slash. His cheek and neck burned and he felt blood beneath his eye. Otherwise he was unharmed.

Maldeor stared at Wind-voice. "You ought to have died! Slave you have been; though you've grown in size, now you bear such a mark again." Maldeor laughed, trying to cover his confusion. "And you have a slave's stupidity, too, or you would understand the obvious. Peace can only be gained by force. Birds must be controlled. There is no other way."

"Peace cannot be forced," Wind-voice retorted firmly. "There is no true peace under force."

Maldeor's face was a picture of derision and contempt. He slashed out again, but Wind-voice parried successfully. The clang of the steel blades rang and echoed off the close stone walls.

Where was the hero? Surely he would come any moment now. Wind-voice knew he could not hold out for long. "When the hero comes," he murmured. "When he comes..."

"He is here," Maldeor said. "I am he. How does this door open?" Maldeor demanded. "You wouldn't have come here unless you thought you could open it. Tell me and perhaps I'll let you live!"

Wind-voice retreated until the stone wall was at his back, and Maldeor swooped in closer. Wind-voice could see a vein pulsating on the archaeopteryx's left eyelid like a small azure snake.

"I don't know!" Wind-voice shot back. Peace opens the door Peace opens the door, he thought. But what does that mean? But what does that mean? He folded his wings, dropping suddenly below Maldeor, and then rose up beneath him. Maldeor screeched with rage and struggled to turn in the narrow s.p.a.ce. Now Wind-voice was nearer to the mysterious door than his enemy was. But when he tried to lay a claw upon it, something unseen but too powerful to be resisted seemed to brush him aside. He folded his wings, dropping suddenly below Maldeor, and then rose up beneath him. Maldeor screeched with rage and struggled to turn in the narrow s.p.a.ce. Now Wind-voice was nearer to the mysterious door than his enemy was. But when he tried to lay a claw upon it, something unseen but too powerful to be resisted seemed to brush him aside.

All of a sudden, something clicked in Wind-voice's mind. To get through that door, he must not be armed. He must go in peace.

He looked back. Maldeor was growling at him now. Would he be crazy to disarm himself when he was a mere wing's length away from a murderer?

The hero wasn't here, and if he let Maldeor kill him, the archaeopteryx might easily figure out how to open the door, and then the sword would be his.

Wind-voice dropped his weapon. It fell and clattered on the shining floor of the tunnel and started sliding, curving out of sight along the spiral.

A deep grinding noise shook the carving on the wall. The two flat rocks trembled and slowly slid apart to reveal a round gaping hole.

Maldeor understood at once. I must disarm myself, but I won't let 013-Unidentified off so easily.... I must disarm myself, but I won't let 013-Unidentified off so easily.... Instead of dropping his weapon, he flung it at Wind-voice's head. As Wind-voice ducked to avoid the whirling blade, Maldeor got a head start. He charged into the hole and disappeared. Instead of dropping his weapon, he flung it at Wind-voice's head. As Wind-voice ducked to avoid the whirling blade, Maldeor got a head start. He charged into the hole and disappeared.

"Oh no..." Worry gnawed at Wind-voice's heart. He immediately zipped into the hole as well. Blackness blanketed him. Nothing could be seen ahead. Where was Maldeor? The darkness lasted for a few seconds, and then unexpectedly two monstrous eyes lit up before them. What's that? What's that? Wind-voice wondered. As he flew closer, he discovered that they were only eye-shaped crystal doors. "Look into the eyes to choose your path," Wind-voice said to himself. Wind-voice wondered. As he flew closer, he discovered that they were only eye-shaped crystal doors. "Look into the eyes to choose your path," Wind-voice said to himself.

A milky white mist swirled across the doors; then it cleared and on each crystal a scene appeared. Wind-voice saw himself raising a blazing sword in his claws on the right crystal. On the left crystal loomed ghostly, thin faces, all sorts of birds, ragged and dirty, with big eyes. They reached out their claws beseechingly.

"Which way did Maldeor go?" Wind-voice wondered. He looked at the image of the poor birds on the left. He pushed it and it swung inward.

The left door didn't lead to a room at all but into a deep green forest. Above was a clouded sky. A shining light low in the mid-distance caught Wind-voice's attention. "A fallen star," he whispered, and drifted toward it. But the light spilled from a crystal casket, caught in the twining boughs of an oddly shaped tree. The sheer intensity of the light made the casket glow like a white cylinder.

Where is the hero? Where is Maldeor? Wind-voice thought. Wind-voice thought. Since the hero's sword is here, and since Maldeor is near, Maldeor could get the sword at any moment. I'll stay here and fight him if he does. But what if I lose? I must take the sword out and hide it somewhere for the hero so that Maldeor cannot find it. Since the hero's sword is here, and since Maldeor is near, Maldeor could get the sword at any moment. I'll stay here and fight him if he does. But what if I lose? I must take the sword out and hide it somewhere for the hero so that Maldeor cannot find it.

