Feathers Gets His Mojo Page 3

Feathers had tried to find his way for a long time, before the singing fish had woken him up that morning. But now? He didn't think of any way, or any place, at all. It was like the world was created again with each sunrise, new and strange. How could you find your way across a world like that? He had, without thinking about it, learned to care about only one place: the sky above him and the sea below. The place he lived right now. That was enough for a bird.

  It was enough to fly and fish and wonder at the world's mysteries.

  But was something wrong? One day Feathers noticed a faint low-pitched hum and he felt dizzy. Probably it was just hunger, or maybe just feeling off.

  But days passed and the sound didn't go away. Feathers thought of the red and black fishing boats cutting through the waves near the coast, back when he was with his flock. The deep thrumming of thick taut rope in strong wind. This sound was like that. But it did not come from the wind. It seemed to come from inside Feather's head. Or, maybe, from deep in his breast. It was a subtle thing, and on bright sunlit mornings Feathers was able to convince himself it wasn't there at all.

  But nights just before sleep, as the darkness chased the light from the world, there was no mistaking the thrumming and Feathers knew it was real. On those nights, just before sleep, a terrible sadness would overcome him, a sadness so heavy he tucked his face deeper into his warm breast, seeking the escape of sleep.

  The sadness faded to near nothing in the morning, as if it could not stand up to the warm sun and the blue sky. Feathers eventually got used to it, it just became a part of his world. He adjusted to the dizziness and barely noticed it. But it was always there behind his thoughts and feelings. And, somewhere deep down, the thrumming settled in Feathers heart, and a sadness started to grow there.

  The world had not changed. He still loved being here. The sky. The ocean. The ability to fly. Feathers looked deeper into the high clouds and the far horizon where sea met sky. He dove deeper beneath the waves. He searched his memory. Always looking. But he found nothing to explain the sadness that was growing like a heavy stone in his breast. He found no way to understand the vibration that filled his world. It permeated him. Feathers felt it slowly crack his breast wide open.

  Images and memories came to him now and then, in an instant as he flew, gray and dim, with edges unsure, they flickered for an instant, hovering in his mind then vanishing just before Feathers could really see them.

  Was that Grey falling from the sky? Did he hear the light snap of nearby wings cutting the wind?

  And on those nights when the thrum rose up bringing sadness that almost overcame him, Feathers tried not to hear or think - he just buried his face deep in his breast. He could always escape into sleep.

  Sleep became his refuge. Following Green Fish felt like an adventure. His days had been full of light and peace. But now following Green Fish felt more like a duty, somehow, and often during his days of flying Feathers would find himself wishing the day would end quickly and night would come on. Night brought sleep, and sleep brought refuge.

  Then came the dreams. Whatever this thing was that shadowed him like a dark cloud had found a way into Feather's last refuge. Then came the dreams.

  THE DREAMS ALWAYS STARTED in fog. Lost in fog.

  Fog filled the air. Wet thick mist. It was like trying to breath water. It was daytime, after noon, but the sun's warmth had not dissipated the moisture that lay like a blanket over the sea. Down near the sea surface the only sign that the sun still hung in the sky was a dim whitish glow that seemed to come from the fog itself.

  Feathers flew over Green Fish in short tight circles, struggling to see her, to stay with her. Feathers could just make out her dim green shine as she swam below him.

  He felt lost, which was strange - he had not felt lost since the morning he had seen those amazing fish leaping and laughing all around him.

  But wait. That was not it at all. The lost feeling was not his - it belonged to Green Fish. She was lost. Feathers felt waves of confusion and fear rise up from her. She needed to go somewhere. She struggled to make her way. Her yearning engulfed Feathers. Find my way, find my way, find my way.

  In an instant the mist lifted. Crystal blue sky without a cloud in sight. Aqua green water spread out under Feathers. So clear it seemed bottomless. Like gazing into a green cloudless sky. Clearer than any sea Feathers had ever seen. Strange sweet scents wafted here and there on a warm moist breeze. Scents of land?

  Then he saw it. So far out it could almost have been the horizon. But it wasn't.

  Feather's heart leapt in his breast.

  Way out in the distance a white sand beach rose out of the sparkling green sea. There was no gap in that long shore that might be a river, or the mouth of a bay, an entrance to a place with marsh and grass and quiet black water. There was no sign that this could be a place a flock might call home.

  So why did it thrum in Feather's breast so strong he felt his heart might burst?

  HOME

  HOME

  HOME

  DAYS PASSED INTO MOONS, moons passed into seasons. Skies went from empty blue to endless gray and cold rain that fell on choppy black seas churning under a bitter wind. And then back to blue. Through it all, Feathers flew and Green Fish swam. Unlikely companions of sea and sky, brought together by a freak green flash of sun off wave, by mere chance it seemed.

  But Feathers felt, somehow, that it was not mere chance. He himself had wandered the sky as he wished, each day’s direction unknown, decided on the moment by a wind, a cloud, a scent, a calm sea in the distance.

  But Green Fish? No. This fish was headed somewhere. She did not change course on a whim. There was direction to her swimming. Purpose. And Feathers, as her companion, was connected to it. Was she leading him somewhere? Was that what was going on here?

