The Good Hawk

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The Good Hawk Page 9

by Joseph Elliott


  Doesn’t she know?

  “There was a plague,” says Jaime, “the worst that’s ever been known. It spread like wildfire, infecting everyone on the mainland: both in Scotia and in Ingland. No one survived.”

  “And if anyone did survive, the shadow things probably got them,” I say.

  “What’s a shadow thing?” Lileas asks me.

  There is lots she doesn’t know. “Shadow things are very bad things. They hide in the dark and you can’t even see them and they grab you when you aren’t looking and rip you all to pieces. They could be hiding in the trees and under rocks or — or — or in your own shadow even.”

  “Agatha, stop it; you’ll scare her,” says Jaime.

  “Is the shadow thing an animal as well?” asks Lileas.

  “No, it’s a shadow.” I said that already. “The king made them. But then the p-plague killed him and now the shadow things are free and no one can — stop them. That’s why we shouldn’t be here, because they’ll probably — probably get us too.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” says Jaime, and he looks at me which is to say I shouldn’t say any more, but I was only being polite and answering questions.

  “How did the king make them?” asks Lileas.

  “He used the — blood magic. You shouldn’t do that because magic is not dùth which is why he is a bad man.”

  “He didn’t make them at all,” says Jaime. “It’s just a story grown-ups tell to scare little kids. Don’t you have that story on Raasay?” Lileas shakes her head to say no. “It’s about how King Balfour, the last king of Scotia, and how he cut off people’s shadows and turned them into deadly assassins. In the story, he plans to use them against his enemy, King Edmund, the Inglish king, but then the plague kills him and the shadows break free. Adults pretend they’re real to scare us into coming inside when it gets too dark, or to make us go to bed sooner, because sgàilean only come out at night. When I was young, it definitely worked. I was terrified of them.”

  Lileas looks scared, I know it.

  “Now it’s y-you who is scaring her,” I say.

  “Well, magic isn’t real, so sgàilean can’t be real either,” Jaime says. “But if it makes you feel better, we’ll make another fire as soon as it starts getting dark.”

  We find a place in the trees with a falling-down bothan in it that is made of wood. It is old and there is a hole in the roof. Jaime says we should stay here for the night because if it rains we won’t get wet. I think if it rains then the rain will come through the hole in the roof, but when I say that to Jaime he ignores me. The blanket is still damp because of all the raining and so it isn’t dry. I don’t mind if it’s cold.

  Jaime ties the nasty deamhan to a tree. The nasty deamhan moves about to make it hard for him and even tries to bite Jaime one time and then he laughs. It is not funny so I don’t know why he does it. I help Jaime pull the rope tight even though I don’t want to go close but because to help.

  Afterward, Jaime says, “I’m going to see if I can find us some food.”

  “I’ll come too,” I say.

  “Uh . . .” Jaime says, which means he doesn’t want me to go with him. “It’d be better if you stay here. I need you to watch Knútr.”

  “Is that an important job?” I ask.

  “Very important,” Jaime says.

  “Then I will do it,” I say.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  He goes so it is just me and Lileas and Milkwort and the deamhan. I take Milkwort out and say sorry I don’t have any food for him still. He is good at finding food on his own so I put him down and he runs away to find something to eat. He will come back to me soon.

  “Be careful of the terror beasts” is what I warn him. He is only small so they will not find him.

  Lileas goes into the place that is like a bothan and uses a branch to get out some of the dirty bits. Then she starts collecting sticks for a fire. I watch the deamhan like Jaime says.

  “You like me a lot, yes?” he says. I do not answer him because I don’t want to talk to him. “You stare at me so I think you like me a lot.” I still do not say anything. He is wrong. I do not like him at all. “It is hard for you, to be like that. You are lucky not to be born in Norveg. You want to know for why? If you are they will kill you already.”

  “Shut up,” I say.

  “They kill you when you are born. It is the right thing to do. You can do nothing. It is sad for you to be alive.”