A golden disk remained visible where the keyhole should have been. At the very center a heart had been etched, so painstakingly detailed, it seemed to throb in the flickering light. Seven round, clear stones were inlaid in a circle around it. A miniature object was suspended in each stone: a ruler's crown, two crossed swords, a treasure chest, a bird holding a green sprig, a rose, a book, a gra.s.s nest. What you love most is the key, What you love most is the key, Wind-voice said to himself. Wind-voice said to himself.

Suddenly a deep, rich voice echoed out of the darkness. "You have only one choice." "You have only one choice." Wind-voice turned around, but there was n.o.bird. Mystified, he looked down again at the stones. Wind-voice turned around, but there was n.o.bird. Mystified, he looked down again at the stones.

A crown...ruling, he thought. he thought. I certainly don't want to control others. I certainly don't want to control others. His eyes fell lower. His eyes fell lower. The two swords together could only mean battle, and battle is cruel. Then the treasure chest? With riches, a bird can help the poor... The two swords together could only mean battle, and battle is cruel. Then the treasure chest? With riches, a bird can help the poor... he thought, and hesitated before continuing. he thought, and hesitated before continuing. The bird with the branch is the only image that contains an animal. The bird with the branch is the only image that contains an animal. He hesitated again, longer this time. He hesitated again, longer this time. The rose might mean love; the book, learning; and the nest, family...All of those are surely important. The rose might mean love; the book, learning; and the nest, family...All of those are surely important. Wind-voice swayed in a second of indecision. He looked back up again, and his eyes stayed on the stone of the bird with the branch. Wind-voice swayed in a second of indecision. He looked back up again, and his eyes stayed on the stone of the bird with the branch. It looks like an olive branch. It must mean peace, It looks like an olive branch. It must mean peace, he thought. he thought. How can families stay together and survive in the cruelty of battle? Aren't books destroyed in war? Even if there were books, how could fighting birds have the time to read them? War is synonymous with death. Can riches stop any of it? No. To have love, learning, and family, peace must come first. I care about peace, How can families stay together and survive in the cruelty of battle? Aren't books destroyed in war? Even if there were books, how could fighting birds have the time to read them? War is synonymous with death. Can riches stop any of it? No. To have love, learning, and family, peace must come first. I care about peace, he thought. He raised a foot and pressed the stone with the bird holding the olive branch. he thought. He raised a foot and pressed the stone with the bird holding the olive branch.

Though it was only a click, in the echoing forest it sounded like a loud clattering bang as the casket opened, the lid slowly rising and swinging back.

The voice spoke again. "This is the hero's sword." "This is the hero's sword."

How often had Wind-voice thought about the sword since the first time he had heard of it from Fisher?

The beauty of it was its pure, strong simplicity-it was long and straight like a ray of sunshine. The ivory scabbard's designs of water and wind were clean and flowing; the bold curves on the dragonlike hilt seemed alive. The source of all the light was the Leasorn gemstone embedded in the hilt. A living rainbow seemed to swirl inside.

"How can I make sure Maldeor doesn't get the sword?" asked Wind-voice.

"There is only one way. You must use the strength of your heart to seal the casket from evil. This is a sacrifice. Are you willing?"

Wind-voice gazed at the sword. Then he closed his eyes. He could almost see the figure of his mother in the sunshine. His memory was blurred by time, but Wind-voice tried to bring the picture into focus. Then, in the background, a lost heron drifted into view. "He made the most beautiful candles," "He made the most beautiful candles," Aredrem whispered. Aredrem whispered. "Even ones of heron chicks...it's a pity, but they've all burned out now..." "Even ones of heron chicks...it's a pity, but they've all burned out now..."

Appearing out of the darkness, Winger spoke. "I am an orphan. With my eyes, I have seen the deaths of my mother, father, and sister."

Then Forlath's voice rang out. "Fleydur let himself be disowned by his family, where he was a prince, so that he could bring joy to war-stricken birds."

At last Stormac's voice carried to him, again telling Wind-voice his regret. "I was like the fool who flew through a rain cloud, thinking it was cream, and came out wet on the other side." "I was like the fool who flew through a rain cloud, thinking it was cream, and came out wet on the other side."

Wind-voice opened his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. "How shall I do it?"

"All you need to do is to place your right claw on your heart."

