The Good Hawk

by Joseph Elliott

  LATE IN THE AFTERNOON ON THE FOLLOWING DAY, THE road ends, forcing us to cut across open fields. The grass is dense and pocked with ditches and marshy bogs. It must rain here a lot. There are odd patches of trees, scattered about as if lost.

  A castle comes into view, a small blot in the far distance. Dunnottar. The harbor should be right next to it.

  “Time to light the torches,” says Cray, “before it gets dark.”

  Knútr laughs. “The big man is scared of the story for little girls,” he says.

  Cray dismounts and pulls two torches from one of the sidebags. When he strikes his flint, the material at the top ignites almost at once. He passes one to me and then walks in a circle around Bras to check the reach of the light.

  “Hold it high to make sure it doesn’t cast any shadows,” he says. Then, when he sees the look on my face, he adds, “They’re just a precaution.”

  “You are really so stupid?” says Knútr. “Stupid and scared. It is not a true story.”

  “No one asked for your opinion,” Cray says.

  “They make it up so no one attacks the castle. Everyone knows this. Only a fool thinks it is real.”

  “Please keep talking,” says Cray, “and give me a reason to gag your mouth.”

  Knútr snorts. Cray waves the second torch in front of Knútr’s face. “I’m going to attach this to the cow. Try anything funny and you’ll regret it.”

  He ties the torch to Sruth’s right horn. She swishes her head from side to side, trying to shake it off.

  “It’s okay, Sruth,” Cray says. “This is for your protection too.” He then turns to Knútr and adds, “You’ll need to lie forward so the light spreads behind you.”

  “So stupid,” Knútr mutters, but he does as he’s told, and we continue toward the castle.

  As the sunlight fades, my unease starts to grow. Shadows from nearby trees twist and stretch, and I imagine other, more sinister shadows moving between them. The tips of all my fingers start to feel numb. I focus on my breathing; it takes all of my concentration to keep it under control.

  The castle looms ahead of us, dark stone erupting from the ground. Is that where the sgàilean are hiding? I count the castle’s windows; there must be at least five different floors. That’s when I see it. In one of the highest windows. The outline of a person, I’m sure of it. Not a shadow, an actual person. A blink later, it is gone.

  “Did you see that?” I ask Cray.

  “See what?” he replies.

  “The person. In the castle. I swear I just saw someone in one of the top windows.”

  “No, it’s been abandoned for years. No one lives this far east anymore.”

  “Oh.”

  “Knútr, lie down.”

  Knútr is sitting up on his cow, causing a shadow to drop down his back all the way to the ground.

  “It is not comfortable for me,” he says. “I do not need fire. I sit and you see I am right.”

  “Lie down or I will tie you down,” says Cray.

  He does not get the chance to carry out his threat. The world around us suddenly becomes much darker, as if all the light has been drained away. I shiver, even though it’s not cold. Something is coming. A cruel whisper rustles toward us, then Knútr is somersaulted backward from his cow and dragged away by invisible hands. The cow bolts in the opposite direction.

  “Daingead ort!” swears Cray, leaping down in pursuit of Knútr’s retreating body. The grass swishes as Knútr slides through it into a wooded area nearby.

  “What should I do?” I shout after Cray.

  “Stay in the light,” he calls, and then he’s gone.

  I jump down to follow them but stop in my tracks. I can’t leave Bras alone in the dark. I grab hold of his right horn and try to steer him toward the trees. He stamps his feet and refuses to move. Bloody stubborn animal. Now what do I do? Indecision gnaws at me. Cray wouldn’t want me to leave Bras unprotected, which means I’m stuck here. I hold the torch above my head and look around for — what? I didn’t see what took Knútr. I didn’t see anything at all. It was a sgàil; it had to be.

  A sound, behind me. I freeze, my ears pricked. The wind is carrying whispers again: an onslaught of voices, twisting over one another. I can’t make out what any of them are saying. If it’s more sgàilean, it sounds like there are an awful lot of them. My head starts pounding, and bile rises into my throat. I move the torch from side to side. Next to me, Bras snorts, releasing a small puff of steam.

