The Future's Mine (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

Our guide from the Eagle Clan led us deftly through the trail of deadly flags. The tawny feathers on his headdress danced with his every step. It was beautiful. Shades of brown and gold speckled each feather as though each had been individually painted. It was a feathery halo-crown that shimmered with glowing hues and speckles of gold dust. The guide’s dark cloak of cotton and golden feathers gave him a mystical air. It looked less warm than the furs that the Deer Clan had but I supposed that they preferred to show off their clan’s identity.

What a majestic animal to represent,
I thought as I watched the feathers bounce as he walked. I heard an eagle call from overhead; a cry that sounded anguished yet strong. The guide looked as though he belonged with the eagles, soaring and flying, head held high. I wondered what animal would represent our little clan on this journey. My grey fur coat was soft against my hands. Wolf fur. Yes; a wolf. Independent but loyal; wise but fearsome; dangerous but trustworthy. As Fergus said, you could trust a wolf.

We walked, mostly in silence, for at least half-an-hour. The landscape didn’t change much. It was rocky and difficult; pointy rocks positioned so as to puncture the leather soles of your boots. Matthias lagged near the back and stumbled quite a bit, still feeling the toll of his injury. Noah and I hung back to fall in line with him. Grimmy worked hard to keep up with Fergus and the other strong men. I doubted that this was to demonstrate to Fergus his bravery, but was more the fact that he wanted to be near the strongest fighter should the Eagles choose to attack. He was such a coward.

I still hadn’t forgiven him for shooting up the tree during the deer attack and had resolutely ignored his wheedling for me to forgive him. I had tried a new punishment – the silent treatment. Grimmy was just like me; he relished a good scrap with an explosion of anger, followed by a swift apology. To him (and me also) the silent treatment was torture. It was a long, drawn out punishment that was like a constant uncomfortable ache. It was the difference between briefly dunking your hand in boiling water and having to hold your hand in ice water for an hour. Both painful but I knew which one I could endure without going mad. Grimmy was the same. And therefore, I picked the harshest, iciest punishment I could for him.

 ‘You don’t have to be so hard on him,’ said Matthias. ‘It’s wrong to expect a rat to change its behaviour. He was just doing what came naturally to him.’

‘You seem to be forgetting the fact that when we return to Brigadus to confront the Mayor, he will be part of our team. A team is only as strong as its weakest link and in our case, our weak link is selfish, thoughtless, and a coward. You think you can rely on him not to spill our secrets to the Mayor if we’re caught? I don’t. He needs to be taught that he can’t run at the first hurdle. He needs to be iced out for a while until he realises that he needs to work with us properly, as a team.’

‘Ouch, alright, Ice Queen, remind me never to get on the wrong side of you. Grimmy’ll get frostbite just from looking at you,’ said Matthias.

‘You know, I’m not sure reverse psychology will work on a man like Grimmy. I think icing him out will only breed resentment rather make him realise that he needs us and wants to potentially sacrifice his life for us. Look at what losing Regina did to him – made him so bitter and resentful that he wanted to blow up the entire island. He’s only just come round to our thinking and agreed to abandon his own plan and therefore I don’t think we can afford to ice him out just yet. Now flattery … that’s what will work with Grimmy,’ said Noah.

He had a point but I was far too cross to suck up to Grimmy just yet. ‘Flattery? I prefer
flattening
. Just run him over – nothing that a bit of violence can’t sort out,’ I grumbled.

‘Now, now,’ warned Matthias but I saw a smirk make a brief appearance on his face.

Our guide gave the signal for us to stop. We were right at the heart of the island; a forested valley carved out eons ago by a long-melted glacier. Rock cliffs surrounded us on all sides, sheltering us from the worst of the wind and snow. It was a clever place to build a settlement. A stream flowed through the centre of the valley and tall fir trees grew on either side. In Brigadus, the trees all grew so tightly packed together that it looked as though they were in a slow motion battle to strangle their neighbours. But here, they grew tall and stately, unimpeded by the machinations of their neighbours. Their branches unfurled to their full, magnificent potential.

Dappled light was allowed to filter down to the forest floor, making a soft chequerboard pattern on the ground. Wooden roundhouses with matted and mossy thatch roofs dotted the area like a scene from a children’s fairy tale. They were tiny in comparison to the towering trees, like dolls’ houses.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathed.

