Feathers

by Rose Mannering

“What’s her name?” he asked.

  Soft Rain glanced up at him, and for the first time there was something close to resentment in her eyes.

  “Winter’s Dawn,” she muttered, and then turned away.

  Ode craned his neck to catch another glimpse of Winter’s Dawn, but Cala took his arm.

  “It is time for us to leave,” she said.

  She led Ode back through the snow and all the while he glanced over his shoulder, trying to watch Soft Rain and Winter’s Dawn in the distance.

  “Did you see how I held the baby?” he babbled. “I’ve never held one before, but it lay so quietly in my hands! The first person it saw was me.”

  Cala shook her head, but she could not help the smile that tugged at her lips.

  “You barely helped me at all in that birth,” she chided. “You were awkward and nervous.”

  “But I’d never done it before!”

  “Well, you shall be doing it often from now on, so you best get better at it.”

  Later that day, the Taone held a celebration to welcome Winter’s Dawn into the realm. Gray Morning ordered more logs be put on the fire and the drums were brought out from the store. Everyone gathered at the center of the settlement and they began to chant and sway.

  “Hya–Hya–Hya!”

  The women stood to dance, beating the heels of their snow boots into the ground and waving their fingers to mimic the spirits of the winds. Then the men joined them, forming an outer ring and punching and kicking the air to reenact the hunt. Like the other young boys, Ode created a smaller ring opposite the young girls and they wove between one another like the spirits of the rivers.

  “Ya–Ha–Ha!” they cried.

  The blue smoke from the fire whirled all around them and the beating of the drums grew faster. They danced and danced until they no longer felt the cold, and then Gray Morning held up his hands and everyone fell still.

  Dressed in all her furs, Cala walked through the Taone to the fire. She had not been dancing like the others, but Ode had noticed her watching from the open mouth of her tent. When she reached the fire’s edge, she bent and dug through the snow to take a fistful of frozen earth. She threw it into the flames and watched the flickering light spit.

  Soft Rain stood nearby with the bundle in her arms and her partner by her side. Clinging to her knees was her son, a quiet, small boy called Silver Sky. As a family they waited to hear the fate of their new member.

  “A gentle child,” said Cala eventually, and both parents smiled.

  Ode thought that a pretty weak destiny, but he had once asked Cala what happened when she saw bad things in the fire and she had replied that she simply tried to make the best of it. He hoped this was not the case for little Winter’s Dawn. He felt a certain responsibility for her life, as if he had brought her into the realm single-handedly. He was desperate to see her once more and when the celebration drew to an end, he approached the family.

  There was already a buzzing crowd around the bundle, but when Soft Rain saw him coming, she quickly turned away. Frowning, Ode tried to sidle up to her again, but still she turned away.

  “How was the birth?” asked a female elder with skin in great folds around her chin.

  “Quick,” replied Soft Rain. “I was collecting kindling in the forest alone, and the child came while I watched the golden dawn.”

  The elder nodded her praise.

  “A proper birth,” she said.

  Ode stood with his mouth hanging open long after the tribesmen and tribeswomen had moved away. For the first time in his life, he felt real anger.

  “What troubles you, little man?” said Cala in her familiar, clipped accent. Ode could just see the edge of her furs from the corner of his eye since frustrated tears blurred his vision.

  “She lied,” he said. “She said that she gave birth alone!”

  “Yes, you will have to get used to that.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Teaching of Magic

  As a birther, Ode established his place in the Taone. There were no rewards and the work was often difficult, but as the seasons passed, he found peace in it. He had only to see the desperate eyes of a mother-to-be to know how much she needed a birther, regardless of what she would claim afterward. That is not to say that the desire to be like everyone else did not strike Ode so hard sometimes that it hurt. Blue Moon’s tales of rough and tumble with the other boys of the tribe made Ode look down at his skinny chest and sigh.

