When I get back home, Nevan is waiting for me.
“Well?” he says, but he’s already seen my bag, empty.
“What happened?” he says, but I don’t know how to respond.
I try to walk past him but he grabs hold of my shoulder. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
I struggle out of his grasp and run inside. I want to break something, smash something, but then I remember Mam. I climb up the stairs and go through into her room. She’s asleep on the bed with a blanket pulled up to her chest, and she’s wearing one of Dad’s old shirts. I place my hand on her forehead, feel the heat. It’s been a week, now, and it’s only getting worse.
Downstairs, Nevan is sitting in the kitchen, sipping a cup of herbs. He stares at me.
“I didn’t see one,” I say. “Not one all day.”
It should be him out there, but he hurt his leg half a year ago, and he’s been limping ever since. It’s hard enough for him getting to work and back every day, and he’s in no state to lie out on the cloud-cliffs waiting for a bird to appear, especially when there’s so few of them around. So that means it’s down to me.
“You’ll go out again tomorrow?” he says, but it’s more of a statement than a question. “She’s getting worse,” he says, not looking at me, and then his voice gets quieter. “We’re running out of time.”
“Aye,” I say. “Same again tomorrow.”
When I was younger, I wanted to be the greatest falconer in the world. I told Dad I’d catch a light-hawk and train it, and we’d be a team. Dad stared at me like I was daft. “You might as well try to train a hurricane,” he said.
Dad never really talked much about the beauty of the birds, or the poetry in the way they moved through sky, incandescent, but he didn’t need to. He did talk about respect, though, about knowing our place in relation to them. “They’ve been here longer than we have,” he would say.
I knew that must be a long time, because our family has lived in these parts for decades now, rippling back through the generations. We used to live off the land, foraging for plants up on the cloud-cliffs, but then the prices fell and we couldn’t make a living from it. That was when Dad started doing the tours, taking groups out onto the cliffs, showing them how to cross the peaks, the clouds swirling about. People came from miles around to see the birds, but what they wanted to see most was a light-hawk. You don’t get them everywhere, you see. They live alone, never with a mate, hardly ever producing young. Some people think they’re immortal.
When Dad died, Nevan took over the tours, but he never loved the place the way Dad did, and eventually he gave up. I wanted to take over myself, but Mam said I was too young, so recently I’ve only gone up to the cloud-cliffs for my own sake, to pick dewberries and black root, to see if I can catch a glimpse of a hawk, a surge of light. Until now, that is. Now, I bring death.
In the morning, I go out again, like I said I would. I find the same spot as yesterday and settle into position. Down below me a ledge juts out of the cliff side. There’s a nest there, with three little fleet-tit chicks screaming for food, their blue plumes shaking. I watch them for a while, hoping the light-hawk might pass by while I’m distracted, hoping I won’t have a chance to do what I’m here for.
Around midday, the sun looks bigger than usual, brighter. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that it’s the light-hawk, gliding in my direction.
I tell myself to move, but I can’t. All I can do is watch her go, until she disappears out of sight.
I run home. Nevan is still at work, so he’s not there to greet me, not there to tell me how I’ve failed, how it’s my fault if we don’t get the medicine in time.
But maybe there’s another way.
I comb the house, searching for anything of value. I find some old books in decent condition, some silver cutlery, Dad’s old pocket watch he gave me before he died. He’d hate the idea of me selling it, but if he knew what the alternative was … I feel sick just thinking about it. I gather up this scattered collection, a box of paltry offerings, and I wait. When Nevan comes home, we’ll take it all into town; we’ll sell it, and we’ll buy the medicine for Mam.
Nevan slumps through the door after dark, his eyes weary. I’m waiting for him, but he takes one glance at my collection and smacks me round the head. “This is what you’ve been doing all day?” he cries, and I can’t look at him. “Did you even go to the cloud-cliffs?” he says.
“I did, I tried, but I couldn’t do it.”
