A Song in the Rain Read online

  Before I could ramble on any further, Hazel pulled me close to her and wrapped her arms around me. We stood there for a couple minutes. When we broke apart again, I felt better, and though my heart was dancing on my ribcage, I felt ready.

  “Thank you, Hazel,” I said as I turned to leave. “For everything.”

  Hazel’s eyes were sad, but she smiled and waved goodbye. I took a deep breath, spread my wings, and embarked into the unknown.

  III

  The first few leaves were falling from the trees as I flew through the woods that afternoon. For a while, everything was still. A few birds and small animals not part of the squirrel’s community dipped and dodged between the trees; the breeze gently ruffled my feathers as I flew.

  Eventually, I came to the edge of the forest. The sun was rising to my left, reaching its rays across the sky. Behind me was the comfort of the forest, and before me was a village of… humans. The word felt strange in my mind. I had no idea why I knew of these odd, two-legged creatures; I had no more memory of them than anything else from my past. Yet somehow, I felt as though the village was even more familiar to me than the forest. Perching on the branch of a birch tree, I scanned the settlement.

  The line between the forest and the humans was stark. The shadowed forest floor was strewn with rocks and blanketed in patches of mushrooms and uncontrolled growth. The humans lived in an area with very short, light green grass that was browning in spots. There were a couple of short trees or bushes here and there, but white, red, and black stone-like patches and structures dominated the landscape. I could see the humans through shimmery holes in their buildings — windows. The word popped into my mind, unbidden.

  My gaze was drawn to the dwelling nearest me. Its tall, white fence butted up against the forest; wild plants threatened to break through its barrier. An ancient, bedraggled crow was perched on the fence, not far from where I was perched. His shape was mangled, perhaps from war. His feathers were ruffled and frayed, and the eye facing me was a milky gray. As I peered closer, he shifted, revealing a missing toe on his right foot. He was so unusual, and yet…

  Do I know him?

  Suddenly, he flipped his head to the other side, flinging a line of saliva as he did so, and stared straight into my soul. I started, nearly fell off my perch, and flew away from there as fast as I could, keeping the trees to my left.

  Barely paying attention to my surroundings, I flew until my wings ached, my lungs stung, and the shadows were longer than the trees were tall. To my right, where there had been a few scattered homes, was now a city center. I dared not stray from the edge of the forest into the bright light, with its vibrating machines and overwhelming odor. If I could hear, I was sure it would be chaotic. What deterred me more than anything else was a massive rectangular structure looming over me. I counted fourteen windows tall.

  It’s not safe there.

  I turned back towards the trees and flew further into the forest. Just as I found a good perch and was ready to rest for the night, a chill ran up my spine. Something was wrong.

  I peered through the growing darkness, able to see just enough thanks to the unnatural light of the city and slowly disappearing sun. About six trees away, I could make out a large, bird-like form slumped on the ground. After drawing closer, I caught my breath. It was a red-tailed hawk. He shifted his weight stiffly, revealing a gash on his side. His eyes were open but not focused on anything in particular. When I inched forward, just a fox’s length away, they shifted towards me. Without opening his beak, his eyes pleaded for help, and his brows creased with pain. I saw no animosity in those eyes, and despite my fear of being eaten, I wanted to help him. Not so long ago, I’d been helpless, too.

  Looking around for the plants I’d learned about during my time with the squirrels, I spotted a patch of lamb’s ear just a few trees away. On my way over, I passed by a large spiderweb covering a bush. I plucked a leaf of lamb’s ear in my beak and wrapped it in cobweb, then used the sticky strings to secure the leaf onto the injured bird’s open wound. He allowed me to help without resisting, and though I could tell he was hurting, his eyes closed in relief. I nudged him up, straining under his weight, and helped him move under the canopy of the nearest bush. There were many predators in the woods at dusk, and he needed to get somewhere safer.

