34. Ree

34

Ree

"What do you hear?" I whisper to him.

"A melodious language. One I don't recognize. Or their scent."

"An ally, maybe?"

"It's likely prey. But they could be hostile."

He doesn't sound pleased to be sharing the news.

It's a worthwhile risk. I know it in my bones.

"Let's go find out."

He doesn't move and another spike of guilt clenches my stomach painfully. He's angry with me and while I don't blame him, I also can't tell him I won't do it again.

Lies don't help anyone.

"We can't do this alone, Thivoll."

He huffs out a long breath, turns, and picks up his pace. His long strides devour the distance, then he slows down, stalking closer.

Not long after, I hear a series of beautiful sounds.

I break my silence to translate for him. "They said they can hear us coming close and request we leave them alone. What a beautiful language, Thivoll. It sounds like singing, but in no way I ever could."

I'm excited, which helps ease the pain when my throat shifts so I can start singing, instantly contradicting myself.

Another painful shift and I translate for Thivoll. "I told them we aren't hunters but they don't believe me."

I grunt in pain and then sing again. My song is intricate and beautiful, then I hear a reply.

I tense, then translate. "I told them I was taken as a slave and given a translator, then crash landed here. That you helped me. And that we hope to gain allies."

"Just keep speaking with them and only let me know what you must. I don't like you being in pain. I can wait."

I pat him and then go back to singing.

This language is otherworldly and I'm making and hearing sounds I never knew existed.

I don't know what instinct lets me know it, but from the sound of the person's singing they are incredibly sad. And I know they are male by their melodic structure.

They were sorry to hear I was taken as a slave, and that I was changed. The wind carried their empathy in the quality of their tones, the harmonics letting me know the depth of it.

I don't know if my reply has the same tonality, but I hope I give them the same sort of emotional support. "Are you from here?"

The lilting sadness of their response makes tears spring to my eyes. "No. Stolen from my aerie. I was changed. Something taken, not gained."

For a language of so few words, it takes a lot of note changes to communicate.

It's little wonder the sentences are short.

I sing back. "I am sad. What was taken?"

"Part of me," he replies. "All of me."

My heart aches from the pain communicated in the undercurrents and harmonics. "May we come?"

"You may," he sings.

The shifting in my throat sends a spike of pain and then I'm back to speaking Thivoll's gravely language.

"He said we can go to him. He sounds like he's lost hope, Thivoll. We need to help him, though I don't know how."

He hums. "We'll go closer, but if he seems dangerous, I'll retreat if I'm able to or kill if I must. You should be ready for fast movements and keep holding tight to me."

I don't think it'll be necessary, but I can appreciate his caution. "Alright."

My throat painfully changes and I let the male know we're coming closer.

"I await," he sings back.

Thivoll lopes forward, then pulls up when we can make out a figure among the trees. The light is rapidly fading, but I can still see him clearly.

I'm instantly struck by the beauty of his coloring.

His skin is mostly a canary yellow, but with beautiful cobalt spots. His skin looks leathery, but soft, with intermittent thin feathers along it, then much thicker and longer feathers around his head, sweeping back from a triangular forehead.

His mouth is broad, and it reminds me more of a salamander's face than a bird's, despite what the feathers would suggest he should have.

He's easily ten feet tall, with two sets of arms that are much longer than his legs. Each one has long, thin fingers with white claws on the ends.

His eyes are on the side of his face and are a brilliant green with horizontal irises. The same green shows up in mesmerizing patterns along his feathers, mixed in with yellow spots.

He holds all four of his hands together, clasping onto the set not directly aligned and tilts his head. "My greetings."

I try to mimic his gesture, but assume a lot of the meaning is lost with only two arms. Thivoll shifts under me, I assume so he can somehow return the greeting.

"Greetings. I am Ree. Your name?"

"I am—"

What follows is a long string of sounds that don't translate. My mind is busy trying to make associations and I think I pick out the chicka-dee-dee-dee sound I used to hear outside my window as a child growing up in the suburbs.

"My regrets. Do not understand."

He sings it again, but the nanites don't help clear up the mystery.

"May I name you Szhe'ka-day-day-day?"

The sounds take on a new meaning and nuance when sung in his tonalities. When I sing it back to him it sounds flat.

"If short you like, then Szhe'ka."

"My regrets."

He holds out two of his hands and makes a small circle with his fingers. "No need for regret."

With that settled, the male deflates.

He crouches down, a feathered structure that isn't quite like wings shifts behind him. He wraps both sets of arms around his comparatively short legs, as if hugging himself.

