Feathertide Read online

  ‘Though the ancient Art of Meta?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t believe her at first, but after weeks of mixing and burning and rubbing ointment into the cracks of my broken tail, they were finally ready to ask for the blessing of the sea. I was to be thrown in as a fish and hauled back out as a girl.’

  ‘They?’ I queried.

  ‘Yes. We had the help of a doctor,’ she replied simply.

  ‘Why did you choose to become land-bound?’

  ‘Why did you?’ she asked.

  Her question confused me. ‘I didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘Remember what I told you about Orniglossa? There is no distinction between the word for arm and wing?’

  ‘Well, for me there is,’ I protested. ‘I can’t fly, or even flutter for that matter. A long time ago, I fell from a tree, and my feathers did nothing to stop me. As for wings … well, I can only imagine what they would feel like.’ I spread my arms as though to prove my point. ‘How can I miss what I have never had?’

  She leaned back. ‘You will find your way; I am sure of that. It is within you … all you have to do is follow your instincts.’

  ‘And you – do you miss having your tail?’

  She considered my question and all of its implications. ‘I longed to be able to wear pretty shoes, even though it didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped it would.’ She laughed, staring down at her large, flat feet, too awkward to fit inside any shoe. ‘Whenever the sea calls me, I must answer.’ The conversation had turned cold, like a folding wave.

  ‘Don’t go,’ I said, offering her my childish solution.

  She saw the anguish in my face and came closer, wrapping her arms around me. ‘I belong to the sea, and I carry it with me everywhere I go. It is within me, just as the sky is within you; I cannot truly love anything else, no matter how hard I try.’

  I chose to ignore the honest warning in her words, and instead fell into the happiness of the here and now. After that we barely left the room; most of what we needed was right there. A time capsule; a secret grotto; a deep well full of wishes. At sunrise, Elver would lazily lower a basket out of the window, with a few coins in the bottom to ensure our request was met. Then we would fall back to sleep in one another’s arms, waiting for the floating bakery to pass. When we woke again it would be mid-morning, we’d lift the basket back up to discover croissants and bagels still warm from the sun. In the evening, she would dive from the window and swim down the canal, returning a short time later with fish for supper. As we ate, she helped me translate the questions I wanted to ask my father, scratching out my mistakes and rewriting over them. I was pleased to see I had made very few, and that my studying had paid off.

  I got to know her body and through it, her mind. The heart was somewhat trickier. Its rhythm harder to decipher, but I heard it every time I rested my head in the crook of her arm. Its beat as regular as the hands of a clock, but when I listened closer, I thought I could hear the distant murmur of water. She was right; it was never far away.

  I loved to watch her at night, her skin even more like armour glinting in the moonlight. Her arms braceleted with tiny silver grains of salt, traceable beneath my fingertips. A restless sleeper. A dreamer. Sometimes, she spread her arms wide as though she was trying to catch a wave, other times her arms lay flat against her streamlined body, carried on the current far out to sea. It was always calling for her return and I would reach out to claw her back.

  Finally, we left the room and entered a city gift-wrapped in silver mist, which tingled against our skin. It was warm enough to sit outside with our coats buttoned up and we ate sweet bread from the bakery, which flaked all over our fingers as we broke it off in pieces. I fed the crumbs to the expectant birds. Anyone passing would think we were old friends, maybe even lovers, comfortable with each other, familiar and happy.

  She stopped outside a jewellery shop to admire a beautiful necklace of emerald glass beads. Before I could protest, she had thrust the bag of mussels into my hand and disappeared inside. Moments later she returned and handed me a little brown box tied neatly with a pink ribbon.

  ‘Now you will have a reminder of me,’ she said.

  But why would I need a reminder if she was standing right there next to me? Pleased with my gift, I loosened the ribbon and slid off the lid. Lying on a plump velvet cushion was the necklace I had seen in the window. I held it up to the sun, and watched as the light passed right through it. The beads glinted like translucent wicked eyes, and tittered together as I rolled them across my palm. I had seen men in cafés hold similar, swishing them through the air with a rhythmic click to pass the time or perhaps to pass their worries away. She took it from me and fastened it round my neck where it caught on my feathers. Another warning I did not heed, and I smiled to hide my doubt. It was then I noticed her own necklace. At the end of a thin silver chain, a tiny starfish floating in the dipped pool where her collarbones met. Was this, too, worn as a reminder?

