Tarred Wings
Story by Allison Quaid. Illustrations by Ranto Tiantsoa.. Read by Nadine Gartner.
Once upon a time, above the crystalline waters of a faraway ocean, a little bird named Ginger— her soft, white feathers covered in brown speckles—soared high in a sky free of clouds. As she made soul-tickling loops in the salty air, her wings vibrated with glee. Her brothers and sisters zipped around her, chirping good-natured challenges.
“Race me, Ginger!” and “Can’t catch me, Ginger!” they called. Ginger took on each challenge at roller-coaster speeds, diping and diving. Nobody could best her.
Until the arrival of one ill-fated day. Ginger was slowing to a gentle glide, her chest puffed up with victory as she called to her brother, ‘I win again!’ Neither she nor her siblings spotted the dragon hunched motionless on a hidden perch tucked behind the rocky crag.
His single bloodshot eye traced their movements. He sneered at their cries of joy and shouts of triumph. No one ever hooted at him like that. Today he was especially grumpy because the numbing witch’s brew that filled his belly had not yet reached his head.
When Ginger and her siblings alighted on the beach below for a well-earned rest, the dragon unfolded his enormous, leathery, black wings and flew toward them. He circled like a vulture overhead.
“Enough of your ruckus!’ he bellowed. ‘I’m hungry for roast fowl, with blessed silence for dessert.” Then he reared back his head and unleashed his fiery breath upon them. The tiny birds had only time to gasp. All save Ginger, who was farthest from the inferno.
Without hesitation she darted into the sky and dove under the dragon’s wings as he swooped upon them, but her siblings were roasted golden brown, with black charring ’round the edges. She could do nothing for them. She flew as far away as she could, straight into a dark cave on the far side of the beach. Gasping for air, she nestled down on the rocky floor and trembled, sobbing, for her family was gone and she was alone.
A small pool of black water in the recess of the cave shimmered suddenly, drawing her eye in spite of her grief. It seemed to be beckoning her over, and when she had hopped to its edge she saw that it was thicker than water, closer to black mud. This gave her an idea. She could disguise herself from the dragon; she could keep herself safe. In she hopped, dipping her speckled wings in its blackness, rolling herself over and over, covering every white feather...
Getting free of the black goo was harder than expected, and exhausted, she fell fast asleep. But when she woke up in the morning, she found that she couldn’t flap her wings. The tarry black substance had stuck them together. Her heart hammered so fast she thought she would die right then and there. Trying to keep calm, she told herself, No. It’s better this way.
This disguise will save me when the dragon comes back.
No longer able to fly, she gave the sky only a fleeting glance of longing before setting out toward the nearby estuary and the lake that fed into it, where there were calmer, fresher waters. I can’t fly, but maybe I can swim.
The whoosh of enormous wings flapping above made her tremble and look skyward. Sure enough, it was the dragon. He had left his perch, circling the ocean for seals to snatch for his supper. She hurried but the dragon could not see her, for her tarred wings blended in with the dark rocks under her feet. When she at last reached the lake, the dragon was out of sight behind the sea cliffs. Ginger fished for minnows to feed her hungry belly, and easily flitted around the water, for the tarry substance was like oil, making it easy to dive deep into the water. But as the sun reached the center of the sky, she was interrupted by an older duck paddling over to her.
“Excuse me, little bird, would you mind sharing a bit of your catch with me and my grandchildren? We haven’t had much luck today. I’ve been watching you. You’re so fast, you’re rounding them up with ease. In exchange, we can give you a warm place to lay your head.” Ginger looked cautiously at Grandmother Duck’s warm, brown eyes and nodded. She caught several minnows and carried them back in her mouth to the duck’s nest among the reeds.
She laid down her pile as white and yellow ducklings surrounded her with excited cheeping, nudging her to play with them. Ginger paddled around the shallows with them all afternoon.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as want. We’ll just need your help with the fishing,” said Grandmother Duck as the sun went to bed. “I’m not as spry as I used to be.”
Ginger smiled wide and accepted with gratitude. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to be alone forever after all.
Ginger was almost as agile in the water as she’d been in the clouds, catching dozens of fish a day to feed the orange beaks of her new brothers and sisters. As she had hoped, the ducks accepted tiny Ginger as one of their own, tarred feathers and all. She had the most fun with the littlest duckling, Coco, and they would spend hours doing acrobatics in the water—the same zig zagging patterns that Ginger had drawn in the sky. Grandmother Duck always made sure Ginger had a warm, clean nest to sleep in and sang her a lullaby each night. Grandpa Duck taught Ginger how to identify various types of fish and told her how each one was special. Ginger had found a home.