  “Nothing to be afraid of,” I say, wishing it were true.

  A light in the foliage catches my eye. It’s the other torch, the one tied to Sruth. But something’s not right. I blink, finding it hard to focus. The torch is getting bigger. Then I understand: the woodland is on fire, and the fire is spreading.

  Smoke engulfs the sky. Below it, the blaze jumps from tree to tree. Come on, Cray. Where are you? So much fire. He’s going to be burned alive.

  Something moves on my right. It is too dark to see what it is. I draw the knife from my belt. Not that it will do any good; sgàilean can’t be killed with a knife. A shape bursts out of the undergrowth and charges toward me. It is much bigger than I expected and traveling fast. I crouch, holding the knife out in front of me, my eyes practically shut. It runs straight at me, wild and unpredictable. I brace myself for impact. At the very last moment, I jump out of the way.

  “You stupid cow,” I say.

  The torch is still tied to Sruth’s horn, but its flame has gone out. She stops when she reaches Bras, and the two of them touch noses. Her long hair is singed down one side. The breath I have been holding in falls out of me.

  “What happened?” I say, stroking her flank.

  “She saved my life, that’s what happened.”

  I turn and Cray is there, covered in mud, with Knútr slung over one shoulder. I almost run to him in relief. He dumps Knútr’s body on the ground. He looks dead.

  Cray whistles, and both Bras and Sruth walk toward him. “Come over here, where there’s more light,” he says to me.

  “Is he —?” I ask, indicating Knútr.

  “He’s unconscious. Something had a good go at him, though.”

  A deep gash runs all the way down Knútr’s left thigh, and his right arm lies at an impossible angle. He’s had a rough couple of days.

  “A sgàil?” I say.

  “I couldn’t see anything, so I’m guessing so. It was almost invisible.”

  Cray wrenches Knútr’s dislocated arm until it clicks back into place. “That’s going to hurt in the morning,” he says. He then takes some bandages from one of the sidebags and wraps them around Knútr’s leg.

  All I can think is: Sgàilean are real. They’re real. And the one that just took Knútr could come back at any time. I stare into the darkness, fixating on every slight movement.

  “What happened to him?” I ask, indicating Knútr.

  “It’s hard to say. I caught up with him and grabbed one of his legs. I swear, the sgàil nearly ripped him in two, it was so strong. Then I felt something cold wash over me, like being submerged in water. I think there was more than one of them. It sounded like there were lots. Knútr was torn from my arms and dragged out of sight. That was when Sruth came crashing through with the torch still tied to her head. The fire spread, which must have forced the sgàilean to flee. That whispering noise stopped soon after. Knútr was halfway up a burning tree, unconscious. I only just got him down in time.”

  “Are you sure we’re safe here?”

  “They’ll stay away as long as there’s fire.”

  There is a screech from within the burning trees; an animal that didn’t make it out in time.

  “I suggest we stay here until morning,” says Cray. “The grass is too wet for the fire to spread, but the trees will burn through the night and offer us protection. As soon as the sun is up, we’ll head for the harbor.”

  Even with the fire, there is no way I am going to be able to sleep. I offer to take first watch, and Cray
accepts, resting his head on Bras’s side.

  By moonlight the castle is even more imposing, a dent against the starry sky. Its windows hint at the secrets it’s hiding. I stare at them, searching for any signs of movement, but there are none. All the same, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s someone inside, watching us. Waiting.

  WE ARE GOING TO FIND JAIME. I HAD TO WAIT TWO DAYS first. I didn’t want to because our clan needs us and we have to be quick, but Finn said I could hurt myself a very lot if I went so I said okay. I am not dizzy now and the black isn’t coming anymore so Finn says I have done a speedy recovery. That is the good news and now we are going. We’ll find Jaime and Cray and the boat in the harbor. Then we can sail it to rescue our clan. That is the most important thing.

