Mette Ivie Harrison - The Princess and the Snowbird

The Tale of the Snowbirds

T HOUSANDS OF YEARS ago, before humans ruled the world, the snowbirds flew above the earth and watched over the flow of the first, pure aur-magic, spreading the power to all, and making sure that every creature had a share. The name snowbird came, some say, because their nesting grounds were in the northern mountain isles, where the snow never melted. Others say they were named for their appearance, for these creatures with huge wingspans seemed pure white except when the sun rose from behind and showed the silver threaded through their feathers.

Like all other creatures, snowbirds had to kill to live, but they were wise and swift and never gave pain to those who died for them. And when a snowbird died, no ounce of its aur-magic was lost. The magic flowed out of it back into the wild, for use by all the living.

But as humans learned magic, the snowbirds began to disappear. One by one, then dozens at a time. The more the humans spread over the world, the more the snowbirds had to pass out of it. Even the snowbirds who survived laid fewer eggs.

But snowbirds were not the only creatures affected by human use of magic. The moose shrank in size until their antlers were no longer as large as the snowbirds wingspan. Wolves became tame enough to live in groups rather than as solitary individuals. And some species disappeared entirely.

When no new snowbird chicks had hatched for a hundred years, the leader of the snowbirds, Tulo the Hopeless, called a meeting with all his kind. There were now only six snowbirds remainingtoo few to fly together and still keep watch over the land and its creaturesso Tulo assigned each snowbird a region to watch over and heal. It was the only way Tulo could think of to continue to fulfill the snowbirds mission, but he was afraid that this was the end, of both the aur-magic and the snowbirds. Soaring alone above the mountains, he feared that he might never again see his own kind.

As the years passed, Tulo felt the death cries of the remaining snowbirds one by one. The first, Frest the Fierce, died after he had poured out waves of magic trying to cure the land nearest the humans, but to no avail. Tulo arrived too late to save Frest, and as he passed over the land, he could sense how it had lost its wildness. It could no longer absorb Tulos aur-magic, and he could do nothing to change that.

The next to die was Rikiki the Swift, for she had gone too far south into human lands and had no strength to return. Her call was faint, a final farewell.

Then Stowr died, without a sound. Tulo never found a trace of the snowbird who had been a childhood friend and with whom he had molted first feathers.

Uvi died on the ground, mauled by the very animal she had tried to offer aur-magic to. The wolf had learned deceit and lust for power from humans and did what wolves would never have done before this time. It called for its pack while the snowbird was most vulnerable, weak and with her wings tucked to herself to keep warm. The pack cut her head and body to pieces, but the wings were left untouched, bits of aur-magic still clinging to them, untaken. When Tulo swooped down, he took the magic to himself, because it was what must be done.

The last was Wara, the youngest of the snowbirds. Tulo had watched over her when she was a chick, and had thought her strong and beautiful. He called to her each time another died, and each time she asked whether she should come to him so that they could mourn together, as the snowbirds had once done. Each time he refused, for he could not see how mourning would change death. And there was still land to be protected with aur-magic against the humans who seemed to take it for their own use and never replenish it.

Then the day came when Wara herself called out in pain to Tulo, and he rushed to her. She had been struck in the wing by a human arrow as she flew above a newly built village. She tried to fly on, but part of her wing had gone numb. When Tulo reached her, she was clinging to the edge of a cliff, the wind whistling around her in a furor.

Tulo swooped down and pulled her away from the edge. He immediately felt the loss of magic in Waras wing. The magic bled out of her, but Tulo could not take it back to himself. It had changed into something tainted by humans, something magic and yet not aur-magic. It was a terrible thing. Tulo did not know how he could help Wara, but he determined at least he would not leave her to die alone.

Tulo tucked his own wings close and gentled Wara with soft words, sung with the melody of the sun and the harmony of the moon. Wara leaned her neck into his. Tulo breathed in her smell, surprised at how much he had missed being with other snowbirds.

But he hated the arrow in her and began to tug at it with his beak.

Yes, take it out. I will die bleeding freely, Wara sang back to him, and Tulo admired her courage, though her voice was thready with pain and still high-pitched with youth.

Tulo worked at the arrow until he had pulled it out of her flesh entirely.

She sagged to the ground and took in great, gasping breaths of air.

When she had fallen asleep, and was breathing calmly once more, Tulo examined the arrowhead more carefully. The tip was made from a strange stone, light-colored and brittle, with a cold scent. Tulo did not dare touch it directly, for fear it would numb him as well. But when he closed his eyes and looked only with his magic, he saw that the stone cut two ways, into the flesh and into the aur-magic. The flesh might heal, but the aur-magic had bled away and could not be returned.

While Wara slept, Tulo held the shaft of the arrow in his beak and flew far out over the ocean. He flew until he had reached the iciest part of the world, where no animals lived and even the creatures of the sea kept away. There, at last, he flung the evil weapon down until he heard it shatter on the tip of an iceberg. He then returned to Wara to ease her pain. He could do nothing for the one wing, but he could offer her food and drink, and himself. She rested and sang about the future with her fine voice, though so much had changed.

After many days, Wara recovered enough that Tulo believed she would not die. He coaxed her into trying her first flight without the full use of her wing. She was shaky and lopsided, and Tulo had to fly beneath her to keep her in the air. He dared not try for the nesting grounds, not yet, but they flew away from the humans as far to the north as they could.

Each day they struggled to go farther, to eat, to keep safe from humans. And each day, Tulo fell more in love with the snowbird whom he had once thought of as a chick. In turn, Wara fell in love with the old snowbird she had once thought angry and wretched. They were the last of their kind, and they expected to die together.

But one morning Wara woke and felt the strains of birth upon her. Tulo had already left in the dark cold of morning to go hunting. Alone, Wara squatted and pressed the egg out of her body. She nudged it with her beak and tried to sense the magic in it, but it was not until Tulo came home that she was sure, for he, too, sensed the great aur-magic within the egg.

More aur-magic than in either of us. More aur-magic than any snowbird has ever had. He spoke aloud what neither could fully believe, yet both felt.

What does it mean? asked Wara.

Day by day, the two waited. Tulo went for food when he must, but both worked to keep the egg warm.

At last the egg cracked open and the small snowbird emerged.

What shall we call him? asked Wara.

Tululare, said Tulo, for it meant the last call of hope.

This was the story told and retold by those who loved the old aur-magic and hated the new tehr-magic that humans used to abuse the world. From mother to son, father to daughter, grandparent to grandchild the story went, in hope that one day there would be a cleansing of the magic and that the new would return to old.