Issue 1 Preview: Songbirds

Completing our previews of Spectra Magazine’s Issue 1, here’s an excerpt from our cover story Songbirds, By Kristine Kathryn Rusch. If you’d like to discuss Songbirds, or any of the other content in Issue 1, don’t forget to head on over to the forums – we’re keen to hear your feedback and chat with the community about how to improve Spectra.

In the meaning, you can learn more about Kristine on her official website, and enjoy this preview of her (literally and thematically) captivating fantasy tale of a mythical creature hunter who learns a thing or two about becoming the hunted.

“A hunter of magical and mythical creatures meets his match, and discovers the boundaries of his captives’ prison extend further than he ever imagined.”

Songbirds

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

He knew that the other magic hunters had snuck away surreptitiously, hoping to beat him at the profession he had invented. But they would not. In their entire careers, they only found the easy, obvious creatures. It took Reynaldo’s patience, his determination, and his stillness to bring the truly elusive creatures out of hiding.

That, and his ability to find the remote places where the creatures lived in the first place. He had been the only one of Tadeo’s hunters to capture creatures like unicorns and sea witches. His triumphs gave him a room in the palace, a favored position at Tadeo’s table, and a bit of gold, but not enough to last him through the long dry spells between Tadeo’s whims.

Songbirds were proving the most elusive of the magics that Reynaldo had ever sought. Reynaldo had hoped that Tadeo wouldn’t learn of them, but he did a year ago when a storyteller visited court. The storyteller told an ancient tale about the Songbirds and the days when their magic filled the kingdom. Then they had served the king and, more than once, saved his crown.

Things had changed in the centuries since. For reasons the storyteller did not explain, the Songbirds rebelled. Most were slaughtered, and the remainder — it was said — went into hiding. No one had seen a Songbird in nearly a thousand years.

Reynaldo had tried to tell Tadeo that, but of course the Prince didn’t listen. Tadeo had been a magic collector since childhood, and to get a magical creature thought extinct only increased the lure. Tadeo thought it perfect for his coronation, half a year away. He wanted to reveal the greatest magic of all on that day.

Reynaldo sighed and ate the thick warm bread. It had a freshness that was foreign to his tongue. Not even the bread at the palace was this good. His second mug of ale was not diluted this time, and the cheese was the best he had ever tasted.

He was nearly done eating when the serving wench climbed on a stool in front of the fireplace. Conversation ceased, and Reynaldo pushed back his chair. The girl seemed too young to be the entertainment, but she wrapped her hands around her knee as if she were accustomed to sitting in front of a crowd. She surveyed everyone before her gaze met his. She had very old eyes.

She leaned her head back, and began to sing without accompaniment. The hush in the room grew. Her voice had a richness and depth that he had never heard in a human voice before. It had overtones, undertones, and harmonics all its own.

Her first song had no words, and neither did her second. By the third, he no longer listened for words, only for tonalities and phrasing. The sound of her voice sent shivers through him. The place seemed brighter, the fire warmer, and the girl prettier.

He found himself wondering if he’d had too much to drink, and knowing he hadn’t. He was listening to a Songbird.

He had completed his quest.

#

Reynaldo knew better than to capture her in public. He had some research to do. He needed to find out if the girl’s family were all Songbirds and if the rest of the village knew it. The girl — young as she was — might not be the best choice for Tadeo’s collection. An older Songbird might serve better and not be as hard to hold.

Magic, Reynaldo knew, was always hard to hold, especially for those who had none. He had captured magic countless times using only his intelligence and his strength. Underestimating magic was always the worst thing a hunter could do.

Reynaldo listened until the girl finished her miraculous concert. The local crowd applauded and then went back to their ale as if the girl had done nothing unusual. He allowed himself to be shocked and pleased, made a point of complimenting her on the beauty of her voice, and got a blush in return as well as a free mug of ale. But he asked no questions, sought no answers, just paid his table with one of his last coins and took the stairs to his tiny room.

And there he collapsed on the bed, determined to have a plan by morning.

#

Reynaldo dreamed of colors so bright that they hurt his eyes, scents so pure that they cleared his head, and fabrics so soft that they soothed his skin. He had had dreams like this before. He believed they were moments when he actually touched magic, when he was allowed to enter a world where life was more vivid, each sensation more profound than the one before. He knew if he stayed here long, he would never want to leave. But he also knew that he could not stay.

The colors faded first, then the scents, and finally the softness. He was cold and damp, and the bed smelled of swamp water. He stirred, realized that his face was wet, and opened his eyes.

He was lying face-down in a rut on a muddy road. It was raining so hard that the rut was filling with water. If he’d dreamed much longer, he would have drowned.