  When Murdina said who I wanted to come with me I said Mór because she is nice now and Finn because he helped me to feel better and I like him as well. I did not say Hendry because I didn’t like it when he held my hand and I did not say Murdina because she is rude and doesn’t smile. When I said goodbye to everyone I waved and they all waved back to me.

  I ride on a bull with Mór and Finn comes too on his bull. Milkwort is not a secret now so he doesn’t have to stay in my pocket. He sits on my shoulder. I said to him to be careful you don’t blow away. He didn’t answer to me. I think he is sad because I didn’t talk to him the last few days. It was only because of the dizzy. He will talk to me again soon. When he is hungry he runs down to the bag on the side and eats some of the food without even asking. He is cheeky like that sometimes.

  It is a long day of riding all day which is fun because we go fast and I like it but also it hurts on my bottom and is more boring. Sometimes we sing because I like it so I say can we sing again. I shouldn’t do it but there is no one to tell me off. When I am with the bull people I can do what they do and when I am with my clan I will not do singing anymore.

  After a while, Mór says that is enough singing now, so we don’t do it anymore.

  I don’t have anything to do but look at things. There are some mountains bigger than any I ever saw with white at the top which is the snow I think. There are lochs too which are big ones and black. Then it starts raining and I cannot see anything. The rain makes the bulls smell funny and I am wet.

  When it starts to get dark we stop by the water. Finn makes a tent for us to sleep in and Mór makes a fire to keep us warm and cook the food. I stroke the bulls’ hair to make them happy.

  While we’re eating evening meal, Finn asks me what it’s like when I talk to an animal. I don’t know what he means what’s it like.

  “Sometimes it makes my h-head — hurt,” I tell him.

  “Yes, I know. But what I meant was, what does it sound like?”

  “I like talking to Milkwort,” I say, and I stroke him. “It’s easy to talk with him and it doesn’t hurt. The w-wildwolf didn’t want me talking to it.”

  “So you could hear a wildwolf ’s voice in your head?” Finn asks.

  “It’s not the s-ame as talking to — people,” I say. “I don’t hear it. I just know in my head what — what it says.”

  Finn eats some of his food and then he says, “Do you think you could you talk to Gailleann for me?”

  “Who’s G-Gailleann?” I ask.

  “My bull. We’ve been together since I was a child. I would love to know what he’s thinking.”

  I don’t want to do it. It will make my head hurt again and it only just stopped. But also I like Finn. I want him to like me too and so I say okay I will do it. Only just a little bit.

  The bulls are lying down on the grass.

  “Wake up, lazybones,” says Finn, which is a funny thing to say. He shakes his bull who is called Gailleann and it opens its eyes. Finn rubs the hair on top of its head and it licks its nose. Its tongue is so long and pink.

  “What do you want me to say?” I ask to Finn.

  “I don’t know. . . . The number of times I wished I could talk to him. Now I can’t think of a single thing to say. Maybe ask him what his earliest memory of us is?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  I ask Gailleann it in my head like I always do. He doesn’t reply. I ask him again, but he’s not there.

  “He won’t answer,” I say.

  “Why not?” asks Finn.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “Maybe he doesn’t understand the question? Animals’ memories probably work differently from ours,” says Mór.

  “Good point,” says Finn. “Try something really simple. Like, ask him if he’s sleepy. He’s always sleepy.”

  Are you sleepy, Gailleann? I ask him in my head. He doesn’t answer me again and something is wrong. It feels all different in my head. He can’t hear me and I can’t do it.

  “I need to try with your one,” I say to Mór.

  “Sure,” says Mór.

  Her bull is awake and next to Gailleann. I say hello and can you hear me and then I say it again and I even say it out loud as well. It doesn’t do an answer. It is not working. Why won’t it work?

  “I can’t do it. It’s not working,” I say, and the panic is coming. My cheeks are going hot and my eyes are loud.

  “You’re probably just tired,” says Mór. She puts her hand on my arm and I shake it off because I don’t want it.