  “Hi-Hi-Hi, brother,” Blue Moon said one evening, jumping out from behind a tent to surprise him.

  It was late autumn and the flatlands were bare and dusty. The Taone had finished their communal meal and many were lying around the fire, dozing and warming themselves after a long day of traveling.

  “Greetings, little brother,” said Ode, catching Blue Moon’s head under his arm and messing up his hair.

  Blue Moon pushed him off with a shout.

  “So, what’ve you been doing?” he asked when he had freed himself.

  Ode shrugged. He had spent the evening whispering with Cala in a tribeswoman’s tent. She had miscarried her baby that afternoon and such things would bring shame on her if the rest of the tribe were to know. Ode had held the tribeswoman’s hand as she sobbed, consoling her and knowing that in the morning, if they passed each other, she would look the other way without a second thought.

  “Come on, brother,” said Blue Moon, pinching Ode’s stomach. “Where have you been? Hanging around Rippling River? You know, I’ve noticed recently that wherever she is, you’re not far away….”

  Ode’s cheeks burned. “No!” he snapped.

  His little brother grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Of the two of them, Blue Moon looked more like Gray Morning, with his square jaw and dark hair. He was unusually big for his age and almost as tall as Ode. Although Ode liked to point out whenever possible that there was still an inch to go yet.

  “All of the boys talk about Rippling River,” said Blue Moon. “They say that her eyes are like sparkling waters,” he added in a silly voice.

  Ode pushed him over.

  “Ya-ya-ya!” yipped Blue Moon, charging back at him and almost knocking Ode flat. “Had it been this morning, I would have sent you flying,” he added as Ode brushed himself off. “I beat all the boys, but it’s made me tired.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Dar thinks I might even be able to do my initiation early.”

  Ode tickled beneath his brother’s chin. “No hair there yet,” he said.

  “None on yours, either!”

  “There nearly is, and mine will come first.”

  “Maybe not.”

  The bellow of the chief interrupted them. Gray Morning stood on the other side of the settlement calling Blue Moon to his side. He had started giving his son evening lessons in hand-to-hand combat, as if Blue Moon needed more training. He already had bulging muscles in his arms and across his stomach.

  “Boy!” Gray Morning shouted. “Boy, come here!”

  “I’d better go,” said Blue Moon, making a face. “See you tomorrow, brother, unless I smell you first!”

  Ode laughed.

  While his brother wielded spears and practiced hunting, Ode learned how to revive a silent baby and how to cut an umbilical cord. Cala took Ode to the forest and showed him how to pick herbs to mash into remedies. She taught him when to speak firmly to a crying mother and when to comfort her in her pain. Around the settlement these days, Cala was rarely seen without her apprentice.

  “Auntie, when are you going to teach me the other stuff?” Ode asked her one night as they sat in their tent before the crackling fire.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know all the birth things, but what about the rest of it?”

  Cala regarded him with her black eyes.

  “For a start, there is still so many things that you do not know—it takes a lifetime to learn our craft—so what are these ‘other things’ of which you speak?”

 
Ode rolled his eyes. “I mean, when will you show me how to read a child’s destiny in the fire? When will you show me how to know that a mother needs our help?”

  “I will not show you such things.”

  “But if I’m your apprentice then I need to know!”

  “Those are things that cannot be taught.”

  Ode frowned and stared into the depths of the fire, but all he saw were flickering red and yellow flames.

  “How do you do it then?” he asked at last.

  Cala did not raise her eyes from the weaving in her lap. A pile of briars lay beside her, and she sat twisting them around the basket mold in her hands. She had tried to teach Ode, arguing that birthing was lengthy business and idle hours were lost hours, but basketry was a step too far in the domain of the tribeswomen for him. If he was destined to be a birther, then he would face it—he was now even beginning to enjoy it—but nobody said anything about making baskets.

  “How do I do it? Well, take one of these branches and I will show—”

  “No!” said Ode through clenched teeth. “You know what I mean! How do you do that Magic?”

