Perception

by A. K. R. Scott

  “Grandmaster Kero is in contact with her. We always keep an eye on our students. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  Grandmaster Westbrook returned to his book, and Helaine slipped out the door. Her heart clenched. Nadja was communicating with Grandmaster Kero, but couldn’t be bothered to send a message to her best friend? First, Nadja leaves with no warning, and then makes no effort to let Helaine know she’s all right. For all Nadja knew, Helaine assumed her dead. Or worse.

  As she headed down the long hallway of practice rooms toward the exit leading out to the orchard, one thought gave her hope. She had been right about Grandmaster Kero. She knew something about Nadja’s disappearance. And Helaine was going to find out what.

  The bark was rough beneath Helaine’s palms as she leaned against the aviary’s wooden entrance. The door had been difficult to find, which was unsurprising given the structure’s camouflaged nature. From the outside, the aviary loomed beyond the orchard tree line. It looked like a small patch of forest they’d forgotten to clear before constructing the conservatory, leaving it instead to grow taller and thicker with each passing year. But this close, Helaine spied glimpses of movement through cracks in its facade. With a hearty shove, the door creaked inward, and she stepped through the opening.

  For all of its dense appearance on the outside, the aviary was open and airy within. The temperature was warmer, and in a matter of moments, the hem of her skirt was clinging to her ankles as she moved. The tall trees that made up the perimeter of the enclosure arched inward as they grew, their long, slender top branches reaching toward each other and weaving together an arborous net through which Helaine could see the gathering clouds. It would rain soon, and she hoped to be back inside before that happened. Amid the symphony of peeps, tweets, and chirps, a faint melody not of the bird variety came from somewhere ahead of her. She followed the sound.

  Helaine hardly knew where to look as birds of all sizes and colors surrounded her, hopping along branches and soaring between treetops. The percussive beating of their wings kept the air in a constant state of motion. She narrowly avoided stepping in a small brook that cut across the middle of the enclosure.

  Where did that come from?

  As far as she knew, there were no bodies of water on the conservatory grounds. And yet, she’d almost tumbled into one. She lifted her skirt and hopped the brook, making a mental note to ask Grandmaster Brightwater about it.

  The repetitive melody led her around a copse of dogwoods to the base of a ladder topped with a doughy, ball of a woman, swaying in time to the music. She held a pan flute to her lips and kept her eyes trained on the nest resting in the crook of the branch in front of her. Helaine paused, not wanting to disturb whatever was at work.

  After a few more repeats, the music stopped. Grandmaster Brightwater lowered her instrument and reached into the nest, gingerly lifting out a small, brown ball. As she turned to make her way down the ladder, she spotted Helaine.

  “Well, hello,” she beamed. “I’ll just be a minute.” She stuck the pan flute between her teeth, grabbed the ladder with her free hand, and bobbed her way down, one rung at a time.

  “Ooh,” she huffed. The blast of air drew a hollow, rattling sound from the pipes as she planted her feet on the soft grass. She reached up a plump hand and removed the flute from her mouth. “These bones are not what they were. But, this little fellow is worth the climb.” She lifted the palm that cradled the little ball.

  Helaine’s heart squeezed. “Oh, how sweet,” she cooed as she watched the fluffy bird puff up and down with tiny, excited breaths. “What is it?”

  “Waxwing,” said the grandmaster. She stepped away from the ladder and motioned for Helaine to follow. “We were researching this little fellow in ovum, and he decided to arrive early. We weren’t able to get him back to the nest in time.” They ducked into a modest shelter cocooned by an array of large-leaved plants, in which a handful of small bird cages housed invalids and outcasts.

  “I’m trying to reintroduce him to his mother, but it takes time.” Grandmaster Brightwater opened the door to one cage and tucked the baby waxwing into a pile of straw and feathers. “There you go.”

  The little bird looked up at her with what Helaine would almost swear was a frown, then opened its mouth impossibly wide and began peeping.

