Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Michael stumped his way to his chair and passed his crutches to Ra’Cha who latched them to the wall outside. Jo watched, curious. “Why do you use those?”

Michael sighed. “It’s a long story. My grandfather is an asshole, and he’s subverted your sister and he ruined my leg. So now I can’t walk without them.”

“But you can fly.”

“With These? In here?” He spread his wings. The filled the room to the edges, a riot of warm color, chased at the edges with gold. “I can barely spread them HERE. In the halls? Sadly not.”

Jo’s presence withdrew from the room for a moment, then returned. “I see. You do not understand your flight, your gift. I will take you with me to my father. He will show you.”

Michael’s face got a little panicky. “You don’t need to-” But it was too late. Melody rushed through the room, and the map flared to life. Thousands of songs crashed into the room, and to one of the, Jo added a counterpoint. The map spun crazily and Michael, for the second time in his life, found himself standing before the Tribunal, the eternal creator of all life.

A song vaster than his comprehension, more delicate than the tiniest part of the smallest of his feathers, roared across his senses. The Tribunal raised a vast hand. “Daughter. Enough. They cannot comprehend you like this. They are our agents, and they must understand. Speak to them as well, or risk losing both your sisters, and all the worlds, for all your time.”

Jo’s melody quieted and separated into 3 distinct parts, each of which, Michael was sure were parts of a conversation with her father. The Tribunal sighed. “One at a time daughter. They cannot sing or listen so. One melody. Please.” The three songs reached a frustrated peak and then resolved down to one tune, this time with words. But it was clear that Jo still had at least three things to say.

Is it true?/ You kissed him?/he can’t fly right

My sisters?/He has your fire/why can’t he fly right?

At war?/You gave a mortal your fire?/You have to teach him to fly right

How did you let this happen/how did you let this happen/how did you let this happen?

?/I’ve been so alone/?

Michael was pretty sure the Tribunal only paused to make sure they had sorted it out themselves. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought probably he was helping that effort along for some of them.

“Oh daughter. It’s been Millenia. Eons. You stopped answering my call. You got swept away in your harmonies and you couldn’t hear us anymore. Your sisters did as they are wont to do without us. And I was turned away to other stars, and did not see. The boy flies as his kind do. It is enough. He promised me a kiss and I took it. But all things require balance, so he took something from me too.”

“Are they too far gone/ you gave it to him you mean/ It is not enough

Will I be alone/ you scheme like a vizier/ you will teach him

Help me save them/ you have a plan you wily thing/ he will fly with his heart

please/ Is it for you or for us?/ like he was born to do

?/ please don’t make me be alone/ .

“Daughter-”

The Song roared back to life. Thousands of intricate melodies blasted against Michael’s mind. The Tribunal himself became part of the song, somehow both singing and being sung. The stars and planets echoed through his skin, resonating crazily against Michael’s own skin, and to the others, in Michael’s softly glowing, void dark, starlit eyes.

A single word rose forth from the song, spoken both by the song and by the Tribunal. “Star-child.”

It echoed to a thundering stop at the edges of their senses. The tribunal extended his hand and Michael, hesitantly, but knowing what was expected, extended his own. To his surprise, The Tribunal extended another hand. And Randall took it.

“In all of time, my daughter has made no children. She is The Song, and it is enough. But she sees you and she loves you as part of her, and yet apart. And she asks of me a thing I promised long ago, and I cannot refuse. She wishes to bring children to the stars. It is her way that things created are made of love and each carries her song. Even to the least of the rocks that she touches. Will you two consent to have my daughter’s song in you? To be her children among the stars? I cannot tell you what will become of you if you say yes. You will change. It cannot be otherwise. You will not be builders, or San, or some mix of the two. You will be children of the song. And should you choose to make more of the song...Even I do not know how that will occur. She says that it can, and she will know, but... enough. Will you do this? It is my daughter’s price, her only asking, not just today, but for eons past. Will you be my daughter’s children?”

Michael could hear Gryth’s gasp, the tearing breaths behind him as the old creature fought for control. He could feel Brent’s tight grip on Paul’s hand. And he could feel Randall beside him, waiting, a shimmering mind and heart full of love, acceptance, and trust.

He took a deep breath. “I’m tone-deaf, you know. I’m a terrible choice for a singer.”

Melody skirled around him, laughing. “You think I can’t fix THAT?”

Michael laughed. “You choose me? Us?”

“I like you. I may even love you a little. Your song is unique and beautiful. And your harmony together is a gift to us all. But mostly you are powerful. You are clever and strong. You will make a good father for my children. Yes. I choose you.” There was a slight hesitation, a phrase unsung. Randall caught it.

“And?”

There was mischief in the reply. “It will drive my sisters WILD.”

“I am pledged to your sister’s service.”

