Broken Wings (20 page)

“I’m sorry,” Rye said. “I didn’t mean to do that. I… I’m finding this difficult
to talk about.”

“It’s not very easy for me, either.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Flora stood and slipped a hand through Rye’s arm. They strolled together along
deserted paths. Shrubs and saplings occasionally screened them from everyone,
though the roar of the sports fans followed their meandering progress.

“Being one of a couple doesn’t mean you have to forget the rest of your life,”
Flora said. “I can help you. I don’t mean money. I mean you and me talking about
things. Holly and I get along. I’ll never have the relationship with her that
you do, and I would never try to, but she and I have a lot in common. Things you
and she don’t. I don’t know much about raising teenagers, but I could learn.”

“I wish… I wish there were two of me. Between them, I might have time to do
everything I wanted.”

“Would you think differently about us having a relationship if I were a man? If
you were straight?”

Rye scowled down at the muddy path.

“I think you still owe me that answer,” Flora said. “About why you feel you have
to hide our relationship from Holly. Does it have something to do with being a
lesbian? And how that was regarded when you were growing up?”

Rye stopped and looked around. The closest person was an old green gremlin lady
with her beetle on a leash half the park away.

“Don’t you think I deserve a little more honesty?” Flora said.

“I… I can’t risk Holly knowing I’m gay. If we got sent back, they’d get it out
of her. I don’t want her to live the rest of her life taking the blame for
that.”

Flora frowned. “Blame? For what? What would happen if you were known to be gay?
Not that it’s likely you’ll ever go back to Fairyland, is it? Not after all
these years. What did they do to you that you still live in fear?”

Rye remembered Holly’s deathly pallor after she’d blurted out that stuff about
Fairyland. Holly still needed those family details. Details which Rye could not
supply without revealing their illegal residence status.

“Rye?” Flora touched Rye’s cheek.

Rye drew in a shuddering breath. Why did it feel like her life was
disintegrating?

“They tied her up,” Rye said. “And whipped her. The blood ran down the back of
her legs. They opened cuts in her wings. She didn’t make a sound. She just went
all limp when she fainted. And still they whipped her.”

“Who?”

“Chastity. They caught us in the robing room having sex.” Rye heard a cheering
roar and flinched.

“Oh, Holy Elm,” Flora said. “That’s barbaric. Did they do that to –”

Rye grabbed Flora’s wrist and tugged her behind a sapling.

“It was going to be my turn the next day,” Rye whispered. “They left me on my
knees to pray all night. And think about what I’d seen. And imagine how that was
going to feel when they did it to me. I escaped. But I didn’t get far. They
caught me and took me back to the temple. It was the second time I tried to
flee, so they broke my wings and made sure they didn’t set right. So I could
never use them again.”

Flora swore under her breath. She had gone as pale as Holly. “Rye –”

“I couldn’t afford the fine. My commune took back the land I’d been given when I
got my wings, but they didn’t give me enough money for it to pay the temple. My
mother wouldn’t give me anything. She didn’t want me back. I was evil and she
wished she’d never had me. With my wings broken, no one on another farm or in
the city would have given me work because they’d know I was trouble. Not that
the temple would let me leave the valley. So, I had nothing and no way to earn
anything, but I still owed them. That meant I had to become a temple bond
servant. The temple owned me.”

“Owned?”

“The only thing I had to pay them with was myself. That made me temple property.
I did whatever I was told. They gave me food and somewhere to sleep.”

“That’s… that’s slavery,” Flora said. “Holy Elm. It’s too horrific to believe.
Oh, Rye –”

“I bided my time. I learned from what I did wrong the last time, and I escaped
properly. They never expected me to go back for Holly. We got across the river
and through the hills. She was a good kid. Better than you’d expect. I could
have made better time on my own, but she kept me going. I had to get her away
from that. And she hardly ever got homesick or cried, even when we went hungry
and cold. Still, being cold and hungry wasn’t nothing new. We made it.”

