Flight of the Golden Harpy

by Susan Klaus

  “Come now, Shail. Let’s go back to the cabin. You killed it.”

  He lifted his bloodstained sash and marked the vehicle with his urine.

  Kari shook her head at his animal antics and mumbled, “Killed it and used the poor vehicle as a toilet. At least you’re housebroken.”

  They walked out of the trees toward the cabin. At the door, Shail hesitated and then leaped over the entrance as if something would grab him. He glanced at her with a raised head. She bit her bottom lip and turned away, refraining from laughing at his cute idiosyncrasies. He reclined on the bed, and Kari picked up some fruit, offered him a piece, and sat down beside him. As she nibbled, she felt his hand run across her wet hair and down her back. Her skin became covered with goose bumps and his intoxicating touch was overpowering, but she leaped off the bed, away from him.

  “No,” she stammered, “I’m not sure we belong together.” As soon as she spoke the words, she was sorry. Her father’s and Charlie’s warnings plagued her mind, and she also wondered if Shail would back off when asked. His recovery had been swift, and if he chose to mate, he now might be capable of outrunning her.

  Shail lowered his head on the sheet and stared up at her. “I would never force you,” he conveyed into her subconscious. “Fearing death and having no fledgling, I sought a bonding too soon. My fears caused yours. I regret this.”

  Hearing his soft voice and his explanation, she covered her mouth and her eyes welled up with tears. Understanding his motives, she felt ashamed for distrusting him, especially when he had placed his life in her hands. He was incapable of rape. “I’m not afraid of you, Shail. I am afraid of this commitment.”

  She ran out of the cabin and took the path to the ocean. On a windy cliff, she gazed out at the water. How could she make Shail understand? Her mother had died in a harpy’s arms. If she bonded with him, would her life be over? She didn’t trust her father, but Charlie would never lie to her. Her heart belonged to the harpy, but her brain told her to hold back and weigh the risks. The tug of war within was agonizing. When Shail was healed and could fly, would she stay or leave him?

  She sat on the ocean cliff until the sun sank into the horizon. Making her way back on the dusky path, she entered the shadowy cabin. On the bed, Shail’s vague figure rested, offset by the white sheets. She took a seat on the bed near him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’ve waited a long time for me, and—”

  Shail leaned forward and put two fingers to her mouth, stopping her justification. “There is no need to tell,” he relayed. “Sleep now.” He reclined, and she curled up in his arms. His wing went over them.

  * * *

  Shail held her into the night until her distress gave way to sleep. Although she thought him childlike, he comprehended her dilemma. She had spent her whole life with the human creatures that hated and feared harpies. The men were responsible for poisoning her mind. She loved him, but she did not know him or his kind.

  Shail closed his eyes, tortured by his mistake. Distressed, dying, and drugged, he had attempted a bonding without waiting to recover, so he could sense her mind. Their telepathic dreams had confirmed her desires for him, and he had acted, based on the dreams, but the dreams were wrong. Her fragile mind was confused and full of doubt about harpies, and worse, he added to her fears, confirming the men’s lies. She was unsure if she would remain in his harpy world and become his mate or go back to the safe human world she trusted. He wanted to talk to her and tell her all these things, but her telepathy was very weak. She could only receive short messages from him, and he was just beginning to learn the human language of noisy words. Now we lie encased in one another’s arms, he thought, but so distant.

  9

  John and Charlie meandered into the dining room and sat down at the table. Maria quietly served them dinner. For two days they had risen before dawn and searched for the old blue vehicle, returning late at night. “Where could she be?” John said wearily, staring at the uneaten food. “We’ve covered every main road from Westend to Terrance.”

  “I’d be surprised if we had found her on the highway. Kari is too smart to stay near a road,” Charlie said. “She doesn’t fear the jungle and has gone there.”