One day, much later, when the ducklings had all grown up, Ginger rested on the shore after a day of water gymnastics with Coco. Ginger looked up and saw a flock of white birds gliding through the clouds, making acrobatic loops. Her wings started to twitch beneath their oily, black coating. She remembered soaring, the rush of diving as the wind whipped her feathers. She hadn’t felt alive like that in years. She sighed and felt a tear roll down her thin beak. She would never fly again. The tar held stubbornly to her wings.
Much to her surprise, the flock of white birds landed beside her. They chattered about their flamboyant moves, analyzing each twist and twirl.
One of the birds noticed Ginger listening and asked, “Have you ever seen such crazy moves?”
“Well … yes. I used to do them myself.”
“Really? Why don’t you join us and show us some?” said the bird, hopping over to her and fluttering his wings in excitement.
“My wings don’t work anymore.” She dropped her gaze.
The bird hopped around her, taking in the tar. He pecked at it experimentally. “I bet you could loosen that stuff if you moved your wings really fast.”
“I’ve already tried that. I swim faster than any other bird in the lake, and still it doesn’t come off.”
The bird studied her a little longer. At last he said, “Well, you’re welcome to join us whenever you’re ready,” and winked as he took to the air.
Ginger dreamt that night that she flew through the sky alongside the white birds, and she felt the exhilaration of freedom. The next morning, try as she might to shimmy the tar off in the water, it still clung tight.
It’s been so long, I’m sure I’ve forgotten how to fly anyway. I’d probably be no good, she thought. A little caterpillar crawled across her foot as she stared in the sand and heaved a sigh.
“What are you searching for?” asked the caterpillar.
“Nothing.”
“Really? It looks like you lost something up there.”
Ginger knew what she had lost, but she couldn’t form the words. She lowered her eyes and went back to fishing.
Carot rays of sunlight filtered through the pussy willows along the bay, signaling it was time to paddle back to the nest for dinner. As Ginger drew closer to shore, she heard a cacophony of quacks. She spun around to see a large alligator, its rutted tail carving the water into small, choppy waves as it sped toward Grandma Duck.
The nearby ducks swam to the safety of the shore, but Grandma Duck was much too slow as she tried to follow. The huge, toothy alligator edged closer until his snout was inches from her tender, white tail.
Ginger dove underwater and paddled with lightning speed, the smooth coating on her wings streamlining her body. She popped up in front of the alligator’s cavernous mouth as he was angling to fit Grandmother Duck into his maw. The ducks screamed with terror from the shore, afraid that both Ginger and Grandmother Duck would be swallowed whole.
As Ginger came face-to-face with the reptilian beast, she was seized with terror, feeling very, very small. His bloodshot eyes brought memories of the dragon who had slain her brothers and sisters.
Swim away! her brain screamed. He’ll never catch you!
“Please help me!” whimpered Grandmother Duck from behind, quivering with fright as she paddled at a snail’s pace toward the shore.
Ginger watched the alligator’s dark eyes glance past her toward Grandmother Duck. Her body grew hot with fury, the memories of her family’s slaughter comingling with the image of poor Grandmother Duck struggling to reach her children.
“Stop!” she shouted at the alligator.
“Move aside, little bird. You’re much too small to be a tasty morsel, but if you intervene, you’ll be next,” said the alligator. He ploughed his way past Ginger, headed for Grandmother Duck.
Heart galloping, Ginger spied a tall palm shoot in the water, and she dove to gather it in her mouth. Like a shot, she reached the gator and looped the plant around his mouth, swimming faster than she’d ever swam before. She was a blur in the water, and the surface rippled and swirled with her movements. When she was through, the alligator’s mouth was bound shut. He thrashed wildly but couldn’t break free of the binding.
Ginger darted to Grandmother Duck, and paddled aside her to help Grandmother Duck zip across the surface to reach the shore. The sulking alligator floated away, muzzled and mute.
The ducks crowded around Ginger and cheered, “You saved her!” Ginger, relieved and overjoyed, hugged Grandmother Duck tight with her wings. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, she gazed down in amazement.
“Your wings!” said Susie, shaking her tail feathers in excitement. “They are free!”
Ginger looked down at the brown speckles she had missed so much and flapped her freed wings in delight. Water sprayed from all directions as the ducks splashed and swam around her in joy. Ginger launched into the sky, the wind rippling her feathers in greeting. She spun and dove and danced on the breeze until the sky purpled and twilight fell over the sea.
In the distance, a flock of white birds chased each other in spirals, and Ginger dipped her wing to glide toward them, unencumbered and free.