A Gift of Bones and Motley Feathers

By Niko Silvester

They stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down on the beach far below, and the ocean. A cold wind blew sea mist into their faces, and pushed against them, as though holding them away from the edge. A pair of terns wheeled below them, pausing to hover for a few wingbeats, then flying on.

"I wish I were a shaman, so I could turn into a bird, "he said, spreading his arms into the wind, and leaning forward ever so slightly. She smiled, but didn't look at him, and spread her arms also, so their fingertips brushed.

Turning away from the cliff and the sea, they joined hands and walked back to their cabin.

She began collecting feathers and bird bones, and hiding them in a spare pillowcase under their quilt-covered bed. At night, after he had fallen asleep, or during the day if he was away from home (though one of the pair seldom went anywhere without the other) she sat beside a censer of smoking heather and nettle, stitching her lover a pair of wings.

The delicate hollow bones she laced together with copper wire, to carry the magic. The feathers she sewed on with silken thread to prevent too strong a magic from tearing them free. The bones and feathers came from terns and owls, eagles and turnstones, eider ducks and ravens, and the thread was silver gray for moonlight.

The finished wings barely fit under the heavy old bed, and the tail she made to go with them had to be stored behind the wardrobe.

She waited until the next full moon came around, and dragged the bone and feather, wire and thread structures out into the night. Her lover slumbered deeply in the cabin, thinking in his sleep that she was gone because she needed to use the outhouse. Instead, she made a circle of smooth white stones around the wings, and danced round them to the beat of her own heart. She sang bird calls to the moon, and spread her arms to take in the moonlight and fill the feathered things with it.

The next morning she slept late, and woke to find her lover was already outside. She hurried to dress, and they wandered off towards the sea, and the cliff above it.

He stood balanced on the very edge, arms spread, yearning for flight. "I wish..." he began, but she interrupted. "Wait, I'll be right back," and she ran towards the cabin. When she came back, it was slowly, burdened with hollow bones and motley feathers, balancing wings and tail in her arms. "I made them for you," she said, laying them at his feet.

He said nothing, but looked at her with shining eyes, then knelt and untangled the gift. He slipped the tail around his waist, so it lay smoothly on his buttocks and angled slightly away behind his legs. He slipped his arms into the wings, and folded them along his sides.

He stepped back to the edge of the cliff and stood, feeling the familiar sensation of the wind blowing his hawk-gold hair out of his face, and the unfamiliar feeling of it catching his feathers. With an ecstatic glance at his lover, and a whispered "I love you," he leapt out into the air, spread the new wings, and soared.

He circled round and round his lover as she stood on the cliff with happy tears in her eyes, and then he wheeled away over the sea.

Each day she stood on the cliff to greet him, when he flew home in the morning, and each day she saw he was less of a man, and more of a bird. One day he did not return.

The moon had followed her cycle and was nearing full again when he came back. He landed, a bedraggled golden hawk, and she almost didn't recognize him. He crouched at her feet miserable and shivering, so she gathered him into her arms and carried him back to the cabin.

When the moon came full again, she carried him out into the night, and made a circle of smooth white stones around him. She danced to the rhythm of his quick bird heart, and the counterpoint of his breaths. She sang as a raven sings, heartbroken and harsh.

He woke still within the mooncircle, his hawk-gold hair spilling over his sea-coloured eyes, and his pale human shoulders.

All that day he searched for his lover but saw only a solitary raven, wheeling endlessly over the cliff by the sea. When he went to his lonely bed that night he found a glossy black feather on his pillow, and a drop of moisture that might have been a tear.