  Grimacing, I plucked and tore open several fresh pine needles, hoping the strong-smelling tar would hide the scent of blood. The hawk moved his beak as if to say something, but I shook my head. “I lost my hearing,” I told him. “I won’t be able to understand you. But you should be safe here for the night.” He furrowed his brow, then nodded in understanding. Standing back, I looked over my work, scattered a few leaves to hide the track where he’d dragged his wings, and perched nearby to finally get some much needed rest.

  ◆◆◆

  That night, I had another disturbing dream. Even though it had been nice a month ago, hearing in my nightmares now felt eerie. I spooked at every rustle and snap, and this time, at the hiss of a snake. Tonight, my dream was different from the repeating vision of the feather, claw, and fang. I saw only a strange, murky darkness — like smoke, but heavy, crawling along the ground.

  The smoke reminded me of the odd ash cloud that always formed from the three objects in my recurring dream. If I listened intently, I thought I could hear whispers in the smoke, but I couldn’t understand them. My feathers pricked my skin. Then I noticed a slight change in the cloud. There was a track. It was as if an invisible snake was winding through the darkness, both a part of it and different from it at the same time. Curious, I moved closer. The smoke parted around me as I waded towards the path of the snake. But when I reached where the track had been, I saw no sign of the slithering creature on the ground. Instead, I saw pawprints! They looked like they belonged to a squirrel or rat.

  Suddenly, I realized the smoke had been billowing behind me while I was focused on the tracks. It loomed high above me, then crashed over me like a wave. Engulfed in darkness and surrounded by whispered screams I still couldn’t understand, I woke up.

  ◆◆◆

  The sky was dark when I opened my eyes, even though it was just past sunrise. The heavy clouds filled me with dread. As the first raindrops splattered my head, I had another flash of memory — lightning, falling, thunder. I heard the rumble from the past just as I felt the one in the present. I trembled with fear. I needed to get out of the storm. I glanced at the bush where the hawk was hidden. He was watching me. Once we made eye contact, he turned his head to stare at the massive building at the edge of the forest. I followed his gaze upwards. Lightning flashed, illuminating the side. Something moved in one of the windows, the second from the top.

  Is that… a bird?

  When the sky flashed again, whatever it was had disappeared.

  I looked back at the hawk and cocked my head. “Should I go up there?” He nodded. I hesitated for a moment but was soon convinced by another drop landing on my head. Maybe there was a way to get inside before the sky erupted. The massive building was more imposing than anything else nearby, but the promise of shelter was too strong to resist.

  As I approached the window, I noticed every pane at this elevation was covered in dust and grime. The raindrops left thick trails behind them, but they were so dirty, I still couldn’t see in.

  How could I have seen a bird before?

  I examined the corners of the eaves but couldn’t find any opening. I saw a few vents in the wall, but they were completely clogged with what seemed like a mixture of mud and grass. The sky vibrated with thunder again. Desperate, I landed on the sill, pecked on the glass, and cried out as hard as I could.

  “Hello? Is anybody in there?” I cursed my lack of hearing.

  How can I know if I’m shouting loud enough, if there even is anyone on the other side to hear me? Would these city folk speak my language, whatever that may be?

  “Can I come in? Hello?”

  I was about to give up and find a less dry but more reliable
alternative when the window suddenly slid up. Startled by the sudden movement, I nearly lost my grip on the windowsill. Nothing but a dark, empty room was before me. There was no time to hesitate as fat raindrops began to smack against the glass and splatter the floor inside. It was too late to go back. I plunged into the mysterious room.

  IV

  The window slammed behind me.

  Magic?

  I was immediately overcome with an intense feeling of safety, even though nothing about this room and its strange window seemed safe and I was now trapped.

  Well, might as well move forward.

  I hopped along the floor, taking in scents of dust, oak, and dried grass as my eyes adjusted to the shadows. Before me was a large wooden door. Light filtered in through a chipped gap on the hinged side, as well as the crack at its base. The latter might just be large enough for me to squeeze under if I tried…

  Before I could finish my thought, the door swung wide open on its own, blinding me with light from the hall. After blinking several times, the flash faded into a softer tone, and I stood face-to-face with another sparrow. She had a thin scrap of blue fabric tied around her leg, barely more than a thread. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear.

