Dedicated to Wigs, thanks for always uplifting my spirits.
The Poorly Kept Girl
There was news of a freak down at the waterfront under Lebrent Bridge. For weeks people flocked from all over the city to peer down at the dark corner, it would have helped had there not been many pipelines running from one wall to the next, or if the bubble of light was burst open to reveal the creature within.
It had fallen from the sky, some said, like a falcon stooping to catch prey. On the first day it had crawled around on its hands and knees, squinting up at the first visitors—street urchins. The children pelted it with stones and were astonished to see the creature gather them up into a pile. A grey tattered cloth was pinned to its back and sometimes the cloth would shift, flap for a moment though there was no wind, no breeze to set it fluttering.
By the time a large crowd had congregated on the bridge, the creature had assembled heaps of stones and set them into a circle, it would sit in the middle with the grey cloak wrapped around it and rub its arms to keep warm.
“It feels the cold. Maybe It’s hungry, papa,” a little girl pointed out to her father.
It was then that someone—perhaps hearing the girl’s words—hurled a leg of lamb (apparently out of nowhere) at the creature and the crowd was thrilled to see it scrutinise the meat, sniffing and licking it like a dog. This act was followed by many others throwing food down at the creature, small children pleaded their parents to join but were hushed or smacked when they began shrieking, others—mainly the poor—felt ashamed at the display because they had suffered the same consequences previously.
One day it began to sing, a low murmur but the people were sure they could hear the pitch rise, all the same it was pleasing to listen to. It made some cry, they could not explain why, they said it reminded them of home, of their past and others said it was a merry tune, much like a song they knew but they could not say which song it was.
It had then got up, on unsteady legs, and took the first steps towards the bank. Mothers sighed in relief, they felt It was their child learning to walk and some screamed when the creature staggered and fell into the river. A young boy threw a stone at the creature’s head and It began to cry, a long and mournful howl like a lone wolf.
“Look here, you’ve gone and got It’s dander up!” An old man shouted and boxed the boy’s ears.
The crowd soon departed, each complaining of a headache from the creature’s persistent wailing.
When they came back the next day they found a shining orb, hovering over the black water. Sometimes it rose, just a few metres above the river but then it would crack and fizz, and slowly sink to bob on the water. Pebbles and food rebounded from the orb to the crowds’ surprise. As nothing else happened, the people soon lost interest and then none came all together, apparently a circus in town had trolls.
.:
On the night that marked the creature’s first anniversary in Lebrent, Astrath decided to pay It a visit. He was not alone on the bridge, two older boys were laughing and talking about a certain girl they had their eye on.
“Her lips – her lips are like – juicy apples.”
One was obviously drunk and Astrath could smell him from the other side of the bridge, or maybe it was the stench of the river or worse, the decaying food that had long ago entertained the creature. Light was surfacing from below. Astrath walked to the middle of the bridge, not too close to the two boys, and leaned against the balustrade where he could see the creature’s orb.
“No. Her lips are like – plums.” The boy snorted.
“Has anything happened?” Astrath asked the sober one.
“Nope.”
The drunk came to stand between them, closing the gap by putting his arms around his friend and Astrath. “I heard – that men died – what smelt It’s breath – and one bled to death.”
His friend ignored him and pulled the boy away. “He’s not usually like this.”
Astrath did not care. He looked down at the orb lapping in the dirty water. The creature had been inside it for months without food, without anything. How could it survive with no food for a whole year? Surely all living things needed to eat?
“Mates – I’m a-going to visit – It.” The drunk announced and climbed onto the balustrade.
“Don’t be a fool, Ran!”
“Who’s the fool?” The one called Ran replied. “Me or you – or him?”
His friend looked at Astrath, his worried face appealing for assistance. “Now, Ran, enough of your nonsense. What would Glory say if she saw you right now, eh?”
This seemed to make Ran think and he sat down on the balustrade. “Better not, might die – like them who smelt It.”
