05/02/12.

Author: A. J. Murphy

Manuscript: Breeze

Word Count: 83,764

April 19th had come round again. There were 57 of them this year. All 14

years old. Both boys and girls. Eric looked over at Derry. Derry was

laughing and joking as two men from the town council fixed the harness

around his waist, and up over his shoulders. Derry was never afraid. Life

for him was one big adventure. He was born under a lucky star. At school,

he was never caught by the teachers, even though he started most of the

mischief-making. He was the type of boy, who, if he tripped in mud and

fell, would find a tasty nut in front of his eyes as he lay on the ground.

'He'll be fine today', thought Eric. 'Probably win the prize for being first

back'.

A little bit further along the cliff, the girls were being prepared. Eric could

see his twin sister Emer with her harness already on. Her face showed no

emotion, but Eric knew exactly what was going on in her head. Some twins

are like that. They were born together, grew up together, played and

fought together, and told each other their secrets at night. Eric knew she

was nervous, but her desire to pass the test was stronger that any nerves.

After today, if all went well, Eric and Emer would no longer share a

sleeping alcove. She would continue to sleep in the same one as before,

and he would sleep in another one. This would be his bedroom until the

time came for him to find a wife and build his own family. This was how

things were done on their island home of Breeze, and had been since

before anyone could remember.

Now it was Eric’s turn to be harnessed. He tried not to show any fear while

the harness was lifted on to him. It was then connected by a sailor’s knot

clasp to a long thin rope made from the almost unbreakable lashka

creepers which grew in some of the many ravines that made up almost all

the island of Breeze. Inside, he was petrified. 'What if the rope breaks on

the way down! What if the clasp slips open too soon! Or if I can't do it

when I get down there!' He tried to think back to all the advice he'd been

given in preparation for this day. Advice from his parents, the historians,

and older teenagers who had already passed the test. “Stay cool. Stay

calm. Trust your body to do the work, and don't think about it too much.

Almost everyone passed the test.” That word 'almost' was what scared

him. He might be one of the few who didn't pass. Or Emer! No, that was

too scary to think about. He'd concentrate on Derry, and hope that some

of his friend's good luck would come his way.

The ground at the top of the cliff was a large flat strip of grass and

wildflowers. It was the biggest stretch of flat land on the island, and was

known as the highcliff meadow Today the wildflowers were trampled into

the ground by the feet of so many people. The Wing people enjoyed the

opportunity to stretch their legs and walk. The atmosphere was festive.

There were musicians and magicians to entertain the large crowd. There

were stalls selling fresh fried fish, bread, fruit and nuts. Almost the entire

population of Breeze had turned out today, as they did every year. They

took the opportunity to meet up with distant cousins, to enjoy the expanse

of flat ground under their feet, to enjoy the excitement of the Launch.

There were even some people had come from the island of Wind. The only

people not having a good time were the 57 who were to be lowered, and

their parents and close families.

When all was ready, there was a loud drumroll and the signal whistle was

heard. Silence descended on the large crowd as they turned their

attention to the edge of the cliff. 30 girls and 27 boys, all harnessed and

connected to the lashka ropes, were standing there. Some excited and

impatient, others clearly wishing they were somewhere else. Each rope

was held by four strong men. At the second signal whistle, the 14 year

olds would take a step forward over the side of the cliff and disappear

from view. They had known since early childhood that this day would

come. They had come here in previous years and seen older children take

the step forward. Not to do so was unthinkable. They would be disowned

by their families, and ignored by everyone they knew. Forever. Perhaps

once every four years, a child refused to take the step and usually went

missing soon afterwards. Sometimes, Eric had overheard adults talking

about the Worm people who lived at the bottom of Verella, the deepest

ravine on the island, and were not allowed to leave there, or have contact

with the other islanders. There was a special group of grown ups who met

with the members of the Worm people once a year to exchange goods for

verella mushrooms which only grew at the bottom of the Worms' ravine,

and were eaten by the islanders on Landing Day. Eric had heard that these

Worm people had skin that was whiter than bones and eyes that looked

just like cats' eyes. This was because the sun never reached the bottom of

their ravine home. Not one of the 57 standing at the cliff edge wanted to

have to spend the rest of their lives living with these ugly strange people

in their gloomy home. Never to see their family or friends again, never to

feel the sun on their skin again. This was why so few refused to step over

the edge of the cliff.

