*Chapter 13- Suspense
He stood outside, the fire engine red front door playing tricks on his eyes. It stood open a crack, not noticeable to someone who wasn't looking for it. He had observed the comings and goings of the people at number twenty-three Abbey Road not only that day, but for several weeks. This evening, he watched Sonja's parents as they left for dinner, Robert wearing nice chinos and dress shirt with a tie, Jennifer in a flowing, emerald green maxi dress, obviously altered to suit her height. He waited to see Matt's light shut out, and the small living room lamp extinguished. He watched from below as the blurred people on the television in the Paisley's living room danced their way across the screen. There had been some new posts and things dangling from the ceiling added over the past week, and he decided that Sonja had accommodated her guardian. What a nice girl. He was lost in momentary thought as movement caught his eye. She had stood to retrieve a blanket from somewhere, returning to her spot on the couch. He could see just the top of her head, dark hair spilling over the back of the sofa. He waited. He wanted to make sure she was asleep.
Only moments later, her head slowly began tilting to one side, a sure sign that sleep had overtaken her. He picked his way carefully from his hiding spot across the road, making sure not to draw attention to himself. This time of the night in Stirling on a Sunday was ghostly quiet, so he didn't have much to worry about. He reached the front door in only a few steps and was stopped short by a cat whom he had come to know as Felix. “Shoo now, I have work to do,” he said in an irritable voice, only to receive affectionate rubbing in return. He nudged the black and white cat away with his foot and turned his attention to the door. He pushed it slightly, but it resisted. The way it was cracked open gave him the misconception that this would be a quick, quiet entry. He pushed the door again, this time with more force, but availed to nothing. He looked around him to be sure he was alone, and shouldered the door. It gave way with the sound only swollen, warped wood coming loose could. He stopped dead, looking around once more, listening for any signs of life from the bottom floor he had so forcefully entered. Nothing.
He took the only flight of stairs in the entryway two at a time. Upon reaching the top there were two doors, one on his left, one on his right. It was fairly simple to guess that Sonja's was the one on the left. Just to be sure he looked for some sign of a name or address. Painted on the bright blue door in swirled, silver lettering was the name “Paisley”. From the looks of her mother, she was behind the artistry. It was delicate and beautiful, but bold enough to be compelling.
He tried the knob. It gave way with no complaint and he let himself in, listening for movement other than his own. He had done this exact operation upwards of thirty times before, so this was a cake walk. Realizing that there was only himself and Sonja in the house, he decided to have a look around. He turned to the first door on his right, the door itself slightly ajar with a pink glow emanating from inside. He pushed it open, a slight creak meeting his entry into the room. He quickly realized it was Sonja's room. He sat on her bed, laying back into her mass of pillows, taking in her scent. She always smelled sweetly, a different perfume every day. He locked his hands behind his head, scanning the room with his eyes. He took in everything; the tie dye tapestry hanging from the wall, the desk cluttered with school work, her floor to ceiling book case, equipped with a bed on one of the shelves for her guardian. He felt a pang of jealousy- he had always wanted a guardian. A photograph on one of the shelves caught his eye and he stood to take a closer look. It encapsulated a moment of pure joy between Matt and Sonja at the top of Dumyat. They looked so inexplicably happy that he couldn't stand it, ripping the half with Matt off of it and letting it flutter to the floor, while shoving the half with Sonja's glowing smile into his coat pocket.
The next room he went into was clearly the kitchen. He opened and closed some cupboards, finding nothing more intimidating than a butter knife. She was more or less defenseless. Good, it made the job that much easier. Opening the fridge he found Jett's shelf and opened the lids of the containers, turning away in disgust. He shut the fridge door, a light smack as it suctioned itself tightly together. He rifled through some letters that were left on the counter top, some addressed to Robert, some to Jennifer, and one to Sonja. Emma had sent her a post card from her family visit in England on the previous weekend. Typical Emma. He read a line or too and decided he was getting too interested in her life. He had a job to do and was getting distracted, he didn't know how much time he had before her parents came back and he wanted to flee the scene, no evidence left behind. He pulled the leather gloves he wore tighter, down over his wrist.
Proceeding to the living room, he found Sonja, fast asleep, a magpie nestled in the blankets next to her, also asleep. That must be her guardian, quite a beautiful bird. He stepped lightly on the wooden boards, a small squeak and a hiss of settling wood under his weight. He sat lightly on the sofa next to Sonja. She readjusted herself the way people do when they're truly asleep, and he couldn't help himself. He slowly, carefully, placed his arm around her and she leaned into him, mumbling something about Matt and how she was glad he had decided to come over. He kissed the top of her head, her fly away hairs tickling his nostrils. He bent his head around to get a better view of his face, and stroked her cheek with his free hand. He gently caressed her neck, running his ran down her collar bone, over the swell of her breast, and down to her perfectly shaped waist. He pulled her face to him- she was still in some far off dreamscape- and kissed her lips. She subconsciously lifted her hand to his face and that's when she knew something was wrong. She jolted back after stroking a very stubbled jaw line, startling Jett who awoke in a squawk and a blur of black and white feathers.
“What the hell are you doing in my house, you sick bastard!” Sonja shouted at him, violently wiping her lips with the back of her hand, trying to get the taste of him out of her mouth.
He stood to face her, ripping the blanket she clung to out of her hands.
“Do you want the truth?” he asked her, violence dripping like poison from his words.
“Y-yes. Yes, why would you be in my house, Gerry?”
“I'm here to kill you.” He said flatly, as if she had asked for the time.
She screamed at the top of her voice and he was on her.
Only moments later, her head slowly began tilting to one side, a sure sign that sleep had overtaken her. He picked his way carefully from his hiding spot across the road, making sure not to draw attention to himself. This time of the night in Stirling on a Sunday was ghostly quiet, so he didn't have much to worry about. He reached the front door in only a few steps and was stopped short by a cat whom he had come to know as Felix. “Shoo now, I have work to do,” he said in an irritable voice, only to receive affectionate rubbing in return. He nudged the black and white cat away with his foot and turned his attention to the door. He pushed it slightly, but it resisted. The way it was cracked open gave him the misconception that this would be a quick, quiet entry. He pushed the door again, this time with more force, but availed to nothing. He looked around him to be sure he was alone, and shouldered the door. It gave way with the sound only swollen, warped wood coming loose could. He stopped dead, looking around once more, listening for any signs of life from the bottom floor he had so forcefully entered. Nothing.
He took the only flight of stairs in the entryway two at a time. Upon reaching the top there were two doors, one on his left, one on his right. It was fairly simple to guess that Sonja's was the one on the left. Just to be sure he looked for some sign of a name or address. Painted on the bright blue door in swirled, silver lettering was the name “Paisley”. From the looks of her mother, she was behind the artistry. It was delicate and beautiful, but bold enough to be compelling.
He tried the knob. It gave way with no complaint and he let himself in, listening for movement other than his own. He had done this exact operation upwards of thirty times before, so this was a cake walk. Realizing that there was only himself and Sonja in the house, he decided to have a look around. He turned to the first door on his right, the door itself slightly ajar with a pink glow emanating from inside. He pushed it open, a slight creak meeting his entry into the room. He quickly realized it was Sonja's room. He sat on her bed, laying back into her mass of pillows, taking in her scent. She always smelled sweetly, a different perfume every day. He locked his hands behind his head, scanning the room with his eyes. He took in everything; the tie dye tapestry hanging from the wall, the desk cluttered with school work, her floor to ceiling book case, equipped with a bed on one of the shelves for her guardian. He felt a pang of jealousy- he had always wanted a guardian. A photograph on one of the shelves caught his eye and he stood to take a closer look. It encapsulated a moment of pure joy between Matt and Sonja at the top of Dumyat. They looked so inexplicably happy that he couldn't stand it, ripping the half with Matt off of it and letting it flutter to the floor, while shoving the half with Sonja's glowing smile into his coat pocket.
The next room he went into was clearly the kitchen. He opened and closed some cupboards, finding nothing more intimidating than a butter knife. She was more or less defenseless. Good, it made the job that much easier. Opening the fridge he found Jett's shelf and opened the lids of the containers, turning away in disgust. He shut the fridge door, a light smack as it suctioned itself tightly together. He rifled through some letters that were left on the counter top, some addressed to Robert, some to Jennifer, and one to Sonja. Emma had sent her a post card from her family visit in England on the previous weekend. Typical Emma. He read a line or too and decided he was getting too interested in her life. He had a job to do and was getting distracted, he didn't know how much time he had before her parents came back and he wanted to flee the scene, no evidence left behind. He pulled the leather gloves he wore tighter, down over his wrist.
Proceeding to the living room, he found Sonja, fast asleep, a magpie nestled in the blankets next to her, also asleep. That must be her guardian, quite a beautiful bird. He stepped lightly on the wooden boards, a small squeak and a hiss of settling wood under his weight. He sat lightly on the sofa next to Sonja. She readjusted herself the way people do when they're truly asleep, and he couldn't help himself. He slowly, carefully, placed his arm around her and she leaned into him, mumbling something about Matt and how she was glad he had decided to come over. He kissed the top of her head, her fly away hairs tickling his nostrils. He bent his head around to get a better view of his face, and stroked her cheek with his free hand. He gently caressed her neck, running his ran down her collar bone, over the swell of her breast, and down to her perfectly shaped waist. He pulled her face to him- she was still in some far off dreamscape- and kissed her lips. She subconsciously lifted her hand to his face and that's when she knew something was wrong. She jolted back after stroking a very stubbled jaw line, startling Jett who awoke in a squawk and a blur of black and white feathers.
“What the hell are you doing in my house, you sick bastard!” Sonja shouted at him, violently wiping her lips with the back of her hand, trying to get the taste of him out of her mouth.
He stood to face her, ripping the blanket she clung to out of her hands.
“Do you want the truth?” he asked her, violence dripping like poison from his words.
“Y-yes. Yes, why would you be in my house, Gerry?”
“I'm here to kill you.” He said flatly, as if she had asked for the time.
She screamed at the top of her voice and he was on her.
*Chapter 14- Emma learns Sonja's secret
This is what I picture Emma to look like
“Emma? Emma dear, wake up,” concern dripped from Rosalind's words.
“What is it with the women around here? Do they all faint?”
“Shut up, Matthew,” Rosalind admonished her son.
Emma sat up slightly, rubbing her head. “What happened?”
“You fainted,” Sonja said plainly.
Emma looked around the room. Someone had carried her to the couch where she now lay, her head on Rosalind's lap. Sonja sat on the floor, Emma's hand in her own. Matt sat with one arm over the back of a chair, his chin resting in the crook of his elbow. Gunnar and Robert were still standing by the fireplace, watching Emma's movements. Emma's eyes alighted on Gunnar and panic set in once more. She sat bolt upright, fear on her face. She looked from person to person, hoping for some kind of explanation.
Sonja took a seat next to her panicked best friend, turning Emma's face towards her own, and away from Gunnar.
“Sonja, Sonja, what the genuine eff is going on here? Who- what is he?!”
“He is my tutor.”
“Excuse me?” Emma said, flabbergasted.
Robert stepped forward, kneeling down in front of the shaking form. “Emma, look at me.”
Emma obliged, turning from Sonja to face him.
“You can't tell anyone about this. It would devastate us, it would ruin a secret that we have kept for centuries.”
“I-I don't understand,” Emma stammered.
Maybe you should show her, Robert. Jett's sudden chirping startled Emma, Robert's understanding of the bird did so even more. She stared wide-eyed as Robert spoke to the bird.
“Good idea, Jett.”
“Y-you can u-understand it?”
“Not it, him. His name is Jett,” Sonja interjected while her father prepared himself to display what he meant. “He's my guardian.”
