The Good Hawk

by Joseph Elliott

  “Well, you’re not going to see much from way over there.” He beckons me and I jog toward him, a smile creeping into the corners of my mouth. “I’m Donal,” he says. His small mouth is lost somewhere in the depths of his bright orange beard.

  “Jaime,” I reply.

  “So you want to be a Wasp, eh?”

  “No, I’m an Angler.” I swallow the word. “I thought if I watch you make the boat it might help me become a better Angler.”

  “Okay,” says Donal in a way that suggests he doesn’t quite believe me. “Well, stick with me, lad. I’ll show you everything you need to know.”

  I spend the whole day with Donal and the other Wasps, watching with wide eyes as they forge nails, sew new sails, and shape the wood for the hull. I marvel at their skill, and Donal repays my enthusiasm by explaining everything he does. I’m itching to join in and help. Being with the Wasps is completely different from being with the Anglers. I’m on land for one thing — which immediately makes it better — but it’s also much easier to relate to their way of working. They think about every job they do in great detail first, taking their time to consider how best to solve problems and make improvements. I know I’d make a better Wasp than an Angler. If it were up to me, I would change duties in a heartbeat, but of course there is no possibility of that.

  Late in the afternoon, everyone stops what they’re doing at the sound of a commotion from the Southern Gate. One of the chimes is ringing, but I’m not sure which. I’ve never been that good at recognizing them.

  “What do you think it is?” I ask Donal. He is standing up straight, the hammer he was wielding hanging limp at his side. His nose twitches as he strains his eyes.

  “It’s the Scavengers,” he says. “Looks like they’ve returned.”

  The Scavengers! They were sent to find out what happened to Clann-na-Bruthaich, one of the other clans on Skye. There’s a rumor going around that the whole clan disappeared without a trace. We’re not supposed to know about it, but everybody does.

  “Go and see if you can overhear what they say,” says Donal.

  “Oh,” I say. “But it’s not dùth to stop work before evening meal.”

  Donal chuckles. “We’re not long off finishing, and I won’t tell if you don’t. Besides, you said it yourself: you’re not working, you’re observing.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink.

  I don’t really want to go, but at the same time I want Donal to like me. He makes the decision for me by placing his large hand between my shoulder blades and giving me a gentle pat. “If you hear anything, come back and let us know.”

  I nod, scrambling over the framework of the new boat. The Southern Gate is a short walk away. By the time I reach it, the Scavs are already inside. I keep my distance. They glance in my direction, so I duck down behind an old well. The ground is wet with mud, which seeps through my trousers, soaking my knees.

  Maistreas Sorcha has come to meet them. She clasps each of their fists but doesn’t speak. None of them do. A look passes among them. Maistreas Sorcha beckons them to a communal bothan, right next to where I’m hiding.

  They’re going to pass right by me! If they catch me hiding, they’ll think I’m spying. Which I suppose I am. What was I thinking? This was a terrible idea. I should leave now, before they get too close, but my body refuses to move. They’re drawing closer. I slide down farther into the mud and press myself against the curved stone of the well. It stinks of wet algae. If I can slip around it as they pass, maybe I can avoid being seen. They’re no more than a few yards away. Now or never. I dig my nails into the gaps between the stones and shuffle to the right as Maistreas Sorcha and the Scavengers approach from the left. I drag myself around, little by little, trying not to make a sound. My palms sweat rivers.

  The group passes on the opposite side of the well, talking in low whispers. I strain my ears for any scraps. I hear the phrase “Raasay were telling the truth,” and someone else says, “. . . even worse than expected.”

  Their conversation moves into the bothan. I wait until I hear the door shut before letting go of my breath. I glance up to the wall, hoping I wasn’t spotted by one of the Hawks. They’re all looking outward. I’ve gotten away with it. Never again. I scramble to my feet and hurry to my bothan to change out of my mud-streaked clothes. All the while, I can’t stop thinking about what the Scavengers said.

  What could they have found that was worse than expected? And why did they all look so scared?