The second signal whistle sounded. All 57 took a step forward and down.

Eric forced himself to walk at the same time as all the others. He might die

today, but he would not have to live a long life in the semi-darkness of

Verella ravine. Once over the edge, he felt the firm hold on the rope that

stopped him from falling to his death. It didn't stop him, however, from

feeling absolute terror as he saw, far below him, the huge crashing waves

of the ocean as they battled with the sharp jagged rocks at the bottom of

the cliff. He tried to remember his training. 'Keep calm, keep cool, you

were born to do this.' It didn't help much. He was still frozen with fear. He

was swinging from a rope, hundreds of metres above an angry sea and

savage rocks. All around him, he could hear the shouts and screams of the

other 56.

There were supposed to look out for the Launch. This was a narrow ledge,

about 60 cms wide, which stuck out from the cliff wall. It was a little more

than 100 metres from the top. Eric couldn't see it! The terror he was

feeling threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to use all his training to

stop himself from surrendering to panic. He forced himself to look directly

down the cliff face, and there it was, the ledge. It was soooo narrow! His

fear increased. What if he fell over the side before he was ready! Down,

down, down, the rope was lowered. The ledge came nearer and nearer.

Now it didn't look quite so narrow. He looked to his left and saw rope. His

eyes followed the rope downwards, and he saw Derry landing on the

ledge. A few seconds later and Eric was standing next to him. Very soon,

all 57 trialists were standing in a row on the Launch ledge. Now, they

couldn't hear any of the hubbub from the people above. Just the angry

sound of waves crashing against rock. The cliff face was smooth as glass.

There weren't even any nicks or hollows where seabirds could nest. Once

the ropes were freed from the clasps on the harnesses, there was no way

back up. They had all grown up hearing the story of Regor Mince, who had

refused to unclasp his rope. After one hour, the men holding his rope had

let go and Regor was stuck on the ledge. He had stayed there for two days

until he couldn't stay awake any longer. He had rolled over in his sleep

and fallen all the way down to smash his body against the rocks far below.

The name Regor Mince had become one of the worst insults for children on

the island. So much so, that the entire Mince clan, parents, brothers,

sisters, first cousins, second cousins and third cousins, had gone before

the Island Council and officially had their name changed from Mince to

Mance in an attempt to wipe out the shame. Eric Slate summoned up his

courage. He would not be another Regor Mince. He would be brave and

would not bring shame upon the Slate family.

Just then, the sound of the third signal whistle reached down to the ledge.

The 57 all unclasped the ropes from their harnesses and turned round to

face the empty void. Fifty seven 14 year olds stood in a line with no way

up and no way down. Now was the central moment. The moment Eric had

had nightmares about for the last two years. The next few minutes would

decide if he became a respected member of the community of the Wing

people, or if he died on the rocks below. He had forgotten about Emer,

Derry, and all the others. His concentration was completely focused on

listening for the final signal whistle. After some moments, a high pitched

screaming whistle sound could be heard. He let his wings unfurl and open

out to their maximum width. Then he hesitated. The sea and the rocks

below were just too far down. For one or two seconds, he thought he

couldn't do it. Suddenly, he saw Derry jump. Derry shot downwards and

Eric gasped in fear, shock and admiration. Very quickly, Derry found the

gentle thermal breezes which gave the island its name. Much further

down, there was a savage rollercoaster of wave and rock and seasick

wind. Up at this height, just a gentle, constant, warm, breeze. Derry

started to float upwards. Soon, others joined him. Eric thought 'Now or

never', closed his eyes, and jumped as far away from the ledge as he

could.

He waited for his wings to find the thermal breezes, but it didn't seem to

happen. What was wrong! He was still falling, as fast as a rock. He started

to sense the turbulent wind below. It seemed to be reaching up to seize

him and drag him down to his death on the rocks. It was only a few

seconds that passed, but it was an eternity for Eric. Then he remembered

his training. In his fear, he had made the basic mistake of tensing his

muscles. He had to force himself to relax and let his wings do the work.

Was it too late? Had he fallen too far already? He stretched his wings out

as far as he could, and whoosh, up he went. He escaped the fingers of

danger trying to pull him down. He had found the thermals and used them

to direct himself. He had flown before, of course. But never out at sea,

never at such a height and never with the breeze so strong. He quickly

found that the thermals were his ally, not his enemy, and allowed his

wings to float and soar up and flip flop in the air. He was no longer afraid.

