His breath catches on his lips. "Once for beauty!"
The hoarse cheers echo back. "Once for beauty!"
He swallows. "Once for death!"
Fists scrape at the sky, sharp weapons raised. "Once for death!"
His throat hurts. "Once for the young!"
Their faces are hidden behind carved masks. "Once for the young!"
His fingers run along the painted wood hiding his jaw. "Once for all!"
They respond not with words, but pure emotion channeled through the voices of uncountable thousands.
There's a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. There's a hand slapping his back. There's a voice in his ear. The trumpets are blaring. He sighs. He finds the hilt of his blade, the leather warm and comfortable in his tight knuckles. There was plenty of blood yet to spill. What was one more on the pile?
His voice is small among the mess, but it finds it way to those who need to hear it. "Charge," he says. Maybe it was more of a whisper. Maybe it was more of a plea.
Regardless, the hoard does so.
Somewhere above, a bird drifts on silent wing. It studies the mass of men, flesh framed in steel and leather. The boy glances upwards, struggling to spot it amongst the clouds. He cannot. He doesn't get long to look before he's dragged along by the motion of the charge.
Every morning, Aza, first and greatest of all wizards, takes a walk. Some days, she would walk between the stars. Some days, she would walk to worlds untouched by the desires of man. Today, walked to the woods that surrounded her tower. Most days, she walked alone. Today, she brought one of her apprentices with her.
As the two hiked through the forest silently, climbing over fallen logs and brushing aside bushes, they came across a wounded bird. It lay upon the ground, wings twisted and broken.
"What do you see?" asked Aza, for it was important for a master to test her apprentice.
"I see the circle of life in action," responded Seri dutifully.
"Is that so?" asked Aza. She smiled faintly, because she could sense a lesson coming.
Seri considered for a moment, because he could also sense a lesson coming. "Yes, master," he said at last. "I see a wounded bird, as is natural."
Aza raised her staff and spoke words of power. The bird's wings twisted back into shape. It stood, fixed, and began preening itself. "What about now?" she asked. "Is this not the bird's natural state?"
"Nature is a cycle, master," said Seri. "Birds can be healthy and birds can be wounded. Such is the cycle."
"And what am I, apprentice?"
"You are a wizard, master. You are outside and beyond the cycle."
Aza shook her head slightly. "Do not glorify our position, apprentice. We are no more than any other."
"And yet," said Seri, "why could the bird not heal itself? Surely our power make us mightier than any bird."
"I take life," Aza said. She clicked her fingers and the bird's wings broke again, it crumpling to the dirt lifeless. "I give life," she said. Her fingers click again and the bird gasped back to life, wings still broken. She looked into Seri's eyes. "Here's a riddle, Seri. What do you see in this?"
"I see power and control. I see magic. I see the process. I see the whole of the forest."
"Is that so?" replied Aza. "Because I see a wounded bird."
"With respect master, I thought this was a lesson."
"Everything is a lesson, Seri. As long as you're paying attention, the world is always teaching you something." She took in the scene, staring intently at the wounded bird, the trees, the sun glowing faintly somewhere overhead. "But if you insist, I'll teach you by your own method."
Seri's grip tightened slightly on his staff. "What do you mean, master?"
Aza laid a finger upon Seri's head and then Seri was a thousand miles away. He was a bird with broken wings lying lost on the forest floor.
"Oh," said the Seri-bird.
Aza smiled at the bird with broken wings. With gentle hands, she picked it up and held it to her lips. The bird smiled back, because the bird was Aza too. As one, they returned to her tower. Her walk was complete for this morning. Her lesson was just beginning. She was satisfied.
Battle is mud and blood. It is noise made solid, felt in the way it grips deep in your chest and growls. It is visceral and terrifying. They seize on fear. They feed on it. Blades break upon their backs and their backs break on blades. Their bones are iron and their masks grin as they rend flesh. Each fist sends men flying, each hammer blow scattering bones. They drip blood from their cuts. From above, the dance is almost palatable. Almost understandable. The jockeying for position and darting raids become a sort of dance. From a distance, the slaughter fades. Bodies move and bodies swirl. Sometimes bodies break and are stomped into the mud.
The soldiers cry out as they die. They scream with rage and fear and sadness. Some think of families. Some think of victory. Some think nothing at all. They rally to banners and drum beats, moving in patterns described by their commanders. They grin and they scowl. They fail to witness the humanity of their enemies, because to do so is to invite defeat immediately. To consider their opponents as human would be to consider the morality of war. The slaughter requires they don't. So they don't.
