Sword Quest. Nancy Fan Yi

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СКАЧАТЬ of watery bulrush-root soup, this was a feast for a king. There were worms with chokeberries. The worms were long and thick, roasted to perfection. Brown and crisp, the skin had rich fat sizzling between the cracks, and the juicy meat still had a tint of pink. The chokeberries, boiled into a rosy sauce, brought out that tender, earthy flavour so unique to worms.

      Between beakfuls of food, he and Winger told the marshland birds what had happened. “I burned myself off the spit and flew out of the smoke hole, flaming. Then, fortunately, Winger saved me,” Wind-voice finished. He did not mention the strange dream of Yin Soul.

      “Brave thing you did. That’s the true spirit!” a kingfisher said, cheering.

      “Aye! What a tale,” an egret agreed.

      “I think…” Ewingerale murmured tentatively, “I think I would like to play a song to celebrate this. Would you happen to have some spare bowstrings?” To the surprise and admiration of them all, the woodpecker fed the string into the holes of his piece of curved wood with deft precision and, in no time at all, held a harp.

      Strumming it, the woodpecker sang,

       Fate is an underground river, We can’t possibly know what direction it flows Till we are carried along its twists and turns. But the waters are quite smooth now, Flowing quick and fast. We are happy and thankful that We’re free – long may it last! Let us hope that fate may bring Wonderful things next spring.

      His song flowed over the pools, which were pale green with a fine skin of duckweed. From them rose the crooked limbs of dead, bare trees. They were hung with curtains of Spanish moss, and their branches, sharp white wood, framed the sky like teeth. A few cold flakes of snow fell. It had been over twenty seasons since it last snowed here. It was both bizarre and beautiful, as if little stars in the vast, dark sky had decided to fall down.

      “It’s a pity, but those candles have all burned out…” Aredrem’s voice floated in the darkness.

      As the song faded, Fisher came over to Wind-voice. “Why don’t you rest?” the heron asked.

      “I’m afraid to,” Wind-voice admitted. He turned to Fisher. “Suppose something eats you from your inside, trying to control you. Suppose it lures you to do something, and you know it is not at all good, but you also know that if you listen too long, you will believe. It’s more dangerous than anything outside you. Perhaps the way to defeat it is never to give it a chance to speak to you.” Like Yin Soul, who promised me life in the face of death, he thought. Like fear, like despair, like greed, like anger.

      Fisher stared at the young bird. “After all you’ve been through, after living and struggling on when some would have just given up and died, nobird would dare try to force you to do something you didn’t choose. I think that your experiences and choices have tempered you so that you can be the master of yourself.” Because your heart and soul have awakened, Fisher thought.

      He watched as a strange calmness came over Windvoice. Then the young bird spoke seriously. “Fisher?”

      “Yes?”

      “I saw you…practising with the sword. There’s Stormac with his staff. I think we all need to learn how to protect ourselves in the days to come. My foot…will I ever…?” His voice trailed off. His right foot hung by his belly, the scales scratched and mangled. It was tinted purple with bruises and darkened blood within.

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