Feather by Feather and Other Stories

by Lynn E. O'Connacht

Heart hammering in her throat, Pearl made her way outside. She was certain the guard would notice how tense and sweaty she was or that the moment she crossed the threshold some alarm would go off. Nothing happened. She spent the walk to the train station fretting about the borrowing-theft. In the train, she decided to distract herself by making more notes on the ancient text. Her evening got dedicated to transcribing (not translating; she’d decided to try that again later) more lines as well as she could.

  The next day Pearl skipped her Myth and Poetry class. She’d been up all night and she couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she’d written down previously. She kept going anyway. The book had to be magical, which meant it should never have been in their library in the first place. Her university didn’t offer courses in magical arts. No city-based university did, for fear of blasting inhabited areas into wastelands by accident. Eston University went even farther than most and had banned magical books from its grounds entirely. There was a rumour that the library was magically protected from theft, but that was only a rumour and Pearl doubted it even more now. So how her book had gotten into the library, she did not know. She didn’t care either. The subject was fascinating and unlike anything she’d ever read before. However the book had wound up in her hands, it could make Pearl’s career a fact instead of a dream. The sooner she finished working on translating it, the better.

  Yet, despite all her attempts to create an organised record of what the book was actually saying, Pearl felt like it fought her at every turn, like it resisted any attempt to be made truly comprehensible. She kept returning to work she’d already done to try making sense of it again, so some bits did eventually start to stick in her mind strongly enough that she felt she could summarise them. Rather than dealing with many different myths, as she’d first assumed, the book dealt only with one that humans shared with the wingborn. It dealt with a story that, as far as Pearl knew, had always been accepted as true history, but the book contested that. Whatever else it was about, it suggested that history wasn’t what Pearl had always been taught.

  She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped writing her thoughts down in a notebook and had begun to scribble in the margins; she wasn’t even sure how long she’d spent hunched over the desk trying to understand the text. Writing in the margins felt right; adding to other people’s notes helped Pearl order her own thoughts. Dimly she was aware of the fact that she was neglecting everything else in her life. She didn’t care. If she could just make proper sense of the text… If she could just work out how the grammar worked… If she could just come up with a decent translation… She’d be famous. She’d prove to everyone that her scholarship was well-deserved, even if she never again wrote anything as exciting as an essay (or a book; there was more than enough material for a book) that would turn the whole world upside down and inside out. That was a chance worth neglecting everything for and so Pearl did. Nothing but the text mattered.

  It was her self that saved her. Had Pearl merely been Marishka Baker like her registration cards said, she’d have read on and on and never stopped even as the rest of her life faded entirely from her thoughts. Had she merely been Marishka Baker as her registration cards informed people, she’d have forgone sleep, food and drink entirely. Pearl was certain of it. But the essence of her being demanded that she move and eat and taste the air around her. It demanded that she groom herself into something that at least vaguely approached clean, that she drink and sleep, even if that sleep was had with her face planted in the book she’d been reading. Eventually, the stuffy one-room apartment was too much and too small for Pearl’s self to tolerate and she fled outside.

  In her haste she left the slim book behind. The fresh, crisp air chilled her, made her teeth chatter annoyingly and her body shiver. Clearly the temperature had dropped again, but for once Pearl actually welcomed the bite. It woke her and cleared cobwebs from her mind as she wandered through the student-town she lived in. She walked all the way to the nearest grocery store, getting goose bumps even on her phantom limbs, but she’d been in such a hurry to go out that she’d left her purse inside. Pearl studied the newspaper stand right outside and learned that she’d been cooped up for a little over a week. It felt infinitely longer, but she couldn’t have survived that; Pearl already felt faint and she knew she’d eaten. Her stomach seemed to disagree with her, but without money and with the sincere belief that catching all the scents inside the store would make her retch, she couldn’t quiet its rumbling.

