The Springborn

SABELLA

MARCH 13, 1886

MORNING

T wo days pass before the snow stops. It leaves a blanket four feet deep and so white that to look at it stings the eyes. Several times, Calder and Robbie have used long pine branches as brooms to clear the snow off the canvas roof, fearful that its weight might break the wooden staves that hold it in place.

This morning, we all sit inside the wagon. Everyone tries to remain cheerful, but I fear we will soon run out of both food and patience. The journey between the inn and our new residence was not supposed to last this long. The thick canvas is cinched tightly closed to hold in heat, but we can see our every breath. I’m grateful that I am not a horse, though—or Robbie and Calder, who ventured out into the storm a dozen times to keep an area cleared of snow for them.

The strange, muffled silence of the wintry landscape seems to have leaked into the wagon. Perhaps we are all running low on words, sapped of strength by our captivity. Yonaz and Robbie perch on our food crates, and I sit on the floor between Calder and Branna, swathed in shared blankets. Cleona, now a thickly furred, young wolf, rests at Robbie’s feet. Only Sparrow moves about. Clad in the fur cape Calder gave her, she clambers over our legs and plays with whatever is at hand: the twins’ hairbrush, a wooden spoon, a tin cup.

On awakening this morning, Sparrow had attained the size of a three-year-old, by Yonaz’s estimation. How could this be? Dread makes my stomach roil. When Branna rises to distribute morsels of bread and cheese for breakfast, I shake my head in refusal.

Calder gives me a concerned “you really ought to eat” look but says nothing.

Branna passes Calder his portion of food. “We’ve been talking, Cleona and I,” she says. “Next time we switch forms, one of us will try to become a hawk or an eagle so we can fly over the area and look for a town. Food and supplies could lie just over the next hill, for all we can tell in this snow.”

“Brilliant plan,” Yonaz says hoarsely. A fit of coughing makes him double over. This usually happens now when he speaks. It is quite worrisome.

“When will that be?” Robbie asks. His fingers fidget with his collar. I imagine that he is not enamored with the idea of Cleona flying off to parts unknown.

“Soon,” Branna says. She looks at me and adds, “If no one’s told you, we can only change when no one else is watching, and if our gift responds to our asking. Sometimes it makes us wait, and sometimes it changes us into something we didn’t ask for. Once, I was stuck being a weasel for a week.”

“Let’s hope you don’t have that kind of luck this time,” Calder says.

“Indeed,” Yonaz says. “I myself would have already gone out to survey the area, but I am too weak.” This time, he coughs hard enough that tears stream from his eyes.

“We cannot wait here doing nothing,” Calder says. “We need food and a source of heat. Branna, you and Cleona can use the other wagon for privacy whenever you’re ready to try to change. There’s hardly room enough for two in there, but it’s the best option we have.”

Sparrow starts to sing something Robbie taught her. I watch her make the hairbrush and spoon dance. More than ever, I long for our journey to end. Not only because I am weary of the cold and the four walls of this wagon, but also because I am clinging to the hope that once settled, we will find a way to slow or stop Sparrow’s rapid aging. Maybe Calder and I could search out this Delphine—the one Calder says is responsible for finding Springborn babies. She might know what to do. I refuse to give up hope and allow Sparrow to die of old age before she has a single birthday.

Branna crouches beside Robbie and Yonaz, and they further discuss the twins’ plan. Calder crawls to sit beside me. The cold has us all practically piling up like puppies to keep from shivering, so even modest Robbie could not object to our closeness.

He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. His gaze drifts to my antlers. “You look magnificent this morning,” he whispers. In spite of his crookedly buttoned coat and matted hair, he is as luminescent as he was the day he first waltzed through my kitchen door in Miners Ridge.

“Magnificent” I am not. My clothes are unkempt and my hair is doing its utmost to escape the braids I’ve pinned into a knot behind my head. Inside this small space, my fully grown antlers feel wider and more cumbersome than ever, although they are, as usual, only as large as my splayed hands. And I can only imagine what I smell like. Probably diapers and goat.

