The Stillness of the Sky: A Flipped Fairy Tale (Flipped Fairy Tales)

by Starla Huchton

  Smiling softly, I perched on the edge of the giant nest, considering what to play for the six beautiful eggs before me. “What shall it be then?”

  “Tell them…” Ro paused, his head cocked to one side as he thought. “Tell them about the kindness in the world. Perhaps they’ve only been waiting to hear good news.”

  “Silly thing,” I said to him, “I’ve never gone a day without doing as much. You think I’d do any differently now?”

  “You once sang a song that broke my heart, Lady.”

  I considered it, nodding. “True, but there is as much of that in life as anything else.” I strummed a light chord, ready to begin. “But I’ll promise them it will be worth it. Even with pain, there always comes peace. It’s up to us which we hold on to.”

  As the soft strains of the lute drifted out into the night, my thoughts circled around what I’d said. True, there were years of time I wish I could forget, but, without them, I’d not be who I’d become, and, for whatever that was, I was happy and grateful. Life is a strange and twisting journey, but, if we decide to take a chance on the impossible things, not even the sky can limit us.

  A Note From the Author

  The following is a bonus short story. There were certain elements to this tale that I couldn’t tell within the confines of Jack’s story, and my earliest readers all expressed a desire to hear about one character in particular.

  Ro struck a chord with people, and they were very curious about where he came from and how he came to be the way he was before meeting Jack. As a special gift to you, I invite you to take a look at Upon Broken Wings, and get to know a little more about the background from which The Stillness of the Sky springs. It’s another note in this ever-expanding fairy tale world, and I hope it adds that much more richness to Jack’s story.

  Upon Broken Wings

  I was born of magic.

  My kind are not many, but we are strong. Our power comes from what brings us into the world. Without it, we are lost creatures. What takes it from us is what steals the same from others: loss, betrayal, fear.

  I have known all of these things, but still I remain.

  It is great love that brings my kind to life. We burst from our shells singing, radiant with a hope I thought was endless. I knew that hope with every speck of myself. I thought, with such surety, nothing could take it from me, as, without it, I would simply cease to be.

  It was the combined song of my parents that brought me forth. The love and devotion they felt became one melody, one thought, one powerful spell that pulled me from my egg. My voice joined with theirs, and together, we sang our affirmations of the wonders in life until the moon rose to shine its full light upon us. My feathers held the illumination, keeping it long after the sunrise and sunset of that day. It stayed with me for years, never failing in all my travels across the wide sea and vast lands I saw below me.

  I was warned to stay away from other creatures, as there were many who coveted my dazzling plumage. It was strange to me that others would have use for my feathers, as they were only of use when together, guiding me through the air. Perhaps someday a few would go to use in a nest of my own, but I knew of nothing else important that would cause others to harm me to take them.

  It was with that discarded warning that I found the youngling. She danced and played in a field as I flew high overhead, and her laughter intrigued me. I’d never heard such a delightful sound as the one she made that afternoon. It made my heart happy.

  I circled high above, watching her progress, but in the distance, a worry approached. The field ended at a sharp cliff, and the little one showed no sign of slowing for the danger. Despite what I’d been told, I lingered and called out a warning. She did not stop.

  When she tumbled over the edge, I dove, reaching for her as her tiny arms flailed through the air. Without wings to fly, it would have been the rocks below that caught her, rather than my talons. She looked up at me with such wonder and gratitude as I returned her to the field, that I couldn’t see how such a creature was to be avoided. There was naught but love in her embrace as she thanked me.

  I saw her many times after that, spending years of spring afternoons in that field as she danced. Her form changed and grew, but her spirit remained the same. Ever loving, ever gentle, Tora confided her deepest secrets in me. I understood her words, but she never knew mine. It mattered little, however. We two were content to be who we were without speaking at all.

  Ten springs passed before I found another who captivated me as she did. One of my own kind, Rin, crossed my path as I crested the great mountains that summer. It was her eyes that caught me off guard; they held the same unfettered joy I knew in my heart. Our spirits joined in a dance, and we pledged ourselves to be as one forever. Rin became my world. We flew over every corner of the land and beyond, weathering storm and strife, hunger and hardship through the winter. We sought shelter together, building a nest in an empty tower far beyond the prying eyes of any other souls. Even in snow, we were warm with only us two.

  Spring came again, and I thought to see Tora, if only to tell her my glorious news. A clutch of eggs arrived with the warmer weather, and I thought my friend would like to know them. It was but an hour’s flight to the field, and I wished her to know my life as I had known hers.

  “You’ve come!” Tora cried as I set down in the long grass. “I’m so very glad. I have something wonderful to tell you, and I hoped you’d be here.”

  I listened patiently. There was still much about her that was like a child.

  “I’m to be married this month!” she said, twirling in happiness. “A young lord came to town not long ago, and he’s sought my hand since the moment we met. I’m so very happy, my friend.”

  I spread my wings, fluttering my feathers in shared excitement.

  “And what of you? Have you finally found a pretty lady of your own?”

  I jumped, happy she guessed at my news.