The boy finds himself in the thick of it. His blade raises and descends, flesh and bone shuddering against his muscles. He howls and hisses and spits with the best of them. He is a pebble in the ocean. He is losing himself to the mass because that is the only way to survive. He doesn't think about his life. He doesn't think about his past. He doesn't think about the lives he is taking. He doesn't think about the bird high above whose eyes remain fixated on him. He doesn't think about anything at all.
The Seri-bird screamed at first. It screamed because the pain of its twisted wings rocked through its tiny body, flooding its tiny bird head. It was all it could focus on. It tried to stand, to flutter, and only flinched limply and weakly. It screamed until it could scream no more and then rested, exhausted. It rested until the light of the day had declined and the darkness of the night was supreme.
Slowly, Seri brought himself to his feet. The trees overhead were unfamiliar. Seri had walked many of the woods near the tower and he was quite confident this was none of them. He couldn't make out the stars above, but he was sure they would be unfamiliar too. His life was so short and he had seen so little of the world. His wings dragged behind him as he stumbled, each impact sending little spikes of pain through his tiny body. For a moment, he imagined flying. How nice it would be to soar.
But his magic didn't come when called. His beak was unfamiliar and his twisted wings couldn't make the motions his hands used to. There was nothing he could do to heal himself or to coax his true flesh back. He was a bird. He was powerless. He would remain trapped here for some time, he realized.
He cawed sadly. Then he realized that with powerlessness came danger. Were there predators? The natural cycle, which he had studied intensely, suggested there would be. How did birds avoid being eaten? What should he do?
Seri dragged himself to a fallen log and sheltered beneath it. He couldn't really think of anywhere else to go. There was nothing to do but wait and see what happened.
The Seri-bird found its thoughts turning more and more birdlike as the days crawled by. It picked bugs from the ground and the tree bark. It strained to fly, even as its wings continued to ache viciously. It saw the sky and saw others of its kind and yearned desperately to join them. Its heart ached both for the freedom of health and for what it had once been. It felt a little like Seri the human was too large for this body, and so things were lost. Memories slipped out slowly as the sun ticked by.
But there was nothing it could do about it, so it didn't do anything.
"Perhance," said one of the fairies on a cool evening, "lil birdy-birdy wants to chatty chat?"
The Seri-bird shivered and huddled deeper into the bark. The fairies came out at night, all sharp teeth and itchy fingers. They spoke to each other sometimes. The Seri-bird always hid and most nights they seemed not to notice. But tonight, one did. It drifted closer on gossamer wings, clad in woven leaves.
"Prey tell, little little thing! Come close closer. Won't bitty bite! Hark, friend!"
It matched eyes with the bird and the bird knew that silence wasn't an option. It chirped a soft greeting, which the fairy reciprocated in kind.
"Now, now! What manner of thing possess you?" The fairy landed in front of the Seri-bird and reached out to gently cup its chest feathers. "Why, you ain't no birdy-bird!"
Seri pulled back a little. "Yes I am."
"No, no, no! Your form is all wrangled up, all tangle mangled. Real twisty gimmick to you. Look see, look and see!"
The fairy pulled a glass bead from its bag and held it up. The Seri-bird glanced into it and saw a single human eye staring back out.
"See! See!" cried the fairy.
The Seri-bird did see. It saw that it had once been something great and powerful. But it was small and weak now and it was afraid of the fairy, because it knew that fairies were cunning and hungry creatures. They lured birds out with cunning words and dashed their heads open with small rocks. Sometimes they followed wounded birds for weeks, taunting them with big promises. It turned away from the marble, in denial.
"Why how?" asked the fairy. "What made you shrinky small?"
The language of fairies was a chattering speedy thing. All birds could speak it, as it was very similar to the language of the air. The Seri-bird cawed softly and turned its head away.
"Lil birdy bird, if I bigger you, you'll do me a lil favour?"
"No," said the Seri-bird.
"Please, please!" The fairy begged. "I can make you nice and big, big and strong, strong and tall. More than lil bird. More you. Truthest true!"
"No," said the Seri-bird, because it was scared. It knew that this was a problem to be solved on its own. It knew that this wasn't what its master had wanted.
"We fixxy up your flappies very real nice-good!"
The Seri-bird turned away.
The fairy growled with its sharpest teeth and waved its biggest rock. But the Seri-bird remained resolute. It would not accept help.
