Both Sides Now

[Damask the Minstrel]

Damask had almost forgotten how sweet outside air could be -- had almost gotten used to the caves. When the first ray of real sun hit his feathers, it was almost scalding. He could feel the clamminess of the underground steaming away and the sunlight purifying him. It was almost strong enough to make him forget: forget the pain in his wing that intensified with every flap and every cross-breeze, forget the music, forget his love.

Eliza! The thought snapped Damask out of his exultations; he brought his head around to the battle below. She was down there, somewhere in the melee.

There! He caught sight of the marten backing away from -- Rath! He was there, holding his side, his fur matted with gore from the battle. As Damask began to descend, he saw the ferret sink into the sand.

And as the maiden ducked into the cave
Our hero to the maid did fly to save.

Before that, however, Damask stopped by the fallen Rath. With a claw, he prodded the ferret. When there was no reply, Damask felt his spirits lifting -- first he was free and now this brute was dead!

He called her name yet received no reply
The hero bard did give a second try.

After a moment an idea came to Damask. If she was worried it wasn't safe, perhaps he should simply try to assuage her fears -- show her that she was safe with him. So, with a soft tone, he began to sing to her:

"Fear not, o maiden, gentle true
For I have come to save you from
What any beast would seek to do
And so, my maid, do take my wing and come.
We'll fly from here --"

"Ssst!" The marten's melodious voice came from up ahead. "Are you insane? You're going to get us killed!"

"Miss Eliza, I promise it's safe." The robin hopped forward, holding out a wing to her.

"I can still hear them." Her voice was flat, unresponsive, and she shrank back from the bird -- and the outdoors behind him.

The bird took a look over his shoulder, but only shrugged at her comment, "True, but I'll protect you, and one of the biggest threats is taken care of."

"What do you mean?"

"That horrid Wrath beast, Miss Eliza! He has been slain."

She was silent, which was puzzling to the bird, but he plowed forward with his assessment, nonetheless, "Oh yes, ma'am. I mean, he was a frightening brute, was he not? Why, back in the caves, he threatened me for trying to see you. I say we're better off without --"

"You incompetent little fool!" Her sudden outburst caused Damask to take a step back.

"But -- what did I..."

The marteness stepped out of the gloom, her face still fearful, but plastered with a mask of fury. "Get out of here, Damask."

A tentative wing reached out for her, but she slid back into the gloom, "Just go."

Everything started to go wrong, somehow. Damask tried to reply, to assure her, but his throat was closing in panic. He could feel the cave begin to close in, not collapse, but threaten to swallow him whole. The fresh air that he just tasted beckoned to him again, an offer of freedom and a world that was righted. Yet, he wanted to reach out to her, to explain that he was right and good, but --

The bird whirled in place: past logic, past hearing the sounds of battle, and past caring about safety or caution. He took to the wing as soon as he could, tilting a wing to veer past the waterfall. Behind him he could feel the clammy air closing in on his tailfeathers, trying to suck him in. He gave a loud squawk, pushing himself as hard as his wing would allow.

A loud, panicked bird is a very inviting target.

The slingstone connected with Damask's good wing and sent him into a tumbling roll into the edge of the waterfall. He gave another cry as the water pulled him into the depths.

He couldn't find his way back up! His whole life had been an infinite sky, yet the bird could find nothing, just inky blues in every direction. He released a stream of bubbles as he tried to scream, his chest burning, eyes seared by the water. He could feel the choking -- his thrashing was slowing as the pain spread in his chest. The world began to grow dimmer and the only sound was his heartbeat and the roar of the water all around him. His mind grew sluggish, The end! She said -- and now I'm --

You know, murmured the Softleaves voice in his ear, her reaction sounds awfully familiar.

But Damask couldn't remember...

Let me show you

As Damask felt the choking panic begin to ebb, he allowed the dark to envelop him -- to drown out light and warmth and hope.

---

The light that struck his face was harsh, blurring the landscape before him, yet dulling the colors, drowning them with its enveloping, assimilating glare. The colors seemed wrong, as well: lush greens and deep browns in the land of sands? Damask rubbed his eye on the back of a wing, trying to slear his vision.