“Could I please have my hand back?” I speak softly, hoping no one else will hear.

He lets go. His brightness fades by a degree or two. “You’re still offended.”

“I am generally out of sorts. How would you feel if your wings were sticking out at their full breadth and devouring extra space?” I ask.

He frowns. “Devouring? That is harsh. They’re not that big. Besides, no one here resents your antlers. Not one of us had the luxury of choosing our gifts. As for how would I feel with my wings on display…I daresay I’d feel better. Keeping them folded flat for days on end becomes quite painful, if you want to know the truth. Imagine having your arm strapped to your side all the time—and multiply that discomfort by four.”

“I’m sorry. I did not realize the wings caused you torment.”

“I am used to torment. I grow more used to it all the time.” There is that yearning look on his face again, the one that makes the butterflies in my stomach whirl and swoop madly. The one that frightens yet thrills me. I turn my face away without a word.

The serious discussion with Yonaz must have ended, because Robbie throws a balled sock to Sparrow. She laughs as it bounces off her head, but Robbie’s expression is grim.

“Your Sparrow is a real gift,” Calder says pensively. “I’ve never seen Robbie take to anyone like he’s taken to her.”

“He and Sparrow loved each other at first sight.”

“Robbie has a big heart inside that skinny chest of his.” His moody expression gives way to a mischievous grin. He leans close enough to whisper in my ear. “Speaking of that particular heart, you do know how Robbie feels about a certain red-haired someone?”

“He told me. He’s worried she might be the one to fly out in this weather, I can tell.”

Calder shrugs and settles back against a crate. “He worries about everything. It’s who he is. He’d fret if she was bitten by a mosquito. If Cleona wants to go, there is nothing he can do to stop her. She and her sister can be as wild and unstoppable as hurricanes when they take a notion to do something.”

An idea occurs to me. It feels dangerous to mention, given our recent unpleasant exchange about his wings, but concern for Robbie and Cleona emboldens me. I hug my knees and turn my face to Calder. “May I ask you a question?”

“That depends,” Calder says. He packs a dramatic amount of dread into those two words.

“Could you not try to fly out instead?”

He answers in a heartbeat. “No, it isn’t possible. In this cold, I doubt blood would circulate well enough through my wings to support flying. I’d get no farther than a literal stone’s throw from here at best, and probably end up face down in a snowbank.”

Robbie abandons his seat on the crate and crawls over the sleeping wolf to us. “You two look quite cozy. Do I need to sit between you? Or should we ask Yonaz to perform a quick wedding?”

“Ha,” Calder says. “As grand as those things sound, we’ve been as platonic as a pair of old nuns over here. We’re only sitting close for warmth.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” Robbie teases.

“You just wish you had someone to stay warm with.” Calder gestures with a toss of his head toward the wolf, Cleona. Robbie raises his fists.

“Enough arguing, boys,” Yonaz says from across the way. “Calder, help the twins to the other wagon.” Another fit of coughing overtakes him.

“The sooner we find help, the better,” I say. “Yonaz needs a doctor.”

Robbie gnaws his thumbnail as worry wrinkles his brow. Cleona nuzzles his side with her wolf snout as if to offer him comfort. He pets her head but looks no happier.

“I’m going with you and the twins,” Robbie says firmly to Calder.

“Fine with me,” Calder says.

From behind a food crate, Robbie plucks what appear to be two oddly shaped sacks made from a plaid woolen blanket and lined with shearling wool. He slips his bird feet into them. Calder and I look at each other with bemusement, and Robbie catches us. “Have you never seen boots before?” he snaps.

“Not like those.” Calder coughs in a feeble attempt to cover a laugh.

“Where in the world did you find them?” I ask.

Robbie blushes furiously and stands. His head smacks into the low roof before he remembers to bend his neck. “Cleona made them recently, if you must know. She’s talented with a needle, and kind enough to worry about me going barefoot in the cold.” He works his way to the door, stepping over and around blankets, supplies, and Sparrow’s playthings. Branna and the wolf trail behind him. “Are we going now, or are you planning to stand here blathering all day?”