Emma looked in disbelief around the room, waiting for someone to say it was all a joke, but no one obliged.
“Let me get this straight, you have an angel as a tutor and a bird as a guardian?”
“Not an angel,” Gunnar retorted, holding up his hand. He had always wondered if indeed he had angelic roots and decided it was quite possible.
“Then what are you?”
“We are members of a society called Sgiathalaich,” Robert said, stepping around from behind the sofa where he had removed his shirt and applied the òl. He stretched his wings a bit, nearly knocking the lamp off the end table that Jett was situated, making him squawk in alarm, Emma emitting a similar sound. “Sorry, buddy.”
It is quite alright, Robert. Your wings are lovely.
“Thank you. Moving on; our society has lived in relative peace and secrecy for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands, with our sister society, Droch-Bheart. The records before 1600 are pretty scarce and incomplete so we're not entirely sure how long we've truly been around. Our home base, I guess you could call it, is in Maiseach, a small town smack dab in the middle of Scotland. Its pretty hard to get to, except from the air, so we haven't had very many outsiders finding us by accident. If they do, they are sworn to secrecy.”
“And if they break secrecy?” Emma asked nervously.
“Most people wouldn't believe them anyway, but if they do, they are sentenced to death. This has happened only once to a group of surveyors in the 1800s who stumbled upon our land and went back to England to proclaim their great find. When they came back they mysteriously disappeared, their disappearance being chalked up to inexperience or bad weather.”
“Oh.”
“Emma, don't worry,” Sonja tried comforting her. “I know you'll keep our secret.”
“Does that mean you're one of them too, Sonja?”
“Me, too,” Matt proclaimed proudly.
“Yes, it does. And soon, I'll have to decide whether I want to join this society, to keep my wings as well.”
Emma looked around at all the faces staring down at her. She gave a nervous laugh and stood. “This is, like, the worst prank ever. Nice try, Matt. This is quite clever for you.”
“This is not a joke, Emma.” Jennifer spoke for the first time in hours, brought back to reality by the situation at hand. She pulled the straps of her dress down over her shoulder, and grabbed the bottle from Robert, applying some to her own back. “If you need to see more proof to believe, then so be it.”
Emma watched in shock and awe as Jennifer's charcoal grey wings extended from somewhere deep within her, unfurling beautifully behind her. Jennifer flapped them a few times, making the tiny red curls around Emma's face billow in different directions. “Do you believe us now?”
Emma didn't know what to believe. An hour ago she had been on her way to see Rosalind for morning tea, the next thing she knew she was sprawled out on a couch being told her best friend's parents, and her best friends, were all part of some cult or something. This was too much. The only thing she could do was try to reason with it, because clearly they all believed it to be true.
“How long do you have until you get-” She couldn't say it.
“Wings?” Sonja asked, Emma nodded. “Until my birthday. In our society, Sgiathalaich, we aren't born with the wing buds, but when we turn twenty, they come from their resting places deep within the muscles of my shoulders and start developing.”
“How long does that take?”
“A few weeks. Its like signets, they're born all grey and fluffy but quickly molt and grow into the older, white swans,” Robert explained, giving Emma a metaphor she was sure to understand.
“So the Droch-whatever, the other society, what are they like? Why isn't it just one big thing if you all end up the same way anyway?”
“The Droch-Bheart people are born, like Sonja said, with wing buds. This means as soon as they come out of the womb their wings will start developing.”
“And you said you get a choice to keep them or not?” Emma was truly trying to wrap her head around all of this. The others were trying to keep it as simple as possible without getting too in depth, or giving away any other secrets. It was Gunnar's turn to answer. He crossed his arms over his chest, mentally recalling the goings on of the previous night, and began pacing back and forth across the hearth.
“Sgiathalaich people can choose to keep their wings or have them surgically removed on their birthday. Keeping you wings means your restricted to life within the borders of Maiseach and the protected lands around it, until you have children anyway. Most people choose to remain in Maiseach so they can stay with their families and carry on the bloodlines. The ones that choose to leave are usually parents who want a normal life, or want their children to experience life outside the borders of the village. Droch-Bheart is a bit different. They are born, like we said, with wing buds. In more modern times, like in the past twenty years or so, parents are wanting their children to have better lives, see more of the world that they couldn't, so they're opting to have their wings removed at birth.” Gunnar finished, thinking painfully of Ahava's wish for wings.
“Once they're gone, are they gone forever?”
“Not necessarily. You can have them implanted back in, which can be risky. Its like having an organ transplant; your body recognizes that its not your own, not an original part of you, and tries to reject it. I've seen this happen before. Someone wanted to have the transplant from a cadaver, a young member of the Feachd- our military- who had been killed in training. Unfortunately, the chap's body rejected the transplant and he died of infection. But, it can also be very successful. I know of a couple Droch-Bheart who have had it done and say it was the best decision they ever made.”
“Could I get wings?” Emma looked up, a shadow of intrigue passing over her face.
Gunnar raised a brow, looking to Robert for the answer to this one.
“I honestly don't know the answer to that. In all my years as a member of the Comhairleach I have never had this issue come up. I suppose if you swore your alliance to Sgiathalaich-”
“-or Droch-Bheart,” Rosalind interrupted with a smirk.
“Or Droch-Bheart, then I'm sure you could have the transplant. The only issue is that you may not have the right blood for it. Though, there are many people who have left Maiseach to seek life other places, you could have traces in you lineage. It could be done. But once its done, you realize, its permanent. It would be a life altering change; you would have to leave everything you know to become a part of...this.” Robert gestured grandly around the room.
“Does that mean once Sonja decides what she wants do, I might never see her again?”
“Or I may never see my family again, if I choose not to go,” Sonja added lightly.
“Could I visit? If I swore my allegiance to whatever?”
“Again, this is an issue that has never really come up, seeing as we've managed to keep this a secret for so incredibly long. It would have to be something taken up with the Comhairleach. I'll bring it up a our meeting next week.”
Emma sat for a long time in complete silence, something no one had ever seen her do, or thought she was capable of. She was clearly mulling over all of the information she had just received, much like Matt and Sonja had the week prior. “I want to pledge my allegiance,” she said, finality in her voice that Sonja had never heard before.
“Okay, well I'll see about that and let you know. Now that you know, anyhow, its either you're aligned with us, or we'll have to take you out,” Robert tried to joke, but he was the only one who stifled an awkward chuckle, coughing into his fist. “Anyway.”
“This is kind of cool, actually. Oh, by the way, you can talk to birds, too?” Emma asked Sonja, suddenly becoming interested, but still holding on to that last bit of disbelief.
“Yeah, its a pretty cool trick.”
Yes, it is. I enjoy my conversations with the Paisley family, they are lovely. They let me keep my food in the refrigerator, is that not just wonderful?
Sonja smiled at her guardian's quirky nature and turned to Emma. “Are you sure you're okay with this? Keeping a secret this immense, I mean?”
Emma looked around, her eyes widening slightly. “What? Do you think I'm going to tell anyone?”
“Maybe not, but ye do have a big maw on ye,” Matt said good-naturedly joking with her.
“Hush you! If it weren't for me you two would still be 'just friends',” Emma razzed him back. “Of course I'll keep your secret, on one condition.”
“What's that?”
“Do not, under any circumstances, ever do that to me again!”
The mood in the room lifted a bit, everyone joining in the light-hearted banter that ensued from this comment.
As the days sailed by, Emma couldn't help but ask as many questions as she could think, which seemed like hundreds rolling into thousands. Sonja almost got tired of it, then remembered the secret her friend possessed and how well she had dealt with the whole thing, and smiled, happy to answer Emma's never ending line of questions.
“What is it with the women around here? Do they all faint?”
“Shut up, Matthew,” Rosalind admonished her son.
Emma sat up slightly, rubbing her head. “What happened?”
“You fainted,” Sonja said plainly.
Emma looked around the room. Someone had carried her to the couch where she now lay, her head on Rosalind's lap. Sonja sat on the floor, Emma's hand in her own. Matt sat with one arm over the back of a chair, his chin resting in the crook of his elbow. Gunnar and Robert were still standing by the fireplace, watching Emma's movements. Emma's eyes alighted on Gunnar and panic set in once more. She sat bolt upright, fear on her face. She looked from person to person, hoping for some kind of explanation.
Sonja took a seat next to her panicked best friend, turning Emma's face towards her own, and away from Gunnar.
“Sonja, Sonja, what the genuine eff is going on here? Who- what is he?!”
“He is my tutor.”
“Excuse me?” Emma said, flabbergasted.
Robert stepped forward, kneeling down in front of the shaking form. “Emma, look at me.”
Emma obliged, turning from Sonja to face him.
“You can't tell anyone about this. It would devastate us, it would ruin a secret that we have kept for centuries.”
“I-I don't understand,” Emma stammered.
Maybe you should show her, Robert. Jett's sudden chirping startled Emma, Robert's understanding of the bird did so even more. She stared wide-eyed as Robert spoke to the bird.
“Good idea, Jett.”
“Y-you can u-understand it?”
“Not it, him. His name is Jett,” Sonja interjected while her father prepared himself to display what he meant. “He's my guardian.”
Emma looked in disbelief around the room, waiting for someone to say it was all a joke, but no one obliged.
“Let me get this straight, you have an angel as a tutor and a bird as a guardian?”
“Not an angel,” Gunnar retorted, holding up his hand. He had always wondered if indeed he had angelic roots and decided it was quite possible.
“Then what are you?”
“We are members of a society called Sgiathalaich,” Robert said, stepping around from behind the sofa where he had removed his shirt and applied the òl. He stretched his wings a bit, nearly knocking the lamp off the end table that Jett was situated, making him squawk in alarm, Emma emitting a similar sound. “Sorry, buddy.”
It is quite alright, Robert. Your wings are lovely.
“Thank you. Moving on; our society has lived in relative peace and secrecy for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands, with our sister society, Droch-Bheart. The records before 1600 are pretty scarce and incomplete so we're not entirely sure how long we've truly been around. Our home base, I guess you could call it, is in Maiseach, a small town smack dab in the middle of Scotland. Its pretty hard to get to, except from the air, so we haven't had very many outsiders finding us by accident. If they do, they are sworn to secrecy.”
“And if they break secrecy?” Emma asked nervously.
“Most people wouldn't believe them anyway, but if they do, they are sentenced to death. This has happened only once to a group of surveyors in the 1800s who stumbled upon our land and went back to England to proclaim their great find. When they came back they mysteriously disappeared, their disappearance being chalked up to inexperience or bad weather.”
“Oh.”
“Emma, don't worry,” Sonja tried comforting her. “I know you'll keep our secret.”
“Does that mean you're one of them too, Sonja?”
“Me, too,” Matt proclaimed proudly.
“Yes, it does. And soon, I'll have to decide whether I want to join this society, to keep my wings as well.”
Emma looked around at all the faces staring down at her. She gave a nervous laugh and stood. “This is, like, the worst prank ever. Nice try, Matt. This is quite clever for you.”
“This is not a joke, Emma.” Jennifer spoke for the first time in hours, brought back to reality by the situation at hand. She pulled the straps of her dress down over her shoulder, and grabbed the bottle from Robert, applying some to her own back. “If you need to see more proof to believe, then so be it.”
Emma watched in shock and awe as Jennifer's charcoal grey wings extended from somewhere deep within her, unfurling beautifully behind her. Jennifer flapped them a few times, making the tiny red curls around Emma's face billow in different directions. “Do you believe us now?”
Emma didn't know what to believe. An hour ago she had been on her way to see Rosalind for morning tea, the next thing she knew she was sprawled out on a couch being told her best friend's parents, and her best friends, were all part of some cult or something. This was too much. The only thing she could do was try to reason with it, because clearly they all believed it to be true.
