*Chapter 7- Gunnar goes to trial
Robert sighed and ran his hands through his hair, thinking deeply about what to do.
“Shall we reconvene?” Guiscard stood, addressing the other fourteen counselors surrounding him. His jet black wings were starting to show hints of grey, which Robert noticed, thinking sadly on how old he himself was becoming.
The attention was brought back to the front. All eyes were on Gunnar, who stood shakily from his position on the flagstone floor. He stood at attention as he was trained, saluting the council briefly, awaiting his conviction.
* * *
Robert retrieved an archaic skeleton key from his pocket and released Gunnar from his entrapment. Gunnar held his arms out in expectation of being shackled. He had been bound any time he was removed from the cell, which was only a handful of times to be exercised. To his surprise, Robert took his hands, holding them gently in a fatherly way. Robert turned the other man's hands over in his, admiring the strength and size of them, becoming uneasy when he saw the marks left by guards who weren't so gentle.
“Not this time, son,” Robert said, hoping to comfort Gunnar with a friendly smile.
Gunnar smiled in return, the simple action fatiguing him slightly. Robert took notice of this and slipped his arm around the middle of Gunnar's back for support. Gunnar looked at Robert with thanks in his eyes, leaning on him as they made the slow progress up the spiral stone steps to the Great Hall where the trial had been held. The two men made small talk, Robert doing most of the talking as Gunnar hadn't much to say. After barely speaking to another human being for weeks, he didn't have much of a voice, anyway.
“I'm not supposed to tell you anything about the trial, you know,” Robert said to a confused looking Gunnar. “So, I can't tell you that you are going to live. I can't tell you that your sentence is not as horrible as it could have been. I can't tell you that I personally have created a special assignment, something like community service, for you to undertake. I can't tell you any of that, understand?”
Gunnar stopped, staring deep into Robert's eyes with a mix of confusion and gratefulness.
“Why are you doing this for me?” he managed to croak.
“You're almost the same age as my daughter, a few years older. I know what you've been through with the Feachd, I know it's difficult, and regardless of how much of a man you think you are, you're still someone's son. The father side of me kicked in I guess,” Robert finished with a shrug and a warm smile.
They stopped before entering the enormous wooden doors, encrusted with wrought iron, leading to the hall. Gunnar took one of Robert's hands in both of his.
“Thank you, Mr. Paisley. I am forever in your debt. I just-”
“No need to say more. Shall we?”
Robert gave Gunnar a nod of confidence before opening the heavy doors. The light streaming through the high stained glass windows flooded over Gunnar with a warmth that seemed to go deep into his bones. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and stepped into the hall.
* * *
“Gunnar Norling, you have been convicted of two felonies,” Guiscard called out from his seat in the middle of the first crescent table. “Thandiwe will read you your rights and convictions. We will then take your plea.”
“Mr. Norling, your rights include the following; right to a fair trial, right to defend yourself, or appoint someone to defend you should you feel inadequate to do so, and the right to plead either innocent or guilty after being read your charges. After these pieces of evidence are presented to you in black and white, your plea should be as such. Very simple, any questions, from anyone?” he said, turning round in the dim room, looking from person to person. With shaking heads and various no's heard from all around, he continued, “you have been charged with one count of assault and battery, and one count of illegal fornication. Mr. Sullivan has come to testify against you on the assault charge along with the relation charge, being the only witness to both. He and Ms. Blum are the only witnesses to the assault incident, thus they will be called upon to tell their parts of the story in order for the council to make a well informed decision. As far as the illegal fornication, should you plead innocent, there will be a thorough search of several premises, including your own home, for evidence. If you plead innocent and there is evidence found, you will be not only be ejected from Feachd, but you will face removal as well. This is a major offense, Mr. Norling. Take a moment to decide what you will plead.”
“Not necessary, Barongo. I plead guilty to both counts,” Gunnar spat defiantly; he heard Ahava half sob from behind him but remained facing forward.
“Very well then, Mr. Norling. We will now call Mr. Sullivan to the front to speak his piece.” Thandiwe motioned Colmán in sweeping gesture, his hand protruding from beneath his traditional African garb, to the front of the crescent table. Gunnar was motioned backwards to his original position in the middle of the stone floor. He sat heavily, shackles around his ankles resounding an echoing clank in the nearly silent room as they hit the stone.
“Shall we reconvene?” Guiscard stood, addressing the other fourteen counselors surrounding him. His jet black wings were starting to show hints of grey, which Robert noticed, thinking sadly on how old he himself was becoming.
The attention was brought back to the front. All eyes were on Gunnar, who stood shakily from his position on the flagstone floor. He stood at attention as he was trained, saluting the council briefly, awaiting his conviction.
* * *
Robert retrieved an archaic skeleton key from his pocket and released Gunnar from his entrapment. Gunnar held his arms out in expectation of being shackled. He had been bound any time he was removed from the cell, which was only a handful of times to be exercised. To his surprise, Robert took his hands, holding them gently in a fatherly way. Robert turned the other man's hands over in his, admiring the strength and size of them, becoming uneasy when he saw the marks left by guards who weren't so gentle.
“Not this time, son,” Robert said, hoping to comfort Gunnar with a friendly smile.
Gunnar smiled in return, the simple action fatiguing him slightly. Robert took notice of this and slipped his arm around the middle of Gunnar's back for support. Gunnar looked at Robert with thanks in his eyes, leaning on him as they made the slow progress up the spiral stone steps to the Great Hall where the trial had been held. The two men made small talk, Robert doing most of the talking as Gunnar hadn't much to say. After barely speaking to another human being for weeks, he didn't have much of a voice, anyway.
“I'm not supposed to tell you anything about the trial, you know,” Robert said to a confused looking Gunnar. “So, I can't tell you that you are going to live. I can't tell you that your sentence is not as horrible as it could have been. I can't tell you that I personally have created a special assignment, something like community service, for you to undertake. I can't tell you any of that, understand?”
Gunnar stopped, staring deep into Robert's eyes with a mix of confusion and gratefulness.
“Why are you doing this for me?” he managed to croak.
“You're almost the same age as my daughter, a few years older. I know what you've been through with the Feachd, I know it's difficult, and regardless of how much of a man you think you are, you're still someone's son. The father side of me kicked in I guess,” Robert finished with a shrug and a warm smile.
They stopped before entering the enormous wooden doors, encrusted with wrought iron, leading to the hall. Gunnar took one of Robert's hands in both of his.
“Thank you, Mr. Paisley. I am forever in your debt. I just-”
“No need to say more. Shall we?”
Robert gave Gunnar a nod of confidence before opening the heavy doors. The light streaming through the high stained glass windows flooded over Gunnar with a warmth that seemed to go deep into his bones. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and stepped into the hall.
* * *
“Gunnar Norling, you have been convicted of two felonies,” Guiscard called out from his seat in the middle of the first crescent table. “Thandiwe will read you your rights and convictions. We will then take your plea.”
“Mr. Norling, your rights include the following; right to a fair trial, right to defend yourself, or appoint someone to defend you should you feel inadequate to do so, and the right to plead either innocent or guilty after being read your charges. After these pieces of evidence are presented to you in black and white, your plea should be as such. Very simple, any questions, from anyone?” he said, turning round in the dim room, looking from person to person. With shaking heads and various no's heard from all around, he continued, “you have been charged with one count of assault and battery, and one count of illegal fornication. Mr. Sullivan has come to testify against you on the assault charge along with the relation charge, being the only witness to both. He and Ms. Blum are the only witnesses to the assault incident, thus they will be called upon to tell their parts of the story in order for the council to make a well informed decision. As far as the illegal fornication, should you plead innocent, there will be a thorough search of several premises, including your own home, for evidence. If you plead innocent and there is evidence found, you will be not only be ejected from Feachd, but you will face removal as well. This is a major offense, Mr. Norling. Take a moment to decide what you will plead.”
“Not necessary, Barongo. I plead guilty to both counts,” Gunnar spat defiantly; he heard Ahava half sob from behind him but remained facing forward.
“Very well then, Mr. Norling. We will now call Mr. Sullivan to the front to speak his piece.” Thandiwe motioned Colmán in sweeping gesture, his hand protruding from beneath his traditional African garb, to the front of the crescent table. Gunnar was motioned backwards to his original position in the middle of the stone floor. He sat heavily, shackles around his ankles resounding an echoing clank in the nearly silent room as they hit the stone.
*Chapter 8- Matt tries to rationalize his feelings for Sonja
He ended the call and laid back on his bed, narrowly missing the window ledge with the back of his head. He hadn't realized he had dozed off until he was thrown back into the dream he had left in the early hours of the morning.
* * *
He saw Sonja sitting on a bench at the edge of Airthrey Loch, her long, dark hair blowing gently behind her. He slowly made his way over to her; his footing was light but he still crushed and snapped the small twigs under the dead leaves. It should have startled her, though she never turned around. Upon reaching her, which felt like it had taken ages to accomplish, he tapped her on the shoulder. Her head cocked to one side, but she still didn't turn around to greet him. He took a few steps and put himself in front of her. His dream abruptly became a nightmare; instead of Sonja, he found her skeleton with a crow perched inside her rib cage. The crow saw Matt and screeched- a long, awful sound. The skeleton leapt up and disintegrated into a flock of crows. One flew into Matt's face, scaring him awake.
* * *
He awoke in a panic, a scream on his lips. He wasn't sure if he had actually cried out, but he got his answer when his mother burst into his room looking shocked and concerned. Matt's behavior lately was very uncharacteristic of him and Rosalind was becoming worried. She took the distance from the doorway to his bed in a few long strides and perched herself next to him. She was a short woman, probably not more than five feet tall, and sitting next to her six feet something son, she looked even smaller. He tilted not only his head, but his whole waist to rest his head on her shoulder. She patted the thick dark mop of hair, cooing sweet words of Gaelic into his ear. She didn't like to pester him about personal matters; she knew if he wanted to talk he would, he just needed time to get his thoughts in order. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep and nightmarish images from his eyes. She shuffled her way across his bed, resting her back against the wall preparing herself for the discussion to come. She folded her hands in her lap, staring into the eyes that so much resembled her own. Matt hung his head slightly, mumbling to himself before speaking aloud.
“I need to speak to her,” he said finally, looking up at her, a storm of tearful emotion forming threateningly in the cerulean of his eyes.
“Aye, that ye do, my boy. Have ye decided what yer gonnae say yet?”
“Och no, 'course not. I think it's best if I tell her how I feel, though. I spoke with Emma this mornin', as I'm sure ye heard, and she thinks I need to tell her how I feel. Its just so hard. I can't lose her, but I can't keep doing this to myself. I know I've only known her for short of four or five months now but I've never felt this way about someone. It sounds so corny, like those romance novels ye like to read, but I'm serious. Aye, its settled, I'm telling her how I feel.” He stood, triumphantly making his was to the doorway. Rosalind simply stayed put, waiting for him to lose his nerve before getting to the front door. She tapped her foot, looked at her watch, and Matt came slumping back into his room.
“Did she shoot ye down that quickly then?” Rosalind laughed; Matt was not amused.
“No, ye old cow. She did'nay. I obviously didn't make it that far, did I?”
“Aye, I guess not! Come, sit and talk with me, my annsachd.”
“Your what?” Matt looked confusedly at his mother, but obliged, sitting heavily next to her on the old mattress.
