Sequel to Feathered Friend
It’s been a year since shapeshifting pigeon Avery found his permanent roost with librarian Derek. With a life-mate he adores, frequent sex and all the chocolate biscuits he could wish for, he’s blissfully happy. Well, most of the time.
Truth is, he aches for the freedom and excitement of his old racing life. But when Derek gives into his pestering and lets him take part in a race, Avery finds he’s lost his innate sense of direction.
With no idea where north is, he limps back towards home. Taking refuge in a garden shed, he’s horrified to discover his feather cloak is stuck outside and he’s trapped, naked, with no way of calling for help. It’s down to his own ingenuity, and the help of a very unusual mouse, to try to fly free again. Only then can he find out what happened, and plan revenge on whoever was responsible ...
Finally the preparations were over, the paperwork signed, and the starting official came over to stand by the boxes, stopwatch in hand. Adrenaline coursed through Avery’s veins; excitement sharpened his every sense. He could smell the salt tang of Derek’s sweat -- sharper and warmer than the more distant salt of the sea -- and feel the heat of the sun on his back even through the wooden lid of the box. Peering through the wire mesh panel he saw Derek mouth good luck at him and winked. Just in time. There was a series of loud tapping noises as Derek unlocked the boxes one by one and flung back their lids. A smaller, softer click as the starting official set his watch. A shattering clatter of wings as all the birds headed for freedom and the sky. And he went too. Up! Out! Away! To infinity and -- No. Not that, but it felt every bit as good. Even as he spiralled upwards he heard a ragged call from below.
‟Good luck!”
He looked back down to see Derek, already receding into a dot, his face turned sky-wards and one hand waving, and wished he could wave back. Love you, he wanted to shout. See you back home. Drive carefully in that van. Speech was impossible, though. He satisfied himself with a small wing-dip, then set his beak towards the sun and flew.
Up here near the clouds the air was cold and he would need to flap extra hard to stop his muscles locking up. Already he was speeding away from the release site, knowing instinctively which way was south. The iron in his brain might only be a tiny atom or two but it told him exactly where north was, without even having to think. Armed with that knowledge he could find his way home from almost anywhere.
Far below he could still make out the beach. Derek had disappeared -- a dot amongst other dots -- but Avery knew his mate would be packing up for home. First he would load the empty boxes back into the van, then he would fortify himself for the long drive with something to eat and drink. He might even have a nap, hunched over the steering wheel. Avery hoped so. His mate had already driven right through the night and had the same distance to cover to get back again. Avery worried sometimes about the long periods the man went without sleep on race weekends. The greater the distance from the release site, the greater the chance that the pigeons would reach their loft hours before he got home. It wouldn’t hurt to stop off somewhere and book a hotel room for an hour or two. But Derek always put the birds’ needs first, hurrying home to count them and check them over for injuries and make sure they had water and grain.
Now he was high enough to see the tops of the clouds. He stopped climbing, checked his bearings one last time, and set his head towards home. Around him he could sense some of the other birds; they’d scattered when they were released, but all were now following a similar path. A few yards away he could see Patch, head down and wings outstretched, hurtling through the air, and over there towards the sea was Grey. Avery stretched as well. It felt so good to be racing again. Exhilarating was the word he would use if he was in human form. The cool air rushing over his body, the sense of urgency, the perfect knowledge of where he was and where he needed to be.
Except ... except something didn’t feel right. There was an odd, unseen, half-felt surge in the air, a tingling along his back and through his head, a sense that he could no longer feel. He shook his head to clear the surge away, but it followed him, even when he tried to fly out of its muddling grasp. He felt dizzy suddenly, the part of his brain that anchored him to the earth falling away into numbness and thin air, and panic replaced the excitement of only a moment before.
Where was he? Which way was north? Why couldn’t he sense it anymore? He’d always had that knowledge, there for the asking without having to question it, from the moment he’d first hatched. Without it he felt empty and disorientated. He tacked back and forth, hoping it would come back, but all he felt was growing concern. A couple of the other birds skittered past, exuding panic from every pore, and it was clear they’d been caught in the same whatever-it-was as well. He called to them and they came to him, flocking in the way birds will when startled or confused. Safety in numbers, Avery had called it to Derek only the other day, but there didn’t seem to be much safety now. There were simply more of them to get lost.