“How long do you have until you get-” She couldn't say it.
“Wings?” Sonja asked, Emma nodded. “Until my birthday. In our society, Sgiathalaich, we aren't born with the wing buds, but when we turn twenty, they come from their resting places deep within the muscles of my shoulders and start developing.”
“How long does that take?”
“A few weeks. Its like signets, they're born all grey and fluffy but quickly molt and grow into the older, white swans,” Robert explained, giving Emma a metaphor she was sure to understand.
“So the Droch-whatever, the other society, what are they like? Why isn't it just one big thing if you all end up the same way anyway?”
“The Droch-Bheart people are born, like Sonja said, with wing buds. This means as soon as they come out of the womb their wings will start developing.”
“And you said you get a choice to keep them or not?” Emma was truly trying to wrap her head around all of this. The others were trying to keep it as simple as possible without getting too in depth, or giving away any other secrets. It was Gunnar's turn to answer. He crossed his arms over his chest, mentally recalling the goings on of the previous night, and began pacing back and forth across the hearth.
“Sgiathalaich people can choose to keep their wings or have them surgically removed on their birthday. Keeping you wings means your restricted to life within the borders of Maiseach and the protected lands around it, until you have children anyway. Most people choose to remain in Maiseach so they can stay with their families and carry on the bloodlines. The ones that choose to leave are usually parents who want a normal life, or want their children to experience life outside the borders of the village. Droch-Bheart is a bit different. They are born, like we said, with wing buds. In more modern times, like in the past twenty years or so, parents are wanting their children to have better lives, see more of the world that they couldn't, so they're opting to have their wings removed at birth.” Gunnar finished, thinking painfully of Ahava's wish for wings.
“Once they're gone, are they gone forever?”
“Not necessarily. You can have them implanted back in, which can be risky. Its like having an organ transplant; your body recognizes that its not your own, not an original part of you, and tries to reject it. I've seen this happen before. Someone wanted to have the transplant from a cadaver, a young member of the Feachd- our military- who had been killed in training. Unfortunately, the chap's body rejected the transplant and he died of infection. But, it can also be very successful. I know of a couple Droch-Bheart who have had it done and say it was the best decision they ever made.”
“Could I get wings?” Emma looked up, a shadow of intrigue passing over her face.
Gunnar raised a brow, looking to Robert for the answer to this one.
“I honestly don't know the answer to that. In all my years as a member of the Comhairleach I have never had this issue come up. I suppose if you swore your alliance to Sgiathalaich-”
“-or Droch-Bheart,” Rosalind interrupted with a smirk.
“Or Droch-Bheart, then I'm sure you could have the transplant. The only issue is that you may not have the right blood for it. Though, there are many people who have left Maiseach to seek life other places, you could have traces in you lineage. It could be done. But once its done, you realize, its permanent. It would be a life altering change; you would have to leave everything you know to become a part of...this.” Robert gestured grandly around the room.
“Does that mean once Sonja decides what she wants do, I might never see her again?”
“Or I may never see my family again, if I choose not to go,” Sonja added lightly.
“Could I visit? If I swore my allegiance to whatever?”
“Again, this is an issue that has never really come up, seeing as we've managed to keep this a secret for so incredibly long. It would have to be something taken up with the Comhairleach. I'll bring it up a our meeting next week.”
Emma sat for a long time in complete silence, something no one had ever seen her do, or thought she was capable of. She was clearly mulling over all of the information she had just received, much like Matt and Sonja had the week prior. “I want to pledge my allegiance,” she said, finality in her voice that Sonja had never heard before.
“Okay, well I'll see about that and let you know. Now that you know, anyhow, its either you're aligned with us, or we'll have to take you out,” Robert tried to joke, but he was the only one who stifled an awkward chuckle, coughing into his fist. “Anyway.”
“This is kind of cool, actually. Oh, by the way, you can talk to birds, too?” Emma asked Sonja, suddenly becoming interested, but still holding on to that last bit of disbelief.
“Yeah, its a pretty cool trick.”
Yes, it is. I enjoy my conversations with the Paisley family, they are lovely. They let me keep my food in the refrigerator, is that not just wonderful?
Sonja smiled at her guardian's quirky nature and turned to Emma. “Are you sure you're okay with this? Keeping a secret this immense, I mean?”
Emma looked around, her eyes widening slightly. “What? Do you think I'm going to tell anyone?”
“Maybe not, but ye do have a big maw on ye,” Matt said good-naturedly joking with her.
“Hush you! If it weren't for me you two would still be 'just friends',” Emma razzed him back. “Of course I'll keep your secret, on one condition.”
“What's that?”
“Do not, under any circumstances, ever do that to me again!”
The mood in the room lifted a bit, everyone joining in the light-hearted banter that ensued from this comment.
As the days sailed by, Emma couldn't help but ask as many questions as she could think, which seemed like hundreds rolling into thousands. Sonja almost got tired of it, then remembered the secret her friend possessed and how well she had dealt with the whole thing, and smiled, happy to answer Emma's never ending line of questions.
*Chapter 15- Sonja and Jett
I'm here to kill you.
Sonja shot upwards out of her prone sleeping position, her throat tensed from the scream she must have emitted, those words ringing in her ears. Cold sweat poured down her face as she glanced around her room. She was alone. She was sure of it. Jett flitted over to her from his shelf-bed and perched on her bent knee, cocking his head at her in concern.
Are you alright, Sonja? That is the fourth time this week that you have been awoken like that, never mind the past few weeks. I am beginning to feel concern.
Sonja laid back on her pile of pillows, keeping her knee bent for Jett to continue perching, and sighed. He was right, she couldn't keep going on like this. The first time it had happened, Jennifer came sprinting down the stairs with a baseball bat in her hand, her flaming red hair flying out at all angles, looking much like a Scottish Highlands warrior. She hadn't come down this time.
“I'm fine, don't you worry your pretty little head over it,” she said stroking the soft, black feathers at the crest of his head, knowing she wasn't convincing anyone, especially her mind-reading guardian. She lay for a while, absentmindedly stroking him, thinking.
You should talk to someone about it, you know. Maybe Gunnar could help? He has been in battles and all sorts, he told me all about them. What is it that you humans get after something traumatic...POTS? PITS? SPOTS?
“PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. I doubt I have that, Jett. And since when are you and Gunnar buddies?”
We share stories, but that is beside the point. It is quite possible that you may have that; despite your incident not being a battle or something of the like, it is still very upsetting to the mind. I explained before that I do not enter your mind often, I like to give you your privacy unless I feel that you may need assistance, and I do not know if it would work, but maybe you could let me into your dreams? Then you would not have to talk to someone, because I know you do not want to do that. You are too stubborn.
Sonja gave her guardian a look of mock irritation and rolled her eyes.
“I suppose we could try it. Should we try it tonight?”
There is no time like the present, they say.
“Okay, so how do we do this?” she asked, lying back on her pillows, pulling her duvet under her chin.
I suppose it would be much like mind-reading; you don't realize I am doing it, so your mind is clear. Try not thinking of anything.
She lay there for a few moments, thinking, or trying to think, of nothing. This proved to be much more difficult than originally imagined.
Maybe you should think of what you would normally before going to bed, maybe then I can attach my mind on to a piece of your thoughts and follow you in to the dream phase.
Sonja shrugged and looked at the old-fashioned alarm clock sat on her end table, which thankfully told her she could sleep for at least eight more hours. It ticked the seconds away with the pleasant regularity of a metronome, lulling Sonja gently back to sleep.
* * *
He turned to face the direction of the noise. Blood stained the palms of his hands and the sweet fulness of his lips. His honey-golden eyes were glazed over, only death and hunger on his mind. His thick, dark hair was matted and he wore only tattered blue jeans, which flared about over his haunches as he crouched over the still form of his prey. Jett could see feathers of an array of different colors- blue, red, yellow, all strewn about the ground at his feet. As Jett moved closer, he disturbed the predator, who fled to the recesses of Sonja's dream world. Jett watched Gerald Blackburn in the beastly form he took in Sonja's mind as he returned to drag the wings away, from which fell more of the rainbow of feathers. Jett looked down and saw Sonja's prone body. She was clad in white robes like that seen in Renaissance paintings of angels. Her crystal blue eyes had lost their lively intensity and stared unseeing to the emptiness above. Her skin was like porcelain, smooth and cream colored, bearing none of the freckles she wore in her waking life. The necklace her mother had given her lay gleaming against the pale skin of her exposed chest. As Jett traveled only inches down from that, he saw a gaping hole in her chest where her heart should have been; blood gurgled from the torn arteries and veins, pooling in the cavity. The rest of her body was untouched, pristine as if it were painstakingly painted with oils and soft brushes. Just visible at the tops of her shoulder were the nubs of bone left when Gerry had ripped her wings away. Jett leaned down to get a closer look when dream Sonja sat up abruptly, tilted her her to the sky, blood pouring from her heartless body, and screeched like a banshee.
* * *
Sonja woke again in a similar state of her dream self, a scream on her lips. She clutched her chest, feeling her heart beating safely inside. She reached a hand behind her shoulder and touched the skin. Feeling not sign of broken wings, she flopped back down into her pillows. Jett had been perched on the alarm clock and now alighted on Sonja's chest, nuzzling her neck.
I see why you awake with such a fright, he said sympathetically.
“Not a pretty sight, is it?” she said, smoothing the hair back from her moistened temples, yawning.
No, that it is not. You should talk to Gunnar, you know. I think he would be able to help.
“Well, I'll be seeing him tomorrow for my first history class so I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask.”
And your mother, maybe she has some herbs to help you sleep?
Sonja rubbed her eyes, trying to fight off sleep, not wanting to meet the nightmare again.
I will stay with you.
“Always?” Sonja mumbled as she drifted off again, this time to a dreamless sleep.
Always, Jett replied, nestling into the crook of Sonja's elbow, tucking his head under his wing.
Sonja shot upwards out of her prone sleeping position, her throat tensed from the scream she must have emitted, those words ringing in her ears. Cold sweat poured down her face as she glanced around her room. She was alone. She was sure of it. Jett flitted over to her from his shelf-bed and perched on her bent knee, cocking his head at her in concern.
Are you alright, Sonja? That is the fourth time this week that you have been awoken like that, never mind the past few weeks. I am beginning to feel concern.
Sonja laid back on her pile of pillows, keeping her knee bent for Jett to continue perching, and sighed. He was right, she couldn't keep going on like this. The first time it had happened, Jennifer came sprinting down the stairs with a baseball bat in her hand, her flaming red hair flying out at all angles, looking much like a Scottish Highlands warrior. She hadn't come down this time.
“I'm fine, don't you worry your pretty little head over it,” she said stroking the soft, black feathers at the crest of his head, knowing she wasn't convincing anyone, especially her mind-reading guardian. She lay for a while, absentmindedly stroking him, thinking.
You should talk to someone about it, you know. Maybe Gunnar could help? He has been in battles and all sorts, he told me all about them. What is it that you humans get after something traumatic...POTS? PITS? SPOTS?
“PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. I doubt I have that, Jett. And since when are you and Gunnar buddies?”
We share stories, but that is beside the point. It is quite possible that you may have that; despite your incident not being a battle or something of the like, it is still very upsetting to the mind. I explained before that I do not enter your mind often, I like to give you your privacy unless I feel that you may need assistance, and I do not know if it would work, but maybe you could let me into your dreams? Then you would not have to talk to someone, because I know you do not want to do that. You are too stubborn.
Sonja gave her guardian a look of mock irritation and rolled her eyes.