  AT EVENING MEAL, I SEARCH THE TABLES FOR AILEEN, but she’s not there. She must still be walking back from Kilmaluag Bay. I collect my food and approach the long wooden benches where we eat. As I walk past the Wasps’ table, a large group of them bursts into laughter. I slow down and smile at Donal and a few of the others. They nod at me and smile back. I’m about to stop and tell Donal what I overheard, but he has already launched into a new conversation.

  I move on to the long Angler table. Sitting in the middle is a group of Anglers from one of the other boats, but I don’t know any of them, so I sit at the far end on my own and start to eat. Someone grabs my shoulders from behind.

  “Where’ve you been?” The voice is right in my ear, deliberately taking me by surprise. I start choking on a mouthful of stew, and bits of it spray out over the table. “You should really learn some table manners.”

  I swallow and reach behind me to swipe at Aileen. “Don’t do that!” I say.

  She effortlessly dodges my arm and then slides in next to me.

  “So how come you didn’t join us at Kilmaluag Bay? Wanted another day in bed, did you?”

  “No, I’ve been with the Wasps.” I can’t help feeling a little bit smug.

  “What?”

  “Maighstir Ross said I could watch them make the new boat.”

  “You sneaky little . . . Wish I’d thought of that! The trek to Kilmaluag took forever. Was fun being outside the enclave, though. On land, I mean.” She tucks her rusty curls behind her ears. She always does that when she’s excited. “So really, it’s you that missed out. Although I suppose you’ll get to leave the enclave for the Ceremony.” She covers her mouth as soon as she says it. “Sorry. Forgot we’re not talking about that anymore,” she says from behind her hand.

  “The Scavs came back,” I say, changing the subject.

  “Really! What did they find?”

  “Well, we haven’t been told anything yet, but” — I lower my voice — “I was behind the old well as they came past and —”

  “You were spying?” Aileen interrupts me.

  “No. Well, maybe a little.”

  “Wait a minute! Who are you and what have you done with the real Jaime?”

  “Very funny. Anyway, I didn’t hear much, but they all looked pretty worried. They said something about Raasay ‘telling the truth’ and that what they found was ‘worse than expected.’ ”

  “What do you think that means?”

  “I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good.” I chew on the inside of my mouth. “Do you think we’re safe here?”

  “Of course we are.” There’s a lump in my throat that refuses to be swallowed.

  “But what if what happened to Clann-na-Bruthaich happens to us too?”

  “Wait. You’re worrying about something and you don’t even know what it is? That’s bad, even for you!”

  She’s right; I know I shouldn’t be panicking. I can’t help it.

  “Hey, it’s all right.” Aileen places her hand on mine and gives it a squeeze. “Trust me, we’re safe. We have the best defenses on the island.”

  That’s true.

  “There’s something else I’ve been wondering . . .” I say. “They mentioned Raasay; do you think all this has something to do with the Ceremony?”

  Aileen presses her lips together and wobbles her head as if to say, I’m not allowed to talk about it.

  “Stop it,” I say, giving her a gentle shove. “If I start the conversation, it’s allowed.”

  She breathes out a
puff of air. “So many rules . . .”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Jaime. We’ve talked about this so much, and we always end up going around in the same circles. Who knows what makes the elders decide the things they do? All I know is that they have our best interests at heart, and we have to trust them.”

  I do trust them. Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t ask them about it. I gulp down the remains of my stew and stand up from the table.

  “Where are you going?”

  “If the Ceremony is happening, I have the right to know why. The real truth. Not just what they’ve told me.” I hand my empty bowl to the nearest Wrasse. “I’ll see you later.”

  It’s a clear night, and the light from the moon spills through the trees as I cross the enclave. I pass two goats chewing on grass, and give them each a gentle rub behind the ears. The late summer air is full of the sweet, nutty scent of wild gorse flowers. I breathe it in until it fills my lungs. I’ve always loved that smell.

