Ghostbird

by Carol Lovekin

  Seventy-seven

  Lost children, even when they are found, need time to adjust.

  Clearly, Cadi was taking no prisoners and who could blame her? Violet tried to disguise her hurt. Cadi wasn’t testing her, it wasn’t time yet to play happy families. As she left the house, she heard the chatter of birds. Clutching her belongings she walked quickly down the lane to the bus stop.

  Among the waiting passengers umbrellas blossomed like flowers. She nodded and smiled here and there, and if the village wondered about the comings and goings at Tŷ Aderyn, it saved its speculation for when Violet was out of earshot.

  Violet went to work and came home again. In between, her daughter held the hours in her hands as if they were birds’ eggs.

  ‘It’s my week for being given things.’ Violet’s hand shook.

  Cadi said nothing. The note lay on the table between them, like an old leaf. Next to it, face-down, the book, dusted free of cobwebs.

  ‘I can’t understand why he thought I’d look in it.’ Not in this book.

  He had been drunk, they said. It had been anyone’s guess what he’d been thinking.

  Violet’s body began to tremble. He never understood how much I loathed the wretched thing.

  ‘Do you want me to leave while you read it?’

  ‘Is that alright?’

  Cadi nodded and said, ‘Is it okay if I take the book with me?’

  Violet couldn’t speak. She nodded instead.

  The girl Violet had been believed in love. One day she would meet her prince, fall in love and live happily ever after. The sound of the word “love” on her lips had made her imagine she could fly. Love as a lifeline: if only she could catch it, she would be saved.

  She married a charismatic man whose way with words caused her to fall head-over-heels, captivated by the way the smile sat on his face as if it had slipped. When his actions seemed at odds with his words, she pretended not to notice because his touch made her shiver with pleasure. Teilo’s love had been a song, pretty words and perfect promises.

  In the silent shadowy room, the last words of love her husband had said to her lay in her hand.

  My darling

  Too little too late and you will say I’m a coward

  It’s true

  Can’t live with what I’ve done

  Your mistake was saying yes to me

  Mine was everything else

  Don’t expect you to forgive

  But I love you, always have

  God knows I loved her too, more than my life

  My life is nothing

  I’m sorry

  You both deserved better than me

  I love you

  Her finger touched the place where his name ought to have been. Sitting in her cold skin, the shock of the words made her ache with sorrow.

  The trapped bird battered at her ribs.

  Teilo had tried to teach her the things he saw and loved. Once, when he first took her to the lake, he’d described the water-lily pads as a carpet. ‘If you believe, you can walk across the water.’

  Violet hadn’t believed. The waxy flowers made her apprehensive, reminding her of gaping mouths. Violet knew fairytales were made of blood and runaway mothers and loss. Teilo reminded her of Lili, always making things up. After he died she hadn’t wanted to be reminded of imagined loyalty and love. She gave away his clothes and model cars, the old watches he’d collected and never mended. And the gifts he gave her: moonstone earrings and a pearl necklace. She had torn up his Valentine cards filled with their made up, mawkish charm.

  Your mistake was saying yes to me… mine was everything else…

  In the ashes of old love, these words didn’t feel made up at all. Gazing at the note, Violet knew, at last she held something authentic.

  Seventy-eight

  Lili’s mother had believed in the old ways: in herbs and the rhythms of the moon, the messages of birdsong.

  The wisdom of old magic with its common sense was the legacy Lili now looked to. When Owen knocked on her door, she knew better than to turn him away. The shadow of the past hovered behind him and Lili saw he needed to know what to do with his future.

  ‘I suppose you think I’m a waste of space.’

  Lili threw him a sharp look. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ She moved around her kitchen setting out cups and saucers for tea. ‘I’ve hardly given you a thought.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Taking pity on him, she said, ‘If you care for her – if you love her – it’ll be okay.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Everything’s changing, for all of us.’

  ‘What if I’m not up to it?’

