On the Isle of Sound and Wonder Read Free Page A

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    The lightning flashed again, striking a tall spire nearby as Corvina crested the tallest hill in the town. She ducked lower as it cracked, fighting to keep moving forward and upward. She could see the gates of the palace; they were not far, now. It had been the longest hour of her life, trapped in the unyielding downpour on merciless hills. No wonder she was the only soul about the streets tonight; the storm bellowed all around her and made her progress seem futile.
    But the word had come from the tin birds: the duchess was in labor, and she would have to come. She would have written back demanding an escort, some kind of assistance to reach the palace in this terrible weather, but the bird had collapsed after delivering the duke’s orders. So, it was on foot that she climbed and struggled through mud.
    She could see the outline of the mechanical birds perched on the wrought iron gate of the palazzo, each bearing the national crest on their breasts, their heads cocked at varying angles to observe the streets and the city below. She was closer now, within reach, and could see the lights burning brightly within the palace windows.
    The midwife hit a loose stone in the street and went down hard. Her staff clattered away from her, and any part of her that wasn’t already wet immediately soaked through to the skin. She pushed herself upright, ignoring the ringing in her ears and the searing pain in her bones from the fall, and scrambled after the staff before it was swept away by rainwater. She pulled it back to her, coughing and spitting, and looked up toward the birds, wondering if they—and through them, the guards—had seen her. The metal animals were motionless. She lurched to her feet, exhausted, and pressed onward.
    When she reached the tall iron gates, she sagged against them, grasping a bar with her free hand, the other still numbly clinging to the twisted staff. She craned her head back to look up at the birds and yanked on the gate weakly.
    “Let me in!” she croaked against the storm’s howl. “The duchess . . . The baby is coming! I am the midwife!”
    The birds did not move.
    “Let me in,” the midwife begged, shaking the iron bars again. The metallic fowl rattled in place but did not turn to look at her. “Please, I have to help the duchess . . . I cannot fail them . . .”
    * * *
    The lessons with the duke had taken place in perfect tandem to the midwife’s caretaking of the duchess and her unborn child. While her belly grew rounder and fuller, her husband learned how to make fire, summon air, and shape water and earth to his will. Small things at first, like making plants grow and bringing water and fire to his aid in little, useful ways; but much to the midwife’s surprise, he was as he promised: an eager, voracious student.
    More quickly than his teacher was prepared for, the duke mastered complex spells and incantations, beyond what even she was used to performing on a regular basis. She hadn’t lied that her experience was limited, that her own knowledge of her gifts was primitive, but he had done extraordinary research for many years before finally crossing paths with someone who could teach him to synthesize the information he’d gathered. The midwife felt something uneasy growing within her in conjunction with their lessons, not unlike the infant growing in the duchess’ womb.
    Several weeks prior, she had been leaving the palace to return to her home, and the duke had seen her to the door, where the hired tram would take her to the outer reaches of the city.
    “Thank you for your guidance, good-mother,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. She glanced at him as the mechanical driver halted the trolley before the steps. “You are such a valuable resource and a great comfort, as ever.”
    The midwife curtsied. “Try to get some rest, my lord. Your wife will need you in top shape when the time comes. You must be strong, and stay awake, if the birth goes long into the