Now he felt elation and excitement. He flapped his wings, looked down to

the distant sea, looked down at the distant rocks, and felt no fear.

This was wonderful! With each second that passed, he learned how to

make the soft breeze work for him. He felt joy and fulfilment racing

through his veins and now he couldn't remember why he had been so

afraid. He was born to fly. It felt more natural than walking. His wings were

two strong feathered muscles that felt free for the first time. He could

sense his wings wanting to go higher and higher. To soar through

the air and play with the breeze like a kitten playing with a string ball, or a

dolphin playing with the ocean waves. Eric forced himself not to give in to

the desire to play in the air. He needed to get back to the clifftop. Looking

around, and down, he saw that the others were descending onto the

clifftop one by one. In quick succession. He didn't want to be last. No,

definitely not last. Whoever was last back would be reminded of it for the

rest of their life. Each time they fought with other children they would be

called 'slacker', and later in life they would never be selected for any

important position on the island. Most slackers held lowly positions and

usually did menial work, with little opportunity to use their wings except to

fly from ridge top to ridge top. The only way for a slacker to redeem

themselves was to be selected to become a historian or a magician. Eric

didn't like the idea of that. Years and years of hours and hours of learning

generations of history or memorising magic spells and potions. Not for

Eric. He wanted to spend his life in the open air, flying. It was time to land.

He pointed his head down towards the clifftop, saw the landing strip, and

gradually slowed down just as he'd been taught. In he came, landed on his

feet, and needed only three or four steps before he stopped. Around him

the crowds were cheering. He quickly moved off the landing strip to allow

the next flyer to land. He could see those who had already landed,

celebrating and being embraced by their families. The noise was

deafening in its happiness. Drums rolling, whistles sounding, mothers'

crying and what seemed like the whole island shouting in celebration. The

crowds who were still waiting for their own child made it difficult to move

in the area around the landing strip.

Then he saw his parents. His father, with tears streaming down his face,

was lifting Emer up and twirling her round in circles, while trying to kiss

her at the same time. His mother was torn between wanting to hug Emer

for joy and relief, and looking nervously up and around, trying to catch

sight of Eric. She saw him. She screamed for joy. Racing towards him with

arms and wings open, she embraced him so tightly that he was swallowed

up inside her love. Then his father gave him such a bear hug that he could

hardly breathe. When his father finally let him go, he saw Emer looking

into his eyes, he had never felt so close to her. 'Told you I'd get back

before you', she said, teasingly.

All the time there were more and more young flyers coming in to land, and

those already landed, and their families, were moved along to make space

for the newcomers. It was impossible to see who had landed already and

who was still coming in. The edge of the landing strip was crowded with

anxious families still waiting, and everywhere else there were groups of

people celebrating. Still excited and thrilled, Eric asked his parents 'Was

Derry first back? Does he get the prize?' 'No', said his father, 'Jemmy

Rooster was first. I haven't seen Derry yet. He's probably celebrating with

his family somewhere'. Jemmy Rooster was not Eric's favourite person. He

loved to boast of how important his family was, and he was a bully to

anyone smaller than himself. Eric felt a flicker of annoyance, but it soon

disappeared. Today was a memorable day. So what if Jemmy had won the

golden feather. The important thing was that he and Emer had both

crossed over from childhood and were now true Wing people. And Derry

too. He was sure to be around somewhere.

The area around the landing strip became less crowded as the new flyers

and their families drifted towards the stalls selling treats, or formed

informal dancing groups. The Slate family had brought their own picnic,

and Eric's mother selected a spot about 300 metres further along to lay

out the table-cloth. Neither Eric nor Emer could think about food at such a

time. They were excited, proud, happy and curious. Had everyone

jumped? Were there any new worms this year? Who would suffer the

shame of being last back? Where were Derry and his family?

Despite the delicious selection of food that Mrs Slate spread out, and

despite his growing hunger, Eric was keen to see Derry, just for a moment.

