Silverworld

by Diana Abu-Jaber

  Eventually they flew in a close red formation around Dorsom. He stood perfectly still, eyes closed, when suddenly he gave a sort of shudder. His hand shot out and the flock broke apart, flying off in a hundred directions. Sami thought they’d all scattered, but then she realized he was holding a bird.

  It was plump and pigeon-shaped, and it seemed to be wearing a dark wrapper. Or trying to squeeze out of it. As Sami came closer, she saw the vapor move, swirling along its body, spiraling over its head, then wings, then tail feathers. The bird squawked and twisted as if it couldn’t flap its wings.

  Dorsom lifted the bird in both hands, filled his lungs, and began a kind of humming, which intensified until Sami felt it in her bones. Natala emerged from the headquarters and quietly joined them. No one spoke as Natala walked forward, her left hand lifted. She was wearing a large silver ring covering two fingers. Its gemstone flashed tones of deep purple and she nodded and said, “Three joules. It’s near the deepest end of the scale. Fine to proceed.” Then she looked around hastily as she stepped back beside Sami.

  Now Dorsom lifted his head. The hum grew louder and more forceful, and the roiling shadow seemed to increase, covering more and more of the frantic animal’s body, until Dorsom appeared to be holding a gray paper cutout of a bird. Then the shadow began to expand downward, covering his own hands and wrists. Sami didn’t know what any of this meant, yet her breath sped up and her heart pounded. “Dorsom, be careful!” she cried out.

  Suddenly, the bird gave a cawing, prehistoric shriek, and the shadow exploded into a spray of powder, vanishing into the air. Flapping wildly, the bird sailed off into the trees.

  Dorsom’s shoulders fell. For a moment, he stood, hands on his hips, head dropped, and panting for breath. Natala and Sami helped guide him to sit on the steps.

  “Did you just—wow. What was that?” Sami sat beside Dorsom. “Did you just kill a Shadow?”

  Rebalanced it. Dorsom shook his head. Shadow escaped, he thought breathlessly.

  “Very powerful specimen,” Natala said, gazing over the pier. “How did you manage to spot it? It’s usually impossible to sight a midair Shadow soldier.”

  Still breathless, Dorsom pointed to Sami. Both Flickers turned to her.

  “I didn’t know what the heck that thing was,” Sami protested. “Just that it looked pretty bad.”

  A bird fluttered down between Sami and the Flickers and cocked its head at her. “I owe you a debt.”

  Startled, Sami stepped back as the bird hopped toward her; it twitched its feathers and cocked its head in the other direction. Its sky-blue head tapered to a bib of white feathers down its front, its back glowed an unearthly bright red, and its feet were neon pink. So—did that bird just talk to me? Sami asked Dorsom.

  In Silverworld, all living beings have language, he answered. His smile was still a bit weak.

  The bird remained fixed on Sami. “I would have certainly died. No Flicker can see an airborne Shadow. Rotifer was right: you are a Silverwalker.”

  “You know about that?” Sami gaped.

  “Our birds are marvelous eavesdroppers,” Natala said with a smile. “And gossips.”

  Another bird settled beside the first in a flutter. This one had sea-green eyes. “She’s ready, she is?” it said.

  “Ready?” Sami looked from one to the other.

  “For the back way,” the first bird said. “Our gift to you.”

  “Wait.” Sami watched them carefully. “Do you mean…the way back home?” She felt a shiver of hope, despite herself.

  “Call it as you will.” A third pigeon, plumper than the other two, drifted down. This one had red plumage all over, but its beak glittered as if it had been cut from diamond. “We would like to—to thank you.”

  Ah, yes, Sami heard Natala thinking. The birds—they would know.

  The plump one tipped its head. “In both Worlds we dwell, and regularly migrate between.”

  “Back, forth,” the first bird said.

  Sami was starting to understand. “Birds—live in both Worlds?”

  “Hold on here,” Dorsom cut in. “Sami hasn’t had time to think about this yet—have you, Sami?”

