“The river,” said Ysil. “I have heard speak of it all my life but never seen it.”
“None of us have,” said Cormo.
“None of our families have,” said Harlequin.
“Perhaps Cotur Ada,” said Ysil.
“Yes, perhaps,” said Harlequin.
“But why?” asked Gomor. “It is so close.”
Immediately, all eyes were upon him. With that stare, the answer came abruptly. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, yes, of course.”
They all looked at the river. “The hawk,” he said.
I
T WASN’T THAT
the land about was without quail, rabbits, or other lesser animals; rather, it was just the opposite: there was a good number. But the animals here were of a different temperament and attitude than the animals of the field. These were the deep woods and the dangers were greater. Animals were much more careful here, and the few curious eyes they saw peeking from behind the brush or trees above did not venture out in investigation; and they did not slow to pursue any watchers. They had their purpose, and they went on.
They pressed on as the wind continued to blow, and to the direction from whence it came they saw that a great cloud darkened the sky.
“There is coming a storm,” said Cormo.
“Yes, certainly,” said Ysil. “But it is a great distance off. We should keep going. We cannot falter when our goal is this close.”
No one answered him, but neither did anyone stop. Ahead was a rise, and at the top of the hill was a grove of pine trees. The trail down to the river must surely be beyond. They moved into the pines, eager to find the pinecones the trees promised. They were getting hungry. But the view between the tree trunks stopped their hunger. There beyond was a precipice and a great drop. The grove was at the top of a cliff, and at the bottom of the cliff was the river. They gazed out over the land beyond it. On the far bank was a dense wood. But it was not the view of the river that commanded their attention; it was what lay beyond it. Past the churning water and beyond the wood were many men’s houses, some tall and some short. There were great towers with smoke rising from them. Beyond the hawk’s realm was the realm of man.
Ysil felt a great chill within his heart. This was where he had been commanded to go, and he had followed Cotur Ada’s direction. The dying words of his greatly loved grandfather were as law. But within him every ounce of his being told him he must turn back; he must return to his home and huddle beneath the brush and pray for the best. He thought of Harlequin and her broken heart, he thought of Gomor and his willingness to journey with them on a quest of which he was a part only in friendship. And he thought of the hawk, somewhere below. The hawk who could take their lives even before they delivered Cotur Ada’s message.
Ysil looked around. All his friends’ eyes were on him. He knew what they were thinking: they were as afraid as he was, but no one said a word. Ysil mindfully trudged down the trail without eating from a single pinecone. The others followed.
T
HE COURSE WOUND
its way down the precipice through hollows and clefts until it flattened out along the banks of the river, and then into a small clearing. The clearing was still and quiet. It was too quiet, in fact. There were no sounds of birds, which was strange. There came the hum of one of man’s loathsome beasts. The thought of what it could be made Ysil tremble. He had seen the man’s machine cutting the field, its giant blades turning with terrible power. That creature had been noisy and angry, but the contraption he heard now must be much larger, for its growl remained vociferous, though, undeniably, far, far away. To make such a great noise, it must be a fearsome creature, for sure. And he could see what he took to be a fog billowing into the sky from the direction of the sound, and wondered why man would make a machine that would breathe fog to block the view of the sky.
They continued on, the sound of the river surrounding them until finally it was before them, a great tumult of driving force, wide and immense. They all turned and looked one to the other.
“Should we wait until almost dark to fly across the river?” asked Cormo.
“I feel we should go now,” said Ysil. “The hawk is likely out hunting. Perhaps we should be near his nest when he returns.”
Then all eyes went to Gomor. He could not fly. He could not swim.
“Well, I guess this is as far as I go,” said Gomor. The relief was evident in his voice.
“I’ll just wait in that brush over there until you come back,” said the rabbit.
“I hate to leave you, friend, but I don’t think we should wait,” said Ysil. “We need to find his nest before he returns. Then we can sneak in and hide beneath. Even if he is already there, perhaps we can call up to him before he sees us. If we speak Cotur Ada’s name, hopefully he will listen. We have to believe what Cotur Ada said. If we can’t find his nest, at least we can find shelter there before the day wears on too far.”
Harlequin turned to Gomor. “You know I will be missing you,” she said.
