by Kim Dare
“Sir—?” Ori began again.
Raynard cut him off, raising his hand for his silence.
Ori swallowed down his plea for reassurance.
For what felt like days, Raynard didn’t say anything; he just stared as if Ori was some ghostly vision that he was unable to comprehend. Finally, he spoke. “What did the elders tell you?”
Ori shook his head. “Nothing, sir. I…” He took refuge in his rest position as he realised that running away from them might not have been the best way to please his master. “I’m sorry, sir. I might have left before the ceremony was properly completed.”
Raynard closed his eyes again, just for a second, as if that was the only way he could keep control of his own emotions. Turning away, he led Ori across to a little seating area nestled among the towering bookshelves. As Raynard folded his tall frame into an armchair, Ori automatically began to lower himself to kneel at his feet.
Raynard stopped him short. “Sit there.” He pointed to the chair opposite him.
Frowning, not sure now just how angry Raynard was with him, Ori sat on the edge of the seat Raynard had indicated and stared across the dark bare floorboards at him.
“The ceremony didn’t go as expected,” Raynard said, slowly.
“Have I done something wrong, sir?”
Raynard shook his head. “No, fled—” He stopped abruptly and took another deep breath. He straightened himself in his chair, tilting up his chin and squaring his shoulders. “The partial shift you performed before the elders when you first came to the nest wasn’t conclusive. Sometimes, the elders’ best guess isn’t accurate.”
Ori tentatively felt his way forward in the conversation. “I’m not a duckling, sir?”
“No,” Raynard said. “You’re not.”
Species scrolled through Ori’s mind. Whatever he was, it didn’t seem to be anything that pleased his master. He still couldn’t think quite clearly, couldn’t remember what species were below even a duck. He wasn’t even sure if there was such a thing as a lower rung in the hierarchy.
“You’re a swan—that’s what the elders saw today,” Raynard said, his voice devoid of any sort of emotion.
Ori nodded, then waited patiently to be told what his master thought of that development and what he should think of it too. However, no further information seemed to be forthcoming.
“You…don’t like swans, sir?” Ori hazarded.
Raynard stared at him for a moment. “There’s no need for a swan to use an honorific when he’s speaking to a hawk…sire.”
Ori felt the air rush from his lungs. He tightened his grip on the edge of the seat. He shook his head, as much at the way his master spoke to him as at the words he chose to use.
Raynard glanced down for a moment, not in submission, but as if he couldn’t even bear to look at him. Ori followed his gaze. Raynard still held the collar in his hand. The moment Ori spotted it, he couldn’t look away.
He swallowed rapidly. Raynard seemed to sense what he was looking at. He pushed the collar into his pocket, the tag catching the light before it quickly disappeared from sight.
For a second, where Raynard ordered Ori to sit ceased to matter; he sprung forward and lowered himself to his knees at his master’s feet. He put his hand on Raynard’s leg, only just stopping himself short of actually reaching for his pocket. “Sir?”
“I neither like nor dislike swans,” Raynard said, his voice stiff and formal. “I’ve no reason to, sire—”
Ori touched his fingers very gently against his master’s lips. “Please don’t call me that, sir.”
Raynard took hold of Ori’s wrist and moved his hand away from his mouth. Ori couldn’t bring himself to struggle against his hold. It felt too good to have Raynard’s hand wrapped around his skin. There was a familiarity in it that promised everything would be okay.
Gradually, Raynard’s anger seemed to leave him, until there was nothing in his eyes but sadness. He settled his other hand in Ori’s hair and guided him forward to rest his head against his chest.
“Everything’s fine,” Raynard told him. “There’s nothing for you to be upset about.”
Ori nodded, rubbing his cheek against his master’s shirt with the movement. It didn’t feel like the truth. It didn’t feel as if Raynard believed it to be the truth either.
“Tell me about swans, sir?”
Raynard’s chest moved under Ori’s head as he took a deep breath. “Swans are… They are the purest species of avian that exists. They are good, and noble, and beautiful. They have the most exquisite spirits, the finest temperaments.”
Ori frowned slightly as he waited for the rest. Raynard said nothing.
“For service, sir?” Ori hinted eventually.
“Swans don’t serve,” Raynard whispered, each word raw as if pushed through a throat that didn’t want to let them pass.
Ori pulled away, just far enough to look up at his master.
Raynard stroked his fingers through Ori’s hair again. He cleared his throat. “Swans don’t serve other avians, fledgling.” His lips twisted into a mockery of an encouraging smile. “By the end of the day, you’re going to have a great many servants of your own.”
Ori shook his head. He caught hold of Raynard’s shirt, bunching the fabric within his grip.
Raynard took hold of Ori’s wrist, but Ori couldn’t make his fingers unfurl and release him.
“You will,” Raynard repeated. “A lot of things are going to change for you now.”
Another shake of the head.
“A swan’s life has its course plotted out for it from—”
“Maybe they were wrong,” Ori rushed out. “Maybe I’m not a swan at all—”
“Ori…”
“Maybe I really am a duck,” he pushed on, fuelled by a sudden and overwhelming desperation for that to be the case. “A very big, white duck. They might have mistaken that for a swan. Or a goose—they look even more like swans. Would a goose be allowed to—?”
