Feathertide Read online

  She smiled, but there was no mockery in it, and when she repeated the sounds, she did so slowly enough for me to follow them. I tried again and this time it came much easier than before.

  ‘Did you know that in Orniglossa there is no distinction between arm and wing?’ she said.

  I shook my head. Maybe we all have flight within us – in one way or another. I watched as she gathered her hair together and wrung it out before dropping it down her back like a heavy rope.

  ‘I can braid it for you if you like,’ I said, unable to resist the chance to touch her.

  She smiled. ‘Yes, I would like that very much.’

  Shuffling over I tentatively scooped up her hair. Thrilled to have it in my hands, I began separating the sections between my fingers. It felt thick and smooth and my feathers danced as I lifted and folded it over and over again. Softly, she began to hum. I had watched the whores coiffure each other’s hair into magnificent swirls and loops of gold and sometimes when I had been especially good and the day was quiet, they would let me sweep a comb through their curls and place pins wherever I fancied.

  ‘You can practise while you braid,’ she said, like any good teacher.

  And as she continued to hum, I was clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth in pretend annoyance and burbling my companion call as though I had known how to do it all along. Not finding me to be a suitable mate, a bird suddenly shook itself free from the tree, and flew away. I collapsed onto the grass in closed-eyed laughter.

  ‘It is late,’ she said. ‘It’s time to go.’ Her words were like dark clouds full of rain threatening to wash away the happiness of the afternoon.

  When I scrambled to my feet, I could see she was already standing at some distance away on the path.

  ‘But I don’t even know your name,’ I said, fumbling with the piles of paper that still lay strewn all over the grass. Frantically, I tried to thrust them back inside the satchel with such urgency that I felt the buckle snap and break.

  ‘My name is Elver,’ she called.

  ‘Wait!’ I cried, cursing the broken satchel under my breath, but by the time I had the strap over my shoulder, the path was empty, and she was nowhere to be seen.

  All the way home, I let my tongue revel in the new-found discovery of the bird language, and by the time I reached the house, its taste had become wonderfully familiar.

  CHAPTER 25

  After returning from another hurried walk with the dogs, I was surprised to find that Leo was waiting for me in the courtyard. I had not expected to see him so soon and his unannounced arrival brought with it a sense of alarm. He crossed the flagstones, and, instinctively, I tried to tuck my curls behind my ears. Of course, they refused to obey my command, and instead they sprang back out again in a fiery display of defiance.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ I asked in panic.

  He must have been running for at least part of the way as it took him several moments to compose himself before he could utter a single word. Until he spoke, neither of us were calm.

  ‘I’ve got … something to show you,’ he said finally. ‘Come on.’ Grabbing my hand, he pulled me out of the courtyard and into the street.

  ‘If you are taking me to see the jars on the Bridge of Longing then you’re too late; I’ve already seen them filled with mist.’

  ‘We’re not going there.’ He smiled, enjoying the little guessing game.

  ‘Then where?’

  ‘You’ll see soon enough,’ was all he revealed, but he was smiling as he said it and I felt myself steady beside him.

  He led me through the streets towards the market, where our pace was slowed by the sluggish tide of the crowd. On the corner, the familiar smell of bread was hard to resist, but before I had time to slow down and locate its source, I felt myself being pushed through a gap between two stalls and along a dark, winding passageway.

  ‘Is it far?’ I asked, suddenly shivering against the cold, and drawing my coat tighter around me.

  ‘Just a little further,’ came his reply.

  After crossing a bridge, we were finally welcomed back into the warm sunlight. I breathed it in, glad to feel it on my face once again. Further along the canal path, a murky grime had gathered in macabre frothy bouquets at the edges of the water, like someone had swilled out the phlegm of a sanatorium, and I turned my face to focus on something less repugnant. This part of the city was slow and still and in all the time we had been walking, not a single boat had disturbed the water. The path curved round one long stretch of building, its windows were small squares like squinting eyes, blinded by age or the sun that fell mercilessly into them. Then through the air floated the quiet, but unmistakable sound of birdsong.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ I asked, stopping in wonder to listen. ‘There are birds here.’ I looked into the empty sky, then lowered my eyes to the rooftops, but there wasn’t a winged creature in sight.