The rabbit laid his long ears to the sides of his head and looked down, dragging his back foot through the dirt.
“I will gather some food,” said Gomor, being as cheery as possible. “If you return before dark, we can all eat before sleep. That is my prayer, that you return before dark.”
“It is my prayer that we return at all,” said Cormo, staring blankly across the river.
With that they gave Gomor their good-byes and with a great flurry took off as one across the thick brown water.
Gomor watched his friends’ flight and saw them descend into a raspberry thicket and disappear. It was as if they had never been there at all.
Immediately Gomor felt the chill of loneliness set in. He felt exposed and isolated. He looked around for the closest shelter in this strange place. He saw a stand of water dock, crowfoots, and forked rushes near the river. Glancing up and around to make sure the sky was clear of danger, he moved toward it. He remembered his promise to find food and wondered if there would be some there within the coppice, maybe even some morels or quillwort. There were also mosses that could be delicious. Then there was a sudden rush of wind, and Gomor, on instinct, darted toward the soggy undergrowth.
B
ENEATH THE RASPBERRY
bush the ground was wet. This was a place where the river seeped into the soil. The three quail landed in the muck with a splat. Then they saw the white shards all around them. At first Ysil thought they were sticks, bleached by the sun. Then he realized they were bones; the bones of rabbits, mice, moles, small birds—quail. He looked down at his body and to the faces and bodies of the other birds, all covered with mud.
Cormo laughed, not yet noticing the bones. “Well, if the hawk sees us now, he’ll think we’re little brown grouse, not quail.”
With a quiver Ysil raised his eyes to the canopy above. High in the very tree above the raspberry bush was the form of a great nest. “The hawk’s nest is right over us,” he whispered fearfully. Cormo started, his eyes going white and wide.
The other two saw the nest and chilled. There was no rustling within the nest, and Ysil felt for sure it was empty—for the time. They waited quietly for a while, and then set to cleaning the mud from their bodies. Beneath the bush they preened their feathers as best they could. Ysil removed Cotur Ada’s feather and shook the caking earth from it. Then he returned it to his breast.
“Let’s move down the bank of the river for a space,” said Harlequin. “There seems to be a path there with a thicket beside it. Let’s stay hidden in the thicket. And for the sake of all order, let’s watch that nest closely.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Ysil.
They moved along the path, keeping within the dense foliage wherever they could, forever mindful of the trees overhead and listening carefully for the sound of wings. The woods here were even quieter than those across the river, if that was possible.
Then, suddenly, the sound they most dreaded filled their ears. They all huddled tightly together and pushed deeper into the bush. The steady beat of the wings grew with each moment.
Thump! Thump!! Thump!!!
This is insane!
thought Ysil.
How could we hope to talk to the hawk? It would kill us at first sight. We won’t be able to get a word out before it rips us to pieces!
Then the sound of the great wings filled their heads. The hawk was just above them, mere feet away.
This is it!
thought Ysil.
This is the end!
But then the hawk was past them and crossing the river. Ysil chanced a glance and saw that it was flying low over the water.
Perhaps he’s looking for fish,
thought Ysil. Then, with a great beating of his wings, the hawk was up in the sky above. Ysil could see its head, its sharp, curved beak. Ysil had never seen anything like the bird, only heard it described in stories. It was far greater than he had ever imagined, but it was not horrible-looking. For a moment Ysil thought it beautiful, then shuddered.
A beautiful thing of death.
Until lately, he had never even considered seeing one in the flesh. Now he had searched the thing out. And there it was, a thing of nightmares; but at the same time, the goal of their search. How could he ever hope to find the courage to speak to such a creature? The birds huddled in fright.
“This journey is hopeless, Ysil!” said Cormo as quietly as he could. “Just before dark we must go back across the river and home.”
Ysil watched the hawk in awe. The great bird was hovering, beating its wings steadily and looking below. Then, without warning, the bird made a great dive, tucking its wings behind, and disappeared from view.
The quail peeked out from their hiding place. Then they heard the pounding wings of the hawk once again, but this time his flight was a bit more labored, for within his claws was clutched a meager furry brown form. And Pitrin the hawk flew directly for them. The quail shivered and hid. Cowering within the brush, Cormo and Harlequin tucked their heads under their wings. Ysil could not look away.
