Cuckoo's Flight

  Praise for Dragonfly Song

  ‘Orr tells her tale in both narrative poetry and prose for an effect that is both fanciful and urgent, drawing a rich fantasy landscape filled with people and creatures worthy of knowing. As mesmerizing as a mermaid’s kiss, the story dances with emotion, fire, and promise.’

  Kirkus, starred review

  ‘An unparalleled fantasy world full of life and lively characters. While young readers with a special interest in history will immediately be drawn into this meticulously researched, literary story, its fast-paced, adventurous, epic feel will undoubtedly appeal to all readers.’

  Booklist

  ‘This exhilarating, nail-biting and inspiring story lingers in the imagination long after the book is finished.’

  Good Reading

  ‘Wendy Orr’s descriptions of place and character spring from the page — I could see the story as if it were on a screen playing in my mind. But amidst all the excitement and adrenaline, this is also a heartfelt exploration of what it feels like to be rejected and unloved; of how important it is to be true to ourselves, to really listen to our heart; and of how small acts of kindness have the potential to touch lives. Aissa is one of the most memorable characters I’ve met in a long time.’

  Kids’ Book Review

  ‘A beautifully written historical fantasy set in an ancient era. Wendy Orr deftly controls the content and narrative voice.’

  Books & Publishing

  Praise for Swallow’s Dance

  ‘This mesmerizing, aching tale explores ancient beliefs in gods and nature and their impact on an Aegean island society in the Bronze Age. Orr’s prose paints delicate brush strokes to illustrate the beauty and brutality of coming-of-age and of losing yourself to find out who you really are. [Orr’s] mixture of prose and free verse to tell Leira’s story is lyrical and magnetic—and devastating … a beautiful song of a book.’

  Kirkus, starred review

  ‘As tragedy upon tragedy befalls the sweet but naive Leira in this Bronze Age–set tale, readers will cheer for her to succeed, grow, and to find her way in this new world. Beautiful writing and a fast-moving plot will give young historical fiction fans much to love.’

  School Library Journal, starred review

  ‘Wendy Orr not only brings a strange forgotten land to dramatic life in Swallow’s Dance, the language she uses to weave this world is hypnotic. There’s a different rhythm to these words, unlike many modern stories. The beat draws you in.’

  Kids’ Book Review

  ‘This stunning middle-grade novel is poetic, lyrical, and interspersed with elegant free-verse through which readers walk in Leira’s footsteps and share her many heartaches. Captivating throughout, this story reverberates long past the turning of its last page.’

  Historical Novel Society

  ‘Leira’s lyrical first-person narrative advances the story along beautifully with a fitting sense of urgency, and free-verse songs clue readers in to her emotional development. Immersive historical fiction.’

  Booklist, starred review

  Also by Wendy Orr

  Swallow’s Dance

  Dragonfly Song

  The Complete Adventures on Nim’s Island

  Rescue on Nim’s Island

  Nim at Sea

  Nim’s Island

  Rainbow Street Pets

  Raven’s Mountain

  Peeling the Onion

  Mokie & Bik

  Spook’s Shack

  First published by Allen & Unwin in 2021

  Copyright © Wendy Orr 2021

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76052 491 3

  eISBN 978 1 76106 120 2

  For teaching resources, explore www.allenandunwin.com/resources/for-teachers

  Cover and text design by Design by Committee

  Map by Sarfaraaz Alladin

  Cover illustration by Josh Durham

  Set by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  To Olive and Claudia, Angus and Rose, who will make their own history in a changing world.

  CONTENTS

  MAP

  AUTHOR NOTE

  1 THE BLACK SHIP IN WINTER

  2 THE ORACLE

  3 LEIRA’S FAREWELL

  4 THE SPYING GIRL

  5 FEASTS AND FAREWELLS

  6 THE THORN FENCE

  7 THE VOICE FROM THE UNDERWORLD

  8 MIKA AND COLTI

  9 TWENTY-FOUR NIGHTS TILL THE FULL MOON

  10 THE BALANCE OF LIGHT AND DARK

  11 FACING THE TRAITOR

  12 PIRATES

  13 THE PURPLE SLAVES

  14 THE BATTLE OF THE RAIDERS

  15 CHOOSING THE FUTURE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MORE BRONZE AGE ADVENTURES BY WENDY ORR

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Cuckoo’s Flight takes place in the same world as Dragonfly Song and Swallow’s Dance, based on the Minoan civilisation of Crete about four thousand years ago. It was a sophisticated and artistic culture whose ships traded as far away as Cyprus and Egypt, but was eventually overtaken by the Mycenaeans from mainland Greece, probably by a mixture of warfare and assimilation.

  Although Crete had indigenous horses, the Minoans don’t seem to have used them as much as many other Bronze Age societies. However, in a tiny museum in Archanes in Crete, I saw a Minoan clay figurine of a woman riding a horse. I started wondering about her …

  At the same time, my sister Katharine was planning a horseback trip through Mongolia. Her travels reignited my dreams of the joy and freedom of riding, even though an accident has left me unable to continue to do so. Part way through the first draft I realised that my protagonist Clio was disabled and like me, and could no longer ride.

