Feather by Feather and Other Stories Page 3

  “They’re my orders! I don’t have to obey them!”

  “The colony won’t listen to an Heir Keeper, Shadow. And there won’t be anyone to listen to if you die!” With that Morningshade lifted herself off the branch. “I expect to see you in your mother’s nest before dawn light, Heir Keeper,” she said, thought-voice sharp with snow and threat, as she flew off quickly.

  Stars, is she angry with me? Nightshadow stared up after her until she was hidden by the foliage. Elder Greywing’s nest was near the lower boundary of the colony. He’d move slowly. Morningshade was right; he wouldn’t do anyone any good if he fainted mid-flight and plummeted to his death like a nut. He could only afford to go slowly, even if it were to take him thrice as long to get to the Star Keeper. At least it gave him more time to think, though his thoughts were blurry and indistinct. He did desperately need rest, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the time. So he merely expended as little energy as he could, gliding or hopping as much as possible.

  When he was close enough to the Star Keeper’s nest, he called out, “Elder Greywing? Star Keeper?” and received no reply. Close up, the nest looked untouched by the storm. Thank the Stars, Nightshadow thought, even while the lack of the Keeper’s response filled him with dread. He hopped along one of the higher branches until he fount a suitable spot to jump off from, getting as close to the entrance as he could. Then he flapped his wings and aimed for the landing ledge, but since Nightshadow was too exhausted to land properly his momentum tumbled him into the nest. Unable to do anything more than collapse into an insensible heap, he did so.

  Silence. The first thing Nightshadow noticed was how quiet it was. Have I followed the Changeling? he wondered and tried to move. It hurt, so he lay still and waited for his senses to return more fully. The second thing he noticed was the big, darker shade at the far end of the nest. “Elder Greywing?” he asked, thought-voice yet blurry and mussy. He thought he’d received no answer until he managed to realise that the other peeweww was speaking. Nightshadow tried to call out again, but the images wouldn’t come. It took him a while to figure out that the other peeweww’s thought-voice was drowning his own out. As the Keeper’s words sank in, Nightshadow’s hope fluttered like a leaf out of his grasp.

  “And the Stars fled,” the Keeper was singing in his feeble voices. It was surprisingly clear. “They fled from the monsters for those were stronger than They. And when the Stars returned all Their world tasted of blood and agony, and no beautiful leaf-sea danced beneath Their light and none of Their children were waiting to greet Them. For the Starchildren had fled from the Darkness that sought to devour them. Again and again the storms raged as the Stars fled and Their children were frightened and alone. What could we do? What could they do? The Starchildren fled beneath the blood, beneath the storms, beneath the roar, to build a new home.

  “And they were together no more.”

  As the tale went on, Elder Greywing’s voice steadily grew feebler. Nightshadow knew the song well — it was one all peeweww grew up learning — but the Keeper’s sound-voice did not fit the punctuation and stress that Nightshadow had been taught, some of the images in the Star Keeper’s thought-voice were wrong, and the story wasn’t told in order. Mercifully the old peeweww sometimes repeated lines or whole verses, making it easier for Nightshadow to understand.

  “When the Changeling came, the Darkness was not far behind. The Changeling is a trickster, a shifting pattern, now and again wishing doom upon the Stars and Their children for it cannot abide Their radiance. And when the Changeling was yet small and pale like the Daystar, the Darkness and its servants came and that heralded the doom of the Age of Miracles. Teach them all to see with the Stars, Keeper. Let the Stars take poor Greywing. They took all else.” The Elder fell silent. Though possibly Nightshadow had fainted again because the next thing the peeweww knew Keeper Greywing was perching on the ledge outside the entrance. “Why won’t you take poor Greywing, Stars? My beloved Tailbeat, my Shadowstar. Poor Greywing lost his Glow, Changeling. The Darkness stole them all. Never see him grow old and strong, like his brother. Grey raised him well, Stars, taught him all he knew. Come back to him. Come back as You never did to me. Embrace him as You never embraced poor Greywing.”

