She waited.
She heard a chirp from the hedge in front of the window. Tolioro angrily hurled a piece of fruit. Feathers flew and a small bird shot up from the hedge in a panicked hurry.
“I have arranged for help,” she said.
Tolioro’s head whipped around. Now she had his undivided attention.
“There is someone who owes me a favor. Ioro is under observation now that he’s commander of the honor guard. There are... interested parties who prefer not to let him get close to the throne.”
“Interested parties,” Tolioro repeated. Iragana’s initiative surprised him. He hadn’t thought his mother was that smart. His opinion of her improved. He arose. A spiteful grin appeared on his face. “As coincidence would have it, I might have similar interests.” Mother and son were now standing face to face. “These people interest me. Introduce me to them.”
Iragana quickly deflected. “You are the crown prince. People are watching you. There must be no way to connect you to them. If our attempt fails, heads will roll. Yours should not be among them. I am the sole connection to them. No one will suspect me. Even my husband thinks I am too dumb to attempt anything even remotely political.” Iragana lowered her voice. “They have all underestimated me. Nothing makes this boring life behind these palace walls more bearable than a good conspiracy. And the best conspiracies are those in which the source remains unknown.”
Tolioro chortled. “Ah, mother, it seems we are kindred spirits after all!” His eyes sparkled. Finally! With the help of his mother and the unidentified helper, he had a chance of getting rid of his loathsome brother. Together, they would find a fitting end for him.
*
Now that the falcons were near Kamiataneeri anyway, it was easy to continue visiting the city. The first few times, Jok used Tevi as a guide; then, he started exploring the city on his own. The dog hadn’t proven to be the best host. Jok quickly specialized in two other, commonly-found animals to get to know the city better: the seagulls, for all kinds of aerial exploration, and the rats. Kamiataneeri was covered in rat tunnels. The rats had dug their tunnels beneath the streets, through the houses, in the piers, everywhere. The people put up with the plague of rats like they did the mosquitoes in the summer and the ice in the winter. The few cats in the city didn’t dare go near the rats and preferred to stick to mice, and the dogs had their hands full escaping the cooking pots, so they weren’t really a danger. Jok quickly learned to have the falcons wait near the piles of fish offal that was piled onto huge carts in front of the land-side gate and sold to the local farmers as fertilizer. He was always able to find a rat there. He loved visiting the markets. They were diverse and colorful, as were the people who hawked their special wares. Pale-eyed people from the mountains, short, stout people from the northern mountains, brawny warriors from the woodlands clad in furs, and Karapakian merchants intermingled in a colorful mix of cultures. Once or twice, he even saw one of the gaunt, tattooed, bearded desert warriors from the south in fluttering robes.
Jok was particularly fascinated by the pale-haired people who sailed the seas on long, slender, low, double-hulled ships. No one knew where they came from. Their skin was dark brown, their eyes blue and green and their hair was almost white. They stood out; especially since they wore colorful clothing and sang while doing almost any kind of work. Their ships fascinated Jok almost more than the people themselves. They were made of a light, soft wood and covered in carvings and painted in bright colors. An eye was painted on the outside of every hull and they all had a carved beak on the front. In the middle, between the double hull, was a platform that held the mast, a hut and the cargo. Based on what he was able to overhear, the pale-haired people named their ships after oceanic birds. The ships looked laughably small, but all of the sailors spoke of them with great respect.
Jok decided to take a closer look at the bird ships. In the body of a seagull, he landed on the mast of one of the largest ships, the Sea Swallow. Her sail, which hung reefed to the mast, was bright blue and her hull was blue and green with red dots. A wide, carved zigzag ran across both parts of the hull. Jok fluttered down. The platform, as far as he could tell, wasn’t even properly connected to the double hull, and was only held in place by ropes and a few rods. The whole structure creaked and moved like a living animal with every wave. How could such a fragile construction outperform the large cargo ships from Karapak?