“You are pledged to save or kill her. You are pledged to ancient oaths to protect her people. Not to her. Not to her service. To her mission. It is not a bad mission. I will make it better. I do not want to OWN you Michael. I want to CREATE you.”

“But I already exist.”

Randall was pretty sure that particular melody was representative of rolled eyes.

“Well... yes... I mean...but you’re not what you can be. You’re not done. And if I help, if you become mine, you can become what you were really born to be. What my father planted the seeds of so long ago.”

“We can’t even have children. Your new race will end with us.”

“That’s what YOU think.”

Randall spoke up. “Now listen, I’m NOT going to be a woman, and neither is he. I mean, women are great, but I like being me, and I like him like he is and...”

“Don’t be so crude. You’ll know when it is time. I will not change you in that way. Now decide. The universe waits for you. I will not let it go until you decide.”

Gryth looked around them and his face grew strained. His chest hurt. “Cub. Quickly. She’s stopped the universe. Please child. I trust you. But decide. If she stops it too long...”

The Tribunal’s voice was louder than than anything Michael had ever heard. “Then I will let it die. Now. In a thousand furious explosions and cold frozen suns. My daughter has beseeched two of the smallest of my children, and I have promised her an answer. The universe will wait, or it will die. Accept or refuse, children. I will not exert myself so for long. For her I would do this thing, the debt is due, but I can pay that debt in the next universe, or the one after, long after you are dead.”

“Jo...if I say no, will you still help?”

“...yes. It is my purpose. I will still help. But I will not stay. I will not promise that your loved ones will survive.”

Michael looked at Randall and, again, found only trust and love.

“Then yes. I will be your child.”

Randall gripped his hand tighter. “We both will.”

The Tribunal turned his attention to Gryth and the others where they stood within the map room, imprinted against the cosmos. “My daughter and I have need of these 2 for a time. I cannot change them as they must be changed in the short time available to you, and as you have said, I cannot hold the universe at bay for so long without consequence to your mortal lives. I will take these, my sister’s children outside of time for a period, and when I return them to you, little time will have passed. But for them, years will pass between the seconds. Where a youth stands, a man returns. But he will still need your love and support. He will still be your cub. But he will also be his own man.

The Universe crashed into motion. The harmonies of an entire galaxy grew strident, and pulsed across where they stood. The walls of the map room returned. Gryth looked at the others. “So...who’s gonna teach him to shave?”  Brent laughed wickedly.

Michael and Randall found themselves standing alone.

“I am proud of you both. With us together, my sisters, even united cannot stand against us. Take my hands, both of you and sing with me.”

This once, Randall knew that she meant that literally, and he began to sing, softly, the first song that came to mind. His soft, somehow sharp tenor carried through the vastness of space, fitting in against Jo’s larger song. A rough, scratchy baritone joined him, slightly off key. Randall smiled. Jo’s song pressed in against them, then swept through, and Michael’s song had changed. His voice was still rough, there was a burr in it, but it was pleasant and warm, and it was, miraculously, on pitch. Randall’s own voice had changed, too. It was brighter and clearer, the sharpness of it changed to a brightness that was still somehow soft. As they sang on, Michael’s voice grew deeper, and deeper still, finally mellowing into a soft bass, his voice settled deep into his broadening chest.

Together they looked at each other and sang a lullaby about a little star. And the universe wheeled about them. Stars filled the spaces between them, and then within. Randall leaned forward on a breath caught at the end of the verse and, stars in both their eyes, kissed Michael softly. Light and sound exploded between them.

They found themselves back before the Tribunal, Jo’s song singing triumphantly among his stars. His voice echoed in their souls now.

“Thank you. Your gift will not be forgotten. Come. This is owed not to my daughter, but to you. Still your wings, children. Open your hearts and fly.”

Michael looked over at Randall, shocked to see that he, too, had wings. But neither had wings like Michael’s before. The colors were there, but they were made of light and stars, and patterns of night. Where feathers had been, there were suggestions of textures, painted against a night sky. The shape was perfect as it had been. They moved as they had before, but they were so different as to be another thing entirely.

Jo’s delighted laugh startled them both. “Your children will have real feathers, though the patterns will remain. But you are my chosen and my first, and these are my blessing to you alone in the world. When you fly, you will carry my song with you, and my song is myself, and I am the song of the universe itself. You are marked so that all will know. You are the first, and the best, and you deserve their honor, their love, and even their awe. Now go. Fly.”

Michael looked at Randall, uncertain. Randall leaned in and kissed him again. “I bet cleaning these is a bitch,” he whispered, his soft voice musical. Then he held Michael close to him, opened his heart to him and flew.

