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Dear Aymeric,
We’ve made it through to spring again. It happens every year, and yet it somehow always seems like a miracle. The air warms, fills with birdsong, and the flowers — Emmanellain hasn’t stopped sneezing since the first blooms appeared, the poor man.
Speaking of Em, he’s finally got a job for himself. And kept it, too, since before the turn of the year. You’d be proud of him, if you were here. Maybe you can still be proud of him. I don’t know if you’re still here, watching over us, or if you’ve gone somewhere else, living a new life with different people. It’s as you said to me, once: none can know what happens after a Haibane’s Day of Flight. We can only wonder.
I watch the birds sometimes — not the songbirds but the white crows, the smart ones — and wonder what it would be like to be one of them. To take flight, wings bearing me up and around, far over the great wall that surrounds us. Aye, I still yearn to know what’s on the other side! Whether wasteland or paradise, I hope to one day see the truth with my own eyes. Impossible, you might say, but why so eager to be content with your lot in life?
Besides, isn’t it fitting? You were the one who named me. You knelt beside my bed as I lay crumpled, aching and fearful, and took my hands. You bid me tell you of the dream I’d had, in the time before I was here, and all I could remember was soaring through a vast sky, broad wings — not these decorative ornaments we carry upon our backs! — bearing me, swift as an arrow, toward — well, I wasn’t sure what.
Estinien, you’d named me that day. One who flies with urgency. Of course one such named would never be content to be caged, not even in one so large and well-disguised as this. Aye, I can take the sheep out to the fields, stand beneath the mechanical hum of the great wind turbines, and it’s as if the town doesn’t exist, let alone the wall. But it’s only a few short malms between anything, here. That’s not very far at all.
Aye, I check my feathers for marks of sin every day. Don’t worry about me. I’m still a good little Haibane.
Yours,
Estinien
Dear Aymeric,
I like sheep more than I like people. Isn’t that terrible to say? But it’s true. They’re affectionate, but never demand more than occasional reassurance of your presence, or perhaps a moment’s comfort in the wake of an accident. It’s a cruel twist that I’m now the senior Haibane at Old Church, meaning that when a cocoon is found it becomes my problem.
Well, Hilda found one today. It’s small yet, meaning it won’t hatch for some time, but a new Haibane is on the way. I’m not ready for this, Aymeric. How did you do it? I don’t want the responsibility of naming a new Haibane, of comforting them as their wings emerge, of placing their halo upon their head! I’m not good at that. I’m not good at people.
Em said it would be just like helping an ewe give birth. I suppose he thought that was comforting. It wasn’t. I’m not good at that either. I panic, I swear, and I do what I can to help, but I’m always so afraid that something will go wrong, that the ewe will die or the lamb will die, and it will be because of my error. I feel even worse about the cocoon, now.
I wish you were here to stroke my hair, to tell me all would be well with those gentle kisses of yours. To remind me to check my feathers every day (still clear, by the way) with that sad smile of yours, always guiding and protecting others. You were more than we deserved, and yet you remained with us for as long as you were able. Thank you.
Estinien
Dear Aymeric,
Carvallain flew today. I thought you’d want to know. I could hardly stand the man — good riddance that he’d hatched over at Ruined Tower, instead of Old Church! — but I know you two were close, and that you worried about him. You always worried about everyone, caring for us like a mother hen even as your own problems mounted. And aye, I’ve been checking for sin, so stop worrying about me — I know you are.
The cocoon grows ever larger, but we’ve discovered a problem. None among us Haibane knows where the naming book is. When Hilda ran down to Ruined Tower — bringing back word of Carvallain’s flight — they didn’t know, either, despite being the last of us to have a hatching.
Without it, we can only create names from parts we already know. I hope our new Haibane has urgent ambitions of finding something lost, or perhaps has been fighting a particularly hopeful war in mid-air, because otherwise I’ll have little with which to describe their dream.
Yours,
Estinien
Dear Aymeric,
The Haibane Renmei summoned me today. I always get anxious whenever I have to go there, afraid I’ll do something wrong and — what? What happens to us, if we break a rule? Is the Haibane Renmei merciful, or wrathful? Well, I didn’t find out the answer today, because I remained silent. Good little Haibane, remember?
I do wonder if there isn’t more than one Haibane Renmei. I know we talk about THE Haibane Renmei, but — well, I don’t know. I’ve only heard him speak twice, and it’s hard to tell between the odd manner of speech and the mask that makes the voice echo, but I don’t think his voice was the same. It’s not sinful to wonder these things, is it? I’m joking. Probably shouldn’t joke about that. No sign of spots on my feathers, though.
At any rate, he had the naming book. Apparently it had been in Carvallain’s possession, before he flew. I’m both relieved that we have it now, sparing our new Haibane a defective name, and annoyed that he didn’t think to return it before taking his leave of us. It would have been his fault if the name was
Sorry. Em interrupted me, saying the cocoon was hatching. That was two days ago now, and I haven’t slept. Our newest Haibane’s name is Jandelain: one who seeks what lays beneath the surface. I hope I didn’t read too much into that. I’d thought he might be Tialain at first, but he was so adamant that the beauty he found in the mirrors in his dream was false that I went with Jandelain instead.