  To feel the air moving against her skin in some fashion again, Pearl wandered to the nearby park. It wasn’t much more impressive than a small grass field and a couple of benches, but she circled through it until she felt dizzy with hunger. Checking her pockets just in case she’d put any money there, Pearl was deeply grateful to find a few coins and a ten kencha note that had clearly seen better, unwashed days. But the space and the freedom she had… For a while she struggled against her body’s desire to collapse into a heap and eat whatever came nearest because she didn’t want to be trapped between walls again.

  She still had to give in eventually and sought out a small, already-open restaurant to order herself the largest piece of meat she could afford (despite the early hour; her watch told her it was still early morning). Pearl ate so fast she almost choked, but she felt famished. Whatever she’d been eating the past week, lettuce probably offered her body more sustenance and she hated lettuce. Forcing herself to eat more slowly and to let her food settle was easier once Pearl allowed her attention drift to take in her surroundings instead of trying to shut them out. She’d been so focused on translating her magical mystery book that she’d paid no attention to anything else whatsoever. She’d stopped smelling what was in the room (and oh now she noticed it, she stank), stopped listening to her neighbours’ parties… She even stopped feeling her phantom tail and wings. But now? It was gloriously almost too much for her senses to take in.

  The streets weren’t entirely deserted. She could hear birdsong and footsteps from outside, the chattering of the restaurant staff in the kitchen, and the sound of her own cutlery. The view through the window showed a pale, crisp blue with only a few candy floss clouds drifting through it, high buildings blocking sight of the sun, and the occasional warmly-dressed passer-by. Pearl’s wings ached a little and her tail felt stiff. And she stank. The odour made her food taste rank too, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. When she ate, she tried to focus on the feel of the meat (so tenderly cooked) rather than the taste of it, with varying degrees of success, and when she was resting her stomach she let herself be immersed by the sounds around her.

  After she’d paid for her food, Pearl went back to the small park to explore it more leisurely. There were flowers she’d never noticed before and colourful birds she’d never thought she’d find in a treeless square. A family also visiting the park tossed seeds onto the grass and the little birds flocked to them like a rainbow tornado. Pearl stank and she shivered, her hands buried in her pockets.

  When she found a bench, she sat down. She made a mental inventory of all the things she really needed to get or do, such as buying thread to darn her socks and getting warmer gloves. Sometimes she started to retrace her steps to go home, but she kept on thinking of more things she had to do. The grocery store would have fresh milk (when she got there, she remembered she couldn’t pay for it because she’d spent her money already); the post office might be holding a package for her (it wasn’t); the train station’s tiny bookstore might have some new book releases for her to peruse (it didn’t); she hadn’t yet seen whether the birds had eaten all the seeds (she couldn’t even tell where the seeds had been dropped); on and on the list went.

  By evening Pearl had figured out that she was actively avoiding her apartment because she was afraid. And annoyed. Her tail, barely noticeable on the best of days, wanted to swish in agitation and she felt utterly unbalanced without it. She was scared. Of a book. She was scared of what it could do to her, what it had already done. She had to throw it
out. However much of a shame it was, no matter its promise for her academic dreams, Pearl had to throw it out. She dithered and dallied and debated with herself until the moon was up, the stars were out, and her body announced that it wanted to go to sleep now, please.

  She was still utterly unwilling to set foot in her apartment. Knowing there were no hotels or hostels nearby (and, even if there were, she had no money), Pearl trekked further into the heart of the city hoping to find a warm-looking spot to spend the night. She was freezing.

  It proved far harder to find something than she’d expected. The few promising spots she’d found had all been occupied by others already; even growing up poor, she’d never known so many people sought refuge from the cold on the streets. And Eston-upon-Werl was only a relatively small student-driven community for all they called it a city. Huddling in her thin sweater, Pearl wandered the streets. She wanted to sleep until late spring and skip the winter altogether. She’d wrapped her arms around her, but she had as much luck staying warm as finding a spot to sleep in. Either it promised to be far too cold for comfort or it was already taken. Pearl did her best not to growl at anyone or wish she could just turn something into a bonfire. She didn’t try to stop herself wishing that she could fly off to the other side of the world until spring came back.