  But where would that be? Feathers had left his flock, and they had closed behind him as he left. He sensed that if, some day, he did somehow find his way back there, to that beautiful grass and black water, it would no longer be home.

  Home, if it existed for him at all, was out here now.

  Time passed. Feather's sadness grew. The dreams kept coming.

  He began to notice things.

  From time to time Green Fish seemed to falter in her direction. Sometimes Feathers thought they might be traveling in circles. Sometimes he felt uncertainty from Green Fish, as if she could not find her way, and it unsettled Feathers. It was a bad feeling like he had felt during his first days at sea, after he realized he could not find land.

  But the feeling quickly passed, and she would once again swim straight towards wherever she was going.

  When the feeling of confusion came during these times, the dream of that beautiful white sand beach and the clear green sea filtered into Feather's mind, and somehow it brought him comfort.

  And Green Fish brought Feathers comfort too. She was a loyal companion who awaited Feathers through each night to be there for him at dawn.

  The feeling of connection grew. But from where? She was just a green speck beneath the sea. They could not speak. So from where? And the feelings. These new feelings. Where did they come from? It seemed maybe they were carried in on the thrumming in his head. Somewhere buried in the sound was a feeling of being lost. Of being at the end. Like he had felt that dark night when he had called out for help.

  He had called out for help to sea and sky that night. And the next morning the singing fish came. Was the thrum Green Fish's call for help? Feathers forced that thought out of his head and through his wingtips into the air. What help could a simple bird ever offer?

  But Feathers knew that when the humming filled his head something changed between him and Green Fish. He flew a little higher. The circles he flew to pace Green Fish became longer, scouting the sea ahead, almost as if Feathers were pulling her with him. Normally Feathers followed Green Fish as she swam straight and true across the sea. But at times the thrumming overtook Feathers and he somehow felt that at those times he became the gui
de, that the job of finding the way suddenly fell to him.

  Which was impossible. A delusion brought by the dizziness that overcame him.

  But if she was not somehow lost, why was it taking her so long to find her way? She swam through season after season, with Feathers above her. If she swam straight with some destination in mind, why had they not arrived by now?

  The question plagued Feathers as the sadness in him grew.

  The night dreams continued. The daydreams did too.

  Feathers did not understand any of it, except for one thing. Green Fish was his companion. And if there was any doubt of that, it was erased by what happened next.

  THE DREAM CAME TO FEATHERS all at once, in the middle of a pitch-black night on a cold sea. It came all of a piece, complete. Images crystal clear with edges so hard they cut like talons. Nothing worrying had happened that day to cause it. It hit Feathers like a freak storm, without warning. Nothing in his life had prepared him for it. Except maybe the sadness that had grown in him. Maybe that had prepared him a little.

  But truth be told there is no preparing for a dream like that. And no healing from it either.

  The edge of the sun lowered into the sea. The waves were black, with no tint of sunset. As if the sea refused to take the suns last light. Feathers flew along a rocky coast backed by sand bluffs. The mouth of the bay. Black calm water. Earth scents. Feathers turned inland and crossed the water. The far side of the bay was wetland. As Feathers had known it would be. The smell of marsh. Tall grass swaying. The sigh of a night breeze.

  Just enough light to still see by.

  Up ahead a lone bird flew out of the marsh. Gliding. He faltered suddenly and then recovered his glide. As if his wings had momentarily failed him.

  Feathers squinted to see better into that darkling sky. Was that Grey? Why was he flying this late? The flock would be bedded down in that tall grass. Now, just before dark, the air would be filled with bird sound.

  But Feathers could not hear them.

  He stilled his wings to a silent glide. All his focus on his listening. The world had silenced around him. No sigh of grass in the wind, no gentle lapping of water on shore, no bird sound.

  No bird sound.

  Where was Grey flying? He should be nestled in the tall grass. With the flock.

  Light leeched from the sky leaving a world of gray monochrome outlines. The trees scattered along the shore beyond the tall grass looked dead and leafless in that light.

  Grey was but a black outline now.

  Feathers could not take his eyes off him. It was the way Grey was flying. Feathers knew what was coming before the final stall. The final falter. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

  There would be no coming out of it. Grey's wings had lost their life power. That magic that helped him and the others stay up above the water of the world. Feathers felt it. He knew it would be him one day.

  It was almost like he went down with Grey. Went down with him in that final dive into black water.

  Grey didn't make a sound as he went down. Didn't make a splash as he vanished into black.

  It was so dark. Feathers tried to mark the place Grey had gone down in his mind. But he could barely see.

  He powered out of his glide in strong sure strokes. But he could not pick up speed for some reason. Feathers struggled for speed. To get to Grey.

  But the air was so thick around him. He fought, pushing his wings harder against it. It didn't matter.

  He flew slowly, struggling, to the place Grey had went in.

  The water there lay smooth and dark. Totally opaque, with no reflection on its surface. No ripple or wave. Just impenetrable flat black. Was this where Grey had gone down?

  The moon was suddenly up. It penetrated the waters black surface, illuminating the depths below. Feathers flew long slow passes close to the water, looking for Grey. It was surely too late to do anything for him. But he had to look.

