Silver Wings by Isabelle Knight | a short story

Hello, hello, all ye marvelous bookworms and writers!! ^^ A little while ago, a dear friend of mine informed me of a short story competition that was going on at Story Blossoms. Not really thinking I could ever possibly win, I wrote a short story to enter in the competition.

It was a short story that… well, it is rather hard to put into words. But it was a short story that I poured my heart and soul into.

And it came in second place!!!! ^^ Which was absolutely incredible! (Many thanks to Iona over at Story Blossoms for running the Spread Your Wings short story contest!!)

And so I have been wanting to share that short story for quite a while now.

For some odd reason, I haven’t. I don’t know. It is almost like I have been holding on to this short story. Rather terrified to let it out into the world, despite me even entering it in a short story competition. Rather terrified that it’s not good enough.

But I think it is high time that this story made it out into the world. It has the same message as Forget Not Hope, which I wrote a while ago, and is set in the same world.

It is… very short. Basically a single scene.

It is about sisters. It is about war. It is about hope. And it is about magical birds.

So without further ado, this is that story. <3

Rosalie is singing again.

The world outside is strangely quiet.

The cool summer breeze ruffles my hair, and I can catch the faint scent of rain drifting across it.

The moon is a sliver in the deep blue sky.

The fields shift in the wind, like they are dancing, silently.

When the winds carry naught but grief,

And the sky itself cries,

And the war has ripped apart the world,

Forget not the skysongs.

A sad smile tugs at my lips. Rosalie always had a gift for singing. Ever since she was a child, she’d always loved to dance about in the garden, singing with her voice that could brighten even the stormiest skies. Father would always dance with her, and then I and Nico would clamber about, spinning and twirling, and then Mother would join in, and then we would all be laughing and singing, however off-key we all were.

But Father is gone now.

The War has taken him.

Nico fights in the North, in a battle that should not be fought in the first place.

And the skysongs vanished hundreds of years ago.

“Lili?” Rosalie stops singing and turns to me. Her brown eyes search mine. “What is it?” she murmurs.

The tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them back. I am meant to be the older sister. The strong one. But strong is the very last thing I feel in this moment.

I bite my lip and sit beside Rosalie on the window seat in our room. “Nothing,” I whisper. “Well… everything.” And then a choked laugh escapes me. “If that’s even possible. This war… The skysongs…”

Rosalie puts an arm around me and leans onto my shoulder. “I know,” she says. “I know.”

I stare out into the distance of darkness.

The war seems so far away from us, yet so close at the same time.

Two years ago, everything was fine.

We lived on this island in peace. There was joy. There was hope. Perhaps nothing was perfect. There were still tears. Arguments. But there was laughter too. And every night, if one looked out at the night sky, they would see the glittering stars, and the constellation of Lia.

The last of the skysongs, birds who were said to have spun magic and hope into the air with their songs, the ones who created this island.

But then the Silver Guard came.

From where, no one knew.

All I knew was that they had brought darkness with them – and they were getting closer.

Even here, in the fields of our farm, far far away from the War, I could still hear it.

The stomping of soldiers boots.

The clang of swords.

The sounds of battle.

“Lili…” Rosalie said quietly. “What if the War comes here? What will we do then?” Her voice cracks like I have never heard it crack before – for Rosalie has always been… a quiet person, I suppose. Singing her songs to herself. Keeping questions to herself.

Never before has she ever asked this.

“I… I don’t know.”

My words ring through the air, and Rosalie doesn’t answer.

“Will we win?” she asks, despite the fact that both of us know the answer to that. There is no truly winning in a war.

I do not answer.

We are silent.

The wind brushes against the freckles on my cheek.

And then suddenly Rosalie gasps. “Lili!” she cries. She tears herself away from me and scrambles to lean out the window, her eyes flying wide open. “Lili!”

I jolt up. “What?”

Rosalie’s eyes are wide. Her response is one whisper. “Look.”

I lean out the window, my eyes scanning the fields outside.

For a moment, I see nothing but the wheat that shines silver in the moonlight and the poplar tree that grows not too far away.

And then I see.

A small, silver bird.

It is perched on the roots of the poplar tree.

Its wings are silver, shining in the moonlight, and dark blue at the tips.

Its dark eyes glint.

