Leda's Last Sparrow

Content warning: violence, implied abuse

I writhe. I twist. I struggle. It’s not enough. A fall, a crack, and then a moment of utter blackness. I come to my senses on a cold stone floor. 

A cell door slams. Two guards are sneering down at me from the other side. One spits. The other laughs. I stare them down. 

“See you in the morning, witch,” the first guard barks. The second draws a thumb across his throat. 

“If I were a witch you’d both be toads by now,” I snarl. They laugh and walk away. I shudder and look around.

It's dark. The only light enters through a barred window near the ceiling, level with the street outside. It’s not much taller or wider than my hand - no use. Two cots, some moldy bread, a pile of rags–

“Watch out for the bucket.”

Not rags, I realize as I trip over a bucket of icy water. Another person. And a bucket. The bottom of my skirt is drenched.

The rags shift, revealing the woman who spoke. She looks worn and tired, but young - a few years older than me, I’d guess. Her gaze pins me in place like a butterfly in a display case. 

“Are you going to pick that up?” she asks.

I break free from the trance to fumble for the bucket.

“Yes, sorry. I just… sorry,” I mumble as I pick it up. She smiles forlornly. Somehow it’s a more eloquent apology than mine. 

“I’m Rosemary,” I tell her, “and I’m not a witch.”

“Leda,” she replies, “and I might be. They haven’t decided.” 

I sit on the empty cot. Leda looks out the window. Silence settles around us as I study her. Grey eyes, grey tattered dress, dark unruly hair. A braid of much lighter hair wrapped around one wrist. A rainbow of bruises spanning several shades of green, blue, and violet. 

A sparrow lands on the ground outside the window. Leda sighs. 

“Right on time,” she whispers. She begins to crumble a piece of the bread and feed it to the bird. I wonder why she doesn’t eat it herself - she’s skin and bone. 

“How long have you been down here?” I venture. “I mean, if you’ve memorized the movements of the local birds…”

“A long time” she muses, “I think. It’s hard to know. I lost track a while ago.”

“Alone?”

“Oh, no. Not for very long. You lot come and go.” She shifts to face me on her cot. “But I stay.” I look at the floor.

“I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I’ve been found guilty. In the morning…”

“Don’t think about the morning. It’ll come whether you think about it or not, so why think about it? It isn’t morning now.”

I smile a little, but I don’t look up. I follow a brown spider with my eyes as it makes its way over to the wall. Up and out, little friend, I think. Don’t stay here if you don’t have to. 

“No. It isn’t morning now.” I brave her gaze again. It’s softened a little. I soften a little, too. 

“Couldn’t find enough “evidence” on you to convict, could they?” I ask. Leda laughs.

“Evidence! Not what I’d call it. None to find either way. What evidence did they find on you?” I twist a piece of my skirt in my hands. What harm could it do to tell her now?

“I made a prediction… and I was right.”

Leda raises an eyebrow. 

“Go on.”

I take a deep breath. When I let it out, my story floods out, too.

“I study the skies - the stars, the clouds, patterns in the weather. That alone was enough to raise suspicion. It's not magic, but it might as well be. Last week, I noticed signs that a terrible storm was coming. I tried to warn the farmers, but they didn’t listen. When I turned out to be right, and the storm devastated the fields of the man whose proposal I rejected last spring…”

“Witchcraft.”

“Exactly.”

Leda shakes her head.

“Men.” 

“Men.” 

We laugh. I relax a little more. What else can I do?

A bell rings in the distance - a harbor bell, maybe? I didn’t realize we were that close to the docks. Still too far to make a break for, even if I could get away… 

I realize Leda isn’t laughing anymore.

“Already?” she says, though not quite to me. She looks at the window, then at the cell door, then straight at me.

“Hide,” she commands. I don’t move. The sparrow at the window flies away.

“Rosemary, hide.”

 Something about my name in her mouth is jarring. I feel like my limbs are moving on their own as I slip beneath the cot and pull my blanket over my head. It doesn’t seem like a particularly effective hiding place, but I can’t really tell considering that I don’t know what I’m hiding from. I try to quiet my breathing and realize that my heart is pounding. 

I can see vague silhouettes through the threadbare fabric. I hear Leda walking across the room and sitting on my cot. She drapes her skirts and blankets over the edge so that I’m more fully obscured - now I see nothing. It’s warm. I feel like I might run out of air.

