By Edward M. Sledge
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Kirrit lay awake in the dark, listening to the patter of rain against the old cement chimney. The sweet, musty smell of spring rain wafted into the nest on a breath of damp, chill air. Chirping in his sleep, Kirrit’s brother snuggled closer, scratching Kirrit with the tattered remnants of his feather sheaths. Another week and the stiff, waxy coverings would be gone, and so would they. Kirrit opened his sleepy eyes and looked around at the cozy little nest. Part of him couldn’t wait to leave, to be on his own, out there, in the great, wide world. Part of him was eager to find out what lay ahead. The rest was happy to just be a chick for a little while longer. Muted yellow streetlight glow filtered through the rain and bathed the far wall in bitter gold, casting each pit and scar into harsh relief and deep, black shadow. Crouched in the narrow opening of the chimney cap sat his father, still as a stone, sharp black eyes staring out into the wet night. The bright white of his chest and cheeks was painted orange and his blue-green back was black in the harsh light. Sitting up, Kirrit peered over his sleeping mother’s back and out the opening, trying to see what his father saw. A rough expanse of dark gray roof stretched away and dropped off sharply. Beyond, a tree was silhouetted against the streetlight, its thin, skeletal branches spiked with new leaves. A huge evergreen rose up out of sight, barely visible against the clouds, and a new, metal chimney trailed smoke from the neighbor’s roof. Kirrit’s father saw him looking and sidled closer to his son, stretching out a wing to ruffle the still spiky feathers on Kirrit’s crown. The golden light winked out, plunging the nest into blackness, as something huge moved in front of the chimney. Kirrit’s father spun about, beating his slender wings against the inside of the chimney, trying to frighten whatever lay outside away with the noise. It backed away, but just enough to reach inside, a broad paw slamming Kirrit’s father to the floor, gleaming claws hooking into his back and dragging him outside. The sharp flap of wings echoed in the night, and a single high scream, then silence, made even louder by the steady patter of rain. Kirrit’s brother cowered in the nest, his eyes wide in terror as their mother pushed them with frantic wings to the back of chimney cavity. Into the farthest corner she drove them, crushing them into forgotten feathers and dust as she lay upon them, the hammering of her heart beating against Kirrit’s cheek. He strained to look beneath the edge of her wing, catching a glimpse of that terrible shadow rising up in front of the light. Kirrit’s feathers stood on end. The smell of blood hung thick in the air, choking him. With a hiss and a scrape of claws on stone, that terrible paw reached in again, black to the elbow with blood. It ripped their nest away, tiny feathers swirling about and sticking to the bloody paw. Kirrit’s mother sobbed as it reached again, scratching down her back. She screamed, feet scrabbling against the floor, trying to push them farther away. “I love you,” she cried, and Kirrit felt her jerk, the claws sinking into her back. Wings beat, a resounding thunder as she was dragged away from them, her huge dark eyes filled with such fear. Kirrit screamed, huddled in the darkness with his brother, as their mother disappeared. The rain drummed on, cold and pitiless. The scream cut off as fear closed his throat. That killing shadow filled the opening again, paw dripping blood onto the pale cement, thick black drops in the garish orange light. It hesitated, the shadow looking up at the sky with a profile Kirrit would never forget. Above the steady rain came another sound - swallow songs. The words were lost in the rain, but the voices rang clear, nearly a dozen birds. Then the shadow turned back toward them and Kirrit knew that a hundred swallows wouldn’t be enough to save them. Lashing out like a striking snake, the paw swept just over their heads. They buried their faces in each other’s feathers, hearts beating frantically and unable to breathe. “Don’t let it take me, Kirrit,” his brother sobbed. “Don’t let it take me.” They both screamed as the paw struck them to the ground, blood spattering their feathers, then Kirrit’s brother was dragged away screaming, “Kirrit!” Kirrit looked around at the empty nest, a cold terror settling deep in his stomach. He was next. As the last faint beats of his brother’s wings died away, the swallow voices rose up. A thin, silvery light, like the last moments before dawn, crept into the chimney opening and bathed the gray rooftops. When the shadow came for him, it’s face was lit by the light, a horrible furred face, with long teeth and glittery blue eyes. It hissed, and reached, yellowed claws stained with blood. Kirrit choked on dust and fear, staring into those cold, heartless eyes. The silver light flared to life, crackling like fire and chasing every last hint of darkness