  We continued into the backstreets, until we came to the end of the lagoon wall, where we caught a boat to the Reef. The journey across the water was breezy and brief; Elver had insisted we stand near the edge so she could see and smell the sea. We huddled together as the flames of our hair tangled and flared around us and I sank deeper into the warmth of my coat. As we arrived and the boat stilled, the heat returned.

  ‘I will swim back,’ said Elver, climbing from the boat.

  I laughed at how absurd she sounded, and not for one moment did I think she was being serious. That was always my mistake.

  CHAPTER 32

  As soon as I stepped off the boat, the Reef felt like another world and completely different from the City of Murmurs. With its long wide avenues, and large open squares, it had the potential to be a majestic seaside place. Somewhere for the wealthy to come and spend their money, but unlike the beautifully preserved birds in their glass domes, the Reef was a neglected and tired place. It seemed to sigh wearily at our arrival. The air wasn’t yet warm enough or impressive enough to entice visitors to flock here, but the residents came in the summer months to wiggle the sand between their toes and escape the confines of the dark huddle of buildings. I had never seen so much sky, as we ran, breathless and dishevelled, all the way to the sea.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. ‘It’s always beautiful where the land ends and the other world begins.’ She reached for my hand and I felt her fingers clasping mine, but they didn’t slot together easily. The translucent skin that webbed each of her toes also webbed her fingers. Still I tried to hold on.

  Looking out, the sea seemed gentle now, a peaceful grey-blue infinity; deceptive, for I knew the damage it could do. How many fishermen never returned? I remember seeing a woman collapse once by the harbour after being told of her husband’s death. Lemàn rushed me past, but not before I saw her clutch at her shawls and try to rip her heart from her chest, such was her desire to join him.

  ‘It’s a dangerous beauty though,’ I said.

  Elver smiled at me. ‘Isn’t all beauty dangerous?’ Then she began to pull off her clothes and throw them to the sand.

  ‘What are you doing? There are people.’ I said, looking round frantically only to discover that actually the beach was empty.

  ‘Come on,’ she encouraged, shaking off her dress. ‘Let’s swim.’ She grabbed my arm, but I pulled back with such unexpected force that she fell against me.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said, feeling foolish at having to admit the truth. ‘I don’t know how.’

  Elver stopped and stared at me in astonishment.

  ‘You don’t know how to swim?’ she said slowly. Her mouth fell open, and she blinked at the strangeness of my words, trying to make sense of them. For her, being able to swim was instinctive; nobody had to teach her not to drown.

  I shook my head. Professor Elms knew too much of the sea to risk taking me there. He knew what would happen if an unexpected current swept me away. I learned then that death wa
sn’t the worst thing; it’s what was left behind.

  She thought for a moment and then slowly began to undress me.

  ‘I can show you,’ she whispered, reaching out to unbutton my coat.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said feebly, half turning away. ‘My feathers.’

  She ignored my protests and grabbed my hand leading me closer to the water. Furtively, I glanced up and down the sand to make sure there was no one to see, but it was still completely deserted. ‘I can’t,’ I repeated, but my words were the half-formed things of winter light, and as she shushed me, I could no longer resist.

  Closing my eyes, I felt my body lighten as my clothes fell to the sand in a crumpled pile. ‘Please – not my bandages,’ I said, and I felt her hand slip away in silent agreement. Desire can drive you to do unimaginable things and hand in hand we walked slowly into the frothy waves. At first the cold made me shudder and I cringed and turned my body away, but Elver encouraged me further and I waded out until I felt the sand gently shelve away beneath my feet. At that moment she dove under the surface and I could see her shadow, the iridescent gleam of her beneath the water. The seabed was just out of reach and I kept having to push myself up with my foot to keep my face out of the water, but I was reassured by the soft tickle of her hair against my legs. I grew dizzy, laughing and whirling round, trying to chase the shape of her as she darted between my legs, hair trailing like a shoal of playful fish. She had nudged against me and I stumbled, drifting too far from the shelf, and this time when I tried to push into the sand, there was nowhere for my foot to rest. I kicked wildly in a scramble to find the seabed, which was all of a sudden lost. I began to panic, gulping down great salty mouthfuls, and spluttering them back out again. The world was a watery blur and I splashed hopelessly as my sodden feathers weighed me down, heavy as a millstone.