“We must melt more snow for water,” Yonaz says. “Fill the buckets while you’re out.”

The boys and twins exit the wagon one by one.

Right away, Sparrow cries for Robbie, her favorite, to come back. She runs to me. I enfold her in my arms and hum the Irish lullaby the twins use to calm her.

“You are a good mother.” Yonaz’s voice is now barely more than a croaking whisper. “The baskets, they often choose badly. But Sparrow, she is one of the fortunate.”

“Without Robbie and the twins’ help, I fear I would be a poor mother indeed.”

“You doubt yourself too much.”

“Perhaps.”

He wipes his nose with his handkerchief and clears his throat. With a fatherly smile, he says, “I am happy to see you and Calder growing close. He is a clever boy with a good heart—in spite of his impudent streak. Ah, I see that I embarrass you. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” I cuddle Sparrow closer and pull a blanket up to cover us both. Her body molds to mine as she surrenders to sleep.

Yonaz coughs a few times. Once he catches his breath, he says, “Yours is a gracious and forbearing heart. Now, I will rest, and give you respite from my foolish tongue.” He slides off the crate and onto the floor in front of it. He stretches his legs out before him and closes his eyes.

In the dim light, I examine the bat tattoo encircling his throat. What might it signify? Perhaps he hides a pair of bat wings as Calder hides the wings of a moth. I imagine Yonaz unfurling a pair of night-black wings and launching himself into a starry sky. I picture Calder joining him to swoop above the treetops.

Sparrow sighs in her sleep and my daydream dissipates. I relish the goodness of her. The slow rhythm of her breathing is more comforting than any words could be. I let go of my worries and breathe with her, in and out, in and out, memorizing this tract of time that will exist but once in all of eternity.

I fall asleep until the muffled sound of Calder and Robbie’s conversation seeps through the tent to awaken me. I shiver and draw Sparrow closer. Since the boys and the twins departed, the temperature inside the wagon has dropped by several degrees.

Which brings to mind a question I dare not entertain.

How long will we survive here if the twins’ plan to find help fails?

Several hours slog by.

Calder and Robbie play checkers by lamplight, using a crate for a table. I sit on the floor next to Calder. Beside me, Sparrow whispers to her sock doll. Breezes ruffle the canvas over our heads. I try to think hopeful thoughts and to forget the worsening cold.

“Your move,” Robbie says to Calder. “It’s checkers, not the governing of a small nation.”

“Patience, patience,” Calder says. He reaches for a piece but stops at the sound of someone knocking.

Robbie bolts to the end of the wagon, bent double and tripping over blankets as he goes. With flying fingers, he works to open the canvas. He wastes no time in reaching out to pull one of the twins up over the gate and into the wagon. When the girl pushes the hood of her cloak back and Robbie sees it’s Branna and not Cleona, his face darkens with disappointment.

“What news?” Yonaz asks from a cocoon of blankets. He drops the book he’s been squinting at for the last hour.

Branna kneels on the floor next to Sweet Pea and gives the goat a scratch on the neck. “The magic was merciful. It made Cleona into a falcon. They have excellent eyesight. When the changing started, and she could feel it was her, she asked me to tell you not to worry, Robbie. She’ll not be gone long.”

Sparrow drops her sock doll and rushes into Branna’s arms. Branna embraces her and kisses the top of her head. “A fine welcome, this is.”

“Still your move, Cald,” Robbie says miserably, staring at the game board. He chews an already too-short fingernail.

“Cleona will be fine,” I say. “Falcons are fierce creatures.”

“I hope so,” Robbie says, but he does not sound hopeful in the least.

Calder slides a black checker forward. It’s a terrible move that will allow Robbie to easily win the game. This simple kindness endears the moth-winged boy to me more than any compliment he has ever paid to me, more than his hand-holding, more than his scrawled notes.

My heart plots rebellion against my better judgment, and there is little doubt which one will win the war.