  Excitement?

  I was so stunned that when she spoke, I didn’t think to shake my head like I had with so many animals over the last several days. I just stared blankly, trying to remember where I knew her from. When she paused and spoke a second time with a furrowed brow, I shook myself back into the present. “I can’t hear you,” I said, the phrase becoming something of a mantra. “But… do I know you?”

  The sparrow’s eyes shifted, and her head drooped slightly. Then she tilted it up again and motioned for me to follow her. I felt like I should trust her, but I still couldn’t place where I knew her from.

  Why does she seem so familiar?

  “Um, before we go too far,” I said, recalling my friend outside, “there is an injured hawk hidden in a bush out in the forest. Can he come inside, too?”

  She cocked her head, then called behind her. A moment later, a fox scampered into the room. I nearly fainted in fright.

  How could a sparrow be friends with a fox?

  The fox stopped when her eyes met mine, but she shook her head and bounded towards the window. She didn’t pause; it opened for her just before she reached it. Worried I’d just given up my friend as a meal, I watched as she scurried down the black metal staircase. The rain poured harder, and I fought against the memory itching to surface. I watched the fox’s red tail disappear into the forest, then her head reappeared, with my friend in her maw. The fox climbed back up the stairs, much more carefully this time. She returned and released him, and I breathed out the sigh I’d been holding.

  “Will you be okay?” I asked him. When he nodded, I relaxed. I stole a glance at the fox; she was just licking her paw. I noticed she also had a blue piece of fabric, this one loosely tied around her neck. I was curious but couldn’t think of a simple yes-or-no question to ask about it. “Okay,” I told the sparrow. “I’ll follow you now.”

  The too familiar sparrow led me from the room to a long hallway, and a thousand thoughts and questions spiraled through my head.

  Who is this sparrow? Where is she taking me?

  From the corner of my eye, I caught glimpses of the same mysterious dark smoke from my dreams. Whenever I looked directly into the shadows, though, there was nothing there.

  What is this place?

  As if in a trance, I could do nothing but move forward, following the familiar stranger as we passed by rooms on the left and right. Sometimes a door would creak open to reveal dim light in an adjacent room. I thought I could see flashes of various creatures — a squirrel’s tail, a raven’s claw, a glimpse of blue fabric — but none lingered long in my line of sight. We wound through hall after hall.

  Finally, we turned into a room and were suddenly within a paw’s reach of a lynx and raccoon having a discussion. The lynx looked far older than any animal I’d ever seen. He seemed to have shrunk over the years; every inch of his fur was wrinkled and gray. He dismissed the raccoon, who scampered out the door with a backwards glance at me.

  The sparrow beside me exchanged a few words with the lynx, then turned tail and left me alone with him. I shivered and took a step back. Have I just fallen into a trap?

  “Hello, Sheer,” I heard in my head. I shrieked and stumbled backwards. The voice was deep and somehow sounded coarse and soft at the same time. “Don’t be alarmed. I can help you.”

  “What in green grass was that?” I cried, forgetting for a moment that I couldn’t hear the words coming from my beak.

  “My name is Samuel,” the lynx said, this time moving his mouth at the same time as I heard the phrase in my head. “I’m sorry to scare you. I normally do not use this ability, but I wanted you to be able to understand me.”

  Every fiber of my being shook, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Here was a creature who could speak to me in a way I could hear, yet it was so terrifying, I didn’t know if I wanted it to continue. Had he called me by name?

  What name?

  A stack of parchment beside the lynx fluttered, even though the only window in the room was closed. He glanced at it, then back at me. “Don’t be afraid, young one,” Samuel continued. “You’re safe here. I know this method of speaking is strange, but I can help you learn to communicate in other ways.”