  The later drafts of this book were written during the pandemic and lockdown. In many ways we returned to an earlier time: our family became a multi-generational household, afraid of an uncertain future and a disease that appeared to have no cure. All these factors made Cuckoo’s Flight a slightly different book than it would have been otherwise. I’ve finished the book without seeing the end of the pandemic, but in life as in fiction, I remain hopeful of the future.

  If she had stayed to load the kiln as she should have, she’d never have seen the ship.

  Mama said the ship would still have been there, so everything had to happen the way it did. But that’s not true. Clio saw it, and the world changed.

  1

  THE BLACK SHIP IN WINTER

  Selena’s rules are strict: ‘Never, never, trust anyone else with our pots. We load them into the kiln ourselves and we take them out ourselves.’ And though Clio has to trust Head and Tail the carrier twins to take them from workshop to kiln, it’s her job to follow the palanquin tray and check that nothing is damaged when it arrives.

  The twins lower the poles to the ground. Smoothly as reflections in a mirror, they stoop again to lift the inner tray out onto a raised rock slab. Clio swings a
round it, keeping her crutch well out of the way. All the little figurines are upright and perfect.

  ‘Goddess thank you,’ she says, hand on her heart. Tail passes her a soft clay tablet, and she stamps it with her grandmother’s seal stone, hanging from a cord around her wrist.

  But the kiln’s lid is off and Delia is reaching in, just starting to take her own pots out.

  ‘We can’t wait for you to unload today,’ a twin says to Delia. It has to be Head because Tail never speaks. ‘We’ve got a load of spearheads for the palace from Igor the Bronze – we’ll be back for your pots when we’re done.’

  Delia and Clio try not to smile. They can fit more talk into firing a kiln than anyone would believe, but an excuse to take a little longer is a gift from the gods. Especially when Delia’s bursting to finish the whispered story she started at the end of the dawn ceremony, about the priest girl who wants to marry a fisher boy – and how would the Lady ever let her do that?

  ‘Though he’s a pretty enough fisher to be descended from the sea god, and surely that’s good enough even for priest folk!’

  Clio giggles. She wants to hear the story, and even more than that, she wants to simply be here with Delia, away from her family and the workshop. Sometimes it seems they understand each other as easily as the carrier twins.

  But just as her friend is whispering about the fisher’s secret visit to the palace, Clio feels a sudden tug at her heart, sharp as a jab of physical pain. The laughter dies in her throat.

  Grey Girl! Her mare, dappled the colour of the morning sea, is heavy with foal. ‘Any day now,’ Dada said yesterday, though it’s earlier in the year than it should be, closer to winter than spring, and the rain is cold. Even if the grandmothers are right that winters aren’t as cold or wet as they used to be, there’s still enough ice in the air to chill a newborn foal. And her father will be busy all day in the shipsheds; he and Uncle Doulos want to finish repairing the hull and aren’t even coming home for siesta. It’ll be too late if Grey Girl is in trouble.

  ‘You look like a mother with a sick babe!’ says Delia. ‘Go – you won’t be calm till you’ve seen her. I’ll load your pots and start firing the kiln when I’m finished unpacking mine.’

  ‘We can’t do that!’

  It’s true that for the last two years Delia has often helped her, because Clio needs to put her crutch down to lift the pots from the rock slab into the top of the kiln. She can balance on her stiff leg for a moment, though she’s dropped more than one pot when she wobbles. What hurts more than the pain itself is needing the help. It’s the one thing she can never tell Delia.

  But helping is different from doing – and these are the goddess figurines, the specialty of her grandmother’s workshop, not everyday cups or bowls. If Mama ever finds out …

  ‘I’ll be as careful as if they were my own,’ says her friend. ‘Selena will never know. I’ll be waiting a while for the twins anyway.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘You never know when I’ll need a favour in return.’

  ‘A big one!’ says Clio, wavering.

  ‘A huge one,’ Delia agrees.

  Clio is already swinging her way out to the river road, her crutch taking its giant strides and her stiff right leg lagging behind.

  Grey Girl, misty as the morning sea,

  dappled like a pebbled beach,

  her heart beating with Clio’s

  since they were raised, girl and foal

  on the milk of the mare

  when Clio’s mother had none.

  Dada tells of lifting

  a babe too young to stand,

  to the foal’s back

  so they could learn each other’s warmth

  and by the time they were two

  they moved as one.

  Mama always afraid, saying that horses,

  wild as stags in the hills,

  had no place in their lives –

  but couldn’t forbid

  because Dada’s gods say

  they’re the heart of his.

