CHAPTER SIX

The White Bird

From that time onward, Ode often dreamed of the silver girl. He saw her tending to horses, sweeping the doorway of her wooden tent, or riding her stallion across the grassy hills. Sometimes he saw her dressed in fine clothes that were nothing like the Taone leather tunics, walking through rooms that amazed and confused him. He did not share such things with Cala, although she would often question him about what he’d seen. These dreams felt secret.

If Ode was not envisioning the silver girl then he was dreaming of another. Rippling River frequently occupied his thoughts, and if he caught the sounds of her sweet laughter as he walked about the settlement, his face would break into a sappy smile. He would try to find ways of bumping into her if he could, and it was not long before she noticed.

“Greetings again, birther,” she would say at first as she passed him, twirling one of her long plaits in her hand.

However, her coy smiles and teasing giggles soon turned to surly glares and flashes of panic. Some of the tribesboys had noticed the apprentice birther’s attentions and they began to jeer and snicker. Rippling River did not want her strange admirer to discourage all the others, so she tried her best to stay out of his way.

But nothing could deter Ode’s infatuation. He did not wonder why it was now so difficult to bump into his loved one. Nor did he wonder why she sometimes ducked her head and scurried past him. For Rippling River, he thought he might even be able to stand up to his father and ask to be made her partner. All men of the tribe had to ask the chief’s permission to acquire a partner, and Ode was not so stupid to think that Gray Morning would grant him Rippling River easily. However, he felt sure that once his father saw his deep love—for he was sure that he was in love—then he would grant them a ceremony and they would live happily ever after.

He decided that he would make the proposition to Gray Morning on the day of the Winter Feast. A love of such astonishing proportions deserved a dramatic declaration, and Ode hoped his father would be so busy organizing the celebrations that he would be easier to convince. Perhaps.

On the day of the Winter Feast, the settlement was a hive of fretting women and snappy men, all trying to prepare for the evening’s entertainment. The fires were lit, the heavy snow shifted, and the piles of saved food were cooked. When the white light of day began to fade, the tribe gathered to begin the ceremony. Gray Morning, in his chiefly robes, started the chanting, and the drums were beaten in a booming rhythm. Male and female, young and old—all waved their arms and stamped their feet. Some threw off their furs, their bodies warmed by the dance, and the fires were fed until they roared.

All of a sudden, Gray Morning bellowed a cry to the setting sun. The tribe stilled and joined him in a ceremonial chant as the food was brought forward. The wailing and gurgling ended, and everyone searched for a seat, weaving through the floating ash from the fires.

While everyone settled, Ode took a deep breath and told himself that he must do it now. As the tribesmen and tribeswomen sat on the ground, Ode marched toward his chief. Gray Morning saw him coming and he paused, his huge hands folded across his great chest. Beside him, Sunset By Forest sat, her heart jumping with fear at the steely purpose in her eldest son’s stride.

Ode stopped before his father, knowing that all the eyes of the tribe were boring into his back. Everyone had become quiet and still. Blue Moon shook his head at his brother, but Ode would not turn back.

“What are you doing?” growled Gray Morning.

Ode opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Get back to your seat!” hissed Gray Morning.

“No, I …”

Those around that heard him gasped, and Gray Morning’s eyes darkened.

“No?” he repeated.

“Dar—” Blue Moon bleated, but it was too late. Everyone could see the fury in Gray Morning’s face. Ode felt his legs tremble. He had not meant it to go like this; he had not meant to defy the chief, to enrage his father. Suddenly Ode wanted to be far away from here, somewhere safe. Fear surged through his body and he began shaking all over. Gray Morning stood, his hands clenched into fists as he loomed over his eldest son.

“I want to ask that Rippling River be made my partner!” Ode croaked.

There was a beat of silence, and then someone nearby began snickering. Then somebody else laughed. Another tribesman snorted, and then they were all laughing. The whole tribe, it seemed, was guffawing at the freakish birther.

Gray Morning’s face twisted with anger. “Why must you always humiliate me,” he spat, lunging forward.

Ode let out a shriek of fear before his body began to convulse. The Taone’s laughter quickly turned into screams as they watched Ode’s limbs twist, tremble, and snap in half. Before their eyes, his body contorted and became something else. Great wings spread where his hands had been and his neck grew and grew until it was long and curved. Just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and there was quiet.

Ode felt smaller. He could see his father staring at him in fear and horror, but he did not know what had happened. His head was dizzy, and his body seemed strange.

A scream broke the silence. It was Ode’s mother, screaming and pointing and saying that the spirits had taken her son and left a beast in his place. Sunset By Forest was quickly joined by others who began screaming and crying until there was a chorus of fearful voices. A man nearby stood and drew out his dagger. He made a lunge toward Ode, the thirst for blood in his eyes.

