+++ Another All That Glitters Intermission +++

Wendy saw it in her dreams with increasing frequency these days: the piercing stare of a pair of large, owlish eyes. It reminded her of the sound of the wind whipping past the high limestone cliffs. It reminded her of the feeling of the rising sun, creeping along her sleeping figure as it peeked over the sill of the window, rousing her to wakefulness. The ever-present smell of the ocean. The ubiquitous feeling of sea-sprayed salt on her face. The sand that found its way into every nook and cranny, despite her having never seen the beach. The humidity.

But always the crashing of the waves, the waves, the waves.

+++ Daedalus +++

He tapped the cage with the handle of his hammer, the wood sending vibrations through the wrought iron structure.

“Surely you do not still sleep?” he grumbled, peering in at her.

The cage hung from the hewn rock ceiling, a long chain suspending it at chest height. It was perfect for the Craftsman - it kept his new toy up out of the way of his crates and barrels of tools, while still letting him watch her at his pleasure.

“Morning has long since broken yet still you dream,” he muttered, squinting his perfectly black eyes. He stuck his hammer through the bars and prodded her.

Wendy stirred slowly, blinking away the blurriness from her vision. As her awareness returned, and she noticed how bright it already was in the workshop, she roused herself with frantic motions. Her cage rocked with her sudden movement, swaying slowly on its long chain.

“Hmph,” the Craftsman grunted, satisfied that she had finally woken. He stalked away to his workbench. “A song,” he demanded as he took up a plane and began shaving at the edges of a wooden plank.

She swallowed once, twice, testing . She didn’t want to disappoint him, watching as he leaned into his work. He raked along the length of the board, the muscles in his shoulders flexing and bulging, each movement eliciting a deep exhale of breath from him.

Every morning it was the same. He threw himself right into his work, and she sang. She thought she was making him happy: he always wanted to listen to her first thing in the morning, again while he took a break with a midday meal, and once more as he sat by the window at night, looking out at the vast expanse of the sea.

She would call to him if she felt he stayed up too late. She would demand his attention until he would finally grumble and walk over to her, pointing at her warningly. “You have no command over me,” he chided, but nevertheless, he would heed her unspoken request and douse the lights, pitching the workshop into darkness as he prepared to turn in.

She just wanted him to take care of himself. She could do no more than this.

But one day their little routine was interrupted. The Craftsman was late coming to the workshop, and Wendy was left to wonder where he could be. It was a rare occurrence, and not one day had gone by in her memory where the Craftsman had been able to keep away from his work. Surely he’d come.

It wasn’t until the evening when he finally arrived, however, and to her shock, he had a guest with him. She shied away to the back of her cage as they passed, trying to keep as still and quiet as possible.

“And this,” the Craftsman spoke with a grand gesture, taking in the whole room. “My craft is perfected here.”

The other figure was a much younger man, though he shared a resemblance to the Craftsman. Wendy could see that he, too, had those haunting, black eyes. The man slowly walked the length of the room, peering at the shelves of mechanisms, the chests of tools, the sawdust-covered benches, but his dark gaze finally settled on Wendy.

“This cannot be the result of your hand,” the man laughed good-naturedly as he approached her cage.

“Nay, she was a gift,” the Craftsman said. “And she serves her purpose well.”

This was the Craftsman's way. Wendy had never seen him smile, never heard him laugh, and had had to learn to read the subtleties of his frowns and grimaces to be able to discern his mood. But every once in awhile, he said something like this that sent her heart soaring with a desire to express her gratitude in the only way she knew how.

With a song.

The younger man was astonished by the beauty of her voice. “A gift, indeed,” he exclaimed. “Whereby did you gain such a thing?”

And suddenly Wendy was curious too, and she quieted. She had never heard this story before.

The Craftsman slowly turned and walked over to the window, and after a moment’s silence, the young man joined him.

“I was pitied for the death of my son,” the Craftsman explained, almost too quiet for Wendy to hear from across the room. She strained against the bars of her cage. “Our patron bequeathed her to me, speaking thus: ‘I give you wings, Craftsman, so that you do not forget how to fly.’”

Wendy shifted from leg to leg in concern, and the younger man put an arm around the Craftsman’s shoulders.

“You are my apprentice now,” the Craftsman said after a moment. His voice was low and hoarse. “Heed my instructions better than my son. This is all I ask.”

The Apprentice hugged him. “I will, uncle. I cannot be a replacement for him, but you will find me a willing pupil.”

Wendy saw an improvement in the Craftsman’s mood in the ensuing months. The two of them, the Craftsman and the Apprentice, worked side by side, building, planning, creating. They would enter the workshop in a rush, eager to continue their projects from the previous day, and Wendy would wait patiently to be asked for a song, but the Craftsman would forget.

They broke their meals together, talking eagerly about their creations and dreams for new contraptions. Wendy let them converse, undisturbed.

The Craftsman no longer spent his evenings seated by the window, gazing out at the sea. The two men would work and work until Wendy called to them to stop. And these were the moments when the Craftsman would finlly turn and look at her, realizing he had forgotten her once again.

“Perhaps she is jealous,” the Apprentice teased on one such night, coming up to the cage.

But she was not. Wendy was happy that the Craftsman finally seemed happy. He was no longer working to keep his sorrows at bay. He was alive with the passion for his craft again. That was enough for her.