Flora clasped Rye’s hands. “I had no idea.”

“I earn whatever Holly and I need. I always have. I provide for us. We’ve gone
short sometimes, but I’ve never owed anyone anything. I’ve never fallen into
that trap. No one is going to tell me what to do or own me. Never again. Nor
Holly. Not while there’s breath in me.”

Flora shook her head. She looked between shock and tears. “Oh, Holy Elm. I never
imagined – I wish I’d known. I think I begin to understand.”

“I can’t risk being sent back,” Rye said. “I can’t let them take Holly. That’s
why I have to wait for her to get her wings. She’s an adult then. They can’t
claim her back, even if they found her.”

Flora frowned. “But, surely, they can’t force naturalised citizens out of this
country? Especially not to an inhumane regime?”

“Good morning!”

Rye and Flora started. A pixie jogger raised his hand as he passed.

Rye jerked her hands free and strode away. Fey. She hadn’t meant to say all
that. It had just blurted out. Like it had on Fifth Night with Holly. Rye raked
trembling fingers across her scalp. How many passing people had heard?

The cheer of the ball game spectators sounded ominously loud.

Rye felt Flora’s hand on her back.

“I’m sorry,” Rye said. “I… I didn’t mean to say all that. This wasn’t at all
what I planned. I’m so fucking useless at this talking stuff.”

“I don’t think you are,” Flora said. “I could wish you’d confided in me earlier.
But I can understand why it’s not something you find easy to say.”

Rye captured Flora’s hand and held it firmly between hers. “I can’t do
everything. Right now, I don’t feel like I’m coping with anything.”

“You could let me help. You needn’t be alone.”

“I love you.” Rye kissed Flora’s fingers. “I wish I’d met you ten or five years
from now.”

“My budmate.” Flora sighed and looked unhappy. “You know, don’t you, that I want
to be with you? That no matter how hurt and angry I’ve been with you, I still
came here hoping that we could make it work.”

Rye’s world trembled as if it were about to split apart – or she was. When she
really wanted to say yes, she said, “I can’t. Not now.”

“I’m not so foolish as to ask you to choose between me and Holly. You could have
us both, you know.”

“I can’t.”

Flora looked away for a long time.

“I wish… ” Rye said, “I wish it could’ve been different.”

Flora slowly nodded. “I think I’m beginning to understand. I might not agree,
but I think I’m beginning to see.”

Quiet acceptance was harder to bear than Flora shouting at her. Rye made a
futile gesture. Flora brushed away a tear. Rye couldn’t help herself, she
reached out to put her arms around Flora. Flora moved into the embrace.
Almighty King and Queen of the Fey, she felt good to hold. Flora gently
disengaged.

“I’m not that strong,” Flora whispered. “I’ll never be able to retain any
dignity if you do that again. This is hard enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Flora reached up to gently lay her hand against Rye’s cheek. “So am
I. I can’t promise to wait forever, but if you change your mind, if ever you
need me –”

Rye kissed her. Softly, chastely. “I shall always love you.”

Flora turned away quickly and strode off along the path. Rye’s eyes stung and
her throat tightened.

Flora broke into a run. She cut across the field toward the eatery parking lot.
Rye put a fist to her chest as if that might keep her heart from tearing in two.

“I had no choice,” Rye said. “I had no fucking choice.”

Rye turned the alarm off, rolled out of bed, and reached for her clothes.
Another day to get through. What day was it? Second Day? Third Day? A whole week
since… No, it was First Day.

Rye sighed and pulled her pants on.

“I need you to fill this in.” Holly dropped a green form on the kitchen table.

Rye forced herself to show some interest. Holly grabbed a round of toast but
remained standing. Rye felt a spurt of resentment and anger. She wasn’t even
good enough to sit beside and share breakfast with? She had given up Flora for
this? But it wasn’t Holly’s fault.

