The Color of Darkness by Ruth Hatfield Read Free Book Online Page B

you had to break free.
    *   *   *
    The kingfisher was still there. They watched as it swooped down over the brook and rose up to perch on the willow, waiting and then swooping again. The sun vanished, but even under the dull clouds the bird’s feathers shone sapphire-bright.
    â€œEasy does it,” it chirruped, settling back down onto its branch and staring into the water. And then, louder, in a single cry, “This branch is mine! Don’t even think about it!”
    Whatever bird it was calling to stayed hidden in the tangled copse behind the far bank of the stream, and Tom heard no answering challenge.
    â€œDid you understand it?” asked Sammael, leaning back against the smooth trunk of a wild cherry tree.
    â€œEvery word,” said Tom. “They’re quite easy, those calls. Very clear. I don’t know why I thought I might not have got it right.”
    â€œAh, it’s a good book, if I say so myself.” Sammael held out a hand, and Tom passed the small paperback over to him. Its brown cover was still clean, despite the thousands of times he’d thumbed through it.
    Sammael opened the book, stroked a few odd pages and listened to them, then passed it back to Tom.
    â€œThe magic doesn’t fade, does it? How far have you got?”
    Tom smiled the forced little grin that he kept for occasions when he tried to ask himself how the book actually worked. The word magic was stupid. He couldn’t think of another explanation for it, though. Stroking a book, feeling the pages turn into a bird or animal, and hearing the sounds of that creature—it shouldn’t be possible. But that was what the book did, and he was happy with that unless he started to think about it too much.
    He went for the more sensible question. “I’ve almost got to the end. There are so many groups of birds that share the same calls—it’s sort of like dialects of the same language, isn’t it? So it didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would. There are a few things left, though. Some animals, and golden eagles. They’ll be hard—I need to find a real one to listen to, if I can. Recordings don’t really work.”
    â€œAh, yes, I remember finding that when I was writing it. No, there’s no real alternative to finding something out for yourself, is there? Well, that’ll be an adventure for you, at least. Look!”
    Sammael’s finger flicked out toward the far bank of the brook, and there was the kingfisher, returning to its perch with a silver fish crushed in its sharp beak. The bird threw back its head and snapped the fish down into its orange throat, then rustled out its wings in satisfaction as the sun broke through the clouds.
    â€œBrilliant!” whispered Tom. “She’s so beautiful!”
    Sammael dipped his head in acknowledgment, his eyes warm with delight. For a moment, both Tom and Sammael gazed across at the kingfisher, a glistening jewel against the dusty green willow leaves.
    â€œBut there are still so many ugly things in this world,” said Sammael. “Badger baiters, for a start.”
    â€œYeah.” Tom looked into the running brook. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten.”
    The water bubbled darkly over the mud of the streambed. Tom noticed clumps of rotting grasses by his feet, teeming with squat black beetles, and the sun disappeared again. He shrugged and looked down the path toward home.
    â€œWell, I’d better get on with that fence while I can. I want to be up in the woods again tonight, in case they come back.” He put the book in his pocket.
    â€œI meant what I said,” said Sammael. “I think there’s another way we can go about it. Leave it with me. I’ll come and find you—tomorrow, say—and hopefully by then I’ll have a fully formed plan B we can try.”
    â€œWe? You’ll help me?”
    â€œOf course.” Sammael nodded his dark