  Nightshadow didn’t move, didn’t know what to do. The Star Keeper continued, “You won’t embrace me even now, will You? Greywing isn’t good enough to fly above the hallowed seas of the Changeling’s Mother. Not good enough, is he? He served You loyally! I served You faithfully! Greywing did as Greywing was told, as I thought You wanted when You were silent. He was faithful and You abandoned me! He was loyal and I wish to be with my family once more! Once more, Stars. Changeling, just once more.”

  Still, Nightshadow could not move, not even as the Elder flung himself off the ledge. He watched the Keeper’s dark shape vanish and he looked at the empty space. Then he was scrambling forward as fast as he could, struggling to get out onto the ledge, but he was too hurt and too exhausted to scramble up. All he could do was lie still, panting against the confines of the nest and sweating oil to keep from overheating. All he could do was relive what he’d just seen and heard.

  The Stars didn’t speak to Elder Greywing either. He lied. He lied? Nightshadow clung to those words, repeating them over and over in his mind, both to tease out the meaning of them and to block out the Elder’s fall. It took him altogether too long to realise that the thing trying to intrude on his private thoughts was a sound-voice until Morningshade’s thought-voice cut through his defences. Again.

  Feeling as dead as the Changeling’s absence, Nightshadow craned his neck backwards to look at the other peeweww as she landed on the ledge. Morningshade hopped down and settled herself beside him. She didn’t groom him. She didn’t wrap her tail around his. She merely sat, her warm, slick body against his. A breathing, moving body beside him as he cracked and shattered like a fallen shell.

  Blessedly quick to realise that he didn’t want to talk, Morningshade cut off her thought-voice mid-image. She’d started to say something about the Elders and he couldn’t talk. Not at that moment. He only wanted a companion. The Stars had abandoned them. No. They betrayed us. They want us dead. He’d caught the tremor in Morningshade’s thought-voice before she fell silent. If he’d read that right, few Elders, if any, would survive. He’d just seen their Star Keeper kill himself, mad with grief. He, the Heir Keeper, was unfit for the task. Is it my fault? Should I have believed more strongly? Maybe I shouldn’t have become Heir Keeper. The Stars betrayed us, Their children. Why? How? Nightshadow clacked softly, sound-voice the only way he could express and share his grief with Morningshade, the only way he could keep his fears and thoughts entirely to himself.

  “I need. To stay here,” he managed at last. “You were right. I need the rest.”

  “I’ll get you some food.” She shifted against him briefly, laying the leaf of her tail over his. “Your brother is… He’s stopped clawing at his eyes.”

  Nightshadow cried, low and plaintive. “Thank you for looking after him, Morning.”

  The peeweww squeezed his tail lightly and it no longer hurt so much when she did. Nightshadow watched her hop back out onto the ledge and felt the air stir as she flew off. His mind was too tangled and blurred for him to figure out what to do, though he tried and fought the threat of sleep. He managed to remember to move away from the entrance. The nest didn’t get much light and so close to the entrance Nightshadow would be almost invisible. He got no further than the middle of the nest. He had no desire to come nearer where Keeper Greywing had been huddling. There, he let himself fall asleep.

  When he next woke, it was late night. He had no idea how long he’d slept and there was no one around to ask. Berries and a waterbasket had been left near the entrance. Nightshadow fed himself and slept again. Sometimes Morningshade visited him and groomed him. Sometimes she fed him. When he felt stronger, she consulted with him about the colony and she kept him updated on their progress. She told Nightshadow about the
search parties they’d sent; only one forager had been found and he hadn’t survived. Nightshadow gave her directions on how to honour both the corpses and the peeweww lost to the mystery below the boundaries. They discussed the division of food and tasks. He bullied and wheedled her into letting him do more than she felt he ought to. Anything to avoid having to think about what the catastrophe meant or how he would find meaning or miracle for the colony.

  Nightshadow barely noticed when Morningshade moved into the Keeper’s nest with him; he was too busy soothing frightened peeweww whenever the wind picked up and the trees swayed. He was too busy trying to divide the labour so that all peeweww could get enough rest, too busy worrying about his brother. The fledgling’s sight still had not returned and now, more than ever, Starglow was a stone-laden basket. Nightshadow couldn’t let him go.