“Annsachd, it means 'love', or 'someone beloved'. I used to call you that a lot when ye were younger, but when you were about five ye told me you didn't like it anymore, ye wee pain in the arse.”
“Ah, that's more like it,” Matt joked, sitting back against the wall as well.
“Right, so down to business. I agree wi' Emma, ye should tell Sonja how you feel. Let her know how much it hurts to see her with other guys, especially cause ye like her so much and you know what guys are like. Women ultimately want the nice guy, but sometimes bad boys are more appealing, ye ken? I know exactly what she's going through, but she'll soon find out that the chase usually isn't worth the kill. She'll get hurt a few times and eventually she'll realize what she has right in front of her- a big, hairy, silly Scot who is in love with her.”
Matt smiled at Rosalind's use of Sonja's description for him. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.
“Mum, what happened to Da? Why did he leave?”
Rosalind was caught off guard, something that did not happen to her often as Matt was fairly predictable. She squirmed uncomfortably where she sat and thought of the best way to handle the situation with out telling him the truth, something he was sure not to believe anyhow; not until he was ready.
“Yer Da couldn't handle the life we had. His job asked a lot of him, he and I fell out quite a bit, and the two of us just weren't happy any longer. What kept us together was you; you were the glue. He was so fond of ye, you were a perfect little replica of him. Even when you were a wee bairn I kent that ye'd look a spitting image of him, and ye do.”
“That doesn't bother you?”
“Hm?”
“It doesn't bother you that I look like him?” Matt looked sympathetically at his mother, who he could tell was distressed by his question; he almost wished he kept it to himself, but curiosity got the better of him.
“Och no, ye silly. I did love your father, quite a lot. He was my child-hood sweetheart. We grew up together, only a few houses apart. We went to school together, went to all the little dances and balls and such. There was never anyone else for either of us. I guess as we got older, life wasn't so fun anymore. He wasn't one to take responsibility for anything, except when I got pregnant with you. He was so proud. You were born and all he did was watch over ye. I had to drag him to bed most nights or else he'd have slept next to your cot all night,” she laughed at the memory, not in a humorous way, but more in sad remembrance. Matt pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight.
“I'll never leave ye, Ma,” he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead.
“Aye, ye will someday, and that's okay, so long as ye pay visits to your old maw every now and again.”
He pulled her closer and they sat in silent companionship, Matt thinking of what he had to do, Rosalind having a nostalgic look into her past.
* * *
He saw Sonja sitting on a bench at the edge of Airthrey Loch, her long, dark hair blowing gently behind her. He slowly made his way over to her; his footing was light but he still crushed and snapped the small twigs under the dead leaves. It should have startled her, though she never turned around. Upon reaching her, which felt like it had taken ages to accomplish, he tapped her on the shoulder. Her head cocked to one side, but she still didn't turn around to greet him. He took a few steps and put himself in front of her. His dream abruptly became a nightmare; instead of Sonja, he found her skeleton with a crow perched inside her rib cage. The crow saw Matt and screeched- a long, awful sound. The skeleton leapt up and disintegrated into a flock of crows. One flew into Matt's face, scaring him awake.
* * *
He awoke in a panic, a scream on his lips. He wasn't sure if he had actually cried out, but he got his answer when his mother burst into his room looking shocked and concerned. Matt's behavior lately was very uncharacteristic of him and Rosalind was becoming worried. She took the distance from the doorway to his bed in a few long strides and perched herself next to him. She was a short woman, probably not more than five feet tall, and sitting next to her six feet something son, she looked even smaller. He tilted not only his head, but his whole waist to rest his head on her shoulder. She patted the thick dark mop of hair, cooing sweet words of Gaelic into his ear. She didn't like to pester him about personal matters; she knew if he wanted to talk he would, he just needed time to get his thoughts in order. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep and nightmarish images from his eyes. She shuffled her way across his bed, resting her back against the wall preparing herself for the discussion to come. She folded her hands in her lap, staring into the eyes that so much resembled her own. Matt hung his head slightly, mumbling to himself before speaking aloud.
“I need to speak to her,” he said finally, looking up at her, a storm of tearful emotion forming threateningly in the cerulean of his eyes.
“Aye, that ye do, my boy. Have ye decided what yer gonnae say yet?”
“Och no, 'course not. I think it's best if I tell her how I feel, though. I spoke with Emma this mornin', as I'm sure ye heard, and she thinks I need to tell her how I feel. Its just so hard. I can't lose her, but I can't keep doing this to myself. I know I've only known her for short of four or five months now but I've never felt this way about someone. It sounds so corny, like those romance novels ye like to read, but I'm serious. Aye, its settled, I'm telling her how I feel.” He stood, triumphantly making his was to the doorway. Rosalind simply stayed put, waiting for him to lose his nerve before getting to the front door. She tapped her foot, looked at her watch, and Matt came slumping back into his room.
“Did she shoot ye down that quickly then?” Rosalind laughed; Matt was not amused.
“No, ye old cow. She did'nay. I obviously didn't make it that far, did I?”
“Aye, I guess not! Come, sit and talk with me, my annsachd.”
“Your what?” Matt looked confusedly at his mother, but obliged, sitting heavily next to her on the old mattress.
“Annsachd, it means 'love', or 'someone beloved'. I used to call you that a lot when ye were younger, but when you were about five ye told me you didn't like it anymore, ye wee pain in the arse.”
“Ah, that's more like it,” Matt joked, sitting back against the wall as well.
“Right, so down to business. I agree wi' Emma, ye should tell Sonja how you feel. Let her know how much it hurts to see her with other guys, especially cause ye like her so much and you know what guys are like. Women ultimately want the nice guy, but sometimes bad boys are more appealing, ye ken? I know exactly what she's going through, but she'll soon find out that the chase usually isn't worth the kill. She'll get hurt a few times and eventually she'll realize what she has right in front of her- a big, hairy, silly Scot who is in love with her.”
Matt smiled at Rosalind's use of Sonja's description for him. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.
“Mum, what happened to Da? Why did he leave?”
Rosalind was caught off guard, something that did not happen to her often as Matt was fairly predictable. She squirmed uncomfortably where she sat and thought of the best way to handle the situation with out telling him the truth, something he was sure not to believe anyhow; not until he was ready.
“Yer Da couldn't handle the life we had. His job asked a lot of him, he and I fell out quite a bit, and the two of us just weren't happy any longer. What kept us together was you; you were the glue. He was so fond of ye, you were a perfect little replica of him. Even when you were a wee bairn I kent that ye'd look a spitting image of him, and ye do.”
“That doesn't bother you?”
“Hm?”
“It doesn't bother you that I look like him?” Matt looked sympathetically at his mother, who he could tell was distressed by his question; he almost wished he kept it to himself, but curiosity got the better of him.
“Och no, ye silly. I did love your father, quite a lot. He was my child-hood sweetheart. We grew up together, only a few houses apart. We went to school together, went to all the little dances and balls and such. There was never anyone else for either of us. I guess as we got older, life wasn't so fun anymore. He wasn't one to take responsibility for anything, except when I got pregnant with you. He was so proud. You were born and all he did was watch over ye. I had to drag him to bed most nights or else he'd have slept next to your cot all night,” she laughed at the memory, not in a humorous way, but more in sad remembrance. Matt pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight.
“I'll never leave ye, Ma,” he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead.
“Aye, ye will someday, and that's okay, so long as ye pay visits to your old maw every now and again.”
He pulled her closer and they sat in silent companionship, Matt thinking of what he had to do, Rosalind having a nostalgic look into her past.
*Chapter 9- Sonja and Jennifer have a girl's night; Matt tries to forget
One just as stubborn as the other, they both sat in silence with their arms folded across their chests. Sonja was not going to be the first to speak, and Jennifer wasn't going to give in easy either. They sat like this for ten minutes before Sonja finally broke.
“I'm going to the toilet,” she said as she got up and made her way up the stairs to the toilets.
When she disappeared around the corner, Jennifer turned her glare from Sonja to a gaze out the window. Just as she turned her head to look out, she saw a couple rounding the corner of the street. Around the bend came Matt with a very lively little blonde in tow. Jennifer couldn't obviously hear what was being said, but from what it looked like Matt was getting an earful and throughly not enjoying it. He had his arms folded and nodded in all the right places. The girl kept touching him or slapping his arm, joyously explaining whatever it was she was on about. Jennifer slouched down in her seat just enough that Matt wouldn't recognize her, but so she could still see them walking past. He looked absolutely miserable, and Jennifer, despite what had happened between he and Sonja, still felt a pang of sympathy for him. As they walked by, Jennifer made sure to keep an eye out for Sonja; the last thing she needed was for Sonja to go back into a sob. Matt and the girl passed the building and Sonja was still nowhere to be seen. Jennifer sat back up in her chair, receiving an interested look from the waitress who was bringing their food over. She waved it off with a forced laugh, putting on an air of eccentricity, and directed where the food was to go. It was several more minutes before Sonja made an appearance. Her eyes were puffy and pink, a clear sign she had been crying. Another sign were the hastily dried tear splashes on her Uggs. She said she was fine and sat with her hands in her lap, staring with disgust at the plate in front of her. Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief; at least she didn't see Matt with the other girl, then the real breakdown would have started.
After eating one noodle at a time and not bothering with the chicken, Sonja pressed her back against the chair and stretched her arms over her head, then rubbed her eyes, feigning sleepiness.
“I'm done.”
“I see that, I'll be done soon.” Jennifer continued eating, not looking at Sonja, but glaring down at her fries.
Sonja sighed and picked at something crusted on the table.
“I'm sorry,” she said, barely audible.
“Hmm?”
"I'm sorry,” she said louder this time, looking right into her mother's eyes.
“It's okay, I know these things happen and they're not easy to deal with.”
“Yeah, but it's not fair to take it out on you. All you've ever done is try to help and be there for me and I just threw it all back in your face. I'm a horrible child.” Sonja let her chin fall to her chest.
“Stop it, you are not. Don't you think I got in arguments with Gram like this? It happens at one point or another in every mother-daughter relationship. It's the way of life really. Here, I know what would make you feel better. How about we take the long route to the mall and get some ice cream from the little Italian place on the corner of Friar's Street?”
“Really? Are you sure you're not mad?”
"Positive. I'll get the bill,” Jennifer finished her sentence with a warm smile and began fishing around in her bohemian style bag for her wallet, brushing the bedazzled fringe out of her way.
“You could actually smuggle a penguin from the aquarium for me in that bag of yours. How you ever find anything is beyond me.”
“Hush you, you know I love my bag. Plus, I can carry all kinds of great things in here like...” she paused, contemplating what things she meant. “Well, great things.”
“Okay, Mary Poppins, let's just head out then.”
Jennifer swatted at Sonja with her newly found wallet, decorated with intricate lace and stitching, and they both smiled, a silent way of saying thank you.
* * *
“Oh my god, and this one time Rachel and I like-”
“Evening, folks, what can I get for you?” The waiter interrupted Shaelyn, who subsequently gave him a dirty look.
“You go first,” Matt sighed, lifting his head from where it rested on his balled fist.
