The Springborn

CALDER

S parrow weighs little in my arms. Too little, like a hollow-boned bird instead of a girl. She offered to command the stalk to sink and deliver us to the ground, but Sabella thought it might endanger our friends below. And so I will supply transport. Sparrow first, and then Sabella.

Down toward the ground we glide in circles, borne by my wings and a gentle breeze. Sparrow holds onto me, but not desperately. She trusts me. And I wonder why I have not trusted myself all this time, why I never trusted my wings before today.

I am too tired and too sad for deep introspection. Branna is lost to us. Yonaz, my foster father and friend, is surely dead. He passed into eternity without once seeing me fly. I think it would have brought him to happy tears. He was a weeper, always smearing that black stuff around his eyes with shows of emotion.

One last circle around the huge stalk brings Sparrow and me almost to the earth. The fresh air rushes over my wings. I imagine this is how moths and butterflies feel when they finally break free of their chrysalises. Like they unfurl more than just their bodies and are ready to be something else. They endure darkness and a kind of death, and come out new.

At the moment, I cannot fathom how all this death and pain could better me.

My feet meet the ground. When Sparrow leaves my arms, she all but falls into Robbie’s. One of them sobs, and then the other. I have to turn away. I still have work to do. No time to indulge my grief.

Now I will fly again. Up quickly to claim Sabella, and down slowly—to keep her in my embrace for as long as possible. Certainly there can be nothing wrong with savoring the sweet when one is presented with so much bitterness and sorrow.