“She takes care of us very well,” the Craftsman said as he doused the lights. “I hesitate to admit this truth - that I will never be able to fashion something that brings me quite as much joy as she,” he murmured as he finally turned to her, watching her with those void-like eyes.

“Hush now,” he urged as Wendy bashfully exclaimed. “You will sing for me again tomorrow.”

But she would not.       

As the two men entered the workshop, far later than usual the next day, she could hear that they were arguing.

“Look at my designs again!” the Apprentice demanded. “I will build this myself and show you, and you will not be able to doubt its genius!”

But the Craftsman would not hear it. He stalked over to his workbench and ran his hands along its age-worn surface. “Nay, do not waste your efforts. It is a flimsy thing and will not hold against the test of real work.”

Wendy peered between the bars, trying to catch sight of what the two were discussing. Was the Apprentice holding a bone? It looked like the slender spine of some small creature.

“Look here, the possibility for precision woodworking alone...” the Apprentice insisted again holding up the bone, and the Craftsman’s temper was piqued as he wheeled around.

“Enough!” He took the spine from the Apprentice and snapped it in half. “There is no genius in this!” he barked, holding up the two pieces. “Know your place! You would do well to remember with whom you are speaking.”

The Apprentice’s face was bright red in anger. “How can you not see it? And trust that I do remember my place, uncle. I may not be the son of the Craftsman, but I am his Apprentice!”

The Craftsman’s eyes narrowed. “You will not bring my son into this.”

The Apprentice his lips, but held his master’s gaze. “You cannot accept that I am smarter than he.”

“Silence,” the Craftsman growled, a black fire burning in his dark eyes.

“Admit it!” the Apprentice taunted. “He had not my cleverness! Woe, for the Craftsman’s own progeny was naught but a fool!”

“Be silent!” the Craftsman warned. “Or so help me I will pitch you from this tower into the sea where he lay!” He advanced, but the Apprentice laughed.

“Better awaits me than the depths of the sea, uncle. It is a markless grave for those without fortune!” he mocked.

“May your fortune be dashed upon the cliffs!” the Craftsman roared as he grappled with the Apprentice.

They struggled, bathed in the orange and pink hues of the sunset. Their feet scraped against the sand-strewn stone floor, searching futilely for some traction. They knocked once into Wendy’s cage, setting it swinging and spinning on its long chain, and she cried out in protest. The Apprentice was lithe and had the stamina of youth on his side, but the Craftsman had the strength of experience and a peerless, grizzled wisdom at his command.

He quickly overpowered his nephew and dragged him to the window.

As her cage slowly came to rest, Wendy watched in horror as the Craftsman followed through on his threat, tipping the Apprentice over the sill and pushing him out into the void.

He did not cry out, and there was no sound of his body breaking against the stones or splashing into the sea.

There was just the crashing of the waves, the waves, the waves.

The Craftsman heaved with labored breathing, watching the sun finally set and give way to twilight. He slowly turned to look about his workshop. Everywhere was broken wood and displaced iron tools. Plans they had painstakingly drawn on the walls together were smudged beyond recognition.

His black gaze finally settled on her cage, and he approached with tired, dazed steps. Wendy watched him warily, but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for him. It was just the two of them again.

“Fear not,” he beckoned, seeing her cower on the opposite side of her cage. He opened the little door and reached his hand in, and she stared at it in wonder. He had never done something like this before and she was very confused. She expressed her concern.

“Come,” he commanded, making a small motion with his fingers. “Be not afraid.”

With great hesitation she fluttered into his hand, still feeling rather skittish.

“There now,” he encouraged softly. He gently withdrew his hand from the cage, cradling her in his palm as he made his way back over to the window.

She felt the cool, evening breeze against her face and marveled at how the sea stretched across the horizon. How very different this view was than from her cage across the room. He set her on the sill and leaned on it to look out with her.

She was afraid. The sky was so big, and as she watched, hundreds of stars began winking into view. There was the thrill of being outside of her cage, but also this vastness that terrified her.

“Do you like this?” the Craftsman asked her softly. “You see me sit here night after night, but you did not know what I truly saw.” Wendy felt she had a much better idea now, and it was astounding, even as the breeze picked up, threatening to carry her away with it.

“Oh, not yet, little one,” he said, scooping her up into his palm once again. “There is more I wish to say.”

“Today I have slain my last living relative,” he stated tonelessly. “Yet another act of stupidity perpetrated by the peerless Craftsman. It is a multifaceted burden.” He idly rubbed the top of her head with the pad of his thumb as he spoke. She stood very still as she listened, watching the moonlit foam of the waves lapping against the beach beyond the cliffs.

“I sit here and I think about the night. If my son and I had escaped by night, would he not still be alive? But what is the value of such questions. He could not follow my one instruction.” He lifted Wendy until they were eye to eye.

“‘Do not fly too close to the sun.’ It is a simple command, is it not? But he could not do this one thing. If we had left at night, perchance he would be here now, beside me.”

He held her out past the threshold of the window, cupping her with both hands. “But you, my dear, have been like the sun itself to me, and I will not make the same mistake again.

“Go. Be free of me. Be free of this cage of sorrow I have built. You are too gentle for this world of ours, and I would not see you corrupted by it.”

With a little toss, he released her and backed away. She flapped her wings haphazardly, suddenly finding herself airborne with nothing but the sky above and the sea below.

“Go!” he commanded with a sad laugh. “Go back to where you belong!

"Be the sun for some other hapless fool more deserving than I."