“Aww, you're like a total gentleman type aren't you? So sweet! Well then,” she turned to the waiter, menu in hand, missing the sympathetic look he shot towards Matt. “I'll have the Caesar salad, but not too much dressing, and definitely no anchovies. Do they have anchovies in Scotland? They must, it's an island, duh! Also, no tomatoes, or grated cheese. And can I have a water, with no ice, and only a quarter of a lemon? Thanks so much!”
“So basically you want lettuce with a dribble of dressing?”
“Yeah, like, what's the big deal?”
“Um, okay,” the waiter replied, failing to hide his irritation. “And you sir, what are you having?”
“I'll have the cannelloni, please.”
“Why don't you get a burger? Or a steak, or something manly?”
Her emphasis on manly annoyed him.
“I'm good, thanks.”
The waiter looked awkwardly between the two and retrieved the menus from them, coming out, surprisingly, unscathed.
“Is something wrong, Matty? By the way, did I mention how amazing your cologne smells?”
“No, I'm great, and thanks,” he forced his statement so much he wasn't sure how she didn't pick up on it, he also inwardly cursed himself for wearing any cologne; maybe after gym smell would have worked better. “So, Shaelyn-”
“You can totally just call me Shae, my other boyfriends did.”
Trying to ignore that comment, Matt acquiesced.
“Okay then, Shae. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from originally, 'cause I know it is'nay Scotland. What sports do you like? What's your degree?”
“You're so good at this! How'd you know I'm not from Scotland?”
“The 'oh my gods' are a pretty solid indication.”
“Right, well. I'm originally from the Gulf Coast of Florida, then my dad decided he like, wanted a better job or something stupid like that so he moved us from beautiful, sunny Florida, to stupid Vermont. I hate Vermont. There's nothing there except, like, cows and stuff. He can be so selfish! I told him I wanted to stay in Florida but he said he was looking out for the best interest of the family- whatever. Anyway, I'm a cheerleader- go Stirling!” she shouted, pumping her fists in the air, loud enough to draw curious eyes away from their meals. Matt gave her a look of surprise and slouched a little lower in his chair.
“What? I'm a cheerleader, we have tons of spirit! I also like football, well, our football, not stupid soccer. Soccer is stupid and they don't have cheerleaders so what's the point?”
“Swimming doesn't have, or need, cheerleaders.”
“Oh my god, you swim? Do you know Micheal Phelps? He is so hot!”
“Um, no. So what is your degree going to be in?”
“Well, since I'm only a freshman-oops, sorry, fresher- I'm not really sure what it will be. I really want to raise awareness of, like, what's going on with the bees and stuff. Cause, if there aren't any bees left then there won't be any flowers left, and if there aren't any flowers then I won't have any flowers at my wedding and I refuse to have fake ones. So, maybe like, marine biology or something?”
“That sounds, well...great.”
“So, tell me about you,” she emphasized with a bright smile and a cock to her head.
“Well, I was born in Helensburgh, Scotland, but I've lived in Stirling my whole life with my mum-”
“Where's your dad?”
“He, well, he left when I was young,” Matt was quickly beginning to realize this girl had no social queues.
“Oh my god, I'm so, so sorry!” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand, stroking his fingers with her thumb. Sonja had done this before when something of actual importance came up, and as soon as she touched him a flame sparked in the pit of his stomach. When Shaelyn touched him, though, he had to use his utmost will power to not tear his hand away from her. Shaelyn kept hold of his hand, and he guessed she wasn't going to let go anytime soon, so he thought of Sonja instead.
He remembered when he first met her, only a few months ago and how much they had already been through together; he couldn't help but smile. Shaelyn mistook his smile for approval of her actions and swiftly interlocked her hands with his. He gritted his teeth as if someone were torturing him, but he took comfort in the fact that as soon as dinner was over, so were his interactions with her. He tried to force a smile to the surface, but all he could manage whilst looking at her was his crooked, smirk. Shaelyn beamed at him and continued staring like the love struck teenager she was. They continued to make small talk, waiting for their food to arrive. Matt couldn't imagine pasta and a bowl of lettuce would take twenty minutes to make, but he also forgot about all the tables surrounding them and slyly scanned to make sure there wasn't anyone around who knew him. They were sat by the front window of Papa Joe's which presented the issue of someone walking by that might know him, as Stirling was a fishbowl in which everyone knew something about everyone else in some capacity. Just as he was having this revelation, his worst imagination came to vivid life.
* * *
Sonja dead stopped mid-walk, and mid-sentence, jostling her mother off topic and off the sidewalk.
“Son, what's wrong?”
Jennifer followed Sonja's scowl to the source. She had prayed this didn't happen but whoever she prayed to must have been busy because they missed the call.
Sonja took several short steps towards the window and knocked hard enough to rattle the panes conjoining hers. She waved at Matt, who quickly withdrew his hands from Shaelyn's, much to her disdain. She began scowling at Sonja, who would have none of it. Sonja did the only thing she could think to do and held up both her middle fingers, one for Matt and one for Shaelyn, and stormed off. Matt gave a horrified, wide eyed look to Jennifer who shrugged her shoulders as if to say “your fault, not mine,” and she speed walked after Sonja, who was already half a mile up the road.
* * *
“Who the hell was that, and why did she just flip me off? She better watch out the next time I see her, I have friends on the girl's rugby team that would love to rip her to shreds.”
Matt, upset with what had just happened and now fuming from what Shaelyn had just said, stood and threw his napkin on the table with enough force to knock her water into her lap. She gasped in shock and looked at Matt with disgust.
“Oops, like, sorry!” Matt said in his mock American accent as he snatched his coat from the rack behind her chair, knocking her's on the floor.
“I'm never speaking to you again, Matt Glencross!”
He leaned over the railing separating him from her, kissed her on the cheek and said, “never would be too soon, sweetheart.”
He slung his coat triumphantly over his shoulder and walked out, receiving applause from the couple that were sitting next to them, and angry screams as the door shut behind him on his way to get his girl.
“I'm going to the toilet,” she said as she got up and made her way up the stairs to the toilets.
When she disappeared around the corner, Jennifer turned her glare from Sonja to a gaze out the window. Just as she turned her head to look out, she saw a couple rounding the corner of the street. Around the bend came Matt with a very lively little blonde in tow. Jennifer couldn't obviously hear what was being said, but from what it looked like Matt was getting an earful and throughly not enjoying it. He had his arms folded and nodded in all the right places. The girl kept touching him or slapping his arm, joyously explaining whatever it was she was on about. Jennifer slouched down in her seat just enough that Matt wouldn't recognize her, but so she could still see them walking past. He looked absolutely miserable, and Jennifer, despite what had happened between he and Sonja, still felt a pang of sympathy for him. As they walked by, Jennifer made sure to keep an eye out for Sonja; the last thing she needed was for Sonja to go back into a sob. Matt and the girl passed the building and Sonja was still nowhere to be seen. Jennifer sat back up in her chair, receiving an interested look from the waitress who was bringing their food over. She waved it off with a forced laugh, putting on an air of eccentricity, and directed where the food was to go. It was several more minutes before Sonja made an appearance. Her eyes were puffy and pink, a clear sign she had been crying. Another sign were the hastily dried tear splashes on her Uggs. She said she was fine and sat with her hands in her lap, staring with disgust at the plate in front of her. Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief; at least she didn't see Matt with the other girl, then the real breakdown would have started.
After eating one noodle at a time and not bothering with the chicken, Sonja pressed her back against the chair and stretched her arms over her head, then rubbed her eyes, feigning sleepiness.
“I'm done.”
“I see that, I'll be done soon.” Jennifer continued eating, not looking at Sonja, but glaring down at her fries.
Sonja sighed and picked at something crusted on the table.
“I'm sorry,” she said, barely audible.
“Hmm?”
"I'm sorry,” she said louder this time, looking right into her mother's eyes.
“It's okay, I know these things happen and they're not easy to deal with.”
“Yeah, but it's not fair to take it out on you. All you've ever done is try to help and be there for me and I just threw it all back in your face. I'm a horrible child.” Sonja let her chin fall to her chest.
“Stop it, you are not. Don't you think I got in arguments with Gram like this? It happens at one point or another in every mother-daughter relationship. It's the way of life really. Here, I know what would make you feel better. How about we take the long route to the mall and get some ice cream from the little Italian place on the corner of Friar's Street?”
“Really? Are you sure you're not mad?”
"Positive. I'll get the bill,” Jennifer finished her sentence with a warm smile and began fishing around in her bohemian style bag for her wallet, brushing the bedazzled fringe out of her way.
“You could actually smuggle a penguin from the aquarium for me in that bag of yours. How you ever find anything is beyond me.”
“Hush you, you know I love my bag. Plus, I can carry all kinds of great things in here like...” she paused, contemplating what things she meant. “Well, great things.”
“Okay, Mary Poppins, let's just head out then.”
Jennifer swatted at Sonja with her newly found wallet, decorated with intricate lace and stitching, and they both smiled, a silent way of saying thank you.
* * *
“Oh my god, and this one time Rachel and I like-”
“Evening, folks, what can I get for you?” The waiter interrupted Shaelyn, who subsequently gave him a dirty look.
“You go first,” Matt sighed, lifting his head from where it rested on his balled fist.
“Aww, you're like a total gentleman type aren't you? So sweet! Well then,” she turned to the waiter, menu in hand, missing the sympathetic look he shot towards Matt. “I'll have the Caesar salad, but not too much dressing, and definitely no anchovies. Do they have anchovies in Scotland? They must, it's an island, duh! Also, no tomatoes, or grated cheese. And can I have a water, with no ice, and only a quarter of a lemon? Thanks so much!”
“So basically you want lettuce with a dribble of dressing?”
“Yeah, like, what's the big deal?”
“Um, okay,” the waiter replied, failing to hide his irritation. “And you sir, what are you having?”
“I'll have the cannelloni, please.”
“Why don't you get a burger? Or a steak, or something manly?”
Her emphasis on manly annoyed him.
“I'm good, thanks.”
The waiter looked awkwardly between the two and retrieved the menus from them, coming out, surprisingly, unscathed.
“Is something wrong, Matty? By the way, did I mention how amazing your cologne smells?”
“No, I'm great, and thanks,” he forced his statement so much he wasn't sure how she didn't pick up on it, he also inwardly cursed himself for wearing any cologne; maybe after gym smell would have worked better. “So, Shaelyn-”
“You can totally just call me Shae, my other boyfriends did.”
Trying to ignore that comment, Matt acquiesced.
“Okay then, Shae. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from originally, 'cause I know it is'nay Scotland. What sports do you like? What's your degree?”
“You're so good at this! How'd you know I'm not from Scotland?”
“The 'oh my gods' are a pretty solid indication.”
“Right, well. I'm originally from the Gulf Coast of Florida, then my dad decided he like, wanted a better job or something stupid like that so he moved us from beautiful, sunny Florida, to stupid Vermont. I hate Vermont. There's nothing there except, like, cows and stuff. He can be so selfish! I told him I wanted to stay in Florida but he said he was looking out for the best interest of the family- whatever. Anyway, I'm a cheerleader- go Stirling!” she shouted, pumping her fists in the air, loud enough to draw curious eyes away from their meals. Matt gave her a look of surprise and slouched a little lower in his chair.
“What? I'm a cheerleader, we have tons of spirit! I also like football, well, our football, not stupid soccer. Soccer is stupid and they don't have cheerleaders so what's the point?”
“Swimming doesn't have, or need, cheerleaders.”