It didn't help. However, the bird found that if he squinted, the world came into some kind of focus.

A whistle erupted in his ears, breaking his concentration and send the world back into a whorl of colors, which began to move in time with the jaunty tune.

Still focusing on the landscape, Damask turned, scanning his surroundings to find the music's source. It was a young bird.

Damask felt a twinge of jealousy. He was a dapper fellow, his pinions shining and strong. His hopskip movement had more bounce than otters at gambol. He had his chest out, displayed proudly -- an orange to rival a sunset. Most of all, though, his voiced pierced the wood, bouncing between the empty trees, making a round of his solo.

It was a cheery carol he sang, and Damask knew it well:

'Twas a fair December morn, O shoo da lolly day.
The jill 'n 'ob did tarry there, O derry down a day.
And yet because they were not shorn, La strum da leedle ay.
The snow did 'ide the 'ob from 'er. O derry down a day.

"Cheery nonsense again?" The voice from above was a sharp dissonance to the song. It was high and reedy -- demanding -- a voice that would tax your ears for the listening.

"Ah, my love!" Against all possibility, the robin on the ground beamed all the brighter. He leapt into flight, flapping to the nest high above, "I have wonderful news!"

"Another bumpkin tried to pay you with cake?" Her scornful query cut into his mood.

Still, the young fellow was not deterred, "No, my love, look!"

He removed a small pouch from around his neck and tossed it onto the nest's floor. The female tore into it, her eyes gleaming in the dappled daylight. She crooned at the shine that met her as the last of the pouch fell away, "Silver..."

"Indeed, silver!" The young robin burbled happily. "I wasn't expecting it, but I performed so well! I've never heard a crowd like this one--"

"Which song did you use?" Her tone dropped an octave.

The fellow seemed taken aback, "Err... well, there were a few..."

"You used it, didn't you?"

He backed up slowly, his wings upraised, "Now, love, I told you I'd compose a better one for you, and you seemed to like the idea. There was just this wedding, and it seemed --"

She cut him off with a screech, the volume palpable even to Damask, who was simply looking in on the scene, "You simpering, incompetent fool!"

She batted at the meager metallic offering before her, showering the young male with coins. He cowered at the reaction and the crescendo that followed, "They are mine! How dare you give them the same words you gave to me!"

"I'm sorry!"

She stood over him, the very picture of beautiful fury. Glaring down at the huddled mass of feathers, she began, "You're pitiful. Singing about great deeds, all while hiding under your wing. Singing my songs for some other beasts' wedding, coming back with this -- pauper's purse."

"I'll do better!" The promise came in a cracked voice that was muffled by a wing.

"You'd better."

The lad emerged from behind the feathered shield, "I will! Soon, I'll be at Redwall or one of the southern castles." He took a tentative hop forward, letting hope shine in his eyes. "In a proper palace for my lady."

The world shifted again, for just a moment, and the scene before Damask changed. The female was gone, as were a good number of objects from about the nest -- anything that could reflect light. The young robin was still there, though he lacked the polish of before. His feathers were in disarray and he slouched against the side of the nest. He was fidgeting with an object in his claws, and all the while his beak was moving.

Damask moved forward, swimming through the fog of this odd reality. As he came closer, he could hear the bird muttering: "...said. I can't believe that's what she said. 'Never again.' Never again, what does that mean? The songs for her -- why, I'd never sing them! Never! An' it was getting better, though. I mean, she seemed happy, right? I always got back each night, and I was doing well, so well."

The bird looked up at the air in front of him and continued, his voice soft and shame-filled, "I know she needed more, but... I won it for her. She's just -- maybe out for a flight? Or to visit an old friend, perhaps."

The bird set the object on the floor of the nest in front of him: a bronze bangle. "I need to just keep doing more and bringing it here. For when she gets back."

Damask felt the familiar weight around his right leg -- of that same piece of jewelry -- that he'd worn since he could remember.

The world dissipated before Damask's eyes to be replaced by darkness and the Softleaves voice -- a voice he had just heard a moment before in that strange vision, Now, do you understand? About her?

It couldn't be true, though. Eliza is different. I know she'll come back to me.