The seagull scuttled across the deck to take a look inside the hut. The front part was wide open. A middle-aged woman, wearing a blue-green dress, was sitting inside, stirring a pot of soup. The woman sensed she was being watched and looked up. Her eyes were almost painfully green. She looked at the seagull as though dissecting it.
“Hello, little sorcerer!” she greeted Jok.
Dumbfounded, he beat his wings a few times and flew backward. How was this woman able to recognize him as a sorcerer? The seagull wasn’t wearing a mirror! The woman smiled. “With you so close to me, I’d have to be blind and deaf not to see or hear you.”
“You can see me?” Jok was now very unsettled.
“I can see your soul shadow. If you want to spy on people without being noticed, you have to camouflage your soul shadow and shield your thoughts.” The woman lowered the spoon. “But I suppose you have no idea what I’m talking about, little sorcerer. I don’t think you’re a spy. I imagine you’re just a curious, inexperienced young man.”
She smiled. All of Jok’s instincts were screaming, ‘danger’. The woman reached behind her and pulled something out. With a quick gesture, she flung it at the seagull. Jok catapulted himself into the air. He just barely escaped the net. With a protesting squawk, he steered the seagull upward until he was out of her reach. The woman was now standing in front of the hut, gathering up the net. She looked up at him indifferently. “It was worth a try. You would have made a good net.”
Jok felt his heart skip a beat. Apparently, the pale-haired people used their nets the same way the Karapakians used their mirrors. He had gotten very lucky.
Jok didn’t risk getting too close to the pale-haired people again. They were too dangerous. He warned Tevi right away. His friend recommended they postpone further exploration until the monsoon season. The pale-haired people usually stayed away from Kamiataneeri during the monsoons. “But,” he said, “we will fly there again in four days. That’s when the midsummer flood tide comes. I want to show you something special.”
Four days later, the friends flew their falcons back to Kamiataneeri. The city was a seething cauldron of colors and people. A huge procession was rolling through the streets, accompanied by the sound of drums and conch shells. The line of people wound through the gate and headed toward the beach. There was a rock formation in the water, near the shore. The people waded through the tide to hang flower garlands on the rocks. They all bowed respectfully before one specific boulder that jutted out like a piece of wall between the land and the sea before they finally returned to land.
“This is the Feast of Skiaskis, the sea goddess,” Tevi finally explained. “Our highest holiday.” A yearning for the happier days of his childhood resonated in his thoughts. “The rocks are the image of Skiaskis. The flowers symbolize her hair. And there, where they are all bowing, is the ocean’s mouth, Skiaskis’ mouth.”
Jok took a closer look. With his falcon eyes, he could see a hole in the rock about the size of a head, just above the surface of the water. Every time a wave broke against it, the water hit the opening and sprayed up in a powerful swell on the land side of the rocks.
“Skiaskis speaks through the water,” he heard Tevi’s voice again. “Kamiataneeri only exists thanks to her blessings. If Skiaskis gets angry, storms and waves destroy the wharves and sink the ships at sea. If she is in a forgiving mood, she not only allows trade, from which Kamiataneeri lives, she also feeds the entire city with what she allows the fishermen to take. Skiaskis doesn’t belong to anyone but herself. No one has ever been able to divide the ocean as property like the land.
Skiaskis is free and unbound, and the ships that sail on her are as free as she is.”
“It almost sounds like you’re in love with her!” Jok quipped.
“Maybe.” His friend sounded very serious. “If Master Tu hadn’t taken me, I would have become a sailor.” The falcon looked out at the vast ocean. “I wanted to be free; free like the ships, free like the ocean.”
Jok felt the loss and sadness that resonated in his words. He sent his friend an image. Two men sitting on a brightly-painted ship heading toward the horizon, hand in hand. “Someday, you will be free. Master Go can’t keep us there forever. We will sail the sea!”
“Yes, we will sail the sea!” Tevi echoed.
But they both knew it would probably never be more than a pipe dream.
