Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [42]
“Birdie, help me get out of here!” said Kerka, her hair in spiky tufts around her face.
I nodded, and kept singing, as I climbed into the nest. The sticks poked at me, but I was now so covered with scratches and scrapes I hardly noticed. I put the stone half in my pocket so I could pull at the sticks that were holding Kerka. While I yanked away at them, I motioned for Kerka to sing with me.
At first she shook her head (maybe she didn’t think her voice was good—as if the tree cared!), but then she sang, at first softly, and then loudly and strongly as I knew she could. The sticks turned into dust as I pulled at them, so I got her out pretty quickly.
We both climbed out of the nest, and then Kerka hugged me. It felt silly singing and hugging, but there was no way I was stopping! I was about to walk out through the archway, figuring that we’d just walk all around inside the tree, singing, when Kerka stopped me. I turned to face her, and she held out her hand.
“I found this in the nest,” she sang, and unfurled her fingers like they were a flower blooming.
In her palm rested the other half of the Singing Stone.
I took my half of the stone out of my pocket. We held up the two halves and pressed them together, singing “The Green Song.” The crack sealed, and the stone glowed much brighter than I did.
Kerka let go of her half of the stone, and I held a complete Singing Stone. We had both stopped singing and were just staring at the Singing Stone.
Then I noticed that the tree was glowing now, all on its own, bright and green.
“Play the Singing Stone,” Kerka said.
I put my lips to the etching and blew. The most incredible sound came out—as if the stone were a harp, a flute, and a violin all at the same time. Now the Singing Stone’s music played “The Green Song,” and things started to happen very quickly.
The tree walls were closing in, fresh healthy wood filling in the spaces.
“Come on!” Kerka said. I nearly stopped playing the Singing Stone to laugh—Kerka was back, and as sure of herself as ever!
We quickly ducked under the arch, and the room disappeared behind us. I guess I could have stopped playing the Singing Stone and the tree might have stopped healing so quickly, but it didn’t seem fair to make the tree wait. Kerka and I ran down the staircase as fast as we could. No longer was there black ooze on the stairs, just clean, green wood.
We ran out the door just in time, for the tree filled up right behind us. Kerka and I both sat on the ground to catch our breath. I stopped playing the Singing Stone for a moment. The hum of “The Green Song” continued through everything, so I just held the stone in my hand and watched this new world with wonder.
The air was clear and clean, and the most refreshing rain ever was sprinkling down, washing away the dust and dirt and ooze. The sky was the bright gray of rain clouds backlit by sunshine. All around us, plants were sprouting up and turning green. The knife-ferns had disappeared, replaced by riotous daisies that pushed out of the ground and bloomed as we watched. Overhead, in the tree, buds appeared and leaves opened up.
I saw that Kerka’s hair had grown back—it was braided and coiled back on her head perfectly. I looked down at myself and saw that I was, thankfully, being washed clean as well. I saw Kerka’s Kalis stick, whole again, lying on the ground.
Suddenly I heard the sound of wings, and the banshee landed in front of us. Before Kerka or I had time to react, its old woman’s face changed until it was a crow’s head and face. The seemingly normal crow (although I’m sure it wasn’t completely normal) looked into my eyes. Her eyes were no longer haunted, but warm and bright as a mischievous bird’s. Then the banshee-now-crow soared into the gentle rain, flying away until she was just a black speck in the sky.
“What was that?” asked Kerka.
I grinned, braces and all. “Just a banshee,” I said. “Nothing I can’t handle.” I stood up and put the whole Singing Stone into my pocket. Then I held out my hand to Kerka.