“Oh my god, you swim? Do you know Micheal Phelps? He is so hot!”
“Um, no. So what is your degree going to be in?”
“Well, since I'm only a freshman-oops, sorry, fresher- I'm not really sure what it will be. I really want to raise awareness of, like, what's going on with the bees and stuff. Cause, if there aren't any bees left then there won't be any flowers left, and if there aren't any flowers then I won't have any flowers at my wedding and I refuse to have fake ones. So, maybe like, marine biology or something?”
“That sounds, well...great.”
“So, tell me about you,” she emphasized with a bright smile and a cock to her head.
“Well, I was born in Helensburgh, Scotland, but I've lived in Stirling my whole life with my mum-”
“Where's your dad?”
“He, well, he left when I was young,” Matt was quickly beginning to realize this girl had no social queues.
“Oh my god, I'm so, so sorry!” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand, stroking his fingers with her thumb. Sonja had done this before when something of actual importance came up, and as soon as she touched him a flame sparked in the pit of his stomach. When Shaelyn touched him, though, he had to use his utmost will power to not tear his hand away from her. Shaelyn kept hold of his hand, and he guessed she wasn't going to let go anytime soon, so he thought of Sonja instead.
He remembered when he first met her, only a few months ago and how much they had already been through together; he couldn't help but smile. Shaelyn mistook his smile for approval of her actions and swiftly interlocked her hands with his. He gritted his teeth as if someone were torturing him, but he took comfort in the fact that as soon as dinner was over, so were his interactions with her. He tried to force a smile to the surface, but all he could manage whilst looking at her was his crooked, smirk. Shaelyn beamed at him and continued staring like the love struck teenager she was. They continued to make small talk, waiting for their food to arrive. Matt couldn't imagine pasta and a bowl of lettuce would take twenty minutes to make, but he also forgot about all the tables surrounding them and slyly scanned to make sure there wasn't anyone around who knew him. They were sat by the front window of Papa Joe's which presented the issue of someone walking by that might know him, as Stirling was a fishbowl in which everyone knew something about everyone else in some capacity. Just as he was having this revelation, his worst imagination came to vivid life.
* * *
Sonja dead stopped mid-walk, and mid-sentence, jostling her mother off topic and off the sidewalk.
“Son, what's wrong?”
Jennifer followed Sonja's scowl to the source. She had prayed this didn't happen but whoever she prayed to must have been busy because they missed the call.
Sonja took several short steps towards the window and knocked hard enough to rattle the panes conjoining hers. She waved at Matt, who quickly withdrew his hands from Shaelyn's, much to her disdain. She began scowling at Sonja, who would have none of it. Sonja did the only thing she could think to do and held up both her middle fingers, one for Matt and one for Shaelyn, and stormed off. Matt gave a horrified, wide eyed look to Jennifer who shrugged her shoulders as if to say “your fault, not mine,” and she speed walked after Sonja, who was already half a mile up the road.
* * *
“Who the hell was that, and why did she just flip me off? She better watch out the next time I see her, I have friends on the girl's rugby team that would love to rip her to shreds.”
Matt, upset with what had just happened and now fuming from what Shaelyn had just said, stood and threw his napkin on the table with enough force to knock her water into her lap. She gasped in shock and looked at Matt with disgust.
“Oops, like, sorry!” Matt said in his mock American accent as he snatched his coat from the rack behind her chair, knocking her's on the floor.
“I'm never speaking to you again, Matt Glencross!”
He leaned over the railing separating him from her, kissed her on the cheek and said, “never would be too soon, sweetheart.”
He slung his coat triumphantly over his shoulder and walked out, receiving applause from the couple that were sitting next to them, and angry screams as the door shut behind him on his way to get his girl.
*Chapter 10- Maybelle and Dorian meet
Like Fraser, Dorian had served in World War II. He left a young boy of seventeen, and came home a hardened man of twenty-one. War changes men, and he was a prime example of what it could do. Many of the young men of Dìomhair served in the military back then. It was their way to escape the mundane that was home and return with medals of honor and heroism. Unfortunately for many, this glorified image proved very wrong; some did not return, and if they did they were never the same. At the end of the war, Dorian became head of the council and quickly instated a law that forbade anyone, male or female, from joining the outsider's military. This law was not disputed.
Dorian stood again, shaking hands very formally with Gerry. He never really showed Gerry outward affection, as it was not his nature, but he showed Gerry how much he loved him in other ways. When Gerry was young, he made sure to give him the best education he could get. He taught him how to play football, and swim in the lochs around the area. He taught him how to fish and told him stories of when he was a young boy. The only thing he would never answer was where Gerry's father disappeared to. Gerry had asked a handful of times, but received only a stern look in response. He eventually stopped asking.
“Och, my May. Ye get more and more beautiful every day.”
* * *
The one person he did love outwardly was his wife, Mabelle. Much like many couples of their era, they met during the war. Unlike those couples, though, Mabelle wasn't a nurse. No, she was too fiery for that. Instead of nursing, she opted to join the Air Transport Auxiliary. These were women who flew airplanes to where they were needed after they were built in the British factories. They were horribly trained, and some even lost their lives performing their duties, but luckily for Mabelle, her father had also been a pilot. Though what she learned to fly on weren't exactly Spitfires or B-17 Flying Fortresses, more like a single engine crop duster, she still had better preparation than a majority of the others. She flew hundreds of planes all over Britain and worked her way up through the ranks, becoming a Senior Commander at the young age of twenty.
On one of her missions, she was to fly to England to deliver a Spitfire needed to replace one that was having engine problems. Mabelle was truly a beautiful woman, a characteristic that stuck with her into her aging years. This lead to many a cat call on the tarmac. She ignored these advances, sticking to her duties. On this particular delivery, though, she met a young Squadron Leader who caught her attention. He was different from the others; he didn't cat call her or whistle when she walked past, he simply saluted her and filled out the paper work, not paying much attention to her. She knew from the minute she laid eyes on him that he was going to be the man she married. Before she left the base he walked up to her in such a militant fashion that she was afraid she had done something wrong.
“Dorian Blackburn, Squadron Leader, Second Division.” He shook her hand in a strong way, a way that sent shivers down her spine.
“Mabelle Guay, Senior Commander, Air Movement Flight Unit.”
“Wow, Senior Commander. I believe that makes you the rank above me. Looks like I've got some work to do!” he ended his sentence lamely, with a confused look from Mabelle. “Uh, I'm sorry I didn't pay much attention to you earlier, I've just got so much on at the moment. But, I, well, I was just wondering if I could write you sometime? Maybe? Once?”
“I thought you would never ask.” She handed him a folded handkerchief. “Feel free to write, and more than once. I might just answer you.”
She sauntered away, leaving Dorian standing stunned to silence. How had she known he would ask? She shook his head; women were interesting creatures.
From that day forward they exchanged letters as often as they could until the war ended. He even wrote her letters from the front. On a mission in France, his unit had a bit of free time in which to roam around the surrounding area of the base. All he had on him was a box of cigarettes and a few American dollars, but he figured he would try his luck anyway. He walked into a jeweler's shop that hadn't been ransacked yet, and he perused the display case until the perfect glint caught his eye.
* * *
Dorian brought Mabelle's hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, brushing over the ring he had bought her that day in France with four cigarettes and an American dollar. It still sparkled with the brilliance it had the day he bought it, despite being in several skirmishes with him before the war was over. He kept it in the inside the breast pocket of his flack jacket, and checked it was there every night before sleeping, or duty.
Dorian stood again, shaking hands very formally with Gerry. He never really showed Gerry outward affection, as it was not his nature, but he showed Gerry how much he loved him in other ways. When Gerry was young, he made sure to give him the best education he could get. He taught him how to play football, and swim in the lochs around the area. He taught him how to fish and told him stories of when he was a young boy. The only thing he would never answer was where Gerry's father disappeared to. Gerry had asked a handful of times, but received only a stern look in response. He eventually stopped asking.
“Och, my May. Ye get more and more beautiful every day.”
* * *
The one person he did love outwardly was his wife, Mabelle. Much like many couples of their era, they met during the war. Unlike those couples, though, Mabelle wasn't a nurse. No, she was too fiery for that. Instead of nursing, she opted to join the Air Transport Auxiliary. These were women who flew airplanes to where they were needed after they were built in the British factories. They were horribly trained, and some even lost their lives performing their duties, but luckily for Mabelle, her father had also been a pilot. Though what she learned to fly on weren't exactly Spitfires or B-17 Flying Fortresses, more like a single engine crop duster, she still had better preparation than a majority of the others. She flew hundreds of planes all over Britain and worked her way up through the ranks, becoming a Senior Commander at the young age of twenty.
On one of her missions, she was to fly to England to deliver a Spitfire needed to replace one that was having engine problems. Mabelle was truly a beautiful woman, a characteristic that stuck with her into her aging years. This lead to many a cat call on the tarmac. She ignored these advances, sticking to her duties. On this particular delivery, though, she met a young Squadron Leader who caught her attention. He was different from the others; he didn't cat call her or whistle when she walked past, he simply saluted her and filled out the paper work, not paying much attention to her. She knew from the minute she laid eyes on him that he was going to be the man she married. Before she left the base he walked up to her in such a militant fashion that she was afraid she had done something wrong.
“Dorian Blackburn, Squadron Leader, Second Division.” He shook her hand in a strong way, a way that sent shivers down her spine.
“Mabelle Guay, Senior Commander, Air Movement Flight Unit.”
“Wow, Senior Commander. I believe that makes you the rank above me. Looks like I've got some work to do!” he ended his sentence lamely, with a confused look from Mabelle. “Uh, I'm sorry I didn't pay much attention to you earlier, I've just got so much on at the moment. But, I, well, I was just wondering if I could write you sometime? Maybe? Once?”
“I thought you would never ask.” She handed him a folded handkerchief. “Feel free to write, and more than once. I might just answer you.”
She sauntered away, leaving Dorian standing stunned to silence. How had she known he would ask? She shook his head; women were interesting creatures.
From that day forward they exchanged letters as often as they could until the war ended. He even wrote her letters from the front. On a mission in France, his unit had a bit of free time in which to roam around the surrounding area of the base. All he had on him was a box of cigarettes and a few American dollars, but he figured he would try his luck anyway. He walked into a jeweler's shop that hadn't been ransacked yet, and he perused the display case until the perfect glint caught his eye.
* * *
Dorian brought Mabelle's hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, brushing over the ring he had bought her that day in France with four cigarettes and an American dollar. It still sparkled with the brilliance it had the day he bought it, despite being in several skirmishes with him before the war was over. He kept it in the inside the breast pocket of his flack jacket, and checked it was there every night before sleeping, or duty.
*Chapter 11- An accidental and foreshadowing encounter
It had been a week since Gunnar had left the letter at Zane's. He knew she got it because he had heard Karishma's karate noises as he hid outside the back door. He smiled at the thought of how terrified Karishma was. That girl was scared of her own shadow, let alone what she thought to be a burglar barging into the back door of her father's shop. He pumped his wings again, rising slightly higher above the tree line. He was still recovering the loss of muscle he suffered from being locked away for so long, with no means of stretching his body or his wings. He felt better than he had, but there was still a long way to go. He was thankful to have a man like Robert on his side. The day he was released was one of the happiest of his life and he was glad he had someone as wonderful as him to spend it with, if no one else.