The cell door creaks. More footfalls, heavier, and then a man’s voice addressing Leda.

“Where’s the new one, the blonde?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s supposed to be in here.”

“Maybe they put her somewhere else.”

“Don’t try my patience, pet. If you know something-”

“I don’t.”

“Fine, have it your way.” He steps towards us. Leda stands.

“Not today, Jacob.”

I hear a crack, then fabric falls away - Leda is on the ground. I press myself as far against the wall as I can. He hasn’t seen me yet. I can just barely see Leda pushing herself up to her hands and knees and raising her head. 

“I. Said. NO.” 

I feel as if the floor has fallen out from underneath me. Leda’s voice is different, wild, and it echoes around the cell. Wind swirls - where did that come from? - and the man cries out in pain. I cover my ears but it doesn’t help. My stomach does cartwheels as the screaming grows louder and louder. There is a sickening sucking sound, a crash, and then eerie silence. 

I take several steadying breaths before removing the blanket and crawling out from underneath the bed. When I do, I see Leda kneeling in the center of the room. Blood pours from her nose. She stares at her trembling hands. There is no trace of the guard, but the room stinks of burnt hair and flesh. 

“I did it,” she mumbles, “I actually did it this time.”

I crawl towards her, too dizzy to stand.

“How did you know he was coming? Where did he go?” I hear myself asking. 

Leda looks at me. She’s crying. She wipes her eyes and nose on her sleeve. 

“He’s gone. But there will be others. I’m sure everyone heard.”

She reaches a shaky hand towards me. I start to pull back, but then something tells me to lean in. I do. She presses a warm palm against my cheek. Her touch is comforting despite her frightening appearance. 

“You have to go now,” she whispers. 

I notice for the first time that the cell door is open. I should go. I want to go. But I don’t move. My body feels weak, as if the exhaustion of a hundred years has just caught up with me. I start to collapse, but Leda pulls me into her arms. She guides my head to her lap and I let her. 

“I think… I think we’re done,” she says, stroking my hair. 

I feel a sharp pain in my head. Leda must feel my body tensing, because she gently eases me into a sitting position and looks me in the eye, both hands cradling my face.

“Rosemary, this is important,” she says, “I don’t know what you’re going to remember or how quickly, but don’t force it. Resist it if you can. I don’t know what it will do to your mind.”

I don’t understand, but I nod. I trust her. She brushes tears from my cheek. When did I start crying?

“Ironic, isn’t it? All the time in the world, and now I wish we had more,” she half laughs, half sobs. 

I instinctively place one of my hands on hers. There’s something I need to say, but I don’t know what it is. I feel a tugging sensation at the back of my mind, something I could remember if I just tried a little harder… but I let it go. I lean towards Leda and press my forehead against hers. 

“I know, love,” she whispers, “I know you’re tired. But you have to run. I’ll get you out, but the rest you have to do on your own. I’m sorry.”

She lifts her face. 

“What about you?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

“They hang a witch at dawn, darling. But this time it won’t be you. It won’t ever be you again.”

My blood runs cold. Words rise to the surface and bubble out before I can recognize them

“Leda, I-”

She stops me with a kiss. It is hard and soft, fierce and gentle, brand new and centuries old. Kissing Leda feels like coming home. It tastes like all the sunshine in the world and all the sorrow. I pull her as close as I can. Her tears and mine become one river. Too soon, she pulls away. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. Just keep running and don’t look back.” 

We help each other to our feet and I take an uncertain step towards the door. I look back. She’s still crying, but she’s smiling now, too. Her nose starts bleeding again. 

“Fly, little bird. I love you.”

I force my legs to move. The first steps are agony, but the next are easier. I pump my arms, forcing myself down the dank corridor. Faster and faster. I hear another sucking sound, but I don’t look back. Shouts rise and mix into a contorted cacophony, but I block it out. The floor tips sideways and I struggle to stay upright. Doors and candles stretch and elongate unnaturally. Shapes and colors blur. I squeeze my eyes shut and keep running. There is another crash.

When I open my eyes, I don’t see the dimly lit prison. I see sunshine. I hear seagulls. I smell briny ocean air. I collapse into the sand as the harbor bell rings. 

Suddenly I remember what I wanted to say.

“Goodbye, Leda. I love you, too.”