  “I should have listened to you from the start,” John said. “Tomorrow, we’ll hit the closest logging roads. God, I hope she’s not in the jungle. She has no food, no weapon, and now there’re these deadly beetles. Even the broken-winged harpy can’t protect her.” He poked his food with a knife. “I should’ve killed that little sucker years ago. She’d be safe now and with a decent life ahead of her. And I wouldn’t be walking the floors at night.”

  “She is safe, John,” Charlie said. “The harpy may be crippled, but he is no common brown. He is a golden and precious to his flocks. They would watch over him and her.”

  “I know you’ve spent years sneaking around the woods, watching the creatures, but you don’t know that for sure.”

  Charlie glared. “Okay, don’t believe me. After all, I am just a stupid old man.”

  John took a sip of wine and glanced at the irritated Indian. “Let’s hear it,” he said, setting his glass on the table.

  “I’ve seen brown harpies protect goldens,” Charlie said, leaning back in his chair. “Back when there were many goldens, I stumbled upon a nest of yellow-winged fledglings. In seconds, I was surrounded by browns. They fluttered their wings and threw their bodies at my feet, trying to distract me. The flocks prize their blond harpies, treat them like royalty, and Kari has her own harpy guardian. Outside of Terrance, she wandered into a pride of grogins. Before I could fire a shot, a brown flew down and scared off the grogins.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it?” John growled, rising from the table.

  “She begged me not to,” Charlie said. “A harpy in contact with your daughter would raise your concern and anger. It would widen the wedge between you and her. Kari came back as she left, still fond of harpies. I knew she and the golden male would meet again, but I hoped she’d have the strength to walk away. Unfortunately, she found him injured and dying. He saved her life, John. She was obligated to save his.”

  John returned to his seat and stared at the plate. “You know her better than me. Once he heals, do you think she’ll stay with him?”

  “Kari has loved him since she was eleven, and after all this time, the golden is still devoted to her. Doc saw them and said they were happy. Though she has doubts, I don’t believe she will leave him. If you kill that harpy…” He took a deep breath. “You will destroy her. Give up this search, John.”

  John picked up the wineglass and gulped the remainder. “These damn nervy goldens. I’ve lost everyone I love to them.”

  “Face the truth,” Charlie said, and rose from his seat. “You blame the harpies, but it is your anger for them that killed your wife and has driven your daughter into the woods. I’m going to bed.” He walked to the door and glanced back. “Kari never would have left if she thought you wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “She’s not your daughter,” John growled, “and I can’t let it go.”

  “I love her like a granddaughter. And if up to me, I’d leave them alone.”

  John sat at the table and watched Charlie leave the room. “Damn Indian,” he grumbled under his breath. “This is partly his fault. He and Dad dragged Kari through the jungle as soon as she could walk, made her wild as hell.” He stood, poured another glass of wine, and wandered in the silent big house. Walking into his den, he set the glass on the desk and slumped in the chair. He glanced at a bottom drawer. It held a rarely seen picture that brought tremendous grief. He took another sip of wine and took it out. Staring at the beautiful woman in the photo, his eyes watered. “I’m so sorry.”

  * * *

  At dawn, Charlie walked into the empty kitchen, knowing John wanted an early start. He strolled through the house and found John in the den. The large, forty-year-old man slept slumped over the desk, his hand resting on a picture of his dead wife. “Oh
, John,” he whispered. “Will you ever find peace?” Charlie put his hand on John’s shoulder and gently shook him awake. “John, it’s morning.”

  John stirred and sat up. “Must’ve drank too much last night. Is Maria here?”

  “No. She goes to the funerals of those young people this morning.”

  “Ah, I forgot,” John said, rising from the chair.

  “About last night—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” John said. “Look, I know I’ve got anger issues, and I’m used to getting my way. If we find them, I’ll try and keep an open mind about the harpy, but I gotta keep looking. Hunters are flocking here, ever since the word got out about that young golden. He’s no longer a myth. Plus his broken wing makes him easier to track and kill. Westend’s inn is booked, and you know their type. Some are animals. God knows what they might do if they find Kari.”

