Page 14 of Where Darkness Dwells

It is nothing more than a tiny wren! Surely, this must be smallest sola there has ever been.

A warmth of joy bubbles up inside me, escaping my lips in a breathy gasp. Can such an innocuous thing as a songbird really have the power to banish ténesomni?

I hold out my hand.

The brave bird cocks its head to one side and hops a couple times on the branch. Even the tiniest movement sends out a wave of shimmering light daggers. It propels itself down, gives a few soft flutters of its perfectly mirrored wings, and lands lightly in my open palm. My eyes well up with tears, and I catch my bottom lip between my teeth.

The beauty of this diminutive songbird is indescribable. Its eyes are burning coals encased in glass. The delicate, white beak glints and gleams. Its feathers are softer than silk. Up close, I can make out intricate patterns ringing its neck and continuing down its fluffed breast. The long tail feathers brush my fingertips. Warmth from its gentle, clawed feet spreads up my arm and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I laugh again and wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my frock.

“Thank you, sweet one, for saving me.”

The sola twitters a cheerful reply and hops on the spot, regarding me curiously with one gem-like eye. It spins to face the other direction, and with a look over its wing as if to make sure I am paying attention, it takes flight.

“Hey,” I shout, scrambling to follow.

The wren alights on a branch at a fair distance. When I make it there, it flaps its wings and leaves me behind again. I am too enraptured by the miniature sola to be greatly annoyed, so I trail it to the next tree, and the next, the bird waiting for me each time. It chatters at me encouragingly.

We go on in this fashion for a long time, but I do not grow tired. Simply being close to the sola renews my stamina, and I trust the golden creature is leading me to something important.

The slope of the forest floor changes, bending upward. When I reach the tiny creature this time, it does not fly away. Catching my breath, I lean against a tree trunk.

“Would you mind telling me what that was for?”

The enigmatic wren merely fluffs out its feathers and begins to preen itself. I scrunch my brow and open my mouth to protest, but a faint noise stills me.

“Amyrah.”

Whipping around, I look from bush to tree to lichen-covered rock.

“Pada?” I whisper, hardly believing what I heard.

“Amyrah,” the voice repeats, choked with emotion.

I scramble toward the steep rock face at the end of my range of vision, nearly tripping over my father’s outstretched legs. I collapse next to him, burying my face in the warmth of his neck and dousing it with my tears.

“Amyrah ... my girl ...my girl,” he murmurs into my hair. All the sorrow and fear I have been harboring all day pours out. When my tears are spent, I tuck my hair behind my ears and gently lay my hands on either side of my father’s face to inspect it. He winces when my hand grazes his jaw. I pull back quickly, sickened from causing him pain.

“Oh, Pada,” I breathe.

His beard is matted with sticky, dark blood. I sit back and look him over before I hurt him again. “What else did they do to you?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Nothing.” A groan follows, even the smallest word bringing him incredible anguish.

My tears threaten to return, so I shuffle to the back of the tree to which he is bound and begin working at the knots. They are pulled so tight, no doubt from his struggling, my efforts are wasted. I grunt in frustration.

“Amyrah,” Father says, exhaustion plain in his voice.

“It’s ok, Pada. I’m going to free you. I just need to work at it harder. Maybe I can find a piece of ... of ... shale, or something, to pry the knots loose.” I mop my eyes furiously and clamber to the rocky incline.

“Amyrah . . .”

“I’m sure if I can get a thin enough shard, I’ll be able to, I don’t know, wear the rope down or something.”

“I have a dagger.”

I turn on my heel, cheeks warming. “Oh.”

Of course. I knew that. I saw him slip it into his sheath this morning. He nods toward his right hip. Carefully, I pull it free and saw the rope, well away from my father’s wrists. I do not trust my shaking hands.

---