All round the main terraces, and crowded into the steeply raked stands on either side, sat the families of the examinees. Everybody except those engaged in essential occupations had to be present on the day of the High Examination, partly to lend support to their family head, and partly to demonstrate that the examination ranked the family as well as the individual. The families sat in segregated sections, according to their colours. The few whites and the many more scarlets at the palace end; the broad middle taken up by orange on one side and maroon on the other; the end by the statue of Creoth a sea of grey. Maslo Inch, the Chief Examiner, sat on a podium raised on a stone plinth, on which was carved the Oath of Dedication.
I VOW TO STRIVE HARDER, TO REACH HIGHER,
AND IN EVERY WAY TO SEEK TO MAKE
TOMORROW BETTER THAN TODAY.
FOR LOVE OF MY EMPEROR
AND FOR THE GLORY OF ARAMANTH.
He looked at his watch, and noted that one hour had passed. Rising, he stepped down from the podium, and made a slow circuit of the arena, letting his eyes roam at random over the bowed heads of the examinees. For Maslo Inch, the High Examination was always a time for satisfying reflection; and today, after the recent disturbances, more so than ever. Here were the people of Aramanth, ranked and ordered, going about the business of being tested in a manner that was fair and just. None could complain of favouritism, or of secret grudges against them. All sat the same exam, and all were marked in the same way. The able and the diligent came to the fore, as was right and proper, and the stupid and the idle slipped down the rankings, as was also right and proper. Of course it was unpleasant for those who performed poorly, and had to move house to a poorer district, but it was fair, because always it meant that some other family that had worked hard and done well was being rewarded. And never forget – in his mind he rehearsed his end-of-exam speech – never forget that next year, at the next High Examination, your chance will come round again, and you can win back all you have lost. Yes, all things considered, it was the best possible system, and no one could deny it.
His wandering eyes fell on the group from the Residential Study Course, who sat together because they were subject to extra supervision. He saw on their faces the looks of panic and despair that he saw every year, as they struggled with questions for which they had failed to prepare themselves, and he knew that all was as it should be. Why is it, he thought, that some people never learn? All it takes is a little effort, a little extra push. And there in the midst of them sat Hanno Hath, with his head in his hands. Truly that man was a disgrace to Aramanth. But he was under control now.
His eyes swept across the arena to the area where the families from Grey District sat. There was the Hath woman, sitting dressed in grey, her hands folded in her lap, as docile as you could wish. His eyes moved on to the infants’ enclosure, where that dependable woman Mrs Chirish sat with the Hath child in her lap. He had expected the child to cause trouble, but it seemed to be quiet, no doubt awed by the great studious silence that hung over the arena.
Well, that’s a good job well done, said Maslo Inch to himself. The pride of the Hath family was well and truly broken.
High in the tower above the Imperial Palace, the Emperor stood moodily eating chocolate buttons, looking down on the deserted streets of the city. He had watched the examinees and their families arrive earlier, and had sensed their feelings of anxiety and dread. He hated the annual day of the High Examination. He had heard the thousands of voices chanting the Oath of Dedication, and when it came to the part that said ‘for love of my Emperor’, he had blocked his ears. But for the last hour, all had been silent. It was as if the city had died.
But now he began to imagine he could hear a new sound: far away, faint, muffled, but – could it be a band playing? He strained his ears to catch it more clearly. Who would dare to play music on the day of the High Examination?
Then as he stared down at the streets below he saw the strangest sight. A manhole opened up in the road, and a muddy child burst out, followed by two more. They looked round them, seemed confused for a moment, and then set off at a run towards the arena. The Emperor watched them run, and it seemed to him he knew one of them. Wasn’t it the girl – ?
Suddenly out of the manhole popped a handsome young lad in a white-and-gold uniform. After him came another, and another. Then from behind them, down the long street, came a whole column of them, led by a marching band. The Emperor’s eyes stood out in his head, and he was rooted to the spot. He needed no telling. This was the army of the Zars.
More and more of them came marching out of side streets and clambering out of sewers to join the main column. And now as they marched they started to sing, a song made of only one word:
‘Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!’
The Emperor knew he must stop them. But how? He couldn’t even move. He took a handful of chocolate buttons from the bowl, unaware that he was doing so, and ate them without tasting them, and wept as he ate.
The children raced past the statue of Creoth, burst through the pillared entrance to the arena, and came to a stop, panting, on the topmost terrace. Somehow, urgent though the danger was, the sight of the thousands of examinees bent over their desks in silence awed them, and for a few crucial moments, regaining their breath, they hesitated.
In these few moments, Maslo Inch had seen them, and was outraged. Nothing was permitted to break the sacred silence of the High Examination. He did not recognise the three bedraggled urchins, with their ridiculous stringy hair and their muddy feet. It was enough that they were intruders. He signed sharply to his assistants to deal with the matter.
The children saw the scarlet-robed examiners moving grimly towards them. Down in the centre of the arena, the wind singer stood turning silently this way and that in the breeze. Bowman drew the silver voice out of his shirt, and unlooped the string from round his neck. He spoke silently to his sister.
Stay close. If they get me, you take it.
