What Happened in the Cove

By A L Walker

Although Bria had escaped from her abusive past, life was still empty. She thought her horrible life would be finally over, by her own hands. Thrust into a life he never asked for, losing everything he had once held dear, Freyn, who resembles an exotic bird, must find his way in a hostile universe he never knew existed after escaping his captors. Their unexpected meeting in an abandoned amusement park changes everything.
This is a fairy tale that rejects the traditional tropes of masculine and feminine in favor of pure fantasy and escape for readers who are ultrasensitive to violence, upset, and reminders of traditional mores. Theirs is a story of healing from abuse, of finding new hope in strange places, of exploring their cultures and spirituality, and of reconciling their past with what they learn together.
Urban Fantasy/Romance

• Language: English
• Publisher: A L Walker
• Release date: Sep 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463674208

A L Walker

A L Walker is an American writer who grew surrounded by animals and oil in West Texas. After moving to Arizona, where she still lives with her husband, children, she was a ballet teacher and financial writer for many years. After going independent, she now writes fiction while surrounded by parrots, guinea pigs, and other lovely things. Her stories span many genres and often include non-traditional characters. She has a soft spot for small YouTube gamers and Route 66. Her sister, HarleyCyn, is a well-known cosplayer.

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What Happened in the Cove

Copyright 2013 A L Walker

Published by A L Walker at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

About A L Walker

Other books by A L Walker

Connect with A L Walker

One

Bria hurried through the late afternoon drizzle towards the subway station. She was in a crowd of others doing the same, rushing to work or school, shopping malls or daycares, and commuting to all sorts of other areas, in their fancy business dress. Bria, although she was in that crowd, was not really part of it, she was simply trying to get out of the rain. She had nowhere to rush to, no one to see. Hadn’t in a couple of years.

The city loomed large and dirty around her, the rain doing nothing for the years’ worth of grime coated on its grey concrete surfaces. Even the gnarled trees that lined the sidewalk, who could always use some watering, did not appear to enjoy this rain. She hurried under an archway into the relative dryness of the station, slipping away to the side to huddle against the wall, trying to rub some warmth into her hands. This was made difficult by the black plastic bag she clutched tightly in one hand. She would put the bag into her coat, except her old raggedy coat was stolen two days ago by someone most likely as bad off as her. She knew she should feel upset about it, or sympathy for whomever would think her coat was a treasure, but she just felt empty, nothing mattered anymore.

Normally, she would have sat down along the wall near the entrance to the train and begged for change. But the subway authorities had decided to crack down on such things, as the number of beggars had begun to increase as the recent housing crash and resulting economical down swing pushed more and more people into the streets. It didn’t matter anyways, not to Bria. Where she was going, she wasn’t going to need money or anything else for that matter, ever again.

Clutching the bag tighter, she slid down the wall to a sitting position, and just watched the people passing by for a while, tried not to think about the decision she had made, she just wanted to rest for a moment. There was a time in her life that she had enjoyed watching other people, especially the ones bore smiles, trying to peer into their lives, to be the other person just for a bit, imaging what must be perfect lives, at least compared to her own, trying to catch a tiny taste of their happiness.

She had never been happy. Sometimes, there was no pain or trouble for a little while, but it was relief tinged with trepidation, not happiness. Happiness happened to other people, not her. There was a time that she didn’t understand that, a time that she had held hope that someday she would enjoy life, have what everyone else seemed to have. She had even run away at 17from the father and family who abused her, trying to catch that happiness. She had believed it was out there somewhere, she just had to find it, she was willing to work as hard for it as needed.

But it turned out to be impossible to find in the dirty, dangerous streets of her city. Although she had not believed her father would care that she was gone, would even be glad, he had still reported her as a runaway. This had made it impossible for her to get a job or get into a shelter or program for homeless people. They would just report her to the cops, and she would be returned to the hell that was her childhood home. Even if she tried to tell them what he did, her father was so incredibly good at convincing others that she was a lying, manipulative mess, just looking for attention, he had done that often. He could pull out wreaths of past paperwork from mental hospitals and doctors, teachers, even pastors, if needed, backing up his side of the story with ease.