The Bull Hunt
Ioro spurred his horse through the reeds. The mud squelched with every step. Only a few splatters of blood and bent helmets revealed that something had passed through here at all. The reeds rustled. He couldn’t see his prey. Ioro stopped. His horse’s ears twitched, forward then back, flat against its head. The gelding sensed something. Ioro still couldn’t see anything. He stood up in his saddle and tried to gain an overview. The gelding suddenly leaped backward. Ioro was hurled against the horse’s neck. A dark mass danced past not two hands away from his right leg. The bright, white tip of the horn missed by only a few inches. The gelding was well trained. It quickly turned to allow Ioro to get his lance into position. The bull was already on its way back. Tattered reeds flew everywhere. This time, Ioro hit it front on. The lance bored through the upper third of the bull’s neck and down into its ribcage. Ioro let go. Again, the gelding evaded it, moving almost like a dancer. The bull ran a few more steps, stopped, then slowly turned around. It ran at Ioro with heavy steps. Its beady, bloodshot eyes sparkled treacherously. Saliva, bloody and foaming, dripped from its mouth. Ioro waited, his sword drawn. One more step. The bull collapsed. It died almost directly beneath the gelding’s hooves.
Ioro took a deep breath. He was exhilarated. He dismounted, saluted his honorable opponent and thanked it for the good fight. Then, he took a reed and placed it in the dead bull’s mouth. As tradition dictated. No one knew why, but everyone did it. One never knew which god one might anger.
He looked up at the sun. It was the last third of the afternoon, so he still had time. Soon, his hunting attendants would come to bring his kill to the palace. He had certainly earned himself a break until then. Ioro drew his knife and cut into the bull’s abdomen. Several links of intestine poured out. He stuck his arm into the carcass and searched until he felt the soft consistency of the liver in his hand. Then, he pulled out a piece. Another cut. Satisfied, Ioro sat down on the still-warm body of the bull and began to eat the tasty treat.
Jok circled in the air. He had already made several attempts to contact Ioro. As a falcon, he would have been noticed too quickly in the city, but he hadn’t had any success with the other animals he had tried out, either. He was able to get into the city, even much easier than in Kamiataneeri. The capital had expanded past the borders of the city walls long ago. Calling the gate controls, if performed at all, negligible would be flattering. Animals were certainly never noticed. Jok was now almost as familiar with Sawateenatari as he was with his home village. The palace, which was in the middle of the city on a low hill and had white walls that dominated the view of the city, was a completely different matter. Nothing and no one got in there without permission. Even the rats had difficulty getting to places above the dungeons. The walls and floors were made of flat-cut, almost seamlessly laid rock, which made it difficult for even the sharp rat teeth to penetrate. Only the water pipes offered access, but clever builders had installed strong grates there. After a few failed attempts, Jok had given up in frustration. He needed to find another way.
If he couldn’t get into the palace, perhaps he could contact Ioro outside? But so far, the prince had not been outside the walls without an escort. He could hardly fly to Ioro as a falcon while the prince was running field exercises with his soldiers. Nonetheless, Jok refused to give up. Whenever he had time, he went on a little excursion to Sawateenatari with the falcon and kept an eye out for Ioro.
Today it looked like his patience was finally going to pay off. Ioro was heading out to hunt. Judging by his weapons, he was hunting the wild, black bulls on the floodplains of the Tsaomoogra River. Bull hunting was considered a sport of the nobility; dangerous, but very prestigious. Only nobles were permitted to kill a bull. Jok waited. The hunting attendants were methodically combing the reed forest while Ioro followed directly behind them on his horse. One of the attendants waved. Apparently, he had found tracks. The area was surrounded by a large circle of men into which Ioro rode. The falcon watched, interested. A massive bull was grazing in the center of the circle. Ioro followed the tracks, which were surprisingly narrow for such a massive animal. The bull, which had noticed something was behind it, smoothly pushed its way through the reeds. A small bird flew up in front of it. Ioro saw the bird and spurred his gelding in that direction.
