Link to part one: here Wordcount: 1,167 Part: 6/9
Synopsis: Jasmine discovers the place where the bells grow, and the thunderbird’s strange obsession.
I was standing almost ankle deep in sandy water gazing up at a copse of soaring glass structures. I would equate them to both trees and the remnants of some enormous gothic building, but I don’t think they were either. Their translucent tendrils reached up into the mist, and on the stronger protrusions of the limbs were the bells.
The water’s mirror surface broke and swirled with my steps. Now and then drops of moisture dripped from high above, echoing like the hesitant chirps of tiny birds. I stopped and stared up at the bells. They came in every size, apparently at different stages of development. A gentle breeze whispered through the grove, but the bells hung still. Then I realized I had discovered the source of the hum in the atmosphere.
There was a sound like a breaker coming against a sandy shore, and I turned. The thunderbird had landed in one of the glass trees. It put its huge wings away and moved out on a well-developed branch, flicking its crests back and tilting its head upward to the bells that hung from the branch above it. The black eyes closed, and it strummed a series of three hand-sized bells with its beak. The ambient ring intensified, gaining an eerie voice-like overtone.
For a long time, the bird didn’t move. The breeze played with its long flowing tail where it hung only a few feet off the ground. Slowly, the eyes opened, and it turned its head, gazing at me as if in a dream. After a while, it moved farther out on the branch, reaching for a larger bell. It struck a deeper tone, and the bird closed its eyes again and was still, listening. Then the bill opened almost imperceptibly and a deep melodious call flowed out, dancing around the bell’s tone.
As the low bell’s individual chime faded into the hum, the bird looked down at me again. He wasn’t afraid at all now. Talk to the thunderbird. I drew a breath. “It’s beautiful,” I said. The crests relaxed further and the bird blinked slowly. “You really do like the bells, don’t you?”
As if in reply, the bird turned and strummed the bells again, all four. Once again it closed its deep eyes and sung along with them. I waded toward his tree. “I didn’t know you could sing like that. I’ll bet you wouldn’t if you didn’t have those bells, would you? You love the sound of them.”
He sung to the end of the chimes’ echo and then crouched down looking up at the sky.He leapt into the air and glided in a circle over the bell grove. When he came back around, he batted his wings once, mounting into the air, and then dropped in a brilliant flash into a clearing between the trees. When my vision returned, he was anthropomorphic again.
I tiptoed back behind one of the bell trees. He was flightier on the ground, ironically. It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious until I knew he was comfortable, this time. I could hear his footsteps in the water. Slowly, I leaned back around the glass tree and let half my face show. To my surprise, he took a step sideways and cocked his head at me. When I didn’t emerge he came further sideways and a bit toward me. He seemed to be curious about my presence, in contrast to his previous concern.
Would he take off again if I moved? I stepped away from the tree so that he could see me better. “Don’t fly away, okay? I’m not coming after you,” I said. His ears expanded and tipped forward slightly. He stopped mid-stride, one foot suspended over the water. “It’s alright.” Come on, don’t get scared again, silly bird. The taloned toes spread and he set his foot down. “Why anybody who can drag a giant bolt of lightning around with them without getting fried should get scared of a little human that just wants to be friends, I don’t know.”
The smooth black eyes blinked and the feathery ears swept back. Never taking his focus off me, he sidestepped to another bell tree and leaned against it. The breeze fluttered his cape feathers and he blinked. Apparently, thunderbirds don’t use human facial-expressions, but I almost think he might have meant to smile.
All the while I kept talking to him. It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it seemed to put him at ease. After a few minutes, he sprung up onto a low branch of his tree and reclined on the limb in a way that must have been comfortable for him somehow. His attention wandered for a second to some new growth shooting off from the branch. The ends of the twiggy structures were developing thimble-sized bells, and for a moment this was too much for his obsessive mind to overlook. He flicked one of them, and it rang almost too high for me to hear.
I paused and said nothing while he listened to the bell. After a few seconds he looked back at me and his ears opened toward me. I shrugged. “You weren’t listening, so I stopped talking.” I let the remark hang in the air.
The bird’s featureless eyes changed somehow. He was looking at me like he looked at the bells, rapt and expectant. I laughed. “What? I thought you were busy with the bells. I wasn’t saying anything worth listening to, anyway. Go ahead. Ring the silly little bells. I know it makes you happy.”
As I spoke, the black eyes closed and he tipped his head back, relaxing his ears. Quietly, he began to sing. I stopped talking and he waited, eyes still shut, ears quivering slightly against the wind. “You…like my voice?” I asked. “My voice makes you sing too?”
The moment I spoke, he started singing again. We went on like this until late afternoon. He completely forgot the bells as long as I talked to him. I didn’t know what kind of progress this was, but it must count for something. Gradually, I crept closer to the tree, and eventually, I stood at the roots and was almost directly below where the bird lay singing. He was perfectly still, and his eyes were shut. I could have reached up and touched him.
Then, the atmosphere thrummed. His eyes opened slowly and he stared out into the horizon. A wall of clouds was building up. Evening was falling and a storm was on its way. Darkness swept over his skin and his body tensed. He got up and walked toward the end of the branch, ears flicking back and head cocking at the sky.
“Don’t fly away,” I called. But my voice startled him, and he sprung from the branch. In a violent blaze of light, I saw the sweep of massive wings and the bird took flight, soaring away into the storm. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Come back!”