Rye sighed and pulled the form closer. Section B. Family details. Citizen
identification number.
Fey.

“Now that I’ve got Flora’s letter,” Holly said, “I want to send them in.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Holly disappeared into the bathroom.

Mother’s name. Penance. Father’s name. Unknown. Date of Birth. Not known
precisely. One day in spring sixteen years ago. Place of Birth. Birdwood Valley
Commune Farm Number Two, Fairyland.

No, Rye would use the details she had made up for Holly when she had first
registered her for school. The one thing she could not lie her way around,
though, was the citizen identification number. What, in the name of the Almighty
King and Queen of the Fey, was she going to do?

When the lunch break whistle blew, Rye trotted down from the top levels of the
under construction apartment tree. She hopped on her broom and flew out the site
gates. She stopped at the RainbowSpring branch of the municipal library that she
passed every day on her way to work.

Immigration Service. ShadeForest City Branch. 352 Upper Plantain Way. General
enquiries (303) 990-032.

Rye scribbled the details down and went to find a street map.

Rye parked her broom. The totara tree containing number 352 was set back in a
plaza. The large roots were busy with shops and cafés. Rye stood staring at the
tree. Immigration were the people who hunted down illegal immigrants and shipped
them back to where they came from. Rye’s wings tightened uncomfortably against
her back and her heart beat faster. She bit her lip and clenched her fists. She
must not panic. She could not run away. She had to walk in there and find out if
there was any way Holly could become a citizen before she was an adult with her
wings. Rye had to do this for Holly.

Rye forced her legs to move. She passed happy, chatty people. Her breathing grew
more rapid. When she saw the big brightly coloured sign for the Immigration
Service, her legs stopped. She could see lines of people. Dwarves. Gnomes.
Brownies. Fauns. And a half-goblin at the door in a uniform.

Rye could feel the air pressing in on her. Squeezing her lungs. Turning the
edges of the world black.

Rye backed up, bumped into someone, and ran.

No! Stop!

When Rye halted herself, she stood in Upper Plantain Street outside a real
estate agency. Her heart beat so fast and hard that she thought it might be in
danger of bursting. She pretended to look at apartments for sale. She heard no
shouts. The uniformed half-goblin hadn’t come running to catch her.

“Fuck,” she said.

Rye wiped perspiration from her face with a trembling hand. Stupid! What was she
thinking? That sort of behaviour might attract exactly the attention she wished
to avoid.

Rye climbed back on her broom. She flew back to the building site. That
afternoon, she wielded a hammer and chisel as if her life depended on hollowing
out a whole room single-handed.

That evening, Holly asked again about her form.

“Tomorrow,” Rye said. “Okay?”

Holly looked angry. “I need it. It’s important.”

“I know. Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

Holly shrugged. “No.”

Rye watched Holly walk into her bedroom and shut the door. Holly’s music blared.
Rye felt so acutely alone. She wanted to get very, very drunk. But that wouldn’t
solve anything and it was the last example she should be setting Holly.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

“Come on,” Rye said.

Beep-beep.
“You have reached the Immigration Service. If you know the
extension number of the person or service you wish to contact, please dial now.
If you wish to contact General Enquiries, please press one. Press two for visa
services. Three for passports. Four for residency and citizenship.”

Rye pressed four.

“Hello. My name is Myrtle Smallage. How may I help you today?”

“Um.” Rye cleared her throat, which was tightening too much. “Um. Yeah. Look, I
was just wondering… um.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Well, the thing is… I have this friend. Um. She’s sixteen years old. She needs
an ident number. Is there any way she can get the number before she’s an adult?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Myrtle Smallage said. “I’m not sure I completely understand
your enquiry. At sixteen years of age, your friend is a minor, yes. But she
should have a C.I.N. She would have been assigned one at the time her birth was
registered. Perhaps we’re talking about an individual who was not born in this
country?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“I see. What is her current residency status? Is she a visitor? A permanent
resident? Because if she is a resident, then she should have a resident
identification number.”

