Windblowne Part 12

Oliver leapt as the hunter struck him a glancing blow. He fell flat on his back, his breath knocked from his body and his head hitting the solid ground. This position gave him an excellent view of the entirely one-sided battle between the Watchmen and the hunter.

The men were shouting and running in all directions as the hunter tore through them, talons flas.h.i.+ng. Two Watchmen crawled under the steps near Oliver. Oliver thought he heard one of them whimpering for his mother.

"Men! Remember your training!" the captain shouted, but it was obvious that the training had not included keeping a cool head during a kite attack.

Oliver worked on getting some air back into his lungs as he struggled to his knees.

"Mother," whimpered the steps.

Pathetic, thought Oliver.

The hunter was cutting the air in a low, wicked circle. It's looking for the kite, thought Oliver.

He hopped backward a few steps, then turned and fled up the mountain, into the oaks. If he went straight up the slope, he would keep crossing the Way. If he could direct himself properly using his map, he would come out of the woods right where he had left his kite.

He plunged desperately, running when he could, scurrying on all fours where the brush was too thick or the slope was too steep.

He burst from the trees, right onto the open Way, directly into the path of an elderly woman. It was Marcus's grandmother.

"Sorrya"" Oliver panted, but the old woman screamed, "It's him! The boy from the valley!"

Great, Oliver thought, I'm famous. He had obviously made quite an impression on this Windblowne during his brief visit.

"I never liked you either!" he shouted as she took a swipe with her cane. Then he shot into the forest again.

Oliver smashed along, cursing as he was thwacked in the head by low-hanging branches.

He barreled out onto the Way again, huffing. An excited group of people stood talking nearby. "Four kites!" one of them was saying breathlessly. "They attacked the Watch!"

Wild rumors were spreading. Oliver adopted a casual saunter and walked, panting, hair full of twigs, across the Way.

One of the group looked toward Oliver. "Heya"" he started.

Oliver exploded into a run. Then he was in the oaks again, slipping and crawling upward. In a few frantic minutes he came again to the Way, and this time he raced straight across the road. Now he was really a spectacle, covered with dirt, more leaves, and spiderwebs. But this time no one looked at him.

"A whole fleet of them!" someone was shouting. "A whole fleet of kites appeared and demolished Watch headquarters! They're plucking up the Watch and carrying them off!"

Oliver wished that were true.

Closer to the crest now, the mountain was getting steeper. His running felt more like an excruciating plod. Bright spots flashed in front of his eyes.

He hurtled onto the Way for the fourth time, wildeyed, chest heaving. The kite was just a little higher. He would have to risk running on the open Way.

As he ran, he heard the shouts of the Watchmen. They had taken the long way around, but they were also much faster.

Ahead, a crowd had gathered at the place where he'd been forced to abandon his kite. With relief, Oliver saw a blanket on the ground. Someone had covered the kite, just as the captain had ordered. The crowd was keeping a wary distance from the blanket.

"HALT!" The Watchmen were right behind him.

Oliver ran through the startled crowd, tossed away the blanket, and seized the kite.

"A kite!" someone screamed. The crowd stumbled backward, b.u.mping and pus.h.i.+ng.

Oliver whirled around crazily, shouting, "A kite! A kite! Ha ha!" and waving the kite about like a sword, feeling utterly ridiculous.

The Watchmen shoved their way through the panicked crowd. But even they would not come close to the madly whirling Oliver.

A piercing scream tore through the air. The hunter had found them.

This was too much for the timid citizens of this Windblowne, and they scattered like leaves. The Watchmen scattered with them.

Oliver ran into the forest. He heard a whir as the hunter sliced through the air.

His chest seemed to think it wasn't getting enough air. If I had known what was coming, Oliver thought, I would have gotten more exercise.

Somewhere above, the hunter screeched angrily. Oliver looked up, trying to spot the hunter, trying toa"

WHACK.

He ran smack into the wall. Luckily, he had not been going very fast.

Gasping, he placed his hands against the solid granite. He turned his face up, looking at the wall's vast heighta"and realized he was out of options.

He searched for a rock, a branch, anything he could use as a weapon.

There was a soft squawk. Trembling, Oliver turned.

The hunter was perched on a nearby limb, regarding him with its gla.s.s eyes. Oliver put his hand on the heaviest branch he could find and prepared to defend his kite.

Then something whirred through the air and struck the branch on which the hunter was perched. The hunter gave a startled croak and hopped aside. When another objecta"Oliver thought it was a stonea"followed the first, the hunter had to leap from the branch.

A barrage of stones came whizzing one after another. The hunter shrieked, made two fast circles, and then, with a bright flash, disappeared.

Oliver swallowed hard. "It's gone to get the others," he said, pulling the kite close. A slight breeze rose, and the kite's tail flew up and stroked his arm.

He looked up, trying to find the source of the stones. At first he didn't see anything or anyone. Then there was a sudden movement on a high branch deep within a nearby oak, a movement like the one that he had seen when he first arrived in this Windblowne. He spotted a shadow, crouching on a hidden branch, high above him.

The shadow spoke.

16.

"What was that? That wasn't a bird!" the shadow said.

Oliver recognized the voice. Oh no, he thought. Not her. I lost her kite charm.

The shadow melted down through the oak, climbing swiftly. Soon the light revealed a girl, wiry and small, with black hair tied back and a splash of freckles on her face, and a red knit pouch slung over her shoulder. She swung one-handed onto a branch twenty feet above Oliver's head and crouched there, looking at him curiously and tossing a round stone from one hand to the other.