“I suppose we could try it. Should we try it tonight?”
There is no time like the present, they say.
“Okay, so how do we do this?” she asked, lying back on her pillows, pulling her duvet under her chin.
I suppose it would be much like mind-reading; you don't realize I am doing it, so your mind is clear. Try not thinking of anything.
She lay there for a few moments, thinking, or trying to think, of nothing. This proved to be much more difficult than originally imagined.
Maybe you should think of what you would normally before going to bed, maybe then I can attach my mind on to a piece of your thoughts and follow you in to the dream phase.
Sonja shrugged and looked at the old-fashioned alarm clock sat on her end table, which thankfully told her she could sleep for at least eight more hours. It ticked the seconds away with the pleasant regularity of a metronome, lulling Sonja gently back to sleep.
* * *
He turned to face the direction of the noise. Blood stained the palms of his hands and the sweet fulness of his lips. His honey-golden eyes were glazed over, only death and hunger on his mind. His thick, dark hair was matted and he wore only tattered blue jeans, which flared about over his haunches as he crouched over the still form of his prey. Jett could see feathers of an array of different colors- blue, red, yellow, all strewn about the ground at his feet. As Jett moved closer, he disturbed the predator, who fled to the recesses of Sonja's dream world. Jett watched Gerald Blackburn in the beastly form he took in Sonja's mind as he returned to drag the wings away, from which fell more of the rainbow of feathers. Jett looked down and saw Sonja's prone body. She was clad in white robes like that seen in Renaissance paintings of angels. Her crystal blue eyes had lost their lively intensity and stared unseeing to the emptiness above. Her skin was like porcelain, smooth and cream colored, bearing none of the freckles she wore in her waking life. The necklace her mother had given her lay gleaming against the pale skin of her exposed chest. As Jett traveled only inches down from that, he saw a gaping hole in her chest where her heart should have been; blood gurgled from the torn arteries and veins, pooling in the cavity. The rest of her body was untouched, pristine as if it were painstakingly painted with oils and soft brushes. Just visible at the tops of her shoulder were the nubs of bone left when Gerry had ripped her wings away. Jett leaned down to get a closer look when dream Sonja sat up abruptly, tilted her her to the sky, blood pouring from her heartless body, and screeched like a banshee.
* * *
Sonja woke again in a similar state of her dream self, a scream on her lips. She clutched her chest, feeling her heart beating safely inside. She reached a hand behind her shoulder and touched the skin. Feeling not sign of broken wings, she flopped back down into her pillows. Jett had been perched on the alarm clock and now alighted on Sonja's chest, nuzzling her neck.
I see why you awake with such a fright, he said sympathetically.
“Not a pretty sight, is it?” she said, smoothing the hair back from her moistened temples, yawning.
No, that it is not. You should talk to Gunnar, you know. I think he would be able to help.
“Well, I'll be seeing him tomorrow for my first history class so I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask.”
And your mother, maybe she has some herbs to help you sleep?
Sonja rubbed her eyes, trying to fight off sleep, not wanting to meet the nightmare again.
I will stay with you.
“Always?” Sonja mumbled as she drifted off again, this time to a dreamless sleep.
Always, Jett replied, nestling into the crook of Sonja's elbow, tucking his head under his wing.
*Chapter 16- This is a little bit of a history lesson, a little bit of an explanation
“Who founded Maiseach, then?” Sonja asked logically as always.
“Well,” Gunnar leaned back on his hands, legs crossed in front of him, “I believe Maiseach wasn't founded until around the late 1600s. It was sometime before the Pilgrims headed to America, anyway, because they tried to find somewhere else first, you see, before they landed at Plymouth Rock.”
Sonja's jaw dropped a bit.
“Everything the told us in social studies is a lie!” she joked.
“Yes, you're a bloody Yank, for God's sake, of course it is,” Gunnar said, putting his English accent on heavy for the jest. Sonja shoved him, laughing, and he continued. “Anyway, there was a man named Arthur Wellington. He lived way down in a spot of a village near what's now Devon, England, right on the sea. His family had lived there for a hundred years before him, all magically sprouting wings when they turned twenty; they were the original Sgiathalaich, though who knows how many others around the world there were at the time. This was normal to him, because everyone in his tiny village got them eventually. Due to living in the same place for a few hundred years and having literally zero contact with the outside world, there were no accusations of Devil worship or sorcery, just acceptance that when you turned a certain age, you went through a change, kind of like puberty. The village didn't even have a name, and doesn't exist anymore, that's how small it was. Well, our pal Arthur would look across the Channel every morning and dream of a different life. He was sick of being surrounded by people just like him, four generations of Wellingtons, and acres of open farm land. Unfortunately for him, he suffered from sea-sickness and sometimes watching the waves break on the beach below his family's bungalow was enough to turn him green. So naturally he vowed that as soon as he turned twenty, he would fly across to whatever lay on the other side, because whatever it was would be better than this.”
Gunnar went on to explain the Arthur kept his promise to himself. Shortly after his birthday, he snuck off, telling his mother he was going to the farthest field to check on the sheep. She thought nothing of this and nodded, turning her attention back to the clothing she was mending. He ran down to the beach as fast as he could, wings extended behind him, ready for flight. From what the history books had said, his wings were large and awkwardly disproportioned to his body, making flight difficult. He had been practicing every day since his birthday, building his strength and planning his escape. He almost made it, too.
“What happened to him?” Sonja said, her face perched on her hands, sitting cross-legged like a child in school.
“Don't worry, I'm getting there,” Gunnar said, patting her head. She scowled at him, but he ignored this and continued.
Arthur had chosen high noon as his departure time. The only thing in the sky, other than him, was his guardian. Now, his guardian had a bit more sense than our Arthur. She had been telling him for weeks that he wasn't ready to carry out a journey such as this one, but he brushed her off and said she was just a silly little sparrow. She was a sparrow, and she was little, but she certainly wasn't silly. She had fluffed her feathers out in indignation, but as Arthur's guardian, she was obligated to follow him wherever he went, guarding him even in his most foolish moments. So they flew together, Arthur struggling a bit, his guardian flitting happily next to him. Everything was going fine until he looked down and spotted a ship. His wings had grown tired from the effort it took to fly, so he decided now would be a good opportunity to meet new people. He ignored his guardian's shrieks of warning, and ventured down, alighting on the deck of the ship. The men on board were all simply dressed in tan colored knickers with a crème-colored shirt tucked into the waist. Most were barefoot, and those that wore shoes walked around shouting orders in a language Arthur had never heard before. Something else curious about them- none of them had wings.
He had stood unnoticed for several moments before a rather dour looking man with a beard looked up from his mop handle. The mop fell to the deck with a smack, getting Arthur's attention. Arthur picked it up, handing it back to the man and smiling. The man's eyes grew wide and he quickly crossed himself.
“Mon dieu...” was all he said before he took off at a sprint in the opposite direction.
Arthur was confused by the man's behavior and called after him. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arms and pulled them tight behind him. He cried out in pain and shock; why would these people want to hurt him? He shoved the assailant away with a swipe of his wings and ran to the back of the ship. He turned back one time to see the crowd on deck had grown substantially, and pushed off, taking flight. He heard mingled gasps and muffled voices behind him as the wind rushed in his ears. Tears stained his face as he flew as hard and fast as he could towards home. Having never been so far from home, though, he kept flying, and flying, and still found nothing but open sea. He continually scanned the horizon for land, growing increasingly anxious. His guardian had never left their tiny village either, so she was of no help. The pair flew for hours, still not finding anything but water. The sun glinted off of the waves as it began to set. Arthur judged that since there was some time yet to harvest, the sun would stay up for a few more hours at least. He was right, but light did nothing to help their situation.
His guarding had given up and was resting in the folds of Arthur's shirt, tiny heart about to burst with exertion. He continued flying for what felt like an eternity, and just as he was about to give himself to the ocean, he saw land. He wasn't sure which land it was, and he hoped he wouldn't find anymore of those horrible, wingless people, he just wanted to be on solid earth. His guardian suggested flying further inward and Arthur agreed, being spurned forward by a sense of triumph. He dipped lower to see if there were any inhabitants. He found that the farther away from the ocean he got, the less people there were. He flew for a couple hours longer, over a set of mountains and down into a valley. He swooped around the edge of the thick forest and finally came to a large clearing. It had clearly been abandoned; there were structures, but saplings and lichen had pushed through the thicketed roofs and into the cracks in the mortar.
In the excitement of discovering this new place, he had forgotten about his family. He wandered around the decrepit structures and decided to go inside to have a look. He went into a room and was shocked by what he found. The skeleton of a child lay curled against a wall, doll still in hand. Arthur walked over to it, cocking his head in curiosity and sympathy. Judging by the size of the bones and the soft roundness of the skull, it couldn't have been any older than his youngest sister. He stood suddenly, a pang of guilt and sadness striking him deep in the heart. He had to get back, he couldn't abandon his sister for her to be neglected and end up like this poor child. He decided he would have to go home. He would gather his family and bring them here. After experiencing those bare-backs, as he called them, he wasn't going to let his family and his village fall prey to them. He didn't care what it took, he would find them again.
He and his guardian rested for a bit, found a few edible plants and replenished their strength. They both did some reconnaissance and decided that they had flown in an arch instead of straight up. So, instead of flying in an arch, they watched the movement of the sun, decided which way must be south, and flew straight. They flew for hours, always keeping the sun behind them, into the night. With the moon as their guardian, they came to a stretch of land that began to look familiar. Yes, this was the back field, the one that Arthur had said he was going to check on a few days prior. He felt another pang of guilt, which quickly escalated into full-fledged fear and agony as he saw flames engulfing the thatched roof of his bungalow. He pumped his wings harder, his guardian screaming incoherently as she tried to keep up.
He knew it- it was the men from the ship. He recognized some of their faces as the ones who gaped in awe of him from the back of the ship. They must have tried to follow him, and when they lost him, they sailed straight to land with the aid of a compass and sexton. Arthur hovered above his neighbor's bungalow as he watched a couple of the men drag his neighbor and his wife from their home. He turned away at the last second, but he didn't need to look to know what was happening. He heard the sickening crack of bone and cartilage being broken, the agonizing screams that followed.
The roof of his home had caved in a bit, leaving a gap large enough for him to drop through. He turned to see that the front door was still barricaded shut; the men hadn't got there yet. He called for his family, choking on the lung-blackening smoke. He pushed the door to his parent's room open and found his entire family huddled behind an upturned bed frame. His sister was curled into his mother's side, holding a doll similar to the one he had seen the skeleton holding. He wouldn't let her meet the same fate. He heard fists pounding on the door, shouts in that foreign tongue. Despite not understanding a word, Arthur could recognize a threat in the tone, a threat that would be accomplished if they didn't move- and quickly. He sent his father away first with the two youngest boys, his mother next with the third youngest boy and oldest girl. He held out his hand to his youngest sister, who cowered away from him. He promised her that he would never leave again. She looked up at him, innocent eyes filled with tears, and held out her hand to him. He scooped her into his arms as the men shattered the door with a tree trunk they were using as a battering ram. He took one last look at them, trying to remember their faces, and flew to the sky, his sister in his arms. She clung to her doll for dear life and closed her eyes as they soared higher, the stars embracing them as two of their own.
“So I guess it's kind of happy ending then?” Sonja said, switching positions and leaning back on her hands.
“You could say that. It was a happy ending for Arthur and his family but his whole village was destroyed, the rest of his family killed.”
“Did anyone else escape?”