  ‘You won’t find them up there; they are shut inside,’ replied Leo, gesturing towards one of the windows.

  ‘Inside? Why?’ I asked, horrified at the thought.

  ‘People lock them in fancy cages, and dangle them from hooks in the ceiling. They are brought here in boats from places where there is eternal heat and forests filled with rain. They only bring the birds with the brightest of feathers: yellows and reds and blues, some are even the colour of rainbows.’

  I knew of such birds from my lessons with Professor Elms, but the thought of them being locked in cages sent a chill through my bones.

  ‘They are like sparkling musical jewels,’ he added.

  I listened again. The melody was crisp and plaintive, and I stepped back, scanning the multitude of windows to determine where it was coming from, but it was impossible to tell. I wasn’t even sure if the sound I heard came from a solitary bird or was a chorus of many.

  Bending down, I peered through one of the sunken windows, but there were iron bars fixed to the frame and a thick gauze curtain hiding whatever was behind it. The next window kept its secrets too, only this time behind a rusty decorative grille. These precious jewels, it seemed, needed protecting.

  ‘Come on,’ urged Leo, setting off again along the path.

  I didn’t move. I heard only birdsong.

  ‘Maréa!’ The sound of my name startled me, and this time I ran to catch up.

  The birdsong had stirred a memory for Leo. ‘It was a nightingale.’

  ‘What was?’ I asked.

  ‘That bird you heard singing. It is a well-known tradition here for widows to keep nightingales for company; they do not have the pretty feathers of other birds, but their song is more beautiful.’

  ‘How do you know so much? I asked in disbelief. I hadn’t been able to see inside any of the windows and I was quite sure he hadn’t been able to either. ‘You couldn’t even see it.’ I challenged.

  ‘I don’t need to.’ He smiled. Then he revealed a story.

  He spoke about his love of birds, which had been encouraged by his grandfather, who would take him for long walks in the Northern woods.

  ‘I got my first pair of binoculars when I was five, and by six I could name twenty bird songs from the first note alone,’ he announced proudly. ‘At night I slept with the binoculars under my pillow, but when I woke, I’d always find them clutched in my hand as though I had reached for them in my dream.’ He laughed at the memory.

  ‘Growing up I spent most of my time in a cellar.’ I said the words before I had even decided I was going to.

  Leo looked shocked. ‘You sound like one of those nightingales kept in a cage.’

  ‘I was, I suppose, but there were no locks; it was only my fear that kept me there.’ I began to describe my life before arriving in the City of Murmurs. How I would have the birds for company, envious of their freedom. I told him about the gutter that ran the length of the window, and how the birds would gather there to wash themselves. How I spent hours watching them, wondering when it would be my turn to fly away.

  ‘
I had a professor,’ I said. ‘He taught me that birds have hollow bones, and for some reason, it made me feel sad.’

  ‘They need hollow bones to fly. If you stay empty, you stay light.’

  ‘I know.’ I sighed. ‘But it still makes me sad, like something is missing.’

  ‘Sometimes you have to lose a part of yourself to be free.’ He paused, wanting to say something, but not quite sure how. ‘Birds are truly fascinating. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.’ Then, abashed, he looked away.

  I felt myself blush at his admission, unsure of what to say next.

  ‘I mean because you are part bird,’ he added hastily, trying to cover up his embarrassment.

  The laughter came unexpectedly, and I covered my mouth with my hand. It was true, but it sounded ridiculous said out loud, and Leo laughed too, glad that the awkwardness was over.

  ‘Why do you hide your feathers under that coat?’ he asked, more out of curiosity than judgement.

  ‘I—’ I faltered and hesitated for a moment. ‘I suppose I have grown so used to hiding them, that I don’t know how to do anything else.’