  John walked out of the den. “So there’s no way I’ll end the search and sit here. I can’t keep hunters off the estate, so I’m considering a reward for the safe return of my daughter. If someone stumbles across her and the harpy, he’ll consider the money and stop and think. It might protect her.”

  “Or a reward might bring more hunters,” Charlie said.

  “With or without my reward, they’re coming for that golden.”

  “What are you going to do about the swarms?” Charlie asked as they entered the kitchen.

  “Been too worried to think about them, but I guess I’d better,” John said, pulling a coffee out of a machine and taking a sip, “I ordered in the timber crews. In essence business is totally shut down. The next step would be to reinforce the mill with metal sheets and stock a supply of food and water there in case of a swarm strike. Why don’t you stay here and organize it? I know your heart’s not in this search for Kari.”

  “I’m also worried about her, but I want her happy. She did not tell you how she suffered on Earth.”

  “It was bad?” John asked.

  Charlie nodded.

  John rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess she suffered for nothing. She ended up with him. Every time I think of that feathered bastard crawling on my girl…” He bit his lip. “I’m going.”

  John left the house, and Charlie watched his hovercraft disappear over the first hill. “I hope he doesn’t find them,” he muttered. Climbing in his terrain vehicle, he drove to the mill.

  10

  The night calls gave way to the chirp of birds, and Shail intuitively stirred. Sniffing the air, he detected the fledgling’s scent and glanced over Kari’s slumbering body. At the door a growing pile of fruit lay in the threshold. Careful not to wake her, he pulled his bottom wing out. He stood, flinched from his aching ribs, and walked out of the cabin. In the clearing, he ruffled his wings and glanced toward the trail where Kari had retrieved water. Dried blood still stained his feathers and hair, and he felt sticky, stinking of the medication. He walked down the path and came upon the stream. He untied his old sash and climbed under the waterfall. For the first time in a week, he began to feel like his old self. The rib pain was an annoyance, but it no longer hampered his movement.

  As the water tumbled over him, he glanced at his wounds and thought of the old man that Kari called Doc. The man’s kindness had saved his life and left Shail puzzled. How many men were there who meant him no harm? After his wings and body were clean, he stepped from the waterfall. Vigorously shaking the droplets off, he reclined on a rock and pruned the individual flight feathers. With his fingers and mouth, he forced the protective oils down the quill, making the feather whole. He tied the stained sash around his hips and returned to the clearing.

  Shail sniffled, and the excited fledgling sailed down from a branch, awkwardly landing. The eight-season youngster dropped to his knees and waited.

  “Find a cave maker and bring me new cloth,” Shail relayed. The fledgling scrambled to his feet and was airborne.

  Shail peeked in the cabin and saw Kari still slept. He shuddered at the doorway before lightly stepping inside, determined to be rid of his harpy fears. Facing his death at the hands of the hunters had given him more courage, and he recalled his father’s words, instilled in him when very young. “A golden is not born, he is made. Every challenge faced and survived makes one stronger.” Shail had finally learned the truth of his father’s words and looked up at the oppressive cabin ceiling for the last time.

  He picked up a piece of fruit and plopped down on the floor near the bed. He chewed and watched her sleep, longing to touch, but refrained. It might cause fright. Patience, he thought. I must learn patience. She will come when ready.

  Kari opened her eyes, and Shail handed her breakfast. “Thank you, Shail,” she said. Before taking the fruit, she ran her hand through his long, wet hair. “You’ve been busy this morning. I’m glad you feel better.”

  They nibbled while their eyes were fixated on one another. After eating a few pieces, she rose and gathered his medication. “It’s time for your treatment.”

  Shail leaped to his feet and hissed. He had washed and finally rid himself of the smell.

  “Stop. I know you don’t like it, but the medicine is healing you.” Conveying aversion, he stood with a raised head, but endured the treatment. “I need to wash this,” she said, and pulled on his stained sash.