Telling his family he'd be back shortly, he set off to quickly look for his

friend, or any of the Ferns family. The clifftop really was crowded with

people and the Ferns were nowhere to be seen. Eric drifted back towards

the landing strip and thought he saw the top of Mr Fern's head. Derry's

dad. It must be a mistake. They couldn't still be waiting for Derry. He had

been first to jump. No, it must be some other man. After all, he could only

see the top of his head. Suddenly, the noise of the singing whistle started

up and a hush came over the excited crowd all along the clifftop. There

was only one singing whistle in all of Breeze and everyone born there

understood its language. The whistle played out in celebration. All 57 new

flyers had landed safely and would become citizens of Breeze. A huge roar

of celebration burst up from the crowd. Then the whistle sang out the

name of the first flyer to land, J-E-M-M-Y

R-O-O-S-T-E-R! A mixture of boos and cheers went up from the crowd at

this news. Then the whistle sang out the name of the flyer who was last

back, who was this year's slacker. D-E-R-R-Y F-E-R-N-S. ”No, there must be

some mistake” thought Eric. “It can't be Derry. He was first to jump. How

could he be last back!” A murmur of surprise went up from the crowd.

Derry was known for his bravery. The mass of people standing near the

landing strip began to clear and Eric saw that it was indeed Mr

Ferns' head he had seen. The head was looking down towards the ground

in shame and disappointment. Then Eric saw Mrs Ferns embrace Derry.

There was no joy in her face, just relief.

Derry looked up and his eyes met Eric's eyes. They were full of

embarrassment and shock. “What happened? What happened? You were

first to jump but you're last back! I don't understand.” “It was too much

fun”, replied Derry, “I just enjoyed it so much that I forgot to come back

in.” His eyes watered as he said “I enjoyed it so much, but now I'm this

year's slacker, and so I'll never get to do it again.” Eric stood, paralysed,

not knowing what to say. “I suppose I'll just have to study hard and learn

how to do magic, if they'll have me. Who knows, I might become a famous

magician some day. With a long grey beard and wings that can hardly fly”

his eyes watered some more. “By the way, who was first back?” “Jemmy

Rooster”, Eric reluctantly answered. With that, Derry could no longer

contain his tears, and they came streaming down his cheeks.

CHAPTER 2.

One week earlier.

Just a short flap of the wings from the top of Historians' Ridge, there was a

long ledge that was wide by the standards of Breeze. Once on this ledge, a

flyer could see the entrance to a cave. All of the Wing people lived in

caves. This was because there was almost no flat land on Breeze. The

many ravines on the island were covered with caves. Some were roomy

and airy, and some were small and damp. Most caves were somewhere in

between these two extremes. Not too big, not too small. Some of the

caves were difficult to get to for anyone who wasn't an expert flyer. Others

were easy to reach, especially those belonging to the historians and to the

magicians. This particular cave was the biggest Eric had ever visited, with

many alcoves leading off the central area. The central area was a wide

circle, some eight metres high. The walls were painted in a manner that

he'd never seen before. They were almost completely covered in strange

red markings that were a series of lines and squiggles. The area behind

the children was the only part of the cave where the walls were clear. 'This

is the Writings', thought Eric. All his life he'd heard about the special power

of the historians to use lines and marks to record the past, and to predict

the future. The strangeness of the cave, and the presence of a dozen

historians, with their robes and long beards, made Eric shiver just a little.

This was even though he was surrounded by the other 56 trialists who

would attempt the Launch the following week. Emer was there. She

noticed that one of the historians was much younger than the others, with

huge brown eyes. He was dressed in brown instead of the usual white robe

of historians. Even Jemmy looked awed and sat quietly

in the semi-circle made up of sitting children. A large fire blazed in the

centre of the circle. The smell given off by the fire was the familiar smell of

a fire-hearth in any other cave. A sweet woody smell, which came from

poka vines. This fire, however, was bigger than any he'd ever seen and lit

up the markings on the walls. Suddenly, eleven of the historians seemed

to disappear into thin air and only Chief Historian Owlson was left standing

before the fire. He silently looked at each child in turn, and his eyes

captured them with his intense stare. Not one child moved as much as a

finger. Silence. Nervousness. Expectation. Chief Historian Owlson was the

first to move. He slowly spun around, moving his head up and down. He

looked at the Writing as if he were absorbing it all in those few seconds. Of

course, he was so old and had read it so many times that he didn't need to

read it. He had memorised it all long ago. Then he began to speak.