Somehow, the figures of his mother, Irene, Ewingerale, Fleydur, Stormac, and Aredrem seemed to linger in the corners of his eyes, waiting. Why isn't the hero here? Why isn't the hero here? he wondered. Facing the sword, he raised his claw slowly and pressed it on his chest, next to Stormac's strawberry. he wondered. Facing the sword, he raised his claw slowly and pressed it on his chest, next to Stormac's strawberry. Thump-thump...thump-thump... Thump-thump...thump-thump... His heartbeat filled his ears, faster and faster, louder and louder. With each loud pound, the crystal lid moved. The lid swung closed with a click. Before his eyes, the casket, the sword, and the shining light disappeared. His heartbeat filled his ears, faster and faster, louder and louder. With each loud pound, the crystal lid moved. The lid swung closed with a click. Before his eyes, the casket, the sword, and the shining light disappeared.

There was only a swirl of dark mist where it had been. The distant tolls of a silver bell-dong...dong...dong-sounded the time of midnight. Hero's Day had ended. Wind-voice took a deep breath and looked around at the empty, misty forest.

There was nothing more for him to do.

He took off, flew past vines and branches, landed, and then trudged slowly, tiredly back to the milky crystal door. Laboriously he pulled it open. Like a fire-stunned moth he fluttered back into the dark hall, just in time to see the right chamber's door swing open and a figure rush out. A small source of light illuminated Maldeor's gloating face, long, ragged shadows blotching below his hooded eyes and neck, further distorting them.

The archaeopteryx held a glowing golden sword aloft.

Is there another hero's sword? Wind-voice was horror-stricken. Wind-voice was horror-stricken.

"You fool!" Maldeor laughed maniacally. "I've got the hero's sword. It was waiting for me to take it. You've got nothing...nothing but death! Grown even bigger, have you? I'll test the magic of this sword on you first!" Shrieking with glee, he propelled himself toward Wind-voice, who was unarmed.

The darkness around them seemed to whoosh whoosh in surprise. Pinp.r.i.c.ks of light flared up all around them. They were not in a dark stretch of nothingness but in a magnificent hall with pillars soaring to the ceiling and twenty-four torches lined up on each side. in surprise. Pinp.r.i.c.ks of light flared up all around them. They were not in a dark stretch of nothingness but in a magnificent hall with pillars soaring to the ceiling and twenty-four torches lined up on each side.

The archaeopteryx raised his sword with his claws and cleaved down mightily.

Wind-voice ducked with a nimble spin to the left. As the torchlights turned into streaks in his vision, he felt a warm, certain glow in his heart. Something solid materialized in his claws. He gripped it instinctively and brought it up in an underclaw as he snapped out of his spin. The torchlights all jumped higher.

The object in his claws clashed with Maldeor's sword. The archaeopteryx caw cawed with surprise. Wind-voice looked down at what he was holding, but he only saw a whitish rod that faded away again.

Angered, Maldeor attacked again and again, and the strange rod reappeared each time so that Wind-voice was able to block each blow. Every fifteen minutes, a torch burned out, and they clanged all over the hall, till only eight torches were left.

Working himself into a rage of frenzied frustration, Maldeor raised his sword and started hacking down again and again, moving forward. The rod shimmered and shook as the blows rained down upon it.

Where are you, hero? Wind-voice thought. He closed his eyes. Then all of a sudden a great burst of energy swelled his heart. He let it run down his leg, to his foot, to the rod he was holding. Maldeor's sword crashed down on it. Wind-voice thought. He closed his eyes. Then all of a sudden a great burst of energy swelled his heart. He let it run down his leg, to his foot, to the rod he was holding. Maldeor's sword crashed down on it.

Maldeor screamed. Wind-voice opened his eyes to see the rod solidify into something familiar, and the ivory sheath of the true hero's sword shattered into a thousand pieces. The shards flew all around him, but none fell on him because the hero's sword was in his claws. A sudden brightness blazed from the bare blade.

There had never been two hero's swords. There was only one.

Maldeor felt a great pile of sand slipping through his claws as his sword crumbled and dissolved into dust. The ceiling above them shivered and cracked, letting in the early sunlight. Chunks of stone rained down.

This is the most magnificent day in the history of all birds.-FROM "E "EWINGERALE'S D DIARY, IN THE O OLD S SCRIPTURE

17.

HERO.

Under a round, bright moon, one of the most important battles of birdkind was taking place.

"Let us form a twin for the moon!" Ewingerale cried.

Forlath echoed him, sending the message far and wide with his bellow. In the midst of murmurings and shouts, Fleydur raised a silver trumpet that his brother had just given him and blew to the stars.

As the bell tolled midnight, scarlet macaws, green parrots, petrels, gulls, black-browed albatrosses, and the golden eagles linked wingtips in the night sky, hovering in a gigantic dome around the pyramid. The edges of flashing wings were gilded silver by the moonlight. "We may not hold them forever," Forlath said. "But for the sake of a better future, we shall try!"

