And then, when you get back, I’ll send you out again for strawberry juice from a specific restaurant in Vietnam.
“Fine,” said Sangris, standing back. He was still holding on to the branches on either side of me, though, and I had the impression of being caged in by his arms. One lock of twisty black hair fell into his right eye. “But when I get back—”
“After I finish eating—”
“After you finish eating, I want to talk with you about something.”
“Fine.” I hoped I looked innocent.
“I’ll hurry.” He turned, and the wings spread out. Blue light caught in the sleek white feathers along their upper ridges for an instant. Then he was gone.
Well, my genius plan had worked. I should be able to drag this out until dawn, when he’d have to return me to the oasis. Tomorrow . . . I’d figure that out when it came. For now, Sangris had been successfully distracted: Off hunting for falafel in Costa Rica. No more leaning close and touching my hair and wanting to talk about things. I was safe! Ha-ha!
Safe, and stranded on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere.
I looked around, sobering. The ground on the island was crumbly and silver. It seemed to be made of silky powder, not dirt, and nothing grew on it except for this dwarf tree. Now that Sangris had flown away, I felt ridiculous on my flowery perch. I eased a foot down and found that the ground was firm, so I jumped. And only got a few steps before I reached the edge of the land. I looked all around. Stranded in the sky. I’d almost forgotten that I couldn’t fly off on my own. If for some reason Sangris didn’t come back, I was done for.
I paced in circles. Couldn’t Sangris have at least tormented me somewhere with a library nearby? I waited and waited. On this island, time didn’t appear to go anywhere. It just seeped around my feet, like the light. I was thinking of my father, reminding myself how clean and remote and triumphant I’d felt when I’d cut my heart away in the wadi, when I spotted the fish.
It was swimming above me, through the sky. The scales were green but the fins had a tongue of orange running through, and its lips were orange too. I stood there and watched it glide past like a bird. It floated weightless in the air and I became disoriented because now I wasn’t sure if I might not be underneath the sea after all.
It was as long as my arm. I thought I could see the sky churning in the wake of its fins, ever so slightly, the blueness blurring behind it in a way that reminded me of disturbed ink. And yet it didn’t look like anything more than a large, strangely colored goldfish. It was like a helium balloon with fins stuck on.
I was so absorbed in figuring this creature out, I didn’t notice, at first, that it had changed course and was swimming right toward me. Then, before I had time to feel more than a faint flutter of worry, it slid to a halt in the air, a short distance away from my widening eyes. It bobbed a little, up and down.
Its irises were green.
“Hello,” I said, disconcerted.
The word fell alone in this quiet empty island. The fish drew closer. It circled, spiraling around me, not in a menacing way but beautiful. I turned to keep it in sight.
Its fins, up close, were feathery.
So what was it? A bird or a fish? Sky or sea? Air or water? I could breathe, but that didn’t seem to mean anything. In dreams, people could breathe underwater, and I thought I might have fallen asleep in the tree. Good. When Sangris came back he’d be forced to carry me home without any fuss.
The bird-fish settled to a halt in exactly the same position as before, at eye level.
There was something not quite right about its eyes. It sounds silly to wonder about something so small when faced with a flying/swimming bird/fish. Still, the feathered fins, the way it glided through the greasy sky, okay, I could accept all that. But green eyes? Could fish have green eyes? Could birds? I knew that some of the specially bred fish in Thailand could have blue irises, but their eyes weren’t this wide, or this intense . . . the fish was staring.
“Sangris?” I called, as if saying his name would bring him back. My voice wavered.
“No, I like to be called Juren,” said the fish.
I don’t like girls who yelp, but I admit it—when he spoke, I shrieked like the best of them. I even clapped my hands over my face.
“Relax,” said the fish, and it exploded. At least, that’s how it looked to me. It burst open. Billowed out into a person. The next second, there was someone standing there and looking pleased with himself.