Reynaldo sat up and wiped the mud from his face. He was wearing his cloak and boots, even though he had taken them off for bed. The cloak had been stolen from a water elf, and kept his torso dry. But his pants and boots were wet as they had been the night before.

He was in a clearing, and the road continued north into a forest of trees. The same forest he had seen the night before at the edge of the village.

But the village itself was gone. There were no hovels, no small houses, no inn. And no stable.

Cara. He felt his breath catch. He scanned the area, looking for her, hoping she was grazing beneath a tree. He should have seen her white coat even if she were miles away, but he saw nothing except the dark trees, mud, and the greenish gray grass.

She was gone. They had taken her, his prize possession, his heart, and his companion.

It was almost as an afterthought that he patted his cloak, feeling for his purse — humble as it was — and couldn’t find that either.

The great magic hunter had been robbed by his quarry. They had known from the beginning who he was and what he wanted, and they had toyed with him all night. Then they had left him here, alone, to die.

Although that wasn’t accurate. He had clearly been at their mercy. They could have killed him at any point. They let him live as a warning, perhaps to Tadeo, or perhaps to himself.

But they had taken Cara, and no one did that. He had to find her. He couldn’t imagine being without her.

Rain splattered around him. The puddle grew deeper, the mud thicker. He got up and shook his hair free of his cloak, and studied the area, looking for signs of magic.

The clearing was an unnatural one, with paths that branched off the road and then stopped. Large patches of dead grass, and even larger patches of mud covered the ground. He saw bits of hay and horse manure where the stable had recently stood.

The village had been here, just as the inn had been here, just as the stable had been here. But it was all gone now.

The wind came up, cold and biting, pushing Reynaldo back toward the palace. He stood his ground.

He had eaten fairy food and had awakened hungry. He was not hungry now. He had slept the sleep of the enchanted and awakened exhausted. He was not exhausted now.

Obviously his meal and dreams had been as real as they had always been. During his sleep, the Songbirds had taken their village and left him behind.

If Reynaldo went back to the palace for help, he would have to admit his failure. His failure would please Tadeo almost as much as success. Tadeo had been giving Reynaldo tougher and tougher assignments, hoping for this day when his great magic hunter would falter.

But Tadeo did not realize that success was all Reynaldo had. No family, no real friends, no wealth, and no home of his own. Since Reynaldo had been forced into this cursed life by his even more accursed talent, he had lost everything except himself.

Now he faced losing even that.

He would not ride back to Tadeo in shame. He would retrieve his horse, at the very least. At the very best, he would clip the wings of a Songbird and carry it home to its own large, beautiful, gilded cage.

#

Six days of tracking on foot. It rained the entire time — although the rain varied from a downpour to drippy mist. The forest seemed empty of life except for Reynaldo, downed branches, and fallen leaves. He managed to scrounge berries, roots, and bark. That and rainwater kept him sated. But he never had a fire, and his feet were never dry.

The rain, he knew, was not natural. Nor was the stillness of the forest. He had to strain to hear his own feet moving through the mud.

And as he walked, he reviewed what the stories had told him about Songbirds.

Songbirds looked human but lacked all human kindness, all human warmth. Their magic lived in their songs. As long as a Songbird sang the same piece — without starting over — it could create a world with that music. Or it could persuade, cajole, or change a long held opinion. Some even said that a Songbird’s song could make a heartless man fall in love.

On the seventh day Reynaldo found the village beside a raging river. The village looked the same as before. The houses were in the same order: the road went through the center with paths coming off the sides. The inn was at the north end, and the stable was beside it.

He knew that he found the place because they wanted him to. If they could move the village, they could have kept it hidden from him forever. They finally wanted to see him — for reasons he was sure he would soon discover.

Reynaldo went directly to the stable and pulled open the wooden doors. Lamps hung from pegs on the wall, shedding a soft light on the straw-covered floor. Cara was in the last stall. She whickered when she saw Reynaldo, and his heart leapt. He had missed her; part of him had thought he would never see her again.

He stepped inside. For the first time in a week, water did not hit him in the face. He was cold and numb, unable to absorb the heat.

He started toward Cara when a melodious voice said, “Stop.”

Reynaldo sighed. He had known that it wouldn’t be this easy.

“Give me my horse and my money,” he said, “and I will leave you in peace.”

“Of course you will.” The voice mocked him. “Until you remember your promise to your prince to clip our wings.”

The phrase was not metaphorical. Songbirds had wings, so the stories said, invisible wings that, if clipped properly, would forever trap them in the hand that maimed them.

“You seem to know a lot about me.” Reynaldo was still watching Cara. The horse was not nervous around the Songbird, and magical creatures usually made Cara skittish.

“Dreams reveal much about the dreamer.”

So they had peered into his sleep. The Songbirds had a greater magic than he had originally thought.

