The scent of fried duck woke Sparrow the next morning - and the morning after that - and every morning in the weeks that followed. Melon juice dribbled down his chin, root vegetables went down the hatch, and steaming eggs disappeared into Sparrow’s mouth.

Over the following weeks, his skin began to cling tight to him once more as he replaced the weight he’d lost on his travels. Sparrow was happy - a little bored - but happy.

There were small troubles of course - the silver haired man came down each day to study the cave, and the girl who brought his food each day was becoming less scared and more curious. Still, after everything Sparrow had been through, they seemed more blessings than troubles.

Eventually, he began to wander from the cave - short trips at first - but they grew longer as time went by.

Often he’d climb onto a stone wall above the village where the food came from and he’d just watch - he’d watch the street vendors cooking their feasts, breathe in the scent of a hundred desert spices, and he’d watch children his age practice their craft - throwing daggers, darts, swords, and boiling berries and leaves for poisons.

The class that most interested Sparrow was flying. Every child below the age of seven could not fly. Every older child could. Yet both groups received very similar training.

How? He wondered as he sat on the wall one sunny evening watching the girl who brought him the platter of food weave and twist through the air. How do they get the ability to fly?

Each week a group of children who’d just turned seven would make a trek to the top of the mountain. By the time they came back down, they’d be able to fly.

And because he had nowhere to be, Sparrow decided what the hell, why not? And jumped off his wall to follow a group of seven-year-olds who were making their trek up to the top of the mountain.

As Sparrow - hidden by his invisibility belt - joined them he noticed how quiet they were. The students didn’t make a sound other than the crunch of their feet on gravel as they made their way up the side of the mountain.

A young man who was crafting thin, sharp blades in a forge beside the path paused in his task and called out to the smallest member of the group.

‘Woooohooo, the day Alber goes from shrimp to man.’

Alber stuck out his tongue and the metalworker laughed, ‘Good luck brother, I’m proud of you.’

Alber’s shoulders relaxed. Further up, they passed another brother who was sitting on a stone chair meditating one moment - and then throwing a goat’s leg at his younger brother the next.

Alber caught the leg and groaned, ‘Why are you guys so weird?’

The older brother just smiled and took a bow, ‘Tradition Shrimp, tradition.’

They passed a diamond smith whose windows showed a variety of carefully crafted diamondware - diamond knives, diamond arrowheads, and finally a tiny pair of diamond scissors.

‘Taken straight from the interior of the mountain,’ the diamond smith was telling a prospective customer - ‘and it’s the strongest naturally occurring material in the universe.’ He pulled out the pair of diamond scissors and used them to chop a steel sword in half, ‘Good,’ the customer, a black-clad assassin, said.

‘Good!?!’ the diamond smith yelled, ‘These took me six months to craft - one-sixtieth of my lifetime spent on a pair of scissors - and you call them good?!’

The assassin turned away from the grumbling diamond smith and stared at the students as they passed.

The rhythm of feet slapping against stone ended at a giant wooden cathedral-like building built into the crater of the mountain.

There, the silver haired man sat perched on a rock with his legs crossed. Five bright green crystals sat on five small woven mats in front of him.

The five seven-year-olds bowed in front of him and chanted as one.

‘Master Gochi

We have come.

To learn to fly

And reach the sun.

Our swords are yours

To strike down whom you choose

We pledge our lives

They are yours to use.’

Master Gochi nodded his silver hair and picked up a piece of crystal. It was a little larger than a fingernail and glowed with a green light.

‘This is what gives us our ability.’

Sparrow stared at the small crystal, there were five of them, would anyone notice if one went missing?

He turned and stared at the black-clad crowd that was gathering to watch the ceremony - yes someone would definitely notice.

‘An advantage is no longer an advantage if everyone possesses it.’ the silver haired man was saying, ‘And that is why we guard the secret to our ability so thoroughly.’

