Rocco's Wings Read Free Page B

to believe it all.
    The night breeze blew. Bits of sand began to fleck off. His wings grew heavy like lead. Halfway home, cracks of blue began to flash out from his underwing. He could touch down on the savannah, but there were going to be lions or hyenas skulking around in the long grass. No, he wouldn’t risk it.
    A heaviness, like a giant hand, settled over his head. His nerves were shot. He was tired. He’d seen so much, his eyes were tired out. So was his mind spirit. Little wonder that his senses weren’t working any more.
    The silhouetted trees of the Ebo River rose like phantoms. Veils of moonlight rippled along the upper branches, flickering in a stream of endlessly shifting shapes. It was hard to tell what was real and what was nightshade. Down below, the river bed curled like a snake, bent and woven into the stomach of the earth.
    Not far ahead a sharply angled ray of light stuck out from the trees. It sort of looked like a soaring wing which didn’t make any sense. Where was its mate? Rocco rubbed his eyes. Slowing down, he came abreast of the tree where the light had been. The shape, whatever it was, existed no more. Everything was blackness and trees.
    The moon was playing tricks. Or maybe his head was suffering from drought. He hadn’t had a drop of water all day.
    He reached the village fence. Flying along the outer rim, he came to the spot directly across from the village well. He flew over the top, and glided down, being careful not to flap. The villagers never tired of telling him how much they hated the sound of urvogel wings.
    The village yard was just as empty as it had been that morning. He walked over to the well and drew up a bucket of water. He drank half and poured the rest over his dusty head. With the bucket still in his hand he sat down on the ledge that went around the well.
    The hair on the back of his neck had prickled.
    Jumping up, he looked around. The yard was silent, almost too quiet -- not a cricket or a night hooting bird. He knew the shapes of the fence, the rows of houses and the wind tower.
    Setting the bucket on the ground, he set off up the slope leading to his house. He trudged on, listening to the beat of his own feet. Arriving at his door, he looked around one more time. Not finding anything amiss, he stumbled inside, almost tripping over his mother’s shoes.
    His mother had only been gone for five days. He hadn’t expected her back for at least a week. She’d been over in Gogogamesh delivering a cousin’s baby. Maybe the baby came early, thought Rocco as he kicked off his shoes.
    Had his mother spent all evening wondering where he was? Probably not. She probably thought he was sleeping at Jafari’s. He could go over now, but what was the point. He was already home. Pulling back his sheets, he sank down.
    * * *
    Rocco’s eyes flew open. Several hours had passed. Light from the window was grey.
    He sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed. A bell was clanging somewhere outside. The heavy hand he’d felt earlier was pressing on the top of his head again. He was still too tired to think straight. He got up and looked out the window. The smoldering shapes of houses, half visible in the early light, huddled in the distance.
    Again, the bell clanged. A knot was forming in the bottom of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. Throwing on his clothes, he ran outside. Had a lion found its way into the village? Were the River Gang boys up to something?
    A familiar shape was running up the slope.
    Jafari.
    ‘Rocco! They’ve seen you, and they’re looking everywhere for you. You have to—’ Jafari’s voice broke off. He lurched forward.
    As Rocco leapt down the steps, Jafari fell. What could he have possibly tripped on? Rocco ran down.
    ‘What happened?’ asked Rocco, kneeling down at the same moment he noticed the arrow sticking out of Jafari’s back. He grabbed it. Jafari moaned so he let go.
    ‘Who did this?’ asked Rocco squinting down the slope.
    ‘You have to go!