  There was something down in the water, but it was too big. Something spread out over the bottom. It shone an eerie white, it shimmered in the water filtered moonlight.

  Feathers made another pass. The night was quiet around him. He could hear his heart beating.

  What was down there was not random. Not just some white rocks scattered there, or perhaps old tree stumps. What was that shape? Dread crept up like a mist.

  Let it rest. Fly away. Let it rest.

  Feathers flew another pass, higher this time. Maybe he could make it out better a little higher up.

  It was just ahead. And then Feathers saw. He saw the shape of it. He saw it for what it was.

  Feather's mind froze. His wings stopped beating. He suddenly felt heavy. The thing down in the water pulled him down, and there was nothing he could do but fall.

  The water grew closer.

  Closer.

  Black water took him in, so cold it ached, the white shape close beneath him.

  Feathers exploded into a flurry of panicked motion. He floundered there under the water, a whirlwind of thrashing wings. But his thrashing just took him deeper into the darkness. Closer to that thing.

  Feathers closed his eyes and forced himself to stop. Then he pushed against the water with a long slow stroke of his wings. He forced himself to move slow. And he kicked.

  he kicked and fought his way back up.

  He willed himself to rise. To get away from the thing under the water.

  He burst through the black wall separating sea and sky and flew, trailing drips of water.

  He could not see. Where was he?

  Then he made out the tall grass. The tall silent grass.

  Feathers turned away from it, from the home he had known, and flew as fast as his wings would take him over the bay. Back to the sea.

  But no matter how hard he flew he could not shake the image from his mind.

  They had been bones. Many skeletons lay together, resting in their watery grave. Small skeletons of delicate white bone. Wings. Beaks. Somehow they had melded into a single shape. Together the skeletons formed a great white bird, is wings askew at a strange angle, its beak open in surprise. In some terrible surprise.

  Feathers flew harder away from that quiet tall grass.

  When the sea came he flew straight out into its emptiness.

  The moons light shone down and deep into the sea, so that Feathers saw the innards of the ocean. Tendrils of black flowed like smoke in its depths. Black tendrils that flowed like slow rivers out from the bay. They flowed out into the sea, winding their way deeper. Rivers of black death.

  Way out ahead fine white particles shone like snow in the upper water. Down below they lengthened into longer thin filaments about as long as his body. Thin filaments of white, dancing slowly like ghosts. Feathers felt lightheaded and confused as he looked at them.

  Dizziness threatened to overtake him. And he knew then why Green Fish sometimes faltered. Why Green Fish never actually found her way. Black poison and shimmering white confusion lay down in that water.

  Feathers forced his gaze up to the stars glittering in the clean night sky.

  He wanted to lose himself there. To let that vast sky wash the images of death and poison from his mind.

  Then he was awake.

  The moon was still up and there might have been just a tinge of violet on the horizon. Morning would be coming soon. The sea heaved calm and easy beneath him. Feathers breathed in the fresh night air and looked over the beautiful sea, awash in the moonlight. He told himself everything was as it should be, and waited for the fear that squeezed his heart in its icy grip to fade. For the terrible dream to fade away.

  His breathing gradually slowed.

  Twilight lit the sky.

  Time passed.

  But just as Feathers felt his body relax images of the black water and the tall grass and the thing under the water flashed into his mind, harsh and clear.

  His heart contracted in on itself, squeezed into a cold aching cramp, squeezed by an icy talon that would not let g
o. He was shivering. The morning was not cold, but he could not stop himself from shivering, so hard his entire body ached.

  The thing in the water kept flashing back into his mind’s eye.

  Feathers felt no relief from waking. No relief from the morning sun. No gradual transition back to normality. No it was just a dream.

  He had left them there. The flock that had birthed him. For what? So he could fly around out here?

  Regret mixed with grief coursed through his veins. The world turned black around him.

  What had he done?

  His mind ran from them, from these thoughts that were rising up. Trying to find some kind of sanctuary.

  He had to go to them.

  Something dark and terrible was in the bay water. But maybe not yet. Maybe the dream was a last call for help, from his flock. Maybe he could save them. He had to go back. But how?

  Flock.

  It had been so long since Feathers had been in that place he had shared with his flock. He had not felt the flock’s presence there since he had left them. But had he tried?

  Feathers quieted his mind and drifted down into that place. He listened, he felt, with everything he had. For that taste, that ineffable taste, that had been flock.

  The flock was not there. But something else was. Alive and vibrant and close. Way down inside, in that place where flock resided, Feathers felt a deep thrumming.

  Thrumming.

  Was he going mad? He squeezed his eyes shut tight, willing to shut it out. But it was still there deep inside him.

  When Feathers opened his eyes there was a green shape close below him.

  Green Fish, up so close.

  The thrumming.

  The black undersea river flowing out from the bay.

  Feathers fired a message down the thick thrumming rope, down into the water.

  Show me the way home.

  He lit from the water and flew in a slow low circle about Green Fish.

  Waiting.

  And when Green Fish started swimming, Feathers followed her.

  Without thinking at all about what he had asked her to do.