Petal Brightwing's Arc

Chapter 5 of 4

Cyrus spoke first. "The charm comes with me." He unlashed it from the feather and tucked it under his arm. "You keep the feather. Try dragging it home without speed." He smiled and walked off across the open stone. The charm's silver light faded with him. Petal stared at the feather. It lay like a fallen mast beside her. Without the charm it would not move an inch. She was a speck. Her grove was miles away. Cyrus had left her the prize and taken the only means to carry it. She drew her needle-sword. The rainbow blade caught the light. She would not chase him. She would find another way. A shadow slid over the rock. Petal looked up. A sleek bird landed nearby, its feathers like layered metal plates. It cocked its head and watched her with one bright eye. Not the beast from the hollow. Something smaller, curious, quick. Petal held still. The bird hopped closer and pecked at the feather. It knew silver when it saw it. Petal thought fast. The bird could fly. The feather could not fly itself. But a bird could carry a load. She needed a way to tie the two together. She looked at the vines trailing from a crack in the stone. She cut long strands with her blade. Her hands shook, but she worked. She wove the strands into a harness, loop over loop, the way she wove her own nest at home. The leaves still clung to the green vine. The bird watched her the whole time. When the harness was done, Petal laid it open on the stone. "Please," she said. "Help me carry this home." The bird stepped into the loops. Petal cinched them snug around its breast. Then she lashed the feather's shaft to the harness with the last vine strand. She pulled each knot tight and tested it with her weight. She climbed onto the feather and gripped the shaft. "Go," she said. The bird spread its wings. The vines pulled taut. The feather lifted off the stone, swaying, then steadied beneath the beating wings. Wind rushed past Petal's face. The rock shrank below her. She was flying, and the silver feather flew with her. She laughed out loud. Cyrus had the charm. She had wings. But the bird did not fly toward her grove. It banked hard the other way, toward a dark line of cliffs she did not know. Petal hauled on the harness. The bird did not turn. It climbed higher, faster, carrying her and the feather somewhere of its own choosing. Petal clung to the shaft. She had a ride home, but the ride would not go home. And far below, a small figure on the stone stopped walking and looked up, watching the silver feather sail away without him.