The Wind Singer (26 page)

Behind her, out of the darkness, came a line of bandsmen, all uniformed in white. They too were young, boys and girls of thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and every one of them was beautiful, and every one of them was smiling. They marched briskly, keeping excellent time, playing their instruments as they came. Behind them were more bandsmen, followed by a rank of drummers. And behind them, singing as they smiled and swung along, came rank upon rank of youthful soldiers.

Kestrel heard the singing voices, and slowly the shape of the words penetrated her shocked senses. These beautiful boys and girls, this army of white and golden youth, were singing the same song as Bowman, the song that had only one word.

‘Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!’

The tune was martial but melodic, and the melody, once heard, was impossible to forget. It swung up and down, and back up to its climax; and then round it came again, relentless.

‘Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!’

The ranks of soldiers came on, line after line, out of the darkness. How many were there? The numbers seemed limitless.

‘My beautiful Zars,’ said the old lady. ‘Nothing can stop them now.’

The baton-twirling band leader now came to a stop, but continued marching on the spot. Behind her the band, still playing, formed up in broad ranks, also marching on the spot. And behind them, the soldiers. The singing ceased, but the music and the steady tramping went on: though now the great army did not advance. At the rear, far away in the darkness where the lamplight didn’t reach, more lines of soldiers were coming forward all the time, to join the waiting ranks. All were young, all were beautiful, and all were smiling.

Kestrel was backing further and further away all the time, in the direction of the passages and the fire. She still clutched the silver voice tight in one hand, but she had forgotten it entirely. She was weeping, also without knowing it. For her eyes were on her beloved brother, who she loved even more than she loved herself, and her young heart was breaking.

My brother! My love! Come back to me
!

Bowman didn’t hear her, or look at her, he was so changed. He was moving into position in front of the great army, and his sword was sweeping the air, and on his face was the same terrible smile that was on all their faces. Then in the ranks behind, even as she wept, Kestrel saw another familiar face transformed. It was Mumpo, wearing the white-and-gold uniform of the Zars, and he wasn’t old any more, and he wasn’t dirty. He was young, and handsome, and smiling with pride. As she stared at him, he caught her eyes and waved at her.

‘I’ve got friends, Kess!’ he called to her joyously. ‘Look at all my friends!’

‘No!’ screamed Kestrel. ‘No! No! NO!’

But her screams were drowned, as Bowman raised his sword high, and with a long rippling flash all the Zars drew their swords, and the army began to march. The beautiful baton-twirler came high-stepping behind Bowman, and the bandsmen and the drummers played, smiling into the distance, and the soldiers sang as they marched.

‘Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!’

Kestrel turned and weeping, she ran for her life.

When the column of Zars reached the canopied bed, they parted to either side of it. Their drawn swords flashed as they marched, slicing the orange on its silver plate, slashing the canopy to ribbons, sending fragments of gauze floating in the air. One fragment landed in the bowl of the lamp, and caught fire. In a moment, the whole bed was ablaze. Still the Zars marched on, unswerving, their handsome young faces briefly illuminated by the burning bed. And in the bed, the old lady lay motionless, raised on burning pillows, and watched the army pass in pride.

Kestrel ran weeping down the Halls of the Morah, the silver voice in her hand. Behind her came the Zars, destroying everything in their path. The elegant clothes laid out in the dressing-room, the dining-table laid for company that never came, all fell to the flashing swords and turned to dust.

Oh my brother, my dear love, my own
!

Kestrel cried out in her heartbreak as she ran in her terror, until she saw before her the stone fireplace, where burned the fire in its grate. Behind her the marching tramp of amillion feet, the singing of amillion voices. No time to question or to understand. Without slowing down in her headlong flight, she hurled herself into the fireplace, and –

Silence. Cool columns of flame. Dazzling brightness. Panting, shaking, she forced herself to stop. The eery cold of the fire cleared her head, and she knew this was not what she wanted to do. Why was she running from her twin? For her, there was no life without him. If he was changed, then she would change too.

