Chapter 10: Reviving a Lost Heritage

"‘Birdman: a carnivorous beast that will attack on sight.’” I unfolded the University record. It was so worn, it hung in my outstretched palms like cloth. I ran my thumb beneath the yellowed document’s faded handwriting. The words were scrunched together to the point where I had to squint to distinguish them from each other. Not that I needed to read the document to remember its contents word for word. “‘After living for eons on the Floating Isles, these creatures have developed an insatiable desire for flesh. They reject no living prey even when their appetite has been sated.’ Does that sound like you?"

As expected, some of the birdmen glared at the University record. Most of them, including the horned birdman, shrugged. After all, why should they care what some random field researcher from the University thinks of them?

"Yes, I don’t think the likeness holds either. I certainly expected carnivorous birdmen to be deadlier.” I whistled as I strolled away from the crowd of birdmen so they wouldn’t see me wince.

The horned birdman reached for its knife.

“What I meant to say was, where are your hunting trophies? Why resort to piecing together flutes from smashed tableware? Shouldn't all of you be wearing bits of dead animals?” I gestured at their chief’s necklace beaded with small animal bones that reached their talons. “I take it that's what you lot find fashionable?"

The birdmen glanced at their robes. Only Ludger had stooped to stitching together fish skin: a trophy I imagined was too common to wear. Instead, the creatures’ robes were stitched together from a mismatch of cotton and leather rags: probably scavenged from the colony ruins. However, they hadn’t been restored like Ludger’s collection of human clothing. Sleeves lay down their backs and fronts with randomly-placed buttons dangling from loose threads. The few robes stitched from pelt were covered with as much stitching as leather.

"But what of it if you cannot even live up to the mythological monsters Freylor claims you to be? Your mere existence would be groundbreaking. But we know you're more than just some discovery." Perhaps I was milking my performance as I wailed, fell to my knees, and outstretched my arms toward my audience. Still, the effect was spectacular!

The horned birdman gaped at the document and let its flute clatter to the tiles before whipping its head around as if searching for something.

The other birdmen set down their makeshift flutes to stare at me.

"Despite what you may believe, I am not here to destroy your magic. I am but a humble scholar, and here I submit myself to your kind’s mastery. The University would consider all this”—I waved my arms at the palace—"a fluke. Is it fair that they should claim to be the masters of civilization, the world’s sole survivors, only to cower within their Archives after being unable to survive on the Floating Isles for a week? I'm ashamed to say that there were times when I questioned whether your kind could survive. But now that you’ve been beheld by an unenlightened, yet extremely studious, archaeologist such as myself, can’t you recognize the true worth of the magic that has been coursing beneath your feet? Consider never having to fret about magic roots rotting out of the walls. What if you could plant your tree outside with that lovely fountain again"—assuming it wasn't bodies they planted in those pits—"where it can stand tall and bear... eggs? Are you imagining with me?" Despite it being an invitation for the birdmen, I gazed dreamily down the hallway where the palace had unfolded like a pop-up storybook. My heart clenched as the birdmen and I stared at the jagged gaps in the palace’s otherwise organic-looking curves: crumbling walls that weren’t even subjected to the blizzard that battered from outside. The tree raised itself, yes, but while fighting the architecture it plays a part in controlling. How long would it stand if the blizzard finally broke inside one day? Will this be the last time anyone sees the palace in its natural state? “People who have tamed something that cannot even be described should be doing far more than merely survive. Imagine hunting to your heart’s content without fear of freezing to death on the way home. Haven’t any of you ever wanted to crane your necks back and gaze into the stars without a blizzard covering the sky at all hours?” I beamed as the birdmen turned to each other with eyes that gleamed with conscious thought. Presenting the University record to face the birdmen, the crowd’s chattering filled the hallway. I laughed and staggered to stay upright as they bustled forward. Half-made flutes crunched beneath their talons.

The author of the University record had taken care to leave enough space around a sketch in the upper corner that appeared to be a mishmash of chicken scratch that only vaguely resembled a palace. The author’s rendition of the palace had a sense of fluidity even when confined to pencil and paper. Its turrets twisted like serpents, and the walls curved like the flanks of a heaving beast. Despite the bold, crimson seal on the back of the document, all it featured was a sketch abandoned halfway in favor of rambling gibberish that devolved into scribbles: flooding the bottom of the parchment with lead.

To think this is what I have been satisfying myself with since I first realized birdmen were real. No, the tree won't turn to ash, and the palace will move again at the heart of Freylor. “Don’t you think they made a fine effort to sketch your palace? Oh, but I am sure Ludger can show those University archaeologists what your palace ought to look like. Never again will you fret over refitting the same bricks into their sockets when frost, or a well-meaning archaeologist, reduces them to dust. Return to what you were made to do, my beautiful creatures. Remind the prey who have escaped this frozen wasteland why you were born with bladed beaks and talons. And above all, show the Headmistress and everyone who ever doubted you what the Empire is depriving itself of by rejecting you!"

Everyone stiffened when a crack cut the still air. The fissures in the walls widened, and spiderweb cracks spread outward. The birdmen hastily pieced their flutes together and aimed their instruments at the dislodged bricks.

The horned birdman bellowed into its flute, and the framework of light that led to the endless stretch of snow returned. The beast ushered its brethren through with a massive wing.

Despite the cracking that filled the hallway, the birdmen inched toward the portal, peeked out, and glanced at their chief with wide eyes.

The horned birdman narrowed its eyes, and birdmen whirled away from its glare to fling themselves through the portal headfirst.

"Marvelous!” With my hands on my hips, I nodded as the birdmen formed a long line and dove through the portal in rapid succession. “Now this is the proper reaction to receiving an invitation to Freylor. Though, I believe there has been a bit of a misunderstanding. You see, I didn't invite all of you—" A blow to the stomach knocked me through the portal.

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