With vulgar screams erupting in waves, the archaeopteryxes fell on them, their yellowish eyeb.a.l.l.s and teeth catching the light, their filthy brown-and-khaki uniforms making them look like a stream of mud. The battle raged on, minute by minute, hour by hour.

Despite the seabirds' agility, the eagles' strength, and the parrots' alertness, by the time the sun appeared above the ocean, they were faltering. "Come to us, hero," Winger whispered.

Then a rumbling shook the ground beneath the armies and sent tremors into the air. Two swords shot out of a chute on the side of the pyramid. One was Maldeor's old sword, and the other was Wind-voice's. The battling birds paused, looking down to see the pyramid tumble into rubble.

"What's happening? Is the hero dead?" Murmurings traveled from one beak to another. The archaeopteryxes lingered in the air, calling for their emperor.

Birds backed away. Stunned, Winger fluttered forward. A great cloud of dust rose from the ruin. Shafts of sunlight streamed through it, and the golden dust looked beautiful.

"Wind-voice," Ewingerale called. Had the white bird gone into the pyramid? Had he been crushed by the falling stones? "Oh, Wind-voice, no..."

Then a small figure flew up through the sun-spangled cloud of dust, almost glowing in the golden light.

"The hero!" one archaeopteryx cheered, and others took up the cry. "The hero! Hail thee, great Ancient Wing!"

The figure spread its wings wide. They flashed white. He held a sword in his claws.

The hero wasn't Maldeor, Ewingerale realized. It had never been Maldeor.

It was Wind-voice.

Blazing light burst out from the sword in the white bird's grip. It spread across the battlefield. Swords and spears of the archaeopteryxes shimmered brightly as if in response and then began to glow as if they had just come from the forge. Maldeor's army flung their hot weapons to the ground. Panic spread among the archaeopteryxes. Scrambling in the air, squawking with fright and dismay, they turned and fled.

Wind-voice alighted on the ground, looking stunned. He hopped slowly down the fallen pyramid toward Winger, from one rock to another, his sword held so loosely that the glowing blade almost dragged in the sand. Silence prevailed.

When he reached the woodp.e.c.k.e.r, he stopped. Winger's red head and the curved tip of the harp on his back stood out in the gentle haze of dust. The two looked at each other. Then the woodp.e.c.k.e.r said "Oh, Wind-voice!"

Something in the woodp.e.c.k.e.r's voice caused Wind-voice to turn around. He gasped. The path he had just walked was marked by a lush line of green, for the dead vines that had once curled in the sand had sprung to life, their heart-shaped leaves unfurling at the touch of his dragging sword. Green, that splendid color, was filling the barren desert around them, almost blinding their dazzled eyes. Wind-voice looked down at his sword, amazed.

He raised it slowly and pointed it at a withered olive tree. With a whoosh whoosh like a faint breeze, buds popped out of the dry branches and tiny fruit sprang forth. Smiling now, Wind-voice whirled his sword and pointed to the ground. The sand melted into rich brown earth; gra.s.s sprang from it and flowers opened, turning their faces to the brilliant sun. He flicked his claws, and where the sword pointed, the ground suddenly split open and a river flowed out. like a faint breeze, buds popped out of the dry branches and tiny fruit sprang forth. Smiling now, Wind-voice whirled his sword and pointed to the ground. The sand melted into rich brown earth; gra.s.s sprang from it and flowers opened, turning their faces to the brilliant sun. He flicked his claws, and where the sword pointed, the ground suddenly split open and a river flowed out.

Then he raised the sword high in the air.

White light was all they could see.

When they recovered, they found themselves in a green, dense jungle.

Wind-voice looked in amazement at the sword in his claws. "I-I'll keep it safe," he muttered to Winger. "For the hero, when he comes..."

Winger was smiling a light, dreamy smile that radiated all over his thin face. "The hero is here, Wind-voice," he said, awed. "You're the hero."

"Hero..." Fleydur, Forlath, and the rest of the rebel army landed in a circle around Wind-voice. A wave of greetings surrounded him. "Show us the way, hero," somebird cried. Everybird looked at Wind-voice, waiting for him to do something. Wind-voice glanced around. He noticed a small break in the dense jungle-a path.

He flapped toward it. For some reason, he knew it was the right way. "Follow me, friends," he called. Together, Wind-voice, Ewingerale, Fleydur, Forlath, and their army flew along the path to a magnificent castle, the walls of which were living trees linked together.

Standing at the gate was a golden figure. "You have healed our island," the phoenix king cried gratefully to Wind-voice. Toucans and birds of paradise surrounded them. "We have waited three years for your coming! So has birdkind. Look!"