It was either that or Tiadyn, for one who breaks beauty, because to hear him tell it those mirrors were in shards by the end. But that seemed like such an ugly name, and I couldn’t bear to give it to someone who hardly deserved it. I think you would have done the same, were you here.
Still, I don’t like the responsibility. I want someone else to be the senior Haibane, to do the work of naming, to hold the newly hatched as they endure the pain of growing their wings, to patiently wash the blood from new-formed feathers until they become a soft, beautiful charcoal gray.
Isn’t that terrible of me? Sometimes I’m not a very good Haibane. Or maybe I just need a good night’s rest, the way we used to. I haven’t been sleeping as well since you left. I keep waking in the night, thinking I hear or smell you, but of course I’m alone. Still, I’m tired enough now to sleep like the dead, so maybe I’ll actually sleep through the night this time.
Estinien
Dear Aymeric,
I nearly lost a sheep today. It was my fault. My mind was consumed with other matters — stupid, I know — and when next I looked up the herd had one fewer head. Fortunately, I was able to catch it before it went into the forest, but it was a close thing.
Being that close to the forest always makes me think of those who’ve flown. The ones I’d liked, at least. You. Haurchefant. What’s it like, to take that first and final trip under those heavy boughs? I imagine it’s different during the spring or early summer, compared to now when the leaves have begun to thin and fall. But perhaps it’s all the same, once you reach the heart of the forest.
Of course, that’s assuming the Day of Flight even takes place in the forest. Where did that idea come from? We all repeat it as if it’s true, but it’s not recorded as scripture anywhere I’ve ever seen. What a silly place to try to take flight from. I’d pick a field somewhere, not out by the wind turbines but one of the ones with nothing but open sky above.
Is it bad that I think about going into the forest? Just to see what’s there. It’s forbidden, of course. But there’s no punishment, only the threat that it’s dangerous. But that’s what concerns me. We say it’s dangerous, but we don’t say WHY. There are no beasts in the forest. Is it some form of magic, then, that we should fear? Or something more mundane, like hazardous terrain? Or is it merely sinful to disobey?
It’s time to take a nap. I’m being a bad Haibane again. Miss you.
Estinien
Dear Aymeric,
What even is sin? Aye, I know what it is, the white spots that grow and spread, turning your feathers weak and brittle. But what causes it? Being sinful, of course. What a frustrating explanation. You know you’ve sinned when you see the mark of sin upon you, but how are you to avoid sin without first knowing what it is?
Why are we born Haibane, while those living in the town are born unafflicted? A Haibane cannot take their Day of Flight when they are bound by sin, aye, that’s the scripture. But why? Why are we punished, for a sin nobody can fully explain, while others are allowed to live freely? What did we ever do to deserve this? What could someone so perfect, so caring, as you have possibly done?
I refuse to think you deserved the mark of sin upon you. I have yet to meet anyone who cared more about others, who gave of his love to so many, who sacrificed his own well-being to help others through their darkest moments. But how can you banish the mark of sin, without knowing what you’ve done to earn it?
Perhaps it’s not something you earn. Perhaps it’s entirely up to chance, whether you are destined to be bound by sin or not. But nay, I don’t believe in destiny. Our fates are not written by another. We can change by our own will, and so there MUST be a way to free ourselves from sin.
Estinien
Dear Aymeric,
I’ve been lying to you. Well, not really. It’s not what I’ve said so much as what I haven’t said. I’ve been seeing the spots on my feathers, growing since the end of summer. I’ve been hiding it, so nobody else knows. Only you, now. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I suppose I thought that it might go away if I didn’t acknowledge it. Well, that didn’t happen.
Why am I telling you this now? Because I’m going into the forest. I want answers. No more vague scriptures and no more assurances that all is well. If I am to be bound by sin, as you were before me, I would know why. And I would know how you escaped your fate.
I love you, and I miss you, and I wish we were going together.
Estinien
Dear Aymeric, or whoever is taking these letters:
I’ve been to the heart of the forest. Let me tell you what I found there. Deep in the forest I found a clearing, and inside that clearing was a ruin. White feathers — healthy crow feathers — were scattered all through it, as if many great flocks had taken flight.
In the center, there was a raised dais. When I stepped upon it, I heard voices. Take heart my friend, Haurchefant said. And Carvallain: I’m coming to find you, Rhoswyn. There were other voices too, ones I didn’t know. They weren’t truly there, not anymore, but the echo of their presence remained.
But not yours. You never had your Day of Flight, did you? You never stood upon that dais, your last thoughts remaining behind as your wings spread and you took flight, up into the air with a flock of white crows by your side. Something else happened to you, on that dark day when your halo faded and you left us.
We’re told that Haibane who do not take their Day of Flight cease to exist. But if this is true, then who’s taking these letters, which I have secreted away in our special spot? Perhaps this is my sin, the sin of asking too many questions when I should instead have faith.
But if that is sin, then bound by sin I’ll be. After I leave this letter, I’ll visit the Haibane Renmei and demand answers. If that makes me a bad Haibane, then so be it. What fate can be worse than the one I’m already bound to, living without the one I held most dear?
Whatever happens today, I know one thing is true: I will find you. Maybe in this life, maybe in another. Maybe even in whatever exists outside life itself. I know that you yet endure, somewhere, in some form. And I will find you.
I suppose I know now where — WHO — I was flying to, with all that urgency.
Forever yours,
Estinien