A Pinch of Moonlight

  ***

  Blackbird drifted out of his dreams, not exactly sure where he was, but aware he felt better than he had for a long time. He was safe here, he knew that much. He could smell the warm earth in the sunshine, and the sweet, clean smell of rosemary. The only sounds were the gentle splashing of water and rustling of leaves. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. Close by his face, leaves and stalks overlapped, and he focussed his eyes in close upon them, noting the details in the gloom, then gazed through the gaps between them, to where Vicky’s clothes were bright amongst the greenery. Hadn’t she been beside him when he fell asleep, or was that part of a dream? He was lying face down, and, remembering his wounded back, made a gentle effort to move. He was stiff and tender, but definitely healing. As if responding to his alertness, the plants rustled, the stalks straightened and the leaves shook free of each other, uncovering him.

  ‘Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?’ Vicky walked over, a small clay bowl in her hands. ‘I mixed this up for you. Aelwen pointed out the herbs.’

  ‘Smells lovely,’ Blackbird said.

  ‘I think Aelwen wants me to rub it on your back. Is that okay with you?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘It’s very okay,’ he replied.

  Blackbird lay face down again, supporting his head with his arms.

  ‘One of your feathers is coming loose,’ Vicky said. ‘Shall I pluck it out?’

  ‘Be gentle, please,’ he replied.

  There was a triangular patch of small, curled feathers between Blackbird’s shoulder blades. One of them was twisted at an odd angle, the way eyelashes sometimes go when they’re ready to pop out but need a bit of help. Vicky sank her hand into the soft, springy mound of feathers, grasped the loose one and eased it free. It felt weird to be so intimate, but not creepy. She remembered the time she’d saved him from hypothermia, and how natural it had felt to warm his skin against hers. But he’d been a tiny little creature then; now he was a full grown man. He lay with his eyes closed, his long-lashed eyes almost hidden beneath his arm, as he lay with his head tucked under like a bird.

  Vicky twirled the feather in her hand and marvelled at it. So much subtler and finer than a bird’s feather. Without thinking she stroked it against her cheek. So soft, and with a subtle hint of his smell.

  ‘What should I do with this?’ she asked.

  ‘Keep it, if you like. Would make a good charm if I had any magic left in me,’ he replied.

  ‘I could make an earring from it. Thanks Blackbird.’

  And if anyone asks where I got it, I’ll make up a story that I found it in a tropical bird sanctuary. Naturally moulted, not farmed and slaughtered.

  Blackbird relaxed while Vicky smoothed the cool salve onto his wounds. He felt his skin tingle, then go numb. It was a good blend, and smelled delicious.

  ‘Shall I rub some where your wings used to be?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘Hmmm, please,’ he replied.

  He wondered whether that ‘hmmm’ had betrayed how much he was enjoying this, but Vicky just stroked gently where his beautiful wings had once joined his body. As her fingers brushed the scar, it felt as though she was ruffling the tips of his feathers. Although in some sense he’d felt that his wings persisted, and may even be persuaded to regrow, this was the first time he’d sensed them physically. He said nothing, and tried not to react, but as Vicky’s fingers moved over the scars, the memory of his wings returned to him. It was delightful, but brought despair in its wake, as he realised not only had he lost the function of is wings, but also their sensuality. And their beauty. Without them he felt ungainly and disfigured. It didn’t matter that humans and elves were wingless – without those great sweeping curves of jet feathers, he felt half the man he should be.

  ‘I don’t think I can put any more on here – it’s nearly all gone anyway. Does it feel better?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘Feels lovely. Special.’ Special was a new word, one she’d taught him earlier. He knew he wasn’t using it quite right yet from the way she chuckled, but he liked hearing her laugh. And she had respect for him now. Earlier she’d sounded close to tears as he’d recounted his beating in Annwn…

  ‘You knew something like that would happen, didn’t you?’ she had said, ‘and you still went back,’.

  ‘I had no choice. I told you, I couldn’t survive as such a small thing.’

  ‘We’d have looked after you. Fed you, kept you warm and safe from owls and cats and things.’

  ‘But look at me now. Hurt and tired, yes, but a man again.’

  ‘You’re a brave man, Blackbird. And strong and tough. I can’t believe someone so tiny can bear so much pain.’

  ‘You just keep breathing, is all,’ he had said. ‘The rest just happens.’

  But being called brave and strong in that particular voice didn’t hurt either, Blackbird thought, revelling in the memory…

  The delicious smell of the herbs was making him hungry. Gingerly he got to his feet and stretched. The wounds were definitely healing, and the salve had softened his skin as well as numbing it. The scars wouldn’t be so bad now. He still had his back to Vicky. There had been a few moments earlier when he’d been glad he was lying face down, but that had passed.

  ‘You hungry? I can find things to eat here,’ he said, slipping the tunic back over his head.

  ‘I’m starving. I finished Heledd’s flapjacks ages ago,’ Vicky replied.

  He washed his hands in the spring water, taking care not to spill any of the soiled water into the nixies’ domain. They could get very annoyed about that. Then he searched the grove for edible plants.

  Vicky made herself comfortable and watched Blackbird as he moved about the grove, collecting roots, leaves and berries and occasionally conferring with Aelwen. Although stiff from his whipping, there was such grace, such confidence in the way he moved. Not like Dave, who raced through life trampling the insignificant underfoot. She lay on her coat and watched the insects that flitted and crept about the grove. So many of them, so varied. Another thing she hadn’t noticed before, not properly. Two tiny beasts were approaching each other along a grass stalk. Neither seemed to notice the other until they met. Would one eat the other? But after a moment of exploring each other with their antennae, they moved around each other and went on their way. She imagined the one descending the stalk telling the other, ‘there’s not much to see up there; don’t bother,’ but the one going up deciding to carry on regardless. She was surrounded by tiny beings going about their business, paying her no more attention than if she were a rock.

  Blackbird approached and knelt in front of her, offering the bowl in both hands. It was filled with exquisite dainties. They were a little like the stuffed vine leaves of Greek and Turkish cuisine, but he’d actually tied them with the stalks of red wildflowers which contrasted beautifully with the deep green of the wild spinach.

  ‘Am I really allowed to eat these?’ she asked. ‘They look far too pretty!’

  ‘Sure, is for eating,’ he replied. ‘Enjoy.’

  They were divine. It was years since Vicky had eaten meat, so her palate had adjusted to appreciate the delicate flavours of these morsels. Demi-Lee, her palate used to the salt, fat and blood tastes of her meat heavy diet, would have derived as much pleasure from them as a smoker would from sniffing wildflowers, but the subtle tastes delighted Vicky.

  Once they had finished the food, Blackbird announced it was time to leave.

  ‘Really?’ Vicky sighed. ‘But it’s such a nice afternoon.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I have much to do back in Annwn. And that elf will return soon with Demali’s food. I need to be with the young one when that happens.’

  ‘How will you get the nixies to take you?’ Vicky was confused by all the changes.

  Blackbird showed her the crystal. ‘I have this now.’ As the nixie swam up towards him and held out her hand, he gave Vicky a smile he hoped would stay with her a long ti
me. ‘Guard the moon for me, Vicky,’ he said, then the portal swallowed him.