  “Shut up!” I say again. He is trying to make me angry, I know it. Also it is working. He stops talking and is whistling. I want to tell him to stop the whistling but I don’t because it is better than the talking. He stops it by himself.

  “What was that sound?” he says. I didn’t hear anything. “Did you not hear? A cry. Maybe it was your friend. There is animals worse than bears in Scotia. Animals worse than moose. The boy is not safe to be alone.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Will you not help him?” he says. “Oh, I forget: your brain is broken. You cannot think right.”

  “Yes, I can,” I say. He does not know it. “I’m very — clever.”

  “Then why do you not help your friend?”

  “He told me to watch you. It is an — it is an important job.”

  He laughs. “No it is n-not.” He says it like me to be mean. “I am tied to the tree and cannot move. Why does someone need to watch me? The boy tells you to watch me because he does not want you with him, because you always do wrong. And now you do wrong again because you do not help him when he needs you. I wonder. . . . What will you do when he does not come back?”

  What does he mean Jaime’s not coming back? He will come back.

  I hear something far away that maybe is a shout. Was it Jaime? I don’t know. There is another one. I stand up and, keeping looking at the deamhan, I call for Lileas.

  “Did you hear the shout?” I ask her.

  “No,” she says.

  “I think Jaime might be in — in trouble. I have to help him.”

  “Okay,” she says. “What should I do?”

  “You wait here and watch the deamhan. You do the important job and I’ll — I’ll do the — more important job.”

  I try to think which way Jaime went when he left. I think it was this way so I go. I push the branches away and they scratch me. When I find Jaime and save him he will be so happy that he will hug me like he hugged Lileas on the boat and it will be nice. I shout his name so he will hear me. I say don’t worry because I’m coming to save you.

  The trees are thicker and I think maybe I have gone the wrong way. It is so dark in the trees now. I shout Jaime’s name again two times. Still I can’t see him. I listen to hear if he shouts again but he doesn’t. What if the moose already got him or something worse and is eating him and he is dead? I turn around in the circles. I don’t know which way to go anymore. A branch brushes my head and I scream because I did not know there was a branch there.

  “Agatha?”

  I am surprised and nearly hit him.

  “Jaime!” I say.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to save you because you shouted.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “There are worse things than m-mooses and I thought — I thought they got you.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve just been looking for food. I found these mushrooms, but I’m not sure if they’re edible. You were supposed to stay and watch Knútr. Where’s Lileas?”

  There is a scream and it is a loud one.

  Jaime doesn’t say anything. He drops the mushrooms and starts running fast. I try to keep up but it is hard because of the branches and the scratching.

  “Wait — wait for me, J-Jaime,” I say, but he keeps on fast.

  I get back just after him. I see him first and his face is bad. Then I see the deamhan who is Knútr and I see Lileas. The deamhan is not tied up anymore. He is holding Lileas with one hand over her mouth. The other hand is holding the c
orcag knife and the blade is on her neck.

  “What do you want?” Jaime says. “Don’t do this. We’re taking you back, remember. Just say what you want. You need us as much as we need you. We’re going to help each other. That was the deal.”

  The deamhan laughs. His face is all creases.

  “There is no deal,” he says. “I need no help.”

  The deamhan’s hands are holding tight. The blade is on her and her eyes are so big. I do not know what to do I do not know I do not know. Lileas looks at Jaime and then at me and then at Jaime. I have to help her but I do not know how and I cannot think.

  “Just let her go,” Jaime says. “Please. Don’t do this.”

  “You will not find your people,” says the deamhan. “And I will never be your prisoner.”

  He is laughing when he kills her. Everywhere is blood.

  The deamhan roars and then he is gone.