Eventually the fairies left it alone. The Seri-bird cawed sadly.
The field stands barren. Broken bodies scatter it, the dull moans of the dying grating on the minds of all present. The victors mill about dully. Too few of them remain. Their failed assembly brought only silence from once confident commanders. Among them, the boy laid upon the mud. He clutched the sword in his chest as though he could keep it from penetrating further. He pretended not to notice the searing pain or the blood that coated his fingers and chest. He tried not to notice how his mind was slowly slipping away.
The bird descends from the sky, cawing softly. It circles slowly overhead. The boy smiles. He reaches up for it with aching fingers. The way that the sun hit its feathers was just right. It almost glowed.
"This is why we fight," the boy whispered. "For beauty."
The bird alights on the ground. "Was there beauty in this?"
"Hello bird," said the boy.
"There was no beauty in this," said the bird, a little too sharply.
"We fight to protect beauty," he replied.
The bird gazed into the distance. A great column of smoke marked the location of the nearest city. "What of their beauty?"
The boy laughed weakly. "I thought birds were supposed to be wise."
"Some of us, perhaps."
"It's the cycle. It's human nature. We destroy each other. Their beauty doesn't matter. Only ours does."
The bird flapped its wings, jumping closer to the boy's head. "Surely you are too young to know such things with such certainty," said the bird.
"Surely you are too much an animal to understand human nature," said the boy.
"Perhaps," said Seri, as he reclaimed his truest flesh. Gently, he laid a hand upon the boy's forehead. "Or perhaps we are the same. I am no greater and no lesser than you."
The boy smiled faintly. He could feel his life slipping further and further away. "Why didn't you help us, wizard?"
"Help you?"
"You could've saved us! You could've called a storm, smote our enemies. Run the flesh from their bones. Sharpened our blades in fire, the better to divide bones and organs."
Seri sighed deeply. "Battle changed you."
"Yes," agreed the boy. "How could it not?"
"What happened to your fear?"
His teeth flashed in a small grin. "What's the point in fear? I'm going to die anyway."
"Did you always fear only death or did you ever fear the atrocity as well?"
"Why fear what has already been committed?"
Seri ran his hand down the boy's chest, approaching the sword. He felt the weight of it. It was an ugly metal thing. He hated swords. "What would you do if you live?" he asked.
"You won't."
"Indulge me."
"Take my sword and charge."
"And if the metal rusts?"
"Claw them with my bare hands."
"And if your arms should grow weak?"
"Then my teeth."
"Should your teeth fall from your lips?"
"Then I'll make my words cutting."
Seri turned away to think.
The Seri-bird lived like this for a long time. It was prepared to live like this for a long time more, when a young girl stumbled across it.
She was a large thing. The Seri-bird found that birds were not very good at identifying humans, and so he could tell little more about it than that. But it was many times largest than him and spoke in the vast ponderous language of humans. The Seri-bird had long forgotten the language of humans, and so it only understood the rumble of her voice as a note of danger. It felt the way her footsteps shook the forest floor and the way her hands plucked the berries, feeding them into her stained mouth. It felt the way she was powerful. Truthfully, this was her forest. All the other creatures just lived in it.
She parted the branches above, letting the cool morning sun find its way onto the Seri-bird's ragged form. Truly, it was a sorry sight. Wings twisted and bent, feathers matted with blood and dirt, eyes wild and darting. She approached slowly, hands outstretched, and the bird panicked and tried to scrabble away. But the fear just made it beat its wings harder and harder. She shushed it gently as her hands closed around it.
The Seri-bird panicked at first. It stayed panicked as she picked it up slowly and brought it gently to her chest. It only began to calm as she carried it out of the woods, ever so delicately. They walked together for a long time, the girl being ever so careful not to hurt the small bird further. She spoke as they walked. She spoke in the tongues of humanity and the tongues of snakes and rats, and the tongues of great beasts, and the old arcane words. The Seri-bird only caught odd snippets, for it no longer spoke any of these languages. It did wonder how a human learns so many languages. It wondered if it knew that many once.
The village was massive compared to the forest. Each of the houses stood tall as any tree, the tight dirt roads full of carts and friends, the laughter and bustle of life going on. The girl carried the Seri-bird neatly through it all, greeting people she passed cheerfully and smiling. She dodged jokes about bird soup with a laugh and wink until they finally arrived at a small dark building. She pushed into it, the warm shadows of the interior stinking of herbs and magical things.
