a/n: hello hello. well! i've been wanting to write this for a while but i'll haveta admit i struggled a lot. although i do think i can relate to him at times, sasa's voice is very... different from what im used to writing hahaha. tbh i referenced a 1st POV style of a death row inmate for him so lmao. umm i did not write out sasa's lisp cause it's first person so i think he likes to think he's saying whatever he's trying to say and like all my idwtkoh shit, this is set in pre-canon. oh, the song is based off a real song, but i changed it to rhyme a bit lol.
criticize my sasa please. thanks and much thank to my editor, SmolAsianBean.
•
slowly i start to speak
one
•
I don't know why, but when people talk to me, they ask me why I'd become a hero. And I would stand there with this look of disbelief, like no one had ever asked me this before. They always do, eventually they do, and I could never give them the right answer. A long time ago, I may have given them some semblance of an answer, but after everything that's happened, I don't know anymore.
Once, I asked Naga and he burst out crying. Between sobs, he told me about the volunteer hours, and the university screening. I remembered SPOON was still doing that. I couldn't relate.
Twice, I asked Hyena. She'd told me it was because of her sister, the Chief. I could see the reasoning in that. The second time, I'd forgotten and she swatted me with her broom, yelling about incessant questions. I had forgotten because I asked her the first time four years ago.
Why did I become a hero?
I guess the answer lied somewhere in my past. There had to be, there was a moment I decided my goal was to be a hero, and while the reason to that decision changed, I still stuck to this path. I don't regret being a hero, even though a lot has happened. Well, a lot of stuff happened back then too. I'm not exactly sure when this shift occurred, but something about being a hero continued to call for me.
It's weird, I think. That call was made up of different sounds, of different people. It's not a bunch of voices saying the same thing either. It's like my mother singing words, dulcet and disturbing, my father stuffing sobs in weathered palms, my Hyung-nim pushing me on and onward, further and farther.
And then my brother's. A voice like the aftermath of a long day giving way to soft, sweet sleep. His was low, but steadily rose louder and louder, wanting, needing to be heard.
It's like their voices had melded together, yet still separated as I can make out precious individuals, and I hold them cupped in my hands, like shiny diamonds, glittering, impossible for me to miss. Like they've taken their voices for my sake, reached deep into their throats, and given them to me, whether they liked it or not. All in the name of my calling. A hero couldn't ignore an incitation like that, not when it was comprised of those closest to them. So, I guess, well, I think… The call may be all theirs, but the answer had always lied in my own voice. Mine, alone.
•
The day started like any other—this, I could remember every small detail.
The day began with light of dawn stretching into the morning sky, my father was already up before the sun even peeked from the mountainous horizon. He didn't have to, but he'd walk over to my brother and my shared room. As though it would break apart, he would knock gingerly upon the door. While I was up to help Dad's morning routine, Sara was awake only to take our father's space in bed.
As Dad prepared for work, I made breakfast. Kinda. Mom would leave the ingredients chopped and stuff, so all I had to do was mix it altogether and make rice. By then, Dad was ready and we would eat breakfast together. Well, kinda again. My uncles would be awake as well. At the window, they gathered upon the windowsill like a streak of midnight amidst morning glass and cawed for their arrival. I'd let them in to pick at our food with their pinchy beaks. Though we can understand them well, Dad would mostly talk to me.
That morning was nothing out of the ordinary. He'd tell me what was up at the farm, and I'd tell him what secret snacks Sara and I planned to catch in the tall grasses. Dad didn't talk a lot for everyone. So I liked hearing him speak when he was the quiet, listening type.
I guess that's rich coming from me. Ha ha.
Afterward, we washed dishes together as the open window invited our neighbors' chirping and twittering into the kitchen. Just like with human languages, they were incomprehensible to us. We could only understand crows. Though some of them sounded far nicer than our throaty squawks. I told Dad that once. Amazingly, he laughed and told me not to tell my constantly-cawing aunt.
Our uncles would flee outside, arcing above the roof tiles, when Dad made his goodbyes. He'd soundlessly flap his way back to his room. In bed, my mother would be dead-asleep with Sara glued on top of her. Because of our wings, we had to sleep on our side or our stomachs. Sara was getting used to his belly, but that meant he slept squished-cheek-to-squished-cheek against Mom. Like always, his wings were slightly spanned out, making it harder for Dad.