He grabs my collar and pushes me up against the wall. I struggle against him but he’s too strong. “You need to try harder, don’t you?” He screams and knocks a chair over, and then it’s like he’s a pair of bellows and all the anger’s been pushed out of him. He sits there with his head in his hands, and then he goes up to see Mam. I don’t follow.
In the middle of the night, I’m woken by shouting, like someone’s having a fight. I run into Mam’s bedroom to find Nevan there, grappling with Mam while she convulses. “What’s happening?” I shout, but Nevan ignores me, his hands fixed on her shoulders. In a few seconds, she goes from a whirling storm to a gentle breeze, and then she’s still. My brother stares at me. He doesn’t say anything.
I don’t sleep the rest of the night. I wait until it’s just starting to get light, and I set out for the cloud-cliffs.
This time, it doesn’t take long to see the bird. It flies in a great circle, cuts rings in the sky, hits a pocket of warm air and soars upwards before gliding back down, always watching.
I think of the first time I saw a light-hawk, with Dad. We’d been watching for hours, me complaining most of the time. How could a bird be worth so much waiting, sitting around for a whole day? Then I saw it. It was like a shooting star, like a scorching spark from a bonfire, like the sun itself, breaking from behind the clouds. Dad fell silent, and so did I. I felt giddy on the way home, and closer to Dad than ever before, as if he’d told me something no one else knew, me and me alone.
And then I think of Mam, lying there in bed, the sickness taking hold of her.
The arrow in my hand has feathers at the end of the shaft. They’re nothing like the feathers on the light-hawk, but they might be enough. I nock the arrow in my bow and pull it back, my arm shaking from the tension, from the weight of what I’m about to do.
The hawk hovers, almost stationary, lifted by an updraft. It’s almost like she knows what’s happening, can feel the yawning pit in my stomach and wants to make it easy for me.
I loose the arrow. It arcs through the air with violence, inelegance, and it pierces the bird.
I drag myself over to where she lands, my legs swaying as I cross the gap between peaks, the clouds swirling beneath.
The bird is warm in my hands. She’s even more beautiful up close than she was in the air. I study the patterns of the feathers, the way they refract the light, bending and shaping it like crystals, or running water. The bird still glows from within, a beating furnace. Only its eyes are dark.
“I’m sorry,” I say, over and over until my throat is dry.
Nevan takes the bird from me, hardly saying a word. He goes into the shed to butcher it, to slide the feathers from their crystal casing, to remove the glowing heart.
I can’t bear to watch. I lie in bed, wishing none of this had happened. I can’t even bring myself to check in on Mam.
Nevan leaves for the city early in the morning. I sit in the bedroom with Mam, watching her. I place damp towels on her forehead, and I change her bedpan, and I think about how the sky around the cloud-cliffs is dimmer now, how there’s less light in the world thanks to me. I think about what Dad would say. Every now and again, Mam’s eyes open and she gazes at me and says my name.
The door opens downstairs. Nevan has a big smile on his face, and he’s holding a bottle of syrupy-looking liquid in his hands. “I got it,” he says, roaring triumphantly. “I got i
t.”
I run toward him but I stop halfway. “What’s that you’re wearing?” I say.
He puts the bottle on the table and takes off his coat. It’s one I’ve never seen before. “There was some money left over,” he says. “Look, it’s like pure gossamer. Warm as anything.” He holds it out to me but my arms are down by my side, my hands balled into fists.
Nevan opens his bag and takes out another coat, folded in two. “I got one for you, too, and for Mam. They’ll be great in the winter.”
Before he’s even finished speaking, I’m charging toward him, my arms flailing all around. I land a few blows on his chest but he’s bigger than me, stronger too, and he holds me off.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he says.
I open my mouth but I can’t say anything, and I can feel my eyes welling up. I grab the coat and run out the front door.
