Four: The Warning
A/N: I revised the previous chapter so if you have no idea what's going on in this one, you probably need to re-read Chapter 3 (11/09/13) Ignore this if you've read the revised version and please R&R :)
"Our secret," Pir laughed bitterly as she repeated the words. "Secrets lead to weakness, and weakness leads to downfall."
"That is why you're letting it all out now?" inquired Oziandra. "Before they can be your ruin?"
"These are not secrets. They are merely facts," replied Pir flatly.
"They're facts that torment your life, Pir," countered Oziandra. "They can lead you to your downfall too. You have to accept that."
Pir was silenced by her words. It was true. Everything in her life had been torment.
"In that case," she said finally. "I suppose I ought to let it all out, shouldn't I?"
She remembered her new feat in school had distracted her from her previous goal to confront Oliver. She hitched up her skirts, racing down the lanes to her Nana's house at the border of Fellshire, undaunted by the biting winds and the stinging snow that beat against her frozen cheeks. She didn't care about the carriage horses that reared or skidded to prevent crashing into her, or the curses that were sent at her for nearly running into the people.
She remembered crashing into the house, throwing down her bag, and her Nana's shock at her sudden outburst of excitement that came with a scolding to behave like a proper girl. She remembered darting into her room, locking the door, and prying up the floorboard under which she had kept the oriole from Nana's hawk eyes.
It still lay there in the box, in the same position. She picked it up in her hands, staring into it.
If I could wake the rose, she thought to herself, then maybe I could wake the birdie. She visualized the oriole spreading its wings once more, stretching out its legs. She visualized it perching upon her hand, ruffling its feathers.
And most of all, she visualized it singing.
A tinge of disappointment stung her when there was no immediate effect, then there was a twitch from the bird, so small, but it was enough to set off the rapid palpitations in Pir's heart. She watched, her lips pulling back into a smile, as the bird's wings began to flutter.
Then its whole body was convulsing. Its eyes opened, it's neck moving and twisting once again. Its wings shot out, and they began to twitch furiously. The bird leapt off her hand, but its flapping wings were uncoordinated, and it plunged to the floor. Pir nearly lunged after it, but then it lifted up, perching upon her windowsill. For a while it stared at her, its body still twitching slightly. In its eyes, Pir thought she saw a darkness, a hatred.
Then it was gone, and the bird opened its beak, letting out one beautiful note, one too ethereal as to belong to the world of the living. Yet it hung in the air, and the mystical, otherworldly voice still sounded in her head, even as the owner took off into the wintery night.
Pir laughed darkly as she remembered how her Nana had pounded on her door furiously after hearing her child dancing around the room and screaming in joy.
"It was nothing to be happy about, however," Pir said. "It was black magic, reviving the dead. At such an immature age, I was unaware of such brutal cruel magic. I still believed in unicorns and fairies, the stereotype of 'magic'." Pir took a shaky breath. "But my art teacher, Mr Gale – yes now I remember, his name was Mr Jonathan Gale – " Oziandra flinched slightly, but Pir didn't seem to notice. " – knew better. When I approached him the next day about my achievement, and he punished me severely, making my write lines. He knew the graveness of the situation, unlike me, and all I did was detest him for punishing me. I held that detestation for years, being a childish girl disappointed when she didn't get her wanted reaction."
"Can you just get to your point?" asked Iskinaary, rather impatiently. "You keep on going on about this 'graveness', and still I see no wrong done by using magic."
"You know I'm not talking to you in the first place, bird."
"Bird, for the love of Lurline's knickers, Bird!"
"Why are you so upset?"
Pir turned, and came face to face with a very bundled up Oliver.
"It's a secret." She said, pressing a finger against her frowning lips.
"Oh," he said, slightly disappointed. "I can't see it?"
Pir shook her head. "Only Mr Gale and I can see it."
"Okay," said Oliver, acknowledging her determination to keep that secret.
Just standing there, out in the cold, looking at Oliver's rosy red cheeks and his now snow covered hair, made Pir forget that she was helplessly underdressed and shivering. He made her feel comfortable. Warm.