The two boys soon made off down the bridge, walking side by side and Ran was supported by his friend. Astrath was left alone, wondering what the creature was doing. Maybe It could see him from inside the sphere. He waved, just in case It could.
He had been one of the first to spot the creature by the riverside, he had watched it crawl around, its bald head smooth and light delineated it as if it was an angel or celestial being.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” Astrath asked. He felt like an idiot and frowned at his absurdity into believing the creature could understand or even reply.
A hollow ring emanated from below, it was a mixture between a sonorous voice and a soft chime and it seemed to revolve around him, he could almost imagine silver notes, dancing and twirling in the air. The sound intensified. He could no longer hear the call of nightbirds or hoot-hoots, the ring conquered the atmosphere and called for Astrath, inviting him down to the waterfront.
Without thinking Astrath found himself climbing over the balustrade side, grabbing hold of the pipelines and guiding himself down to the wet ground. He worked quickly, the ring encouraging him, the pace quickening as he slid down a long pole and finally cutting short when Astrath jumped, landing on all fours like a cat.
He laughed, not really knowing why. He rubbed his hands on his trousers and casually walked to the bank, and gazed into the orb of light, silver dust twinkled like stars and it took his breath away. It was so beautiful.
For how long he stood there, watching and waiting, Astrath did not know. All he wanted was for an opening, something to split and expose to creature. Maybe It had died, of grieve or starvation. What would happen then? Would it stay inside forever?
Another note tinkled from the globe. The light appeared to brighten. The orb gyrated slowly, but then spun faster and faster until Astrath could feel the cold wind it fashioned slapping against his face, and whipped at his long hair. He stepped backwards, crushing stones underfoot.
Just as suddenly as it had started, the orb came to a halt. There was a sound, Astrath thought the closest noise to it was gurgling, and the orb split in the middle, like curtains opening at the theatre. The light dimmed. Inside the orb sat a girl, her long hair in hundreds of braids, her mouth slightly set apart, and a long scar ran from her left eye—in an arc—down to her jaw and her features were dirty. She was so perfectly still that Astrath thought he was imaging her, that he was sleeping on someone’s step after being beaten for stealing—he had been caught more than once that day.
He came to realise she was quite ugly, the scar hideous and each notch across it was deep and red, almost purple. The sight of her disgusted him. The creature had changed, it had grown hair that fell to its shoulders and wore a simple white dress.
“Am I back?” She asked, her voice plain and not possessing the bell-like tone Astrath had expected.
“Yes,” he said.
She was startled. The orb spun again, rising to survey the waterfront and bridge, and came back down at the bank. The girl blinked, her thick brow knitted and spoke again,
“Why did you lie? This isn’t home.”
Astrath shrugged. “I supposed you meant out of the orb, you know, no one’s seen you since you went in.”
This seemed to surprise the girl, she put a finger to her lip, eyes lowered and lost in thought. “Then why did you call me?”
“I didn’t. You called me, there was a ring and it – it told me to come down,”
“How – strange.”
“Are you all right, you don’t look very well.”
This was true enough, the girl was slow in replying and she curled up, holding her stomach as if in pain. She began to cry, the same howl that had caused the people to pity the creature, her wail rang throughout the city and disturbed sleeping babies and triggered dogs to bark.
“You stop that, stop it right now!”
She did so. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were red-rimmed and her face was dirtier than before. “I’m hungry.”
“I’ll get you some food then.” Astrath looked around him. The only food was the pile of mouldy pastries, bread and fruit from long ago, in the creature’s early days. “I’ll find something.”
“Only fruit,” she said.
“Fine.” He was about to leave her when she cried out.
“Where are you going?”
“To get you something to eat,”
She gasped, holding a hand before her mouth. “Can’t you make it happen? Don’t you know how to do it?”
The girl was confusing him. He had no idea what she meant and asked her.