After two years of trying to find her way, begging and starving, running and barely dodging further harm, she had concluded that happiness was simply not meant for her. Her father was ultimately right, she should have never existed, never been allowed to come into the world in the first place. So, she was going to take care of that, once and for all, and the bag she held tightly would be her final solution. The problem was, where to do it? She figured it could really be anywhere where she would not be spotted for a few minutes. Could be horribly public, could be nice and private. At the least, it felt like it should be something special, although she couldn’t for the life of her understand why she felt that way. Her life had been nothing special, why should her death be?

As she pondered this, the foot traffic around her became lighter as the day progressed. Only a few stragglers were left, harried and running late. She noticed offhandedly that they were no longer coming in dripping wet or shaking off umbrellas and folding them neatly for the train ride. If the rain had stopped, there was no more reason to hang out here at the station, just waiting for someone to kick her out. All she was doing was staving off the inevitable, when there was no reason to do so, nothing holding her here.

Bria stood, unconsciously brushing the dust from her bottom with her free hand, laughing when she noticed what she was doing. No amount of brushing was going to take off the layers of dirt from those pants. Even dynamite wouldn’t budge those long worn-in stains. What was a little dust on the top? And who would care what her dead body looked like? Still tittering a bit over her silly useless vanity, she started toward the arch and the cracked concrete stairs leading back up to the street. As she approached the arch, two men rushed down the stairs towards her, and pushed her aside as they rushed past, late for their trains and important jobs. She flipped them off, although their backs were towards her, and turned back to the entrance. A few used ticket stubs were fluttering in the breeze caused by the men’s’ fast travel. She shrugged, she was used to that treatment, but then one of the tickets caught her eye, one that appeared not to have a stamp, its face still unsmudged by a machine or ticket taker. Curious, she picked up the ticket.

Sure enough, the ticket was whole, unused. She thought that someone must have dropped it accidentally, maybe even the man who shoved past her. That would be funny, she thought. He’d be even later for the job he must be hurrying to, instead a nothing would be using it. When she examined it further, though, the ticket was not for the train the man had hurried towards; the train had just left the station, and the man was nowhere in sight.

The ticket was for a different part of the city, down by the river, probably dropped by a tourist or shopper on their way to one of the piers or market areas down there. It was an open ticket, which meant the person holding it could travel on one of any trains leaving for that destination on the current date, without needing to catch a train at a certain time.

She looked around cautiously. There were still a few people at the station, waiting for the next train. Although that train would not be heading to the destination her ticket was for, she saw on the schedule that the next one would be. Since no one was paying any attention to her, or frantically looking for a lost ticket, she decided she might as well be the one to use it. Maybe it would take her to the place she needed, the special place some weird place inside of her wanted for this last event.

Since the train was still a few minutes away from arriving, she decided to use the restroom. Although security personnel tried to discourage people who appeared to be homeless from using the facilities, today she had a ticket and felt extra confident as she slipped into the restroom to wash her face in the sink and run her hands through her tangled, unwashed hair. Although it wouldn’t do much, and ultimately did not matter, some part of her still felt odd about going onto the train appearing as she did. Even with the quick wash, people would still stare at her, and gravitate away from wherever she chose to sit or stand, often with demeaning or condescending looks. Everyone always assumed it was her fault she was like this, that she chose it somehow.

