Marshals’ clothes, rising as high as their masks. Amid the sound of bone cracking, Cristobalite’s magnificent wing slid to the floor.
Rocco must have kicked the chair in front of him, because the white robe who occupied the chair spun round. His face, particularly his lashes, was covered in flecks of dust. He glared at Rocco.
Sick to the stomach, but unable to pull his eyes away, Rocco watched as the second wing was severed. Is this what the parents of the hunchback children had done? Given their children over to a stranger with a knife? So much blood and ugliness.
At least the parents of the hunchback children had a reason – they were trying to keep their children safe. These urvogels had just lost their wings for the pettiest of reasons – for reading a book.
Urvogels were thugs.
Cristobalite’s second wing had crashed to the floor. The Air Marshal had managed to sever it on his first swing. Minionatros down at the front began to sing.
‘Blessed be the minionatros.’ Standing now, the judges lifted their wings.
Cristobalite slumped forward, his back a glaring gash of bone and tissue. Blood poured out, spilling into his tunic and pooling on the floor around him. The humming, a hypnotic drone, started up again.
Rocco turned, surveying the stony faces of the urvogels behind him. Weren’t they enraged, or at least moved by Cristobalite’s loss? Swirls of dust filled the air. Looking up to the dome, he saw the cloud of dust was thickest around Harpia. Swinging hard, she beat her wings.
More dust was being pumped by the gold robes. They were holding the hoses and pumping the end with the bulb. A fine spray of dust, commingled with Harpia’s wing dander, floated down.
The backs of every chair as well as the heads and shoulders of every white robe in front of Rocco were covered in dust. Rocco turned. His own shoulders were covered. Brushing the dust off lightly, he began to cough. Half choking, he buried his nose in his sleeve.
What was it? Some kind of toxin? Would it turn him into a dopey-eyed urvogel?
Vesta’s feet were silent. Rocco reached out to push her arm, but the room plunged into darkness. The light in Vesta’s wings went out. So did all the wings in his row, and also the row in front. Only his blue glow cut the blackness. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? Maybe Harpia could see him easily, but at least he was hanging onto himself. His wings always glowed in the dark.
An object brushed against his head. Vesta had risen out of her seat. She was flying up. So were Basalt, Magma and Iggy.
Rocco flipped his wing so he could see better. Peering up, he saw hundreds of feet dangling from the dome. The entire assembly had flown up and were now gathered in a cluster, beating their wings in a mass frenzy. He couldn’t see Harpia any more, but she was up there, the queen controlling all her drones.
He was alone in his row. The aisle was empty. Should he make a break for it? There weren’t any Air Marshals at the door, but for sure there would be lots of them outside. He wouldn’t get very far. Hunkering down in his chair, he prepared to wait.
Long minutes passed. The sound of the beating wings softened. Slowly the bioluminescent glow returned, at first as a flickering, then more strongly as if the urvogels were signalling each other. One by one they glided back to their seats.
Basalt, Magma, and Iggy had just settled into theirs. Rocco peered up just as Vesta’s feet appeared over his head. Her shoe knocked his ear as she slid, feet first, into her seat.
‘Pyroxene. Come forward, Pyroxene.’
Vesta seemed not to hear. She was sitting still with her hands clasped in her lap.
‘It’s Py.’ Rocco pointed. ‘Your friend, Py! It’s his turn.’
A ripple of fear passed into Vesta’s face.
six
Mass frenzy
Cristobalite was nowhere to be seen. His wings had been strung up on the front of the judges’ desk. They were harsh-looking, detached but crying out in anguish and shame, thought
Rocco must have kicked the chair in front of him, because the white robe who occupied the chair spun round. His face, particularly his lashes, was covered in flecks of dust. He glared at Rocco.
Sick to the stomach, but unable to pull his eyes away, Rocco watched as the second wing was severed. Is this what the parents of the hunchback children had done? Given their children over to a stranger with a knife? So much blood and ugliness.
At least the parents of the hunchback children had a reason – they were trying to keep their children safe. These urvogels had just lost their wings for the pettiest of reasons – for reading a book.
Urvogels were thugs.
Cristobalite’s second wing had crashed to the floor. The Air Marshal had managed to sever it on his first swing. Minionatros down at the front began to sing.
‘Blessed be the minionatros.’ Standing now, the judges lifted their wings.
Cristobalite slumped forward, his back a glaring gash of bone and tissue. Blood poured out, spilling into his tunic and pooling on the floor around him. The humming, a hypnotic drone, started up again.
Rocco turned, surveying the stony faces of the urvogels behind him. Weren’t they enraged, or at least moved by Cristobalite’s loss? Swirls of dust filled the air. Looking up to the dome, he saw the cloud of dust was thickest around Harpia. Swinging hard, she beat her wings.
More dust was being pumped by the gold robes. They were holding the hoses and pumping the end with the bulb. A fine spray of dust, commingled with Harpia’s wing dander, floated down.
The backs of every chair as well as the heads and shoulders of every white robe in front of Rocco were covered in dust. Rocco turned. His own shoulders were covered. Brushing the dust off lightly, he began to cough. Half choking, he buried his nose in his sleeve.
What was it? Some kind of toxin? Would it turn him into a dopey-eyed urvogel?
Vesta’s feet were silent. Rocco reached out to push her arm, but the room plunged into darkness. The light in Vesta’s wings went out. So did all the wings in his row, and also the row in front. Only his blue glow cut the blackness. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? Maybe Harpia could see him easily, but at least he was hanging onto himself. His wings always glowed in the dark.
An object brushed against his head. Vesta had risen out of her seat. She was flying up. So were Basalt, Magma and Iggy.
Rocco flipped his wing so he could see better. Peering up, he saw hundreds of feet dangling from the dome. The entire assembly had flown up and were now gathered in a cluster, beating their wings in a mass frenzy. He couldn’t see Harpia any more, but she was up there, the queen controlling all her drones.
He was alone in his row. The aisle was empty. Should he make a break for it? There weren’t any Air Marshals at the door, but for sure there would be lots of them outside. He wouldn’t get very far. Hunkering down in his chair, he prepared to wait.
Long minutes passed. The sound of the beating wings softened. Slowly the bioluminescent glow returned, at first as a flickering, then more strongly as if the urvogels were signalling each other. One by one they glided back to their seats.
Basalt, Magma, and Iggy had just settled into theirs. Rocco peered up just as Vesta’s feet appeared over his head. Her shoe knocked his ear as she slid, feet first, into her seat.
‘Pyroxene. Come forward, Pyroxene.’
Vesta seemed not to hear. She was sitting still with her hands clasped in her lap.
‘It’s Py.’ Rocco pointed. ‘Your friend, Py! It’s his turn.’
A ripple of fear passed into Vesta’s face.
six
Mass frenzy
Cristobalite was nowhere to be seen. His wings had been strung up on the front of the judges’ desk. They were harsh-looking, detached but crying out in anguish and shame, thought
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