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“Were there other kids before you?” said August.
“There were,” Muninn replied. “And some chose to be memory and some didn’t. And for those that did, none were memory forever. It fills you up, see. Oh, it was wonderful too at first, with the flying and the travel and the sheer breadth of life stretched out... You can’t imagine anything more marvellous. But they creep up, the memories, until you’re stuffed with them, and bursting. And some days it’s easier and some days it’s not, and some are still wonderful. But some aren’t, and the ones that aren’t add up, and in the end you just feel...”
“How do you feel?” said August.
“Old. I feel old,” said Muninn. “When I changed I had eight years. A little younger than you, and I could never imagine how old a person could be, how old they could feel inside. Like a clock running down, and the space between ticks getting wider.”
“I feel like that,” said August. “Well, not old. But tired. I didn’t think it was possible to be this tired.”
“It’s your body that’s tired, “ said Muninn. “Just your body. There’s more of you that can live, and you wouldn’t have to be tired again for a long, long time.”
“It’s not just my body,” said August. “It’s all of me. And I think... I think no thank you, Muninn. I’d really like to go to sleep, if that’s okay. I used to think it would be so terrible. There was so much I wanted to do, and so much that I’d never get to do. I was sad all the time. I’m not sad any more, Muninn. I’m too tired to be sad. I just want to go to sleep.”
There was a long silence. Then, “I see,” said Muninn, and her voice was weightier than age and iron.
“I’m sorry,” said August. “So sorry. Please, Muninn.”
“Do not be sorry,” said Muninn, and her voice was heavy and so kind. “There is no need for sorry. If you are more tired than I am, little chick, then you go to sleep as nicely as you can.”
“Muninn?” said August. “All those things I never got to do? It’s not so bad. I got to do this, and I got to see you. And Huginn. Will you tell him thank you, please?”
“Huginn is here too,” said Muninn. “Open your eyes, August. Just one more time.”
And when he did, August found he was back in his own little bed, with the tiger blanket and the beads about him and Dad sleeping beside. Huginn and Muninn were standing on the end of his bedstead, their sharp-clawed feet curled around the wooden frame. Huginn had his head on one side, and he was staring at August with flat black eyes, eyes that might have been looking at an insect, or a mouse, or some other small creature of no great significance. He looked, August thought drowsily, as if he were trying to figure out a clue in a crossword, as if August were a tiny cog in a puzzle beyond imagining. And Muninn was there next to him, with her iron eyes softer than he’d seen them yet.
“Muninn?” he said again, and it was harder now to talk than it had ever been. “What was your name, before? When you were little, like me.”
“Hanan,” said Muninn. “I was Hanan.”
“I’m going to be a sparrow, Hanan,” said August, and his voice was very quiet as he closed his eyes and went out into darkness.
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About Octavia Cade
Octavia Cade is a New Zealand author. She’s spent the past few years as a doctoral candidate in science communication. Her short stories have appeared in markets such as Strange Horizons, Apex Magazine, and Aurealis.
Apart from her short stories, she’s previously published four novellas. If you liked The August Birds, you might also like The Life in Papers of Sofie K., which is a fantasy biography of the Russian mathematician Sofia Kovalevskaya.
The other three available novellas are Trading Rosemary, The Don’t Girls, and Vita Urbis.
You can follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/OJCade
My blog is at https://ojcade.com/
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