XXV. The Song of
Starbirds
Thomas and his
companions climbed back out of the grotto and into the copse of trees they now
knew as a memory of Gilroy’s red hair. The leaves shimmered in the twilight,
brighter even than the swatches of red and orange hanging in the sky as the day
waned. A cool wind swept up over the bluff and through the trees. Thomas
shivered, but the fresh air and open space were refreshing after the confines
of the grotto.
The boy took a moment
in the grove of red maples, trailing his fingers on the shining bark and taking
care to avoid stepping on the leaves. “Thank you, Gilroy,” he said softly. The
trees whispered a wordless response as another gust of wind swirled off the
river.
Finlay led the rest of
the companions back across the river. The water was cold and clear; Thomas took
a moment to dunk his head and clean off some of the old moss-tasting water of
the grotto’s pool. He took a few long draughts as well, enjoying the freshness
and the slosh in his belly and the cold spike that traveled up from the roof of
his mouth.
They reached the
opposite bank and ensured that their discarded clothing and belongings were
still where they’d left them. Then Finlay and Thomas sat on the sandy beach and
stretched their legs out and pushed their bare feet into the sand and reclined
against the sloping shoreline. Cathán scurried across the sand, his paws and
tail leaving tiny prints as the Mouse Knight took the opportunity to stretch
his own limbs. Avery buried the lower half of his body and tended to his
injured wing with sharp dips and tugs of his beak.
Elwood, to the delight
of all gathered, loped back over the sand and flung himself into the water. The
shaggy dog landed with a great splash and then poked his head up above the
surface. The river was shallow, but Elwood seemed content to paddle around,
reaching futilely for fishes and eels and the tiny croaking frogs that emerged
at day’s end.
“Is it safe to swim in
the river at night?” Thomas asked.
“Mostly,” Finlay
replied. He was collecting a small pile of smooth stones between him and
Thomas. “We’ll want to bring Elwood in shortly, because the water flows
stronger once it’s out of the eyesight of humans: swift and smooth in the dark.
But for now the dog will be more than fine.”
Finlay took one of his stones
and tossed it out away from Elwood. It skipped across the river, three little plinks and then a larger splash as it
sank. “Let’s see if we can reach the far shore, shall we?” the fisherman said,
handing a few pebbles to Thomas. “Give old Gilroy a little surprise.”
They spent the next few
minutes tossing stones into the water. Thomas though that one of his might have
bumped into the far shoreline as it sank, but it was difficult to see in the
encroaching gloom. Finlay landed a few onto the grass below the copse. When the
stones were exhausted, Thomas and Finlay lay back onto the ferns at the river’s
edge and stared up at the sky, which purpled in the east as the last fingers of
golden sunlight retreated into the west.
“What do you plan to do
now, Thomas?” Finlay asked. “Your meeting with the witch is tomorrow, no?”
Thomas thought a while.
“I don’t want to go home until Eleanor’s safe. Otherwise, I’d invite you with
us back to Mídhel, to enjoy my mother’s stew and my father’s wisdom and the
soft comfort of real beds indoors. But it won’t feel right to go home again
without my sister. And it’s a bit of a walk from here to the road where we’ll
meet with the witch. Maybe we should leave now, camp close by.”
Cathán scampered back
over. “I admire your diligence, friend Thomas, but I would suggest we reserve
our strength for the morning. Perhaps we can find a place comfortable to camp
nearby instead. We can spend the night near the river, rest up, and perhaps
have some dinner if we can find some. Tomorrow at dawn we’ll start off for the
meeting-place afresh.”
“I’d be happy to offer
shelter and food.” Finlay tossed a handful of sand toward the river; Elwood
barked and swam after it, biting at the tiny ripples on the surface. “We can
camp near my tents. We’ll be safe and sheltered there.”
Thomas considered the
offer. “That sounds like a better plan than mine,” he said, rubbing at some
stiffness in his right leg. “I could use a good rest.”
They gathered up their
things and whistled for Elwood, then started up the slope and back onto the
level stretch of grass running alongside the eastern river. The walk back to
Finlay’s camp was quick and focused; the wind had picked up, sending white-foam
splashes of water from the river up onto the shore. Thomas tugged on his shoes
and pulled on his jacket, then wrapped up in a blanket and reclined against the
boxes and crates that separated Finlay’s tents from the riverfront.
Finlay started a small
cooking-fire. Elwood sniffed around the tents for a while, and then he
approached Thomas and licked his cheek.
“What is it, boy?”
Thomas asked, scratching Elwood’s chin.
The dog whined and
padded over toward the slope leading down to the river, looking back and forth
between Thomas and the water. He whined again.
“You can get back in if
you want,” Thomas said. “Just be careful.”
Elwood barked and ran
down to the river, his tail swishing in the sand.