“I was just going to say, they weren't the only survivors. Only one other person survived. She lived just a few houses down from Arthur and was around the same age as him, give or take a year or so. They had a happy ending, you see. After she had followed closely behind them, she showed up at their camp site, tears streaming down her face, begging for a place to stay as she had nowhere else to go. Of course, he granted it to her and eventually they fell in love, blah blah blah.” Gunnar gestured a rolling motion to suggest there was more to the story, but it was just the happily ever after part. “After they were married for a time, they discussed that night and came to a realization- this must be happening everywhere. So, they took it upon themselves and the Wellingtons to find people like themselves and bring them to Maiseach.”
“What does Maiseach mean? It sounds Scottish,” Sonja pointed out.
“Yes, you are correct, young fledgling. It is Scots Gaelic for 'beautiful,'” Gunnar explained, gesturing grandly over the Forth Valley sprawling below them.
Sonja looked skeptically as toy sized cars drove slowly down the winding roads below them, but took Gunnar's word for it and shrugged, thinking of more questions. She wracked her brain for things her father had mentioned and then a thought struck her.
“Where does Droch-Bheart come from then, if they all started out as the same people?”
“Very good question. As Arthur's sister grew up, she became a figment of beauty with flowing blonde locks and eyes as blue as yours.” Sonja blushed at this. She didn't have feelings for Gunnar by any means, but any girl would blush at a compliment from him, she thought.
“She must have had all the men after her.”
“That she did, and Arthur was very particular about which men he would let within fifteen feet of her. One Luis Valencia, a Spaniard who was a few years older than Arthur's sister, showed particular interest. She was interested in him as well, but Arthur didn't like him and disapproved of their courtship. His sister, Margaret, was a fiery one, and would sneak out to meet up with Luis under the romantic, starry sky of the Scottish Highlands. Ever seen Braveheart?”
“Yeah.”
“Well think William Wallace's marriage to Miren, minus the throat slitting.”
“Foul,” Sonja scrunched up her nose at the thought. “I wouldn't want to be married to him.”
Gunnar rolled his eyes and continued, “Well, Margaret and Luis decided to meet up under the cover of darkness with a pagan friend of their's to preform an earth worshipping ceremony. No one is quite sure what happened at this ceremony, but the rumor is that there was a lot of nudity, rolling around in the dirt, and carving each other's initials into the base of their wrists. Weird, I know, but times were strange. Long story short, Arthur saw a that Margaret's wrist was wrapped in cloth, and when he asked to see what happened, she snatched her hand away. He scowled at her, ordering her to show him her wrist, and when she didn't, he tore the cloth from it, revealing the still healing L.V. Quickly realizing whose initials those were, he stormed over to Luis's house and nearly banged down the door, demanding to see Luis at once. When Luis came to the door, he promptly received a fist to the face.”
“Ooh, that sounds brutal!”
“Yes, but to be fair, if I had a younger sister who was sneaking around with an older man with a name like Luis, I would be upset too. Anyway, when Luis finally came to, Arthur told him that he was to take Margaret and leave, as she was now damaged goods. They obliged under penalty of Luis's death, but quickly returned, after meeting nearly the same fate they had a few decades before. Arthur had a soft spot for his sister naturally, and agreed to let them stay on his land, but anyone associated with them or bearing the same beliefs, like getting married without approval, would face removal and expulsion from Maiseach. They found these terms to be gracious, and lived just at the edge of the North Woods, thus forming their own society I guess you could call it, Droch-Bheart. Eventually, Margaret had children, as did Arthur's wife. Margaret had four sons and one daughter, Mary. Arthur and his wife had three sons and two daughters. Arthur's son, William, so named for his grandfather, spent a lot of time with Mary in school, as well as family gatherings. They began to spend all of their time together, which their parents approved of as they were family after all.”
“Oh god, please tell me this isn't going where I think it's going?” Sonja asked, clearly disgusted.
“I believe it may be. They came to be of age for marriage, which Arthur had set as sixteen, as was the age of most places of the time. This was also an age where it was acceptable, sometimes encouraged, to marry your cousin, to keep it in the family, you see.”
“Yuck.”
“Yes, it's yuck now, but then it was acceptable. Well, young Mary and William decided at age sixteen and seventeen that they would get married. Presenting this idea to their parents was a whole different kettle of fish. Of course, Margaret and Arthur both agreed it was a ridiculous idea, and although it was acceptable, no child of theirs was going to marry their cousin, and the Mary dropped another bombshell- she was pregnant.”
“What?!” Sonja didn't bother to hide her outrage. “Scandalous!”
“Oh yes, very. So, they were ostracized from both Sgiathalaich and Droch-Bheart, their wings were removed, and they were sent on their way to find their own place to live.”
“How did they get rid of them?”
“The Feachd, which, at this point, had just begun, helped with that. They were ordered to blindfold the star-crossed lovers, bring then to an undisclosed location, and leave them to the earth.”
“That's brutal.”
“Again, those were the times. Here's the catch, though- the Feachd had a long memory at that point and the tales of the founders were still fresh in their minds. They only travelled over the hills to the next valley and left them. They did what their ancestors had told them about hundreds of times before, and established their own society as well. Thus we have-”
“-Dòchas.” Sonja cut Gunnar off and shook her head in amazement.
“You catch on quick!” Gunnar said, elbowing Sonja playfully. “I think that's enough for today's history lesson.”
“Well,” Gunnar leaned back on his hands, legs crossed in front of him, “I believe Maiseach wasn't founded until around the late 1600s. It was sometime before the Pilgrims headed to America, anyway, because they tried to find somewhere else first, you see, before they landed at Plymouth Rock.”
Sonja's jaw dropped a bit.
“Everything the told us in social studies is a lie!” she joked.
“Yes, you're a bloody Yank, for God's sake, of course it is,” Gunnar said, putting his English accent on heavy for the jest. Sonja shoved him, laughing, and he continued. “Anyway, there was a man named Arthur Wellington. He lived way down in a spot of a village near what's now Devon, England, right on the sea. His family had lived there for a hundred years before him, all magically sprouting wings when they turned twenty; they were the original Sgiathalaich, though who knows how many others around the world there were at the time. This was normal to him, because everyone in his tiny village got them eventually. Due to living in the same place for a few hundred years and having literally zero contact with the outside world, there were no accusations of Devil worship or sorcery, just acceptance that when you turned a certain age, you went through a change, kind of like puberty. The village didn't even have a name, and doesn't exist anymore, that's how small it was. Well, our pal Arthur would look across the Channel every morning and dream of a different life. He was sick of being surrounded by people just like him, four generations of Wellingtons, and acres of open farm land. Unfortunately for him, he suffered from sea-sickness and sometimes watching the waves break on the beach below his family's bungalow was enough to turn him green. So naturally he vowed that as soon as he turned twenty, he would fly across to whatever lay on the other side, because whatever it was would be better than this.”
Gunnar went on to explain the Arthur kept his promise to himself. Shortly after his birthday, he snuck off, telling his mother he was going to the farthest field to check on the sheep. She thought nothing of this and nodded, turning her attention back to the clothing she was mending. He ran down to the beach as fast as he could, wings extended behind him, ready for flight. From what the history books had said, his wings were large and awkwardly disproportioned to his body, making flight difficult. He had been practicing every day since his birthday, building his strength and planning his escape. He almost made it, too.
“What happened to him?” Sonja said, her face perched on her hands, sitting cross-legged like a child in school.
“Don't worry, I'm getting there,” Gunnar said, patting her head. She scowled at him, but he ignored this and continued.
Arthur had chosen high noon as his departure time. The only thing in the sky, other than him, was his guardian. Now, his guardian had a bit more sense than our Arthur. She had been telling him for weeks that he wasn't ready to carry out a journey such as this one, but he brushed her off and said she was just a silly little sparrow. She was a sparrow, and she was little, but she certainly wasn't silly. She had fluffed her feathers out in indignation, but as Arthur's guardian, she was obligated to follow him wherever he went, guarding him even in his most foolish moments. So they flew together, Arthur struggling a bit, his guardian flitting happily next to him. Everything was going fine until he looked down and spotted a ship. His wings had grown tired from the effort it took to fly, so he decided now would be a good opportunity to meet new people. He ignored his guardian's shrieks of warning, and ventured down, alighting on the deck of the ship. The men on board were all simply dressed in tan colored knickers with a crème-colored shirt tucked into the waist. Most were barefoot, and those that wore shoes walked around shouting orders in a language Arthur had never heard before. Something else curious about them- none of them had wings.
He had stood unnoticed for several moments before a rather dour looking man with a beard looked up from his mop handle. The mop fell to the deck with a smack, getting Arthur's attention. Arthur picked it up, handing it back to the man and smiling. The man's eyes grew wide and he quickly crossed himself.
“Mon dieu...” was all he said before he took off at a sprint in the opposite direction.
Arthur was confused by the man's behavior and called after him. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arms and pulled them tight behind him. He cried out in pain and shock; why would these people want to hurt him? He shoved the assailant away with a swipe of his wings and ran to the back of the ship. He turned back one time to see the crowd on deck had grown substantially, and pushed off, taking flight. He heard mingled gasps and muffled voices behind him as the wind rushed in his ears. Tears stained his face as he flew as hard and fast as he could towards home. Having never been so far from home, though, he kept flying, and flying, and still found nothing but open sea. He continually scanned the horizon for land, growing increasingly anxious. His guardian had never left their tiny village either, so she was of no help. The pair flew for hours, still not finding anything but water. The sun glinted off of the waves as it began to set. Arthur judged that since there was some time yet to harvest, the sun would stay up for a few more hours at least. He was right, but light did nothing to help their situation.
His guarding had given up and was resting in the folds of Arthur's shirt, tiny heart about to burst with exertion. He continued flying for what felt like an eternity, and just as he was about to give himself to the ocean, he saw land. He wasn't sure which land it was, and he hoped he wouldn't find anymore of those horrible, wingless people, he just wanted to be on solid earth. His guardian suggested flying further inward and Arthur agreed, being spurned forward by a sense of triumph. He dipped lower to see if there were any inhabitants. He found that the farther away from the ocean he got, the less people there were. He flew for a couple hours longer, over a set of mountains and down into a valley. He swooped around the edge of the thick forest and finally came to a large clearing. It had clearly been abandoned; there were structures, but saplings and lichen had pushed through the thicketed roofs and into the cracks in the mortar.
In the excitement of discovering this new place, he had forgotten about his family. He wandered around the decrepit structures and decided to go inside to have a look. He went into a room and was shocked by what he found. The skeleton of a child lay curled against a wall, doll still in hand. Arthur walked over to it, cocking his head in curiosity and sympathy. Judging by the size of the bones and the soft roundness of the skull, it couldn't have been any older than his youngest sister. He stood suddenly, a pang of guilt and sadness striking him deep in the heart. He had to get back, he couldn't abandon his sister for her to be neglected and end up like this poor child. He decided he would have to go home. He would gather his family and bring them here. After experiencing those bare-backs, as he called them, he wasn't going to let his family and his village fall prey to them. He didn't care what it took, he would find them again.
He and his guardian rested for a bit, found a few edible plants and replenished their strength. They both did some reconnaissance and decided that they had flown in an arch instead of straight up. So, instead of flying in an arch, they watched the movement of the sun, decided which way must be south, and flew straight. They flew for hours, always keeping the sun behind them, into the night. With the moon as their guardian, they came to a stretch of land that began to look familiar. Yes, this was the back field, the one that Arthur had said he was going to check on a few days prior. He felt another pang of guilt, which quickly escalated into full-fledged fear and agony as he saw flames engulfing the thatched roof of his bungalow. He pumped his wings harder, his guardian screaming incoherently as she tried to keep up.