  Finally, she came across a small, shrivelled, and still-awake woman who took pity on her and helped her find a spot. The woman directed her to a nearby trash container that she could squish herself behind. It wasn’t particularly warm and it was far too tight for comfort, but it was dry and sheltered from the wind. Pearl curled up and tried to sleep, while at the same time doing her best to emanate that she was a fierce dragon, beware her wrath, rather than a relatively weak woman huddled behind a container. After a lot of shifting she managed to find some kind of comfort, but actual sleep remained elusive. She growled softly at every noise and her thoughts refused to slow, jumping from topic to topic: the book, her essay, how to get rid of the book, her missed classes, her scholarship, how very much she wanted to return to the book, the fact that she stank, the translation she’d been slaving over…

  When morning dawned again, cold, hard and hungry, Pearl was utterly exhausted. She had also formulated a Plan. She wasn’t sure it was a good plan, but it was something and she had it. She’d stolen the book from a library — though, recalling it now, it no longer looked anything like a library book — and she’d take it to a sorcerer, preferably one who wouldn’t ask too many questions. If nothing else, they should be better equipped than she was to deal with the book and she couldn’t risk anyone else getting obsessed with the thing. As an absolute last resort, she’d hide it away at the mages’ college. Surely they knew how to recognise and take care of dangerous artefacts…

  First, however, she had to gather up the courage to go home and figure out how to take the accursed book with her safely. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up enthralled all over again. She could still feel herself wanting to resume her translation. Pearl struggled out from behind the container and dusted herself off as best she could. She stank and her clothes were a crumpled, dirtied mess. Her shirt had a tear in the sleeve even. At least her hair wasn’t impossibly tangled, but that was about the only thing that kept Pearl from trying to roar her displeasure at the world.

  When she walked out of the alleyway, as presentable as she could make herself, it was onto an unfamiliar street. She hadn’t noticed it the night before, but it was unmistakable now: she’d managed to get herself lost.

  Pearl wandered around until she got her bearings and was back in familiar territory. Once there, she practically beelined for the nearest bank to withdraw some of her savings. The clerk refused to let her. Not all the understanding in the world gave her more patience or sympathy to deal with the man. It was her money and she wanted it now and the fact that she stank, looked beggarly, had forgotten her wallet and could be anyone trying to impersonate Marishka Baker (and could she please prove her identity) did very little to improve her mood.

  By the time she finally walked out of the bank with one hand clenched firmly around a couple of paper notes, she was ready to tear the limbs off the first person who so much as bumped into her and far too irate to take precautions. People seemed to notice as the few she saw gave her a wide berth. The thought that it could just as easily be the smell only made Pearl want to roar doom upon the world even more.

  Breakfast, when she found a place that wanted to serve her, made her feel a little better. Buying clean clothes undoubtedly would too, but she was so dirty. Pearl dithered about whether to find a shower she could use or a set of clean clothes first. Both options had their advantages, but she knew her dawdling was only another way to avoid returning home. The book was waiting. She paced through the park and tried to ignore her nose or stick it into flowers to mask the scent.

  Finally, a little after noon, Pearl forced herself to go back to her apartment, carrying a large bag of groceries and still wearing her dirty, crumpled clothes. When she got home, she had to find the super to let her in. She’d forgotten her keys too and she whimpered when her door opened. So close to her book, it was far, far harder than she’d imagined to fight off temptation. The book lay on her desk where she’d left it. It was closed now because her pen hadn’t been heavy enough to keep it open. The rest of her apartment was a mess and the super grumbled at her. Pearl barely registered the complaints as she inched her way inside. All her dreams were right there. All she had to do was pass the clutter and sit down…

  Pearl started humming to try and distract herself from the book, so inviting, and she made herself store away her groceries and wash the counter tops. She dragged herself into the shower and sang crow-tuned songs as loudly as she could to drown out the book’s whispers. She shaved her legs and armpits, combed her hair out and got dressed in something that smelled deliciously of lavender. She preened in front of the mirror until she recognised the person looking back at her again. She made herself prepare a sandwich, cutting her finger because she was too focused the book. And she forced herself to eat it instead of spring for the desk.