Dad didn't mind. Well, he was more amused than anything else and would ruffle Sara's hair. Without a word, he kneeled by Mom's side, searched for her hand, and brought the back of it to his lips. It took a moment before her hand reacted, fingers outward, then patted his cheek. I watched this exchange as I always did, wondering why they were always excessively like this.
Once he closed the door behind him, Dad waved me to the front. I'd fetch his scratchy, working gloves as he would put on his windbreaker. He nodded as his way of thanks. More than half of the sun peeked into the sky by the time we set flight. I wasn't allowed to go with him the whole way. It was nice, though, to fly in this limited time together. We would fly until the quarter-mile mark, until we passed a withered apple tree.
Dad's parting words to me that morning were, "You're flying better, Sasa."
Better, but not enough. I would try to fly the rest of the way, but I didn't have the strength. Disappointment weakened my wings, enough to send me ground-bound. Like always, my feet tapped onto the dirt pathway leading me back to home. Walking took longer when my vision blurred with frustration. I was stronger than this, I knew.
On the way home, other farmers would greet me out of politeness, and even though I hated it, I would greet them back. My mother told me even though I hated it, there were times I had to speak. "Good morning" was one of them, even though that phrase was cursed for me. Sometimes I even had to say it first. The farmers weren't like that, but I shied my head away the moment I closed my mouth.
"Is that you, my eldest?" called Mom. The front door slid open creakily, worse than loose floorboards.
My lips pressed together, I turned the corner. From the kitchen stove, she squinted at me with a silver spoon in hand. Sleep still lingered in her almond-shaped eyes, but they smiled and gleamed as she waved me over to her.
"Good morning, Sasa," she sang, kissing my cheek. In her embrace, I squinted. "Did you tell your father to have a good day at work?"
I did, right after he complimented my flying. The weight from before eased off, allowing me to hover above the floor a few inches. Mom usually didn't allow me and Sara to fly in the house, even if it was for a tiny second. Pressing firmly upon my head, she waited until I landed. "Go wake up your brother, okay?" she said, and turned back to the stove. "Tell him breakfast is ready."
He was right where I'd last seen him. Still on his belly, Sara claimed our parents' bed for himself and was twisted among the single blanket. I kneeled beside him like Dad did to Mom. Sara could hardly wake up like Mom, but he didn't look anything like her.
Neither of us looked anything like her.
A hand on his shoulder, I said, "Sara? Sara, wake up." He continued to sleep. "Breakfast is ready." The same response. I tried to shake him awake. "You leave me no choice."
That was how Mom saw us enter the kitchen. His wings got in the way so I had to carry him into the kitchen, his face drooling onto my collarbone. I dropped him into a chair as payback, but his wing accidentally whacked the wooden frame. He didn't make a sound at first, just scrunched up his eyes and mouth. With her super-sharp Mom hearing, she whipped her head toward me.
That wasn't good.
Finally awake, Sara wailed, "Hyuuuuuunng!"
In my defense, I said, "You should've wake up."
Mom gave me the evil eye just as she swept him into her arms. Needless whispering quieted his crying, but that wasn't enough. When Mom sat him down at the table, she stood behind him as she said to me, "Apologize to your brother."
There was no reason for that. "It was an accident."
I thought it would be off her mind when she suddenly turned around and rushed for the stove. She came back to stand her ground. "Sasa, you should speak to apologize for accidents too. Another sub-rule."
There were so many of those. "Nm 'wy."
"What?" she and Sara said.
My hands wrung together and I stared at a steaming cup of rice before Sara. "I'm sorry."
My brother shrugged, like he didn't care anymore. He probably didn't. Mom nodded in approval before she returned to the stove, spooled out a bowl of soup, and placed it beside his rice. Before Sara could lift his spoon, Mom held her hand over his.
"Now, Sara, you've done wrong too."
He blinked with Dad's eyes, immense and expressive. "Me?"
Eyebrow raised, Mom pointed to me. "C'mon."