Instinctively, Ode waddled from him and began to flap his wings. Tribesmen and tribeswomen scattered from his path, shouting curses at him as he passed. Ode beat his wings desperately, trying to fly like he had in his dreams, but he stumbled and bumped across the ground. I must get away, he thought. I must get away from here. Ode flapped his wings again, waddling as fast as he could, and this time, he launched himself into the air. The ground fell away beneath him and he was soaring through the sky. Below, he saw a tribesman throw something, but a dark figure in furs knocked him sideways and a spear whistled away in the other direction. Cala began shouting for calm and it was her voice that the wind carried to Ode as he flew away into the oncoming night.

Ode woke with a start, surrounded by blackness. For a moment, he wondered why he was not in his tent, the chilly light of morning turning the buffalo hide walls beige. Then he remembered the Winter Feast, his father’s face, the screams, and the way his body had transformed into something.

He wiggled his fingers experimentally and saw in the gloom that he was himself again. A boy. He also quickly realized that he was naked. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the leafy canopy high above him, fringed with frost and speckled with stars. He must be in a forest, although he did not know where. He remembered flying away from the settlement, his body consumed with fear, and then he remembered feeling tired, his wings beating slowly until suddenly, he had been falling through the air: down, down, down. Then there was nothing but darkness.

He sat up and his arms jerked and twitched with fatigue. He leaned against a nearby tree trunk, his back slumped. He supposed that he would die now and, for the first time, the thought did not seem so terrible. Life was not worth living without Rippling River and he could see that there was no future for them now. He was surely banished from the tribe and, naked and alone in a forest at night in the depths of winter, he was unlikely to survive for long.

He shivered and hugged his knees to his chest, his teeth chattering. He was already frozen, having laid unconscious on the cold, snowy ground for some time. He was surprised that he had woken at all.

Not so far off, he heard a wolf cry to the winter moon, and he tried not to whimper. He pressed his palm to the trunk behind him and whispered to the spirits to let him die instantly and be spared the gore of a wolf attack. They can eat my dead body instead, he offered.

His mother whispered often to the spirits like many members of the Taone. Ode had seen her press her hands to the bare earth of the plains and the trunks of trees many a time, her lips moving soundlessly with the desires of her heart. Though she sometimes encouraged him to do so as well, it was not an act he had taken to. Cala did not do such things and when he asked her why, she had simply replied that she had her own gods, which was as elusive an answer as ever. Ode felt the spirits had done him wrong by making him a birther—and therefore a freak, so there was not a lot he had to say to them. Except now.

The wolves howled again, and this time, Ode could sense that they were not far away. He was sure that he could hear the rustle of leaves and the crunch of snow beneath their paws. They would kill him, he knew it.

He willed his body to fly away again. No matter how peculiar he had felt transforming into that winged beast, he wished he could do it now and escape to safety. He tried to harness the panic coursing through his body, but he was too exhausted. Tears of frustration and fear welled in his eyes, and he sat trembling in the snow.

He imagined that he could smell them now. The bloody tang of their panting breath and the musky scent of their thick coats. They would discover him in a moment. He closed his eyes.

A deep growl sounded, followed by a fierce chorus of barks. He could hear something thrashing in the snow and the yelp and snarl of a fight. Ode opened his eyes and found that the wolves were not upon him yet, but they were close. He held his breath and listened as they fought on, their squabble seeming to last for an eternity.

There was a high-pitched yelp, a whine, and then silence.

Ode saw a dark shadow shifting through the trees, and he held his breath. He could just make out the huge, hulking body of a male wolf, blood around its grizzly muzzle and something dead hanging limp from its mouth. It passed not far from him and disappeared into the darkness.

Ode collapsed against the tree trunk, his heart pumping in his chest. The encounter had brought life back to his body, and he stood shakily. He could not just sit and wait for death, he decided. He should at least try to live.

He began shuffling through the snow, but it was so cold against his bare feet and the wind was so icy that he fell to his knees, sobbing. For all his brave thoughts, it was no use. He raised his head to take another chilly breath and it was then that he noticed the blood. It had seeped into the snow and it was splattered against frosty leaves and icy trunks. A she-wolf lay dead before him, her wolf cub lifeless beside her. Ode thought of the lone male wolf he had seen, its mouth full of a limp bundle of fur, and he shuddered. The other cub had been taken for dinner.

Ode was wondering if he ought to lie next to the she-wolf for warmth when he heard a whine. Thinking he was in danger, he tried to stumble away, but then he saw a little snout in the bushes. He paused and looked closer. Hiding there was one little wolf cub that was still alive. Ode bent and held out his hand. The cub took some coaxing—it was so frightened—but it eventually edged out of the bushes and snuffled at his fingers. It had piercing green eyes and ashen fur that looked like the sky before a storm.

Ode lifted it up into his arms, pressing its warm, furry body against his chest. It squeaked at him and licked his neck. The experience was so surreal—to be cradling a wolf, the animal he was taught to fear most of all—that Ode almost laughed, but he did not have the energy to. Instead, he sat on the frozen ground thinking that at least now they would die together. He closed his eyes and held the cub in his arms.

He did not know how long it was before he felt a hand on his shoulder and a sudden warmth covering his body. He looked up and saw Cala, pulling a fur around him. At first, he thought he was dreaming.

“I have found you at last, little man,” she said. “It is time to go home.”