Finlay cooked up some
quick dinner for them and passed out bowls and plates. He served them each an
appropriate portion of eel-skin stew, warmed bread with butter, wedges of
cheese, and glasses of blackcurrant tea. Cathán chittered excitedly at his
extra helping of cheese, while Avery seemed particularly excited about the
seed-filled bread and the small sachet of black worms Finlay laid out.
Thomas ate ravenously
until his first portion was cleaned up, and then he refilled his bowl and plate
and proceeded more methodically through the second, chewing thoughtfully,
savoring each bite, and watching the stars emerge overhead. He extended his
feet from the bottom of the blanket toward the fire, kicking off his shoes once
they were too warm and tucking his feet back under the blanket.
Elwood padded up. He
shook himself off and curled next to the fire, tucking his tail beneath him and
resting his shaggy head on his paws. Cathán nestled up next to Thomas, using
the boy’s knit cap as a makeshift bed. Avery perched on one of the boxes behind
them, his rustling feathers as he ate providing a soft harmony to the gentle
waves of the eastern river.
As night fully enveloped
the sky, Thomas and his companions ate and talked and swapped stories in quiet
voices. Fireflies popped into view here and there around the small campsite,
never coming too close to the fire, their light mellow and soft in the velvet
dark.
“Do you know about
starbirds and their songs?” Finlay asked. His voice was hardly louder than the
crackling of the fire.
Thomas shook his head;
Cathán squeaked a no; Elwood was fast asleep and snoring. They looked to Avery
expectantly.
“That’s a story I don’t
know,” the raven replied. “It surprises me as much as any of you.”
“I’d gladly tell you,
then,” said Finlay. “The starbirds are relatives of fireflies, some say, but
far older and more distant. Some of them are very small, while others might be
larger than a man’s house. They are born in the sky at night, springing from
the fires of distant stars and tasked with urgent messages. They travel through
the heavens at terrific speed, flames trailing from their feathers, plumes of
star-smoke shrouding their passage, their beaks finely pointed and twinkling
like precious gems.
“They blaze across the
sky to deliver their messages. No man knows what words these messages contain,
for they are the affairs of stars, far beyond our mortal realm here below. The
starbirds live and die in the deliverance of their orders. They sing a brief
sweet song of fire and light and then puff away back into the blackness. But
starbirds do not die; no, they are reborn again and over, living their moments
of life with a single purpose, bathed in the glow of the heavens.
“They are proud
creatures and determined, never failing, always fulfilling their eternal
purpose. And you can see them sometimes, even here below, when the night is
clear and your eyes are keen. Look up above, in the dark places between the
stars, and perhaps you will see them.”
Thomas cast his eyes
upward. It took a few minutes for them to adjust to the darkness after staring
into the bright red glow of the cooking-fire. He watched quietly, taking in the
scene of stars and black sky and the occasional wisp of a cloud drifting by.
And then he saw a starbird: a brief streak of light, a line drawn from one star
to the next, bright white against the black backdrop. It left a saturated
afterimage in his vision.
“A starbird!” cried
Cathán from his small bed next to Thomas. The Mouse Knight chittered and
sniffed. “Will we ever know their meaning?”
“Perhaps not,” said
Finlay from the other side. “But folk say that the sight of starbirds is a good
omen. Maybe that’s all the meaning we need—a little auspicious reminder that
the affairs of the heavens are carried out above us, and here below we toil and
work and hope and play for the same type of important purpose.”
“I can hear their
song,” Thomas said, spotting another starbird live and die on the northern
horizon. It was a sound hardly perceptible with his ears of flesh; instead, he
could hear the song in his mind and heart, a soft sighing melody that rose and
fell in subtle glory over the lifespan of the starbird. “Listen!”
They all listened. A
few minutes passed before the next starbird, and this time they all agreed that
the song it sang was beautiful and sweet.
“It’s like the wind in
the trees, or the sound of growing roots,” said Cathán.
Finlay poked the fire
with a stick. “It reminds me of the burble of the river at dawn.”
“I hear old melodies in
their songs,” Avery said. “Songs I knew as a lad and forgot soon after. Ancient
wisdom and light in those songs.”
Thomas smiled and kept
watching the sky as long as he could. He saw a few more starbirds and heard
their lovely songs. It was a kindness shown him by the wild world, a reminder
of that distant truth surrounding his whole life—the glimmer of truth that
peeked through in Cathán’s kindness and Avery’s loyalty, in Brak’s change of
heart and Elwood’s unflagging joy, in Finlay’s wisdom and Ableil’s sacrifice.
Thomas lay himself down
upon the soft patch of heather and pulled Cathán close. Encircled by friends
and the warmth of the fire and the lapping of the water, the boy from Mídhel
stroked Cathán’s soft fur and stared at the starbirds and listened to their
songs until he fell asleep.
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