  Now that Morningshade would let him leave the nest briefly, every time he returned from visiting the nest in the Mother Quarter he told himself that he would keep his brother safe. I will keep them all safe. Starglow would be their miracle, their hope, a sign that the colony had not yet lost everything. He’d have to be. How do I keep them safe? Nightshadow had no idea. He still kept his thoughts to himself and spoke as little as he could, even to Morningshade. If they stayed, another storm would decimate them. If they travelled above the canopy, either the Darkness or the Stars would seek their deaths. The colony’s only option was to go still further down, deeper than even the foragers went. There was nowhere else.

  Yet Nightshadow didn’t wish to go. The colony would lose its home again and they’d lost so much already. Days passed and he tried and tried to reason himself into a different solution to no avail. Finally, he gave up. If the colony stayed or travelled above the canopy, they would forever fear that the Stars would betray them again. If they went down, they’d have a chance.

  “Morning?” he called when the other peeweww had returned from her assigned foraging trip. “Gather every healthy adult and child and tell them to meet me at the lower boundary at midnight.” Let this be the right decision, whoever may yet have mercy on us. Morningshade chittered at him and scolded him for being lazy, but she left to do as he’d asked.

  Still shielding his thoughts from the rest of the colony, Nightshadow pondered how he could convince the others to go down with him if his word as Star Keeper wasn’t enough, whether that even mattered. He fretted about Starglow. Elder Greywing would have left the fledgling behind, Nightshadow was certain of that, but the old Keeper was gone, dead. Starglow was his brother, and Nightshadow would spin a tale if anyone protested. He’d had enough practice. I will not lose another peeweww, Keeper. I’ve lost too many. If I have to tear our colony apart and build it anew, I will keep them all safe. He would not let the Stars take another, not a single one, not ever again.

  Restless, Nightshadow hopped around the nest. He still tired more easily than he’d have liked, but the exercise was welcome and it focused his mind. He could not fail in what he was about to do. It could save the colony. It would have to save the colony. As he hopped out onto the entrance ledge, he told himself that he had no choice. The cool night air was a delight on his slick-hot skin. Straining to catch some sign from the Stars, Nightshadow sat still, but there was nothing. He wasn’t surprised.

  When the Changeling came nearer to midnight, he set off for the lower boundary, praying — no, hoping — that the power of his function was yet strong enough. Starglow was present at the gathering too, clinging to Morningshade’s back and cheeping with his sound-voice. Thank you, Morning. The colony sat on branches while their thought-voices and their sound-voices created a soft cacophony of discussion. Nightshadow flew to the centre of the gathering, hovering a little above the peeweww as per tradition, and slowly a hush spread itself over everyone.

  After it had fallen quiet and stayed that way for a short while, Nightshadow said, “We must go into the groundclouds.” Nothing struck him down for blasphemy. He ignored the ripples of cheeping and clicking that went through the colony. “The Stars command it so. We are not safe here any longer. How many have we lost? How many more will we lose when another storm comes? Our Elders are dead. Our previous Star Keeper died, and much of our ways have died with them all. The Stars have forsaken us, Their children, with only this as Their last advice: go down into the groundclouds. Those of us who have survived are young and strong. We have but one fledgling: my brother. Starglow was to be Heir Keeper to me, but the Stars have blinded him. They have blinded Their favourite because They wish us to forget Them. If we stay so close to the seas of the Changeling, we cannot. We must go down and be safe.”

  Nightshadow fell silent, tasting oil in his mouth. He forced himself to stay hovering above the colony and to pay attention to their thought-voices. The peeweww were shocked, dismayed, outraged, disbelieving… But there was no disagreement as far as he could tell. Nightshadow hadn’t known what his speech was going to be, had been too scared to rehearse the images in his mind, so he was deeply grateful. If he thought that the Stars would hear him, he’d thank Them.

  He let the colony talk amongst itself until the peeweww grew restless and he was having trouble keeping aloft. “Those who have foraged most often will be our guides. Together we shall build a new colony and survive. The Darkness will not devour us. We shall not give in. We shall not give up. We are the Stars’ children and we shall shine bright as the Daystar in the night!”