  “Yes, yes. Lunch is on its way.” Grandmaster Brightwater closed the cage and turned to Helaine. “Now then, Miss Helaine Vastrof. What brings you to my aviary?”

  Helaine’s eyebrows rose. It was odd that Grandmaster Brightwater knew her name, considering first-year students rarely attended the horticulture and animal husbandry classes.

  “Oh, don’t look so surprised, my pet.” The grandmaster chuckled. “Spend a week in the infirmary, and everyone will know you by sight.”

  “Of course.” Helaine’s cheek’s reddened. She had learned soon enough that a meeting with Doctor Corinson brought you to everyone’s attention.

  “I’m here about my summer study.” And before the grandmaster could question her further, she rushed ahead. “You see, I was supposed to be working with Grandmaster Westbrook, researching my, um . . .” She tapped a finger on the side of her nose. “But things are somewhat altered in that regard, and I need to come up with another project. Grandmaster Westbrook suggested you might help me. Or I might help you.”

  Grandmaster Brightwater nodded and waved once more for Helaine to follow her. “Interested in birds, are you?”

  Helaine fell into step beside her. “Yes? I mean, I don’t know. I’m not sure where I’d ultimately like to focus my efforts, but I do believe it’s somewhere in the life sciences.”

  “Ah.” The grandmaster’s face split into a wide grin. “The most noble pursuit, if you’d like my completely unbiased opinion.”

  Helaine returned her smile. “I’d bet Grandmaster Zephrys would argue that point.”

  “Pish,” said Grandmaster Brightwater. “Let Grandmaster Zephrys have his rocks and his weather. I won’t say anything against the importance of either. But what I will say is they both lack the one thing that makes what we do special.” She looked to Helaine.

  “Life?”

  The ends of the grandmaster’s blunt-cut bob swished like fringe as she nodded in approval. “Exactly.”

  They passed under a bough of a white oak, the remnants of the previous season crunching under their feet.

  “There is something almost sacred about wielding our music to guide and shape living things,” she continued. “The responsibility of a musician is always a great burden, but even more so when dealing with things whose very existence can be extinguished with carelessness and stupidity.” She stopped and whistled a short, warbling phrase. From a nearby tree, a green and yellow parakeet swooped down and landed on her upturned palm. “Every bird here carries within it that spark of life, and we must do everything we can to protect and nurture it.”

  Enraptured by the brightly plumed bird, Helaine reached out. But, no sooner had her fingers grazed its chest, than it flapped its wings and disappeared back into the tree from which it had come.

  The corners of Helaine’s mouth tipped down, and Grandmaster Brightwater moved on.

  Flustered, Helaine skipped to catch up. “I understand. And I’m more than willing to help out in any way I can.”

  “Perhaps something in the marine vivarium,” mused the grandmaster.

  “Oh, not there,” blurted Helaine. Then, catching herself, she added, “What I mean to say is fish are wonderful. I’m sure. In their own way. But there’s just something . . . I mean, they don’t blink, do they? They just stare at you. On one side. And they can’t help it, I know. It’s just—” Her foot planted itself in the brook, filling her shoe with water and soaking the hem of her skirt.

  “Oh dear,” she said. Her shoe squelched as she pried her foot from of the clay-bottomed shallow.

  Grandmaster Brightwater offered a sympathetic smile. “You’re no
t the first person to do that, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. Most newcomers to the aviary are surprised to find this hidden here.”

  “Yes,” said Helaine, shaking her waterlogged shoe as demurely as possible. “So was I. I didn’t realize there were any natural water formations on the grounds. Where does it come from?”

  The grandmaster turned and followed along the bank of the brook as it wound toward the aviary wall. Helaine squished along behind her.

  “‘Natural’ may not quite be the right description of it, but it serves its purpose. Did you see the windmill on your way in?”

  Helaine searched her memory, but could find no windmill. “No.”

  Grandmaster Brightwater seemed pleased with her reply. “It’s designed to blend in much like the rest of the aviary.”

  The brook disappeared into a thicket. The grandmaster stopped and pulled aside a clump of foliage, revealing a wall of woven branches through which the brook flowed before disappearing into the ground.

