—FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE 10 A NEW TURN There they were: Two young birds in a castle, staring at each other, pale eyes into black, an archaeopteryx and an unidentifiable bird, one reclining upon a whalebone perch and the other crouched on the floor, one waiting and the other resting. “No,” Wind-voice replied at last. Maldeor’s batlike wing somehow reminded him of Yin Soul. “I will not help you.” The spark in the white bird’s eyes clouded Maldeor’s vision so that a shimmering image of the dove Irene surfaced from his memory. Why didn’t I notice that before? thought Maldeor. A foul taste rose in his beak. Then a soldier hurried in, holding a clump of bloodied black feathers, and saluted. Maldeor did not look up. Wind-voice swallowed his gasp—the feathers had that familiar purple gloss. They were Stormac’s. “Good. Go join your friend in Sky Land.” Ignoring the soldier, the Ancient Wing jumped from his throne and struck Wind-voice’s neck with his left wing. His claws sank into flesh.