I run and run until I’m at the cloud-cliffs. It’s dark now, the sun below the horizon. It’s dangerous traversing the peaks in the daytime; without the light of the sun it would be suicide. I stand at the edge, feeling bile rise in my stomach, and I throw the coat into the air. It flattens out and floats down, spiraling until it hits the clouds, and then it’s gone.
The medicine works. It takes time, but even after a day, the change is undeniable. Mam smiles at me and asks what day it is, says she can’t remember much. I don’t tell her what’s happened, what I’ve done. Maybe I never will.
When I’m not with Mam, I’m out at the cliffs. I lie in place, waiting, hoping I might see another light-hawk. Nothing.
On the third day, when the sun is almost set, I notice something glowing on one of the outer peaks. I know I should come back tomorrow when it’s light, when I can see where I’m placing my feet, but I go anyway. Maybe there’s a part of me that won’t mind if I lose my footing and fall.
I move from peak to peak, the clouds swirling around and below me, my heart racing as the stone and dry moss scrunch below my feet. The air is thin and my breath is short but I can’t stop. A couple of times I feel my balance going but I swing my arms around and recover. It’s only luck or instinct that stops me from falling.
At the outer peak, I find the source of the light. Hidden away in a rocky crag is a small nest, made from twigs and pieces of moss. There’s an egg cradled in the center, glowing from within. I cup it in my hands.
The Long Dizzy Down
written by
Ziporah Hildebrandt
illustrated by
Asher Ben Alpay
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ziporah Hildebrandt studied poetry writing at Hampshire College. She has worked as a cook, sailboat crew member, Tarot reader, astrologer, bookkeeper, proofreader, shopkeeper, receptionist, sales analyst, cheese cutter, babysitter, tie-dyer, editor, and teacher. In short, she’s had the typical writerly jobs that help assure that a writer has a long and interesting career.
A promising early stint as a children’s book writer was interrupted by long illness. After a recent recovery, Ziporah turned to Writers of the Future for her first submission. Ziporah lives in a forest on a hill in Western Massachusetts with a hundred peonies, Kokomo the cat, and chef-motorcyclist husband, with whom she rides pillion. Her day job is as an energy healer; businesses include garlic growing, flower essences, and shibori silk dyeing with plants from her garden. She also has fun with orchids, mushroom hunting, photography, D&D, cross-country skiing, and whatever else pops up.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
Asher Ben Alpay was born in 1989 in Mabinay, Negros Oriental, a small and mountainous town in the Philippines.
He has drawn ever since his hands could hold a pen or pencil. His father was his first inspiration when it came to art. When Asher was very young, his father exposed him to acrylic paintings, charcoal, and ink illustrations.
Asher stopped drawing in college, and after college, for practical reasons, he went back to working as a graphic designer and eventually made his way back to doing art. A self-taught artist in the field of digital art, Asher found that social media—through forums, articles, art sites, and blogs—helped push his craft and imagination one step further, and he gained some recognition in the online community.
Asher continues doing what he loves, working as an artist and designer for private companies and clients. He is currently based in Dumaguete City, Negros Oriental, Philippines and is always in search of new accomplishments and experiences.
The Long Dizzy Down
That red suit Major woman was frownie at me when the jiggly-gel jumped out of my eyes and ears and mouth and I could see and hear and breathe. Three Hospital people were still lifting me out of the green gel tank, tubes and wires and jiggly-gel all over me. They put me on a bed and ran out the whooshy door, away from that Major.
Gray-head Lisa popped shiny chairs from the wall and a man in a blue blue suit sat with Major. I had big fear of those red and blue suits which on Amor Colony mean important orders people. Big fear and no dizzy, no Jake. So I watched the holo slidey show on the ceiling, Old Earth forest then slidey to humpy camels on sandy dunes.
That meanie Major saw where my eyes looked and chopped a hand at Lisa. “Turn that off. I need him to focus.” A fish in the middle of its swim was gone, just curvy white ceiling and that tall Major over me, straw hair spiky around her frownie face. A blinking membering machine sat on her red suit shoulder, one eye spot turning like a station in orbit. She said meanie voice, “Bill. Start at the beginning.”
