It took two days for Sparrow to climb halfway up the mountain – his hunger slowed him, as did the slowly healing wound in his shoulder.

The flying people were strange and secretive, their villages dotted the mountain, and all supplied the capital city in the clouds. Everyone on the mountain was armed – either with a bow or dart gun, and they all carried concealed knives under their clothes.

Sparrow managed to steal food from two markets on his way up, but decided to give up on a third after a suspicious old woman slashed at him with her knife when he tried to pick up a piece of duck she was cooking.

Eventually, Sparrow found a small cave in the mountainside, he crawled into it and munched on a bunch of dried beans someone had thrown away at the market.

He was miserable. In his mind he could see his Grandma and her home cooking, and the fields he’d grown up in.

Sparrow decided he was sick of the road. Sick of always being hungry, sick of…

Out beyond the cave, a beautiful voice sang. Sparrow followed the sound to the cave entrance where a beautiful sunset was lighting up the desert.

He was so high he could see the world curving away in front of him.

The mountainside was in shadow so he couldn’t see the singer, but he sat there watching the reds and oranges and purples of the sunset and listening to the sweet voice as it sang a tune he’d never heard before.

Sparrow decided that maybe the road wasn’t so bad after all.

****

The next morning Sparrow tied his belt tight and left the cave on a mission – to eat fried duck – and he didn’t care if it killed him.

He marched into the nearest village, pushed aside the old woman who’d swiped at him with her knife, and climbed on top of her stall.

The duck was tender and juicy, and the fat dribbled down Sparrow’s chin. All around him there were screams, but he couldn’t care less as he stuffed wads of meat into his mouth and groaned with pleasure.

When he’d finished and let out a loud burp the crowd parted to make way for a silver-haired old man and six bow-carrying assassins.

Sparrow paused halfway through putting a piece of duck meat in his mouth.

‘What’s going on here?’ the silver-haired man asked.

‘A spirit!’ The woman who owned the duck stall wailed, ‘A spirit has come from the mountainside to attack me.’

Around her, the other villagers began to wail. Sparrow slipped the duck meat into his mouth and stared around uneasily.

‘Are you sure it’s a spirit?’ The man said.

‘Yes! It was growing and panting, and it stunk like death!’ The woman yelled.

Sparrow sniffed his armpit… maybe she had a point.

The silver-haired man eyed the stall Sparrow was sitting on.

‘There are many things this could be… I am not so sure…’

He was cut off by Sparrow attempting his best spirit impression.

‘Oooooooohhhhhhhoooooooo.’

All the villagers went nuts, started screaming, tearing at their clothes – ‘The Mountain Spirit – The Mountain Spirit – it’s here!’

The woman who owned the duck stall pushed past the silver-haired man.

‘Oh spirit of the mountain. What must we do to appease you?’

Other villagers pushed past the silver-haired man and fell to their feet in front of Sparrow.

‘Well…’ Sparrow thought for a moment, ‘I am hungry!’

‘Oh great spirit!’ The people wailed.

‘Not far from here is a cave,’ Sparrow said, trying his best to make his voice sound deeper than it was, ‘And I have existed in that cave for longer than the sun has risen.’

The people gave another wail. Even the silver-haired man had gone down on one knee.

‘You have ignored me for too long… and now I am angry. You must bring food, blankets, and other gifts to the cave. Or I shall descend the mountain and take everything from you…’

A young woman on the edge of the crowd caught Sparrow’s eye. She was laughing… he tried to ignore her, ‘Now! You may go!’

As he said the last word he jumped from the stall, pushing it over as he jumped. He dodged through the crowd before they could recover and sprinted for the cave.

As he neared it, he threw himself inside and cursed his stupidity – the silver-haired man knew.

The man would come, kick Sparrow out of the cave, and kill him in some horrible way.

Sparrow climbed further and further back into the darkness until he couldn’t see the entrance any more. That is… until he heard the singing.

He peered toward the mouth of the cave. It was the same voice from the night before – a girl only a few years older than him carried a hastily prepared, but giant platter of food above her head as she sang and walked toward the entrance of the cave.

Behind her, a procession of men and women carried all manner of blankets and carpets and robes. They laid them out in the entrance of the cave and gave a final chorus of song before retreating down toward the village.

Sparrow decided it was the perfect time for a piece of magic. He spread his fists wide and set a trench of fire in front of the food. He then picked up the tray and walked back into the cave with it.

Below the cave the villagers wept tears of gratitude – their village had been saved from the Mountain Spirit.