  It is sad when something dies

  But only if you like that thing

  I was sad when they killed the bird because I liked it

  It used to sing to me and I called it Grizel like my mummy

  I’ve told them before not to kill the birds

  Why don’t they ever listen

  They get fidgety when there is nothing they can get

  I still ate it

  No point in it going to waste

  I thought about it singing when I was eating it

  Ha ha ha

  It’s not singing anymore

  I pulled off its legs and threw them out the window

  Stupid bird got caught

  Should have flown away

  If I had wings that’s what I would do

  Fly away

  Away from them and the smell of dead

  I’d fly so high they’d never catch me

  I know they’d try

  If I was a bird they’d try and kill me for sure

  They want to kill me now but they know they can’t

  They can try they can try

  I’ll never let them

  WE BURIED LILEAS THIS MORNING. I USED MY HANDS TO dig the grave. Agatha decorated the top with stones and a few flowers, and I placed the wooden heron among them. We stood on either side of it in silence. I wanted to say how brave Lileas was, how funny and kind, but when I tried to speak, nothing came out.

  I repeat the moment over and over again in my head.

  It all happened so quick; there was no time to think. I should have said more, I should have done something differently. I could have changed his mind.

  I keep seeing her face just before. The pleading in her eyes, the terror.

  We should never have brought Knútr with us. I should have killed him when I had the chance, or left him to drown when the boat went under. And why did I leave Agatha on her own with him? What was I thinking? Every decision I’ve made has been wrong.

  Knútr must have gotten hold of the corcag when the boat was sinking and then hidden it somehow, which means he had it on him for two days before he used it. Two days! He could have easily killed us in our sleep, but no: he wanted to see the looks on our faces when we realized he’d outsmarted us. He wanted us to feel responsible.

  I put one foot in front of the other in a monotonous plod. My legs are heavy, as if they’ve been filled with lead. Agatha follows a few paces behind. She tried to speak to me this morning, but I didn’t reply. She blames herself for what happened, and I can’t bring myself to convince her otherwise.

  I push on, just to keep moving. All that matters now is finding our clan. Every day that passes, they get farther and farther away. All I can do is keep walking east. There might not be any boats there; it could be another of Knútr’s lies. But if we stop, it means we’ve given up, and then what would we do?

  The trees have fallen away and we are back out in the open. Scotia is even more mountainous than Skye. The sun is bright, drying our throats and mocking our grief. All I’ve eaten in the past two days are some wild nettles and a handful of berries, but I’m not even slightly hungry. Perhaps I am walking to my death. It certainly feels that way.

  Knútr is out there somewhere. I keep thinking I see him at the edge of my vision, but when I look again, there is never anyone there. What is his plan? Has he gone on to Dunnottar harbor to take a boat for himself ? More likely he is still nearby, stalking us, preparing to kill us when we least expect it. We wouldn’t stand a chance.

  By late afternoon, I am drenched in sweat, and the fading heat is a welcome relief. The sun begins to set, smearing rusted tears across the sky. If last night was anything to go by, the temperature is about to drop dramatically.

  There is a heavy thud behind me, and I turn to see Agatha on the ground some distance away.

  “Agatha!” I run back to her.

  “I’m fine,” she says, wiping off mud as she climbs to her feet. “I tripped — I — I tripped o-over, that’s all.”

  Her face looks like scrunched-up leaves. I’ve been so selfish, marching on without giving her a second thought. I take her arm and put it around my neck.

  “Lean on me. I’ll get you to some water. I saw a stream not far away.”

  The stream turns out to be a river, fast running and wide. I prop Agatha against a tree and then use my hands to scoop up as much water as I can. Before it drips through, I rush it to her mouth. She drinks through cracked lips. I leave for more water, and keep bringing it to her until she signals that she’s had enough. Then I scoop some up for myself, gulping it down.

  “I’m sorry for ignoring you all day,” I say, sitting down next to her. “It’s been hard.”

  “It wasn’t my — it wasn’t my fault,” she says.

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Do you h-hate me?”

  “Of course not. It’s just you and me now. We have to stick together.”

