Feathertide Read online

  CHAPTER 35

  The next morning, Sybel was gone and Zephyros’s box lay empty. The blankets were unnaturally cold as I carefully folded them away in a cupboard. They still smelled of him: straw and earth and leaves. I knew she had gone to request a blessing from the church; she had spoken of it over the last few days. I wasn’t sure she believed in God, but she believed in ritual. Even the dogs seemed sad as I went outside to harness them for their walk. They snuffled forlornly round their pen trying to pick up the scent of their absent friend, but not finding it, they twitched their muzzles in the air, trying to find a trace of their friend carried on the wind. Wishing I could explain it to them, I slung the collars round their necks and checked them more carefully than before, Sybel couldn’t take another loss. It was clear that the harness was now too big and one of the collars dangled from it, limp and empty, trailing on the ground like an injured limb. The sight of it brought tears to my eyes, and I blinked them away. I pushed open the gate and went to meet Leo’s boat.

  ‘What do you think of my father?’ I asked, as we approached the square.

  ‘Fascinating,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘The way he moves, the way he speaks … I can’t believe he actually learned to talk. The way he watches everything all the time. It’s amazing – he really is just like a bird!’

  ‘And what do you think he thinks about me?’ My voice grew quieter, less certain.

  ‘Well, it must have been a shock for him yesterday, but the way he looked at you, so inquisitive and eager and wanting to know more … finding you has made him very happy.’

  I nodded. ‘Thank you – for helping me.’

  He smiled and the pleasure was captured on his face.

  I glanced sidelong at him as we walked. His dark hair and knowing eyes always deep in unspoken thought and a mouth that was always poised to ask a question, but rarely did, for he already had more answers than most. My eyes travelled from his face down to his hands – strong and smooth – and I had an overwhelming desire to hold one in my own, but I didn’t, and instead I looked away.

  It was then I saw her; she was crossing the Bridge of Illusion, too far away to hear me call her name. She was wearing a blue dress, which floated around her like water and her hair, as always, hung long and loose. At one point I thought I’d lost her, but she had just knelt down to tickle a cat under its chin. Under her arm she held a package, small and rectangular in shape, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

  Time ticked on and the bell chimed across the square. She straightened and for a moment or two she seemed uncertain which way to go or perhaps she was looking for someone. Then I saw him. Standing at the foot of the bridge, waiting for her, was Doctor Marino. She hurried then and they embraced before she handed him the package. Elver looked happy, her head lifted upwards, laughing at something he was saying. I tried to tell myself that it was just the same as when me and Leo spent time together, only it wasn’t the same at all. We had never lain together in the dark or fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms; everything between us was almost, just a possibility. Past decisions hadn’t been made with him in mind. Nothing had been sacrificed. They walked away from the Bridge of Illusion, until they were lost in the crowds. I felt my stomach tighten in a knot of anger and frustration. How easily the innocent woman in a fairy tale could be cursed by the wicked witch of jealousy.

  ‘Come on!’ shouted Leo, more impatient than annoyed.

  ‘Sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew,’ I replied.

  My father was relieved to see me and I could hear the now familiar happy clacking of his shoulder blades. He joined us to walk the dogs, and we set off taking the longer route, leaving the sights and the sounds of the people far behind. We ambled along the eastern side of the park, until we found a patch of grass warmed by the sun and sat down near an abundance of flowers. My father, preferring to stand, rested his back against the trunk of a shady tree, its leaves a-quiver with birds. Several fluttered down and landed on the path, but the dogs lifted their noses and barked them back into the air. The park was a peaceful place and where else would a bird go in a city? I wondered how he had learned to speak and knew there was more of the story.

  He told me that the day after Lemàn had left the City of Murmurs, he too had to return to his island, but he made a promise not to give up his search. He waited patiently and a little over a year later, the mist swept the island back to the city and this time, as well as selling jars of mist, he went in search of a boat. When he saw the Boat of Floating Freaks and Oddities, he had the answer, but the boat was already sailing out to distant shores, its outline soon became nothing more than a small dot on the horizon. As always, he was too late.

  During one visit, Professor Bottelli had approached him at the stall, fascinated to learn more about the tribe. Reluctant at first, he soon realised the value of the encounter and saw it as an opportunity. In exchange for giving Professor Bottelli a rare glimpse of life inside the Ornis Tribe, he would be taught the language of the woman he was trying to find. The agreement was made.

  The next time the island returned, he was fortunate enough to find the boat ready and waiting, and by then he had learned enough of the language to strike a deal. He wanted to be the one to find her, but he was too old even then, and he knew he wouldn’t survive long without the mist in his bones. After much persuasion it was decided that one of the younger members of the Ornis Tribe would join the circus show, on the condition that he was permitted to search each place for Lemàn.

  ‘This member of our tribe is known as the risk-taker,’ said my father. ‘Before it leaves, we stock the boat with jars of mist for release below deck.’

  ‘But what if the mist runs out?’ I asked.

  ‘All risk-takers are fighters; that’s why they are chosen. Each time, we select a different risk-taker, but always someone who is young and strong. Someone who will survive.’