  I struggled to put the hundreds of questions racing through my mind into words. “Um, what did you call me? I was so startled, I…” Now that I’d gotten started, they wouldn’t stop coming. The breeze that had rustled the papers picked up, pushing against my feathers in sync with the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions rushing through my mind. “How come you can speak in my mind? What is this place? Who is the sparrow who led me to you? And…”

  “Hush, now. A racing mind won’t do you any good if you can’t keep up with it. Close your eyes, take a deep breath.”

  I followed his instructions, recalling the feeling of safety I’d experienced when first entering the building. After a few breaths, the breeze calmed, and I felt more in charge of the thoughts in my mind. I tried again. “You said my name… what was it?”

  “Your name is Sheer. The other sparrow is your sister, Violet. She thought she’d lost you in a storm and has mourned your loss since. Do you remember the storm, Sheer?”

  Thunder shook the window beside us, and I heard the rumbling in my head, a vivid memory of a storm long forgotten. “Yes,” I replied. “But I don’t want to. The flashbacks keep coming, and I can’t control them. How do I make them stop?”

  “You can’t make them stop,” the lynx said, shifting closer to me and lying down so our eyes were level. I saw nothing but kindness in them. “But you can make them stop hurting.”

  “How?”

  “As with any fear, you must face it. You’re strong, Sheer. You’re strong enough that you push the memory away each time it comes… but avoiding trouble won’t destroy it. You have to allow the memory to finish.”

  I gulped, but I felt I could trust him. Thunder shook the panes beside us again, and this time I shivered and closed my eyes, allowing the memory to take hold.

  ◆◆◆

  A song sparrow, barely a fledgling, flapped his wings desperately through the storm. Dirt turned quickly into mud as rain pounded the ground. Thunder clapped, and it seemed like the whole world vibrated with it. A tree, just a wing’s breadth away from the young bird, incinerated with a flash of lightning. He began to fall. Deaf and blind, he plummeted as if drained of life. He barely reacted when his wing struck the edge of a branch. After he landed in a murky puddle with a thump and splash, he didn't move. Moments passed. A final flash of light revealed the shadow of a squirrel moving towards the limp body as the storm moved on.

  ◆◆◆

  I opened my eyes. For a moment, all I could do was stare into nothing. Lightning flashed outside, but the memory didn't come back again. I sighed with re
lief. “I saw myself,” I told Samuel. “I think I know how I was injured. And how I lost my memory.”

  “Good!” Samuel’s eyes twinkled. “Now, I do believe you asked another question in your flurry of words. Would you like to restate it?”

  I nodded. “What is it about this place? I feel… safe here. Even before meeting you or Violet or anyone, even when the window closed and it seemed like I was trapped. Why?”

  “Ancient magic,” he responded, “that I learned over the decades. I’ve been given the gift of a very long life and have devoted much of it to studies that build upon my early experiences with humans. It’s much too advanced for me to explain, but trust that this place is the safest place you could be.”

  Could it be safe enough to protect me from the fires? “Why? Why do you want to help me?”

  Samuel’s eyes twinkled. “First, because I’m the guardian of the animals who live here, on the thirteenth floor. Your sister is one of them, of course.”

  I creased my brow in confusion. “First? Is there another reason?”

  Samuel was quiet for a moment before answering. “Do you ever feel that you’re different from other creatures, besides the fact that you’re deaf?”

  I stared at him in shock. “H… How do you know?”

  “What do you feel makes you different, Sheer?”

  “Well…” I shuffled my feet. “I think my eyes aren’t normal for a sparrow, for one. Everyone keeps looking at me weird.”

  The lynx nodded. “Anything else?”

  I looked into his eyes. I trusted him, but the fires and the strange things that happened around me were what drove me out of the squirrel community. I didn’t want to lose out on a chance to have a new place to live. One that was safe and sheltered from the rain I hated. One where someone knew me, had known me before everything had gone wrong.