  The birds twitched their feathers. “No time for think. ’Tis leaving time now, if she wishes to go! She needs must make ready.” The blue-headed bird lifted and lowered its powerful wings a few times. The breeze had grown steadily stronger and the sky was filled with high clouds.

  “Wait.” Natala held her hand out. “We must consider.”

  Sami rubbed her arms—they were all gooseflesh. These birds were offering to help her get home! Yet for a moment she held back, thinking of her grandmother, wondering what Teta would have wanted her to do. Was she meant to be here, as Rotifer had said? But it was so hard to think of staying when suddenly there was a possibility of going home.

  “If we are to do this,” the red-gray bird said, “it must be now.” The birds hopped out to an open stretch of grassy, sandy land that rolled along the beach. There were no palm trees, just rich, jade-colored blades of beach grass that glowed brighter as the sky darkened.

  Sami walked toward them, shaking her head. “I’m grateful, really, this is so kind—but I’m not sure…”

  Sami noticed then that several more birds had arrived. In fact, more and more were fluttering down to crowd around her feet, the three original birds piping and twittering in what sounded just like birdsong from the Actual World, bright and sprightly.

  Very quickly then, dozens, hundreds of birds were landing, crowding the grass, milling around, jerking their heads, moving stiff-legged, chirping, and hopping. Many were pigeons, but there were also spotted pink parrots, and ibis that glowed like opals, and herons that looked like they’d been dipped in liquid gold. There were canaries, macaws and sparrows, seagulls and pelicans, and one that lifted its tail into a snow-white peacock fan.

  “Prepare yourself!” the red bird called out.

  “Wait—guys—I need to tell you—I’m really not sure about it,” she said cautiously.

  “It’s time, it’s time!” a coral-colored falcon screeched.

  “But wait—I—I think maybe this isn’t the right time after all,” Sami blurted. “I can’t do it. Not right now.” But the birds were making a racket of flapping and chirping, none of them listening. She could see Dorsom and Natala getting crowded out behind a wall of beating wings.

  “We shall begin!” one of the pigeons cried. The birds started hopping up her legs and fluttering on her arms and shoulders. Sami gave a tiny yelp and a parakeet on her head jumped off, but they kept coming, batting their wings in her ears and face, and it was all she could do not to beat them away.

  “Stop, wait!” she shouted, pulling in her arms. But they just kept climbing and batting. Another bird voice shrieked, “Lift, lift, lift!” All at once, the toes of her sneakers were sweeping the ground, her T-shirt and jeans yanked up high, a hurricane of feathers and bird voices and bird cries. In another moment, she was looking down and the two Flickers were below, jumping and shouting. Birds—return her at once! Dorsom thought-called.

  Instead, they kept rising, the birds climbing on the wind. “Put me down!” she yelled, but none of them could hear her in the thunder of flapping. They were quickly very high. Below them the wind was tossing around the palm trees, their big fronds slapping and waving. The birds struggled a bit, jostled by the gusts. Her hair slapped at her face and she couldn’t brush it away as every bit of her was pinned by birds. She craned, and twisted her head, and glanced up to the clouds.

  There was an odd shift in the light, a sort of sparkling overhead. Sami blinked through her hair and the dazzling light, looked directly into the sky, and saw her grandmother’s face.

  Teta’s face was right there, inside a clear section of sky, looking to Sami like someone had placed a movie screen directly over her head.r />
  Teta!

  It occurred to Sami that she might be seeing through some sort of portal or mirror in the sky. Her grandmother’s gentle eyes gazed through the clouds, and Sami wanted to call out to her. She felt almost sick with longing, but seeing Teta’s sorrowful eyes reminded Sami of what was at stake. This was why she’d come to Silverworld in the first place. It became clear to her: it wasn’t time to return, not yet. She still didn’t know how she would accomplish it, but she’d come to save her grandmother, and that was what she would do.

  The wind was blowing even harder now and her skin stung from the colder air. Sami felt prickly all over, scared and alive. Her hair slapped her eyes, and for several moments almost all she could see or hear was the hurricane of flapping wings. Teta’s face grew larger and blurrier as they approached the portal. Then Sami thought she noticed something flash behind Teta’s face. It happened again, a sharp, dark form.