  This was all the domestication Shail could tolerate. He tugged back, shaking his hair, and retreated outside.

  “Come back in here! You need to lie down, and I want to wash your sash,” she said. He gave her an indignant glance and walked toward the ocean.

  “I rule all harpies.” He huffed and kicked a flower on the path. “Yet she treats me like a lame human pet.”

  * * *

  Kari ran after the lanky harpy with an apparently bruised ego. She began to fathom that Shail’s personality was complex. Initially, his body language displayed his devotion and fears, but she now saw his pride, which could be wounded, and a stubbornness matching hers. Her perception of him was changing. He was not a wounded jungle creature requiring her care, but a person with deep feelings and emotions.

  Kari found him standing on a cliff and gazing out at the ocean. “I didn’t mean to push you around.” She rubbed his shoulder. “You can keep your old sash.”

  Shail lowered his head and nuzzled her neck, but quickly withdrew. He walked down the animal path toward the water, and she trailed along. Near the dunes, he stopped and watched several hand-size insects in search of smaller prey, gliding in and out of the stick weeds. He held up his hand and one of the purple insects lit on his finger. He brought it to Kari’s face for a closer look.

  She smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

  He moved his finger, and the insect took flight. He turned his head toward his bandaged wing, his concerned eyes questioning.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll fly again. It just takes time.”

  They strolled along the seashore hand in hand, taking pleasure in one another’s company, bringing an end to the decade of yearning. Kari watched his tiptoed stride with concern.

  Shail slightly shook his head at her. “The pain goes. I need not rest,” he relayed into her fretful mind.

  In late afternoon they returned to the cabin. As Kari approached the door, the fledgling soared down and settled near her feet. Startled, she jumped back. She glanced up at Shail’s gleaming eyes. Like an animal, his eyes, not his lips, betrayed his mind-set. “I’m glad you think it’s funny,” she griped. “He surprised me.”

  Shail took the new sash from the fledgling’s hand and his nod sent the young harpy back to the trees. Untying the old sash, he dropped it, exposing his sex organs that were sheathed under straight blond hair.

  “Modesty is obviously not a problem,” she said as he placed the clean sash around his hips. “Why bother to wear it?”

  Shail held a corner of the sash. “This tells I am no less,” he relayed.

  “No less than a man?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She now
understood the meaning of the sash. Unlike humans who used clothing to hide the embarrassment of their nude bodies, the harpies wore a sash to symbolize equality and prove they weren’t animals. Without hesitation, he confidently stepped into the cabin.

  Toward evening, Kari slipped into a torn sheet fashioned as a dress and washed her dirty clothes in the sink. Shail relaxed on the bed, ate fruit, and watched her. Hanging her clothes over chairs to dry, she joined him as darkness came. He curled his body around her and extended his wing as cover. In the flimsy dress, she snuggled her back up against him and unwittingly stimulated him. He breathed heavy and shuddered. Then moved several inches away from the temptation and pitifully buried his face in a pillow. She glanced over her shoulder, realizing he had become aroused, but controlled his urges. She smiled, respecting him more. He was keeping his promise. There would be no bond unless she consented.

  * * *

  The days began blending together. The pair rose at dawn, ate fruit in the cabin, and went to the stream to bathe. Under the tumbling waterfall, Shail battled his sexual cravings, while she washed nearby in the nude. The gushing water flowed down her long blond hair and dripped from her breasts onto her slender frame. Never had he felt such commitment to one individual. She was his sunrise, the air he breathed, the water that quenched his thirst. She was his future. The torture, not to touch, was unbearable, and he’d retreat from her and the waterfall and sought the consoling trees.

  Kari felt equally miserable. She longed to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss the tall, gorgeous male, remembering his slow, seductive kiss, but with one kiss, she could ignite an inextinguishable flame in both of them. Her fears of the unknown had created an invisible wall between her and Shail, and only she could bring the wall down, but his standoffishness and patient approach were wearing her down. Every day she loved him more.