  ‘You better be. I’m done with holding things together.’ Whatever happened, Lili’s bond with Cadi was tied up in her best love spell: it was the rest she was happy to let go. ‘Make yourself useful, there’s milk in the fridge.’

  He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What if love isn’t enough?’

  Even though Lili still thought love was dangerous, she knew it wasn’t always down to fate. It was trust without expectation. And sometimes, it mounted an ambush.

  Love was a verb.

  Steam rose from the kettle, the moist heat singed her skin.

  ‘I told Violet, happy ever after is an illusion,’ she said. ‘The blank space might go on after Teilo died and if she didn’t watch out and fill it with something else, it would become Cadi’s life too.’

  ‘It must have been tough for you as well.’

  ‘Nonsense, it’s been a joy. And you don’t have to dance around me, Owen Penry; I know what I’m like.’ She nodded at the chair. ‘Sit down. And don’t go making me out to be a martyr either. I’m Cadi’s auntie and I love her. And I care about Violet too, regardless of how it might seem.’ She poured water into the teapot. ‘It’s your turn now.’

  ‘I know. And if she’ll let me, I’ll take care of her.’

  ‘You’ll take care of them both. Violet will survive, she’s tougher than she looks. It’s Cadi I’m concerned for. If you let her down, I’ll think of you so much your head will explode.’

  Owen risked a grin. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Good. We both know where we stand.’

  ‘Do you think we can be friends?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’ She poured tea.

  He looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Teilo wasn’t a bit like you.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean I didn’t love the bones of him.’ Lili met his gaze. ‘Do the right thing, Owen.’

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘You could start by doing up your mother’s house and taking Violet away from it all.’ If it hadn’t been so important, Lili would have laughed. She wasn’t about to tell him, but Violet could do a lot worse than Owen Penry. ‘Let her see what her life could be like. Make Cadi feel it’s worth it. And they’re your roots, Owen – up on that hill. If you’re asking me what I think, then yes. It’s what you all need.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll come?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask them?’

  The book lay in her lap. Cadi had to read the story several times before she got a real sense of it. She still found the language archaic and most of the characters arrogant. Apart from Blodeuwedd, she didn’t care for any of them. The pages were littered with warriors and princes and wicked magicians whose enchantments seemed cruel.

  Poor, sad Blodeuwedd, created as a pawn in a political game, victim of Math’s sly plotting and Gwydion’s arrogance. As she finally fled from his fury, she had to watch as her terrified ladies ran into the lake and drowned.

  “…I will not kill you, but I will do what is worse: I will let you go in the form of a bird… you are never to show your face to the light of day, rather you shall fear other birds; they will be hostile to you. You will not lose your name but will always be called Blodeuwedd, which means owl in the language of our day…”

  To Cadi, who had longed all her life to be a bird, this was nonsense. In what way was it a curse?r />
  Owls were set apart and mysterious.

  An owl’s coat is made up of a thousand feathers. Imagine that.

  And a bird was a free spirit with an independent will.

  My sister was a baby. Cadi closed the book. A ghost child would have no notion of free will. Dora the ghost was no different from a flesh and blood child. She’s too young to realise the havoc she’s been causing. I have to make her understand. And find out what she wants.

  Through the window, on the cusp of night, the day began to disappear. A sunset like watered blood left a stain on the sky. Owl-light, Lili called it. If you walked in the woods as the light faded, your senses would be alert as an owl’s, and you would be able to hear a shrew breathe.

  Cadi considered the way Blodeuwedd had been tricked and used. If the story of Blodeuwedd had any meaning or relevance to their lives, it seemed to Cadi it was Violet and Lili who most resembled her. Her father had played games. It didn’t mean Dora’s death was anything other than a tragedy. She ought to have grown up and been a normal girl who went to parties and baked cakes wearing her grandmother’s apron. She ought to have made mistakes and fallen in love. Grown the most beautiful pair of wings in the world and been as free as a bird.