  Most of the peeweww clacked in agreement with him.

  “Those who wish to stay will stay,” Nightshadow added after giving them a chance to absorb what he’d just said. “All our food is here. All our waterbaskets are here. We’ll leave tomorrow at nightfall and take what we can carry. Let us go down into the groundclouds as one.”

  Just before nightfall only a wingful of peeweww had gathered around Nightshadow and Morningshade. Starglow was clinging to his back as Nightshadow perched on the branch closest to the lower boundary. The fledgling had grown heavy, but Nightshadow had stubbornly insisted on carrying his brother himself. Morningshade had only demurred because he’d argued that she could carry more food than he. The gathered peeweww were waiting, chittering nervously and their thought-voices subdued. Is this everyone? Nightshadow wondered and his heart quivered. They waited until First Star heralded the beginning of the night.

  Slowly, more and more peeweww glided down, carrying baskets filled with food or water. Nightshadow didn’t dare count their numbers, but they perched on branched and they too waited nervously. The chorus of sound-voices and thought-voices waxing noticeably, the gathered peeweww waited until the Changeling peeked out from behind a cloud. It was as long as Nightshadow dared wait, as long as he’d needed to gather up his courage. His heart hammered in his chest like a pecker-wing on a tree. Let this be the right decision. I will keep them safe.

  “Let us go,” he said and plunged into the unknown, praying with all his being that they would find safety there.

  Descriptions are my bane. Truly they are. I’m not a visually oriented reader or writer. Of course I would one day end up with a set of characters that are visually dominant and that look nothing at all like humans.

  I do love the peeweww, though. They’re tough to write and get right, but I love how much I learn from writing them. If you’re a writer and you’re struggling with an aspect of the craft, I highly recommend creating a story that completely relies on that aspect!

  Peeweww have… an unfortunate name if you try to pronounce it — sorry! — but it’s based on the sound of dolphins communicating. This is the first in a projected set of about five connected stand-alone pieces.

  “Here.” Beth offered her sister the bowl of chocolate mousse. It was the expensive kind she couldn’t often afford. It’d been a present to herself for getting a good grade on that lousy linguistics essay. However, Hazel was in dire need of cheering up and mousse was all Beth had. Her sister was drooping over the sofa, doing nothing in particular.

  “Thanks.” Hazel didn’t move to take the foo
d, though. Beth dumped the bowl onto her sister’s lap anyway.

  “You’ve got to eat.” And she probably hadn’t, knowing Hazel.

  “It’s your food.”

  “Yes, and I choose to give it to you, silly.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Beth snorted. “We both know it’s your favourite. I’ll get another spoon?”

  “Do that.”

  So Beth did. She went and fetched another spoon from the kitchen, taking her bag off the counter top and dumping it in its designated spot while she was at it. Then she settled on the couch beside her sister again and dug into the mousse. Hazel still ate only a little, but at least she was eating at all. “Want to talk about it?” Beth asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Okay. Just offering.”

  “Thanks.”

  They ate the mousse in silence and when they were done Beth moved the empty bowl and the spoons onto the coffee table as Hazel sighed. Knowing her sister, Beth didn’t respond and merely settled back against the cushions.

  After a while, Hazel said, “I failed.”

  Beth was silent.

  “The maths test. I failed it. I did so well preparing for it. You saw that! You helped me.”

  Beth had. She’d tutored her sister in the subject until Hazel could do the sums blindfolded and backwards. Beth had taught Hazel how the sums were made. She knew her sister understood the theory behind the questions. She’d spent hours ensuring that. She’d spent even longer on those sums she knew would return again and again. Surely, if Hazel could learn those, she should at least be able to pass the stupid class, and her sister had made those sums near-flawlessly. They’d both been confident that Hazel wouldn’t just pass, but do well at it. It didn’t make sense. “I’m sorry, hun. You worked so hard.”

  Hazel snuggled against her and so Beth put her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “I want to make an appointment with the teacher to discuss what happened. Will you come?”