“Enough!”
Ori fell silent as the word snapped through the room. Standing up, Raynard dragged Ori to his feet, too. An ornate mirror filled a gap between two massive bookcases. Raynard held him facing it.
Ori stared into the glass. His master’s reflection glared at him, his expression so very serious, but Ori barely recognised the man standing with Raynard.
The fluffy, mottled hair was gone. Sleek, white strands had taken their place. Each one lay neatly against his scalp in a way his fledgling colours never had.
“I was there,” Raynard bit out. “You’re a swan. It’s not an opinion. It’s not a mistake. It’s a statement of fact.” The words were calmer, but it was a kind of forced calm that was barely able to contain the anger that still boiled beneath it.
Raynard sat back down with a sigh. Running his hand through his own hair, he carelessly disordered the dark brown waves.
Ori swallowed as he lowered himself once more to kneel at his master’s feet. While uncertainty surrounded him, he latched on to what he could depend on when all else failed. “You said you’d put the collar back on, sir.”
Raynard didn’t answer immediately. “If the ceremony had gone as we expected, I would have,” he finally said.
“But not on a swan…” Ori whispered, as much to himself as Raynard.
“A hawk can’t own a swan, Ori. It would never be permitted. And even if it were, it wouldn’t be right. That’s not what—I’m not what you need now.”
Ori closed his eyes. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He blinked open his eyes as he felt Raynard lean forward in his seat. Raynard stood up. Ori stayed on his knees, his hands slipping down his master’s body until they rested on his trouser leg just above his shoe.
Raynard stepped forward. Fabric slipped out of Ori’s hold on him as he went. “Let your true nature take over, and you’ll be fine,” Raynard said as he crossed the library. He paused with his hand on the
door handle. “The elders will take good care of you now. They’ll make sure you’ll have everything you want.”
With that, he was gone. He closed the door behind him.
Ori’s eyes fell shut. There was only one thing he wanted, and he doubted any of the elders could provide it.
He wanted his master.
Chapter Ten
“Sire?”
Ori looked up.
Mr Hamilton stood next to him. His attention moved from Ori to the empty chair Ori still knelt in front of, and back again.
“Would you like to see your rooms, sire?”
“Rooms?” Ori repeated blankly.
“A suite of rooms on one of the upper floors has been set aside for your use, sire,” Mr Hamilton informed him.
Ori just stared at him. He already had a room—the butler’s old bedroom at his master’s house. “Mr Raynard…?”
“Has already left the nest,” Mr Hamilton finished for him.
Ori closed his eyes. When he finally found the strength to open them again, the empty chair filled both his field of vision and his world. He ran his hands over the cushioned seat as if that might somehow summon up his master, like a genie from a lamp.
“Did he leave any orders for me, sir?” Ori asked, unable to make the words anything more than a whisper.
“Sire?”
“Mr Raynard—before he left, did he leave any orders for me, sir?” Ori repeated, with all the strength he could muster. His hand tightened into a fist against the cushion top.
“You’re no longer under any obligation to obey Raynard’s orders.”
Ori looked up at him.
“You have every avian’s sincere apology for being forced to serve a lower ranking species of…”
Ori shook his head, unwilling to hear anyone speak of his time with his master that way. Mr Hamilton trailed off. For a long time, they both remained in frozen silence.
Finally, Ori found words. “What do you think it would please my master for me to do now, sir?”
“I…think he’d wish you to see your rooms, sire.” Uncertainty made the Scottish accent more pronounced, softening the words a little.
Ori dropped his gaze. Part of him was aware that he couldn’t remain kneeling before an empty chair forever—no matter how much he might wish he could. He slowly dragged himself to his feet.
His knees weren’t steady; they only trembled more violently as he was forced to make his way through the crowds of men that lurked outside the library door. Dozens of pairs of eyes raked over every inch of his body. The fact that he wore far more than he had while he served at the nest did nothing to reassure him. His collar was gone; his neck was bare. Mere clothes couldn’t help him forget that.
Mr Hamilton led him along corridors and up flights of stairs. He finally stopped next to a set of high double doors. Mr Hamilton opened one door, and stepped back to allow Ori through first, for all the world as if he were the servant and Ori were the bird of prey.
“Anything that you dislike will be changed as soon as possible, sire.”
Ori looked at him, then at the space around him. As Mr Hamilton led him through one opulent room after another, Ori couldn’t think of a single word to say. It was all rich furnishings and marble, all gilt and shiny surfaces. Habit made Ori look for dust and work to do. There wasn’t any.
Eventually, there was nothing else for Mr Hamilton to show him.
“If there’s anything you wish for, you need only mention it to one of the servants, sire.” He indicated one of the elaborate bell pulls and, with that parting shot, left the suite.
Ori gazed helplessly around the marble-coated space that linked all the rooms. He lifted a hand to his neck; his fingers were shaking. He covered his mouth with his other palm, not sure if he was fighting back a scream or sickness. Very slowly, he lowered himself to the floor.