Robert had given him instructions on how to train to get back into shape, a method that the military hadn't given him. It was a combination of yoga, dieting right, and psychology; he was to clear his mind once a day while stretching, eat at least one piece of fruit, and take frequent flights to get his wings back. He was eager to get back to militant training, but he knew he had to start slow or else he'd injure himself. Robert also showed him the correct way to administer the neoini. It was a strange feeling, having his wings curl and retract into his body. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but it wasn't painful either. Robert explained that it should be painful, but the scientists who developed it infused a special anesthetic into the serum to make it almost painless for the parents, and now Gunnar, who used it. He was to use the dropper to dab one drop of the neoini onto where his wings met his back. The first few times he used it, it would take several minutes to have any effect, and it would be uncomfortable when it finally reacted, but in time he would get used to it. He was prescribed enough neoini, and its counter part, òl, to last him the entirety of his sentence, and a bit extra. He figured it would be harmless to use the extra to journey to a town that wasn't Maiseach. He couldn't face Ahava, or anyone else for that matter, so he used his other resources.
He made a trip to Aviemore to pick up some food and supplies for the cottage. He packed a bag with the two elixirs, what he classed as “normal” clothes that would fit him without his wings, and his usual clothes that fit him with wings, along with other items such as his wallet, a water bottle, and a cereal bar. He alighted in a dense forest somewhere down river from the town center. He pulled the zipper to his bag and retrieved the neoini, quickly scanning the forest for any life before he made the change. He had startled a roe deer that bounded a safe distance away before stopping again, staring with her doe-eyes at Gunnar, who stared back, smiling. He had always had a way with animals; they trusted him. Now was not the time to be playing with Bambi's Scottish cousins, though. He did exactly as Robert had shown him, dropping a single droplet, no more, no less, onto the spots where his wings met his back. He waited a moment before he felt the tingling sensation of the elixir beginning to take effect. He felt his wings retract, a sensation he was sure he would never get used to. He took a precautionary look over both his shoulders as the last feather, almost by magic, disappeared. Pleased, he pulled his “normal” shirt over his head and slung his bag over his shoulder, instead of carrying it in front like he did for the flight. This is so beyond weird, he though as he picked his way out of the forest without the burden of his wings.
He stopped at the Rothiemurchus Estate farm shop to grab a drink and a quick bite. The girl behind the till greeted him in the all too friendly way that most women did. He wasn't cocky about his good looks, but he knew he wasn't exactly ugly either. He took a seat at a table in the back corner, taking in the decor of the tiny restaurant. There were giant, white-silk balls shaped with wire and string around lights that dangled from the ceiling. Behind the short bar was a coffee machine and mirrors that reflected the room a thousand times, bouncing the image off of mirrors on the opposite wall. To pull the room together, there were paintings of trees by the same artist all with FOR SALE displayed in bright red letters along the bottom. Gunnar had lost his train of thought in a particularly serene image of birches in the winter when he was interrupted by the friendly waitress.
“Heya! What can I get for you this morning, handsome?”
She was one of those eccentric, artsy types, with a pencil tucked behind her ear, thick, curly hair, and a face dappled with freckles. She had a check pad in hand and a pen, ready to take his order. Gunnar brought himself back to reality and murmured something unintelligible.
“I know, sweetheart, it is dead early. How about an egg and bacon bap?”
“That sounds great.”
“Anything on it?”
“Tomato sauce would be fine.”
“Juice?”
“Large orange, if you've got it.”
“Sure thing, love! Have that up for ye in just a few!”
It was far too early to be that perky, and Gunnar felt rude by his short answers, but the waitress didn't seem phased by it. He flipped through a book about the history of Aviemore and before he knew it the waitress was back with a steaming roll. She set it down in front of him, the scents of bacon, egg, and cheese all rolling together and wafting up into his nostrils, and asked if he needed anything else, to which he declined and took more than a mouthful out of the steaming sandwich. If his stomach could have thanked him then, it would have. He finished the sandwich in smaller bites, savoring the first real breakfast he had had in months. He gulped down his orange juice and sat content for a moment, smiling at the pleasant feeling of warmth that had come over him, before heading to the till to pay. The waitress smiled widely, waving goodbye and wishing him a wonderful day. He smiled shyly back and was on his was into town.
The walk from the Rothiemurchus Estate to the center of Aviemore was quite scenic. It was a combination of lush green trees, open fields, and beautiful houses. The walk felt long, but Gunnar welcomed this new sensation of a long walk, it gave him a chance to stretch his stiff thighs. He arrived to the town center and headed straight to Tesco. He grabbed a basket, piling it high with goods in the first aisle, so he thought it wise to switch to a cart. He spent close to an hour and a half milling around the shop and by the time he was finished, he had spent over the allowance he had given himself for this trip. He remembered irritably that he had to carry this all back on his own and admonished himself. He shook his inner voice away, happy to be out in society, mingling again amongst real people, even if they weren't his people. He bought reusable canvas bags to make the journey with all of his purchases easier. Happy as a clam, he gathered his things and made his way to the front door. He tried to pass a man in that awkward way someone does when they're carrying a load of things, but he bumped into him, spilling the contents of one of his bags all over the ground.
“Aw, man, I'm so sorry!”
“Och, nae worries, pal,” the man replied in a thick accent Gunnar recognized as Stirlingshire. He wondered what someone from Stirling would be doing this far north at this time of year.
The man, tall, dark, and built like a stereotypical Scot seen in Hollywood movies, helped Gunnar pick up his spilled goods.
“Thanks for that,” Gunnar said, retrieving his bag from the man.
“You new around here?” he asked, to Gunnar's surprise.
“No, I'm from another village close by, you've probably never heard of it.”
“Oh, I don't know about that, pal. I've lived here since I was twelve, I pretty much know everyone and everything surrounding here.”
Gunnar, not knowing anyone or anything in the area, quickly changed the subject, hoping the man would play along.
“So, that's why you've got a Stirling twang. You haven't lived here your whole life.”
“Aye, aye, that's true. Your accent sounds English, are you from up this way?”
“My parents are from Statford-Upon-Avon, but I grew up close to Inverness.” Lie. There was something unsettling about this guy, and Gunnar was beginning to feel it, enough that he wanted to get away as quickly as possible.
“Oh, yeah? I grew up in Bridge of Allan, next to Stirling, then moved up here when I was twelve to live with my grandparents. We live in a small village, too.”
The man's explanation of his childhood set Gunnar on edge, but he was sure the man was just being friendly, if not a bit strange.
“Sorry, what's your name, mate?” Gunnar asked, hoping to dispel some of the strangeness.
“Gerald. Gerald Blackburn, Gerry for short. And your's?” I know that name, but why?
“Robert. Robert Smith, just Robert,” Gunnar replied, playing it safe, taking Gerald's large, masculine hand in his. He could have sworn Gerry was inspecting him, but why? What could Gerry possibly know about Gunnar? He wondered if Gerry was one of those people who could read other people, and could tell Gunnar was lying through his teeth. Gunnar hoped not.
“Right, well I better be off, busy day today.” Gunnar's pitch rose slightly as he ended his sentence; he coughed in hopes of covering it.
“Aye, same. Nice meeting you mate,” Gerry said pleasantly, but with a hint of doubt that even Gunnar couldn't miss. What a bizarre meeting.
Gunnar made his way back to the forest where he first landed and stuffed as many of the items from his shopping bags into his backpack as he could. He retrieved the òl from the safety of a side, zippered pocket where it rested with the neoini, and let the almost insignificant droplets work their magic. He scanned the forest one last time before pushing off, pumping his wings hard to get aloft. His groceries were heavier than he thought, and he was weaker than he thought, so the just over an hour flight was going to prove difficult. He took it as a training experience and pushed through the burning he felt in his wings and arms, bearing the load in the front. Lactic acid, that's all it is. I'll eat a banana or whatever Robert said and be fine. Gunnar pushed a little harder, soaring a little higher, trying to catch a head wind to make his flight a bit easier. To his delight, there was a light breeze pushing from behind him. He caught that with a slight tilt of his wings, and glided. It was an amazing feeling, one he most certainly missed while being caged. He swore he knew what it felt like to be a pet bird and promised himself he would never own one, and set the ones in the pet shop windows free. He was daydreaming of flying with beautifully colored macaws when he began recognizing the forest below him.
He spotted the roof of the cottage, and made his descent faster than he had hoped. He nearly crashed to the forest floor but pulled up at the last minute, dropping only a couple oranges from his shopping. Pleased with this not-quite-as-rough-as-it-could-have-been landing, he picked up the fallen fruit and casually walked through the front door, only to drop everything again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that he had bought eggs and should have set the bags down gently.
Robert had given him instructions on how to train to get back into shape, a method that the military hadn't given him. It was a combination of yoga, dieting right, and psychology; he was to clear his mind once a day while stretching, eat at least one piece of fruit, and take frequent flights to get his wings back. He was eager to get back to militant training, but he knew he had to start slow or else he'd injure himself. Robert also showed him the correct way to administer the neoini. It was a strange feeling, having his wings curl and retract into his body. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but it wasn't painful either. Robert explained that it should be painful, but the scientists who developed it infused a special anesthetic into the serum to make it almost painless for the parents, and now Gunnar, who used it. He was to use the dropper to dab one drop of the neoini onto where his wings met his back. The first few times he used it, it would take several minutes to have any effect, and it would be uncomfortable when it finally reacted, but in time he would get used to it. He was prescribed enough neoini, and its counter part, òl, to last him the entirety of his sentence, and a bit extra. He figured it would be harmless to use the extra to journey to a town that wasn't Maiseach. He couldn't face Ahava, or anyone else for that matter, so he used his other resources.
He made a trip to Aviemore to pick up some food and supplies for the cottage. He packed a bag with the two elixirs, what he classed as “normal” clothes that would fit him without his wings, and his usual clothes that fit him with wings, along with other items such as his wallet, a water bottle, and a cereal bar. He alighted in a dense forest somewhere down river from the town center. He pulled the zipper to his bag and retrieved the neoini, quickly scanning the forest for any life before he made the change. He had startled a roe deer that bounded a safe distance away before stopping again, staring with her doe-eyes at Gunnar, who stared back, smiling. He had always had a way with animals; they trusted him. Now was not the time to be playing with Bambi's Scottish cousins, though. He did exactly as Robert had shown him, dropping a single droplet, no more, no less, onto the spots where his wings met his back. He waited a moment before he felt the tingling sensation of the elixir beginning to take effect. He felt his wings retract, a sensation he was sure he would never get used to. He took a precautionary look over both his shoulders as the last feather, almost by magic, disappeared. Pleased, he pulled his “normal” shirt over his head and slung his bag over his shoulder, instead of carrying it in front like he did for the flight. This is so beyond weird, he though as he picked his way out of the forest without the burden of his wings.
He stopped at the Rothiemurchus Estate farm shop to grab a drink and a quick bite. The girl behind the till greeted him in the all too friendly way that most women did. He wasn't cocky about his good looks, but he knew he wasn't exactly ugly either. He took a seat at a table in the back corner, taking in the decor of the tiny restaurant. There were giant, white-silk balls shaped with wire and string around lights that dangled from the ceiling. Behind the short bar was a coffee machine and mirrors that reflected the room a thousand times, bouncing the image off of mirrors on the opposite wall. To pull the room together, there were paintings of trees by the same artist all with FOR SALE displayed in bright red letters along the bottom. Gunnar had lost his train of thought in a particularly serene image of birches in the winter when he was interrupted by the friendly waitress.
