I saw the clouds come chasing ‘cross the sky,
Riding fast on cool and lonely breeze,
It told the birds that it was time to fly,
Away from storm and to the shaded trees.
“Away in yer birdie world again?” A harsh voice plunged her back to earth and out of her reverie, “wastin’ yer time over silly dreams,” continued her mother, “I tell yer Caliga, if humans were s’posed to fly they’d be given wings, so enough of your wishing nonsense and mind yer don’t go far – the storm’s comin’!” with that, she turned and bustled back towards the house, muttering about unhelpful children and peas that needed shelling.
Caliga sighed, ruffled imaginary feathers, and stared after her mother with what she hoped to be the superior, defiant glare of an albatross. Then, ignoring her mother’s words, she stalked off towards the forest, once again lapsing into her daydream of flight.
As she walked, something came back to her again and again, the story of Volucris – the man who learned to fly. “They say it’s just a myth, but I know it’s true,” thought Caliga stubbornly, “one day, I will fly… I wish… I wish…”
I also wished to follow them in flight,
To conquer every cloud among the blue,
Despite my human form I hoped I might
Be like the birds and have my wish come true.
The storm was drawing nearer, the thunder rolling like the beating of a thousand giant wings. Caliga reached the shelter of the forest just as the first drops of rain spattered onto the canopy above, but still the storm grew fiercer, the wind started tearing through the trees like giant talons, lightening streaked down, and above all the uproar, birds could be heard shrieking and squalling, as if heralding the great storm, calling to it until it was directly above the forest.
Caliga was terrified, she had never experienced such a rough storm in all her life, she crawled as far as she could in amongst the roots of a great tree for shelter. Still the storm grew fiercer and the sound of the birds louder, suddenly, a mighty roar of thunder, accompanied by a blinding streak of lightening hit the tree where she was sheltering, the explosion threw her across the forest floor and left her breathless, her mind reeling and her ears buzzing from the sound.
She didn’t know how long she slept, or indeed whether she was unconscious, but when she awoke the storm was gone and all was quiet, the sunlight made patterns on the floor of the forest as a soft breeze rippled through the leaves and the sweet birdsong, that was forever winding through the trees of the forest continued as normal.
Caliga thought doubtfully over the events of the previous night, wondering whether it was all a product of here flyaway imagination, but even as she thought this, she knew that it wasn’t the case, for ahead of her was the charred remains of a great tree. All the ground around the tree was covered in a thick layer of ash and pieces of burnt wood. The tree itself seemed to have been split in two, right down to it’s twisted roots, leaving two sharp spikes pointing like daggers to the clear sky above. Caliga wanted to run, run away from the nightmare of the storm and the great tree’s stark, burnt shell, but something made her stay. Despite herself, Caliga found that she was walking towards the burnt tree, something drew her to those dagger-like spikes, pointing so defiantly toward the heavens. She peered into the gap between them. Caliga stifled a gasp, there was something glowing in the gap, without thinking, she reached in and picked it up, it was an arrow, but something about it seemed unusual: it was shaped like the strong, long, flight feathers of an eagle and seemed to glow with some of the power and radiance of the bolt of lightening from the storm. But something else also gleamed in its knife-bright depths, it’s shaft as hard and dry as polished bone and it’s shimmer like the killing glare of a vulture. As Caliga gazed at it in wonder, words started to appear like ripples across its surface:
Use me to take another’s flight, Should you wish to gain their plight…
Her heart beat faster, “could this be it?” she thought, “is this the key to all my hopes and dreams – to fly… to fly!” But even as her excitement grew she realised with dread at what she had to do – ‘to take another’s flight,’ it had said. She imagined herself aiming the arrow, it’s path through the air and the helpless, anguished cry as soft feathers hit the ground. “How can I kill a bird?” she moaned, her dreams seemed so near, but so out of reach because she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t kill something that she loved so much. “My stupid conscience, I’m so weak willed!” she hissed furiously, kicking at the leaves around her in frustration. But still she couldn’t bring herself to kill a bird.