He knew it- it was the men from the ship. He recognized some of their faces as the ones who gaped in awe of him from the back of the ship. They must have tried to follow him, and when they lost him, they sailed straight to land with the aid of a compass and sexton. Arthur hovered above his neighbor's bungalow as he watched a couple of the men drag his neighbor and his wife from their home. He turned away at the last second, but he didn't need to look to know what was happening. He heard the sickening crack of bone and cartilage being broken, the agonizing screams that followed.
The roof of his home had caved in a bit, leaving a gap large enough for him to drop through. He turned to see that the front door was still barricaded shut; the men hadn't got there yet. He called for his family, choking on the lung-blackening smoke. He pushed the door to his parent's room open and found his entire family huddled behind an upturned bed frame. His sister was curled into his mother's side, holding a doll similar to the one he had seen the skeleton holding. He wouldn't let her meet the same fate. He heard fists pounding on the door, shouts in that foreign tongue. Despite not understanding a word, Arthur could recognize a threat in the tone, a threat that would be accomplished if they didn't move- and quickly. He sent his father away first with the two youngest boys, his mother next with the third youngest boy and oldest girl. He held out his hand to his youngest sister, who cowered away from him. He promised her that he would never leave again. She looked up at him, innocent eyes filled with tears, and held out her hand to him. He scooped her into his arms as the men shattered the door with a tree trunk they were using as a battering ram. He took one last look at them, trying to remember their faces, and flew to the sky, his sister in his arms. She clung to her doll for dear life and closed her eyes as they soared higher, the stars embracing them as two of their own.
“So I guess it's kind of happy ending then?” Sonja said, switching positions and leaning back on her hands.
“You could say that. It was a happy ending for Arthur and his family but his whole village was destroyed, the rest of his family killed.”
“Did anyone else escape?”
“I was just going to say, they weren't the only survivors. Only one other person survived. She lived just a few houses down from Arthur and was around the same age as him, give or take a year or so. They had a happy ending, you see. After she had followed closely behind them, she showed up at their camp site, tears streaming down her face, begging for a place to stay as she had nowhere else to go. Of course, he granted it to her and eventually they fell in love, blah blah blah.” Gunnar gestured a rolling motion to suggest there was more to the story, but it was just the happily ever after part. “After they were married for a time, they discussed that night and came to a realization- this must be happening everywhere. So, they took it upon themselves and the Wellingtons to find people like themselves and bring them to Maiseach.”
“What does Maiseach mean? It sounds Scottish,” Sonja pointed out.
“Yes, you are correct, young fledgling. It is Scots Gaelic for 'beautiful,'” Gunnar explained, gesturing grandly over the Forth Valley sprawling below them.
Sonja looked skeptically as toy sized cars drove slowly down the winding roads below them, but took Gunnar's word for it and shrugged, thinking of more questions. She wracked her brain for things her father had mentioned and then a thought struck her.
“Where does Droch-Bheart come from then, if they all started out as the same people?”
“Very good question. As Arthur's sister grew up, she became a figment of beauty with flowing blonde locks and eyes as blue as yours.” Sonja blushed at this. She didn't have feelings for Gunnar by any means, but any girl would blush at a compliment from him, she thought.
“She must have had all the men after her.”
“That she did, and Arthur was very particular about which men he would let within fifteen feet of her. One Luis Valencia, a Spaniard who was a few years older than Arthur's sister, showed particular interest. She was interested in him as well, but Arthur didn't like him and disapproved of their courtship. His sister, Margaret, was a fiery one, and would sneak out to meet up with Luis under the romantic, starry sky of the Scottish Highlands. Ever seen Braveheart?”
“Yeah.”
“Well think William Wallace's marriage to Miren, minus the throat slitting.”
“Foul,” Sonja scrunched up her nose at the thought. “I wouldn't want to be married to him.”
Gunnar rolled his eyes and continued, “Well, Margaret and Luis decided to meet up under the cover of darkness with a pagan friend of their's to preform an earth worshipping ceremony. No one is quite sure what happened at this ceremony, but the rumor is that there was a lot of nudity, rolling around in the dirt, and carving each other's initials into the base of their wrists. Weird, I know, but times were strange. Long story short, Arthur saw a that Margaret's wrist was wrapped in cloth, and when he asked to see what happened, she snatched her hand away. He scowled at her, ordering her to show him her wrist, and when she didn't, he tore the cloth from it, revealing the still healing L.V. Quickly realizing whose initials those were, he stormed over to Luis's house and nearly banged down the door, demanding to see Luis at once. When Luis came to the door, he promptly received a fist to the face.”
“Ooh, that sounds brutal!”
“Yes, but to be fair, if I had a younger sister who was sneaking around with an older man with a name like Luis, I would be upset too. Anyway, when Luis finally came to, Arthur told him that he was to take Margaret and leave, as she was now damaged goods. They obliged under penalty of Luis's death, but quickly returned, after meeting nearly the same fate they had a few decades before. Arthur had a soft spot for his sister naturally, and agreed to let them stay on his land, but anyone associated with them or bearing the same beliefs, like getting married without approval, would face removal and expulsion from Maiseach. They found these terms to be gracious, and lived just at the edge of the North Woods, thus forming their own society I guess you could call it, Droch-Bheart. Eventually, Margaret had children, as did Arthur's wife. Margaret had four sons and one daughter, Mary. Arthur and his wife had three sons and two daughters. Arthur's son, William, so named for his grandfather, spent a lot of time with Mary in school, as well as family gatherings. They began to spend all of their time together, which their parents approved of as they were family after all.”
“Oh god, please tell me this isn't going where I think it's going?” Sonja asked, clearly disgusted.
“I believe it may be. They came to be of age for marriage, which Arthur had set as sixteen, as was the age of most places of the time. This was also an age where it was acceptable, sometimes encouraged, to marry your cousin, to keep it in the family, you see.”
“Yuck.”
“Yes, it's yuck now, but then it was acceptable. Well, young Mary and William decided at age sixteen and seventeen that they would get married. Presenting this idea to their parents was a whole different kettle of fish. Of course, Margaret and Arthur both agreed it was a ridiculous idea, and although it was acceptable, no child of theirs was going to marry their cousin, and the Mary dropped another bombshell- she was pregnant.”
“What?!” Sonja didn't bother to hide her outrage. “Scandalous!”
“Oh yes, very. So, they were ostracized from both Sgiathalaich and Droch-Bheart, their wings were removed, and they were sent on their way to find their own place to live.”
“How did they get rid of them?”
“The Feachd, which, at this point, had just begun, helped with that. They were ordered to blindfold the star-crossed lovers, bring then to an undisclosed location, and leave them to the earth.”
“That's brutal.”
“Again, those were the times. Here's the catch, though- the Feachd had a long memory at that point and the tales of the founders were still fresh in their minds. They only travelled over the hills to the next valley and left them. They did what their ancestors had told them about hundreds of times before, and established their own society as well. Thus we have-”
“-Dòchas.” Sonja cut Gunnar off and shook her head in amazement.
“You catch on quick!” Gunnar said, elbowing Sonja playfully. “I think that's enough for today's history lesson.”
*Chapter 17- Matt gets his own guardian
This is a European Robin, which Ruaridh is
“Shut the window, will ye?” he snapped to the general public as he rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head. Sonja rolled her eyes at this performance and picked his boxers up from the floor, balling them quickly. She tore the pillow from his feeble grasp and threw the balled garments in his face.
“Get up, lazy, there's someone here to meet you,” Sonja said as she stood, pleasantly sore in certain places, pulling her sweatshirt over her head. She situated it around her hips, reading the scrawled lettering that spelled Stirling. Matt covertly pulled his boxers on under the covers and Sonja handed him his other clothes. He stood, quickly tugging on his grey sweat pants and a white T-shirt, which he quickly realized didn't belong to him. He flared red and quickly pulled on his white shirt.
“Okay,” he said exasperated, “who is it?”
Sonja gestured to the bookcase where Jett sat with the other bird.
“Who's that?” he said, confusion clear in his voice.
This, Matthew, is your guardian, Jett answered, a smile in his voice since he couldn't portray it on his face.
“T-That's my guardian? A sparrow!?” Matt gestured with his hand, clearly outraged by the tiny stature of the bird. “I thought I was gonnae have somethin' cool like a kestrel or even an owl at least, but a wee sparrow, really?”
“Matt!” Sonja admonished him.
The smaller bird had a look of pain on his tiny features, but set his wings behind him defiantly, sticking his beak out to make himself look tougher.
Aye, well, I didna ken ye'd react like this or I would'na chosen ye! And for yer information, laddie, I am no a sparrow, I'm a robin! The small bird yelled back, a thick Tranent accent flowing out.
Matt started, shocked. Sonja put her hands on her hips and shook her head. Finally, someone who could give him a run for his money! Matt sighed heavily and sat on Sonja's bed. He rested his head in his hands and shook it. Placing his hands on his balled up fists he sat for a moment, considering something. When he finally came to some kind of conclusion, he stood and faced the shelf, holding his hand out.
“I'm sorry, wee one, I just thought, ye know maybe I'd have a bigger bird being a big guy myself. I...I'm sorry for being mean.”
The small bird looked speculatively at the outstretched hand, took a step back, looking from the hand to the boy. Matt gave him his most sincere look of apology and the bird looked him over once more before hopping down from the shelf into Matt's palm.
“Thank ye for accepting my apology,” Matt said, stroking the bird's head.
Aye, and thank ye for apologizing. Maybe now we can start off on the right foot, ken?
“Aye.”
The pair looked at each other with a companionable respect. This gaze lasted a few moments before Sonja said ahem! to break the silence with an unasked, but very important question.
“So, um, do you have a name? Or should we just keep calling you 'wee one'?”
The robin turned towards Sonja and cocked his head. Looking very confused, as confused as someone with avian features could look, he said, I dinnae have a name. No one's ever gave me one. He looked hopefully up to Matt. Matt, as slow as ever, took a moment to realize that that was a request. He screwed up his face in a puzzled expression, thinking for a bit. He rubbed a hand over his face and grabbed his chin, as if that would help him think. A short time later, after leaving everyone in a state of apprehension as to what he could possibly come out with, he was struck by brilliance.
“How about Ruairidh? I looked it up one time cause I was gonna name a dog we were getting, but my mum realized she was allergic to dogs so we had to get rid of him and he was a red springer spaniel and you're almost red and it means 'red king'; I looked it up.” Matt finished his excited jumble with a deep sigh and a white-toothed grin.
I am almost red, ain't I? Aye, I like that. Ruairidh it is then!
I do like that, Jett proclaimed, speaking up for the first time since he arrived.
“Since we're on the subject,” Sonja interrupted the boys, “Jett, just out of curiosity, where did you get your name?”
Well, Jett began, when I was at Oxford, I had originally settled in a tree just outside of a halls of residence. There was a lovely girl who lived in the room that I could see from my branch. She would leave me pieces of bread and apple- I do love apples- and I would go close, knowing that humans were harmless, most anyhow. I used to let her stroke my head and she spoke to me one day saying, 'You're a pretty bird aren't you? I think you need a name. You're black, like jet, but you've got a white belly, and your tail looks like oil on tar. Maybe I'll call you Jack Tar?' I did not like that name so I shook my head. She was a bit taken back by this, but nonetheless tried again. 'Hmm, Cotton? Fluffy? Ooh, how about Jett, then?' Liking her final choice much better, I chirped in approval. From that day on, she always left food for me, and then one day, she was gone. I believe she may have graduated. I was very saddened by that.
“What a sad story,” Sonja said with a tinge of jealousy to her words. “Maybe you could find her again?”
No, it is quite alright, Sonja, I am very happy here. Maybe you will want to change my name since it was given to me by another?
“No, I like it, really.”
Jett chirped, gazing affectionately at Sonja.