Once on the train, ticket safely stamped, she sat down in a back bench, huddling as small as she could and staring steadfastly out the window. If she didn’t look around, she wouldn’t see the others trying to avoid her, trying not to catch her eye. Wouldn’t see the looks of disgust on their faces, wouldn’t feel the shame quite as much. The bricks and tiles that made up the train tunnels rushed past her eyes, appearing to be one long grey blur. She thought it to be a very apt description of her own life, one long grey blur of depression and pain. The motion of the train was soothing, as was the lack of scenery, and soon enough she was nodding off, waking a bit when the train stopped, snoozing again when it started moving. Just in time, she heard the stop listed on her ticket announced, stood up and sleepily stumbled from the train. She drew stares and knew the people around her immediately assumed she must be drunk or stoned, though she was neither. They always assumed that, she could tell by the way they looked at her, the quiet sneering whispers.

She slowly meandered up the stairs into the bright light of the street above. The clouds had parted and now the sun shone harshly down upon the greys of the streets and sidewalks, glaring with puddles. She looked around, rubbing the last bit of sleep from her eyes, and could see the main river flowing through the city from the subway entrance. She had not been here in years. She slowly crossed the streets to the concrete and metal border that was elevated slightly above and back from the river itself. She could see piers with their amusement rides and restaurants beckoning to tourists on the other side of the river which stretched out as far as the eye could see.

She closed her eyes and turned in a couple of slow circles, hearing the calls of gulls in the background. She opened her eyes, and found herself facing west down the street, and headed that way, letting destiny or fate or whatever people called it dictate her path. She wandered for over an hour, passing several piers and shopping malls, until she was out of the tourist areas and has passed a few commercial docks and industrial warehouses. As she passed one of the warehouses where men were loading a boat with crates, a catcall and whistle floated to her on the breeze. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw two of the men waving at her and calling to her. Well-honed instincts kicked in and she ran as fast as her scrawny legs could take her down the broken sidewalk by the well-worn street. She kept running long after she passed, though she sensed no one was chasing her, just to feel the wind in her hair, breathing in the damp river scent hanging in the air. It wasn’t a pleasant scent, she could smell the garbage and rot of the city, the pollution in the water, hiding its awful secrets in a haze of blue. She thought it was perfect for a day like this.

After running long enough to cause a painful stitch in her side, she slowed to walk and stopped, taking hers eyes from the rugged sidewalk, scanning the area around her for the first time in blocks. Taking in her surroundings, she found she was in front of an old abandoned pier. She looked down the beaten pier and could see the remnants of an amusement park of some kind at its end. There had been restaurants and tourist shops here at some time in the past, some of the painted signs were still visible, although faded beyond comprehension. At the end of the pier lay some old ride cars, lying on their sides willy-nilly on the deck, as if a giant toddler had played with them.

This is it, said that little place inside her, This is the spot.

Seeing the abandoned park looked as grey and depressed as she felt inside, its attempts to provide happiness failing just as hers had, she agreed with that inner supposition. The pier and its contents looked like the perfect place for such a thing. She wandered down the pier, old wood creaking and shifting under her feet. After peering curiously at the ride cars all left in a jumbled mess, she decided to go into one of the old buildings that had contained shops. She would have used one of the cars, but they were chock full of old pamphlets, coated in cobwebs and dust. Instead, she entered a wooden corridor that opened onto a dock at the end that had once contained viewing scopes, only the supports remained. Along the wooden corridor were old signs jutting from the walls, all sign of paint completely erased, leaving the old shops as anonymous as she was. Most of the doors had either fallen in or were just gone, perhaps hauled off by someone to use again.

She entered the last store on the left, ducking under a large web strewn across the top of the door frame. As she entered the abandoned store, she heard the wood creaking under her feet again, but it did not match her steps. She stopped, cocking her head to one side to hear better. Someone was also walking on this wooden pier, on the dock outside. She whirled around to race back through the door, but someone had beaten her there. A wildly bearded man with long greasy hair stood blocking the door. He leered at her and made grabbing, squeezing motions with his hands, wheezing with excitement. She screamed and backed away from him, all the way to the other side of the empty little store, back against the wall. Although there was a window behind her, the glass was still intact and there was nowhere to run.