The children spread out, staying in reach of each other, and started down the terraces towards the wind singer. By now the examinees were beginning to notice the disturbance, and a buzz of low voices came from the stands. This is intolerable, thought Maslo Inch to himself, moving instinctively back to his podium.
The examiners closed in on the children from above and below, thinking at first that it would take no more than stern whispers to remove them. But as they came close, the children suddenly bolted in three different directions, sprinting round the terraces, past the examinees.
‘Get them!’ roared the Chief Examiner to the marshals, no longer caring that the examination would be disrupted. ‘Stop them!’
As he shouted, he heard an impossible sound from outside in the street: a marching band, and marching feet.
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
Bowman zigzagged through the desks, knocking over piles of papers here and there, jumping down from terrace to terrace. To his left he saw Kestrel, keeping up with him. He raced past Hanno Hath without even noticing, but his father recognised him, and his heart pounding with joy, he rose up in his seat –
A marshal caught Kestrel, but she buried her face in his arm and bit him so hard that he let her go. No one was working at their papers now: all heads raised, gazing in astonishment at the children, and the pursuing marshals.
In the Grey stand, Ira Hath rose to her feet, staring. She was almost sure – only their hair was so different – but surely it was –
‘Hubba hubba Kestrel!’ she yelled, wild with excitement. And Hanno Hath, on the far side of the arena, also standing, his heart hammering, cried out,
‘Hubba hubba Bowman!’
Turning to wave to him, Bowman ran into two marshals, and between them they caught him fast by the neck and legs.
‘Kess!’ he yelled, and threw the silver voice high in the air.
She heard, and saw, and was there: scrabbling for the voice where it had landed, racing down the next terrace towards the wind singer, Mumpo by her s
ide.
In all this excitement, Mrs Chirish let go of Pinpin, who at once seized the opportunity to jump off her lap and run away.
‘Hey!’ cried Mrs Chirish. ‘Stop that child!’
But Pinpin was gone, wriggling under benches and between legs, towards the funny brown figures she had instantly recognised as her brother and sister.
Kestrel hurled herself down from the last terrace and ran for the wind singer, with two big marshals close behind her. She got as far as the base of the wooden tower, when their hands closed about her and dragged her down.
‘Mumpo!’ she yelled, and threw the silver voice towards him. Maslo Inch saw it as it fell, and suddenly and completely understood what was happening. He strode across the floor to seize it. Mumpo got there just before him.
‘Give that to me, you dirty little brat!’ commanded the Chief Examiner in his most authoritative voice, seizing Mumpo in his powerful hands. But as he spoke, his eyes met Mumpo’s, and something happened inside him that he couldn’t control. He gave a low gasp, and felt a hot rush in his throat and face.
‘You!’
He let go, and Mumpo broke away, and raced towards the wind singer, the silver voice in his hand. Outside, the marching Zars were closer now, and the crowd in the arena could hear the band, and were straining to see who it was that dared to play music on this day of days. Bowman and Kestrel, each held tight by their captors, watched as Mumpo reached the wind singer, and started to climb.
Go, Mumpo, go!
Agile as a monkey, Mumpo shinned up the wooden tower, the silver voice in his hand. But where was it to go?
‘In the neck!’ shouted Kestrel. ‘The slot in the neck!’
Now the music of the Zars was coming clear from the street, and the tramp! tramp! tramp! of their marching feet. Mumpo searched frantically for the slot, his hands feeling the rusty metal of the wind singer’s neck.
Hanno Hath watched him, his heart in his mouth, willing him with all his being.
Go, Mumpo, go!
Ira Hath watched him, trembling uncontrollably.
Go, Mumpo, go!
All at once his fingers felt it, higher up than he had expected. The silver voice slipped into the slot with a slight springy click!, just as the leading Zars burst through the pillars, their swords drawn and flashing, their song on their lips.
‘Kill, kill, kill, kill – ’
The wind singer turned in the breeze, the air flowed into its big leather funnels, and found its way down to the silver voice. Softly, the silver horns began to sing.
The very first note, a deep vibration, stopped the Zars dead in their tracks. They stood as if frozen, swords raised, faces bright and smiling. And all round the arena, a queer shivery sensation ran through the people.
The next note was higher, gentle but piercing. As the wind singer turned in the wind, the note modulated up and down, over the deep humming. Then came the highest note of all, like the singing of a celestial bird, a cascade of tumbling melody. The sounds seemed to grow louder and reach further, taking possession of the arena terrace by terrace, and then of the stands, and then of the city beyond. The marshals holding Bowman and Kestrel released their grip. The examinees looked at the papers on their desks in bewilderment. The families in the stands stared at each other.
Hanno Hath left his desk. Ira Hath left the Grey stand. Pinpin crept out from the lowest benches and toddled into the open space, and started to chortle with joy. And all the time, the song of the wind singer was reaching deeper and deeper into the people, and everything was changing. Examinees could be heard asking each other, ‘What are we doing here?’ One examinee took the papers off his desk, tore them up, and threw the pieces into the air. Soon everyone was doing it, laughing like Pinpin, and the air was thick with flying paper. The families in the stands began to intermingle, and there was a great mixing of colours, as maroon flowed into grey, and orange embraced scarlet.