  She clapped her hands gleefully. “That’s wonderful! There’ll be eggs to hatch soon, I imagine. Oh, but I wish I could see them. Your children are certain to be wondrous miracles.”

  I tilted my head, considering her. I’d watched her grow for so many years, I knew her heart well. Rin would gladly welcome her to see, if we didn’t linger very long.

  Crouching low to the ground, I offered her my back. At first hesitant, Tora eventually accepted my invitation. When her weight settled, I rose into the air, carrying us east to the tower.

  Rin was less than pleased, but she accepted Tora quickly enough. My friend gazed at the six eggs in wide-eyed wonder, never daring to touch their creamy pearl shells.

  She turned to me, face wet with tears. “Thank you for showing me this, my friend. I will never forget this moment so long as I live.”

  She clung to me the entire flight back, and part of me was sad. Our pairings would surely mean our spring adventures had come to an end. Our young lives were complete, our next journeys without one another.

  As I set down in the field, I heard her sad sigh. She was as much affected as I about our farewell.

  “I’m not ready to say goodbye,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Will I see you again?”

  I shifted from foot to foot, unsure of how much I could promise.

  “I would like for you to meet Brig. If I bring him here tomorrow, would you come? He thinks my stories of you are silly daydreams, and I can’t have my future husband thinking me a half-wit.”

  Cocking my head, I considered it. Surely the one who’d earned Tora’s heart was deserving of it. As her friend, I felt I should know this man, to know who would now keep her safe above all others. I bobbed my head and crowed my answer.

  Rin wasn’t happy about the promise I made when I spoke of it, but she agreed to come with me the next day. The eggs still needed time before they’d be ready to meet the world, and they were perfectly safe in our nest.

  In the field below, I caught sight of Tora, a broad young man sitting with her on a blanket, and dove fo
r a landing. As I called out to them, the man jumped to his feet. Seeing me approach, he yelled for Tora to run and pulled a bright, sharpened sword from his belt. Rin, knowing the danger, flew at the man, talons reaching for the weapon. At the last moment, the blade cut through the air.

  Rin’s scream tore through me as though I was the one to fall.

  Tora threw herself at the man howling for him to stop, but his fear propelled him. He lunged at Rin’s wounded form, silencing her cries with a final, deathly blow.

  “What have you done? What have you done?” Tora wailed as I hovered, disbelief holding me in the air.

  My Rin.

  My love.

  Our children.

  All of them gone.

  Sword still raised, the man backed away, pulling the sobbing Tora along with him. I circled once after they’d gone, and landed beside the broken body of the one who held my heart.

  Sorrow filled my soul and I lifted my head to the sky. The song of mourning exploded from my throat, my heart’s agony filling the air with a deafening melody. I felt every piece of hope within me drifting away with the sound, taking light and color from my world. No more would the glow of love and joy illumine my life. I was nothing. I was broken.

  Afternoon turned to evening, and, as the moon rose, so did I. I lifted into the sky, circling as I sang the final notes of my song for Rin.

  I would never sing again.

  It was useless, but I stayed with the eggs for the passing of summer and fall. When winter came with no sign of their hatching, what tiny possibility I held onto faded away at the turning of the year. I could not sing of love and hope to wake my children. Those things were lost to me.

  And so, I wandered.

  Lands were all the same beneath my blackened wings. No matter if it was green pastures, frosted mountains, or burning sands, all trembled at the sight of my shadow. Everywhere I went I met with sharpened steel and rocks, and I wondered how I could ever have seen kindness in humanity.

  Rin’s ghost followed me to every corner of the world. I was never alone no matter how much I wished it.

  For eight winters I wandered, always returning to see if my children could be swayed, but they never stirred. The eggs remained motionless, timeless, and I kept my vigil until it pained me too much to stay.

  It was during that eighth winter when I saw the flowers. Their color was a startling pink, too brilliant a bloom for the dark forest, and their presence at the window of the tower sat ill with me. When they burst into seed, I glared hatefully at them, detesting their ability to continue spreading life in the world when that had been ripped from me. I beat my wings and screamed at them, scattering them back through the window into the darkness of the forest. My only wish was to know my children. I’d see that plant suffer my fate with me.

  The seeds took flight with the tinkle of tiny chimes, which I answered with a hiss. Perhaps the lesser beasts of the forest would gobble them up. Angry, I left the nest, needing to once again forget the pain of the silent tower.

  Many more moons I wandered, and I found new places I’d never seen before. In testing how high I could fly before the wind left me, I discovered a strange castle above the clouds. I stayed, as a giant thought me a curiosity and offered me shelter, but I cared nothing for her human companion and my visits were short, even though her garden was bountiful. She called me by my true name, though how she learned it from my words I couldn’t have said, and she never explained.

  The mountains revealed a new place for me as well. Caught in a sudden gale, I found myself forced through a tunnel of stone, pushed until I came to a wide, hollow cavern. There dwelt a tree the likes of which I’d never seen. It knew my voice from the start, and there was a strange comfort in its presence. It told me I would find what I needed, but the words of trees carried no weight with me. They mostly spoke of insects and leaves and were useful for hearing of oncoming storms, but the great white tree spoke of other things in life, so I came and went often. It intrigued me when little else did.