I tried to make buzzy with my tongue at her but my mouth didn’t work that much yet. Just making words was hard. I started where I want. Which was here, Amor Colony. Ship came with me and Jake. I thought this was my first time at a colony, me all ready for fun-good. Jake said, “Sorry, Bill, we’ve been to lots of colonies.”
That Major wanted me to tell about them all, haha on her. Ship helped me do my every job at each colony and then cleaned my head so-good clear. That’s what Jake told me. Which is why I member some things, not others.
Telling was so harder than dizzy. My head badached making words for that Major. So I used some of Jake’s words and Jake’s poems for more happyhead. Jake liked words, he had beautiful words.
It was a long dizzy down the outer system, Ship swinging wide for bending bands of slipstream solar and Jake and I holding onto each other riding slow feed dizzy bursts from Ship.
I membered Jake, no one knows where he is. Nice nurse Lisa gave me soft cloth to wipe my tears.
That Major said, tell about the ship and how that was different from before.
I never liked that before word. I didn’t like how she said Ship like just any ship; Ship’s not!
Here’s what that Major said to me: “If you don’t tell us your story, Bill, we will cut open your head and take the story out.”
Nice Lisa made bad-breathing so I knew they could do that. Ship takes dat from my head without cutting anything. Which I said. I was frownie, too.
“Don’t you care about people, Bill?”
I care a lot. Which those red and blue suits knew! I was Bill the Hero. Maybe she forgot? Maybe Hospital cleaned her head?
The blue suit man has Mark written on his heart. He said, “Your story will save people’s lives. More people’s lives. You already saved David’s life.” Mark smiled at me. “Would you please try?”
I liked that saving lives. I liked David. I smiled at Mark. I needed more soft cloth. Then I told some more. If I thought of Jake’s mouth making the words, it wasn’t so hard.
Before Ship? Nothing. Only Jake. Jake and I are brothers. Laughing starswallow of ripping through a nebula when we were so-close and our touching filled us like dizzy only so-so-better and Jake made words sing poems. We could only be so-close in the far-between when Ship almost slept from hunger and there’s no dizzy, only humdizzy just enough to feel. I so-much loved him and right to the end, did everything
he said. I magic-wish I could tell him.
That end? That was the beginning of this new taste of me, Bill, which is so-good! But it made my head and my heart mixed up so bad-bad, the beginning and the ending like that.
That Major wasn’t interested in me or in Jake, just ship, ship, ship. She didn’t know Ship, only other ships which are nothing like Ship! So I talked into her membering machine a long time about everything that was in my head and answered all her questions. With no dizzy not to, no dizzy for anything, I tried to help. Except she was not nice in her voice and nothing of her tasted sweet, like Ship can make hard dizzy into sweet-feel-good. So I was frownie at her questions. I did tell; Mark smiled when I did and I liked his smiles.
But my head hurt and my heart hurt and dizzy didn’t make it stop. No dizzy made me-taste of Bill even better and stronger and I wished I could share this me-taste with Jake, and taste the Jake-taste of him without the dizzy. But I can’t. It is hard and hurt so-bad.
I told some more.
We’d been on Amor Colony for a few E-days, Ship at dock happy-snacking on solars from the long down. Me and Jake go on factgather: me underground with Amor Colony people; Jake on Amor IX surface—no air, no light, just far-off diamond chip stars and rainbow dat of dizzy for Ship.
I met people, so-many! I member every face, every name, every smile. Jake met no one. Ship needed Jake for dat scans and gravprobing, and unShip people don’t like Jake’s Ship parts even in his suit.
I was with people in happygather when Amor quaked. Some tunnels fell in behind us. There was dust and smoke and alarms and we heard animals. Their cages popped when the power failed.
That Major thought I did it! Jake could do it easy pie! Not me! I knew about the quake and the animals and the power and the fire from the dizzy.