“This is brilliant, now we can spend time together and our guardians can be pals!” Matt said excitedly.
Oh yes, I am quite fond of Ruairidh. I am very glad he has become your guardian, despite his minute stature, Jett said, joking with his friend.
Oi, Jack Tar, pipe doon, aye? I can still scrap! Ruairidh said, hopping from one of Matt's fingers to the other, flapping his wings and puffing out his chest feathers to make himself look bigger. This sent Sonja and Matt into fits of giggles.
The quartet stayed up quite late that evening, talking, laughing. They discovered that Ruairidh was hatched and lived just outside the house of a friend of their's from university. Much like Jett, he had learned his English from listening to conversations, and being from Tranent, he developed their thick accent as well. He had chosen Matt some time back while trying to find a new place to live. He had lived most of his life in Tranent and wanted to see new places, so he waited for the human girl to leave her house. She got in her small red car and began to drive, too fast for Ruairidh to follow closely. He caught up with her at a red light and decided to perch himself underneath the car and ride out the journey that way. He had fallen asleep in his little spot just over the wheel well, the warmth from the vehicle coaxing him towards sleep. He only awoke when the heat wore off and the light changed. He had tentatively hopped down from the car to the black top, peeking around the rubber tires. He hopped a bit further and was startled when another car came zooming around a corner at full pelt. Had he been a bigger bird and taken more time to lift off, he would have been road kill. He flew as high as he could, looking down on the University of Stirling campus below. He found a nice little bush just outside the detached lecture hall and had bumped into Jett a few weeks before it was time to reveal himself as Sonja's guardian.
“Ye've known this whole time!?” Matt shouted at Jett, who simply shook his head and chuckled.
Yes, I did, Matthew. I was asked to take an oath, if you can recall? Part of that oath is that if I should find out who your guardian is, that I would not reveal that for a number of reasons. Continue, Ruairidh.
Matt shook his head, glaring at Jett. “This is not over, bird. Keep goin' please, Ruairidh. Sorry, pal.”
Ruairidh nodded and continued his story.
In between exploring the surrounding area and getting acquainted with his fellow fouls, Ruairidh became quite close with Jett. Jett had explained what he was doing and Ruairidh expressed his desire to become a guardian as well. He had heard it was possible if he were to swear an oath, which he was willing to do, he just had to find someone to guard. After everything came out about not only Sonja's, but Matt's parents, Jett suggested Matt. Ruairidh was apprehensive about this as he knew, and was correct in assuming, how Matt would react to having such a tiny guardian. Jett assured him even if he reacted the way they both knew he would, he would, in the end, just simply be thrilled to have his own guardian.
So, that's ma story and I'm stickin' to it, Ruairidh finished, nodding his head quickly.
“Aye, very good,” Matt said, stroking the bird's head.
Sonja sat looking puzzled for a moment, then asked, “So what exactly is in this oath?”
Sonja, I cannot tell you or I would have to kill you! Jett chuckled, sounding more like a strangled squeak than anything. I have always wanted to use that line, oh how delightful! Well, as I am sure you have gathered, it is quite a secretive oath, and I am not allowed to tell you the details but I can give you a brief synopsis.
Sonja and Matt sat on the edges of the battered couches, rapt with attention.
Alright, where shall I begin... Jett said, pacing across the coffee table, black head bobbing in thought.
Och, at the beginning of course, ye dafty! Ruairidh chirped. Jett narrowed his eyes and turned, pacing purposefully back in the other direction, away from his jibing friend.
Oh yes, at the beginning. Firstly, and most importantly, we must swear absolute fealty to Sgiathalaich.
“What happens if you don't?” Sonja asked from behind her hands, concern lacing her voice.
I will get to that part, do not fret. If one should fail to uphold this simplest of requests, they shall face the penalty of removal, which, for a bird, is a death sentence. The next sections are quite obvious, such as protect the guarded as much as possible, keep them from danger should you foresee it, and so on. The third section is guardian rules, such as never disclose another guardian- for instance, how I kept Ruairidh's identity a secret- to their guarded, which is quite important as the guarded may be like Sonja and not know what they are. Another one is once the guardian has finished their services, they are free to do as they please.
“What does that mean?” Matt piped up.
That means that should I get bored of ye after you sprout, I can shove off where ever I please, ken? Ye can always ask me to stay though. Ruairidh said, a hope in his voice that Matt was pleased to hear. He may not be the biggest guardian, but he was Matt's and he wished to keep it so.
“Get up, lazy, there's someone here to meet you,” Sonja said as she stood, pleasantly sore in certain places, pulling her sweatshirt over her head. She situated it around her hips, reading the scrawled lettering that spelled Stirling. Matt covertly pulled his boxers on under the covers and Sonja handed him his other clothes. He stood, quickly tugging on his grey sweat pants and a white T-shirt, which he quickly realized didn't belong to him. He flared red and quickly pulled on his white shirt.
“Okay,” he said exasperated, “who is it?”
Sonja gestured to the bookcase where Jett sat with the other bird.
“Who's that?” he said, confusion clear in his voice.
This, Matthew, is your guardian, Jett answered, a smile in his voice since he couldn't portray it on his face.
“T-That's my guardian? A sparrow!?” Matt gestured with his hand, clearly outraged by the tiny stature of the bird. “I thought I was gonnae have somethin' cool like a kestrel or even an owl at least, but a wee sparrow, really?”
“Matt!” Sonja admonished him.
The smaller bird had a look of pain on his tiny features, but set his wings behind him defiantly, sticking his beak out to make himself look tougher.
Aye, well, I didna ken ye'd react like this or I would'na chosen ye! And for yer information, laddie, I am no a sparrow, I'm a robin! The small bird yelled back, a thick Tranent accent flowing out.
Matt started, shocked. Sonja put her hands on her hips and shook her head. Finally, someone who could give him a run for his money! Matt sighed heavily and sat on Sonja's bed. He rested his head in his hands and shook it. Placing his hands on his balled up fists he sat for a moment, considering something. When he finally came to some kind of conclusion, he stood and faced the shelf, holding his hand out.
“I'm sorry, wee one, I just thought, ye know maybe I'd have a bigger bird being a big guy myself. I...I'm sorry for being mean.”
The small bird looked speculatively at the outstretched hand, took a step back, looking from the hand to the boy. Matt gave him his most sincere look of apology and the bird looked him over once more before hopping down from the shelf into Matt's palm.
“Thank ye for accepting my apology,” Matt said, stroking the bird's head.
Aye, and thank ye for apologizing. Maybe now we can start off on the right foot, ken?
“Aye.”
The pair looked at each other with a companionable respect. This gaze lasted a few moments before Sonja said ahem! to break the silence with an unasked, but very important question.
“So, um, do you have a name? Or should we just keep calling you 'wee one'?”
The robin turned towards Sonja and cocked his head. Looking very confused, as confused as someone with avian features could look, he said, I dinnae have a name. No one's ever gave me one. He looked hopefully up to Matt. Matt, as slow as ever, took a moment to realize that that was a request. He screwed up his face in a puzzled expression, thinking for a bit. He rubbed a hand over his face and grabbed his chin, as if that would help him think. A short time later, after leaving everyone in a state of apprehension as to what he could possibly come out with, he was struck by brilliance.
“How about Ruairidh? I looked it up one time cause I was gonna name a dog we were getting, but my mum realized she was allergic to dogs so we had to get rid of him and he was a red springer spaniel and you're almost red and it means 'red king'; I looked it up.” Matt finished his excited jumble with a deep sigh and a white-toothed grin.
I am almost red, ain't I? Aye, I like that. Ruairidh it is then!
I do like that, Jett proclaimed, speaking up for the first time since he arrived.
“Since we're on the subject,” Sonja interrupted the boys, “Jett, just out of curiosity, where did you get your name?”
Well, Jett began, when I was at Oxford, I had originally settled in a tree just outside of a halls of residence. There was a lovely girl who lived in the room that I could see from my branch. She would leave me pieces of bread and apple- I do love apples- and I would go close, knowing that humans were harmless, most anyhow. I used to let her stroke my head and she spoke to me one day saying, 'You're a pretty bird aren't you? I think you need a name. You're black, like jet, but you've got a white belly, and your tail looks like oil on tar. Maybe I'll call you Jack Tar?' I did not like that name so I shook my head. She was a bit taken back by this, but nonetheless tried again. 'Hmm, Cotton? Fluffy? Ooh, how about Jett, then?' Liking her final choice much better, I chirped in approval. From that day on, she always left food for me, and then one day, she was gone. I believe she may have graduated. I was very saddened by that.
“What a sad story,” Sonja said with a tinge of jealousy to her words. “Maybe you could find her again?”
No, it is quite alright, Sonja, I am very happy here. Maybe you will want to change my name since it was given to me by another?
“No, I like it, really.”
Jett chirped, gazing affectionately at Sonja.
“This is brilliant, now we can spend time together and our guardians can be pals!” Matt said excitedly.
Oh yes, I am quite fond of Ruairidh. I am very glad he has become your guardian, despite his minute stature, Jett said, joking with his friend.
Oi, Jack Tar, pipe doon, aye? I can still scrap! Ruairidh said, hopping from one of Matt's fingers to the other, flapping his wings and puffing out his chest feathers to make himself look bigger. This sent Sonja and Matt into fits of giggles.
The quartet stayed up quite late that evening, talking, laughing. They discovered that Ruairidh was hatched and lived just outside the house of a friend of their's from university. Much like Jett, he had learned his English from listening to conversations, and being from Tranent, he developed their thick accent as well. He had chosen Matt some time back while trying to find a new place to live. He had lived most of his life in Tranent and wanted to see new places, so he waited for the human girl to leave her house. She got in her small red car and began to drive, too fast for Ruairidh to follow closely. He caught up with her at a red light and decided to perch himself underneath the car and ride out the journey that way. He had fallen asleep in his little spot just over the wheel well, the warmth from the vehicle coaxing him towards sleep. He only awoke when the heat wore off and the light changed. He had tentatively hopped down from the car to the black top, peeking around the rubber tires. He hopped a bit further and was startled when another car came zooming around a corner at full pelt. Had he been a bigger bird and taken more time to lift off, he would have been road kill. He flew as high as he could, looking down on the University of Stirling campus below. He found a nice little bush just outside the detached lecture hall and had bumped into Jett a few weeks before it was time to reveal himself as Sonja's guardian.
“Ye've known this whole time!?” Matt shouted at Jett, who simply shook his head and chuckled.
Yes, I did, Matthew. I was asked to take an oath, if you can recall? Part of that oath is that if I should find out who your guardian is, that I would not reveal that for a number of reasons. Continue, Ruairidh.
Matt shook his head, glaring at Jett. “This is not over, bird. Keep goin' please, Ruairidh. Sorry, pal.”
Ruairidh nodded and continued his story.
In between exploring the surrounding area and getting acquainted with his fellow fouls, Ruairidh became quite close with Jett. Jett had explained what he was doing and Ruairidh expressed his desire to become a guardian as well. He had heard it was possible if he were to swear an oath, which he was willing to do, he just had to find someone to guard. After everything came out about not only Sonja's, but Matt's parents, Jett suggested Matt. Ruairidh was apprehensive about this as he knew, and was correct in assuming, how Matt would react to having such a tiny guardian. Jett assured him even if he reacted the way they both knew he would, he would, in the end, just simply be thrilled to have his own guardian.
So, that's ma story and I'm stickin' to it, Ruairidh finished, nodding his head quickly.
“Aye, very good,” Matt said, stroking the bird's head.
Sonja sat looking puzzled for a moment, then asked, “So what exactly is in this oath?”