  I reach Maistreas Eilionoir’s bothan and am about to knock when I hear people talking inside. The first voice belongs to Maistreas Eilionoir, and the second is instantly recognizable as that of the girl who set our boat on fire, Agatha.

  “I’m afraid what you want is irrelevant, my dear.” Maistreas Eilionoir’s guttural rasp contains no trace of sympathy. “It has been decided and there is no other option.”

  “But I need to be on the w-wall. It’s my — my duty,” Agatha replies. I strain to catch her words; it’s difficult to understand her sometimes.

  “Not anymore, it’s not. You can either accept the proposal or face exile from the clan. The choice is yours. I’ll expect you here tomorrow at first light. Good evening.”

  Their conversation comes to an abrupt end, and Agatha storms out, swinging the door into my face. I stumble backward, trip on the root of a tree, and fall to the ground.

  “J-Jaime,” she says. “I didn’t — see you. I didn’t know you were there.” Her tone is defensive, almost hostile.

  “It’s okay, Agatha,” I say.

  She tries to help me up but stands too close, making it even harder for me to get to my feet.

  “I’m sorry I made you fall.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it.” I smile at her, and her expression changes from remorse to exultation.

  “Oh, I’m good. I mean I’m happy. That you’re okay.”

  She reaches out and strokes my arm, which is a bit weird.

  “Have a good evening.”

  “You were on the b-boat,” she says with some effort. The look of guilt has returned, fringed with an angry scowl.

  “I was,” I say, smiling to let her know there are no hard feelings.

  “I didn’t know it was you,” she says. “I heard the chime, but I thought it was a-a different one. I didn’t know it, so it w-wasn’t my fault and I was only doing my — duty.”

  “It was a really good shot,” I say, focusing on the positive. “If we were an enemy boat, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  The smile that erupts on her face is perhaps the most genuine I have ever seen.

  “It’s true. You’re right, Jaime, you’re right.”

  “I need to speak to Maistreas Eilionoir now. Have a good evening.”

  “Okay, J-Jaime, I’ll go now. Goodbye, Jaime.”

  She walks away, toward the Gathering. I can see why people get annoyed at her, but it’s not fair, really. Besides, from what I just overheard, the elders have stripped her of her duty. That, in addition to the way she was born, probably makes her the one person in the clan even more unfortunate than me.

  I knock on the door, and Maistreas Eilionoir barks at me to enter. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a small leather-bound book. None of the other elders read much, but Maistreas Eilionoir insists that it’s important. It’s because of her that we’re all taught how to do it when we’re young. I wait for her to finish her page.

  When she looks up, the light from the fire casts shadows across her face. It fills her crevices with dark lines, making her look impossibly old.

  “Jaime-Iasgair.” She chews my name, her mouth a tight line. Despite her irritable nature, I’ve always found her the most approachable of the elders.

  “Good evening, Maistreas Eilionoir,” I say. “I wondered if I might have a word with you?”

  “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

  “It’s about the Ceremony. . . .”

  “I worked that much out for myself. What about it?”

  “I can’t stop wondering why it’s happening.”

  “Maighstir Ross told you: to form stronger ties with the Isle of Raasay.”

  “I know, but why do we need them? Why now? We’ve survived without their help for centuries.” She’s going to reprimand me. I shouldn’t be questioning her like this.

  Maistreas Eilionoir licks her lips. It does not make them look any less dry.

  “What you have been requested to do is no small ask; I appreciate that. And you’re a smart boy. So I’m not going to lie to you by pretending there’s nothing more at stake than what you have already been told. There are forces at work that threaten every aspect of our existence.”

  “Are you talking about what happened to Clann-na-Bruthaich?”

  “What do you know of that?” she snaps.

  “Nothing really . . . just rumors . . .” Maistreas Eilionoir scowls at me. I avoid her glare. “Is it true the whole clan disappeared?”

  For a long time, Maistreas Eilionoir says nothing at all. Then her eyes widen a little, forcing back the wrinkles that imprison them.

