5: The red mist

Throughout the summer and autumn her visits continued in a similar fashion. Sometimes the gate would be open and she would walk in and round until she found Icarayus and she would then help him with whatever he was doing. Usually her task was to feed the sick, or tired, Spectas. She loved to watch them return to good health as this made her feel useful.

It was not easy to feel useful at home, her mother seemed to have sunk into a deep depression, those cracks between the stones which Isabella avoided at all costs. As the months wore on and the tensions at home increased Isabella found herself visiting the gates more frequently and feeling pleased that her mother never seemed to mind, but sometimes angry that her mother never seemed to notice her absences, or much else these days.

On one particularly bad day Isabella would have liked to have spent time with her mother, but she would not get out of bed. Eventually Isabella headed for the Tree of Heaven and resentfully started to break off branches and leaves and throw them on the ground, almost as if she was trying to destroy the hand that held her. Eventually, when she had calmed down enough to reach the iron gates, she found them closed, she called for Icarayus, but no response. She rattled and kicked the gates, but they would not open. She yelled and kicked and screamed, but no one heard her and the gates were unmoving and unblinking in the afternoon sun. She sat down on the ground worn out with grief and fury.

She has no idea how long she was at the gates before they opened, but eventually they did she stormed in and all the carefully trained trees away from the walls, letting them fall across the beds of vegetables and fruit, kicking the fruit along the ground as she went. She went to see the Spectas and found them fighting, the strong were pecking the weak and she watched with disinterest and amusement. There were feathers everywhere and the closer she got to them the more they fought. The noise they made was terrible and she could not understand why Icarayus was not present. So she left, walking over the torn branches and the fallen fruit back to the gates that were now closed.

She kicked, she screamed, she yelled, she walked round and round the circle looking for Icarayus, but he did not come and the gates did not open. The sun was going down and she was cold. There was no comfort from the gates for all the figures were looking the other way.

Isabella sat down, her head on her knees and sobbed and as she did so the raindrops echoed her sobbing and fell without restraint until she was soaked through and shivering. At this point Icarayus appeared with a large umbrella and a cup of hot chocolate. He sat next to her in silence as she drank the warm sweet drink and together they sheltered under the umbrella until the rain had ceased.

Without a word Icarayus stood up and took his leave leaving the gates open as he did so. She looked at all the damage she had done and started to collect up the fallen fruit and restore the now wet trees to their places on the walls. The sun started to come out and her upturned umbrella was soon full of fruit. As she turned the corner near the birds she saw that Icarayus had been doing the same thing in the opposite direction and so when they met the trees had all been restored to their places and his basket and her umbrella were full of fruit.

“We still have to collect the damaged fruit.” He said producing a bucket from nowhere and starting to collect the fruit she had stamped on. Embarrassed, she started to help him and moved quickly to make sure she took the burden of the work. After they had finished the ground was clear again, no more fallen, or crushed fruit underfoot, just a few crushed daisies bore witness to her rage.

“What will you do with these?” she asked pointing to the bucket.

“That is where the juice will come from. Nothing goes to waste.” He reached out his hand and replaced her unwieldy umbrella of fruit with his own basket of fruit.

He then walked with her to the gates.

“I am so sorry.” She said.

“I know you are.” He replied simply.

“Are the Spectas OK, they were fighting earlier?”

“They are fine, they pick up on the feelings of those who care for them, but they don't really fight, not in the way that you mean it. They reflect the feelings of those around them and those who care for them. So they too have calmed down after the storm.”

“May I come back?” she asked with a sob catching her voice.

“Of course you can come back, nothing has been broken that cannot be replaced, nothing has been lost that cannot be regained and not a molecule has been wasted. If you disappear in shame then what has been started cannot be finished now that would be sad indeed.”

Isabella’s cheeks burned as she felt her shame rise like a hand grabbing hold of her heart. Icarayus took her arm with such tenderness that her shame disappeared and she felt she could look him in the eye again.

“Tell me your favourite character?” he said pointing to the gate. She pointed to the boy with the bird of prey and noticed for the first time that his foot was resting on a violin.

“That was a story that was told to us by someone who recently returned and who has discovered that he has a very special affinity for working with the Spectas." said Icarayus, “He used to play the violin at school and was considered something of a virtuoso which meant that as a child he had to practise for hours but he hated it. His parents were very strict and he knew they wanted the best for him, so he was always caught in a dilemma, should he rebel or should he trust? One day he smashed the violin to pieces and ran from the house fearing their reaction. When he finally found the courage to return he found no evidence of his destruction and suffered no reprimand either. In many ways that was worse than being punished and for a few days he and his parents avoided each other and the subject of the broken violin.

Finally he asked his mother why she was not angry and she said that she had been very angry and hurt. If he had wanted to stop playing the violin all he had to do was say. There was no need to destroy the thing that they both felt brought him pleasure.

“But you knew I hated the practise, the endless scales” he replied.
She nodded and said, "Nothing worthwhile ever comes without some form of sacrifice, or discipline. Simply loving music is not enough. If he truly loved music and felt it within him then he had to practise, reach his inner melody and release it. However if that melody was not there then he should have been honest with himself and with them and walked away leaving the violin's note intact for someone else with the patience to release it.”

That was the part of his story that touched me, for he then realised that he had had no right to destroy that violin, for it carried within it a note that had been built up over the years by different musicians."

“So what did he do?” asked Isabella.

“It took him a while for he felt that he had destroyed something precious inside and that he had shown his parents a great deal of disrespect. So for a long time no music filled his life and he felt empty.

Then one day he went into a music shop and tried a flute and it woke up the dormant music within. Once his love of music had been reawakened it demanded his attention, so he found some work with birds of prey. Not always easy, or pleasant, work as he found out. He recalled one day when he complained to his mother about some scratches and bite marks on his arm and about how tough the work was. Her reply was a look which contained a conveyed a mixture of kindness, understanding and, “Now you know how it feels.”

That made him persevere until he had enough money, not only for a flute, but for lessons as well. Soon his ardent practise paid off, for the birds of prey which at first were a reluctant, but captive audience, became an appreciative one. On stormy days his music would calm their nerves, and if they were reluctant to return home from a flight his music would call them home.

So you see his story has a happy ending for now he brings his music to the Spectas and their soaring flight echo his soaring notes, because he truly released the music within.

Anyway Isabella, enough for today I have to leave you now. So until we meet again.”