Sonja, I cannot tell you or I would have to kill you! Jett chuckled, sounding more like a strangled squeak than anything. I have always wanted to use that line, oh how delightful! Well, as I am sure you have gathered, it is quite a secretive oath, and I am not allowed to tell you the details but I can give you a brief synopsis.
Sonja and Matt sat on the edges of the battered couches, rapt with attention.
Alright, where shall I begin... Jett said, pacing across the coffee table, black head bobbing in thought.
Och, at the beginning of course, ye dafty! Ruairidh chirped. Jett narrowed his eyes and turned, pacing purposefully back in the other direction, away from his jibing friend.
Oh yes, at the beginning. Firstly, and most importantly, we must swear absolute fealty to Sgiathalaich.
“What happens if you don't?” Sonja asked from behind her hands, concern lacing her voice.
I will get to that part, do not fret. If one should fail to uphold this simplest of requests, they shall face the penalty of removal, which, for a bird, is a death sentence. The next sections are quite obvious, such as protect the guarded as much as possible, keep them from danger should you foresee it, and so on. The third section is guardian rules, such as never disclose another guardian- for instance, how I kept Ruairidh's identity a secret- to their guarded, which is quite important as the guarded may be like Sonja and not know what they are. Another one is once the guardian has finished their services, they are free to do as they please.
“What does that mean?” Matt piped up.
That means that should I get bored of ye after you sprout, I can shove off where ever I please, ken? Ye can always ask me to stay though. Ruairidh said, a hope in his voice that Matt was pleased to hear. He may not be the biggest guardian, but he was Matt's and he wished to keep it so.
* Chapter 18- The Wings Festival
This is a traditional Scottish quaich as it is described in this excerpt
Everyone joined in the banter as well as talking with the people on either side of them. Sonja met a girl from China who had taken a particular liking to her. They chatted for a while, asking each other about the vast differences between Eastern and Western cultures, until the sonorous cry of the bagpipes rang out across the clearing, signaling for everyone to either head for bed or reconvene down at the bonfire.
Robert and Jennifer decided to head back, and Rosalind was enthralled in conversation with a fellow Scot, so the young couples went to the fire. The bonfire wasn't just a little pile of sticks with some kindling, no, this was a teepee of what looked like caber poles and piles of dead leaves. There was some ceremony about it; a man dressed in full Highland regalia held small silver bowl with handles on each side above his head and said something in Gaelic.
“What's that he's holding?” Sonja whispered to Matt.
“Och that's a quaich, it's a traditional Scottish drinking vessel in which whisky is poured and it is then passed around for everyone to take a sip. It's an old tradition, ken?” Matt said, responding to Sonja's disgusted look at the thought of sharing one cup with one other person, never mind hundreds.
Another man came out from the crowd and filled the bowl with golden liquid that Sonja knew instantly was whisky. The Highlander held the quaich up high so everyone could see and said, “Uisge beatha!” and drank heartily, handing it then to the man who poured the whisky. The second man held the quaich up so everyone could see it was empty, then blended back in with the crowd, while the Highlander picked up a set of pipes. A couple other pipers joined in. One couple began to dance in the style of what would be seen at a Scottish ceilidh. Matt explained to Sonja that the dance they were doing was called “Strip the Willow,” and involve a lot of spinning and was extremely fast paced. Soon, a whole heap of people had joined in, those that didn't stood on the outside of a massive circle, stamping their feet and clapping. Matt gave Sonja a sidelong, conspiratorial glance, and before she could react he grabbed her and was spinning rapidly into the throng of people. She laughed as he spun her; the fire, the faces, they all went by in a blur and she couldn't help but laugh heartily, letting all of her inhibitions to the wind. She wasn't really watching the faces as they went by, and for a split second she could have sworn she saw Gerry, but she chalked it up to her eyes playing tricks on her.
They danced like this for what felt like hours. The sky began to lighten and even then people didn't stop. A few of those who had wings had taken to the air and were preforming stunts with incredible ease. Dancing in air, twirling and looping around each other, graceful as angels, precise as fighter jet pilots. After a full performance they alighted on the plush grass, bowing grandly, receiving cheers all around. Matt and Sonja had only then realized that they were alone; Gunnar and Ahava had disappeared long ago, and so had Emma and Jude. Sonja smiled to herself, hoping Emma was having as good of a time as she was. Matt saw the smile and pulled her towards him, kissing her deeply. The glint in his eyes held something that she recognized, and the half-smirk below them confirmed what she was also thinking. They left the clearing and the people behind them, finding a secluded spot below an ancient stand of trees. She pulled him down to her, feeling quite pagan, nature as their only witness.
They lay intertwined, leaves stuck to their chilled skin. Matt picked a piece of leaf out of Sonja's hair and smiled warmly at her.
“I love ye, always have,” he said in a broad Scots accent.
She sat up and eyed him speculatively.
“Was the a quote from Braveheart?”
“No...” he said, trying to not laugh.
“It totally was, you're such a creep!”
He rolled her on top of him, both giggling helplessly. She slid down so that her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder, one of her arms and legs draped carelessly over him. She gazed up at the stars, amazed at how many there were. She was surprised when he broke the silence.
“I cannae wait to be a part of this,” he said, gesturing to the expanse of the trees.
“What? The forest?”
“No, ye silly billy, this society. Either one of them if I'm honest.”
“You'll have to join Sgiathalaich if you want to be with me.”
Matt turned his face to her. “Didn't Gunnar say they were working on that law?”
“You would consider joining Droch-Bheart? You're joking right?” she said, sitting up and leaning on her hands, her bare chest gleaming in the silver moonlight.
Matt took his eyes off her long enough to answer her question. “Aye, I would. My mother is Droch-Bheart, ye ken well enough, and if they change the law than we have no problem.”
“Your father is Sgiathalaich,” Sonja said with a bit too much edge in her voice. Matt looked stung and sat up, pulling his shirt over his head. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, but it's true.”
“Yeah? And look how bloody well he turned out! Leaving me as a wee bairn and letting my poor mother raise me on her tod! What kind of man does that? Not one that I want to follow in the footsteps of, I'll tell ye that frank.”
He had stood up by this point, and reached out a hand for Sonja to stand up as well. She pulled her dress over her head, suddenly feeling shy.
“I'm sorry,” she said, toeing a fallen leaf, avoiding his eyes. He softened as he looked at her. They had never truly be angry with each other and he wasn't going to let that happen over something neither of them had any control over. He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the tip of her nose.
“It's okay. We've both got a lot on our minds and have a lot of decisions to make soon. Everything will be fine, though, and if its not, then its not the end.”
“That's not how the saying goes,” she giggled.
“Och, well, I dinnae much care for sayings anyway, just actions,” he said as he swept her into his arms and kissed her grandly. She slapped him playfully on the chest and they started heading out of the clearing, happy for the few hours of alone time they had, but not welcoming the exhaustion they felt.
But they hadn't been alone, not really.
Robert and Jennifer decided to head back, and Rosalind was enthralled in conversation with a fellow Scot, so the young couples went to the fire. The bonfire wasn't just a little pile of sticks with some kindling, no, this was a teepee of what looked like caber poles and piles of dead leaves. There was some ceremony about it; a man dressed in full Highland regalia held small silver bowl with handles on each side above his head and said something in Gaelic.
“What's that he's holding?” Sonja whispered to Matt.
“Och that's a quaich, it's a traditional Scottish drinking vessel in which whisky is poured and it is then passed around for everyone to take a sip. It's an old tradition, ken?” Matt said, responding to Sonja's disgusted look at the thought of sharing one cup with one other person, never mind hundreds.
Another man came out from the crowd and filled the bowl with golden liquid that Sonja knew instantly was whisky. The Highlander held the quaich up high so everyone could see and said, “Uisge beatha!” and drank heartily, handing it then to the man who poured the whisky. The second man held the quaich up so everyone could see it was empty, then blended back in with the crowd, while the Highlander picked up a set of pipes. A couple other pipers joined in. One couple began to dance in the style of what would be seen at a Scottish ceilidh. Matt explained to Sonja that the dance they were doing was called “Strip the Willow,” and involve a lot of spinning and was extremely fast paced. Soon, a whole heap of people had joined in, those that didn't stood on the outside of a massive circle, stamping their feet and clapping. Matt gave Sonja a sidelong, conspiratorial glance, and before she could react he grabbed her and was spinning rapidly into the throng of people. She laughed as he spun her; the fire, the faces, they all went by in a blur and she couldn't help but laugh heartily, letting all of her inhibitions to the wind. She wasn't really watching the faces as they went by, and for a split second she could have sworn she saw Gerry, but she chalked it up to her eyes playing tricks on her.
They danced like this for what felt like hours. The sky began to lighten and even then people didn't stop. A few of those who had wings had taken to the air and were preforming stunts with incredible ease. Dancing in air, twirling and looping around each other, graceful as angels, precise as fighter jet pilots. After a full performance they alighted on the plush grass, bowing grandly, receiving cheers all around. Matt and Sonja had only then realized that they were alone; Gunnar and Ahava had disappeared long ago, and so had Emma and Jude. Sonja smiled to herself, hoping Emma was having as good of a time as she was. Matt saw the smile and pulled her towards him, kissing her deeply. The glint in his eyes held something that she recognized, and the half-smirk below them confirmed what she was also thinking. They left the clearing and the people behind them, finding a secluded spot below an ancient stand of trees. She pulled him down to her, feeling quite pagan, nature as their only witness.
They lay intertwined, leaves stuck to their chilled skin. Matt picked a piece of leaf out of Sonja's hair and smiled warmly at her.
“I love ye, always have,” he said in a broad Scots accent.
She sat up and eyed him speculatively.
“Was the a quote from Braveheart?”
“No...” he said, trying to not laugh.
“It totally was, you're such a creep!”
He rolled her on top of him, both giggling helplessly. She slid down so that her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder, one of her arms and legs draped carelessly over him. She gazed up at the stars, amazed at how many there were. She was surprised when he broke the silence.
“I cannae wait to be a part of this,” he said, gesturing to the expanse of the trees.
“What? The forest?”
“No, ye silly billy, this society. Either one of them if I'm honest.”
“You'll have to join Sgiathalaich if you want to be with me.”
Matt turned his face to her. “Didn't Gunnar say they were working on that law?”
“You would consider joining Droch-Bheart? You're joking right?” she said, sitting up and leaning on her hands, her bare chest gleaming in the silver moonlight.
Matt took his eyes off her long enough to answer her question. “Aye, I would. My mother is Droch-Bheart, ye ken well enough, and if they change the law than we have no problem.”
“Your father is Sgiathalaich,” Sonja said with a bit too much edge in her voice. Matt looked stung and sat up, pulling his shirt over his head. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, but it's true.”
“Yeah? And look how bloody well he turned out! Leaving me as a wee bairn and letting my poor mother raise me on her tod! What kind of man does that? Not one that I want to follow in the footsteps of, I'll tell ye that frank.”
He had stood up by this point, and reached out a hand for Sonja to stand up as well. She pulled her dress over her head, suddenly feeling shy.
“I'm sorry,” she said, toeing a fallen leaf, avoiding his eyes. He softened as he looked at her. They had never truly be angry with each other and he wasn't going to let that happen over something neither of them had any control over. He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the tip of her nose.
“It's okay. We've both got a lot on our minds and have a lot of decisions to make soon. Everything will be fine, though, and if its not, then its not the end.”
“That's not how the saying goes,” she giggled.
“Och, well, I dinnae much care for sayings anyway, just actions,” he said as he swept her into his arms and kissed her grandly. She slapped him playfully on the chest and they started heading out of the clearing, happy for the few hours of alone time they had, but not welcoming the exhaustion they felt.
But they hadn't been alone, not really.