He laughed as he approached her, a deep guttural laugh that chilled her to her bones. She knew what was coming next, it had happened before during her years on the street. Most of the time she could get away, but sometimes life had pulled this trick before, leading her into bad places and situations as it was wont to do. She often felt the butt of old Murphy’s jokes.

Unlike past times when her screams went unnoticed or ignored, someone answered. From the roof, Into the dark dusty air of the abandoned store, a figure jumped into the door frame, shaking a long stick or staff, making a high-pitched screeching noise. Something on the figure’s head flashed metallic in the dim light coming from the grime-coated window. The man stalking her whirled around, trying to make out the fast-moving figure in the stale air. She saw his eyes suddenly open wide, he grunted weirdly, then ran for the door. The figure, still in the shadows of the door, hazy with by dust, shook his long stick at the fleeing man, still making high-pitched noises, although they sounded more like a whistle than a shriek. The figure gave chase, she could hear the heavier steps of the man disappearing down the dock, but could not hear the other stranger.

Bria, still shocked by the sudden appearance of the bearded man and her just as sudden rescue, sat frozen staring at the open door, listening. She found the energy to move just as the strange figure returned, framed by the rapidly fading evening light, and she froze again. It didn’t stop in the doorway as she had hoped; instead, it slowly moved towards her. As the figure approached, seeming to walk on legs that were backwards, its face and head were illuminated by the square of light coming from the window. She stared, eyes wide, as it came closer. What she was looking at simply wasn’t human. It was short, at least as short as her diminutive self, had a small beak instead of a mouth and nose, and had huge round eyes placed wide, that glinted a metallic green in the dim light. The only thing it was wearing was something loosely hung around its waist. Its head and back of its neck appeared to be covered in feathers, bright green and blue feathers whose edges shown in the light.

As she stared, the thing shook its stick at her and made peeping, bird-like sounds. It seemed to be motioning at her to leave, shaking the staff at her, then the door, making its odd sounds. It was so incongruous, her feelings all mixed with up the adrenalin from her fright with the burly bearded man, that she started laughing. She couldn’t help herself, the laughter just bubbled up, becoming more hysterical with each peal, until it had condensed into sobbing, deep sobs she couldn’t control any more than the laughter. It wasn’t aimed at the figure, nor anything, just life and its varied tricks, that caused her uncontrolled emotions. She knew she must be a sight, a snotty disgusting mess, tears streaking wide clear paths in the dirt on her face. This mental picture didn’t help her hysterics at all, instead it gave her the hiccups.

She couldn’t see the bird-man thing anymore, through her tears and the sweaty dirty mess her eyes were becoming, but she just didn’t care. Once she had attempted to scrub some of the tears away, she could see it hadn’t left. Instead, it had an odd, almost concerned look on its face, if it could be called that, and was hesitantly creeping closer, making what sounded like an inquisitive whistling noise. It came close enough to touch her, then squatted down beside her in a strange but graceful motion, she made one last half-laugh, half-sob, followed by a hiccup. She looked at his wide, big eyes, noticing gold glints mixed in with the metallic green, and thinking randomly how beautiful they were. She didn’t stir, didn’t take her eyes off his, even when he reached out tentatively and touched her shoulder. The strange bird-person’s touch was warm, and it was close enough where she could smell him, a rather interesting scent, which intrigued her for some reason. She had never really considered someone’s smell before, other than those like herself that were so dirty you couldn’t help yourself.

When she didn’t pull away from the touch, the creature put its other hand on her opposite shoulder and attempted to assist her up. Her weight was apparently more than it anticipated, and it ended up in an awkward hug. Almost instinctively, she returned the embrace, clinging to this person, or thing. like a magically granted life buoy. Bria wondered if she was already high or even dead, had already consumed what was in the bag without remembering. The strange creature continued to make soft whistles at her, and as their accidental embrace ended, she could see the feathers on its head continued down its all the way down its back, narrowing to a point unseen under the waistcloth it wore. The figure pulled back from her fully, making sure she was steady, still looking into her eye,, and whistled a bit. She thought it might be trying to talk to her, but in no semblance of language she had ever heard.