“Here, here in this cave, are the answers to the questions that everyone

on Breeze must know. Who are we? How did we come to live on this island

home? Why did we come to live on this island home? Why do we have the

Launch each year? Who are the worm people and why do they live deep

down where the sun never reaches? Look around, see! See the Writings!

The answers to all of these questions are contained in the Writings. It is we

historians who have kept alive the knowledge. The magicians make

ridiculous claims, and can do tricks with their magic. But ask a magician

about the time before the Landing, and you will be answered in riddles. It

is only here, in this cave, on these walls, in these writings, that the true

story of our people is recorded. It is only we historians who can read the

Writings and tell the story of our past and our present. If you look behind

you, you will see the wall is still blank. This space is reserved for future

writings. To tell our children’s children about the happenings in our

present.”

The invitation to look behind was gratefully accepted by all the children.

Although they saw just a blank wall behind them, it gave them the chance

to move some muscles and to break away from the spell cast by Owlson's

eyes. They stared at it as if it was the most interesting blank wall they'd

ever seen, until the Chief Historian called for attention and fifty seven

children turned as one to face him again. “Yes children, we keep a blank

wall. History never stops, and life on Breeze as you know it may not stay

the same forever. If there are more happenings to record, we shall record

them in the Writings. To predict the future, it is necessary to understand

the present. To understand the present, it is necessary to understand the

past. We shall begin with the past.” Without anyone actually moving, there

was a sense of heightened attention and all fifty seven children were

sucked into Owlson's story.

“In the days before our grandfathers' grandfathers, more than eight

centuries ago, we Wing people didn't live on Breeze.' Eric had heard this

before but found it difficult to imagine. There was the island of Breeze,

there was the island of Wind, and there was the ocean. Was there some

third island that his people had come from? 'We didn't live on any island',

said Owlson, as if reading Eric's thoughts. 'We lived on the continent of

Thalia. And what, you ask, is a continent? A continent is a land so vast that

it is almost as big as the ocean.' There was an intake of breath from the

listeners. 'A continent is a land so big that our strongest flyers would need

weeks or months to cross it. It is an ocean made of land, not sea. On

Thalia there are flatlands like the highcliff meadow that stretch for as far

as the eye can see. There are mountains so high that no flyer could ever

reach the top. There are rivers so wide that it is difficult to stand on one

bank and see over to the other side. There are cities, which are huge

villages with high walls surrounding them. They are not built on the sides

of ridges and ravines like our villages. They are built on flatland. And in

these cities there are people. More of them in just one city than all the

people who have ever lived on Breeze and Wind together. And, children,

this is the beginning of understanding, these people have no wings.” A

loud gasp from fifty seven voices echoed round the cave. No wings! It was

like saying they had no eyes, or no hands. “Not only do they not have

wings”, said Owlson, “but they HATE those who do have wings!” “They call

them evil names, they burn their houses, and they KILL their children!” “I

wouldn't let them burn my house”, shouted out Jemmy Rooster. Owlson

silenced him with a look, and then invited him to swap places and tell the

story of the past. He continued to stare directly at Jemmy until the boy

shifted his eyes to the ground and didn't move or speak again for at least

ten minutes.

“If you are surprised, children, then you are about to be even more

surprised. There was a time when we, the Wing people, had no wings. We

walked on flatland, and we used ropes and our legs to help us move up

and down cliff faces.' Another intake of air from all his listeners. 'The

continent of Thalia is so big that it contains many countries. Some of these

countries are completely surrounded by other countries, and cannot reach

the ocean without passing through strangers' lands. This is a great cause

of trouble and fighting between the different countries. Those with no

coastline accuse the others of charging high taxes and tolls to pass

through their land. The coastal countries complain of theft and destruction

caused by those passing through. Each country has an army, a group of

fighters who do no work except learn to kill. Sometimes, two or more of

these armies meet in battle, and many people die, and many more are

wounded or maimed for life.” The children started to

think that they were lucky to live on Breeze and not on that ocean-sized

continent where people were forever fighting and killing each other.

“Our ancestors, the forty families, had no part in this arguing and killing.

They lived in the country called Galcia at the extreme west of the

continent. Their villages were on a peninsula, called Tull, a finger of land

with the ocean on three sides and a narrow causeway on the fourth side.