Not like this
, she thought.
We go together
.

She turned, and there in the white light she saw her beloved brother coming towards her, at the head of the army of the Zars. He was moving slowly, and the sound of the music seemed far away, but he was still singing softly, as were they all, a smiling whisper as they came.

‘Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!’

Kestrel raised her eyes to meet his, and opened her arms wide, so that his sword, which rose and fell before him as he marched, would strike her across the breast.

We go together, my brother
, she said to him.
Even if you have to kill me
.

His eyes found her now. He was still smiling, but the words of the song faded on his lips.

I won’t leave you
, she said to him.
I’ll never leave you again
.

He was closer now, the sword still rising and falling before him.

I love you
, she said to him.
My beloved brother
.

Now the smile too was fading, and the sword rising and falling more slowly. He was very close to her, and could see the tears on her cheeks.

Kill me, dear one. Let’s go together
.

His eyes filled with confusion. His sword was raised now, and he had reached her. One more downward stroke would cut her through. But the blow never fell. He stopped, and stood there, motionless.

The beautiful band leader came high-stepping right past them without so much as a sideways glance. So too the lines of bandsmen and drummers, playing away, smiling into the chill of the flames. Bowman’s eyes were locked on Kestrel’s, and she could see him returning, the brother she had lost, like a diver rising from the deep.

Kess
, he said, recognising her. And the sword fell from his hand. He took her in his arms and hugged her, as the army of the Zars marched singing past them.

Oh, Kess
.. .

He was shaking now, and weeping. She kissed his wet cheeks.

There
, she said,
there. You’ve come back
.

21

The march of the Zars

S
eizing his sister’s hand, Bowman ran through the cool white flames, and Kestrel ran with him. There was no time to talk of what had happened. They overtook the leader of the band, who still paid them no attention, as if the fire through which they passed held everything in suspension. Then suddenly they were out of the fire, and there were the forest-clad mountains rising on either side, and the wind in their faces, and the broad sweep of the Great Way before them, and dark clouds above.

Not clouds: Kestrel looked up and saw them. The eagles were circling in their hundreds, darkening the sky. She pulled Bowman off the road, into the trees.

‘They’re going to attack!’

The great eagles swept lower and lower, the beat of their powerful wings shivering the branches of the trees. And there, standing silently between the trees, yellow eyes on the gate of fire, were line upon line of grey wolves.

The beautiful young band leader came strutting out of the fire, her baton flying high, and after her the band, playing their jaunty music. As the columns of the Zars followed them eight abreast on to the Great Way, the eagles folded their wings and dropped like thunderbolts, screaming out of the sky. They spread their wings again at the last moment, as the giant talons struck. The claws took hold, and up they powered, white-and-gold bodies twitching beneath, to release their victims high above the tallest tree-tops. Never once did the raptured Zars utter a single cry; never once did their comrades look up, or show fear. Eagle after eagle, wave after wave, ripped into the marching column, but each hole they tore in the ranks was immediately filled from behind, and still the Zars marched on. Their long swords were out, flashing and deadly, and many an eagle made its dive and never rose again. But more terrifying than the blows the Zars struck was their disregard of the blows they received. Not for one instant did they cease to smile as their comrades were hurled into oblivion. Not once did they miss a step. And still, unending, they marched out of the tunnel, a long unbroken line of white and gold.

Now the eagles were peeling away, and it was the turn of the wolves. The old wolf lifted up his head and gave a savage cry. From out of the trees, howling with blood-lust, the first lines of wolves fell on their enemy. The great jaws ripped into the Zars, rending bloody holes in the column, but the long swords were fast and deadly, and not one of the beasts rose up to attack again.

And so the battle raged. Now the eagles returned to the attack, and now the wolves: but always the marching lines reformed from behind, and the shining white-and-gold soldiers marched steadily onwards to the music of the band, tramping over the bodies of eagles and wolves, and the bodies of their dead and wounded comrades alike.

Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

‘Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!’

They never even stopped singing.

Bowman watched them with horror and fascination.