“Heya! What can I get for you this morning, handsome?”
She was one of those eccentric, artsy types, with a pencil tucked behind her ear, thick, curly hair, and a face dappled with freckles. She had a check pad in hand and a pen, ready to take his order. Gunnar brought himself back to reality and murmured something unintelligible.
“I know, sweetheart, it is dead early. How about an egg and bacon bap?”
“That sounds great.”
“Anything on it?”
“Tomato sauce would be fine.”
“Juice?”
“Large orange, if you've got it.”
“Sure thing, love! Have that up for ye in just a few!”
It was far too early to be that perky, and Gunnar felt rude by his short answers, but the waitress didn't seem phased by it. He flipped through a book about the history of Aviemore and before he knew it the waitress was back with a steaming roll. She set it down in front of him, the scents of bacon, egg, and cheese all rolling together and wafting up into his nostrils, and asked if he needed anything else, to which he declined and took more than a mouthful out of the steaming sandwich. If his stomach could have thanked him then, it would have. He finished the sandwich in smaller bites, savoring the first real breakfast he had had in months. He gulped down his orange juice and sat content for a moment, smiling at the pleasant feeling of warmth that had come over him, before heading to the till to pay. The waitress smiled widely, waving goodbye and wishing him a wonderful day. He smiled shyly back and was on his was into town.
The walk from the Rothiemurchus Estate to the center of Aviemore was quite scenic. It was a combination of lush green trees, open fields, and beautiful houses. The walk felt long, but Gunnar welcomed this new sensation of a long walk, it gave him a chance to stretch his stiff thighs. He arrived to the town center and headed straight to Tesco. He grabbed a basket, piling it high with goods in the first aisle, so he thought it wise to switch to a cart. He spent close to an hour and a half milling around the shop and by the time he was finished, he had spent over the allowance he had given himself for this trip. He remembered irritably that he had to carry this all back on his own and admonished himself. He shook his inner voice away, happy to be out in society, mingling again amongst real people, even if they weren't his people. He bought reusable canvas bags to make the journey with all of his purchases easier. Happy as a clam, he gathered his things and made his way to the front door. He tried to pass a man in that awkward way someone does when they're carrying a load of things, but he bumped into him, spilling the contents of one of his bags all over the ground.
“Aw, man, I'm so sorry!”
“Och, nae worries, pal,” the man replied in a thick accent Gunnar recognized as Stirlingshire. He wondered what someone from Stirling would be doing this far north at this time of year.
The man, tall, dark, and built like a stereotypical Scot seen in Hollywood movies, helped Gunnar pick up his spilled goods.
“Thanks for that,” Gunnar said, retrieving his bag from the man.
“You new around here?” he asked, to Gunnar's surprise.
“No, I'm from another village close by, you've probably never heard of it.”
“Oh, I don't know about that, pal. I've lived here since I was twelve, I pretty much know everyone and everything surrounding here.”
Gunnar, not knowing anyone or anything in the area, quickly changed the subject, hoping the man would play along.
“So, that's why you've got a Stirling twang. You haven't lived here your whole life.”
“Aye, aye, that's true. Your accent sounds English, are you from up this way?”
“My parents are from Statford-Upon-Avon, but I grew up close to Inverness.” Lie. There was something unsettling about this guy, and Gunnar was beginning to feel it, enough that he wanted to get away as quickly as possible.
“Oh, yeah? I grew up in Bridge of Allan, next to Stirling, then moved up here when I was twelve to live with my grandparents. We live in a small village, too.”
The man's explanation of his childhood set Gunnar on edge, but he was sure the man was just being friendly, if not a bit strange.
“Sorry, what's your name, mate?” Gunnar asked, hoping to dispel some of the strangeness.
“Gerald. Gerald Blackburn, Gerry for short. And your's?” I know that name, but why?
“Robert. Robert Smith, just Robert,” Gunnar replied, playing it safe, taking Gerald's large, masculine hand in his. He could have sworn Gerry was inspecting him, but why? What could Gerry possibly know about Gunnar? He wondered if Gerry was one of those people who could read other people, and could tell Gunnar was lying through his teeth. Gunnar hoped not.
“Right, well I better be off, busy day today.” Gunnar's pitch rose slightly as he ended his sentence; he coughed in hopes of covering it.
“Aye, same. Nice meeting you mate,” Gerry said pleasantly, but with a hint of doubt that even Gunnar couldn't miss. What a bizarre meeting.
Gunnar made his way back to the forest where he first landed and stuffed as many of the items from his shopping bags into his backpack as he could. He retrieved the òl from the safety of a side, zippered pocket where it rested with the neoini, and let the almost insignificant droplets work their magic. He scanned the forest one last time before pushing off, pumping his wings hard to get aloft. His groceries were heavier than he thought, and he was weaker than he thought, so the just over an hour flight was going to prove difficult. He took it as a training experience and pushed through the burning he felt in his wings and arms, bearing the load in the front. Lactic acid, that's all it is. I'll eat a banana or whatever Robert said and be fine. Gunnar pushed a little harder, soaring a little higher, trying to catch a head wind to make his flight a bit easier. To his delight, there was a light breeze pushing from behind him. He caught that with a slight tilt of his wings, and glided. It was an amazing feeling, one he most certainly missed while being caged. He swore he knew what it felt like to be a pet bird and promised himself he would never own one, and set the ones in the pet shop windows free. He was daydreaming of flying with beautifully colored macaws when he began recognizing the forest below him.
He spotted the roof of the cottage, and made his descent faster than he had hoped. He nearly crashed to the forest floor but pulled up at the last minute, dropping only a couple oranges from his shopping. Pleased with this not-quite-as-rough-as-it-could-have-been landing, he picked up the fallen fruit and casually walked through the front door, only to drop everything again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that he had bought eggs and should have set the bags down gently.
*Chapter 12- Important information is revealed
“Well, now that we're all here, we have some things that need to be discussed,” Robert said, getting right to the matter at hand and putting on his voice that he usually reserved for important Sgiathalaich meetings, but he thought it suited this occasion. Sonja and Matt exchanged looks of confusion, but quickly turning their attention back to Robert in interest. “Hold on.”
Robert left the room, returning with a kitchen chair. He placed it in front of the room and sat, placing his hands formally on his knees. Jennifer retrieved the remote from the coffee table and switched the television off. The crackling of static coming from the screen was the only noise heard as everyone's attention was directed towards Robert. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, letting the words line up in his head like well trained soldiers. He sat up straight and began to speak.
“Sonja, as you know your twentieth birthday is coming up soon, around four months from now.”
“Yours too, Matthew,” Rosalind spoke up, smiling at Robert, who returned the gesture.
“Right, yours too, Matt. As you leave your teenage years and enter into true adulthood, you so enter into something greater. There is something that we, Rosalind included, have not been completely honest with you both about and we decided it was time.”
Matt and Sonja exchanged furtive glances, and linked fingers, nerves pulsing between them.
“We're- we're not moving again are we?” Sonja asked, the thought always at the forefront of her mind. She couldn't- wouldn't leave Matt.
“No,” Robert said, smiling at her innocence. “But, it could result in a move, if you should so choose.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sonja blurted in frustration with the cryptic answers her father was giving her.
Robert looked from Jennifer to Rosalind, who both nodded in encouragement. Robert took in a deep breath and the river of truth flowed into an ocean of shock and disbelief.
“Sonja, I am a member of the head council, the Ceann-Feadhna Bràthair,of a society called Sgiathalaich.We are a very secretive and well protected people who have inhabited this earth for hundreds of years. Some say we descended from fallen angels, some say we were a glitch in the evolutional development between beast and man. I like the angel theory better myself, and its a bit more believable than a monkey having a one night stand with a seagull.” Robert's poorly made joke was met with a stifled giggle from Jennifer.
“What are you saying, Dad? I really don't understand.”
“Well, Sonja, on our twentieth birthdays we begin to experience some changes. Some happen earlier than others, like you. Your mother told me about the incident with the magpie in February.”
“I didn't think it was a big deal, I just thought it was a freak thing, and now you're telling me I'm actually a freak, that can talk to birds.”
“Well, its more than just talking to birds-”
“What?!” Sonja gasped in shock, her father confirming her ability without hesitation. She sat forward further, now on the edge of the cushion, and motioned for her father to continue.
“It is far more than just talking to birds, which you will be able to do both internally and externally, an incredible ability, if you ask me.”
That explains that, then. Good lord.
“You will also be able to communicate in some small way with other animals, not as well as you can with birds due to our special connection, but part of your change is that you become more in tune with nature. Let me ask you something, have you been feeling any itching or burning sensations on your back recently?”
Sonja thought for a moment, knitted her brows together in confusion at such an odd question, and answered with an honest no. “Oh, good, good. That hasn't started yet.”
“What hasn't star- can you just tell me please!”
“Well, closer to when your birthday is, you'll begin to get a burning sensation between your shoulder blades. On the day of your birthday, typically, will be the finality of change. On that day, the buds will unfurl into bone and feather and cartilage. This can be a rather painful experience for some, but for others it comes naturally.”
Sonja's facial expression spoke in a way that she could not. She shook her head and stood to leave, but the look on her father's face told her this was no joke. He was deadly serious and she didn't quite know what to make of it. Matt held her hand tighter and leaned back on the couch with her. When she didn't speak, Robert continued.
“Matt,” Matt's attention was snapped back at the sound of his name, “your case is a bit different. Your mother is part of our, I guess the best way to put it, sister society, Droch-Bheart. Droch-Bheart people are typically born with wing buds that will develop into full wings as the child grows. Your mother has told us that you weren't born with these buds so what I'm thinking is that you may go through the change as well. You haven't had any of these signs yet have you?”
“N-no, no I have'nay.”
“Good, good. Your birthday is a couple months after Sonja's so that makes sense. The reason I think you may go through the change, if at all, is because of who your father is.” Rosalind shifted uneasily in her seat, but allowed Robert to continue. “His name is Clayton Frost. He is from England and is part of the European sect headed by a man named Guiscard Proulx. Clay is what is called a Lugha Bràthair, which, directly translated, means 'little brother.' He is a level below me, as I'm the head of the North American sect. He has served in the Sgiathalaich military, though, as the highest level of command, a Ceannard. And, since you're half Sgiathalaich, I believe you may change. You also have the unique opportunity to declare your alliance to one or the other, which is entirely your decision.”
It was Rosalind's turn to speak. “I could'nay tell ye 'til ye were older, Matt. Your da did leave us, but it wasn't the way I told you. I wanted to be angry with him when he got this position right around when you were born because I knew it would take him away from us. I needed him, but Sgiathalaich needed him more. We risked everything to be together. We lost contact with most of our families, and nearly our lives, but we got away. We moved to Stirling and he would travel back and forth between here and Maiseach in secret, usually under the cover of night, where our people live. When he was put forth to be Ceannard, though, he tried to make it work, he did, but it just was'nay in the cards. He had to leave, he had a duty. I haven't heard from him since then, but I do hear of him from Robert, and he send his regards, and money when he can.”