  The weaving in Cala’s hands stilled. “Who taught you that word?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where did you hear it?”

  “I can’t remember. Why is that important?”

  “Magic is dangerous. You should not speak of it, and you cannot teach it.”

  “But—”

  “Enough!”

  Ode stomped out of the tent and into the darkening evening. The rest of the tribe were milling about the settlement; the men were reinforcing their tent pegs since Gray Morning had announced that they would stay in this spot for a few days, and the women were sorting through the stock of food. It was late summer and the Taone were at the edge of the forest, heading for the flatlands. They were stopping on their journey to harvest corn from one of their squares of cultivated land and tomorrow, while the men rode out on a long hunting trip, the women would pick and gather.

  And I’ll be alone with Auntie, going over everything that I already know, thought Ode. He kicked at a dusty tuft of grass and sighed. Blue Moon had asked him once if he resented Cala for singling him out from the tribe. “Mam says Cala took you away,” he had whispered, almost fearful that the birther could hear them though they were not near the settlement at the time.

  “She didn’t take me,” Ode had replied. “It was my destiny. The spirits chose this life for me.”

  “But don’t you wish you lived with us?”

  “Maybe. But then I’d have to share a tent with you, and you snore!”

  At that, the conversation had dissolved into a good-natured fistfight and such talk was forgotten. However, sometimes Ode did wonder if he blamed his auntie. Perhaps it was her doing that he was cast out from his family and the tribe to be a birther. The thought made him uncomfortable, and it did not match the kind, gentle woman that Ode knew. Cala had always nursed him through his sicknesses and wiped away his blubbery tears; surely she would not do such a thing. She had her secrets, Ode knew that much, but she was not cruel.

  Trying to keep such thoughts from his mind, Ode idly walked the length of the settlement. He saw a group of children playing behind the food store and among them, toddling around on shaky legs, was Winter’s Dawn. Ode smiled and waved. He always liked to see how much she had grown, like a proud third parent.

  Her brother, Silver Sky, saw Ode approach and gave him a wave. The boy was too young to understand the tribe’s aversion to the birther and the apprentice. He thought Ode fun and interesting.

  “I hope you’re taking good care of her,” said Ode when Silver Sky came scampering over.

  “Of course! Mam told me to watch her and I am.”

  “Looks like you’re playing games,” said Ode, nodding at the cluster of children running around in the dust behind him.

  “Well, I’m doing that, too.”

  Winter’s Dawn waddled over to Ode and clapped her hands.

  “Greetings, little sister,” he said.

  She giggled, and the two of them sat in the dust, rolling a stone between them. A moment later, Ode felt a shadow fall over him and he froze. Thinking that it was Soft Rain, he scrambled to his feet, ready to face a mother’s angry glare. But it was not Soft Rain—it was much worse.

  “What are you doing?” asked Rippling River.

  Ode opened and closed his mouth without making a sound and a red blush crept up his neck.

  Rippling River was quite clearly the most beautiful girl in the tribe. Her dark plaits were thick and silky, her brown eyes small and sparkling. She always wore a strip of leather tied tightly around her waist and a tawny feather tucked behind her ear. When she laughed it sounded like the gentle gush of a stream. Ode loved to hear her laugh.

  “Were you playing with a rock?” she asked, when he did not reply.

  “No.”

  “It looked like you were.”

  Rippling River giggled, and Ode thought that her giggle was even sweeter than her laugh. His blush deepened, and he shuffled his feet.

  “I don’t want to interrupt your game,” she said, bending and scooping up Winter’s Dawn, who, she held on her hip.

  Ode opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

  Rippling River giggled again, and the baby gurgled.

  “She likes you,” said Rippling River, and then she turned around and sauntered away. After a few steps she glanced back, saw Ode watching her, and smiled.