from the cavity. The paw jerked back, the face turning away, and Kirrit looked down at his wings, the brand new flight feathers, some not quite out of their casings, flared with cool silver light. An angry yowl trailed off into the night as the murderer fled. The light crackled a moment more, then exploded, a blinding flash that Kirrit had to shield his eyes from, and the night went black again. Shaking, Kirrit lay on his back in the corner, one wing raised in front of his face, listening to the rain lighten and his heart beat. The smell of fear and death clung like spiderwebs. Any moment, he expected that terrible shadow to return. He screamed as something landed in the opening, before recognizing it as another swallow. Painful, futile hope rushed over him. “Mother?” he asked, scrambling to his feet. The bird hesitated, then sidled closer. “I’m sorry, child. No,” the bird said, a soft, female voice. Another bird landed and Kirrit drew back before he could stop himself. “Are you all right?” the new swallow asked, a deep male voice. Kirrit didn’t know what to say. “I -- I think so,” he said, looking around in confusion. “What happened? What -- That light...my wings...?” He spread his wings halfway, letting them droop to the ground. “What happened to your wings?” asked the female, moving closer. “The light was in my wings,” Kirrit said. The two swallows exchanged a glance. “What? What is it?” Kirrit’s voice thinned with fear. “It’s nothing to fear, little one,” the male said as the female began to trill, a soft, steady sound. Kirrit’s eyes grew wide as the edges of her feathers started to glow with that same cool, silver brightness. They were both looking at him, the male slowly nodding his head. He glanced down at one outstretched wing, at the frosted tips of his feathers, gleaming like moonlight, and screamed. “Stop it, stop it!” he shouted, beating his wings against the inside of the chimney, trying to shake off that strange light. His wings left silver trails in the air, like ghostly cobwebs, shimmering before fading from sight. The female fell silent and the light vanished. “What did you do to me?” he asked, heart pounding in his throat. “Nothing, child,” the female said, moving closer. Kirrit drew back. “That was your magic reacting to mine. You are one of us.” Kirrit stared at her, then at him. “One of you?” he asked. “Who are you? “I am Rireet,” she said. “I am a Spellwing, like you.”
“Spellwing,” Kirrit said slowly. He glanced at the male. “What about him?”
“He is Ati,” she said, “my skirri.” Kirrit shook his head and looked around at the empty, blood-spattered nest. A lump caught in his throat. Spellwing, skirri, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered. Tears slipped down his cheeks, leaving wet tracks through his dull gray feathers. What was he to do now?
“You should have let that thing kill me,” he said, turning away.
“We would have,” Ati, the skirri, said softly. “It is not for us to change the natural order of things. It is the hardest part of what we are, watching predator take prey, losing friends, mates, young, and being able to do nothing, but it is the price we pay for the things we can do.”
“Then why?”
“Because Frost is not part of the natural order,” Ati said. “He follows the Danthen.” Kirrit frowned at him.
“Frost? Danthen? I don’t understand,” he said. Rireet put her wing over his back, something his mother used to do, but he didn’t pull away.
“We will explain later, child. Now, we must leave this place of death and sorrow.” They led him to the opening, where he hesitated. Taking a deep breath, he peered over the edge at the roof. The bodies were gone, the blood mostly washed away by the rain, but bits of bloody feather clung to the rough shingles, waving back and forth in the gusting wind. A sob shuddered through him.
“Where are they?” Kirrit asked in a strangled voice.
“The others have taken them and lain them to rest,” Ati said. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner. If Mazaan would have just warned us earlier...” He didn’t finish, but heaved a great sigh. “I don’t understand.”
“It is not for us to understand,” Rireet murmured. “You know as well as I do where his orders came from.” They looked at each other over Kirrit’s head and he felt lost, forgotten.
“Who is Mazaan?” he asked, not wanting to be left out. Rireet glanced down like she had forgotten he was there.
“He’s a hummer,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Come now, we’ll take you to Crrikit and he’ll tell you everything you need to know.” Ati fluttered out into the damp pre-dawn sky, the rain just a heavy mist, a swirling orange fog in the streetlight. Kirrit cast one last look around the dark, cold nest, then followed him out into the open air, Rireet close behind. The mist beaded up on his new feathers, a chill, clammy caress in the night. The fear and excitement he had been anticipating was absent as he made his inaugural flight into the world. So much for being a chick.
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