Songbird

Prologue The brass section of the orchestra crackled, and the resonance of a pipe organ reverberated through the packed concert hall. Violins quivered. The voices of three hundred students rose in unison and the music gathered pace toward its finale. For thirteen-year-old Irenya O’Neil, who had sung the anthem often enough in rehearsal, the sustained passion of the performance caught up her voice and fused it to the music, swept her to a place entirely new. She closed her eyes and soared higher and higher, though the girl knew she was still standing, real and solid, in the hall. The sound faded, though she felt no incongruity in that change, no fear of heights or of forests far below. Her wings were huge golden pinions, feathers tipped black and gleaming in the starlight. She heard her voice singing from the stars, no longer the promising girlish descant but a strong pure voice chanting a song of power. Each note streamed off her wings… Irenya sensed something amiss as the final triumphant note thundered through the hall. She opened her eyes on a bewildering scene. In a circle around her, students were crying out, flinging up their arms for protection. Next morning they were reprimanded for almost ruining the final moments of the concert. The girls said they suddenly felt as if they were flying among the stars on a huge bird. Some claimed they heard the creature calling to them. The principal eyed each student, weighing adolescent hysteria against calculated prank. Her gaze rested on Irenya, the only student who stared at the floor and said nothing. The principal concluded that whatever the cause, their lack of discipline had been unacceptable. She punished them with a brief suspension from the choir, except for Irenya, whom she branded with a speculative stare. Rumours began to circulate and some students avoided her. She left the choir, said singing was boring, but told her grandmother the one truth she understood. ‘I don’t want to sing anymore. My throat goes so tight it hurts.’ Part I