Another human hunched over the back and the Seri-bird could indeed tell little about them, because the journey was long and despite the girls best efforts, its wings ached terribly. It struggled to even lift its head as it was placed upon the wooden table, human faces the size of the moon gazing down upon it. They spoke to each other softly, using words it could not understand. Finally, one of the humans placed a finger upon the Seri-bird's breast and whispered to it.
In the language of birds, the witch introduced herself. "Little bird," she said, "my apprentice wishes to heal you."
"Why?" asked the Seri-bird.
"Kindness, I suppose," said the witch. "Do you accept?"
The Seri-bird thought. "What do you ask in return?"
The humans conferred with each other for a moment. The witch turned back to the Seri-bird and said, "she asks only that someday she can see you fly."
Hesitantly, the Seri-bird whispered, "I accept." It did not want to. It was quite afraid that like with the fairies, this was some scheme. But the pain in its wings consumed it. It overpowered it. It gave it no choice.
The witch's apprentice smiled. She carried the bird to her home gently and set up a box for it in the window, with straw and food. She washed it gently in water. And late at night, she spoke to is as she poured over books detailing the theory of magical healing.
The Seri-bird spoke back to her. Neither could understand the other, of course. But that didn't stop them. Understanding would come with time.
All things come with time.
Weeks before, Seri flew over the marching army. He watched as they mustered, as they checked the sharpness of their blades and the accuracy of their maps. He listened to their speeches and wondered about the shape of the tragedy to come. He perched on branches and studied the faces of the soldiers, young and old. It was the young ones that fascinated him most. Where the elders had etched their faces with resolute determination, the younger members still wore fear and anxiety. He could see it in their eyes and tense shoulders and in the way their small hands shook.
Where marches death? What shadows stalk their path? As they wind over twisting road, carts and horses bearing supplies, they creep ever closer to their dark purpose. Seri caws as he flies overhead, blending with the gathering flock of crows. Crows to represent death. Crows to represent tragedy. They mill overhead in a great wheeling swarm, cawing and cackling.
Above all else, Seri picked a boy and followed him. To understand the ocean, you had to understand a raindrop. Seri's gaze hovered over him as he carved his mask from wood, as he polished his blade, as the mud soaked his thin boots. Seri followed the way his muscles were small and fear etched his face.
In this, he saw a cycle. In this, he saw something natural. In this, he saw something familiar.
And when the bored soldiers tried to shoot the birds out of the sky, Seri descended. The feathers broke from his body and multiplied across the sky until there were millions of black blades descending. They cut leather and cloth, bowstrings and tents. They slashed blades into pieces, armour in twain, harnesses and saddles into shreds. The soldiers stood stunned. Their weapons of war had been broken in a second, leaving them untouched. Above, the birds wheeled still. They could tell what had happened and they cried victory as the humans slunk back to angry commanders and quartermasters.
And through it all, Seri wondered what he was going to do next. As he stood above a wounded boy, he considered the nature of cycles and small things. Was he part of this world? Was he obligated? Was he complicit?
Was he even human?
The Seri-bird remembered slowly and hazily. Memories faded back of long nights in the tower, reading by candlelight. Aza's library contained every book that had yet to be written and he recalled carving a path through them, cramming as much as he could into his small mind. His mind was even smaller now, but fragments flashed and he had momentary insights.
The witch's apprentice also could not see the full picture. Her books were worn and ragged. They were fragments her master had scavenged. But the Seri-bird remembered what the diagrams were supposed to look like, and traced them with his talons. He grasped pages and shoved them around the desk. He whispered secrets to the witch's apprentice late at night. And as her grasp of the language of birds grew greater, her understanding grew. She became more confident as she practiced, cutting her hand ever so softly and trying to heal it.
She whispered the words and made the motion and nothing came. And the Seri-bird ached because it used to be so obvious. He used to see the flesh for what it was, treat it as an object with which he could entreat directly. But even his own flesh responded not to his coaxing now. Despite his efforts, his wings were too twisted to ever heal and his humanity was long gone.
The apprentice had no name to the Seri-bird, for she had no name in the language of bird. The Seri-bird also had no name anymore, for it had long forgotten it in the depths of the forest. The Seri-bird adapted to this by calling the apprentice "you". The apprentice adapted to this by calling the Seri-bird "bird". In this way, they bonded, because to name something is to consider it understood.