Over the next few days, Caliga as in turmoil, every bird she saw reminded her of the arrow that she kept in her belt, several times, she had taken her father’s bow and aimed the arrow at some bird, yet she would either be incapable of letting loose the arrow or her hands would shake so much that she would miss, perhaps because something inside told her that it was wrong, that an innocent bird’s life wasn’t worth her wish to fly, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was as if the arrow had cast a spell on her, every second of the day she was pursued by visions of flight, even her dreams were constantly haunted by it – it all seemed so easy…
Then one day, her chance came, a crow had been cawing on the lawn under lemon tree in the garden all morning, hoping for the scraps that Caliga usually left out for the birds. It’s once sleek feathers were dull and covered in grime, its ugly, scarred face turned expectantly towards the porch where she was sitting, as it hobbled around.
Crows had never been her most favourite of birds, they were always the evil birds in the stories her parents had told her, tricksters, scavengers or the servants of demons. She never believed in these stories of course, but nevertheless, she felt a certain wary disgust, whenever she saw their black feathers and gleaming, calculating eyes.
“And this is the most ragged of crows I’ve seen yet,” whispered a sly voice in her head, “I’m sure it would be more of a favour to the poor thing if…” She quietly took out her arrow and fitted it onto the bow, which she now constantly kept at her side. Her mind was determined, as she drew the bow and aimed at the heart of the hobbling creature, “I can do it this time,” she thought, any sentiment she might have felt for the bird evaporating as she imagined herself soaring into the heavens, but all the same, the very thought of what she was about to do let loose a torrent of shame and guilt that tickled the back of her throat like coarse feathers - she closed her eyes as she loosed the arrow. A harsh ‘caw’ rent the air followed by a flurry of feathers and panicked wing beats, even without opening her eyes, Caliga knew that she had missed once again, her quarry had flown. She beat the ground in a mixture of relief and frustration. Yet the arrow did find a target, a sparrow must have flown in front of the crow just as the arrow was loosed, now it lay in it’s blood, a pathetic bundle of feathers with the arrow speared through it. Tears spilled from Caliga’s eyes as she realised what she had done, she had never meant to harm a sparrow, the smallest, most gentle of birds, she remembered how they used to line up on her window sill in the mornings and chirrup their greetings. She knelt beside the dead sparrow and cupped it in her hands, it’s blood staining her fingers, yet despite her sadness, inside, a small voice was saying, “you’ve done it now Caliga, your dream will come true, you will fly.”
Sure enough the arrow, still in the chest of the little bird, began to glow, the light became brighter and brighter until Caliga had to shield her eyes from its radiance. As it enveloped her, something extraordinary happened, Caliga began to feel lighter and her body lifting up and leaving the ground, her senses screamed in exultation, “I’m really flying!” she cried as she soared upwards, her home becoming smaller beneath her as she rushed higher and higher. She glided through the air, feeling the exhilaration of the rush of wind through her hair. She weaved between the clouds, marvelling at their refreshingly damp caress on her face. She had done it, she could fly higher than any eagle, swifter than any swallow, more agile than any sparrow… she pushed the sorrowful image of the dead sparrow to the back of her mind, “it was only a sparrow,” she reasoned, “only a silly little sparrow.”
As night approached, Caliga became cold and tired, “that’s enough for one day,” she thought as she headed for home and felt a satisfied grin creasing the edges of her mouth, “wait ‘till I tell everyone that my dream has come true – I always knew I could fly!” Though as she drew closer to home, a worry, that had been niggling at the back of her mind grew: “how do I get down?” she thought nervously – for the whole day, she had been unable to descend to much lower than the lowest clouds. Panic began to grip her as she tried in vain to get closer to the ground, she writhed and twisted desperately in the air, but all to no avail. She was trapped.
It was then that the second line of the words on the arrow came back to her, the rippling, shimmering writing suddenly seeming sinister, echoing through her head and tightening her throat in a vice-like grip: Should you wish to gain their plight…
“I will fly forever…” Caliga realised and gulped in an attempt to hold back the sobs rising to her throat. She also felt a sudden wave of regret and shame for what she had done – to kill a defenceless sparrow just for her greed of flight.
I was once restricted to the ground,
Wished to join the clouds and be in flight,
But now that I’m forever flightful bound,
I’m sad to say I miss its very sight.
No one ever saw Caliga again, some say she hides amongst the tallest peaks of the greatest mountains of the world, yet others say she still flies, she is in every cloud that brushes the earth, her tears the dew that quenches the thirst of all birds and beasts alike every morning – to show her remorse for the death of the sparrow and her longing to walk on the earth once again.
Once I wished above all else to fly,
Now I’d rather kiss the earth or die.