  We walked over more bridges and past the park, deserted except for a pair of cooing pigeons, circling each other on the grass. We were both quietened by memory.

  Too lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed where we were, but now the water seemed louder and, as I looked around, it felt familiar. As the street opened, I suddenly realised where he had led me. My first instinct, as always, was to run and hide, but I didn’t; instead I took a sharp intake of breath and seized Leo’s shoulder.

  ‘Why did you bring me here?’ I hissed, my eyes were open wide in fear.

  Just in front of me, rocking on the edge of the water was the last thing I expected to see; The Boat of Floating Freaks and Oddities. Leo was quiet for a moment, trying to make sense of my reaction.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘That boat is the circus boat,’ I said, releasing the fistful of his coat I had been clutching in my hand.

  Leo shook the creases from his sleeve. ‘Yes, and that boat is the key to finding Eddero.’ Then he pulled me towards the boat before I could say another word. ‘I think your father comes to collect something from it, and we need to find out what it is.’

  I could hear the sound of sloshing water against the hull, and if I reached out, I would be close enough to run my hand along the wood. I imagined how rough its edges would feel and how its peeling paint would cut into my fingers, sharp and spiteful enough to draw blood. I still feared this vessel, no matter how worn or tired it had become.

  ‘We need to go on board.’

  ‘But—’ My protest quickly fell silent.

  I had spent a lifetime being protected from its tall fluttering sails and its creaking planks, that waltzing on board now would be utter madness. I hesitated. Maybe years ago, I would have been easily bought and sold, but now I had grown up and I made my own choices and I would never choose to be a part of that circus or any other circus. Larger than my fear was my longing and more than anything I wanted to find my father. If Leo was right, and this boat was the key to finding him, then I had to know. I lifted up my collar as high as I could and this time, instead of following Leo, I marched on ahead of him.

  In front of me I saw a ragged slip of a man and I recognised him at once. The night I had arrived, I had seen him scurrying through the streets, clutching a jar of mist.

  ‘What have you got on that boat?’ I spoke hastily, in need of answers. He hadn’t noticed us until I spoke and my urgency startled him, and for a moment he seemed suspicious.

  ‘Very little. It’s the end of the season. If it’s a show you want, you’ll have to wait a few more months.’

  ‘Is there anyone left on board?’ I asked, more desperately than I had intended.

  ‘Anyone with feathers, perhaps?’ added Leo tentatively.

  The man smiled in recognition. ‘You must mean the Sky-Worshipper.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, edging closer. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you his name; he doesn’t speak.’

  ‘Can you take us to him?’ My voice grew softer, I needed his help.

  He seemed to ignore the question and instead walked across the deck stopping only when he reached a small door. He pushed his weight against the wood, but it had swollen shut with the salty damp. He tried again and this time the door groaned open, and he beckoned for us to follow him.

  The boat was enormous and motionless and the bright light of the sky was so suddenly extinguished as we went inside that I gasped out loud. It felt strange to be on board the boat that had brought me so much fear, but it wasn’t fear I felt any more, just anticipation. The answers had been here all that time and I had been dragged away from them. The darkness was filled with hazy dust and I could see it through occasional cracks in the wood where pinpricks of light were welcomed through. I kept losing sight of the man, and had to rely on the sound of his footfalls but even they became dancing echoes around the wood. I pressed my hand to the vast creaking side of the hull as we were led along a sort of passageway. Each step brought with it the growing stench of rotting fish as though we were entering a sunken graveyard. My eyes finally adjusted to the surrounding gloom.

  ‘Down here,’ called the man from somewhere up ahead. He was motioning towards a rickety ladder.

  It was an endless climb and the ladder shook with every movement. The air was damp and cold, and I felt my skin tingle with a sticky residue. Finally, we landed with a thud into the depths of the boat where the cloying sweet scent of resin hung in the air; it tasted of almonds or marzipan. If I had any chance of finding the ladder to climb back out again, I would have to grope my way along the walls. Our arrival had made something stir somewhere, and although my eyes refused to reveal what it was, I knew there was something in the shadows.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I was relieved to hear the sound of Leo’s voice.