Sara didn't care. Why would he? Unlike me, his words came out the way they were meant to be said, sometimes in a pleasant string of sentences. Similar to when Mom sang. He didn't know how lucky he was. "I'm sorry for making you say sorry?" he guessed and tried for his spoon again.
Her hold on him didn't budge one bit. "Sara?" she urged, and glanced at me as I took a seat beside him. I wasn't hungry, but lifted Mom's spoon as if I was. "Sara, you know why."
"I'm sorry! I'm gonna wake up next time," he huffed, crossing his arms. "Can I eat now?"
Though he was staring straight at her, Mom glanced at me. I shrugged like I didn't care. "Sure, honey, go eat."
Then there was a sound like pebbles hitting glass, but it was only my cousins. Exactly like my uncles, they were perched upon the windowsill and tapped at the window with their beaks. This time, when I invited the four of them inside, my mom sliced chamoe for them. While Sara jealously hurried to finish breakfast, I broke off edible pieces and offer them for my cousins. I could only break off one at a time so there was a bit of a scuffle. Mom would shake her head as they emitted various caws, but Sara and I heard them yelling, "Mine! Mine! Mine!" The ends of their smooth beaks would poke into my fingers. Then the winner would be screeching, "Thank you! Thank you!"
As Mom plugged one finger into her ear, she said, "Sasa, did they want to go to the market with us?"
My eldest cousin responded. Mom knitted her eyebrows together at her. I translated, "Yeah, they do." Then my second-youngest cousin cawed as well. His reply was longer, along with a small flap of his wings. I answered for her, "Auntie is coming with us ."
"Alrighty." Mom cleaned up the table, Sara immediately putting down his silverware to grab the last slice of chamoe, and she scooted back her chair. "We're going to leave early today."
Now Sara was surrounded by constant cawing. Breaking off pieces like I did, Sara shoved them toward the circle of our cousins and said, "Early? Mom, there's nothing good going on when we go early."
Mom had her back to us. "We're going early so I can grab some bean sprouts, make your father's lunch, and then we can all head together to give it to him, alright?"
"Yeah!" I cheered.
Glancing at me, Sara parroted, "Yeah!"
"Perfect. Let's all be ready in half an hour, alright?"
By then, my aunt joined us as well. My cousins would flock around my brother, cawing over each other and flapping their onyx wings around him, while I stayed by Mom's side to translate. My aunt rode on Mom's shoulder to tell her what happened in the family. Though Mom wasn't really that interested, she said she was 'delighted' to be included in their bird drama.
"Auntie's youngest tricked another human again," I said. A hand over her eyes, Mom sighed as I listened to my aunt squawk in rapid succession. "Since Sara showed him how to use money, our cousin figured out to give random coins to little kids." I paused when my aunt sounded like she was cawing some more, but she was actually laughing. "He'd drop the coins specifically near the fresh corn stand and the kids would buy it for him."
Mom lowered her hand to her cheek. "How kind of them."
I sniggered, "Corn's a half-dollar a cob. He purposely dropped 10 cents."
My aunt cackling beside Mom, I looked over to Sara. He was already hovering with our cousins soaring toward the market. Before I could join them, Mom ran into a group of neighborhood women. They had these faces my aunt would have so I stuck close to Mom.
"Morning, everyone," greeted Mom.
They all tittered back their own greetings, then immediately turned to me and Sara. He also felt protective of Mom, but clung to me. That was only because he liked mirroring my straight stature and he could hide behind me. Still, that didn't work when they edged closer to me and my brother, like vultures with motherless cubs. Or the corpse of one.
I pretty much felt like dying when they pinched my cheeks. Not even Sara was spared as they smothered us with baby talk and adoring coos. We were well above that age, but at least it was useless now to say my hello's.
"Sasa. Sara," she prompted.
Danggit. "Gud mo'nin'," I said with my cheek pulled like dumpling dough. They didn't notice my lisp like this.
"How adorable! How handsome! What beautiful, baby boys!" they crowed. Funny, wasn't it. All at once, they turned their heads to Mom. "Doing some babysitting again, aren't you, Sabe?"