Months passed and her grasp of the language approached fluency. As she bound her cut palm in cloth, hissing with the pain, she eyed the bird by candlelight and smiled. Gently, the apprentice croaked, "my master says that birds carry the souls of the dead. Is this true?"
The Seri-bird considered. In a past life, it would have known that this was true, but only precious few birds accepted such a noble duty. In this life, it was forced to admit that it did not know.
"So you haven't, then," came her soft reply.
"No," said the Seri-bird.
"Ah." The apprentice stared out of the window sadly, clutching her bandage tightly. "I see."
The Seri-bird hopped closer. "Are you looking for a soul?"
"I don't know." The apprentice seemed to shrink. She was small and quiet. She held the poise of a bird with a broken wing.
The Seri-bird considered for a long time. It did not know what love felt like, but it understood it in theory. "Who are you looking for?"
"My sister died some years ago."
The Seri-bird did understand death. It cawed sadly and nuzzled her arm with its soft head. "I am sorry."
"It's okay," she said. "It wasn't your fault. Death is natural."
The Seri-bird thought for a moment. "Are you going to fix my wings?"
She laughed. "I promised!"
"My wounds are natural."
"It's a vicious world for small creatures, huh?" She sighed and gently stroked the Seri-bird's head with her fingers. "You know what else is natural?"
The Seri-bird shook its head.
"Helping."
The Seri-bird stared out of the window after she'd gone to sleep. It thought about these words for a long time.
Seri studied the field full of dying soldiers. Good and evil were above and beyond him. Who was he to judge morality? Who was he to be a saviour? What right did he have? He glanced upwards to the wheeling flock of birds and for a moment his heart panged. He yearned to be in flight again. He yearned for that infinite freedom.
"Boy," he said at last.
The boy grinned widely, blood dribbling from the corners of his lips. "Yes, oh cruel wizard?"
"Do you know what the greatest kindness is?"
The boy laughed. "Surely it must be death."
Seri's eyes narrowed as he took in the tableau. The living remains of the army were preparing to move. Horses and carts were loaded, soldiers prepared to move. The dying moaned with pain. His gaze drifted skywards again. The sun was setting in the distance. There were clouds. Through it all, the swarm.
"Perhaps then," he said, "you can tell me what the greatest curse is?"
"Life, obviously," spat the boy.
"Wrong." Seri stood over him, letting his shadows expand and his power ripple. "The greatest curse is wisdom." A faint breeze caressed the world. The ozone scent of a thunderstorm spread with it. "And the greatest wisdom is perspective."
"Perspective?" queried the boy.
The edges of a smile teased Seri's small lips. "Watch closely," he said. And then he began to work his magic.
The apprentice released the bird slowly. Shakily, it stretched its wings to full extension. There was no pain. The apprentice laughed joyfully. It was music to Seri's ears, as he climbed higher and higher, as he properly flew for the first time in his life. He cast off the ground and took his freedom. And with it, he found the source of his power again. He felt the echoes of his form deep within himself.
And when Seri knocked on Aza's door, she smiled. "What did you learn?" she asked.
"What I needed," he replied. As it went with the two of them, he didn't need to elaborate.
Aza already knew, of course. She'd been the witch the whole time.
And as one, the birds dove from the sky. Claws outstretched, the flock multiplied and grew until there was one for each of the soldiers, living or dead. They caught the spirits of the dead as they fell, snagging ghosts from the air to force back into bodies. They cawed victoriously as they charged.
And each of the birds was Seri too. Ten thousand times over, he stood above a soldier. Ten thousand times over, he placed his hands upon a head. Ten thousand times over, the soldiers found themselves elsewhere.
The boy was a child in a village. There was peace. There was kindness.
There was war on the horizon. The marauders drew closer and closer with each passing day.
He watched as his friends were dragged away. He watched as his parents were cut down. He felt the roughness of the rope as they tied him and the heat of the flames that licked his home. He felt the taste of ash as he struggled in vain to escape.
He heard their laughter about beauty and victory and nature. He felt their taunts catch in his ears and rattle around his brain as he died.
Seri was alone in the field with his birds. He wiped away his tears and became a bird once more. Freedom in flight. From above, the ground seemed so small and insignificant. The tragedies he had unmade seemed too abstract to be real.
Surely that was natural too.
The boy pulled the sword from his chest with shaking hands. It didn't even leave a mark. He heaved gasping breaths. He looked down at the blade. It felt rough and heavy. Without a word, he dropped it and walked away. There were tears in his eyes.
Birds milled about in the distance. They were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.