Noah smiled at me from under a black lock of hair that had fallen onto his face and I pictured us living in one of those roundhouses, growing roses around the front door and letting birds live in the thatch. I shook the image from my head.

The little houses sat squat against the ground, protected from the elements. Smoke undulated from holes in the roofs, spiralling into the air, only to be obliterated when it met the fierce wind above the tree line.

‘Welcome to the Eagle’s Nest,’ said our guide. ‘We will take you to Keir. He is expecting you and your guests. Fergus, Mhareen, you know the drill. All weapons must be left outside the Nest.’

‘Aye,’ grumbled Fergus, opening his coat to display an armoury of flint blades and arrowheads.

Matthias laughed to see such an array of weapons. ‘That’s what I call preparation,’ he whispered to me and dropped his stubby knife into the quickly growing pile of weapons from the Deer Clan.

‘If I come out to find anything missing, every man, woman, child, and animal will have their ears blown,’ Fergus said.

I grasped the cold barrel of the golden gun in my bag. A shiver of dread ran through me as I realised that I really didn’t want to leave it unattended. Was I really getting that attached to it? I quietly slipped it from my bag and tucked it into my shirt pocket. No-one would find it in there, it would be my little secret, hidden close to my heart. The guide approached me and asked, ‘Weapons?’ I showed him my empty bag and flashed him an innocent, winsome smile.

‘Nope,’ I said.

The duplicity came easily to me and I instantly felt slightly ashamed. But not so ashamed that I would turn the gun over. Noah caught my eye and imperceptibly shook his head. I gave him a pleading look and quickly followed the guide.

He led us towards a long, rectangular building. It resembled a primitive town hall with large wooden doors and elaborately carved eaves. A stone sun dial had been erected outside and there was a small platform from which clan elders could presumably make speeches and pass judgment. A rush of warmth met us as we crossed the door and I gratefully registered that there was a blazing fire in the corner of the room. But the room itself felt shadowy and it took a second for my eyes to adjust.

The mud walls had been painted as black as coal. Exquisite paintings of golden eagles were the only decoration that interrupted the blackness. The images were stylised so that the eagles were imbued with an almost human quality. Their beautiful golden feathers glowed against the blackness of the walls and appeared to jump off the surface. The eagles were bigger than human-sized and the painted scenes depicted a hunt. Starting from the left-hand corner of the room, the first painting showed an eagle perched on a tree, the next depiction showed an eagle flying majestically, the next spotting its prey, then diving with claws outstretched for the kill, and finally capturing its prey along the right-hand wall. With a flood of dread, I saw that its prey was a man, screaming in terror. The fire light and the shadows made the eagles look as though they were alive, moving with a flurry of feathers and a glare from their beady eyes.

‘You like my paintings?’ asked a voice from behind me.

I jumped, spun around and accidentally jabbed the speaker hard in the ribs with my elbow. Oh God, why did I always have to be so clumsy? ‘Oh no, I’m sorry!’ I blurted out, intending to apologise more profusely but quailed under the look the man gave me.

It wasn’t an especially angry look. But he was the type of man to instil awe and silence in others. I had never seen a man more inherently noble or kingly. He wore a black coat decorated with the biggest golden feathers I had ever seen. His feather crown sat on his head as though it was a natural extension of his hair. His face was middle-aged but his eyes suggested younger. They were playful and amused, confident in his position. He was not the type of insecure leader who would take offence at an inferior knocking into him. I thought of what the Mayor would have done to a Parrot who had accidentally touched him. Confinement or a humiliating slap around the face, no doubt.

‘The Metropolites say we are savages, but I bet none of them have seen art as beautiful or skilful as this,’ he said, waving his hand towards the final scene. ‘I’ve heard they don’t do art or music or culture in the Metropole. Breeds too much independence. Is that true?’ he asked me.

‘I wouldn’t know, sir, I’ve never been but there’s certainly no time for art or music in Brigadus. We’re all too busy trying to survive.’

He laughed heartily. ‘Survival in itself is an art form, no?’ he asked.

‘Well, it takes a lot of skill,’ I replied.

