Page 23 of Hummingbird and Kraken

Though the man’s words were sparse, Declan felt gripped by the story. He felt a sense of curiosity and wonder, like he was one of the brothers setting off on an adventure.

“The brothers started on the journey, traveling for many years, always walking straight westward. At last, they came to the place where the sun slips under the edge of the sky as the sky bends down and sinks into the water. They camped there, watching, and noticed that just at sunset, the water pulled back to reveal a road. Other men came and tried to slip under the edge of the sky, but the sun fell quickly and crushed them.”

Declan felt the brothers’ surprise, then their shock. It turned into determination as the story progressed.

“The younger brothers wanted to pass under the rim of the sky, but the older brother was afraid. The two younger brothers ran ahead, though the water was all around them and the rim was thick. Seeing that they were safe, the oldest brother ran after them, but he was not fast enough, and the sky came down on the sun’s road and killed him.”

Grief gripped him, laden with guilt and worry. Recriminations for everything he’d done wrong. All of the losses he’d felt in his life, all pouring out as he mourned his fictitious brother. Then, surprisingly, hope.

“The other brothers saw his spirit, his notwai’sha, shoot by. On the other side of the sky, everything was different and bright. They came to a house made of white bark. There, an old man said that he would purify their bodies. He put a shell over each brother’s mouth and sealed it with clay. Then he took off their skins, separated their muscles, and scraped their bones. He washed all of their organs to purify them and put them back together again. When he loosened the clay from their mouths, they woke up, and they had every power. They were strong and fast, and could kill animals with their hands. They could not die of arrows or disease and never grew tired.”

Part of Declan’s mind knew that pulling off skins and scraping bones was gruesome, but he felt only gratitude and peace while he listened. He almost slept as the brothers slept. He awoke when they awoke. He was strong, vigorous, capable of anything. Energy burned through his veins and his legs twitched to jump and run.

“The sun brought a message that there was a great war raging on the earth. The brothers went to a high hill where a tree had been uprooted and looked through the hole. They saw houses burning and people crying. Warriors yelled war-cries and armies crashed together.”

He felt fear. Righteous anger. His people were being massacred. This was wrong. His personal grief became a collective grief, but one that fueled his rage. He would fight for his people, defend them, make someone pay.

“‘Men will always do this,’ said the old man, and led them away. They learned many things in the upper world, but sometimes wanted to return. One day, they waited until the sun went over the edge of the sky in the east and returned to their village. It was overgrown with trees. They traveled on and found another village of their people. They told their story, but the only person who knew them was their sister, who was now old. The war that they had seen, she told them, had ended fifty years ago.”

Declan felt curiosity, and then surprise and sorrow for the family lost. A sort of sharp grief, that faded until it was replaced with… nothing. A curious lack of emotion, like the world was flat and gray.

“There were still other people in the lower world and other wars raging, but the brothers did not care for the earth now. They were not like other people, and wanted only to return to the upper world.”

Declan felt like he was floating in time. His body trudging on, but the world around him lacked meaning. He could still see the people around him, Ro right beside him with the child and kitten on his lap. But they were distant. Removed. Irrelevant.

The storyteller paused, and Declan listened, waiting for the next part of the story. The brothers, who he’d felt such kinship to a moment ago, were untethered and apathetic now. Would anything shake them from their endless lives of indifference? He leaned forward.

“Eventually, they were struck by lightning and they died.”

In a sudden rush, he was released from the storyteller’s control. The unnatural apathy lifted, and he was filled with questions.

The first one was: Was that the end? Like, for real? They just, like, died?

The people stirred around him and murmured quietly, a short phrase that seemed to signal the end of the story and perhaps gratitude for the teller. Declan looked around. That was it?

The drummer began a new song, with a repeated call that the rest of the group took up. He sang in a language made of guttural stops and fluidly changing pitches, but now his voice was just a voice.

Declan tried to decide if he had merely imagined everything. No, it had been too visceral. Too beyond his control. Which meant, logically, that it had to be someone else’s control. So, these people had some sort of magic. That was way cool.

It didn’t look like he’d be learning any more about it, though, so he switched to picking apart the story itself. Why was it intended for him? Was there a message there that he was supposed to pick up? Was it supposed to be allegory to something? The part where the man had taken the brothers apart and washed their organs was grisly, though it hadn’t seemed so at the time. The part where the oldest brother had died for doubting and being too slow seemed harsh and cruel. Were either of those supposed to be a message?

The last part was a bit Rip Van Winkle, where the brothers had returned to their village to find everyone that they knew was old or had passed on. Though he thought that Rip Van Winkle had wanted his family back, while the brothers just wanted to return to the upper world, to step back and remove themselves from humanity. What was he supposed to do with that?

Or was it just a story?

Chapter 8

Declan

The drummer gently set his drum aside and began talking with the children in front of him.

Ro gave the boy in his lap a high five, then stood up. The kitten clawed at the bottom of his jeans. The little group was starting to break up, turning to chatter and breaking off into smaller groups. He didn’t want to leave yet.

In New York, everyone was always in a hurry. While Declan hadn’t had a job, he’d volunteered a lot and even at home he’d always felt rushed. Sitting on the grass with elders and kids together, enjoying a quiet afternoon steeped in traditions, was completely different. He knew that these people had no reason to accept him, but even on the outside looking in, he wanted something like that.

He watched, amused, as Ro spoke softly with the woman who’d sheltered the kitten. He came away with a tiny, pink Dora the Explorer backpack clutched in his giant fist. The kitten wove around his feet and he scooped it up against his broad chest with one muscular arm.

It was adorable. Not because Ro was hot, although he was, but because of the indulgent smile on his face when the kitten squirmed around his neck and settled on his shoulder. Even when he winced from the tiny claws, he looked happy.