Page 37 of The Neverfear

‘I don’t do party tricks.’

‘Think o’ somethin’, or go the same way as the frog prince.’

‘I …’ he said. ‘Creatures like me.’

A nearby pirate snorted with laughter. ‘Did you hear that? The kitty-cats like the little boy.’

Vigo glared at him. He took a great swig of his whisky. ‘I’d try ter do better than tha’, lad, and quickly.’

‘I can summon birds from the sky.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished them back.

Vigo, though, sent up a roar. ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Vagabonds and scum! Gather round! The boy is goin’ to perform a wee miracle for us! An’ if he fails, we’ll shove him in the pen wi’ the kludde!’

Christopher stared at him.

‘Always raise the stakes, lad, tha’s my motto. Sin big or go home.’ Then to the assembled crowd, ‘What’re you waitin’ for? Make a circle for the boy!’

There was jostling as a wide circle was drawn in the sand and Christopher was shoved bodily to stand alone in it. Hundreds of eyes were on him.

‘I …’ he said.

And then a spark of elation rose in him, because there was Anya. She had heard Vigo’s bellowing and was moving through the crowd towards him. If he could hold Vigo’s attention for just a minute or two, she might be able to get the vial into his drink.

‘Summon the birdies, boy!’ said Vigo. ‘Or face the kludde.’

There was the cluster of silvery hercinia birds in the winged tree above. Christopher whistled. The birds looked at him with expressions that made him feel he might just as well have been wearing underpants and a large hat.

Christopher closed his eyes. He thought of Naravirala’s words. This was not selfish, nor a game – this was deadly serious. He tried to clear his mind, to make space for light to come.

He opened his eyes and gave a low, soft whistle. One of the bird’s heads went up, and he met its silvery eyes. He whistled again. One – and then two – swept down from the tree and came to land in front of him. He held out an arm, and one landed on him.

And it came: the flash, the feeling of being struck – and with it, green-gold threads of light, spinning out between Christopher and each bird. The dizziness came too, but he was ready for it; he moved with it, backwards and sideways, sending out his friendship, his urgent need, along the threads.

And suddenly the whole flock, a silver sparking chorus, was spinning about the crowd’s heads. Tentatively he pictured behind his eyes an image of a star – and then he gave a yell of delight as the birds took hold of it; in unison they swept upwards into the shape of a star, their silver wings glinting.

Anya was behind Vigo now. He could see her unstopping the vial.

A centaur trumpeter began to play, and the birds moved as if in time to it: a thing of sweeping, luminous beauty.

Anya dropped the liquid into Vigo’s drink. She flashed Christopher a thumbs up.

He tried to keep his face unmoved but his heart was roaring. The moon was bright, and the birds swept about his head. He sent another request, a picture in his mind’s eye of a row of birds soaring upwards in an arrow – and they gave shrill confident calls and went sweeping up into the sky like a perfect shaft of silver. The feeling was extraordinary, a euphoric glee. It felt like he was flying.

He laughed, wild, and turned to Vigo to bow.

‘Not bad, lad! Not entirely disappointin’!’ Vigo swept up his hands to applaud and knocked the goblet to the ground. The liquid melted away into the sand.

Fire Blades

Christopher looked at Anya in pure horror. She looked back at him, her eyes wide.

‘All righ’, boy,’ said Vigo. ‘Now I wan’ ter see you dance.’

Christopher saw Anya flinch. He saw her face flood suddenly red.

‘Dance for us, boy,’ said Vigo. He was beginning to slur his words. ‘Shake those hips!’

‘You!’ Anya’s voice was like a bird call, high and sharp. She pushed through the crowd to stand next to Christopher. ‘You don’t speak to him like that!’ The two red patches were high on her cheeks and she was breathing hard.