Matt was stunned. His face betrayed him, displaying emotions he had no desire to show. He went in waves of anger, excitement, pain. After so many years, he knew the truth. Though it was far fetched, it was the closest thing to a real story that he had and he was going to hold onto it.
“So he's...alive then?” Matt asked hesitantly.
“Oh yes, he is alive and well. I spoke to him recently. He wants to meet you someday, when you're ready,” Robert piped up.
“Wow. Thank you.” Matt wasn't sure why he thanked Robert, but it felt appropriate. He knew where his father was. His father wanted to meet him. He smiled so hard it hurt.
Sonja stood up suddenly, enraged.
“Is this for real? Do you honestly believe this crock of shit, Matt?”
“Sonja.” Jennifer tried to soothe her, shocked by her outburst.
“No, this is unbelievable! How can you possibly make up this kind of bullshit to make a kid happy because his dad walked out on him, to tell me that when I turn a certain age I become a side-show act. What kind of sick people are you?”
“You don't believe us, Sonja?” Jennifer asked, a sad edge to her voice.
“I certainly do not!”
“Why would we all make this up?” Rosalind asked softly. “Why would I do this to Matt if it weren't true?”
“Because you're all a bunch of degenerate lunatics thats why!”
“Sonja, sweetheart-”
“Don't- do not, Robert, if that's even your real name. Matt, let's go.” Matt just stared at her, remaining in place on the sofa. “Fine, I'll leave without you then.”
She meant to stomp off in a huff, in utter disbelief of the people she trusted most coming up with such a ridiculous web of lies. She meant to, she wanted to, but something was stopping her. Morbid curiosity possibly? Matt's gentle touch on the inside of her palm, motioning her back towards him? Or was it the genuine look in the eyes of her father, the one man she had ever trusted and revered? She sat, reluctantly.
“If you don't believe us, let us show you,” Robert suggested.
“Fine,” Sonja hissed, crossing her arms and pressing herself to the back of the couch.
Robert pulled two glass bottles from the pocket of his perfectly pressed chinos. The bottles reminded her of something in an old apothecary shop, both half filled with different colored liquid. Robert stood and unbuttoned his dress shirt, followed by his undershirt pulled deftly over his head. Sonja hadn't seen her father shirtless in years and was amazed at his build. For a man in his forties, he still had definition in every muscle, especially in his chest and shoulders. She had always regarded him as a handsome man, but she now saw what her mother did and hoped Matt looked like that when he was old. Robert proceeded to pull the dropper from the top of the golden tinted liquid and let a drop slither down each shoulder blade. Something was happening and he explained his way through it.
“The elixir I have just used is called neoini. This is a specially formulated, quite potent chemical that has a restorative counterpart, ól. These were developed by our scientists and used originally strictly for members of Sgiathalaich with underage children who were living outside Maiseach. There have been a couple exceptions which I will explain to you later. Jennifer,” Robert motioned to Jennifer, who modestly slid the straps of her shirt down over her shoulders. Moments later, a small crackling noise was heard and both Robert and Jennifer stretched in a way that suggested what was happening wasn't painful, just rather uncomfortable. Robert gave a sigh and bent forward, exposing the tops of his shoulders and back. The edges of his scapulars began to prickle, like goose-bumps, then rise slightly. At the peak of the rise, the skin began to split, though there was no blood, and small feathers began poking through the opening. The split continued half way down his back, leaving enough room for the rest of the feather and bone to push its way through. Slowly, the feathers began to expand into a recognizable wing, that extended back from Robert's body. He stood slightly and the sizable, white wings arched and tucked themselves in neatly. Robert stood fully upright, his wings settled behind him, resembling so much what he could be descended from- a fallen angel.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Sonja exhaled. She couldn't recall where she had heard that saying before, but thought it was fitting in this situation. “You weren't joking.”
Robert stood, stretching his gorgeous, snow white wings, the tips nearly touching the walls from where he stood in the middle of the living room. It was Jennifer's turn to impress. She stretched and stood, letting her charcoal grey wings fall elegantly behind her, an interesting contrast with her flaming red hair. Sonja's mind was telling her not to believe what she was seeing, but her heart was telling her that it was true. They were pictures of beauty, just like the fallen angels they resembled. She stood and took a step towards her father. He remained still and let her touch the downy underside of his wings. She ran her fingers through his feathers, dislodging one as she did.
“Oh my- I'm sorry, did that hurt?” Sonja exclaimed, trying in vain to put the feather back among its fellows. Robert laughed then, a genuine sound.
“No, silly, its actually good for feathers to fall out sometimes. We need to molt a feather here and there for a healthy, new one to come through, like losing a piece of hair, or an eyelash. It's normal, nothing to worry about, until you start losing clumps of them, that usually means illness.”
Sonja studied his wings, front and back. He slackened the muscles a bit to let her flex them back and forth, watching the joints move deftly. She extended one wing, then the other, working her way around him. She stopped at his back to see where the wings connected in between his shoulders.
“So, are these an extension of your shoulder blades or are they their own, well, I guess the word would be appendages?”
“They are their own appendages. They connect to the muscles that run in between my shoulders and down my spine. Thats why my chest and shoulder muscles are strong because the force needed to make my wings work comes from that area. They are all connected and all useful in flight.”
“Why are yours a different color than Ma's?”
“Why are bird's wings different color from male to female? Species to species? It all depends on your genetics and sex, really. Males tend to have a wider range of color, whereas females will more than likely be a dull brown, or in your mother's case, a charcoal color.”
“What colors do male's have? Can they be, like, peacock colors?”
“Having brightly, exotic colored wings is fairly rare. I think I've only met one or two guys that had wings like a macaw and they were from warm places. I think it has a lot to do with climate as well. Most of my colleagues range from black to white to gold to tawny.”
“Why doesn't Rosalind have wings?”
“Rosalind, would you like to explain to Sonja a little bit more about your people?” Robert gestured for Rosalind to take the floor and explain.
Sonja went back around Robert to her place next to Matt. She sat once more, taking his hand in hers, listening intently to Rosalind, as she knew Matt was. Robert and Jennifer folded their wings behind them and sat on the large sofa, looking out of place amongst mere mortals. Rosalind took the seat Robert had occupied during his speech. She cleared her throat and began to speak.
“Well, I'm, as you know, part of Droch-Bheart. Unlike Sgiathalaich people, we are born with our wing buds already in place, as Robert said. There is no rhyme or reason for this difference in evolution, just different societies, kind of like why Africans have very dark skin and Asians have slanted eyes. When Droch-Bheart babies are born, the parents have an option- they can keep the baby's wing buds and let them grow up to have wings and live amongst the others in Maiseach. Or, there is another option. Parents can have their baby's wing buds removed so they can have a normal life wherever they want when they grow up instead of being stuck in one place, ken. My parents, both of whom had their wings, decided they wanted a better, different, life for me and opted to have mine removed. Sometimes I wish they had'nay, but other times I accept it because it gave me the chance to do things as a young woman that I wouldn't have otherwise. Now, if yer wondering why Matt's father and I had to keep things so quiet, I know Matt is, because there are laws. The laws are different from Sgiathalaich to Droch-Bheart, but one of the few that remains the same, and has for centuries, is that members from each society can'nay be intimate with each other, and most certainly can'nay marry. We met in secret, made love in secret, married in secret. By the time we decided to have Matt, I had already established myself here and he had followed me. When Matt was born though, he had found out he'd been nominated as Ceannard. He tried to make it work, as I said earlier, but if he had ever been found out he would have faced removal, a terrible fate.”
“Removal?” Sonja questioned. “What does that mean?”
“Its a punishment worse than death for some,” Robert jumped in. “Its an extreme measure left for those who commit terrible acts, like murder or marrying a Droch-Bheart, no offense, Rosalind. It is the forceful removal of one's wings. No anesthetic, nothing to bite on so you don't bite your tongue off, not even a hand to squeeze. People are left mangled, in pain for the rest of their lives. I have only seen this happen a handful of times since being a Ceann-Feadhna Bràthair, but my god is it awful to watch,” Robert shook his head, motioning for Rosalind to continue.
“Och, that's me done, unless ye have questions.”
Sonja and Matt both sat in stunned silence. What they had just heard was nothing short of a fairytale in the making. Sonja had questions running and bumping into each other like drunken marathon runners, morphing from three questions into one big one, or losing her train of thought completely. “What happens now?” was the best she could come up with.
“Well, Sonja, you have been chosen by a guardian and given a tutor. Your guardian has been following you around for some time now, reporting back to me every once in a while to tell me how you're doing. I wasn't happy with him today, as he almost gave away everything we worked so hard to keep secret until the right moment-”
“The magpie!”
“Yes, the magpie. Jennifer, open the window, please.”
Jennifer did as he asked, holding aside the curtain for a moment, letting the bird flit into the room, he alighted on top of the television, and settled his wings behind him.
“Sonja, this is Jett.”
Robert left the room, returning with a kitchen chair. He placed it in front of the room and sat, placing his hands formally on his knees. Jennifer retrieved the remote from the coffee table and switched the television off. The crackling of static coming from the screen was the only noise heard as everyone's attention was directed towards Robert. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, letting the words line up in his head like well trained soldiers. He sat up straight and began to speak.
“Sonja, as you know your twentieth birthday is coming up soon, around four months from now.”
“Yours too, Matthew,” Rosalind spoke up, smiling at Robert, who returned the gesture.
“Right, yours too, Matt. As you leave your teenage years and enter into true adulthood, you so enter into something greater. There is something that we, Rosalind included, have not been completely honest with you both about and we decided it was time.”
Matt and Sonja exchanged furtive glances, and linked fingers, nerves pulsing between them.
“We're- we're not moving again are we?” Sonja asked, the thought always at the forefront of her mind. She couldn't- wouldn't leave Matt.
“No,” Robert said, smiling at her innocence. “But, it could result in a move, if you should so choose.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sonja blurted in frustration with the cryptic answers her father was giving her.
Robert looked from Jennifer to Rosalind, who both nodded in encouragement. Robert took in a deep breath and the river of truth flowed into an ocean of shock and disbelief.
“Sonja, I am a member of the head council, the Ceann-Feadhna Bràthair,of a society called Sgiathalaich.We are a very secretive and well protected people who have inhabited this earth for hundreds of years. Some say we descended from fallen angels, some say we were a glitch in the evolutional development between beast and man. I like the angel theory better myself, and its a bit more believable than a monkey having a one night stand with a seagull.” Robert's poorly made joke was met with a stifled giggle from Jennifer.
“What are you saying, Dad? I really don't understand.”
“Well, Sonja, on our twentieth birthdays we begin to experience some changes. Some happen earlier than others, like you. Your mother told me about the incident with the magpie in February.”
“I didn't think it was a big deal, I just thought it was a freak thing, and now you're telling me I'm actually a freak, that can talk to birds.”
“Well, its more than just talking to birds-”
“What?!” Sonja gasped in shock, her father confirming her ability without hesitation. She sat forward further, now on the edge of the cushion, and motioned for her father to continue.
“It is far more than just talking to birds, which you will be able to do both internally and externally, an incredible ability, if you ask me.”
That explains that, then. Good lord.
“You will also be able to communicate in some small way with other animals, not as well as you can with birds due to our special connection, but part of your change is that you become more in tune with nature. Let me ask you something, have you been feeling any itching or burning sensations on your back recently?”