  ‘And this time? Is the risk-taker okay?’

  ‘He is weak, but he should recover soon with the fresh mist we’ve brought.’

  ‘Why would they do that for you?’ asked Leo, astonished at the bravery.

  ‘It is a way for them to prove their worth. They are honoured after that.’

  ‘Like a rite of passage?’

  My father nodded.

  ‘And what if the boat arrived and the island wasn’t there?’ I queried.

  ‘The birds are our messengers. We always know how to find each other and we can sometimes steer the island to a way of our choosing, if the mist is willing. It is always the mist that must choose the way.’

  ‘It sounds like an enormous risk,’ said Leo.

  ‘Yes.’ He looked up into the leaves, once again seeking the solace of birds. ‘But the bigger risk was never finding you.’

  If only I had known all those years ago, when I had lifted the flap of the circus tent to uncover a world of spectacle and curiosity just how close I had been to solving the mystery. The shape of the wing I had seen pass over my head hadn’t been imagined and it wasn’t just a shadow. Lemàn had spent years dragging me away from the one thing that could have brought us the happy ending we so desperately wanted. A sacrifice made without realising what was being lost. The thought struck me then with such heart-breaking clarity that I struggled to control my tears and before I could stop them, they came rolling down my cheeks. I was crying for every missed opportunity, for every lost chance, and for knowing now how close we had been. If only Lemàn had known what was waiting for her inside that circus tent. It would have brought my father back to her years ago, and I would have known him as a child and he would have been able to love me for a little bit longer. There is such cruelty in fear; yet all this time, she thought she was keeping me safe.

  At first, he seemed startled and afraid of my tears, but then I felt his warmth fold over me and he rocked me under the protection of his giant feathers. I couldn’t bear to tell him how we’d run from the boat and the happiness it could have brought us all, so I kept my
thoughts to myself.

  Slowly, we walked back along the lagoon, where my father sank to his knees and drank from the water in great gargling gulps. Like Elver, he seemed more content here, as though he could stretch out and reach all the way to the sky. His feathers sponged by the rain-damp clouds. He was reluctant to leave the open space and go back into the closed streets of the city, like it was a snare and he withdrew into himself, and the awkwardness of his gait returned.

  As we circled back to the market, the dogs started to pull and tug wildly on their harness. They had caught the familiar scent of home.

  ‘Eddero, when do you leave?’ Leo’s question brought a sudden sharp stab of despair, and I realised I hadn’t been thinking about his departure.

  ‘In two days.’

  ‘Two days?’ I exclaimed. ‘But that gives us no time. Can you stay – just a little bit longer?’

  He shook his head, and I could see how torn he was.

  ‘Just one more day or even just a few hours,’ I pleaded.

  ‘He must leave with the mist,’ Leo reminded me gently. He sounded just as disappointed as I did. ‘There are only five days at most when the island floats close enough to the city; after that it disappears back into its swirls of mist and cloud. If he doesn’t go then he will be trapped here.’

  Tenderly, he wrapped his long feathery arms around me and we both clung on to each other, and even though we were holding on, this was really us beginning to let go. When we finally broke away, I realised Leo held the dogs at a distance, giving us some space until we were ready to move apart.

  The sun hung low in the sky taking a soothing dip in the water, and the hours took on a different shine, each one as bright and precious as a gem stone.

  ‘We must go to the old market now before it closes,’ said my father gravely. ‘There is something I must do.’

  CHAPTER 36

  Even before we turned the corner, I knew what was there to greet us because I could hear them. A cacophony. Loud and shrill and deafening. A fluttering of wings. My father stopped. It was the heart-breaking sound of caged birds. The street was enclosed under a long arch, more tunnel than street, and the only light came from the other end. It pulsed with a hundred tiny desperate heartbeats. He began tweeting wildly and gesticulating, his shoulders jerked everywhere in anguish, their clacking sound grew more furious and insistent, like a multitude of cicadas in the long grass.

  Along one side of the wall hung cage after cage, crammed with birds. Other cages balanced precariously one on top of another, ready to crash to the ground. Birds flittered from one side to the other, clinging to the wire mesh that separated them from their freedom. Wings bashed and broken, hanging limp in their futile attempts to escape. Some had barely any feathers left, plucked from boredom or distress, plumage left in tatters and shreds at the bottom of cages, as though they wanted to unpick themselves from their misery. Their suffering was clear and painful. Some of the birds sat silent and still. All hope was lost.

  ‘Birds should fill the sky, not cages,’ he said, and I knew he had something on his mind, his eyes illuminated by an idea.

  The burly bird merchants were deeply embroiled in conversation with their backs turned from our mission. They hadn’t noticed us with their birds – yet. Carefully, my father crept into the tunnel and unhooked the catch on the first cage; the bird watched him in that curious way birds have. It didn’t move, not understanding it was on the edge of freedom. Then he softly warbled and cooed and the bird immediately hopped down from its perch and onto the door, which swung wide, taking the bird with it. It was large and dark and its forgotten wings lay close against its body, like crumpled black silk. Cautiously it stretched itself out and then without warning it launched itself from the door towards the open archway and out to forgotten freedom. A swooshing sound made the merchants turn in surprise just as the escapee flew high over their heads. Cries of alarm carried through the street just as they realised what was happening, but he was already halfway through the tunnel, opening cage after cage after cage.