  ‘Yes … you?’

  Something in the darkness glittered, hundreds of tiny specks of light danced around us. The air was silver. I heard a shuffle then, and the strike of a match and suddenly the space flickered into view. The man who had led us here was holding a lantern and was pointing towards something deep within the room. Neither of us could see what it was because the room was filled with a swirling mist, and my feathers responded with their familiar quiver.

  ‘He’s over there,’ the man said, holding the lantern aloft. Its sweeping light picked up a shape slumped against the far wall. ‘Just through the mist.’

  I waited. Leo waited. Then I moved further into the room.

  He was lying on the floor on a bed of dank moss and straw, with his crumpled wings wrapped protectively around his body, holding himself because there was no one else who could. At first, I thought he was dead, and my breath caught in my throat, but as I kneeled down on the floor in front of him, I saw the slow rise and fall of his chest, and I could hear his long raspy breaths. I knew at once it wasn’t my father; his hair wasn’t the same burning orange; it was much lighter like the hard-boiled yolk of an egg. Still we had a connection and it was strange to feel recognition for something I had never seen before. Unable to hold back, I tentatively reached out my hand to his wing, letting my fingertips brush against its long feathers. They were so soft, and warm as a nest, but then I felt them loosen under my touch and flutter to the floor. I withdrew my hand in shock. I had been so gentle.

  ‘There’s something wrong with him,’ I called over my shoulder.

  The man and Leo approached and the light from the lantern made the Sky-Worshipper groan and squeeze his eyes tightly shut. He lifted his wing over his face as a shield against the intrusion.

  ‘He needs to rest, that’s all.’

  ‘Why are you keeping him down here?’ I demanded, and the man seemed flustered, lifting his cap and wiping sweat from his brow.

  ‘I am not keeping him anywhere,’ he replied defensively. ‘He is not locked in a cage and there are no bolts o
n the doors! It is his choice to be here, to perform in this circus.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Leo.

  The man puffed out his cheeks and shrugged. ‘All I know is they send a different one each time, and they keep sending them. I think they are searching for someone, but they always return alone.’

  The Sky-Worshipper shuddered under the crease of his wing.

  ‘He is ill,’ I challenged at once.

  ‘And that is what keeps him down here – he needs the mist – I’ve been collecting it every few days until the others come to take him back.’

  ‘The others?’ queried Leo.

  ‘Yes, the others – just like him. They shouldn’t be too much longer, now the mist is getting nearer.’

  ‘How long?’ I asked, rising to my feet and brushing the straw from my trousers.

  The man began furiously scratching his head in thought, sending the lantern swinging its light around the room.

  ‘The mist is still over half a day’s sail from here, so experience tells me to expect them in a little under two weeks. Any longer and—’ He didn’t finish his sentence, but the unspoken words hung in the air, tight as a noose.

  I was sure that at any given moment the Sky-Worshipper would be ready to slip from this world. ‘I need a few more minutes with him.’

  I could hear the man shuffle his feet with impatience and his sigh carried all the way across the room, but I didn’t care. My attention returned instead to the Sky-Worshipper lying on the floor, and I reached my fingers to his face; his skin was cold and brittle beneath them, so cold it made me gasp. Grabbing handfuls of straw, I began packing them around his thin, frail body, in an attempt to keep him warm. A blanket was strewn in the corner so I shook it out and covered him with it, tucking it round his face. Then I lay down beside him and took his hand in mine. It looked just like the sketch I had seen amongst Professor Bottelli’s notes. I held it between my palms, reviving it as though it were a frozen creature I had just brought in from the snow. Remembering the sounds Elver had taught me, I slowly released the guttural call of comfort. Until that moment, his eyes had seemed glued together, but my voice soothed them like chamomile and he began to blink them open. When his eyes finally found me, I saw there was still life left in them, burning like stoked coals. He was a fighter. I lay there until I felt Leo’s hand on my shoulder, telling me it was time to go.