Pir reached into her jacket. "I can't tell you, but I can give you this." Into his hands she placed the rose.
Oliver stared at the rose, his eyes widening at the fact that there was a lush red rose, in a freezing cold winter. But he knew it was not his duty to press on and ask how she'd done it. He tucked it into his jacket, and smiled at Pir
Pir looked around. "There's no carriage to pick you back home?"
Oliver glanced at the rough cobblestoned streets, and shook his head. "My father wants me to walk home. He wants me to be like other kids."
"Like me."
"Yes."
"But why do you hide from other kids then?" Pir asked, finally managing to accomplish what she had so long ago wanted to.
"Um…" Oliver looked to the ground, and developed a sudden interest in the snow beneath him. "You won't get it."
Here Pir hesitated. This was what she'd wanted to know for so long, yet now, after earning his respect for her secret, she wasn't too keen to urge him to spill the beans.
"Okay," said Pir simply, now understanding the disappointment Oliver had just felt.
For a minute they stood there, staring into each other's eyes, just as they'd done when they first met, letting the snowflakes fall upon their heads and shoulders.
"Well," said Pir after a while. "I should get home. Nana will be worried about me."
"Okay then," Oliver said. "I'll see you around when school break ends. Goodbye, Tusia."
Tusia. Now that was new.
New as the freshly fallen snow, yes, but not as new as the friendship that blossomed between them.
Her following school days were not as vivid, the only changes over the years being the increasing pile of homework, her bugging the smart Oliver for more help and school breaks being the most boring, for she could do nothing but lie in her old, worn out bed and dream of fantasies impossible of becoming reality. What was her most vivid memory was what changed her life forever.
The people of Fellshire called it the Fating, a day when each child of nine years was to be told their destinies, be it good or bad. The children were to be dressed up in their Sunday clothes, and so, when Pir went, she saw girls dressed up in lovely silk frocks, wearing white-laced gloves and elaborate bonnets adorned with flowers and ribbons. She saw boys clad in smart sailor suits and knickerbockers. And Pir? She came in nothing but a tea gown, and thus she could not help but to stand out in her plainness as she stood at the edge of the lake waiting.
It was not at all what she expected, the Lake House. Of course, she expected it to be on a lake, but she never expected a shabby old straw-roofed house, built on a stilts in the middle of the lake.
It had been barely six in the morn when her Nana shook her awake and dressed her up, pulling especially hard on the strings of her corset to wake her from her morning daze. Stockings had been pulled up her legs and her feet forced into formal black leather buckled shoes. She hated it when Nana dressed her up like this. It made her feel restricted, robbed of her freedom.
Nana drew out her pocket watch just as it stuck seven, and there suddenly seemed to be a shadow of a ripple bursting out from the house to the banks of the lake. Then there was a tremor beneath her feet, and a wave of gasps and shouts drew her attention to the Lake House.
It was nothing but a darkness at first, something shifting beneath the murky waters. Then it grew, and took shape of a wooden bridge, rising up to take its position as a walkway to the shack.
The children were slightly afraid, wondering at this act of real magic. Pir looked on with wonder as well, but more of an amazed excited wonder.
There's someone like me, she thought, someone who can do real magic as well.
For a moment no child dared to set foot on the bridge, for fear of their precious, expensive shoes, and parents dared not force them. But Nana now whispered in Pir's ears.
"We must go, my dear Pirpet," said Nana. "Fear not of your shoes being wet or dirtied, for they are of the cheapest price and can easily replaced. Come, we only have this one day to determine your destiny, let us not waste it on scorning the rich and the spoilt."
Pir nodded, and walked over to the edge of the bridge.
"And my Pirpet?" Nana gripped her shoulders, bending down slightly to have her face leveled with Pir's. "Do not be discouraged may your fate be bad, do not be afraid. I will stay with you."
I will stay with you. Those words brought Pir back to the day Nana had left her out in the cold.
"I am not afraid," whispered Pir, her tone set and voice hard. "I never was."
Nana smiled at her, a shadow of pride in those old, brown eyes. "Then let you never be, Pirpetusia."