  A castle?

  It had flashed just twice, but Sami sensed she hadn’t been meant to see it at all—it was a bit like catching a glimpse of the tricks behind a magic show or the hand inside a puppet. What had she seen? She tried narrowing her eyes, then discovered that if she closed her eyes completely she could pick up on images from the minds of the birds—they were all focused on a destination—the place they were actually taking her? Gradually, Sami made out a shimmering castle, snapping flags, rolling lawns and topiaries, then, superimposed over all this, there was the image of a single eye, wide open. It was the same clear blue color as the sky in the Actual World.

  Suddenly, she felt a dip, as if several of the birds had flinched at the same time. What? What? She heard question-thoughts popping through the flock.

  There was a gray blur at the corner of her eye and a thought blinked into her head, saying, Silverwalker, you are reading us. This is not allowed.

  This isn’t the way back at all, is it? she demanded. Where are you taking me?

  Sami’s body started twisting in the air, one leg lifting, an arm bending back, as the birds became jumbled and chaotic thoughts bubbled through the flock.

  Do not make this difficult, the red bird thought-croaked. We are under orders.

  Sami was swept around in the rush of wings and wind and hair and clothes. Hundreds of claws pinched through her shirt and cut into her skin, but her resistance only grew stronger. As the birds continued to ascend, Sami summoned as much will and focus as she could and thought: Let go of me.

  Something happened in the red bird’s thoughts that felt like a mental shudder or twitch. Instantly, something rippled through the flapping, squawking flock, a snaking current, and all at once the entire flock of birds turned murky.

  Like shadows of birds.

  You’re Shadows! Sami yanked and thrashed her arms desperately and broke away from a few of the claws. Now she knew that—wherever they were trying to take her—it was definitely a place she didn’t want to go.

  Inches from the clouds, Sami reached out as she felt herself slipping. Teta’s face was too close to see, blurring into shapes and colors among the clouds. Sami’s hands swung out as she spun, brushing through creamy softness, and grazing something that felt almost like skin.

  Grab her! Catch the Silverwalker! the birds thought.

  She was falling. Everything turned white and wet; frozen droplets scraped her arms. It was like falling through clouds—only the clouds were supposed to be over her head, not under. Cold zinged through her body, her lips and lashes frosted over, her skin turned to ice, the World turning into a Milky Way swirl.

  And then.

  She was sitting unharmed on the red Persian carpet on the floor of her bedroom. Blinking, astonished, Sami breathed in familiar scents of wool, trees, and lavender, and slowly came to understand that she had fallen back into the Actual World. There was not a scratch on her. Her hair and clothes felt a little damp, but aside from that, there was no sign of her struggle with the birds or Shadows or anything that had just happened.

  Lifting her eyes, she glimpsed her mirror bobbing and glowing silver before it whitened and hardened back into glass.

  She’d done it; Sami could hardly believe it. She’d pushed against the Shadow birds and tumbled through the portal. Sami had no idea how she’d managed it, but she was beginning to wonder if she could possibly be a Silverwalker.

  She had to tell Teta!

  Sami ran down the hall to her grandmother’s room. “Teta, you will not believe this. I did it. I went into the other world! And they need my help—they need—”

  “Shhh!” Her mother looked up, dark curls tumbling around her neck. She was crouched beside Teta’s bed, a steaming teacup in one hand. “Sami, lower your voice!”

  “Mom!” Sami skidded to a stop.

  Alia placed the teacup on the nightstand. Teta was tucked into bed, even though it was the middle of the day. “Please quiet down—your grandmother is very tired. We just got out of the doctor’s office and she started running a fever on the drive home.” She bent back over the older woman. Teta looked small and pale in her bed, as if she’d somehow shrunk while Sami was gone. Her eyes were shut tight and she seemed to already be asleep.

  Touching Teta’s forehead, Alia waited a moment, then straightened. “Samara—are you all right? What’re you up to?”