“At home we can make whatever we want appear in our hand. Look,” she held out a palm. A small bubble of light materialised out of thin air, it cracked and popped and went out. “It doesn’t work,” she said, dismayed after her third attempt.
“Its all right, I’ll steal some for you. Only, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, see, the stalls aren’t open now.”
She seemed to understand and closed the tear of her orb. Astrath was left standing, perplexed by the latest events. Should he tell someone? No, it was best to keep the girl a secret, a secret that only he knew about.
.:
It was three nights later when Astrath detected another change in the girl. Her hair had been silver and shiny like gossamer, now it was dark blue, almost black and her face was no longer dirty. He did not even take notice of the scar, and realised she reminded him of ancient queens he had seen in pictures—dark skinned with eyes outlined in kohl, and cones of wax dripping down their silky black hair. Ancient Egyptians, they were called. But the girl said she was not of that race or time.
“I belong to the aether.” She would say and her grey cloak would flap pathetically.
The girl only accepted fruit and water. It was easy for Astrath to run past stalls, grabbing anything his hand found out and dodging the police stationed at each end of the long lane. He found it uplifting, the air he drank with ecstasy, and his feet barely touched the ground and the burning sensation in his legs only made him aware of his haste.
He told nothing about his skill to the girl, she found his words strange and once vomited, not knowing what it was or why she had done it.
“It’s the excitement, you’ve never felt that before. I guess it got a little too much for you.”
On the fifth night he found her crying, something she had not done in the past few days. Astrath only saw her at night, during the day he gathered food for himself and the girl—he no longer thought of her as a creature or It.
“My heart hurts, I don’t know why that is. I have never felt this before.”
“Well, what do you think of, in your head, I mean.”
The girl considered for a while and Astrath munched on an apple. “Home,” she said at last.
Astrath shrugged. “I don’t know what that is, you could be ill. Where do you live?”
“I belong to the aether.” She said, the only answer she could think of whenever Astrath asked her about home.
“What’s that?”
“The air all around us. We have watched you all your lives, boys like you get chased by strange men in black and the girls sit at home, bored because they’re not free. Do you how sad they feel?”
He shook his head. “Why don’t you go back?”
The girl shrugged. One leg dangled outside of her orb, dipping in the cold water and sending silver circles dancing across the surface. “My wings have broken.”
She turned around and showed him the grey cloak. Only now he realised it was not a tattered piece of cloth, just as the girl was changing, her other features were too. He saw that two large wings jutted out of her back, large and glossy with black or green streaks and, as Astrath stroked them, he could feel the feathers warmth.
“You are an angel!” He said. “And you can fly, these aren’t broken, you’re healing them with fruit!”
His words delighted her and flapped the wings testily, bring up a light breeze. “Please, I want to try flying, you’ll have to move away.”
As soon as he did so, the girl opened out the grey wings and shook them. She beat the wings, using the air around her, and stood on her feet, the harder she flapped the more the wind lifted her up and soon the girl left the orb.
“She – really – can do it!”
Strong currents of air blew in Astrath’s face and he ducked as the girl swooped over his head. Her laughter filled the air, the aether, and all her feebleness withered away to be replaced by the light that had once surrounded her angelic figure.
At last the girl came down beside him. She was beaming, her smile stretching across her face and her cheeks glowing. The dark hair seemed to be ablaze with a blue fire. Astrath thought she looked young, possibly eleven or twelve, but he was not so sure, she could be an immortal soul in a child guise.
“Do you want to come with me?” she asked. “You can ride my orb, it’ll follow me home.”
Astrath spluttered the words out before he could stop himself. “Yes, I want to see the aether!”
She closed the orb around him like a large coat. The light was much too bright to see through but he heard her voice, her singing and the chime of music lulled him to sleep.
“Now you’ll belong to the aether.”
.: ₪ :.
Nightbird = Nightingale
Hoot-Hoot = Owl
Conflict.
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