This causeway was a small strip of land that connected Tull to the rest of

Galcia. The peninsula was similar to our island home of Breeze. It was

surrounded by high cliffs and had no natural bays or coves, no place to

land a boat or raft. Because of its isolated position and its uselessness to

traders, it was unusual to see a stranger visit the villages. Normally, they

came once a year. At the end of the galcia gull egg harvest. For, although

the villages were poor in land, the cliffs surrounding them were the only

place that the galcia gull nested. And its eggs were highly prized all over

the continent of Thalia. It was widely believed that fermented galcia egg,

mixed with beer, gave powerful muscles to the drinker. The forty families

traded these eggs for their needs. And their needs were many, children.

On the Tull peninsula, no vines grew. And there were no caves in which to

make their homes.” This caused another gasp of wonderment to spill out

of the mouths of the fifty seven listeners. No vines! No caves! How was life

possible? On Breeze, everyone lived in a cave. All their furniture, tools and

fishing nets were made from vine ropes. The ropes used to lower the

children onto the Launch every year were made from lashka vines. And

fire! Without vines, it was impossible to make a fire, to cook, and to see at

night.

“The forty families traded eggs for wood. Wood is a thicker, stronger, form

of vine rope which comes from large plants called trees. In other parts of

Galcia there were many many trees. Sometimes they grew together in

their thousands, in places called forests. The Tull people, as we were

called by the outsiders, needed a steady supply of this wood in order to

stay alive. They used it to make houses, which are like homecaves but are

placed out in the open air, in the place of the builder’s choosing. Wood

was also used to make boats, which are like rafts with sides. And wood can

be used to make fire. It was how our ancestors cooked, kept warm in

winter, and lit their homes.”

“The people of Tull were superb climbers. They had to be. The Galcia gulls

nested on tiny cracks and dents in the cliff face and the only way to reach

the eggs was to climb up from the small sea-going boats the people made

with the wood, or to climb down from the clifftop, using their powerful

shoulder and arm and leg muscles to cling on while they collected the

eggs. The gulls did not give up their eggs easily and flew at the climbers

who approached their nests. Sometimes they succeeded in causing a

climber to lose balance, and fall down to their death.” Emer thought about

climbing down a cliff face with no wings, and she was filled with

admiration for her ancestors. She felt a little childish at being nervous

about next week’s Launch. Her great-great-great-grandparents had moved

up and down cliff faces without any wings. Why was she worried! She was

one of the Wing people and the Wing people didn't need boats or strong

limbs. They were equally at home in the air as on the ground. She

wondered if the young historian in brown was standing in the background

somewhere, watching her reactions. She wouldn't show fear on her face.

After a moment's pause to allow the children to digest his words, Owlson

continued. “There came a time when a young mother of one of the forty

families gave birth to a baby girl who had an extra set of muscles on her

shoulders. At first, her family were disturbed by this and kept the baby

well wrapped, even in summer. They didn't want anyone to know that the

child was different. However, when she grew old enough to go collecting

eggs on the cliff face, her extra pair of shoulder muscles were seen by all

to be a great advantage. She could cling onto rock in a way that nobody

else on Tull could do, and so she could collect more eggs than anyone

else. Her unusual body was no longer a shameful thing to be hidden, but

became a source of pride to her and her family. All the young men on Tull

wanted to marry her. A particularly strong and brave climber was chosen

as her husband, and they had seven children together. Three of these

children were born with the same extra shoulder muscles as their mother.

One little boy had such large extra muscles that his clothes needed to be

adapted in order to fit him. In time, these three children had children of

their own and, with the passing of the years, more and more children were

born with the extra set of muscles. They moved about the villages openly,

only covering up when the outsiders came to trade for the egg harvest.

After many years, there were children on Gull whose extra shoulder

muscles were longer than their arms. And then, feathers. At first just a

small number of feathers dotted here and there on the naked muscles.

Finally the day came when a child was born with her shoulder muscles

completely covered in layers of feathers. A council meeting of the villages

was called to discuss this new development. It was pointed out that birds

had feathers, and birds could fly. Maybe this baby girl, called Solia, could

also learn to fly. She was taken from her family and trained by elders who

had spent their lives studying birds and chicks, and their flying habits.

Within five years, Solia was joined by four other children who were born

with feathered wings, and together they learned to fly. At first they flew

just a few metres from the ground and landed after just a few seconds.