Sonja thought for a moment, knitted her brows together in confusion at such an odd question, and answered with an honest no. “Oh, good, good. That hasn't started yet.”
“What hasn't star- can you just tell me please!”
“Well, closer to when your birthday is, you'll begin to get a burning sensation between your shoulder blades. On the day of your birthday, typically, will be the finality of change. On that day, the buds will unfurl into bone and feather and cartilage. This can be a rather painful experience for some, but for others it comes naturally.”
Sonja's facial expression spoke in a way that she could not. She shook her head and stood to leave, but the look on her father's face told her this was no joke. He was deadly serious and she didn't quite know what to make of it. Matt held her hand tighter and leaned back on the couch with her. When she didn't speak, Robert continued.
“Matt,” Matt's attention was snapped back at the sound of his name, “your case is a bit different. Your mother is part of our, I guess the best way to put it, sister society, Droch-Bheart. Droch-Bheart people are typically born with wing buds that will develop into full wings as the child grows. Your mother has told us that you weren't born with these buds so what I'm thinking is that you may go through the change as well. You haven't had any of these signs yet have you?”
“N-no, no I have'nay.”
“Good, good. Your birthday is a couple months after Sonja's so that makes sense. The reason I think you may go through the change, if at all, is because of who your father is.” Rosalind shifted uneasily in her seat, but allowed Robert to continue. “His name is Clayton Frost. He is from England and is part of the European sect headed by a man named Guiscard Proulx. Clay is what is called a Lugha Bràthair, which, directly translated, means 'little brother.' He is a level below me, as I'm the head of the North American sect. He has served in the Sgiathalaich military, though, as the highest level of command, a Ceannard. And, since you're half Sgiathalaich, I believe you may change. You also have the unique opportunity to declare your alliance to one or the other, which is entirely your decision.”
It was Rosalind's turn to speak. “I could'nay tell ye 'til ye were older, Matt. Your da did leave us, but it wasn't the way I told you. I wanted to be angry with him when he got this position right around when you were born because I knew it would take him away from us. I needed him, but Sgiathalaich needed him more. We risked everything to be together. We lost contact with most of our families, and nearly our lives, but we got away. We moved to Stirling and he would travel back and forth between here and Maiseach in secret, usually under the cover of night, where our people live. When he was put forth to be Ceannard, though, he tried to make it work, he did, but it just was'nay in the cards. He had to leave, he had a duty. I haven't heard from him since then, but I do hear of him from Robert, and he send his regards, and money when he can.”
Matt was stunned. His face betrayed him, displaying emotions he had no desire to show. He went in waves of anger, excitement, pain. After so many years, he knew the truth. Though it was far fetched, it was the closest thing to a real story that he had and he was going to hold onto it.
“So he's...alive then?” Matt asked hesitantly.
“Oh yes, he is alive and well. I spoke to him recently. He wants to meet you someday, when you're ready,” Robert piped up.
“Wow. Thank you.” Matt wasn't sure why he thanked Robert, but it felt appropriate. He knew where his father was. His father wanted to meet him. He smiled so hard it hurt.
Sonja stood up suddenly, enraged.
“Is this for real? Do you honestly believe this crock of shit, Matt?”
“Sonja.” Jennifer tried to soothe her, shocked by her outburst.
“No, this is unbelievable! How can you possibly make up this kind of bullshit to make a kid happy because his dad walked out on him, to tell me that when I turn a certain age I become a side-show act. What kind of sick people are you?”
“You don't believe us, Sonja?” Jennifer asked, a sad edge to her voice.
“I certainly do not!”
“Why would we all make this up?” Rosalind asked softly. “Why would I do this to Matt if it weren't true?”
“Because you're all a bunch of degenerate lunatics thats why!”
“Sonja, sweetheart-”
“Don't- do not, Robert, if that's even your real name. Matt, let's go.” Matt just stared at her, remaining in place on the sofa. “Fine, I'll leave without you then.”
She meant to stomp off in a huff, in utter disbelief of the people she trusted most coming up with such a ridiculous web of lies. She meant to, she wanted to, but something was stopping her. Morbid curiosity possibly? Matt's gentle touch on the inside of her palm, motioning her back towards him? Or was it the genuine look in the eyes of her father, the one man she had ever trusted and revered? She sat, reluctantly.
“If you don't believe us, let us show you,” Robert suggested.
“Fine,” Sonja hissed, crossing her arms and pressing herself to the back of the couch.
Robert pulled two glass bottles from the pocket of his perfectly pressed chinos. The bottles reminded her of something in an old apothecary shop, both half filled with different colored liquid. Robert stood and unbuttoned his dress shirt, followed by his undershirt pulled deftly over his head. Sonja hadn't seen her father shirtless in years and was amazed at his build. For a man in his forties, he still had definition in every muscle, especially in his chest and shoulders. She had always regarded him as a handsome man, but she now saw what her mother did and hoped Matt looked like that when he was old. Robert proceeded to pull the dropper from the top of the golden tinted liquid and let a drop slither down each shoulder blade. Something was happening and he explained his way through it.
“The elixir I have just used is called neoini. This is a specially formulated, quite potent chemical that has a restorative counterpart, ól. These were developed by our scientists and used originally strictly for members of Sgiathalaich with underage children who were living outside Maiseach. There have been a couple exceptions which I will explain to you later. Jennifer,” Robert motioned to Jennifer, who modestly slid the straps of her shirt down over her shoulders. Moments later, a small crackling noise was heard and both Robert and Jennifer stretched in a way that suggested what was happening wasn't painful, just rather uncomfortable. Robert gave a sigh and bent forward, exposing the tops of his shoulders and back. The edges of his scapulars began to prickle, like goose-bumps, then rise slightly. At the peak of the rise, the skin began to split, though there was no blood, and small feathers began poking through the opening. The split continued half way down his back, leaving enough room for the rest of the feather and bone to push its way through. Slowly, the feathers began to expand into a recognizable wing, that extended back from Robert's body. He stood slightly and the sizable, white wings arched and tucked themselves in neatly. Robert stood fully upright, his wings settled behind him, resembling so much what he could be descended from- a fallen angel.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Sonja exhaled. She couldn't recall where she had heard that saying before, but thought it was fitting in this situation. “You weren't joking.”
Robert stood, stretching his gorgeous, snow white wings, the tips nearly touching the walls from where he stood in the middle of the living room. It was Jennifer's turn to impress. She stretched and stood, letting her charcoal grey wings fall elegantly behind her, an interesting contrast with her flaming red hair. Sonja's mind was telling her not to believe what she was seeing, but her heart was telling her that it was true. They were pictures of beauty, just like the fallen angels they resembled. She stood and took a step towards her father. He remained still and let her touch the downy underside of his wings. She ran her fingers through his feathers, dislodging one as she did.
“Oh my- I'm sorry, did that hurt?” Sonja exclaimed, trying in vain to put the feather back among its fellows. Robert laughed then, a genuine sound.
“No, silly, its actually good for feathers to fall out sometimes. We need to molt a feather here and there for a healthy, new one to come through, like losing a piece of hair, or an eyelash. It's normal, nothing to worry about, until you start losing clumps of them, that usually means illness.”
Sonja studied his wings, front and back. He slackened the muscles a bit to let her flex them back and forth, watching the joints move deftly. She extended one wing, then the other, working her way around him. She stopped at his back to see where the wings connected in between his shoulders.
“So, are these an extension of your shoulder blades or are they their own, well, I guess the word would be appendages?”
“They are their own appendages. They connect to the muscles that run in between my shoulders and down my spine. Thats why my chest and shoulder muscles are strong because the force needed to make my wings work comes from that area. They are all connected and all useful in flight.”
“Why are yours a different color than Ma's?”
“Why are bird's wings different color from male to female? Species to species? It all depends on your genetics and sex, really. Males tend to have a wider range of color, whereas females will more than likely be a dull brown, or in your mother's case, a charcoal color.”
“What colors do male's have? Can they be, like, peacock colors?”
“Having brightly, exotic colored wings is fairly rare. I think I've only met one or two guys that had wings like a macaw and they were from warm places. I think it has a lot to do with climate as well. Most of my colleagues range from black to white to gold to tawny.”
“Why doesn't Rosalind have wings?”
“Rosalind, would you like to explain to Sonja a little bit more about your people?” Robert gestured for Rosalind to take the floor and explain.
Sonja went back around Robert to her place next to Matt. She sat once more, taking his hand in hers, listening intently to Rosalind, as she knew Matt was. Robert and Jennifer folded their wings behind them and sat on the large sofa, looking out of place amongst mere mortals. Rosalind took the seat Robert had occupied during his speech. She cleared her throat and began to speak.
“Well, I'm, as you know, part of Droch-Bheart. Unlike Sgiathalaich people, we are born with our wing buds already in place, as Robert said. There is no rhyme or reason for this difference in evolution, just different societies, kind of like why Africans have very dark skin and Asians have slanted eyes. When Droch-Bheart babies are born, the parents have an option- they can keep the baby's wing buds and let them grow up to have wings and live amongst the others in Maiseach. Or, there is another option. Parents can have their baby's wing buds removed so they can have a normal life wherever they want when they grow up instead of being stuck in one place, ken. My parents, both of whom had their wings, decided they wanted a better, different, life for me and opted to have mine removed. Sometimes I wish they had'nay, but other times I accept it because it gave me the chance to do things as a young woman that I wouldn't have otherwise. Now, if yer wondering why Matt's father and I had to keep things so quiet, I know Matt is, because there are laws. The laws are different from Sgiathalaich to Droch-Bheart, but one of the few that remains the same, and has for centuries, is that members from each society can'nay be intimate with each other, and most certainly can'nay marry. We met in secret, made love in secret, married in secret. By the time we decided to have Matt, I had already established myself here and he had followed me. When Matt was born though, he had found out he'd been nominated as Ceannard. He tried to make it work, as I said earlier, but if he had ever been found out he would have faced removal, a terrible fate.”
“Removal?” Sonja questioned. “What does that mean?”
“Its a punishment worse than death for some,” Robert jumped in. “Its an extreme measure left for those who commit terrible acts, like murder or marrying a Droch-Bheart, no offense, Rosalind. It is the forceful removal of one's wings. No anesthetic, nothing to bite on so you don't bite your tongue off, not even a hand to squeeze. People are left mangled, in pain for the rest of their lives. I have only seen this happen a handful of times since being a Ceann-Feadhna Bràthair, but my god is it awful to watch,” Robert shook his head, motioning for Rosalind to continue.
“Och, that's me done, unless ye have questions.”
Sonja and Matt both sat in stunned silence. What they had just heard was nothing short of a fairytale in the making. Sonja had questions running and bumping into each other like drunken marathon runners, morphing from three questions into one big one, or losing her train of thought completely. “What happens now?” was the best she could come up with.
“Well, Sonja, you have been chosen by a guardian and given a tutor. Your guardian has been following you around for some time now, reporting back to me every once in a while to tell me how you're doing. I wasn't happy with him today, as he almost gave away everything we worked so hard to keep secret until the right moment-”
“The magpie!”
“Yes, the magpie. Jennifer, open the window, please.”
Jennifer did as he asked, holding aside the curtain for a moment, letting the bird flit into the room, he alighted on top of the television, and settled his wings behind him.
“Sonja, this is Jett.”