It offered a long-fingered slender hand to her, which ended in tiny pointed claws. Hesitantly, she took that hand, feeling how delicate the bone structure was, bending over hers in a peculiar way, also bird-like. She could see no signs of wings though, only the feathers gracing its neck, back and head in a fluffy array. The creature turned to leave, picking up its stick on the way to the door. Still in a daze, not knowing what else to do, and starting to become quite curious about what or who this thing was, she followed, invited or not. She followed it down onto the dock and climbed after it down the rickety steps leading to the beach. After following it under the docks for a little way, they came up under a little ledge created by the concrete foundations of the building further up the pier. A little fire was going, surrounded by rocks obviously fished from the river and man-made lake that had been part of the amusement park. On the fire, fish were cooking, also from the lake, spreading a welcoming homey smell. The figure, giving here a look she couldn’t interpret, hesitated for a moment, then squatted down beside the fire and started removing the fish, two of them, placing them on another rock near the fire. After cutting off the heads, the figure looked at it, then at her, then back again. Deciding, it handed the fish to her, along with a handful of what appeared to be roasted dandelion leaves.

It was the weirdest meal she had ever been served, but she hadn’t eaten in at least three days and her stomach had woken up to the smell of the cooked fish, raging like never before. She watched the bird-person take a bite of the fish, followed by a bit of dandelion, and repeated what it did. Bite by bite, still watching each other awkwardly, they finished the fish and dandelion leaves together. It was the most delicious meal she had ever had.

Two

There was a strange, hot wind blowing through the plains. All the animals were wary, hiding, even the great tulroes that ruled the plains with their large, domed bodies and twirling tusks. Freyn could tell father was worried by his quick glances at anything that moved, his movements sharp. Sticking to the shade of the trees lining the plain, the two sneaked along as if there was something to hunt out there, although the wind had scared away any of the animals worth catching. Plus, the feathers growing from his father’s head down his neck were quivering, which always meant he was upset or anxious over something.

Although the wind blew hot sometimes, especially at the end of the short dry season, this wind had an odd scent, and held a tint of moisture, unusual for the dry season which was still a couple of moon cycles away. Freyn and his father’s tribe had heard rumors about such winds, old tales recirculated from other tribes at the annual gatherings, the stuff of nightmares for a young Kitri just out of his first reckoning of age. Tales of ancient evils, huge powerful beings who would swoop out of the green heavens and scoop up the Kitri, to either eat, steal souls, or other variations on those themes, depending on who was telling the tale. Of course, no one had ever seen such a thing, had only heard about it from relatives or a friend of a friend of a friend.

At the time, Freyn’s father had dismissed such tales as nonsense for children who had not been reckoned yet, to scare them away from going on to the dangerous plains without guardians. Yes, the rolling plains could be dangerous, with tall grasses that hid the predatory goras, with their yellow coats, who traveled in packs hunting the tulroes, as well as deep ravines and suffocating bramble vines. No huge sky flying monsters ready to eat errant children ever appeared. However, all the old stories always began with a horrible, hot wind, rolling through the plain as a warning, supposedly either carried by, or created by, the flight of the monsters. Freyn was glad to see the tops of the mud huts that marked his village, glad to get away from the wind that ruffled both his feathers as well as his father’s nerves.

As they entered the village by the well-worn dirt track carved into the sides of the hill his village sat on, his family’s cone-shaped hut straw, flowers dusting its walls and roof, hovered into view, the largest hut right in the middle of the village, as was suited to a chief of a tribe. His mother and two young sisters were working in the vine garden stretched in a curve in front of the house, planting the tubers and leafy braided vegetables to be harvested right before the dry season began, to season the dried meat that replaced their normal diet as the animals traveled away to find better feeding grounds. The underground well kept his village well supplied during