  “The water drains into a long pipe here and reenters the brook on the other side of the aviary. The windmill pumps and recirculates the water continuously. The birds have a constant source of fresh water, and that helps keep them happy.”

  “But where does the water come from?”

  A large leaf near the grandmaster’s leg bobbed, catching her eye. “We collect rainwater to feed the stream,” she said, leaning over and reaching under the leaf.

  Helaine’s eyes widened as the grandmaster stood, gripping a long, black snake by the neck. She took an involuntary step back as it writhed and wriggled in the grandmaster’s clutch, but the grandmaster seemed not to notice.

  “The rainwater funnels through a series of large leaves down to the brook’s source.” She grasped the snake with her other hand slightly below the first and snapped its head back. Helaine gasped as bones crunched and the snake stilled.

  Grandmaster Brightwater tossed aside the lifeless body. “It really is an ingenious little invention.”

  Then, she followed Helaine’s gaze to where the snake rested in the grass. “Oh, don’t worry about that one. The scavengers will take care of him soon enough.”

  Helaine’s stomach turned at the thought. “But . . .”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said the grandmaster, slipping her arm under Helaine’s elbow and leading her away from the brook. “And it is never an easy thing to do. They rarely make it inside, but now and then one slips through. When that happens, they become a threat to every living thing in here. And what kind of caretakers would we be if we allowed them to stay? Sometimes we must make difficult choices for the greater good. Now, the threat has become a gift, and my vultures will be happy for it.”

  They approached the aviary entrance, and she gave Helaine’s arm a gentle pat before releasing it.

  “So,” she continued, brightly. “The marine vivarium is out of the question.”

  What’s this about the marine vivarium? Oh, yes. Helaine pushed aside thoughts of the snake and turned her attention back to the present.

  “Unless you absolutely need me there. Of course, I’ll go wherever you have use for me.”

  The grandmaster chuckled, her round belly bouncing up and down. “Let me give it some thought. Come and see me tomorrow, about the same time. I’ll be here. But for now, I have a hungry little waxwing to attend to.”

  Helaine thanked her and patted her hands along the wall until she found the door. Once through the exit, she turned back and searched the outside of the aviary.

  Even knowing about its existence, she could find no windmill. Impressed, she headed back toward the conservatory. She was glad to discover that she was looking forward to tomorrow and to whatever task Grandmaster Brightwater might assign to her. But her eagerness was tempered with a trace of foreboding that had settled into a small corner of her mind and made itself comfortable.

  Chapter 4

  The trees glittered in the midmorning sun, their leaves still wearing traces of the previous evening’s shower, as Helaine entered the aviary for the second time in as many days. The air felt different today, more alive, if that was possible. The structure’s inhabitants, both feathered and flesh, bustled about with renewed energy in the wake of the rain. Birds chased fat, newly upturned earthworms across the grass, or sang with more gusto than the day before. And scattered around the aviary, a handful of students were engrossed in one project or another.

  The muted sound of a trowhorn tickled Helaine’s ear, and she turned toward its source, smiling. The trowhorn was one of her favorite instruments, with its pleasing scent of butter and blackberries taking her mind back to cozy summer mornings in her father’s kitchen and the delicious baked treats Na Na made for her. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath.

  Nothing.

  The translucent memory dissolved in a swirl of gray smoke before her mind’s eye.

  She shook her head and smiled wryly to herself. After living a lifetime with her extra sense, it would take time to get used to its absence. But that problem was no longer hers, and she was glad for it. Still, it hadn’t been all bad.

  The playing stopped.

  “Helaine!”

  She spotted a hand waving above a row of hedges and picked her way over to where Vatara stood, the trowhorn tucked beneath her arm. A row of large pots stood in front of her. Most of them held juvenile trees, all of which looked somewhat similar, but each in different states health.

  “What are you doing here?” Vatara asked.

  “I’m meeting with Grandmaster Brightwater about my summer project.”