It was Ilia. Oliver wished he could melt into the ground. Then he realized that, in this Windblowne, she had no idea who he was or that he had been so careless as to lose her charm. In fact, it wasn't even her charm. She also didn't know that Oliver had once, through extreme inept.i.tude, destroyed her most beautiful kite. She didn't know that, in another world, people still spoke ruefully of the school of flying fish that shattered into a thousand pieces after Oliver accepted the reels.

Some of the white-hot embarra.s.sment faded away. "No," Oliver answered finally. "It wasn't a bird. Well, most of it, anyway."

Ilia continued to stare. Oliver became uncomfortably aware of his appearance. His flying clothes looked as if they had been shredded by wild animals, which they had, with help from half the thornbushes on the mountain. They were blood-soaked and filthy, like the rest of him. His kite was a perfect match, battered and covered in dust. It was said in Windblowne that people end up looking like their kites. For Oliver, this had never been more true.

"Can I see your kite?" Ilia asked.

"Uh," said Oliver.

Ilia seemed to take that as a yes. Slinging the stone into the red knit pouch, she descended, skipping from branch to branch. She landed with a thump beside Oliver and reached out.

Oliver, surprised that she did not seem afraid, held out the kite.

She poked it cautiously. A delighted smile broke out on her face. "What a nice kite!" she said.

"You have no idea," said Oliver, feeling proud.

"I might," said Ilia. "I was sitting on the wall this morning, watching the sun rise. I saw you fly down from the sky. I've been following you ever since."

"Oh," said Oliver.

"You need some help with your oak climbing," said Ilia.

"Well, it was my first try," Oliver said defensively. "How did you follow me?"

"Through the oaks," replied Ilia. She took another stone from her pouch and scanned the sky. "So is that a thing a coming back?"

"It's called a hunter. And yes. It's going to bring more with it."

"Come on, then," said Ilia. She turned and dashed along the wall. Oliver followed, listening for signs of pursuit from below.

They soon came to an oak with several low-hanging branches. Without breaking stride, Ilia began to climb. Oliver fastened the kite to his pack and climbed after her, glad that she had gone first. He wanted to practice climbing some more before she saw him at it again.

The air seemed to get thinner as they climbed, or maybe Oliver was reaching the physical limits of exhaustion. He felt queasy. He wondered how long it would take him to hit the ground if he fell, how many branches he might hit on the way down. Ilia showed no signs of tiring, and he wasn't about to ask her to slow down.

Don't look down, Oliver thought. This made him look down. As he suspected, the ground was now quite far below, with plenty of branches in the way. When he turned back, Ilia had disappeared. There was nothing above him but an impenetrable tangle of branches and cl.u.s.ters of dead or dying leaves.

"Ilia?" Oliver ventured.

Leaves rustled. He heard a shout, far off.

"Ilia?" Oliver whispered nervously. Had she fallen?

"Hurry up!" Ilia's voice snapped from above. "I can see them coming!"

Then Oliver saw ita"the slightest break in the tangle, just to his right. He climbed over and up, fast as he could, and clambered through a cleverly concealed trapdoor and into a small, snug treehouse.

Ilia was peering into a miniature bra.s.s telescope that pointed through a tiny window.

"Who's coming?" Oliver wheezed, glad to feel a solid floor beneath him. "The hunters?"

"No," said Ilia. "Just some of the Watch."

"What will we do? We're trapped!"

"Don't worry," Ilia replied. "I've got this treehouse entirely camouflaged."

Oliver looked all around, marveling. The treehouse was large enough for both of them to move about comfortably. There were open crates scattered around that were full of interesting things like ropes and pulleys and gears and more telescopes, and even a bow and some arrows. There were more throwing stones for the red knit pouch, and a threadbare rug on the floor, some dry food, a few canteens, and candles. Windows looked in all directions, and there was another window in the roof, covered by a sliding door.

"Who built this?" said Oliver in wonder. "It's amazing."

"I did," said Ilia, beaming. "I've been working on it a little bit at a time, for years."

"And no one knows about it?"

"Nope," said Ilia. "You're the first. Do you really like it?"

"Yes," said Oliver. Suddenly he had the feeling he might be blus.h.i.+ng. He grabbed one of the telescopes and fumbled with it. "I bet you can see whatever goes on in Windblowne from up here."

"Well, I can see a lot of things. Especially now, because the oaks have been losing their leaves. Everyone is trying to pretend that nothing's wrong, but I'm really worried."

"I am, too," said Oliver.

"They think the wall is going to protect them from everything," Ilia muttered.

Oliver settled on a pillow, stretching out his aching legs. "Yes, the wall," he said. "What is that for?"

"You don't know?" said Ilia skeptically. "Where are you from, anyway?"

"I'm, uh, from the valley."

"Hmmm," said Ilia. "You're from the valley, and you made a kite that could fly in the night winds, and you flew over the wall with it this morning?"

"Yes?" lied Oliver.

Ilia raised one eyebrow. "Pretty impressive for someone from the valley."

"I could have gotten this kite from Windblowne," Oliver suggested. "Maybe I didn't make it myself."

She stared at him. "Don't you know that no one here makes kites anymore? I was six years old when they started building the Crest Wall, and that was the last time I saw a kite in the sky. I can still remember it."