Like always, Mom took offense and gripped her bag with strained fists. Cawing, my aunt flew off her shoulder and said something about searching for our cousins. It was like Mom didn't hear—well, I guess she didn't—, 'cause she stepped forward and replied dryly, "No, I'm not. I suppose the eighteen months I've spent carrying my own sons were a long term delusion."
"Pregnant? Sabe, I believe you were gaining some weight," one of them laughed. But most of them had their hands over their open mouths. Mom's smile twitched, not in a good way. "My, Sabe, you were always the joker when you were younger."
They never listened. This was a sub-rule to speaking; there was no use arguing when you know it's a losing battle. Mom didn't like to lose, but she told me there were some stuff you have to let go. Like this stuff.
Oh, right. Those ladies weren't completely mistaken. Dad was a raven-half, or a human with huge, raven wings. Mom was one-hundred percent human. If my math was right, Sara and I were quarter-ravens, yet we took mostly, or everything, after our father. The ladies would mention that we were miniature versions of Dad, but Mom didn't get mad at that.
"They'll grow up to be so handsome! Look at these big dark eyes and, oh, what beautiful double lids!" I swore they would've poked our eyes out if they could and admire our eyeballs within their fingers. "How unfortunate that you, Sabe, couldn't look—"
Mom got mad at this.
"We must be going," Mom said through a strained smile. "Let's talk lots more next time." Their cooing rose like the wind, a sort of breathy screech of protest. With that, Mom ignored them, grabbed Sara's and my hand, and dragged us toward the marketplace.
Talking about appearances was touchy for Mom. I knew about it but never dared to bring it up. It was one of the unspoken things—Mom's things that shall not be spoken—that while never said aloud, I could tell.
By their standards, Mom was not pretty.
But Dad said she was. I believe him. Beyond pretty, with something burning brighter than looking through rose-colored glasses, he said he'd been captivated in that moment. Like that was a long time ago, that moment he locked eyes with Mom. Back when they were kids, Dad was too busy to attend a human's school, and instead stalked around the school courtyard whenever he broke away from farming. He got caught staring at Mom when she was opening her lunchbox. She told me it was repulsive, her rice crawling with ants because she didn't close the lid properly. But then she noticed Dad. Instead of looking at her, he stared at her lunch with a different look in his eyes.
Mom said it was first love for him when she offered it to him.
Even though the freshest of food surrounded us, Sara and I perked up. Behind the grains stand, my cousins were feasting upon a bunch of crickets. Before we could join them, Mom grabbed the scruff of our necks and sighed. "Boys. Please." Hands on our shoulders, she turned us around. "I'll buy you anything you want if you don't."
"Raspberries," blurted Sara.
Mom said okay as I whispered to him, "We can put some in later."
Locking our secret, he nodded. Our cousins were done snacking, flying away to a more insect-infested area. We followed them since there was nothing interesting around the market at this time. Mom yelled at us to come back in ten minutes. We said okay just as our aunt swooped over our heads to perch back on Mom again.
In a woodsy area behind the ugly trinket stands, my cousins found more crickets and other yummy assortments, but we had promised Mom. For a while, we sat there in the grass, watching them in jealousy as they screeched, "That's mine! This is mine!"
"Hey."
At once, Sara leaned into me as I looked up. A bundle of nerves blocked my throat when I saw two men. One of them looked middle-aged, the other a teenager, but both of them had sunhats brimming over their eyes. Our cousins screeched at them, shouting, "Go! Go away!"
The middle-aged man said, "Do you know where the market is?"
"Go away! Get away away from us!"
Breaking into a strange grin, the teenager repeated, "Do y'all know if we're close by to tha' market?"
My throat unlocked a bit. Barely audible, I pointed and stuttered, "D-down that way."
"Thanks, kid!" the teenager said with his hands in his pockets. Then he stretched his arms out, handfuls of candy. "You want some as somethin' of our gratitude?"
"No," squeaked Sara. Terrified as well, I looped my arm around his trembling waist.
"Go away! Go, go, go! Stay away from us!"
