Llanwyre Laish | 39
we see no sign of the Emperor. We stand for half an hour. I hear Ani telling one of her neighbors about the grand dinner she got in honor of her great work at belling. That must have been six months ago—is she still fixated? I glance at Ons, whose eyes reflect the fire. Eo busily quiets his giddy child workers, many of whom are missing fingers from their delicate work.
Eventually, I hear the noise of the inner court, a clucking and jingling and rustling from their exquisite clothing and their meaningless chatter. The Emperor strides in at their head, clutching a little pillow with a small pile of wrought silver on it: the bird, not yet brought to life. I lean forward, wondering how it will look at court. It gives a strange twitch, and I wonder if the Emperor has broken it already.
The Emperor gives a short speech. I am too agitated to listen. Eventually, he reaches out and twists the mechanism underneath, winding up the shining bird. Its thin little legs struggle to lift it, but suddenly it pops up, the spitting image of a living creature, and the crowd draws in its breath sharply, in awe or horror—I can't tell which.
It tilts its head sideways, regarding the crowd curiously. Did we create this lifelike japing? I don't recall it, but the creature is unmistakably our handiwork. Its movement seems ghastly; it staggers like a bared soul writhing in pain. After a bit of fluffing and strutting, it makes a movement that seems like an intake of breath. It opens its tiny beak and sings.
The cry echoes off of the high roof of the Grand Hall, filling the large space almost immediately, inhabiting the space between natural and unnatural. The creature wails and howls, an elongated symphony of exquisite loss. After its song, it bows its little head and slumps forward, giving out a final little gasp. The entire room remains silent for almost a solid minute. Then the court breaks out in thunderous applause, in tears, in chatter, in horror, a cacophony of emotion still less powerful than the bird’s song.
I struggle to leave, repulsed by the power of what I have wrought. Everyone else stays in place, and I elbow out from between the bodies and onto the large back terrace, where I almost stumble over Ons, who vomits into the bushes. He lifts his head and stares at me with disgust.