Master Gochi gestured to the mountainside, ‘All of our villages, mines, houses and schools were placed on this mountain just to protect these tiny gems.’

The students' eyes reflected the green light as the master held it above his head, ‘And these crystals are what make us the most sought after assassins in the known world.’

Sparrow looked around - the number of black-clad assassins who’d gathered to watch had grown. While the ordinary people chatted and pointed, the assassins stood like statues, unflinching. Sparrow felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up.

‘Killing for others has made our mountain in the middle of the desert rich,’ the silver haired man said, ‘And each of you have been chosen to join our ranks.’

The gathered assassins began to chant.

Death

Death

Death

Death

And as they did the five students stood and picked up a glowing green crystal each. They held them high and joined the chant.

Death

Death

Death

Death

At the final Death they brought the crystals to their mouths and swallowed them. The seven-year-olds opened their mouths and cheered to show the crystals were gone. They held up their hands in victory and the villagers around them threw great clouds of coloured powder at the boys and girls as they rose into the air - first a metre, then two, then they were floating above the top of the mountain.

Sparrow laughed as they were covered in the red, blue, yellow and bright green dust.

And then he saw the silver haired man jerk his head around to stare at Sparrow. Sparrow felt his throat run dry. He caught sight of one of his hands - no longer invisible due to a coating of bright orange powder. Parts of it were still see-through.

‘Oh man,’ Sparrow said, as Master Gochi signalled for the assassins to grab him.

Sparrow reached his arm into the air and flames sprung from his hand to the powder - as the air was coated in it his flame was able to spread quickly over the heads of the assassins.

Some of them ducked and rolled, pulling knives from their robes as they moved. Sparrow turned and ran down the mountainside.

Stones skidded under him and he banged his shin on a boulder. His momentum sent him toppling down the steep face as powder swirled behind him.

An assassin’s knife swooshed over his head and Sparrow jumped sideways then kept running down the mountainside. He flapped his arms over his clothing, clearing off the bright powder.

Around him, assassins swarmed, bowstrings twanged and arrows bounced off the stones. The diamond smith tried to block his path, but Sparrow jumped, kicked down at the man, and kept running as the diamond smith hit the ground.

A rock hit Sparrow’s back, knocking him to the ground. Sparrow rolled, sucked in a breath even though his lungs hurt and then looked back just in time to see the avalanche of rocks that were making their way down toward him.

He threw himself into a running slide and realised he was the one kicking up all the rocks. Sparrow ran faster and faster and as he did rocks kicked up, bounced down the mountain, and smashed into the houses below.

Sparrow ducked a boulder, and then cut off to the left, an assassin appeared behind him, and then disappeared as a boulder caught them on the chest.

Finally Sparrow dove into the ‘spirit cave’ he’d been staying in and quickly brushed at his clothes.

The sound of screaming and chaos from outside the cave slowly died out and apart from the occasional quiet woosh of an assassin passing by the cave, everything was silent.

That night Sparrow didn't get much sleep - half of his brain was tormented with the idea of escaping the mountain - how he’d slip past the assassins now that they knew of his weakness.

But the other half of his mind was fixated on the beautiful green crystals and on the way the students had flown just moments after consuming them.

Just imagine… Sparrow thought as he shuffled on the dirt floor.

****

The morning sun had barely reached the mouth of the cave when The Mountain Spirit’s morning feast began to travel up the mountain to the cave. Sizzling duck, spiced eggs, and juicy melon were piled together on a platter so large it shaded the person who carried it.

As the dish passed, the residents of the mountain stared at the one who carried it - peeked out from behind windows and doors.

At the mouth of the cave Master Gochi - the man with the silver hair - put the platter on the ground and sat cross-legged, facing into the cave.

Master Gochi picked up a patch of coloured powder that had been scattered on the ground the night before, he let it trickle through his fingers and when he spoke his voice wasn’t loud, but it filled the cavern.

‘I don’t believe in spirits.’