“But dreams do not reveal all,” Reynaldo said. “I did not promise Tadeo that I would clip your wings. I promised him a Songbird for his coronation.”

“For his collection.”

Slowly Reynaldo turned, hands out, showing that he meant no harm. “Tadeo always wants magic for his collection. What he does with the magic I bring back is his choice. I was instructed to bring back a Songbird for the coronation, nothing else.”

He could not see the Songbird, but there were shadows near the door that hadn’t been there before.

“You tell pretty lies,” the Songbird said. “Is that how you capture your prey?”

“No.”

“Pity. It would seem the logical thing.” The Songbird stepped out of the shadows. It was the girl, the one who had waited on him, who had sang to him. Only she was not a girl. That had been an illusion. She was a small woman whose hair, skin, and eyes were brown. She wore a brown cape over brown clothing. The only spots of color on her were her red lips and rosy cheeks.

She held herself like a human woman would. He had thought Songbirds would move differently to protect their invisible wings.

“My horse,” he said softly, “and my money. Then I will leave.”

She smiled. “You’re exhausted and wet. You haven’t eaten properly in a week. We can give you food and shelter.”

“Like you did the last time?” he said. “I nearly drowned.”

“The food was real enough, and the bed, too. You spent half the night in it.”

“You let me know what you were.”

“It took you long enough to figure that out.”

“I knew the moment you sat on that stool.”

“And you did nothing? That’s hard to believe.” She crossed her arms. Her cloak bunched slightly, unnaturally, in the back.

“You watched me that first time, peered into my dreams when I slept in the forest, and then let me find you.” He glanced at Cara. She seemed to be watching with great interest.

The Songbird did not answer his question, but he saw the truth of it in her eyes. That was the only way they would have known his identity. He hunted infrequently, and never the same creatures twice.

“That still doesn’t explain,” he said into her silence, “why you’re treating me this way. You could have killed me that night. Or better, you could have ignored me. There was no reason to let me see your village. But you want something. What is it?”

“We want to give you your life back,” she said.

He felt his shoulders stiffen. “My life has never left me. Or are you telling me that I’m dead?”

“You’re not dead.” Her voice was soft. “You just haven’t lived for years.”

“Perhaps by your definition.” The tension was working its way down his back. “I don’t sing pretty songs and laugh as much as some think I should. But I live.”

“In service to a boy who believes that beauty should be caged.”

Reynaldo took a deep breath. Some of the tension slipped away. “So that’s it. You want me to renounce my work.”

“More than that,” she said. “We want you to free the creatures that Tadeo holds.”

“We?” he said. “Do you speak for yourself or your people?”

“The Songbirds listen to me.”

“And they want me to destroy Prince Tadeo’s collection.”

“Yes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because of your dreams.” She took a step toward him. Her voice was mesmerizing, warm, and rich. “I can let you live in the world of your dreams.”

He recognized charm when he heard it. Of course Songbirds could entice. Magic lived in their voices.

“Live in the world of my dreams.” He made it sound like he was tempted and — if he told himself the truth — he was. “The lush beautiful magical world that I see whenever I’m near something unusual?”

She nodded.

“You want me to risk everything, including my life, for a place where the food tastes better and the colors are brighter? A world I can barely remember when I’m awake? A world I’m not even sure exists?”

Those eyes held him. “Are you sure this one exists?”

He laughed. “I am not a philosopher. Questions like that are better contemplated by smarter men than I.”

“There are few men smarter than you are,” she said. “You simply have chosen a poor way to use your intelligence.”

He crossed his arms. “The creatures I’ve given to Prince Tadeo live in complete luxury.”

An emotion flashed across her face too quickly for him to read it — Disgust? Amusement? — he wasn’t sure.

“You must decide what you want.” The vibrancy had left her voice.

“What if I don’t do what you want?”

“Then you’ll wander the forest until you decide to return empty-handed. You will lose your status as the greatest magic hunter, but you will have your life. Or you could chose to make a new life away from the kingdom. You do not have to do what we want.”

The tension had spread through him. “If I do what you ask, Prince Tadeo will have me killed.”

“You chose to come after us.”

“There are others who are after you.”

Her eyes glittered. “But there is only one who can free Tadeo’s prisoners.”

He was silent for a moment, weighing her words. Then he said, “What if I don’t want to live in the land of my dreams? If I do what you ask, what will you give me instead?”

“A miracle,” she said quietly.

He had seen miracles all his life — and had captured them for his prince.

“I’ll do as you ask,” he said.

# # #

Continue reading Songbirds in issue 1 of Spectra Magazine. And you can also check out previews of our other Issue 1 stories below:

Wolf-Being, by Kim Falconer

When The Arizona Moon Meets The Arizona Sun, by Brian Dolton

A Distant Sound of Hammers, by S. Boyd Taylor