With Solia as an example, they gradually flew further and higher. More and

more babies were born with wings, and a training centre was set up to

teach these young children how to fly. Then, disaster struck. One seven

year old boy who was practising

flying, was swept up by a sudden gust of wind and was carried high up into

the air and out over the ocean. People looked on in horror as he tired and

could not control his wings. He fell like a heavy stone, straight down into

the water. The next day, his broken body was washed up onto the rocks

below the cliff. After that, all winged children under the age of twelve had

ropes tied around their waists during flying practice.”

“Solia led the way and became the first person on Tull to fly over the , and

above the sea. She had learnt how to use the wind, instead of fighting

against it. She landed back where she started, to great cheering from

those who had come to watch. The next day she took to the air with a bag

strapped round her waist. She flew in close to the cliff and saw a galcia

nest with just one egg in it. The mother bird was confused and frightened,

having never seen such a large flying creature before. Solia took her

chance to grab the egg and drop it into her bag. The clifftop was full of

people wanting to see such a marvellous sight for themselves, and Solia

became a hero. It was decided to exchange some of the year's egg

harvest to buy a small amount of gold, and this was made into a golden

feather, and presented to Solia to wear as a brooch. Everyone from the

forty families came to see the presentation. They realised that this was the

start of a new and better way of life for them all. If they could fly up and

down the cliffside, they could collect far more eggs and become richer

than they had ever imagined. Years later, when Solia's grandchildren had

died of old age, everyone on Tull had wings. After her death, it was

decided that the golden feather should be awarded each year to the

person who collected most eggs.'

Chapter 3.

Celebration.

Eric felt torn. He was so relieved and proud that he had come through this

day's test successfully, and wanted to dance and sing for happiness. Then

he thought of Derry. 'How is it possible that he was last back! Derry, a

slacker! Unbelievable!' What would he do with the rest of his life? At first,

Eric was determined not to enjoy himself. He would pass the night with his

friend, doing whatever Derry felt like doing. But Derry was nowhere to be

found. And as evening changed to night, the celebrations grew louder and

more rowdy. Eric was sucked in.

A large group of more than one hundred people had assembled in a

straight line on highcliff meadow, one behind the other. Each one held on

to the belt of the person in front with their left hand, and held a slow

burning vine torch in their right hand. There were musicians from all the

villages on the island. There were whistles and so many kinds of drums

that Eric couldn't count them all. Everything was made from sea-shells and

the dried and stretched skin of seabirds. The musicians started tuning up

and finding each others' key and tone. At first it sounded like a rockfall in

some deep narrow ravine, but it gradually formed into one mighty

orchestra of rhythmic drumming and dancing whistles. It was the cue the

torch-holders had been waiting for. They set off at a slow pace, holding

their torches high in the air and slowly spinning them round and round.

Some of the dancers threw their torches into the air, spun themselves

round, and were back in the correct position to catch the falling torches in

their right hands. Then the music speeded up, and the dancers changed

formation from a straight line into a zig-zag. Together with the music, they

began to move quicker and quicker. As the drum beats got louder, the line

of dancers moved from side to side as if they were navigating their way

through a narrow rocky pass. At this point, some of the dancers fell down

and lay pretend dead on the grass. As the music became more insistent

and threatening, more and more people fell to the ground until less than

half were left dancing in line. The dancers twisted and turned and held in

their collective breath as if they were squeezing through barely passable

rocks. Some of them began to scream out, and even cry, talking about fire,

and dead children. Begging for mercy from an invisible enemy. The shouts

of terror and anger continued, implying that the invisible enemy was not

inclined to show mercy.

Then the dancers at the front suddenly disappeared. The rest followed in

rapid succession. Gone. No lights, nothing. Eric realised what had

happened. They had gone over the cliff edge. He wasn't worried. They

were all adults, with plenty of experience of sea-flying. This happened

every year, and every year, all forty who went over the edge came back

safely in a matter of minutes. As a result of the previous week's history

lesson from Chief Historian Owlson, Eric understood the dance for the first

time. Those who fell to the ground represented those killed on Tull, while

the forty who went over the cliff and then landed safely back on Breeze,

represented the forty families who had survived and made a new life on

Breeze all those many years ago.