  Then she was there with her arms and legs wrapped around me, keeping us both afloat. Blinking away the water, I began to breathe again in little hiccupy swallows. I felt her hand smooth back my hair and wipe my eyes. The water was pushing us together and we moved steady and strong, to the rhythm of the sea. I imagined this was what drowning felt like; a hopeless struggle. Peace and stillness, then finally calm surrender and a strange sense of bliss.

  ‘Don’t let me go,’ I whispered, and I felt her limbs clasp tighter around mine in reply.

  Then she kissed my mouth, silencing the world. After a while I began to shiver and Elver swam us back to the shallows.

  Wave-washed, we quickly dressed. I smuggled myself back into my clothes and hastily fastened my coat before anyone could see, but my feathers were hard to dry and I could feel the water seeping through its fabric.

  ‘Why did you leave it all behind – the sea, I mean?’ I asked, as we strolled along the pier.

  She hesitated; maybe it was because she wasn’t sure of her answer or maybe it was that she didn’t want to share it with me.

  ‘There was someone,’ she said at last, but of course I already knew that. And I felt my heart lurch.

  ‘Someone you loved?’ I struggled to say, but she gave no reply and I stayed silent, regretting my words.

  We walked as far as we could until the rumble and rattle of the slats ended and there was just a deep drop into the ocean. Standing there, we watched the sea fill with twilight. I liked the way the last of the day’s light softened her face. I wanted now to last forever. It seemed something about the sea, encouraged confession.

  ‘I was happy for a while,’ she began unexpectedly, her thoughts returning to my earlier question, ‘but the sea called me back; it always does. At first, I heard it in my dreams and then it was everywhere. The waves in the lagoon are constant messengers, sent to call me home.’

  ‘And do you listen?’ I asked fearfully.

  ‘It is impossible not to.’

  ‘Do you still see—?’ The name, Doctor Marino, nearly spilled from my mouth, but I managed to swallow it back, just in time. ‘Do you still see that someone you mentioned?’

  She reached for her necklace, lifted the starfish and twirled it absent-mindedly between her fingertips. ‘Sometimes, but not really.’ She dropped the starfish and it sank back into its shallow pool.

  ‘Will you return to the sea one day?’ I whispered, half hoping the sound of the waves and the wind would carry my words far away so she wouldn’t hear them. It was the answer I feared the most.

  She turned to face me then. ‘I will have no choice. When I have gone, do not look for me,’ she replied, reaching for my hand. It seemed that just as my father’s island was drifting closer, she was drifting further away.

  We stood, silhouetted in intimacy at the end of the pier, under a darkening sky, close to everything that mattered. The horizon hinged two worlds together. It looked like the open spine of a book, its pages yet unwritten. The sea was a giant inkpot waiting to colour the quill’s nib so our story could begin. It didn’t matter that I had been warned against falling for someone with a heart of water, and even though she had been the one to warn me, I refused to listen.

  Unexpectedly, she let go of my hand and then, without warning, she dived into the sea. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what had happened, other than she had vanished under the water, but then I saw her head in the distance. I shouted her name, but she didn’t turn and then she was gone again. I shouted again, this time in panic. Not too far away, I noticed a rocky outcrop and feared she may bang her head or get caught on their jagged edges. I ran back onto the sand and raced up the beach into the grassy dunes, where I saw an old man walking his dog. As I approached, he stopped and stared at me in alarm.