  Clio wishes the goddess

  would say the same for her,

  but the Great Mother stays silent –

  except in the link she forged

  between horse and girl

  so that even that day,

  when a snake wriggled out from a rock

  through the mare’s front legs

  so she shied and reared,

  throwing Clio hard to her knees –

  the left on the ground,

  the right onto the rock;

  pain spearing into her hip

  so fierce she thought she would die,

  her mind closing in blackness –

  Grey Girl wouldn’t let her drown in that dark,

  wouldn’t leave her side,

  standing guard on the path,

  trumpeting a neigh of terror

  till Petros the herder came,

  and then Dada,

  running all the way from town

  and carrying Clio home

  as if she were a babe.

  She remembers Grey Girl’s call

  and seeing Dada’s face drain

  to the colour of ash,

  but nothing of the moon that followed

  till she heard Mama weeping:

  ‘Three daughters I’ve lost so far –

  can the Great Mother not leave me one?’

  And her grandmother’s voice, calm and sure,

  ‘The girl will live.

  Her life will not be the one we planned

  but when life changes

  so must we –

  and she is strong enough

  to do that.’

  Clio opened her eyes,

  returned to life,

  and her leg did its best to heal;

  by winter she could stand

  for a moment or two.

  Hector carved a crutch –

  now she can walk

  nearly as fast as a run,

  but the twisted leg

  will not turn or grip the side of a horse –

  she cannot ride.

  Mama says that the snake,

  the Great Mother’s beast,

  was clearly saying it was well past time

  for Clio, an almost-woman,

  to forget her horses

  and turn her thoughts to her trade.

  But Clio says her horse, born of the sea god,

  showed respect for the Great Mother’s snake

  saved her life

  and earned her gratitude.

  They could argue about it all day

  and sometimes do.

  Dada never argues the ways of the goddess

  but began to build

  a chariot, like the ones from his home;

  the harness first

  so that long before the chariot was done

  Grey Girl could begin to learn

  the feel of this new skill.

  Soft goat leather, stitched strong

  over evenings into spring –

  always out of Mama’s sight –

  for bridle, reins, chest band and girth.

  Returning from the sea in autumn

  with fittings of bronze –

  Mama so glad to see him safe and home

  she couldn’t complain;

  shaped the poles,

  built six-spoked wheels for strength –

  like a war chariot, he said,

  made to bounce over the roughest ground –

  ‘Though I hope my child

  will never need to go to war.’

  But the body has taken the longest of all

  weaving basket after basket,

  models for a doll –

  a doll who cannot stand as a warrior does,

  but must sit still

  with her legs tucked safe.

  The kilns are on the northwest corner of town, just outside the wall. In front of them the road to the sea winds between the barley field and the olive gro
ve; on the left is the river road. Clio follows it to just before the washing rocks by the bridge, onto the smaller track to Grey Girl’s valley.

  Grey Girl’s mother was a filly in her second summer when Hector arrived as a frightened fugitive on Uncle Doulos’s ship. He saw wild horses as they came into the bay and knew that he could make a new life in this land; it was the first time he’d smiled since he punched a man for beating his horse, back home in Troy. He never tells the end of that story – all Clio knows for sure is that the young man who became her Dada fled to the sea and begged sanctuary from the captain of the first ship he saw. That captain was her mother’s brother.

  So, even before Selena married him, Clio’s father had captured a filly, cared for her and taught her to come to his whistle. He made a bridle of goat leather, and at the end of her third summer, when he came home from the trading season, trained her to carry him on her back.

  After a while, when she tried to return to the wild herd she came from, the lead mare drove her away, though the stallion came down to visit her in the spring. She grew fat with a foal the second year and the foal, when it was born, was fat and healthy too. But one morning, when Hector whistled for them, the mare came alone, ears laid back in fright, deep scratches on her legs and belly. He doesn’t know what took the foal – wolves or wild dogs, or even shepherds jealous of the grass it ate – but he never saw a trace of it again. Most of the foals after that survived but found wild herds once they were grown – until three years ago, when Hector hired a family of goatherds to run the horses with their goats. The horses don’t like the dogs, and if the horses go a different way to the flock the herders must choose their own goats, but they watch over them all as best they can.

  The old mare died foaling last spring, so now there’s just Grey Girl, her two-year-old filly Fleet Foot, and the old mare’s colt. He’s coming in to his third spring, but he’s still called Colti, because he’s the last foal born.

  Although Clio and her father say the horses are theirs, the truth is, even with Petros and his dogs guarding them, Grey Girl could lead her herd to freedom if she wanted. Clio sometimes thinks it’s they who belong to the horses.

  The giant vultures are wheeling high above now, scanning the ground for rotting flesh – and Clio’s memory of the old mare’s death turns into a vision of Grey Girl on the ground. Grey Girl lying alone, stranded and straining. The thought pulls her down the path faster than she’s ever gone before, her crutch thumping through prickly bushes that scratch her leather apron and catch at her sheepskin cloak. She can’t see any of the horses; or the goats or their herder.