I stumbled back. The ground was lumpy underfoot and I fell. It wasn’t a dramatic fall: I caught myself with my hands and I ended up un-bruised, sitting sprawled in the powdery grayness with my legs stretched out in front of me. “Stupid Free people!” I shouted. “Going around pretending to be animals! Exploding in innocent girls’ faces! Do you have any idea how traumatizing that is? I’ll never be able to own a goldfish again!”
He laughed.
“It’s not funny,” I said. “First a cat, then a fish. I won’t be able to trust any animals ever again. The next time I see a puppy I’ll have the urge to run away screaming. I won’t be able to ride horses in case they turn out to be men. I won’t—”
He interrupted my laments. “You have a bit of a random thought process, don’t you?”
I lost track. “Sometimes. In moments of stress.”
At least now I knew why the fish’s eyes had been green. Another Free person! I wondered if all Free people kept their original eye colors no matter what animals they happened to be. His were still glittering bright and emerald. They were slanted like Sangris’s. As a matter of fact, he resembled Sangris overall, though his face was too innocent to be feline. Maybe all Free people had certain bone structures in common.
I began observing him in earnest. Wouldn’t it be funny if he turned out to be a distant relative of Sangris’s? His hair was in loose curls, light brown, which fell across the curve of his cheek, the straight line of his nose, the long sweep of his exposed throat. Although he was mainly human, luckily a covering of soft white feathers concealed his body, running from his collarbone right down to his feet. The wings too were white, a plumy white that reminded me of doves. They curled, unlike the hard sleek wings that Sangris favored.
And he was still laughing. Clearly, I was a riot.
“It’s not funny,” I repeated. Stupid Free people.
“Oh, come on,” he said. He had a wide smile and a dimple in each corner.
“Huh,” was all I said.
“You mad?” Another minute of that grin and I’d do something immature, like stick my tongue out.
“You did it on purpose,” I said.
“I was in the neighborhood. You looked bored. I wanted to help.”
This island must be a favorite haunt of Free people, one of the “crowded places” Sangris had mentioned to me before. “Next time, don’t.” I realized that I was still sprawled on the ground. No wonder he couldn’t stop laughing. I pulled myself into a proper sitting position, and I was about to stand, but instead Juren dropped to his knees in front of me.
I frowned at him. “Can I help you?”
“Are you really angry?” he asked.
No, I didn’t care enough to be actually angry. But it seemed that I finally had the upper hand, so I lied. “Yes.”
His smile drooped, and for a moment, he looked like a chastened kid. “Really?” Then he brightened and the grin popped back up. “What if I say sorry?”
Shrugging, I sensed that we were playing now. Except I didn’t know the rules, or what the prize would be. I certainly didn’t know what was going on in Juren’s happy little head. Because before I could say anything else, he bent in a great show of penitence, and kissed my feet. I opened my mouth to say “Hey!” or something equally intelligent, but no words came out. I gaped at him. Immediately I felt queasy. All I could think was, Ye gods, if my father knew what—
But my father wasn’t the one I had to worry about. When I looked up, I saw Sangris standing on the opposite s
ide of the island.
He had clearly just landed. His hair was still tousled from the wind of flying. His eyes were pale yellow and in one hand he held a paper bag. Seriously? He’d managed to find falafel in Puerto Viejo? I stared at him over Juren’s shoulder.
Not a good time to send him away again for strawberry juice. I closed my mouth and bit the lips together.
“Nenner,” he said.
Juren raised his head at the sound of this new voice. He pulled away from me and I jumped up.
“He was a fish,” I said quickly, pointing at Juren. I’m not sure why I felt the need to give Sangris this irrelevant piece of information. Maybe I wanted to make him stop staring at me. And it worked. He turned his eyes, slowly, to Juren instead.
Juren turned. “Oh,” he said. “Is this Sangris?” He rose to stand beside me.