  ‘Come on!’ Leo hurried off back into the market, believing I was right behind him. Instead I was right behind my father helping him to open as many cages as we could, before the merchants could stop us. The more we opened, the more birds filled the tunnel and flew in the direction of the light. The merchants were cowering in the entrance, arms held aloft to protect them from swooping talons that came from all directions, blinded by a storm of feathers. I heard their cries and yells as we worked quickly, until all the doors were open and all of the birds were finally free. Those too weak to fly hopped away. Then we ran through the tunnel and out the other side into the sunlight. You couldn’t tell where we began and the birds ended, but as soon as the sky appeared above us, the birds lifted themselves, no longer weighted nor caged, no longer held captive in the dark airless tunnel. People in the streets turned to watch, as though the release of so many birds was some sort of celebration or local ceremony, and children pointed and laughed as they watched them soar in a chatter of freedom. An old lady dressed in black saw it as an omen of doom, and crossed herself three times in prayer before hurrying past, not daring to look back.

  Leo, who had been watching the spectacle from a safe distance, found us flushed and exhilarated, collapsed on some stone steps around the corner.

  ‘That was madness.’ He looked serious, but there was laughter in his voice.

  ‘There was no convincing him otherwise,’ I said. ‘I suppose he wants to protect his own; it’s not in his nature to abandon them.’ I knew just what kind of heart he had after that.

  ‘I think we need to get as far away from here as possible, before those merchants come looking for us,’ warned Leo. ‘We’ve just lost them their livelihood, and they will not be pleased.’

  ‘Well, they shouldn’t live off the suffering of others,’ I said, getting to my feet with sudden defensive defiance.

  As my father rose, he gave a sudden squawk of pain and reached for a railing to steady himself. It was then I noticed his feet: cut and bruised and bleeding into the stone.

  ‘We need to get him to a doctor,’ I said alarmed. The cuts ran too deep.

  He shook his head stubbornly. ‘I need to get back to the stall.’

  ‘Help me with him,’ I said, trying to support him on one side.

  Leo lifted him from the other. His arms wrapped over our shoulders, warm and thick with giant fiery feathers. I could feel the flapping of his heart, much quicker than my own, as we hobbled together through the city. My father suddenly grew alert to something we couldn’t yet sense, but as we crossed to the stall with the jars of mist, we could hear the shrill squabbling sounds of alarm thickening the air.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked Leo, hoping he had been able to translate something from the chaos.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  Forgetting his pain, my father flew across the square, where slumped against the stone wall was the risk-taker. I recognised him at once from the Boat of Floating Freaks and Oddities. His eyes, like those of a newborn bird, were swollen shut; they looked like copper coins bulging from purple pouches. I thought he was dead, but then he gulped the air. His tongue, like a dying fish in the tiny dark puddle of his mouth. Strewn all around him on the ground lay his feathers; he had lost them all, leaving his skin puckered and bare.

  My father was on his knees; his own feathers had lifted and sharpened like long slicing blades and I felt my own prickle in fear. His fast, profuse octaves pierced the air and they all crowded round, in a frantic flutter and a noisy stir, not knowing quite what to do. There was a mad flurry of feathers then, as they began unscrewing the lids off the jars and shaking the mist over him in the hope of revival. They smoothed it over his limbs and tilted his head back to pour it into his mouth, but he was limp and unresponsive and his eyes stayed shut.

  ‘We need to get the mist into his bones, into his blood,’ said my father, moving swiftly to support his head. ‘He is dying.’ He looked at me ple
adingly, as though I held the answer.

  ‘Could Sybel help?’ suggested Leo.

  Sybel was too lost in mourning, and we needed something fast – a specialist, a surgeon. ‘Come with me,’ I said. ‘And bring all of the mist you have left.’

  This time, I had a genuine reason to appear at Doctor Marino’s door. My father was old, but determined and, despite his bleeding feet, he summoned the strength to stumble through the city, carrying the risk-taker across his shoulders. Doctor Marino was at the top of his steps rummaging around in his pocket for his keys. I darted across the square and almost collided with him as he turned to leave.

  ‘Please!’ I said breathlessly. ‘Please – wait.’ I swallowed a huge lungful of air and by the time I had recovered enough to speak, Leo was already by my side explaining it all.

  Seconds later we were all inside and awaiting the verdict. It didn’t come right away; Doctor Marino was examining him in a side room and I could hear the movement of implements, and the clatter of metal, but my view was obscured by a half-shut door. My father was the only one permitted to enter and was explaining what needed to be done. He emerged looking drawn and broken like a wreckage recovered from the depths of the ocean. Taking several jars of mist, he retreated back into the room, leaving behind him a bloody trail of jointed footprints, more bird than human. Just before the door, the prints turned into one long smear as though he could no longer lift his feet and had to shuffle and drag himself along. All we could do then was wait.