Disclaimer: I don't own.
Four for a Boy
The sun is out.
It's springtime. The temperature is rising, and the flowers are blooming, so the weak sunlight should not be such an unusual thing.
However, for the children of Bloors Academy, it is not welcome. For the children of Bloors Academy, it is a reminder.
Three days ago, a boy died.
(Drowned in one of the basement Art rooms, with two plastic tigers either side, almost as if they were guarding the storm boy in his last moments.)
Gone are the thunderclouds that usually surrounded the Red King's castle. Gone are the indignant shrieks as a cloud bursts above someone's head, unleashing a torrent of hailstones as the sun shines a few metres away. Gone are the flashes of thunder that are usually (but no longer) followed by the booming laugh of Tancred Torsson.
The sun beats down on the unusually quiet grounds of the Academy, almost triumphant. It can shine at last. The endowed sit in silence (well, most of them – some have no decency, and openly sneer at the mourning children), and there is an empty space at the Red King's table.
The balance has shifted. The 'Good' endowed have lost.
The sun continues to shine. The birds are singing.
(Well, all but one.)
Emma Tolly sits on a log under a tree, silently ruffling her feathers. Her beak is clamped shut, and a mantra runs through her brain, repeated over and over till she's afraid it will never leave her, but instead be engrained in her mind forevermore.
One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy...
She sits on the log, a magpie, and she remembers. She remembers Tancred's last moments. How she simply flew away to find his father. How she left him.
Granted, there was nothing more she could do. Tancred was much to heavy for her to carry, and the trapdoor was locked.
(Planned from the start, probably.)
So she sits in her magpie form, all alone, refusing to join in with the rest of the birds who gleefully twitter their tunes, welcoming the spring.
(One for sorrow.)
Another magpie hopped near her on the third day, and she told him the whole story; about how she refused to sing, about how she missed the feel of the gale force wind in her feathers, about how she let her friend die.
Then she hops away, whispering a simple sorry, the mantra twisting around her head.
(Two for joy.)
There is nothing to be joyful about, so she avoids single magpies like the plague.
Magpies, however, are regarded as the cleverest of birds, and they know things. They know of the endowed, they know of the bird girl, and they know of the rhyme she chants under her breath.
Another two join her under her tree, urging her to turn back into her human form.
The balance has shifted. The endowed need her.
(Three for a girl.)
The magpie who listened to her on the first day joins the three under the tree, and they simply sit. They do not move, they do not sing. No amount of Matron's 'shoo'ing, or Wheedon's manic spade wielding, will get them to move.
Emma grasps what they are doing, and simply wants to kiss their feathery heads.
The children of Bloors Academy see the four magpies under the tree, and do not attempt to go near them.
The children of Bloors Academy see.
The children of Bloors Academy understand.
The children of Bloors Academy know.
(Four for a boy.)
Another Charlie Bone forum 'Screaming Fans' entry. The prompt for April was 'Springtime at Bloors' and well, this spewed out.