  Ode watched her go, his chest burning. He felt giddy and light, almost as if he could fly. He sighed, and then sighed again. Supposing he ought to go back to the tent, he turned to see his brother and Gray Morning watching him. They had just finished their combat practice and both were glistening with sweat in the evening light. Blue Moon waggled his eyebrows at Ode in an annoying, knowing way. Gray Morning just frowned.

  That night, Ode dreamed he was flying. He was soaring through the air, gusts of wind kissing his cheeks. The plain stretched out before him, running on forever in every direction. He felt weightless and small. He beat his arms in a rhythmic tune that matched the steady beating of the tribe drums, but when he tried to wiggle his fingers, he could not.

  Suddenly, he was no longer flying; he was still, standing in a forest that he did not know. The trees were different here, the smell was unusual, and he felt afraid. Thorns were tangled around him, and he could hear distant, peculiar sounds. Peering through the trees, he saw that he stood at the edge of a forest and he could just make out grassy land on the other side. Peering closer, he saw the grassy land dipping down and then soaring up like a huge tree. For a moment, Ode even thought that it was a huge tree since he had never known the earth to be anything but flat and even.

  Studding the grassy hill were buildings that looked like tents made of wood and thatch. How strange, thought Ode. That would surely take too long to pack away, and how would the mustangs carry it?

  He heard a neigh and his eyes were drawn to a horse. It was a great beast twice the size of a mustang, with thick haunches and a regal, handsome head. Ode gasped because he recognized it immediately from tales told by the tribe: a warhorse. They roamed the flatlands and forests in herds, but they were very rare. Ode had thought he’d seen one once, at a distance. This warhorse was grazing sedately, its silky tail swishing in contentment. It paused a moment and looked over at a girl who sat talking to a man.

  The girl was silver. She was some distance away, but Ode was sure that he saw her correctly. The sunlight, weaker here than any he had known in his life, shone off her silvery skin and made it glitter. Her hair fell in a loose tumble of white down her back, and he could just about hear her voice, which was high and clear. Most unsettling of all, he was sure that he knew her.

  Ode’s heart thudded in his chest and a rush of blood surged around his body. He had to escape. He did not know this strange place or its strange people. How could he have met this girl before? He looked around him,
but all he saw were thorns—a wall of them. Panic rising inside, he began beating his arms, desperate to escape.

  He heard a shrill whinny and suddenly he was soaring through the air once more. He broke through the trees of the forest and shot ever higher, above the silver girl and the scene below. But as he rose, he caught a glimpse of her face and he saw that her eyes were shockingly violet, like the belly of a storm.

  Ode awoke suddenly with a cry. He was shaking, and his grass mat was twisted beneath him. Through the tent’s open smoke flap, he could see the distant, twinkling stars, and beside him he could hear a soothing, calm voice. He waited for his ragged breathing to slow and the images of his dream to fade. He was no longer sure of what he had seen.

  The soothing, calm voice belonged to Cala, who crouched before the fire, stroking the flames with the tips of her fingers.

  “Auntie, why are you awake?” he asked her.

  “I heard you stirring.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me from my nightmare?”

  “It wasn’t a nightmare.”

  Ode closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, Cala was kneeling at his side, pushing a mug into his hands. It was warm milk with crushed herbs—a drink she used to make him when he was little.

  “What did you see, little man?” she asked.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What did you see?” she repeated firmly.

  “I … was flying,” he said at last.

  “Were you in your own body?”

  “Whose body would I be in?”

  “Never mind.”

  Ode took a sip of milk and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Is this the first time you’ve had such a dream?” asked Cala.

  He thought of the dust storm and of the way his dreams had sometimes erred on the peculiar side. Occasionally, they had felt like more than dreams. Once he had heard a voice whispering the word “Magic” in his ear.

  “I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

  They both looked into the fire and a wide grin spread across Ode’s face.

  “Does this mean I’m Magic?” he asked.

  Cala cuffed him on the head.