  Sami lowered her eyes. She couldn’t let her mother see what was bursting inside her. There was no time for that. Once Alia’s suspicions were raised, she wouldn’t let it go—there would be questions from now till next year. “Mom. It’s nothing. It’s just a—a game Teta and I are playing. A make-believe thing.”

  Alia fingered the necklace at her collarbone. A gift from Teta, the little silver charm was called a hand of Fatima, meant to ward off the evil eye. “Oh really?” she asked drily. “A game?”

  Her mother was getting her skeptical attorney look. Sami had to think fast. Her eyes swept around the room and landed on the row of aromatic spices Teta kept in tiny glass jars on her dresser—turmeric, cumin, and za’atar—which were supposed to restore health and clear the mind. Then she had a brainstorm. “Mom, I am so hungry,” she said, which was true. “I’m totally, totally starving. In fact, I’m dying for some of your kibbee. Can’t you make some, pretty please?”

  Alia drew in her chin, then started laughing. “I can’t keep up with you—one second you’re shouting and running and the next—” She broke off, studying Sami in bemusement. “You really want kibbee?”

  “Actually, can you make, like, a couple of those old dishes? Like you and Teta used to make together?”

  Alia stared at her daughter. “You mean—something Lebanese?” Her smile was tentative, but Sami could see she’d managed to surprise—and distract—her mother. “It’s been a while,” Alia said. “I guess I could come up with a few things. Oh, come on—let your grandmother rest. Let’s see what we’ve got in the fridge.”

  Downstairs, Sami joined her mother in the kitchen. The two of them began pulling ingredients from the back of the cupboard—bulgur and beans—and rummaging in the refrigerator. The dishes she’d asked for—kibbee with minced lamb and onion, tabbouleh salad with parsley, and okra in spicy tomato sauce—took a lot of preparation and work, which would keep her mother preoccupied. While Alia stirred and combined, Sami cleaned and chopped, her hands moving swiftly and effortlessly, as if she’d done this all her life. At the same time, her mind was far away in Silverworld. Noticing Sami’s swift knife work, including a series of radishes she carved into roses, Alia asked, startled, “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “I don’t know!” Sami admitted with a laugh.

  Her mind and senses felt supercharged, brighter, as if she were processing things in a new way—her mother’s long hands, the crispy meat in the kibbee, the recording of Fayrouz that Alia had put on in the background, the palm trees swaying in the kitchen window. She saw, felt, and tasted every detail. Settin
g out plates, Sami went over and over the meaning of the images she’d seen in the sky: the castle and that deep blue eye. She listened to the elegant singer, her voice swooping and rising in Arabic, and she realized she could understand about half of the words—this was also something new. She’d grown up listening to her mother and grandmother converse in Arabic—it was a private language, just between the two of them. Alia wanted Sami to speak English. Sami never imagined that she had learned any of it, even accidentally.

  But there wasn’t time to puzzle over this. She ate quickly, nodding at her mother, but in reality she was barely listening as her mother fretted about the doctor’s advice and Aunt Ivory’s opinions. Then Alia said, “I guess Ivory is right. It really is time to get your grandmother into assisted living.”

  Sami came to attention. “What? No. That is, like, the last thing Teta needs right now. She needs to be with us, with her family.”

  “Sami, I understand you’re upset—”

  “I’m not upset—I’m right!” Sami sputtered. It was true—she was getting upset, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Dad would never have put Teta in a home. Why do you even listen to Ivory? She’s so mean!”

  “Samara Washington.” Her mother put down her knife and fork. “How dare you say such a disrespectful thing about a member of your own family? What in the world has gotten into you?”

  “Why should I respect her when she doesn’t respect me or Teta?” Sami put down her own fork and sat back. She couldn’t believe she was speaking to her mother so directly but she couldn’t seem to hold herself back. “Why should I respect someone who doesn’t deserve any respect?”

  Alia turned bright red. “That is quite enough, young lady. Get to your room right this instant!”

  Sami marched up the stairs indignantly. Then she waited behind her closed door, and as soon as she thought her mother wasn’t watching, she crept down the hall to the room on the left.