  “Talking to all those wildwolves at once must have taken it out of you,” says Finn. “You just need a bit more time to rest.”

  “Yes. Yes,” I say, and I am nodding my head. But they are wrong. Something has happened and it’s different now. I can feel it in my head. That’s why Milkwort wasn’t talking to me. He can’t hear me anymore.

  No, no, it’s not true. I can still do it with Milkwort. Please, I can still do it with Milkwort. I take him out from my pocket and hold him close to my face. You can still hear me, can’t you? I am breathing even louder now and I am sweating too. Milkwort? Milkwort?

  I cannot hear him. He looks at me and he runs down my arm and down my leg and onto the grass.

  Where are you going? “Where are you going?” I say, but he cannot hear me and I cannot hear him. I run after him but I don’t know where he is going and he runs away.

  No no no no no, Milkwort, come back. Why is he leaving me?

  My heart inside is hurting. I fall on the grass and grip my hands in the mud and I scream at the sky. I cannot stop the tears.

  Everything is different in my head and I know it. What I could do is gone and it is not coming back.

  “CAN’T SLEEP?”

  “Nope.” I tried, but it was never going to happen.

  Cray is staring at the burning trees. The flames dance in his eyes.

  I sit next to him, leaning against Bras’s side. The fire has lost some of its ferocity but it’s still mesmerizing. There is a piece of charred branch by my feet. I pick it up and start slicing off the bark with my knife.

  “I was worried it might have been the end of you earlier,” I say.

  “It’ll take more than a sgàil to get rid of me.” He sits up straight and puffs out his chest. “I’m a hero.”

  “Don’t you get bored of always being so modest?”

  “Ha!” Even though I am not looking at him, I know that he’s smiling that teasing side smile he does. “I took on the sgàilean and won! They’ll sing songs about me for years to come.”

  “Unlikely. Unless the song is about your arrogance.”

  “As long as they’re singing about me, that’s all I care about.”

  “They should be singing about Sruth, anyway. She did all the hard work.”

  “What? All she did was run around and accidentally set fire to some trees. I was the one who dived courageously into the unknown, battling an invisible foe to save a man we don’t even like. Fearless, that’s what I am.”

  “Reckless is what you are.”

  He laughs.

  A large branch topples from a tree, sending a shower of sparks up into the sky.

  “So you weren’t scared?” I ask.


  He shrugs. “I didn’t really have time to be scared, to be honest.”

  “What about now?”

  “A little. You?”

  “No,” I lie. “Clann-a-Tuath doesn’t feel fear.”

  “Wolfcrap. Everyone feels fear.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. It’s in our nature, in our blood. It drives our instincts and keeps us alive. We’d be lost without it.”

  “That’s not what I’ve been told.”

  “Trust me. Fear should be acknowledged, accepted. Embraced, even. Otherwise it’ll always control you.” Cray turns his head toward me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  What he’s saying isn’t true.

  “You’re stronger than you realize,” says Cray, as if reading my mind.

  I look down at my bracelet and trace the strands of metal with the tip of my knife. The metal catches the firelight and warms my wrist.

  “You play with that a lot, you know,” says Cray. “Where’s it from?”

  “Someone gave it to me.”

  “Your wife?”

  “No, someone else. Someone from my clan. A friend.”

  “This friend means a lot to you.”

  “We spent our whole lives together. I’d do anything for her. I miss her.”

  “She sounds special,” says Cray. “How come you married the other girl and not her?”

  “It’s not like that with Aileen.” I press my lips together. “Besides, I was forced to marry Lileas. Our wedding day was the first time we’d ever met.”

  Cray whistles. “An arranged marriage? I didn’t realize people still did that kind of thing.”

  “It was supposed to create better ties with Raasay, the island next to ours. Turns out, it did the opposite. The whole thing was a lie. Raasay set it up so they could betray us to the deamhain. In exchange for their own protection, I suspect. It was the first marriage our clan had allowed in more than a hundred years.”