Keir turned from me and approached Fergus and Mhareen with hands outstretched, as if to say ‘Welcome, old friends!’ but tension prickled in the air. ‘Fergus, good to see you again. Those antlers get bigger every time I see you. Are you carving them from wood?’

Fergus rumbled like an oncoming landslide but restrained himself enough to say, ‘Keir, long time no see.’

‘Mhareen, lovely to see you. I wish we could be meeting in happier times but I’ve heard from your outrider that you have some people you would like me to meet. These are them? Outsiders? You know that we don’t generally invite outsiders to the island, let alone the Nest, especially in these troubled times.’

‘Well, if you actually told us why these times are so troubled, perhaps we wouldn’t have to sail all the way here, tromp through your land and bring outsiders to meet you. If you weren’t so damned secretive …’ said Fergus.

Keir inclined his head as though he was terribly embarrassed at causing offence but his face gave him away – he was amused that he had caused Fergus such consternation. ‘Ah, Fergus, ever so quick to see others doing you wrong. I take it you’re talking about our little construction around the island? Just protection, no more.’

‘From what?’ growled Fergus. With his antlers, he stood a good two feet above Keir.

‘All in good time, my friend!’ Keir slapped Fergus’s back and motioned for us to join him at a long wooden table framed by benches.  A wooden jug was in the middle of the table and small cups no bigger than eggs sat in front of each of us. ‘Ladies first,’ Keir said as he poured Mhareen a cup full of amber liquid.

Before she drank, she turned to Matthias on her left and poured for him. The drink went around the table until everyone had poured for their neighbour. Fergus reluctantly poured for Keir last. I guessed that this ritual was supposed to symbolise equality and set a welcoming tone but I wondered whether Keir had intentionally sat Fergus on his right so that he had to pour for Keir.

‘A man is king of his own land, but clan makes man a king true grand,’ sang Keir and all raised their glasses.

I quickly followed suit and downed the liquid. It was stronger than Nora’s moonshine and that’s strong enough to strip your gums from your teeth. I heard Grimmy smack his lips and saw him reach for more. My foot found his knee under the table and a resounding
thwack
could be heard. He hissed at me but withdrew his greedy hand.

One seat was empty at the furthest reach of the table.

‘For Iris?’ whispered Noah in my ear.

‘What’s that you say, lad?’ asked Keir, raising an eyebrow.

‘Erm … nothing, sir. Just wondering why there was one empty chair,’ replied Noah, fidgeting under Keir’s sharp gaze. Something about Keir made you want to confess all you knew about everything and then apologise for knowing it.

‘I think you know who that chair is meant for, don’t you? Your quarry. I’ve heard from your outrider that you are from a part of the Periphery. From the same place Iris is from and that you are here to take her home. I’m not sure how I feel about that. The woman is troubled but useful.’

‘Troubled?’ asked Noah, worry creeping into his voice. Not only was Iris key to his plan, she was also his aunt; no wonder he felt apprehensive about what sort of state she was in. She was crucial to our scheme and if she was still as mentally unwell as we suspected – if not more so – that could prove a problem. I gave his leg a reassuring squeeze but his eyes remained concerned.

The stomp of feet outside prevented Keir from answering. There was banging on the door and an aide flung it open. The warm air rushed from the room and was replaced by an icy blast that made me instantly shiver. Framed by the shadows, an outline of a woman was just about visible. Iris.

‘Speak of the devil,’ smiled Keir.

‘Go to hell,’ she spat. Her voice was as haggard as her face. Time had not been kind to Iris. She was weather-beaten and sorrow-ridden but was possessed by a manic look of determination. Her brown hair was matted into wild, thick dreadlocks which wound all the way down her back until they straggled off into rats tails. She wore the gothic garb of fairy-tale witches, black layers and shredded fabric. Piercing blue eyes shone from her gaunt face like polished jewels. They were the only part of her that didn’t look beaten. They looked like Noah’s but also not like his at same time. The azure blue was the exact same shade but Noah’s completely lacked any of the menace and desperation that Iris had.

She gave a feral screech as an eagle flew through the open door and clipped her hair. The eagle landed on a perch behind Keir’s chair but Iris continued to shriek and bat at her body with tremendous strength. Perhaps she was so deadened to the world that she could no longer feel pain.