  It was after one of these visits that I came across the strangest thing. As I left the stone tunnel, I spied a carriage on a mountain road. While that alone was unremarkable, that it was pulled by unrestrained horses piqued my curiosity. Humans would always sit atop those wheeled boxes with harsh whips, yanking on ropes tied to the horses’ mouths, but there was none of that with this carriage. As I circled, the animals seemed quite content to do the work of their own will.

  As one who had no great love for humanity, I wondered why these creatures would behave this way, and so I followed them out of the mountains, keeping my distance as they moved into the flatter land of the countryside. For four days I stayed with them, the stops they made revealing only three human figures leaving from the carriage, though nothing seemed unusual about them. The fifth day, I decided to look a little closer.

  The carriage was stopped along the road, an hour or two shy of midday, when I set down in a clearing not far away. Listening intently, I located their voices quickly.

  “Really, Belinda, we haven’t the time to stop whenever you’ve heard something that upsets you,” one of them said. “I know you worry for the animals here, but if we’re to see about brokering peace, we must meet up with the royal envoy in Breen.”

  There was a hiss to silence the one who spoke. “Hush, sister. You may be the elder, but I am not a duckling to be herded now. This is important. They need our help.”

  “Oh, let her go, Adelaide. We’re plenty ahead of schedule. Clarice tells me this might be a waste of time, anyway. With what the ashes spoke of last night, I’m inclined to agree with her.”

  “Very well,” the first said with a sigh. “Which way then?”

  “The animals I heard are that way. We must help them. They fear for their lives.”

  Humans helping animals? It was a strange thing indeed to overhear. Curious, I took to the sky again to see where they’d gone.

  A large pine provided me a perch with which to see them. The three women walked along a deer path, heading for an open space beside a stream. There, two thin cows tugged listlessly at their ropes, a human sleeping beside a rock nearby. That one smelled of blood, but it was her own rather than from another. Even from that distance I could see the marks of abuse on her face. For the first time in years, the slightest pang of sympathy resonated within me. My scars echoed the discolorations on her cheek. I knew it for what it was.

  “Oh, the poor things,” one of the women whispered as she reached the cows. “They deserve so much better than what this—” She stopped, looking at the sleeping figure. “Ah, she’s not the one to blame. She does what she can for them.”

  “Look at her, Belinda,” the second said. “We can’t steal them. I doubt she has much else to her name.”

  “Then we’ll leave her something better. She was on her way to market, if the cows’ suspicions are true.”

  “We don’t have extra money to buy cows,” the third said. “We’ve only enough for food and lodging on this trip. You know the treasury’s been dedicated to rebuilding Bern.”

  The first laid her hands on the cows, stroking their necks with more care than I’d ever seen a human give to another creature. “Isn’t there something we can leave in trade? These two have worked so hard, but they won’t leave her if we try to steal them.”

  The eldest sighed and removed a pouch from her belt. “Empty that little pouch of yours with the feathers in it. I can’t spare any of mine.”

  “My feathers? But I don’t want to leave them—”

  “If you want to help the cows, I need the pouch.”

  “I’ve a spare pocket,” the second said. “I’ll hold them until you find another.”

  I watched as the eldest of the three placed three small seeds from her large pouch into the smaller.

  “One for each of the cows, one for the inconvenience,” she said.

  “But Lucinda said never more than—”

  “I know what Lucinda said, Delphine, but I think s
he’ll be selling them, not planting them. It’ll be fine.”

  “Adelaide, what are we going to do with them?” the second asked. “We can’t take them with us.”

  The three women sank into silence, thinking.

  “Would you help us, friend?”

  I squawked, suddenly realizing the woman at the cows was looking directly at me.

  “You needn’t be afraid of us,” she said. “I’ve seen you with us since the mountains. Why not come speak with me a moment?”

  “I do not help humans,” I called down to her.

  “I see very well why, but I promise you it’s safe.”

  Stunned, I stared at her. That woman knew my words?

  “Wait a moment and I’ll come to you,” she said, adjusting her cloak.

  As I moved to fly away, the woman spun, her shape expanding and shifting as she turned from human into bird. She rose into the sky, hovering before me as a reflection in a still lake.

  “You see then? I’m a friend,” she said. “I’ve a mind to save those creatures down there, but I’ll need your help to do it. Can you carry one of them?”

  I looked at the cows and considered it. I didn’t generally carry such heavy things, but the cows were on the small side, and underfed by the look of it.

  “I believe so, but—”

  “You’ll feel better for the good deed done, trust me,” she said. “There’s a farm not three miles back that had very happy animals. It isn’t all that far.”

  “Why should I do this for you?”

  When she laughed, it reminded me a little of my lost Rin, cracking my resolve. “It isn’t for me, silly thing. It’s for the cows.”

  Confused beyond belief, I relented, unable to give her a valid reason why I shouldn’t. Following her lead, we swooped down to carry the cows off. I strained under the extra weight, but the pasture the bird woman spoke of was fairly close, as she’d said. The two animals amongst fatter, happier friends, we lit off once more, heading back towards her carriage.