VESTA & THE QUEEN'S EGGS

Chapter 1 - Vesta & the Queen's Eggs

In this fantasy series 'urvogels' are human except they are winged, hatched from eggs and live in flocks. 'Ur' means ancient, and 'vogel' is the German word for bird. Ur-vo-gel. White robes are young urvogels; red robes are urvogels with their wings severed. They are usually servants too.

Rocco's Wings (#1)

Vesta & the Queen's Eggs (#2)

                                                                   Chapter 1 - The Hatchery

Vesta gripped Iggy's hands, and tugged.

'I don't want to do this!' said Iggy, kicking his legs which were still outside in the shrubbery. His upper torso hung precariously over the stairwell that descended to a door going into the Hatchery.

'We've got to tell her! No one else is going to!' Vesta stepped back, arms rigid as she peered up at Iggy framed by the cellar window. They had flown at breakneck speed across the city: a distance that normally took several minutes, yet here they were after hardly any time at all.

Iggy's face was alarmingly red. He wasn't just out of breath; he seemed to be sweating and vibrating with fear.

Vesta dropped Iggy's hands, aware for the first time of her own heaving chest and throbbing neck artery. The awful words they'd heard only moments ago pounded in her head.

Harpia was free! She'd escaped prison!

A door scraped open some distance below them. Muffled voices wafted up.

Iggy raised his head. His startled eyes searched Vesta's face. Either he was going to pull out and disappear altogether, thought Vesta, or he was going to help her.

She tugged Iggy's hands again. This time he slipped easily into the stairwell.

'Come on!' Vesta – wings extended – shot up to the ceiling. Iggy's feet barely touched the ground before he was lifting off behind her. They clung together, clasping the long chain that secured the light fixture over the broad stairwell below.

A moment later, a pair of gold robes passed up the steps. They were talking energetically as if they had just been to a party. So intent on their conversation were they that they didn't once pause or glance upward at Vesta and Iggy lodged in the ceiling above their heads.

'Look,' whispered Vesta. 'There go the sires.' Even in the dim light cast by the gas-lit chandelier, the water stains from the gold robes' gowns were clearly visible. The folds of their skirts flapped sluggishly against their thighs.

'They've just come from fertilizing the Queen's eggs,' whispered Iggy.

'Yes, I expect they're off to do the cock-walk. That's what sires do.'

All of Krakatoan knew when a new clutch of eggs had just been laid. The sires, interned for several days awaiting the blessed event, would suddenly appear, proudly displaying their ceremonial gowns as they strutted up and down Merchant's Alley.

If their gowns dried out before everyone had seen them, it was not unheard of for the sires – usually two or four – to climb into the large centre fountain in Avian Plaza. There they would dip up and down in the most exaggerated manner, straining their necks and flapping their wings like courting birds. With their robes once again stained chest-high with water, they would continue their public parade. On the day itself, they would be treated as royalty.

No doubt the minionatros were already preparing the Fertility Feast that would start tomorrow, thought Vesta. This was the Queen's third laying in – likely the last of the season, or so everyone said.