I didn’t like being shoulder to shoulder with him, facing Sangris. The body language was all wrong. I inched away until I was in the shadowy drooping shelter of the dwarf tree. The smell of almonds was all around me. The two Free people didn’t notice. They continued to watch each other. I felt the thread of growing hostility twanging tight. Juren’s eyes were now very green. I thought of the Siamese fighting fish in Thailand that would circle and flare, spreading their fins out until they resembled dangerous blue and red flowers in the water, whenever they saw another of their own kind.
Juren, his eyes still locked on Sangris’s, said, “Do you mind? You’re interrupting.”
And then Sangris snapped. A blur went past me and the two Free people shot backward, off the little island in the sky, into thin air. He threw himself at Juren and there was the thud of collision.
Juren moved quickly. But so did Sangris. Wings were everywhere. They circled together until they resembled a sun made of feathers, beating, burning white and gold. I hadn’t known Sangris could fight like this. It seemed impossible that he was the same cat who forgot his own name whenever I petted him, the same gargoyle who had begged to kiss my feet. This Sangris was frightening and powerful and screeched like a creature who had scorned the earth millions of years ago. His teeth had elongated, and his hands were more like claws—
“Sangris!” I shouted.
Juren crunched down onto the small island with Sangris on top of him. Sangris, his slanted eyes flashing bright yellow, showed no hesitation or scruple. I heard Juren whimper.
“Sangris,” I hissed, “let him go!”
Sangris hesitated. I saw him glance up at me as if he was wondering whether he could get away with pretending to be deaf. I went over and grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to pull him back. I might as well have tugged on a rock.
“Go away,” Sangris said, trying to shrug me off without releasing Juren.
“No. When he’s a fish, he looks like a helium balloon with fins! You can’t kill a fish,” I said. Sangris didn’t seem to be touched by this argument. His eyes were fixed on Juren, and he was inching closer. I changed tactics. “Nothing’s more important than a life,” I said. “That’s why I saved you. So let him go!” I took a deep breath. “If you kill him—I won’t ever fly with you again.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Sangris, I’m a vegetarian who refuses to swat flies,” I said. “Believe me. I mean it. Remember my father and the bird?”
His eyes were hard, but they flickered when they met mine. Beneath him, Juren panted for breath. A heartbeat passed. “You’ll be angry?” he said, finally.
“Yes.”
Abruptly, he pulled back, leaving Juren to gasp on the ground. Sangris stalked away and I heard a crack from behind me as he hit the strange little tree.
I knelt beside Juren, afraid for a moment because he hadn’t moved. He was staring at the sky, green eyes glazed. On one cheek there was a red stain. Many of his feathers were torn up too. “Are you okay?” I said, my heart still speeding. “Poor Juren.” He might be a thoughtless imp, but he hadn’t deserved this.
“How did you do that?” he groaned.
“Do what?”
“Get him to release me.” He shot a blurry glance at Sangris, who was pacing behind me, hissing to himself from time to time. I didn’t blame Juren for looking apprehensive.
“He shouldn’t have attacked in the first place,” I said, more of my fear turning to disapproval as I thought about it. This was the second time tonight Sangris had put me in an unwanted situation. “He should’ve had more self-control—”
And then Sangris was there again. “That’s enough,” he said, pulling me away. He took me around the waist from behind and lifted me to my feet, leaving Juren to sit alone on the ground. “We’re going back now.”
“No,” I said, pushing his hands off. “We need to stay. Look at Juren.” I indicated the torn feathers and bloody cheek.
“He’s fine.”
I turned. “No, he isn’t, because you hurt him. Why do you think you’re in charge?”
“Because . . .” He couldn’t think of a reason—because there wasn’t one. There were shadows beneath his eyes as if, all at once, he hadn’t slept in a month. It made him look strange. Distressed. The little paper bag of falafel lay crumpled and ridiculous on the ground beneath us.
Then I couldn’t argue anymore. It would have been like sticking a pin in him. A pushy Sangris was bad enough, but one with bruised bleak eyes was too much. “We’ll go,” I said.
I looked over at Juren. At least he seemed to be recovering. He’d managed to sit upright on his own. “Good-bye.”