The Emperor up in his tower heard the music of the wind singer, and opened his window wide, and hurled out his bowl of chocolate buttons. They scattered as they fell, and landed all round the column of the frozen Zars. Then the Emperor turned and strode out of one of his many doors, and down the stairs.
In the arena, Ira Hath moved wonderingly down the tiers, through the crowd, where people were now swapping clothes, trying out combinations of colours, and laughing at the unfamiliar sight. She saw Hanno coming from the other direction, his arms outstretched. She reached the centre circle and took Pinpin in her embrace, and hugged her and kissed her, and turning found her dear Bowman before her, his arms reaching for her, his lips kissing her cheeks. Then Hanno joined them, and Kestrel was in his arms, and there were tears streaming down his kind cheeks, and that was when Ira Hath too started to weep for pure joy.
‘My brave birds,’ Hanno was saying as he embraced them all, kissing them over and over again. ‘My brave birds came back.’
Pinpin jumped and wriggled in her mother’s arms, beside herself with excitement.
‘Love Bo!’ she cried. ‘Love Kess!’
‘Oh, my dear ones,’ said Ira Hath, as she put her arms round them all. ‘Oh, my heart’s darlings.’
Not far away, unnoticed in the confusion and the laughter of the crowd, Maslo Inch made his way to Mumpo, and slowly sank to his knees before him.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, his voice trembling.
‘Forgive you?’ said Mumpo. ‘Why?’
‘You’re my son.’
For a few long moments, Mumpo stared at him in astonishment. Then, shyly, he held out one hand, and the Chief Examiner took it, and pressed it to his lips.
‘Father,’ said Mumpo. ‘I’ve got friends now.’
Maslo Inch began to weep. ‘Have you, my boy?’ he said. ‘Have you, my son?’
‘Do you want to meet them?’
The Chief Examiner nodded, unable to speak. Mumpo led him by the hand to where the Hath family stood.
‘Kess,’ he said. ‘I have got a father, after all.’
Maslo Inch stood before them, his head lowered, unable to meet their eyes.
‘Look after him, Mumpo,’ said Hanno Hath in his quiet voice, his arms still tight round his children. ‘Fathers need all the help their children can give them.’
The Emperor passed between the double row of pillars on to the top terrace, and stood gazing at the chaotic scene in the arena. The song of the wind singer flowed on, and he felt its warming loosening power like sunshine after a long winter. He spread his arms wide, and smiled happily and called out,
‘That’s the way! Ha! A city needs to be noisy.’
As for the Zars, from the moment that the wind singer had begun to sing, they had started to age. Standing still as statues, the beautiful features of the golden youths crinkled and sagged, and their fanatic eyes grew dim. Their backs began to stoop, and their golden hair thinned and went grey. Years passed by in minutes, and one by one the Zars crumpled to the ground, and there they died. Time and decay, held at bay for so long, now overwhelmed them. The flesh rotted on their bodies, and turned to dust. Out in the streets of Aramanth, the wind that sang in the wind singer blew the dust from their bones, and swirled it away into gardens and gutters, until all that was left of the invincible army of the Morah was a long line of skeletons, swords at their sides, glinting in the sun.
Volume II of THE WIND ON FIRE
Kestrel clung to the burnt-out wind singer. She wasn’t noticed by the invaders . . . She saw her father and brother forced back. She heard the piteous cries of the wounded, and the brisk blows of the sprearmen. She watched the leader of the invaders ride by on his horse, saw him clearly, his handsome young face . . .
She stared as long as she could.
I won’t forget you my enemy
Suddenly and unexpectedly the city of Aramanth is attacked and burned, and the Manth people taken into slavery. Only Kestrel is free. She sets out to find her beloved brother Bowman, and vows revenge on her family’s captors. The hunter is about to beco
me the hunted.
Volume III of THE WIND ON FIRE
They must seek shelter, they must reach the safety of the homeland, before the storm breaks; or the coining wind will carry them away.
In the time of cruelty, the Manth people march back to their homeland. They grow weak with starvation. Ira Hath is the only one who knows the way, but she is dying. Bowman eagerly awaits his calling to join the Singer people, but when his sister Kestrel is taken by bandits, he must use his powers to find her. Together they fight . . . until their destinies lead them apart. And all the while they wait for the wind to rise . . . Only one will sing the firesong.
WILLIAM NICHOLSON
Smarties Gold Award Winner
William Nicholson is one of the greatest and most imaginative writers of today and has won countless awards for his work in television, plays and films. The Wind Singer, the first title in the Wind on Fire trilogy, won the Smarties Prize Gold Award and the Blue Peter Book Award. His latest novel, Rich and Mad – his first for teenage readers – received much praise, and he has written several successful adult novels. He is an acclaimed Hollywood screenwriter; his work includes Elizabeth: The Golden Age, the Bafta award-winning Shadowlands, and Gladiator, for which he received his second Oscar nomination. William Nicholson lives in Sussex with his wife, Virginia, and their three children.
William Nicholson, The Wind Singer
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