He had no idea how long he sat there, the cold from the marble tiles seeping into both his bones and his soul. Eons seemed to pass before he gathered the strength to pull himself to his feet and stumble toward the door leading out of the suite.
Ori pushed the painted woodwork, just enough to peek out into the hallway.
A servant immediately rushed forward to open it farther. As far as Ori could tell, the man had been lingering in the corridor waiting for him to request something. The tattoo on the inside of his wrist marked him out as a pigeon. Ori stood on the suite’s threshold, not sure what to say.
“Is there something you wish for, sire?” the pigeon finally hinted. “Or someone you wish for?”
Ori blinked at him.
“Any avian would consider it a privilege to—”
“No!” The word shot out of Ori’s mouth, as he realised what the servant was actually offering him.
The pigeon’s eyes opened very wide; he flinched as if he thought he was about to be struck. Ori recalled doing the same thing himself, so many times. But he never remembered anyone reacting to him that way.
Ori shook his head, retreating from the servant, back into the safety of his suite. At the last moment, a whispered memory tugged at the edge of his consciousness.
“Everet!”
The servant continued to stare at him, blatant fear in his eyes.
“There’s a raven called Everet,” Ori managed to say, a little more calmly. “I…ask him if he’ll speak to me, please?”
“Immediately, sire.” The servant offered him a low bow, before taking off down the hallway as fast as his legs would carry him, his bare feet silent on the thick carpet.
Closing the door, Ori sealed himself in his rooms, away from the craziness that seemed to reign outside.
He was still pacing the marble floor of the entrance hall when a tap fell against the oversized door. He rushed across to open in.
Everet stood outside. “You wished to see me, sire?”
“Yes.” One of the rooms Mr Hamilton had shown to Ori was a formal lounge. Not sure what else to do with Everet, Ori ushered him in there and directed him to one of the seats by the fireplace.
Far too much nervous energy raced through Ori for him to think about sitting down himself. He fidgeted in the centre of the room, all the things he’d planned to say to Everet deserting him.
“You wished to speak to me, sire?”
Ori swallowed. “You know my master, sir,” he blurted out.
“I’m acquainted with Mr Raynard, sire,” the raven rephrased carefully, watching Ori the way other men might watch an unexploded bomb.
“You know where he lives?”
Everet nodded. “Yes, sire.”
“Will you take a message to him? I…”
Everet hesitated.
“Please, I…” Ori had no idea what to say.
Another moment of silence passed before Everet nodded. “If that’s what you wish me to do, sire.”
The suite was well stocked with everything a man could want. It didn’t take Ori long to track down a pen and some paper. Working out what to write was far more difficult.
He stared at the paper for a long time, while Everet sat patiently on the other side of the room.
Half an hour had passed before Ori was able to carry the sealed envelope across to Everet. “Thank you, sir.”
Everet said nothing as he took the message from him. On the inside of his wrist was the neatly tattooed raven’s mark.
Ori looked quickly away from it, but even after Everet had left the suite, the image of the species-identifier was still fresh in his mind.
Pigeon.
Raven.
Looking down at his own wrist, Ori retraced the line of the duck’s mark that his master had painted there once before. Ori had no idea what a swan’s identifying mark looked like. He had no interest in finding out.
Covering his right wrist with his opposite hand, he fought down the wave of panic that idea brought with it. He was never going to have that kind of mark on his skin. Never.
&nbs
p; He was going to be marked as a duck. That’s what Raynard wanted, that’s what Ori was going to be. Out of the corner of his eye, Ori caught sight of his reflection in the mirror hanging above a console table. He quickly turned his back on it. He was going to be a big white duck and he knew exactly how a duck lived while at the nest. He’d simply go back to that life until Raynard was willing to come back and fetch him.
Just having a plan allowed some of Ori’s panic to fade away. What replaced it was only a pathetic imitation of the safety he felt when he was with his master, but that couldn’t be helped.
Pushing the door open once more, Ori didn’t give the servant lurking in the hallway time to hold it for him or offer him any other kind of service. He strode past him, only vaguely aware that the pigeon scurried along in his wake as he rushed down one set of stairs, then another, heading straight for the kitchens.
Heads turned to watch him go, but men also stepped back to clear a path for him. A flock of crows making their way into the dining room scattered at the very sight of Ori hurling down the corridor. Ori paid them no attention. Striding into the kitchen, he caught sight of the chef on the other side of the room. A moment later, he was at the gull’s side.
The chef turned toward him. He was about to speak when he stopped himself short. He offered Ori a deep bow. “Sire—”
“Do you have any work for me, sir?” Ori cut in.
Part of him knew that interrupting the notoriously bad tempered chef was risking a thrashing. Maybe that was what he needed. A punishment would be a familiar landmark in a world that had tilted on its axis, tipping everything that was important off its surface. Maybe enough external pain might take his mind off the agony that already flared deep inside his heart.
The gull looked past Ori to the servants that surrounded them. The kitchen was eerily silent. Everyone was staring at them and waiting for the chef’s reaction.
Ori swallowed down the instinct to beg, even though he knew he’d give in to it eventually, if that was what it took.
The chef looked down. “May I offer my humble apologies for the way you were treated before your true nature was revealed, sire.”