When the dancers returned, the music seemed to increase in volume and

so did the merriment of the people. Strangers danced and sung together,

shared food and drink, and made new best friends. Some of the older boys

and girls, those who had launched two or three years before Eric and

Emer, could be seen in dark corners behaving in a soppy way that didn't

interest Eric in the slightest. Well, unless it was with Bessie

Beemish. Bessie was a year younger than the twins, and so her turn to

launch would come next year. 'Maybe after that, I'll ask her to go walking

with me,' thought Eric, 'or flying.' Poor Bessie. People teased her because

she was a funny shape. Everyone on Breeze looked different to other

humans. They had wider upper bodies, to support both arms and wings.

They had narrow waists and, mostly, thin muscular legs. Any excess fat

was stored in the legs. Heavy legs made flying more tiring. Legs were only

useful for take-off and landing and so needed to be strong but light. This

was why people walked as much as they flew. To keep their legs strong.

Bessie had been born with an exaggerated version of the typical body

shape on Breeze. She had huge shoulders, a tiny waist, and short

muscular legs. When she stood next to Eric, she only reached up to his

elbows. But she had the sweetest face of any girl from all the forty families

on the island. Eric was no poet but he once tried to list all the good

qualities he saw shining out of Bessie's eyes. There was kindness, and

patience, and wisdom, and humour, but also an acceptance that she would

have a hard life. After that, Eric had run out of descriptive words. It wasn't

about words, though. It was something deeper. A desire to be near Bessie,

to impress her, and to protect her. One year from tonight, after she had

successfully launched, he would ask her to walk with him.

A high pitched whistle pierced the air three times. Everyone, including

those who'd had a bit too much to drink, went silent. The whistle rang out

again, and this was the signal for everyone to put out their torches.

Everywhere, torches were thrown to the ground and stamped on until they

died. The same with cooking fires. They were drowned in sand brought

along specially for this moment. The only light now came from the stars

and from two large bonfires, one at either end of highcliff meadow. There

was complete stillness, until someone called out for everyone to look up.

Ten flyers appeared in the sky overhead, each one carrying a torch with

green flame. These green flames seemed to carry through the air until

they became one, creating the impression of a green river in the sky.

Quicker than anyone could notice, they were joined by ten flyers with

torches that gave off a chalky white flame. The first white flame joined up

with the last green one, and the rest spread out and became one. Now the

first half of the river of light in the sky was green, and the second half was

white. Ten flyers with red-flamed torches joined the aerial dance, and then

ten with blue. The effect was magical for those watching. And, indeed, it

was magical. For looking at the landing strip, Eric could just make out in

the reflected light, a group of blue-hooded magicians chanting strange

words and waving a variety of sticks. It was these magicians who stretched

out the flames so that they grew big enough to join up and create the river

effect in the sky. The flyers flew two metres apart from each other, so the

river continued for eighty metres. First green, then white, followed by red

and, finally, blue. The

flyers performed a dance just like the one earlier on the ground, imitating

the flow of a river through wide flat grasslands, on to mountainous land

where the river was forced through narrow spaces between the rocks, only

to plunge down as a waterfall. After the waterfall, the river eventually

calmed its churning waters and spread out once more as if it were slowly

drifting toward the ocean. As they finished re-enacting the river's journey,

the flyers came down onto the landing strip where their torches

extinguished themselves without any human help. They came quickly, one

after another. Green, then white, then red, then blue. Where moments

earlier there had been a river of coloured torches lighting up the sky, now

there was darkness. And silence.

The silence was broken by a huge cheer from every single throat, blending

into one sound, louder than the loudest storm. From nowhere, a circle of

blue flame appeared on the landing strip, and sixteen magicians could be

seen inside this circle. They waved and bowed with an air of satisfaction. It

was their magic that had brought the flames together to create the river of

light which so dramatically acted out the story of the Wing people. Tonight

was the night when the magicians got the opportunity to demonstrate

their knowledge and their powers to all the people of the forty families,

and even to those who had travelled from the island of Wind to witness

this day and night.

The only people not present on this night of theatre and celebration, were

the historians. Emer thought this was strange. After all, it was the

historians who had, the previous week, explained the peoples' history to

the fifty seven, and had helped them understand all that happened on this

day and this night. 'Strange', thought Emer, 'I wonder why they don't

come? Especially that young one with the brown eyes.' When she realised

what she was thinking, she was glad that it was dark and that no one

could see her blushes.