  ‘My … my … she’s … the sea,’ I tried to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. He looked shocked and confused as I clung to him wildly, before letting go and stumbling off in the direction of the rocks. He called after me, but I climbed higher and higher, scraping my knee and my elbow and, as I dropped down the other side, I banged my cheek and knew there was a gash as something warm and thick began to trickle down my face.

  ‘Elver!’ Elver!’ My cries went unanswered.

  Running, staggering and falling into the water, the mocking waves pushed me back, guardians of the sea, and they wouldn’t let me reach her. Exhausted and crying, I sprawled on the sand, half-drowned. I remembered her words as we arrived. Could she really be swimming back to the city? Composing myself, I leant down and tried to wash the blood off my face. It stung and burned, but I continued until the water ran clear. Shoeless and limping, people stared at me, some in shock, most in pity, drenched and battered. I heard Elver’s words again and again in my mind: When I have gone, do not look for me. I was too distressed to see the mist dancing, twinkling and sparkling through the air. It had at last arrived, but what should have been a wonder-filled, mesmerising moment was instead filled with disillusionment and disappointment. Even if I had looked up to see the mist then, my heart felt much too heavy to leap, and I trudged home through a skitter of stones.

  Sybel winced when I returned with my face streaked with sweat, tears and the remains of dried blood. With a bowl of warm water and a cloth, she lifted my chin and began wiping my face, giving me a poultice to hold to my grazes. No questions were asked and I was grateful for that.

  A shuffle and a whimper came from the corner of the room, and I moved closer to determine what could be making such a sound. Proximity revealed a cardboard box that had been filled with straw and blankets, and tucked in the middle of the bundle was Zephyros, the oldest and mangiest of all the dogs she kept. His eyes were swollen shut and his chest rose and fell in ragged little breaths. I was reminded of the Sky-Worshipper.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I asked, bending down to pat the top of his head. It was warm, too warm, and I withdrew my hand quickly as his whimpering grew louder. I was afraid I had hurt him.

  Sybel shook her head wearily. ‘He’s too old for this world,’ she replied simply.

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘I have done all I can for now.’ With great effo
rt, she got to her feet and crossed the kitchen. She lay down beside him on the cold stone floor and rested her head on a blanket next to Zephyros’s head. Her hair stuck to his cheek, fixed there by a thin trickle of drool, which fell continuously from his twitching mouth. I went to fetch another blanket and when I returned, her eyes were closed, but I knew she wasn’t asleep because I could hear her humming the familiar sound of a lullaby. I covered her against the cold, and left the room, hoping that Zephyros would survive the night.

  CHAPTER 33

  Wake up, wake up!’ Leo was standing over my bed, tugging at the bed sheet. My first thought was for Zephyros.

  ‘What is—?’ It hurt to move my mouth, and my last word was lost in a groan.

  ‘Where have you been? Come on, it’s time.’

  Disorientated, I sat up with a whimper; everything seemed to ache. ‘Is he dead?’ I asked groggily, trying to make sense of what had brought Leo rushing into my room with such urgency and insistence that he was now shaking my arm and making the pain worse.

  He stopped abruptly and confusion spread across his face. ‘Dead? Of course not; I’ve just seen him very much alive in the square.’

  ‘Who?’ I frowned.

  ‘Your father.’

  ‘My father? Are you sure?’ I was fully awake and sitting up.

  Leo nodded, excited to finish. ‘I’ve just seen them take the Sky-Worshipper from the boat.’

  ‘Then we’re too late?’ I cried. The boat had been our only connection to finding my father and now it was gone.

  Leo shook his head and gave me a knowing look. ‘I followed them. They have a little stall in the square and I know exactly where it is.’

  I tried to smile, but smiling hurt even more than talking did, and I winced.

  Only then did Leo seem to take in my bruises, and he stepped back. ‘What happened to you?’ His voice grew quiet with concern as he continued to stare.

  Slowly, I shuffled towards the mirror, and away from his scrutiny. The gash on my face had begun to heal, and its edges were dry and crusted. I felt the weight of Leo’s eyes still upon me. ‘I’m fine.’ I said, in a tone that ended the conversation before it had even begun.