| |
‘They’re watching us,’ James said, ducking through the gate into the woods, and eyeing the rows of sparrows in the tree branches above them. He kept his torch aimed at the ground, however, shading it with his hand.
‘Yes, it’s her,’ said Marcia.
‘The Sparrow Girl?’ Deirdre asked.
James saw the medium nod her head in reply.
‘How can that be?’ Deirdre again.
How can any of this be? was James’s thought. And yet it was, indisputably. He hadn’t seen the Sparrow Girl in the bedroom the way Marcia had – or even Deirdre. It was as though he’d been invisible to her, or she hadn’t noticed him, and quite frankly, he was okay with that. He’d seen Marcia buffeted by a wind that sprang from nowhere, and he’d felt something like static electricity in the air, and a dry, dusty, seedy smell he associated with birds. That was enough for him to believe it when Marcia said she’d communicated with the spirit. Besides, he’d heard her side of the conversation, at least, and it had been enough to break his old drunkard’s heart.
It was uncomfortable though, all those unblinking birds looking down at them. Sparrows weren’t even supposed to be out at night. Of course, Marcia was right, and these ones were connected with the girl. They weren’t just ordinary sparrows at the moment, they were psychopomps, and they were watching them walk through the woods to the temple. It was even more unnerving when you realised that, he decided, and looked down at his feet.
He’d learnt a lot about psychopomps just in the last few weeks. The guides between this world and that of the dead, they took many forms. Birds, primarily. Ravens, crows, eagles, owls, and, of course, sparrows. Also, deer, dogs, occasionally horses, and in the oldest cultures, shamans had often performed the function of the psychopomp. Even today, there were people who claimed to be a modern day sort of psychopomp, their job to gently guide the dying from this world to the next. It sounded all very lovely when you looked at it like that.
But whichever form it took, the psychopomp was part of the nature of things. It moved between worlds because that was its job. It didn’t alter anything in the different worlds, just navigated them, eased the dying’s journey. They were benign, though often looked on with fear in cultures that had moved far away from the art of death, those that had sanitised it, sent it to the back rooms of the undertakers.
But that was a different matter. James sucked in a breath and tried to keep his steps quiet as they followed the path deeper in amongst the trees, silently tracked by hundreds of sparrow eyes. He shivered under their gaze, trying to think of the Sparrow Girl as an ally, but knowing someone as badly treated as she had been was no more reliable than an untrained and starving dog. Likely to bite the hand that tried feeding it.
He thought they had most of the puzzle pieces in place now. Even if there was no hard evidence to back it up.
Once upon a time, there had been a little girl. An innocent, lovely girl, she was stolen out of her mother’s nest, and kept in a cage. The Temple of the Sparrow had turned her into their own personal mascot, and through ritual and abuse, had taught her to travel between the worlds – and carry the members of the Temple with her. And so she had done, until her own death freed her.
But the Temple had survived, even if she did not. Finally, they wanted their psychopomp back. A guide in strange lands is always a bonus, especially when your plan is to plunder and rape. So it was then, that an elaborate plan was put in place, and it worked even better than expected. The Sparrow Girl was dragged back into this world, and – stroke of luck – bound with the blood of an innocent girl.
That pretty much brought them up to date, James thought. In broad strokes, anyway. Only the Temple members had not anticipated that their Sparrow Girl would fight back. And fight back, she had, with all the desperation and anger of one with nothing to lose. He could feel her eyes on them, and knew that thanks to Marcia, she was giving them a rare and precious thing. Her trust.
It would only go so far though, he knew. They couldn’t count on it for long. If they didn’t come up with a way to set her free, she would not forgive them. He knew that, and he knew Marcia did too. She would slaughter them all in her hurt and fury.
His throat was dry. Behind his ribs, his heart bounced around like a little boy’s rubber ball.
There was only one way to set the Sparrow Girl free, and he was under no illusions about it. Nor was Marcia. He’d seen her face, in the wavering torchlight, had seen the truth in the press of her thin lips. It wouldn’t go down like that though. He’d make sure of it. Marcia had too much to live for, whereas he was a washed up, dried up, drunken old queer no one would miss. He tried on a smile in the darkness. Maybe the Sparrow Girl would be generous, and take him somewhere nice to spend the afterlife. He could always hope.