“Earth is too far away for me to visit,” he told me in a quick, low voice. “But if you’d ever like to come see me where I live, in a place called Elworth . . . would you?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“No,” Sangris said.
I flushed. I wouldn’t actually have visited Juren, I’d only wanted to leave on my own terms. But Sangris— I got a tight feeling in my chest. He couldn’t do this if I had wings of my own.
Greenish eyes slid from Sangris’s face back to mine. Sangris watched. His mouth twisted again as he leaned against the tree, folding his arms. In the end Juren dropped his gaze. “Well,” he said to me, “good-bye, then.”
I nodded and looked at Sangris. He continued to lean against the tree, arms folded. There was an awkward moment.
“Aren’t we going?” I said finally. “You insisted.”
He pushed himself off the tree. I lifted my arms in preparation, but he didn’t pick me up. He shrugged me aside and changed into his feathered dragon form instead.
We left Juren alone on that tiny island in the sky. Sangris’s dragon-body moved through the blue air with ease. I sat with my legs crossed on his back, watching the sky part to let us through, and the long soft feathers that framed his face, moving in the wind. He flew in silence.
After a few minutes of this, I said, “He kissed my feet to apologize. Because he’d scared me. He swam up as a fish at first—or maybe he was flying, I don’t know—and then he spoke to me and changed forms, and it shocked me so much that I fell over. And that’s why I was sitting on the ground.” I cast around for more to say. Now that I had explained things to him, I felt better. There, we would patch things up. The sky seemed to loosen around me. I smiled, even though he couldn’t see it, and said, “I think I’ve been traumatized by these experiences. From now on, I won’t be able to see an animal without assuming that it’s actually a Free person. I might start talking to stray cats by the side of the road. People will think I’m insane. I’ll be known as the Crazy Cat—”
“Enough,” he said.
“What?”
“Stop babbling. I don’t want to hear it,” he said, and his voice was shaking. I stared at the back of his head. What? I was willing to overlook things, but he wasn’t?
“You can’t be angry at me. That’s completely unfair. I didn’t do anything!” I said. “Except prevent you from murdering someone.”
“Nenner,” he said, “leave it!”
“But—”
H
e only flew faster. I shut my eyes in the sudden onset of wind. It was very cold now. I wrapped my arms around myself and waited for it to stop.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. When we reached my bedroom window, which was half open, a single square light in the darkness, I slipped inside without looking at him, went to my wardrobe, and threw out his clothes for him to catch.
The room was still strangely uncomfortable without my books. It felt as though it belonged to a different person. Only the bed was mine. I crawled over the sheets and took some comfort in wrapping the blanket around myself. Like a child hiding in a pretend fortress.
Finally Sangris stepped inside, fully dressed. In the peaky, shadowed face, his eyes stung as sharp as electric shocks. “So,” he said. Laying the syllable down like a card on the table.
“Can we keep the argument till later?” I asked. Only a dunce wouldn’t have been able to sense the storm boiling inside of Sangris. I turned my face away, trying to look at ease, while a chilly river seemed to be streaming right under my heart.
“I’m not going to make an appointment to argue with you,” he snapped.
“I don’t want to wake my father.”
“‘Poor Juren’?” he said, changing the subject.
“It’s called sympathy.”
“Oh, is that what you call it?”
“Obviously. I just said so.”
“‘Poor Juren,’” he mimicked again. He spoke as if they were swear words.
“He was poor, and his name was Juren. So what?”
“Don’t pretend!”
“Pretend what?”
He paced, back and forth, back and forth, over the marble tiles of my bedroom floor. He was wearing his stolen school uniform and despite the windblown hair, he looked almost stiff, more brittle than usual. “So what is it?” he said finally, stopping. “Have you got a thing for green eyes or something?”
“Yes, Sangris,” I said in a flat voice, “that’s exactly it. How clever of you to figure it out. I insisted on saving him because of his eye color.”
The Girl With Borrowed Wings Page 15