Free On the Isle of Sound and Wonder by Alyson Grauer Page B

had been asleep and had just begun to regain feeling.
    Truffo gasped for air, pushing himself up on his good arm to stare levelly at the bird, which poked at the metal on the sand once, twice, and then cocked its head at him.
    “That,” he panted, “was a bit clever of you.”
    The bird cocked its head the other direction and gave a shrill echo of Truffo’s previous shriek. Truffo winced at the noise.
    “Yeah, yeah, all right, that’s enough of that now . . .” He hefted back onto his heels, sweat shining on his brow as he shifted his tingling, sore arm into his lap, looking down to wiggle his fingers one by one through the pain. At least this was progress.
    The bird was cleaning its own feathers now, as if pleased to have been right about the shrapnel, but it looked up at him from time to time and its tail feathers flicked up and down.
    “Oy,” breathed Truffo, leaning forward a little. “Is there anyone else here, birdy? Scary natives maybe? A rich millionaire with a private retreat?” The bird fluffed itself as if it had no interest in him. “What about water?” His throat was painfully dry, and it was quite hot in the sun, out here on the open sand. The thought of sucking down seawater was revolting, but he was terribly thirsty. And if the bird was smart enough to have pulled a piece of metal out of his shoulder. . . .
    Truffo whistled faintly to catch the bird’s attention. “Yoo hoo, then,” he prompted. “Polly want a cracker? Polly where’s-the-water? Promise I won’t eat you after,” he added.
    He stared at the bird as it continued to preen. After several moments, the bird clucked to itself and hopped along the sand a little ways, poking its beak in and out of the ground in search of something. Truffo groaned, pulling himself to his feet, and shambled after the bird as it picked its way down the beach.
    “Go on, go on,” he urged the bird, “don’t mind me, but don’t waste time, neither . . . You’re smart enough to do surgery, you’re smart enough to find water . . . or some shelter. Or help.”
    Truffo’s dark eyes cast out toward the ocean for a moment, wondering how far away the shipwreck was from him, and how long he’d been unconscious on the sand. He tried to focus again on the bright orange bird, which had wound its way up the beach with quick little steps and turned toward the rocky upper dunes.
    Truffo’s feet slid about in the sand, his vision growing spotty around the edges again, but the bird’s cheerful plumage was a considerable target.
    Good old bird, Truffo thought. Some men have dogs and others cats, but my life ’ s been saved by a strange and hitherto undiscovered species of sandpiper . He wondered if their new friendship would be his utter salvation, if he could teach the thing to speak—it could mimic well enough—and if it could help him survive on this spit of land.
    I damn well can ’ t eat it now, he thought crossly as he scrambled after it, seeing what looked like the mouth of a cave up ahead. A cave meant shade, protection from the sun, perhaps even an underground spring full of cool, clear water, and—
    Something huge and dark lunged sharply out of the rocky hole and snatched up the orange bird, which trilled loudly and began to scream with Truffo’s voice. Truffo fell back in fear, hitting his head on the hard ground. He gasped hard in pain and looked up just in time to see the big, man-shaped shadow snap the bird’s neck.
    “No!” Truffo sputtered, his vision blackening. “No, no, birdy! Oh, gods, is there no justice?”
    The hulking shadow turned, the limp orange bird in its hand, and as the uneven blue eyes stared down in surprise and bewilderment, Truffo slipped into unconsciousness.

Mira broke the surface of the water, blinded momentarily by sunlight before the lenses of the diver’s goggles adjusted to the gleam. She spat out the salty seawater and breathed in the clean air of the surface. Paddling her legs beneath her to stay