  “I cannot speak of Clann-na-Bruthaich, but I can assure you that what happened to them is most definitely not going to happen to us. The Ceremony is an added precaution; in exchange for your hand in marriage, the Chiefs of Raasay have agreed to provide us with several long-range weapons, which will greatly bolster our defenses.”

  “And what does Raasay get in return?”

  “What they have always wanted: to feel superior to us.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We have also agreed to assist each other should the situation arise, although the likelihood of our needing their help is extremely slim. United we are stronger. That is all there is to it.”

  “So the union is being created out of fear?”

  “Clann-a-Tuath does not succumb to fear.” A sudden chill fills the room. “I will say no more on the subject. In many ways, I have already said too much.”

  But you’ve hardly said anything at all, I think.

  “And you’re not to breathe a word of this to anyone,” she continues. “It would cause panic, and that’s the last thing we need.”

  “Yes, Maistreas.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  I still have so many questions, but it no longer feels like the right time to ask them.

  “No,” I say.

  “Then close the door properly on the way out; it’s letting in a draft.”

  I AM LATE AND SHE IS NOT HAPPY. MY NOSE STILL HURTS from when Maighstir Clyde hit it which was mean.

  “Get inside,” she says, and I do.

  I am late because I went to the wall. I wasn’t supposed to do it but I did it. When Flora saw me, I told her the elders changed their minds and decided I could come back and she said okay and was happy. Sometimes lying is okay when it is a small lie. I was doing good walking and good looking on the wall to do my duty. Then Lenox saw me.

  “Hello, Agatha,” he said.

  “Good morning, Lenox,” I said, to be nice.

  “I don’t think you should be here, should you?”

  “It’s — fine,” I told him. “The elders changed their minds and said I could — I could come back to the wall.”

  “We both know that’s not true,” he said.

  That’s when I ran. I am not fast at running so I didn’t get very far and Lenox got me. He frowned at me with his big eyebrows and his big
nose.

  “Look, Agatha, this can go one of two ways. Either you come with me to Maistreas Eilionoir’s bothan — which I know is where you’re supposed to be — or I sling you over my shoulder and carry you there kicking and screaming. You’re not light, so I’m really hoping you choose the first option.” I stared at him and didn’t know which one to choose. Then he said, “If you can prove to the elders that you are good at doing what you’re told, maybe they’ll change their minds and let you back on the wall.”

  He is right. I’m still a Hawk. I’m just having a bit of a break. If I show them I am good they will change their minds. I know it. I also didn’t want him to pick me up so I said, “Okay, Lenox, I’ll go.”

  When I am inside Maistreas Eilionoir’s bothan she says to me, “You’re probably wondering why I convinced the other elders to let you spend your days with me.” I am not wondering that. “You could be a real asset to this clan, but you lack discipline and self-control. They will be our first lessons.”

  “Will you t-teach me how to use the — crossbow under your — b-bed?”

  “Absolutely not. Sit.”

  I sit on the chair that is next to the table. She reaches to a high shelf and takes down a jar. Then she tips all the things inside onto the table in front of me. It is hundreds of seeds that come out.

  “Before I was an elder, I was a Reaper, as you may know. Early spring was always my favorite time of year because that’s when we started sowing seeds. It never ceased to amaze me that such tiny crumbs could grow into plants big enough to feed us all winter. This is a collection of some of my favorites. Line them up on the table from smallest to largest, and do not move from that seat until you have finished.”

  “But they’re all the same,” I say.

  “Then your first task is to realize that they are not.”

  Without saying anything else, she leaves and I am alone. I look at the seeds. I do not want to sort seeds. It is boring and not important. I am not doing it. I want to throw the stupid jar on the floor and smash it. But they will not let me back on the wall if I do that so I don’t.

  I stand up and look around the bothan at all the things in it. It is a small one. There is the table and a bed and the corner where her fire is. Next to the bed there are lots of books. They look old and falling apart. I touch them on their sides but I do not pick them up. I am not good at reading. They are from the mainland I think. That’s where most books came from. They used to make them there before everyone was dead. Only terror beasts and shadow things live there now. It is a very bad place.