With a great rush, the hawk landed very, very close. With one look Ysil confirmed what in his heart he already knew. It was Gomor the hawk clasped within its talons. The rabbit cried in pain. Within Ysil a great anger arose. Gomor was his friend and had come to be of help to him on his quest. Now the rabbit was to die because of his friendship, and Ysil would be to blame for his death. And as the rabbit screamed, the hawk tore its beak into Gomor’s fur.
Ysil’s fear was overtaken by his love for the rabbit and rage at the hawk, and with a jump he was through the air and on the path. He landed close to the hawk, dangerously close.
“Please!” cried Ysil. “Please do not kill my friend!”
Gomor cried out from his grasp. “Ysil! Go! Fly while you can!” he screamed, his blood gurgling in his throat.
The hawk’s eyes, cold and without mirth or spite, settled upon Ysil. “You are foolish. If I were not holding the rabbit I would kill you also, quail. Listen to my food’s words. Fly now, fast and far if you want to live.” And Pitrin lowered his head to feed.
“No!” cried Ysil, stepping even closer. “I am the grand chick of Cotur Ada! I beg of you to stop! We have come with a message from him!”
Ysil then pulled the feather hidden within his breast and held it in his beak for the hawk to see. With that the hawk did stop, settling its deadly gaze upon Ysil. He looked at the quail, Gomor’s blood on his beak. “Cotur Ada?” A look of recognition crossed the hawk’s face, and Ysil felt a shimmer of hope. “Bring the feather to me,” said the hawk.
Ysil stood still for a long moment, then with all his courage moved closer to the hawk. He lifted the feather up to the great bird. Gomor’s blood was everywhere, and he could smell the hawk’s feathers, full of death.
“Cotur Ada . . .” said Pitrin, his eyes now full of deep fury and wonder.
“Yes, Cotur Ada!” cried Ysil, stepping back cautiously. The hawk stared at him. “He is now dead! He gave his life so that others could live. And he commanded me to find you. To beg you to return to the field of your birth.”
“He is dead?” asked the hawk. Then the immense bird shook in a convulsive disgust. “I will not claim to know Cotur Ada.”
Ysil was astonished. “Are you not the hawk Pitrin, the son of Elera? I know your tale. Cotur Ada sang of you and your banishment in a plea to the crow Ophrei. But the old rook would not hear his plea! He killed him.”
“I am Pitrin, son of Elera, but I am no child of a quail. Now go, so that I am not disturbed in my meal.” Then again the hawk’s vicious beak descended and tore into the rabbit’s supple flesh, ripping the hide away. Gomor screamed.
“No!” cried Ysil. “I beg you, no!”
The hawk now glanced up from his prey with a blank, dull look. “It would be just as senseless for me to not eat this rabbit as for you to stop eating grain. Now go.”
“But I am begging you to return! Cotur Ada is certain the wolf will come back!” said Ysil.
For a moment the hawk seemed to shiver, as if this knowledge would influence him. But then he spoke. “This is no concern of mine,” said Pitrin. Then the hawk lowered his head to feast.
Ysil could not watch. He was overwhelmed with sadness. He flew back to Harlequin and Cormo, who had not moved as they watched in silence and fear.
When he was beside them, he said, “We must flee now, while he eats! Gomor is beyond our help!”
And with that they took to the sky. And the three birds flew with all the strength they had back across the river and up the cliff. They flew on and on, emitting cries torn and broken, their quest failed, their heads and bones sodden beneath the dull black pains of all-engulfing sadness.
A
ND
P
ITRIN THE
hawk finished the rabbit. As he did, he told Gomor that he was grateful for his life, for the food. With his dying words, though he fought and tried to get away, Gomor told him he understood. This was the order. Pitrin took no pleasure in the kill, only from the feeding. He ate every bit of flesh that he could take off the bones. And then he carried the carcass to the water and dropped it in for the fish to pick clean. He had fed well and was grateful. He thanked the earth for giving him his meal. And he said a prayer for the rabbit’s soul, that it might again become one with the earth, and that within it would flourish and bring forth more life.