‘They’re marching to Aramanth,’ he said. And turning to Kestrel, with fierce urgency, ‘Do you have the voice?’

‘Yes. I have it here.’

‘We must go! We must get to Aramanth before them!’

He was ready to go there and then, to try to outrun the tireless Zars all the way home, but Kestrel held his arm.

‘Look! There’s Mumpo!’

In the midst of the battle, radiant with returned youth, his white-and-gold uniform spattered with blood, Mumpo marched with the Zars, smiling at the carnage on all sides.

‘Go!’ cried Bowman. ‘We must go!’

‘We can’t leave him,’ said Kestrel.

As he marched past, she dashed into the fray and caught hold of his arm, and dragged him out to the side. Half hypnotised by the music and the marching, he didn’t at first realise what was happening.

‘Kess! Look at all my friends, Kess!’

Kestrel and Bowman took him between them, and ran with him deeper into the trees. As they ran, a detachment of Zars broke away from the column in pursuit.

They ran until they were exhausted. Then Kestrel rounded on Mumpo.

‘Listen to me, Mumpo. The Zars aren’t your friends, they’re your enemies. We’re your friends. Either you go with them, or you go with us.’

Mumpo stared at her in confusion.

‘Why can’t we all go together?’

‘Can’t you see – ’ In her frustration, she almost shook him.

‘It’s all right, Kess,’ said Bowman. He took Mumpo’s hands in his, and spoke to him softly.

‘I know what it feels like, Mumpo. I felt it too. It feels like you’re not alone and afraid any more. Like no one can ever hurt you again.’

‘Yes, that’s right, Bo.’

‘We can’t give you that feeling. But we’ve stood by you, and you’ve stood by us. Don’t leave us now.’

Mumpo looked into Bowman’s gentle eyes and slowly the dream of glory faded.

‘Am I to be alone and afraid again, Bo?’

‘Yes, Mumpo. I wish I could tell you we’ll keep you safe, but I can’t. We’re not as strong as they are.’

Kestrel watched her brother speaking, and she marvelled at him. He sounded older, sadder, surer. Mumpo too, she saw it now, had been changed by all that had happened to him. He was confused, but he was no longer foolish.

‘You were my first friends,’ he said simply. ‘I’ll never leave you.’

The twins took him in their arms, both together, and there was just time for a hug of comradeship, before they saw the glint of white uniforms approaching through the trees. The Zars had not just followed them, as they very soon saw: they had encircled them. A dozen and more now closed in on the spot where they stood.

‘Climb!’ said Kestrel.

She jumped up into the spreading branches of the tree above, and started to climb. Bowman and Mumpo followed her. They climbed up and up, until they came out on to the topmost branches. From here they could see the Great Way, and the still-raging battle. The eagles were fewer now, and the wolves almost all exhausted. On a high rock, the grizzled father wolf stood, his long baying howl sending the last lines of wolves into the attack.

From their high tree, the children watched helplessly as the wolves made their charge. The few remaining wolves stood tall and proud among the trees, waiting their turn, and when the order came, they knew they too would meet their death at the edge of those merciless swords. But in they went, crying their deep-throated war-cries, to bring down as many Zars as they could before falling themselves. Against any natural enemy, the power and the savagery of the wolves would have been devastating. But the Zars were numberless, and however many were brought down, there were always more.

‘Stop!’ cried Kestrel from the high branch, in pity and horror. ‘Stop! It’s no good!’

But if the old wolf heard her, he paid her no heed. He shook his shaggy mane, and called once more, and the very last line of wolves threw themselves into the battle. As he watched them fall, one after the other, the pride of the mountains laid low, he stilled his aching heart.

We face the ancient enemy at last. What can we do but die
?

Then he lifted his old head high, and howled his own war-cry, his death-cry, and gathering all the power remaining in him, he hurled himself into the fray. One down, his killer teeth ripping, tossing; two down, turn on a third, and for a second he saw the bright gleam before the blade passed through his shoulder and into his bursting heart.