Rye gripped the vandalised screen and struggled against the pressing dark and
rising panic. “No, she’s not a resident.”

“Only citizens, by naturalisation or birth, can hold a C.I.N., ma’am.”

“How… how can she become a citizen?”

“Foreign born individuals can apply to become naturalised citizens after a
period of three years residency. Marriage to a citizen would also confer
naturalisation. However, since your young friend is not a resident, she would
have to apply to become one. And since she’s still a minor, a parent or legal
guardian would have to make the application on her behalf. Which also means
she’s underage to marry.”

“Okay. How do I apply for her?”

“The exact procedures depend on her current place of abode. Is she in her native
country?”

“No,” Rye said. “She’s… she’s here.”

“I see. Then her legal guardian needs to make an application for an interim
residency permit for her before the expiration of the tourist or visitor’s visa
on which she is named.”

Rye’s chest was so tight she feared she would not be able to continue to suck in
air. “What… what if she doesn’t have a visa or permit?”

Pause. “Are we talking about someone who is living in the country after the
expiry of her visa or permit?”

“No. Um. She never had one.”

“Oh.”

Rye groped to loosen the top buttons on her shirt. She could barely breathe. Her
heart pounded so fast and hard that she thought she might be heading for cardiac
arrest. She had to do this. For Holly.

“I see,” Myrtle said. “Did this minor enter –”

“She was taken away from Fairyland. She hasn’t got her wings yet. But she needs
her ident. How can I get one for her? Please.”

“Fairyland? Oh, I see. Yes. It’s common for fairies to apply as refugees. If
there are substantive grounds for believing that she would suffer harm were she
to be repatriated.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, and a minor could gain citizenship by adoption. If she were to be adopted
by a citizen.”

“No,” Rye said. “That refugee thing.”

“Well, it’s normal to make an application through a lawyer. It’s a complex
process.”

Rye’s heart sank as she listened to the woman explain a load of bureaucratic
details. She could not afford a lawyer.

“Fairyland residents generally have a high proportion of successful
applications,” Myrtle said. “Usually, the only impediment is if the applicant
has a criminal record, either here or in their country of origin.”

Rye’s wings scrunched up even harder. Still, Holly had done nothing wrong. She
had been a wingless child when Rye took her out of the country. Rye had fled
Fairyland without permission, but Holly couldn’t be held responsible for being
kidnapped. Nor could they taint her with anything else Rye had done on her way
out of there.

Rye trudged back to work. What was she going to do now?

Someone rapped on the front door. Holly darted from her room and cut in front of
Rye to reach the door first. Holly was dressed up. As was Daisy Bark, the person
who had knocked.

“You ready?” Daisy said.

“Let’s get out of here,” Holly said.

“Wait!” Rye walked the three paces down the hall to the door. “Where do you
think you’re going?”

“Out,” Holly said.

“Onionfield,” Daisy said. “We’ve got tickets to the latest Frond Lovage play.
Second Time Loss.
It’s going to be astronomical! All the papers give it rave
reviews, Ms. Woods.”

Rye frowned at Holly. Holly scowled at Daisy.

“You didn’t say anything about this to me,” Rye said.

“I bought the ticket myself,” Holly said. “Out of my wages. Okay? No need to get
knotted.”

“That wasn’t my only concern,” Rye said. “You have school tomorrow. And aren’t
you underage for that play?”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Woods,” Daisy said. “My mum is taking us. She’s wearing the
most embarrassing dress, but the theatre is going to be dark most of the time,
so no one should be able to see her much. We can run ahead of her from the
parking lot to the auditorium and pretend like we don’t know who she is.”

Rye leaned to see past Daisy. A carpet waited on the parking pad. Mrs. Bark
waved by wiggling her fingers. Rye raised a hand. When Holly tried to slip out,
Rye grabbed her arm.