The bull took off. It ran directly at Ioro. Ioro let his horse elegantly dodge it as he hit the bull’s flank with his hunting lance. The animal roared, turned on its own axis, and rumbled back toward Ioro. The hunting attendants hurried over and made noise. The bull shot back around. Its sharp horns stabbed through one of the men’s bodies, tearing him open. The man fell to the ground, his intestines pouring out. The bull stomped over him in blind rage. A second man, who was standing in the bull’s path, flew screaming through the air like a doll. Then, the bull broke through the ranks and galloped through the reeds like a battering ram. Ioro hollered something at the hunting attendants and spurred his horse. Water sprayed beneath the gelding’s hooves. The path the bull had cut through the reeds was hard to miss.
Soon, the bull and its pursuer were far away from the hunting attendants. Jok was tempted to intervene. Only the fear that he might distract Ioro in the wrong moment held him back. He watched as Ioro closed in on his prey. The bull ambushed him. The prince’s horse was excellently trained and evaded it almost instinctively. Ioro was able to deflect the second attack. For a moment, it looked like the bull might launch a third attack. Then, it collapsed. Goddess, the prince was brave! Jok wasn’t sure whether he would have ridden after the bull if he were Ioro.
The falcon slowly spiraled downward. Ioro had cut a piece of meat from the carcass and was sitting on his kill. The falcon’s consciousness made itself known. It was hungry, too. If Jok wanted to make contact, this was a good opportunity. Now or never! Jok let the falcon drop and landed elegantly on the tip of the bull’s horn.
Ioro winced. Dark wings came down from the sky. He froze for a moment. A falcon was hovering in the air above him. It floated down to the bull’s horn with a few elegant beats of its wings where it landed and briefly cleaned its feathers.
“Jok?”
The falcon nodded. Then it opened its beak and screeched.
Ioro was confused. “Sorry, my feathered friend, I don’t understand you.”
The falcon climbed onto the bull carcass and moved closer to Ioro. After the second or third step, he stopped and ensured himself that Ioro hadn’t moved. The little mirror he was wearing on his chest this time swung a bit. Finally, he was close enough to reach. He opened and closed his beak a few more times, without screeching. Then, he pecked at the bull’s hide and repeated the beak movement.
It finally dawned on Ioro. “Oh, you are hungry!” He cut off a piece of the liver and held it out to the falcon. With a lightning-fast movement, the bird grabbed the meat, flung it around and swallowed it.
Ioro laughed. Then, he started feeding the falcon. They shared the meat in peace.
Ioro leaned back, sated. “What now, Jok? How do we talk to each other?” The falcon came a step closer. Ioro remembered their meeting on the mountain. They probably needed direct contact. He stretched out his arm. The falcon climbed onto it.
Jok was very
pleased. Ioro had obviously understood how to make contact. The prince held out his arm. Jok climbed onto it and looked for a position in which the falcon sat securely. Thanks to the mirror, he wouldn’t need blood. Jok concentrated. He established the contact between them; almost as quickly as with his friend, Tevi. He effortlessly slipped into Ioro’s mind.
The falcon stayed seated. It was full and sluggish. It was also now familiar with the man on whose arm it was sitting and wasn’t afraid of him. The falcon spread out its wings a bit so the sun could shine on its entire body, closed its eyes, and dozed.
The familiar palace materialized around Jok. Ioro was standing before him, looking at him curiously. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“I promised you I would drop by.”
“You did. But it took so long I almost started to think you were a figment of my overactive imagination. Now, suddenly, you’re here. Did the Crystal Chamber send you?”
Jok took a step back. “The Crystal Chamber?” he asked, flabbergasted. “I have nothing to do with them.”
“Then, why are you here?”
Jok was insulted. “I thought I was just visiting a friend,” he said, snappishly. “If that bothers you, I can leave.”
He turned on his heel.
“No, stay, I didn’t mean it like that!” Ioro reached for his arm. “Forgive me. I have spent too much time at court. No one there means what they say, and they all have ulterior motives. My mistake.”
Jok nodded seriously. “You should know I am not lying to you. With such a connection between consciousnesses as we are sharing now, it is almost impossible to lie. We can conceal the truth or evade something, but we cannot directly lie.”
Royal Falcon Page 18