 Dreaming of Song
by jaudaran
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The first dream was of a forest. I drifted on sleep-light steps through thick trees that grew into mist overhead, dark and dense and still. The mist lifted and light dappled the ground and brush alike through sun-bright leaves that rustled in the breeze. Rain dripped through the leaves that were and perhaps had always been fired in autumn’s colours. Bare trees, their slender twigs twisting and reaching, snow-dusted fir needles, wildflowers in sunny glens, rich green ferns with fronds as long as my body. I moved through this forest, these forests, without edges or seams, led and surrounded by song. Haunting, beckoning, celebrating and lamenting and tearing at my heart until I wept. It was the song I couldn’t shake, and the song that followed me, as I would have to follow it. --- “Are you sure this isn’t it?” said Iris. Bless her, she’d played me a good hundred different animal calls, mostly birdsong. “The weewoo really seems the closest to your description, and... charming imitation.” I chuckled. “I guess as an eyrie, bird noises should come more naturally to me, hmm? I’ll have to practice.” “Oh please tell me when you’re going to,” she laughed. “But really, I think your best bet is the weewoo.” “But I’ve heard weewoos before! It was close, but this song...I’ve never heard it before.” How could I describe to her how it was unlike any song I’d heard. Why I had to know. --- The second dream was short and disturbing. The only hint of my surroundings was the distant sound of splashing in the dark. I tried to move, and found the second step in any direction blocked by an unseen obstacle. I tried to spread my wings and felt the tips touch something cold. Some invisible gate surrounded me, tall and steadfast. My heart hammered. I couldn’t see my prison, but felt its presence pressing in on me. I tried not to touch it. Still I felt it. The air was heavy and still, and almost silent around my panic. Almost, but not quite. Finally I fell to my knees and implored the song to let me go. I awoke. --- “Rough night, buddy?” The tavern keeper gave me a sympathetic look along with my drink. “If it weren’t, would I be here at 4 in the morning?” I said. Apparently levity was beyond me in that state, because she frowned. “I’m sorry. It’s just these dreams I’ve been having. Which sounds silly out loud, really.” “Nothing silly about it, my friend,” she said. “Dreams are tricky things.” “Very tricky,” I agreed. --- If there was more to the third dream than colours and textures, I couldn’t remember upon waking. White, and airy, and soft. Red, shiny. The most particular glint of silver that I simply couldn’t place, like I had seen the precise way it shone before. And of course, the song. --- “Had any new ones?” said Iris, setting down her fork. She had dropped by at lunch to take me out to the tavern we both liked near the docks, and I liked to think I’d been better company that day. I hadn’t even been the one to bring up the dreams. “One or two,” I shrugged. She pierced me with those big vandagyre eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. I know they have you rattled.” I sighed, and ate a few more bits of fried fish to buy myself a moment. Why had these dreams become so hard to discuss? “They do, you’re right,” I finally admitted. “I just can’t help feeling like they’re important, and more than that...that I’m meant to do something about them. And the song, Iris. That song…” Reaching across the table, Iris laid her talons gently across my paw. “I know I don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to help. This is clearly important to you, and you’re m--” I saw the glint of silver, and the rest of Iris’ kind words dropped out of hearing. Another regular diner here, a sea captain, had walked past our table to the bar. He was an old bori with a large hat, and a missing tail, and a long, shiny red coat with four polished silver buttons. “--more bird songs, but I don’t--” “Iris,” I said, cutting her off, “What’s the name of Captain Reg’s ship?” --- The next dream was just the song. It echoed around me, within me, and I knew finally what it was. A plea. --- While Captain Reg was still in the tavern, Iris and I went to the docks. His wasn’t the only ship in port, but it wasn’t hard to find. Unfortunately, it wasn’t empty. Iris winked at me. “If you’re sure,” she said, “then I’ve got your back. You know what I said about friendship.” “Actually I don’t,” I laughed, giddy and guilty in equal measure. “Well, it was very moving. Now give me just a moment.” With that, Iris strode away out of sight around a corner...only to return moments later, frantically waving her wings at the sailors on Reg’s ship. “HELP!” she cried towards them. “My boat, it’s sinking! It’s taking on water faster than I can handle, I need help!” And wonderful, clever Iris, quickly bought me my time. As the last sailor in sight vanished down the docks at a sprint, I snuck aboard. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but knew without doubt that I would when I saw it. I searched all around the deck, keeping an ear open for the returning crew (Iris’ ruse would only last so long), and found nothing amiss. Down below, I began to despair. The ship was larger than it seemed, and carrying far too many assorted barrels and boxes for one eyrie to dig through in an hour, let alone minutes. Would I have to stow away, and search them at sea? And then I heard it. It was so much quieter than in the dreams. I followed the small, sad song back upstairs, and into a cabin. The room was large and well-decorated, obviously the captain’s. An old ship’s wheel was bolted to one wall, along with what looked like the flags from old ships. Books and scrolls were piled haphazardly around the shelves and desk. Littered around the room were statuettes, metal vessels, and other rare pieces no doubt gathered on his travels. And there by his desk, in a tiny bronze cage, was a singing white weewoo. I have never in my life been as sure of anything as I was in that moment that I would not leave that bird on that ship. As I moved to the cage, the weewoo went silent. I met its eye. Did you call me to you? I wanted to ask. Is your song so powerful as to cross into dream? I said nothing, and opened the cage. Soft, white plumage brushed my arm as the small bird flew and alit on my shoulder, and nuzzled into my cheek. And then, with a note more lovely and joyous than I’ve ever heard, the weewoo took off out the door, and into the sky. --- The final dream was simply of flying. The End.
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