  I put my arm around her. She smiles that broad, affectionate smile of hers, then leans her head against my shoulder and gives me a big hug.

  THE ANIMALS ARE UPON US BEFORE WE KNOW WHAT’s happening, the sound of their approach masked by the roar of the river. They tower above us, one on each side. We are pinned against the river, so there is no way for us to escape. Long, matted hair covers their eyes, and enormous horns protrude from either side of their heads.

  “Terror beasts! It’s the terror beasts!” Agatha screams as I pull her to her feet. I back up to the river, shielding Agatha behind me, which is when I notice the riders. Sitting atop each of the two animals is a person, one male, one female. People. Alive on the mainland. They’re both young, maybe a few years older than I am. The boy has the most piercing green eyes. The girl has fair hair, cut short, and wears a brown cloak that falls over her bare arms. Her mouth is pursed, her forehead frowning. Both riders are holding spears, which are pointed at our chests.

  “Who are you?” says the boy. His voice is deep and strong. “Speak.”

  My throat is in knots. Agatha comes to my rescue.

  “I’m Agatha-Cabhar and this is J-Jaime-Iasgair, both of — of Clann-a-Tuath. Who are you?”

  “You need to come with us,” says the girl. Despite her surliness, it is easy to tell how attractive she is. They both are.

  “We’re not your — prisoners,” says Agatha.

  “Not yet,” says the boy. “It’s dangerous to be out on the plains at night. We’re a better option than what might come next.”

  “We thought everyone on the mainland was dead,” I say. Some of the words slip out high-pitched, bringing a flush of heat to my cheeks.

  “You thought wrong,” says the boy.

  “What are they?” Agatha asks, indicating the animals.

  “Highland bulls.”

  I’ve heard of cows and bulls but never seen one before. These are completely different from how they were described to me. They’re as tall as I am and covered in thick orange-brown hair that falls in shaggy locks almost to the ground. By far their most striking feature is their horns, which twist out of their heads like giant
thorns.

  “Where will you take us?” I ask.

  “Enough questions,” says the girl. “Get on.”

  “But —”

  The girl cuts me off by raising her spear in line with my throat. The boy holds his hand out to Agatha. She looks at me. I don’t know what to say. She takes hold of the boy’s hand and lets him pull her up, onto his bull. The bull makes no sign of discomfort at having two people on its back.

  I let the girl pull me onto hers. I sit behind her, my arms hanging limp at my sides. Despite its thick hair, the bull’s back is bony and uncomfortable.

  “We need to go east,” I say.

  “You’ll go where you’re taken,” says the girl. “Hold on.”

  I grab fistfuls of the bull’s hair. The girl snorts. “Not to him, to me.” She reaches back and pulls my arms around her waist. Before I can protest, she kicks the bull with her heels and we gallop upstream, with Agatha and the other bull following close behind.

  THE HIGHLAND BULLS MOVE SURPRISINGLY FAST FOR such large, inelegant creatures. As we bound along, every bump and groove reverberates through my backside. Agatha squeals with delight behind me. The boy laughs at her, then tells her off for being so loud.

  Night creeps up on us like a predator hunting prey, and I soon lose sense of where we are going. Warmth from the girl’s back seeps into my chest. I try to keep my distance, but the motion of the bull keeps forcing us together. She smells of earth, just after it’s rained, or maybe that’s the bull. Who are these people? And where are they taking us?

  After a while, smoke tendrils appear in the distance, spiraling up in an idle plume. We make our way toward them, and thirty or more tents come into view. They are set up around a communal cooking fire, which is the source of the smoke. People are milling in and out of the tents. As we approach, they stop what they are doing and stare at us. Their clothing is crude, made out of animal hide and fur. Many of the women have their hair cut short, and some of the men wear theirs long. Although there are other fires dotted about, people move freely in and out of the darkness, which is all the proof I need that sgàilean definitely don’t exist. I knew it, but it still comes as a relief.

 

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