Or trying to hold himself together.

His feet are bloodied and bruised. I'm itching to ask him if I can treat him, but I only have enough to clean and stitch a few wounds.

What if we find another woman and she needs treatment? Prickles of unease rise as I decide to withhold treatment.

The clenching sickness in my stomach is a fitting punishment for such a betrayal of my base principles.

But maybe I can help in another way. I need to know why he sounds so depressed and try to fix it if we can.

I'm just as blunt as ever, speaking or singing. "What taken, brother? Can we find?"

He makes a long, keening cry and spreads the mass of feathers at his back.

What looks like it was once an incredible wingspan is hacked off in two different places on each side, one shorter than the other. The longest one stretches out as long as my own arm and yet doesn't reach where I assume the first joint should be.

They must have spanned over twenty feet.

The stumps of his ravaged wings are burned and raw, with the beautiful feathers sheared off in places and mangled in others.

Thivoll makes a vicious snarling sound, then joins the male's mournful cry with a low yowl of his own. Tears are streaming down my face at the brutality of it.

They took the sky from him, the monsters.

I don't have words that would convey my sadness or anger, but I find my own lilting cry when I reach for it. Both of us run out of breath before he does.

He stops a few moments later, then speaks again. "I thank you for shared song. You seek allies, but I am broken. I will sing death soon."

I can't accept that.

I've worked with enough people with devastating wounds and illnesses to recognize when someone needs something to help them look beyond themselves.

"You not fight? You let them win?"

He makes a hacking noise. "I not give them pleasure of kill. No joy left. No shelter for fledglings. None will be mine. All die if grounded. May be best you kill."

I narrow my eyes. The bird-man needs something to live for and the empathy he sang to me earlier gives me an idea.

"Will help my sisters?"

I blink at the term, but it's what the translator provides instead of 'friend.'

He stares back at me. "They taken?"

I chose my next words carefully. "Yes. Changed and caged."

His long-fingered hands clench when I say caged.

"Broken if found. Forced and touched. Need help."

His gaze is sharper. "Look like you?"

I think I have him. "Yes, but different colors."

I tell the jumpsuit to release my hair, pulling it forward. "Bright long threads. In silver cages. Fell from sky."

He rocks forward into his haunches. "I saw cage. Land in tree."

I gasp, excited. "Which color thread?"

"Not see," he says. "I go get and bring. Keep sister safe. Monsters will not break. Not force or touch."

His singing is fuller, richer, and his body is no longer trying to fold in on itself.

This next part will be tricky. "Must keep in cage."

He hacks at me again. "Thought it was monster's weapon. Hopped away. Ashamed I left sister. Will not keep in cage. No."

Well, shit , I think to myself.

I feel bad I'm essentially guaranteeing a woman takes on his traits, but I don't think I'm going to dissuade him now. Thivoll and I need to help Silver.

I feel torn, and shift my language to ask Thivoll for advice.

"He knows where one of the women is but now that he knows she's in a cage he won't leave her in it. He says he'll keep her safe. What do I do? She should get to choose."

"We don't know where she is. Even if we did, we can't protect all of them without help. Wouldn't you choose to be protected over being raped and enslaved?"

I huff. "This place sucks, Thivoll."

"I don't think that translated correctly. Just tell him to go protect her."

My throat hurts again, but then I'm back to singing. "We save other sister. We thank your help."

He pushes up to his feet with a pained low cry. "Walk is long. I go. I bring. I die to keep not broken."

I really dislike all the death talk.

If he pulls her out of that chamber I doubt she won't get attached. I've known him for less than half an hour and I want to give him the absolute biggest hug. That doesn't mean she'll be attracted, of course.

They can sort that out.

I feel bad to keep meddling, but I do it anyway.

"She will imprint. Like hatchling, but woman. Not fledgling, but changed by monsters. She need you if you open cage. Forever. Yours to protect. Be sure you know and choose."

My song was complex, but worth it.

He looks down, thinking. Then looks back up and the change in his bearing is immediate.

"I choose. I go. I bring back here."

He wastes no time after his announcement and simply moves his clawed feet in a shuffle across the clearing. His gait is awkward, with intermittent little hops, like he hasn't quite figured out how to keep moving along the ground in a steady rhythm.

His enormous hands are clenched, and he looks like a new person.

Someone with purpose.

I sigh. Conflicted. I don't know which woman he's headed for, but I hope she forgives me.

Maybe right after I forgive myself for using him.