For a moment, everything stills.

The bird turns to us.

Its dark eyes lock onto mine.

I suck in my breath sharply, tears suddenly springing up in the back of my eyes. “No… It can’t…”

The bird’s eyes feel as though they are staring into my soul.

But not in a dark, terrifying way.

Its eyes are kind. Soft. As if it is peering deep down into my soul, seeing every crack and heartbreak along with every speck of joy and hope, and saying, I see you.

And then it opens its beak and sings.

Its voice is silvery and soft, dancing through the wind.

It is a voice unlike anything I have ever heard before.

And then I hear the song.

It is familiar, and I feel my heart give a squeeze.

When ruin comes

and shadows swoop from the sky

forget not hope.

Rosalie’s eyes are glassy with tears. But then she opens her mouth and sings.

When the sky falls

and the oceans turn against you,

forget not hope.

Her voice trembles, but it carries the melody perfectly.

I know the last lines by heart.

So carry on.

Carry on.

Forget not hope.

Forget not hope.

I sing as well. My voice sounds rusty compared to Rosalie’s. But somehow, our three voices entwine together through the air, carrying through and weaving together perfectly.

And then the song ends.

Rosalie and I stare at the bird – the skysong – the two of us unable to believe it.

“There’s no way…” Rosalie chokes out. “I thought the skysongs had left.” She furrows her brow, and the bird tilts its head as if it is studying us.

And then it speaks.

Only three words, in that same soft voice of its.

Forget not hope.

And then it turns. And despite the sudden urge in me to reach out, to call out, to tell it to stay, I only watch as it unfurls its wings and, all too quickly, takes off into the sky.

It unfurls its wings.

It beats them, once, twice.

It lifts up into the wind now.

And then the wind carries it.

Up, up, and away.

And then its silver figure vanishes into the darkness.

Rosalie sucks in her breath sharply, blinking hard. “Was that…”

“A skysong,” I whisper.

Rosalie blinks back tears. “I – I didn’t think it was possible. They left! Or – or they were a legend or something!” Her voice falters. “What is it, Lili?”

My gaze is pinned on something drifting through the breeze.

It dances with the wind, and instinctively, I reach out.

It is a feather.

A skysong feather.

Rosalie gasps.

The feather is silver and soft in my shaking hands.

I could spend forever staring at this feather, but Rosalie grabs my arm, pointing. “Lili!! Look!”

My eyes widen as I follow Rosalie’s pointed finger to the dark sky.

Except it is no longer dark.

Or… not as dark.

Though shadows still linger in the corners of the sky, the sky is lit up by a soft light. Multiple soft lights.

Skysongs.

Countless ones. Soaring across the sky.

Rosalie’s eyes fill with tears. My chest tightens.

We stand there, in silence, hands joined, as we watch the glowing birds circle the island with their silver wings, the very birds that so many have lost hope in.

Rosalie doesn’t let go of my hand. She blinks. She opens her mouth, then closes it again, at a complete loss for words.

For a moment, everything flashes back into my head. The War. Nico. The Silver Guard. The blood. The death. The despair.

What if the War comes here? What will we do then?

Rosalie’s words echo in my head.

But then I see the skysong feather in my hand. I hear the song again, my voice entwining with Rosalie’s and the skysong’s.

And I know.

“We must carry on,” I whisper, in a voice so quiet not even the wind could hear.

Yes, I want to cry. Yes, the War is far from over, and our people have died to fight for this island.

Will it ever end, I do not know.

But the skysongs are still here.

Hope still flickers in this land, however faint.

So long as there is hope, we will fight.

And so I lifted my head to sky, and watch as the last skysong spreads its wings and flies, vanishing into the darkness.

Carry on.

Forget not hope.

And so we shall.

And that was the story, folks! Do let me know down in the comments what you thought of it!! ^^ I love hearing from y’all! What really inspired this story was, I think, a song that I listened to: Call the Nightingale by Vian Izak and Juniper Vale. It is such a beautiful song and one that I really do think reflects holding onto hope during the dark. <3

Till next time, y’all! Keep your friends close and your muffins closer*, and I shall see ye all soon!

*don’t ask. Actually, feel free too. XD Can’t promise you’ll get a good answer though.

-Isabelle