  I can do this, Pearl told herself after she’d done the dishes. I can. She stared at the towel in her hands. “I can!” she shouted. She tossed the towel onto the rack and stumbled into the bathroom to fetch a clean one. Her enthusiasm lasted only as long as it took to get to her desk. Everything was ready for her. Pearl took a deep breath. I can do this, she repeated. She was a fierce dragon and had she been right-shaped she could have burnt the book into a crisp if she so chose. It’d done enough damage to her and her home to warrant it. As it was, she reluctantly wrapped the magical book up in the towel, tied a scarf around the package and stuffed the bundle in her groceries bag. If she had to carry the book all the way in her rucksack, she’d never survive the trip without getting sucked back into the translations.

  She also wanted to pack a book that she’d always loved (in a different bag and without the towels). She was banking on her familiarity with and affection for the story to carry her through the worst of the journey into Eston proper. Pearl grabbed the first bag she could get her hands on; it was stuffed full of paper scraps in every pocket and compartment. She dug her nails into the strap for a moment and began tossing all of it onto the floor. She could tidy it after she got rid of the accursed book, much as it pained her to see her home so cluttered and chaotic. But it’d be much harder to give in to the book’s temptation if she had no way of recording what she learned. Surely it would be.

  When she’d packed the bag to her satisfaction, Pearl rifled through the A-to-Z to find a sorcerer who sounded promising, looked up the route on a map and tried to memorise it as best she could. She tried to flex all her limbs just once before stepping out of her apartment. She could do this. She was mighty. She was fierce. She had a good memory. She was wrapped up against the cold.

  And she had nothing to write on or with in her bags. It made her feel naked and she hesitated a moment before letting the door fal
l shut. The sooner she got rid of the book, the better.

  The walk to the train station was easy; by now the streets were crowded and noisy enough that Pearl needed to focus on her surroundings and could tune out her desire to turn around and rush back almost entirely. The train ride itself proved far trickier. Letting herself get lost in Rover’s Grand Vacation, whilst effectively distracting her from Rhythm and Structure or whatever it truly was, made her miss her stop. She had to switch trains to get back, but even so it took her several attempts before she simply gave up on getting off at the stop she’d wanted. She could either be distracted by Rover or be too tempted by Rhythm.

  Pearl had no idea where she’d ended up when she’d got off the train this time. She’d never been to this part of Eston proper before. The station and the streets around it were deserted and the buildings were starting to look dilapidated. Pearl didn’t dare trust her sense of direction enough to wander far from the station. The groceries bag weighted heavily in her hand, but she didn’t dare put it down for fear that she’d unwrap the book and be lost. Her hands were itching to scrawl in the margins again (using her own blood for ink and a nail for a pen if she had to). She couldn’t go home without getting rid of the book and she could hardly toss it in the bushes where someone else would find it. The mages’ college it was. Surely their library staff was trained in dealing with books like hers.

  It was still a trial to catch the train that went closest past the magical campus, but Pearl managed it eventually. Following the signs that marked the library, she walked along briskly, focused on finding her way. The sun was setting and she had absolutely no idea whether the library here would keep similar hours to those she was used to. Please, please, please, she pleaded with every step she took and she shuddered with relief when she arrived and found the doors still open. The little plaque taped on the window announced that she still had some time before the library closed. Silently, she thanked all the gods she knew of for university hours. Even if the building did look deserted.