  Cadi watched the shadows, the grass as it turned to the colour of sapphires. She stayed awake until all the red was gone, replaced by a sky so black it looked like soot. A dot-to-dot puzzle of stars appeared and she tried to link them together as if it might reveal a picture.

  Or a word. Maddau…

  Pulling on her jacket, Cadi crept downstairs and quiet as could be she left the house.

  Along the lake path, her canvas shoes squelched in shallow puddles. Her father’s book lay solid against her chest. At the end of the track she slipped between the sighing trees. Twigs snapped beneath her feet. The moon cast glimmers of light through ghostly clouds.

  The lake lay as quiet as an empty space.

  Across the water the wind blew in slow treacherous ripples. Cadi shivered and pulled up the collar of her jacket, feeling in her pocket for the silver bangle. On the far bank the wind echoed in the tree tops and a wilder, higher note sounded in her head.

  To be able to fly was a freedom.

  I shan’t go home until it’s over.

  Are you coming?

  The ghostbird waits.

  There is a new kind of silence – the kind she can hear. Into this quiet, like thoughts on the edge of her wings, she hears faint cries.

  I am not a myth.

  Listen…

  I am real and you will know me.

  Her wings spread and fold, spread and fold – a thousand feathers.

  I am not a myth… I am flight and freedom.

  Are you coming?

  Seventy-nine

  When a girl of fourteen has longed for something for most of her life, when the sense of it clings like dust to the edge of every waking thought, it’s possible old magic will hear her.

  Thin veils may tremble as she passes, their fragile threads split, and she will step through.

  ‘I know you can hear me, it’s what owls do best.’ The water lay dark and still. Cadi pulled the book from inside her jacket.

  This isn’t the version we want. She stared at the cover and the picture of the flower-faced woman. Blodeuwedd deserved better. And Dora does too.

  Holding it like a flat stone, she took aim and skimmed the book out across the water. ‘It’s time to make a new ending.’

  The book bounced once before dropping like a stone. Cadi called her sister’s names in turn. Close to the bank, black reeds moved to the rhythm of the wind. Insubstantial shadows shifted through the trees and turning, Cadi caught a glimpse of the women from her dream, their gowns catching on outstretched branches.

  Rhedeg… Run…

  Was it real? She couldn’t tell.

  One woman hung back, meadowsweet hair streaming behind her. In the same moment a barn owl swept into view, slow wing beats swishing. She landed on the branch of a tree.

  Rhedeg…

  Standing in the darkness, Cadi felt a frisson of awe.

  It isn’t real.

  Blodeuwedd’s story was made up. Dora’s was the real one. Unseen, yet close enough to touch, she felt her sister’s presence so absolutely, seeing her ceased to matter.

  ‘You’re here.’

  A scream ripped through the night and the fear returned, only this time, Cadi fought it. Like creatures closing in on her, the trees shook, the ground trembled as if a predator stalked her. The owl rose into the air, hovering against a scribble of black branches. Images rushed through Cadi’s mind. Wild fear surrounded her.

  The last chase is here and now…

  Gwydion’s mindless curse attaches itself to the very air… exhausted women run blindly toward the water… behind them, voices; brutal with violence… The figure of Blodeuwedd flees the clash of slashing swords and broken trees…

  ‘No!’ Cadi raised her hands, palms out, rigid with intention.

  Fly…

  Everywhere, like streamers in the wind, thin voices cried out.

  Fly for your lives!

  Summoning her voice, she screamed into the darkness. ‘It’s not real!’

  For a second, everything froze. She held her breath until her lungs hurt and the skin on her palms burned. Her body shook so hard, for one senseless moment she thought she might dissolve. And then she was gazing into utter darkness. The women, the cries and the terror, vanished to nothing.

  Blinking, she unclenched her fists. Here was a bird, a real bird, flying down through the mist and the fading fear. Here was her sister. Not a myth and not a grown-up woman made from flowers. Here was Dora, a little girl who had once been made from flesh and bone and love, as lovely now and as perfect as any bird Cadi had ever seen.