"Annoying-ass birds," the other man hissed, swiping a stick at my cousins. The cacophony of their caws burst in volume when they flew frighteningly in one place. Over Sara and me. I thought if we gave another five seconds, they would have left us alone. But then there was that damned brightness. Seeing it first, one of our cousins settled on the teenager's outstretched arm. He pecked at something else among the sweets, which shone and reflected light in the most dazzling way.
Our other cousins were bedazzled. So were we as my brother and I shuffled towards him with slight of caution, curiosity brimming in our eyes. I was the one who held it, a strange boxy silver thing. Whatever it was, it was shiny with light and I wanted it more than I would ever want candy.
"What is this?" I marveled. Sara clung to me and poked it with interest.
The two men looked at each other. Something passed between them, something I couldn't understand. Then the teenager spoke again, his hands stuffed back into his pockets. "I have some more if you and your birds want 'em?"
We were caught, but my eldest cousin cawed, "Don't trust him."
My tongue touched the top of mouth. It was harder to speak this way. I could have run instead, but the shiny, bright thing in my hand was anchoring me here. "I'll have to ask Mom."
"What was that?" Before I could correct my lisp, the teenager waved his hand and brushed me off. "Sure, sure, but if you come with me first, you can have all the lighters you want."
"Lighter?" repeated Sara. I allowed him to hold it next, too frozen to stop him. "It's so shiny."
"Shiny! So shiny! Super shiny!"
My eldest cousin shook her head, and rested upon my shoulder. Though I could hear my other cousins overwhelming me, over my own thoughts, her voice was clearer than any crystal. "Do not listen to him," she advised, her nails biting around my neck. "When I signal, you will scream 'run' for us."
"Hey, kid," the teenager said, fixating on me. The other man was gone, who knew where. "Kid, I'm making you a great deal, you know?" The more steps he took toward me, the more my heart hammered in my head. I awfully wanted for my cousin to speak up. But he came closer.
"Now," she called, lifting her wings behind me.
My tongue lowered, my lips parted, my breath escaped, but my voice was gone.
"Sasa! Sara—"
When I swiveled around to face my savior, my one and only mother, something cracked against my head. I'd only turn to see nobody waiting for me. Nobody but darkness.
•
Poor legless little bird,
will your lonely cries be heard?
Where will you go
when rough rains flow?
Dear clouds, do you know?
Dear stars, do you know?
Dear moon, do you know?
Lost without your mother,
will your cries reach any other?
I awoke to chains weighing my arms and legs down. In the dimmed light, my eyes trailed my restraints to the wall of a wooden carriage. The floorboards would bump around every so often, I'd just noticed. Fear was hiding in every corner of this unknown space, but mostly within me twisting my insides with anxiety. I craned my head toward the closest warmth I knew best. My mother embracing my brother with both arms, locked to each other, but her mouth was closest to me. Comfort at its core. It was her singing all this time.
My lips felt dry, cracked even. "Mommy?"
"Hmm? Awake, my eldest?" she hummed.
"Sing something else."
"Why not, baby?"
"Makes me sad."
Warm, her giggle evaporated in my hair. "It's your brother's favorite." Remembering him, I tried my best to see into his face. Mom moved her hand a bit for me. He looked kinda okay except for these tiny rivulets of blood drying upon his forehead. "He hasn't woken up yet, but Sara is alright," Mom told me.
"Mommy?"
"Hmm?"
I curled into her side, my left wing fluttering against her shoulder. "Where are we?"
Like it solved everything, she kissed my cheek. "Doesn't matter. We'll get out soon enough. I've sent your cousins to alert your father." I didn't like that. Then that would have to mean— "Your aunt and her daughter are flying above and keeping track of where we're going. It shouldn't take long for your father to gather some help, wouldn't it?" she soothed, caressing my matted hair with her cheek.
Help sounded like hopeless in a place like this. When I finally summoned enough courage to look around, I could see three other families. A willow-tree spirit and her son, our neighbors from a few blocks down. I didn't recognize the others; a squirrel-hybrid couple and a teenage quail huddling with four or five chickling boys.
"Sasa, my son," called Mom. I buried my face into her sweater, and tried to block everything out but my mother. "Your father is coming for us, alright? Sasa? Don't worry, okay?"
But I did.
• • •