When, at long last, having been educated at length by the Tribunal and the Song, they returned to the ship, they still glowed with an openness to their love that was unmistakable to their friends, their family, their pack. Michael stood meekly beside Randall, who gripped his hand firmly to keep him from hiding behind him. Gryth took in the changes in Michael, the broadened shoulders, the thickened muscle, the strong, and now bearded jaw.  The child that was swept into space on Jo’s whim had returned as a man. Gryth worked hard not to let a tear roll down his grizzled face.

He wasn’t the only one struggling.

“Well...those are fancy,” Brent drawled, gesturing to their wings, after a moment spent staring in shock.

Paul cleared his throat several times before managing to speak. “Bound to draw some attention, not that they don’t now.”

“The leg’s a nice touch.” Brent’s voice was getting higher as he spoke, his battle with panic coming to a crashing loss.

Michael looked down. Where his leg had ended, there was now a match to his other leg...but made again of stars and night.

Paul nudged Brent. “Betcha it’s sacrilege to cover it.”

Brent took several deep breaths. “Probably. Have to get some shorts. Shame the other one won’t match. Have to get him a tan again.”

“He’s pretty pale. You’d think you’d get more sun in space. Needs more time by the pool.”

Brent nodded. “Short shorts, probably. Like trunks. We can get some of those cute ones. The sparkly ones from that boutique...”

Gryth swatted them across the back of their heads, growling softly, as he saw Michael squirm, blushing. “Enough. Get them clothes. Go on. Rude cubs.”

Paul and Brent ran from the room, and Michael pretended not to see the tears they had been fighting with jokes. Gryth walked over to Michael and Randall and snarled till they lifted their chins and exposed their throats. He pounced in a second, latching his teeth around Michael’s throat, holding Randall’s neck easily in his long, bright claws. He snarled around Michael’s throat. “My cubs. MINE.”

Michael carefully reached up and pulled Gryth closer to him, soothing his fur along his back. “Always. Always your cub. Always your pack.” Gryth let go his neck and howled. Randall took breath and raised his voice to howl with him. Somehow it made a song. And when Michael and Ra’Cha joined in, it became a beautiful song. A song of family, home, and pack.

Soft melodies swirled around them for a moment, then went quiet again.

Gryth sat on the floor, and waited for the others to do the same. “Are you both OK?”

They nodded.

“How long were you...For you... Do you...What did...”

“Three years. “ Michael’s soft bass made Gryth’s ears twitch with surprise.

“THREE YEARS?”  Michael nodded, throat tight with emotion.

“I... I missed you.”

“Ah, cub. I would have missed you, but you’ve been gone such a short while, you’ve still got a mess in the kichen.”

Randall snorted amusement.

“What did they teach you?”

Michael looked at Randall, then back to Gryth. “They taught us to fly. And to sing. But most of the time was just for the change. It didn’t seem long when it was happening, but... it did, too. I’m not sure I can explain.”

Gryth nodded. “Mucking about with time always gets weird. Nice to know that goes for him, too.  You’re...You’re OK?”

“Yes. I am. We are. In so many ways I can’t explain. I think... I think they kept us so that we could get used to it. To who we are. Who we need to be. For when it’s time.”

Gryth’s ears shot up. “It’s not time now?”

Michael just shook his head. Randall answered. “Not just yet. But soon. They told us to get ready.”

“Can you still...” Ra’Cha’s voice was hushed, but nervous. So much of their hope rested on Michael. If he could no longer do what needed to be done, if his magic was changed or gone...they were maybe not doomed, not with the help of The Song, but...

“I can. WE can. Watch.”

Michael cast a small, elegant magelight before them, perfect and simple, just as he had been trained. He cocked an eyebrow at Randall who, with a little more effort, did the same.

Gryth cocked an eyebrow at them both, and then nodded at Michael’s wings.

“Well, that’s a bit...I guess, I’d better show you. Maybe the mess hall. Or the hangar bay. Yeah. The hangar bay. The big one.”

Ra’Cha shot him a suspicious look. “You’re not going to destroy my ship are you?”

Michael and Randall shook their heads. Michael’s expression was mischievous, Randall’s peaceful. Or she thought it was. It was hard to tell with all the stars in their eyes. She wondered idly if they knew. Michael laughed.

“I just spent the last 3 years kissing him as we flew between the stars. I know. Does it make me terribly strange? Am I ugly?” His voice carried his deep concern, his uncertainty that he had become too strange, that with his leg, and his wings, and his eyes, he would be too hard to love.

She grabbed at him as he went by. “You were always ugly, cub. Not enough fur.” She hugged him. “But for a human, or a San, you’re a beauty for the ages.” Gryth nodded behind her. They were several yards down the corridor before Gryth decided to have the last word. “But just wait until Ryan sees.”

Ra'Cha laughed uproariously when Michael stumbled to a halt and, caught off balance by his new wings and his new leg, crashed forward in a tangle of wings and limbs. She laughed all the way to the hangar.