“We’re going to be late,” Holly said belligerently.

“You could’ve told me,” Rye said.

Holly shrugged. “Why? What difference would it make?”

“Don’t you think it would’ve been polite to let me know you were going out?”

“You don’t own me.”

Rye mentally recoiled. “No, I don’t.”

“So, let me go. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Holly –”

Holly jerked free and darted out the door. Daisy Bark paused, looking
uncomfortable, before she strode to the carpet. Rye fleetingly considered
stalking out there and demanding that Holly return to the apartment. Was it time
she reasserted herself? Or would that make it worse?

The carpet lifted and flew away.

“No, I don’t own you,” Rye said. “But it’s my job to take care of you. It still
is.”

Rye closed the door and slumped to the floor. “It still is. Crap. What am I
doing so wrong?”

Rye slid her fingers into her hair and clenched her fists so that the hairs
pulled painfully at her scalp.

“Flora.”

Rye wanted to be back then. Back at the start of their affair. Before the gifts
and crap. When it was just them having sex and being together. Lying naked on
the couch and having Flora stroke her wing membrane. Smelling Flora’s hair.
Forgetting that the rest of Infinity existed. Having someone love her. Having
someone want her.

“Fey!”

Rye scrambled to her feet. This was not the way to solve anything. Why did she
only remember the good stuff? They’d had insurmountable issues. It would never
have worked. She’d better spend her time trying to solve real problems rather
than daydreaming.

She had no idea what she was going to do about Holly. The problem was that
matters were likely to get worse. Telling Holly that she did not have, nor could
she get, an ident number wasn’t going to be pretty. Holly would just have to
send in the forms without it. Or not send in the forms at all.

If Holly hadn’t been likely to get a scholarship, that would have been easier.
But Flora was confident that she would succeed. Holly having a good career was
exactly what Rye had been working for. The kid was counting on it.

Rye needed an ident number for her. The government way wasn’t going to work.
Where did that leave her?

Rye grabbed her jacket and went outside. She climbed on her broom and flew off
toward the bridge.

Rye pushed into the smoke, stink, and noise of the Ball and Chain tavern. Music
from a tinny sound system blared over the talking, laughing, and coughing. She
threaded her way through the crowd of mostly men to get to the bar. She didn’t
see Knot.

“Beer.” Rye shouted her order to the pixie behind the bar. “Knot Knapweed in?”

The bartender shoved a jar toward her, took her money, and nodded. Rye turned.
She spied some of her workmates at one of the stand up tables.

“Hey, Rye!” Blackie said. “You finally got off the leash?”

Rye smiled fleetingly and eased in beside Knot. She waited for a lull in the
disjointed conversation about some team before leaning closer to Knot.

“You know people who can get things, don’t you?” she asked.

Knot’s scalp ridges pulled closer together. “Depends on what sort of thing
you’re after.”

“Some paperwork,” Rye said.

“Official, like?”

“Yeah.”

“Knot!” Budge called. “You tell Blackie he’s talking shit!”

“Yeah, you’re full of it,” Knot said. He nodded to Rye to follow him.

Outside, Knot led her to a quiet, dark spot in the parking lot.

“What you after?” Knot said.

“I need a new ident number.”

Knot’s scalp ridges tightened. “You done time inside?”

“Something like that. You know where I can get one?”

“Maybe. It’ll cost.”

Rye’s wings couldn’t get any flatter against her back as she steered her broom
into Lichen Street. Most of the streetlamps were broken. Trees showed burned
holes for windows. Stripped and burned out carpets littered the sidewalks. A
drunk lay asleep near an overflowing dumpster. The shadows seemed watchful. The
air smelled of poorly tuned engines and vibrated with lightly leashed violence.

Rye halted in front of the Magic Mushroom. The gambling bar’s two tiny windows
were barred and shuttered. She really didn’t like the idea of leaving her broom
out in the street, so she slung it on her shoulder and approached the door.