  “Really?” Vatara cocked her head to the side. It reminded Helaine of the way the birds reacted when they spotted an earthworm. “I thought you’d be working with Grandmaster Westbrook this summer.”

  Helaine shifted her weight between her feet. “Yes, ah, there’s been a change in plans.”

  Vatara’s eyes narrowed, causing Helaine’s palms to sweat. Vatara was a good friend, but her tendency to gossip was well known. She knew Vatara would love to learn the details surrounding her new situation, and she had no wish to share.

  “What are you working on?” Helaine asked, gesturing to the pots in an effort to thwart further questioning.

  “Ah!” Vatara clapped her hands together. “I’m trying to create a new shatudo tree hybrid. We have pure ones here in the aviary, but they’re native to the Alabaster Coast, and they don’t always make it through the snows. I’ve crossed this one with a fir tree.” She pointed to one pot, then moved down the line. “This one with a cypress. This with a beech. Oh, you get the idea.”

  She walked over to what appeared to be an empty pot, and Helaine followed. “This one, I just crossed with a thuja. Want to see?”

  Helaine nodded, and Vatara hefted the horn to her mouth. For the first few phrases, nothing seemed to happen. Then, the dirt on the top of the pot jumped, and out popped a thin, green shoot. As Vatara played, the shoot pushed upward, sprouting tiny leaves. The seedling stretched higher. Its middle thickened and the small leaves gave way to branches, only to reappear growing along them. Soon, the tree cast shade over both women, and Vatara lowered her horn. She leaned in to scrutinize her results.

  “And how are the shatudos coming along?”

  Helaine turned to see Grandmaster Brightwater beaming at Vatara’s efforts.

  “I think I’m on the right track with this one,” said Vatara. “But I still have a few other variants to try.”

  “Excellent,” said the grandmaster. “Don’t let me disturb you.” She turned to Helaine and said, “Come with me, Miss Vastrof. I have a job for you.”

  Helaine bid farewell to Vatara and followed Grandmaster Brightwater to the aviary entrance and out into the orchard.

  “I won’t be working in the aviary?”

  “Not this summer.”

  Helaine sighed and resigned herself to her fate. “The marine vivarium.”

  The grandmaster let out a jolly laugh. “No, my pet. After your impa
ssioned speech about the terrible, unblinking creatures who live there, how could I be so cruel?”

  Helaine’s cheeks reddened at the grandmaster’s teasing as they strolled through the orchard. A few apple blossoms still clung to the branches, but most had fallen to the ground to make way for the tiny buds of new fruit that took their place.

  “The task I have in mind will not require you to go anywhere near water, which is probably for the best, eh?” Grandmaster Brightwater’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

  Helaine couldn’t deny it. She’d spent the better part of the previous afternoon padding around in her stocking feet while her shoe sat drying in the windowsill.

  A low, humming sound came from ahead of them, growing louder as they walked. Helaine realized where the grandmaster was taking her.

  Four thick stone walls greeted them as they emerged from the orchard. The walls stood in a rectangular formation, with an opening in one corner and a few worktables in the yard between them. As they walked through the opening, Helaine noticed the rows of nooks that made up the front sides of the walls. A few were empty, but most housed large skeps, and she delighted at the dome-shaped bee homes.

  The yard was a whirlwind of activity, both bee and human. People moved around the space and between the boles and the work shop just beyond them, checking skeps and carrying plates and what looked like giant watering cans. Some tended to small boxes while others toted large, white bricks. A man sat at a worktable, hunched over a coil of straw, wrapping and stitching it with amazing speed. He glanced their way as they approached, but returned to his work without speaking.

  “This is about as far away from the marine vivarium as we can get,” began Grandmaster Brightwater as she led Helaine on a tour of the apiary. “What do you know of bees?”

  “Very little.”

  “Then you have an educational summer ahead of you.”

  The bees buzzed around them in an incessant low hum, but were too busy in their work to be distracted by the women. The tiny bodies zigged and zagged in front of them as they walked, doing their best to pull Helaine’s focus.