  The owl circled. Cadi’s feet sank into the damp ground and she couldn’t move. The bird wheeled away into the black night, only to return and circle once more.

  Confused and shaken, Cadi called out, ‘What do you want?’

  Dilynwch… Follow…

  The cloying stench of meadowsweet was so strong, Cadi gagged.

  Follow…

  Stumbling along the path she tried to keep up. The owl flew steadily and this time she didn’t come back, only hovered, while Cadi caught up.

  I’m here…

  The voice in her head sounded as clearly as the water lapping the shore.

  Follow…

  The owl flew around the lake, marking a circle. In the dark, and now on the unfamiliar side of the lake, Cadi almost lost her footing. Her toes caught in roots, her hair snagged on stray branches. Behind her, clouds of mist circled. For a heart-lurching moment she turned, imagined the figures and the dread catching up again.

  No one was there. The path opened up and she was back where she started.

  The circle is complete…

  Flying down, the owl perched on the Sleeping Stone, closing her beautiful wings. Her breast feathers glimmered like pale jewels: moonstone and amber and gold. Cadi looked into her huge eyes, transformed now to the colour of jet.

  I’m here… Allwch chi fy ngweld?

  ‘Yes, I can see you.’

  Looking deep into her sister’s heart, the ghostbird listens for the beat of it.

  Maddau…

  It could have been the wind, or the whisper of the bird’s wing. The hairs on the back of Cadi’s neck rose. ‘Forgive who?’

  Daddy…

  The wind danced between them, water swished at the edge of the lake. Cadi closed her eyes, willing herself to hear. ‘Do you want to forgive him? Is that what you’re saying?’

  The owl blinked and the last threads of her humanity reached out.

  Everyone has to forgive him.

  For a single, heart-stopping moment, Cadi glimpsed a little girl with a cloud of blonde hair. In a shift of light she held out her hand. Cadi reached and the touch was as light as a feather. She blinked and the owl blinked back.

  Maddau…


  Cadi’s heart pounded and inside her, something loosened, as if a ribbon had come undone.

  ‘They will,’ she said. ‘I promise. It’s alright now, Dora, you’re free. We’re all free.’

  The certainty of this felt like a lost lifetime, newly painted on her memory.

  The ghostbird shakes her wonderful wings.

  She sees a girl with birds in her eyes and hair like wings. She has waited and waited and here at last is her sister in the beautiful dark.

  She sighs, feeling the old pain and memories falling away.

  Maddau…

  She blinks, and in one graceful movement sweeps into the air, out across the lake, her wings a soft-feathered whisper.

  At the edge of the stars, the sky is spilled ink reflected on the water, as darkly comforting as love.

  In the absolute blackness, Cadi stood perfectly still. She closed her eyes and caught the beat of wings merging with the pulse of her heart. When she opened them, the owl had gone, and on the ground lay the blue ribbon from the charm she had flung into the lake.

  Old secrets aren’t easy to untangle, not if they’re hidden away and tied up with unforgiveness. A person has to set aside time, along with their old hurts. If she is brave and patient, she’ll find it: the tucked away truth, a lost sister.

  A tear stroked her cheek.

  ‘I love you, Dora,’ she whispered. ‘I found you.’

  She slumped down against the Sleeping Stone. Across the lake a dark blue sheen shot with silver began to shimmer. The opaque figure of a woman with eyes the colour of harebells hovered above the water. Behind her, other women nudged her shoulders, smiling. As Cadi watched, they raised their arms and as quickly as they had appeared, were gone. Up flew a scattering of birds, as if being woken in the middle of the night was the most natural thing in the world.

  Ghosts only show themselves if there’s a reason.

  Fluttering over Cadi, the birds watched as she lay down, lay against the stone and closed her eyes.

  Eighty

  A gentle rain fell across the fields.