Flight of the Golden Harpy

by Susan Klaus

  “Mollie is fond of the harpies, especially this one,” Bill said, “but I assure you the golden is vicious and capable of rape. It attacked my brother, and more recently, it clawed another handler, and he nearly lost his eye.”

  “I imagine most wild animals fight back when they’re caged,” said the woman. She smiled at Mollie. “I can see why you’re fond of him. I’ve never seen an adult harpy, and he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Staring into those big blue eyes and long lashes, I’m weak in knees.” She giggled and turned toward her photographer. “Fred, get some close up shots of his face.”

  The photographer took his camera that hung from his neck and began to snap pictures of the harpy.

  “Are all harpies so stunning?” the woman reporter asked.

  Mollie looked down at the golden. “All harpies have tall, lean frames and almost a pixie face, but this golden is exceptional. I’ve been calling him Prince.”

  “He does looks like a fairy prince,” said the woman. “He’s enchanting, yet so human looking.”

  Mollie sat down beside the harpy and stroked his neck. The harpy nuzzled her leg and rested his head in her lap.

  “Look how friendly he is,” said the photographer and took a picture of Mollie petting the affectionate creature.

  Bill grew anxious with the smitten female reporter and her understanding photographer. An accommodating story about harpies could be trouble. “My employees can hold him and extend his wings for another picture. Most of your readers want to see the wingspan. He’s going to make quite a trophy.”

  “That’s not necessary, Mr. Simpson,” the woman said. “Let me be clear: We’re not sport writers doing a story on a game animal. This will be a human-interest article. You claim you’ve captured the last golden harpy and he’ll be auctioned off and killed in your hunting range. Such a thing might concern our readers.”

  “The only concern is there are still dangerous harpies on Dora. Your readers dislike the creatures and are glad to be rid of them. Write a sympathetic harpy story, and some important people will be upset with your rag.”

  “I believe most people, like me, have never seen a mature harpy, much less have an opinion on the species. I intend to include the old rumors of harpies stealing and molesting women, but the last recorded accusation was decades ago.”

  “That’s because the hunters have done a good job exterminating the animals,” said Bill.

  The woman looked at the foliage in the hunting range. “Your range is very nice. It could pass for a tropical garden.”

  “We went to great expense to make it look natural,” Bill said. “The animals and hunters have the illusion they’re in the jungle.”

  “A brief illusion,” the woman said, and stared at the heavy log walls and screened ceiling. “I imagine a cornered animal learns quickly it can’t escape. It doesn’t seem very sporting.”

  “It is sporting,” Bill said. “Animals are the most dangerous when cornered.”

  The woman reporter sadly looked at the curled-up harpy. “So he’ll be turned loose in your range, hunted down by the highest bidder, and killed as a trophy?”

  “That’s about it. Anything else?” Bill asked.

  “No, it’s just mind-boggling that people allow it to happen.”

  “Pretty game fowl has been hunted for centuries.” Bill smirked. “It ain’t going to change. And that’s all harpies are, mindless, vicious game fowl.”

  The range door opened, and for the first time the harpy lifted his head out of the feathers. He sniffled, and his eyes widened, watching a man walking toward his cage.

  “Bill, you’re wanted on the com,” Gus called.

  Staring at Gus, the harpy breathed rapidly and shuddered, rising to a sitting position. His hands clutched the straw.

  “Get his picture,” the woman hastily told the photographer. The despondent harpy had come to life and alertly focused on the approaching large man. The photographer quickly snapped photos.

  The harpy sprang to his feet and dove into the farthest cage corner. He frantically burrowed beneath the yellow straw and concealed his body. Only his golden hair and wings were exposed and blended with the yellow straw, creating an impressive camouflage. The harpy appeared to have vanished from the cage.

  “The harpy is terrified of you,” the reporter said to Gus, who stood by the cage.

  “I caught him,” Gus said. “See what the buck did to my face? It’s still bruised.”

  The woman reporter looked in the cage at the petrified blue eyes peering out between the straw under his quivering feathers. “I’d be more interested in what you did to him.”

  Bill interrupted. “The interview is over. Mollie, can you escort these people out?” Mollie left the cage and walked with the reporter and photograph out of the range and through the large front room, where the auction would be held.

  “That reporter is a bleeding-heart bitch,” Bill said to Gus, “and was head over heels for the harpy. She’ll crucify us with her story. I knew the golden’s looks would be a problem. To make matters worse, she saw the harpy’s reaction to you. It’s obvious you abused him.”

  “Look at the bright side, Bill,” Gus said, “at least the son-of-a-bitch reacted. Shows his mind still works.”

  Mollie came back into the range and approached the men.

  “What do you think, Mollie?” Bill asked. “The harpy was able to get up and hide.”

  Mollie gazed at the hidden harpy. “Thankfully I got to him in time and the drugs are taking effect, but he’ll probably never recover his courage or will to live. He’ll have to remain on the heart stimulant and antidepressants. He only wants to die, now. Congratulations, Gus. You took the only harpy with backbone and turned him into a frightened dove, and Bill, you’d better keep your brother away from him. One more bad experience, and you’ll lose this harpy. His mind is so fragile he could easily slip into a coma from stress, and no amount of drugs will bring him back.”

  “Gus, stay away from the harpy,” Bill said. “There’s too much at risk.”

  “Sure, Bill. He’s paid for the kick to my face.” He turned to Mollie and fiendishly grinned. “Your prince put out just fine and didn’t stop struggling till dawn. Just the way I like it.”

  Mollie shuddered. She regretted her job with the sadistic man. For two weeks she had worked at the newly opened hunting range, but it was two weeks too long. If not for the golden’s needs, she would have quit the job this morning. After the auction, she decided. She’d never grow used to the inhumane deaths of harpies.

  Mollie remained with the golden all night. Gus left, but it still took two hours for the golden to come out of hiding. She gave him drugs and poured fruit juice between his lips. He didn’t resist any of the treatment. “Those jerks really did take all the fight out of you,” she said sadly. Lacking any motivation, the harpy placed his face in the feathers and straw.

  * * *

  Saturday morning the harpy’s display cage was wheeled into the large front room and roped off by the range employees. Bill came out of his office with the news media machine. “Well, they did it,” he said to the men and Mollie. “Damn reporters. They wrote one big pity story for the harpies and mentioned the lack of proof that harpies molest women. In the picture you can’t even see his wings. Damn golden looks more like a movie star.”

  One of the employees approached him. “Mr. Simpson, there’s a line of people forming in front of the building. Do you want us to let them in?”

  “Not till ten o’clock. I can’t believe there’re people here already.”

  Mollie looked at the article. “They’re probably sick of reading about the destruction of Terrance and the swarms in the west. The harpy can take their minds off their fears.”

  Gus walked in. “Bill, there’s a ton of people outside wanting to see the harpy. We’ll make a killing. What do you want me to do around here?”

  Seeing Gus, the harpy dove into the straw again. “You can get out of here,” Bill said. “You got the harpy hid
ing again, and some of those people are the bidders. They’ll be disappointed if they only see a few feathers.”

  “Hell, I’ll go to a bar.” Gus headed for the back door.

  “Make sure you take your two friends,” Bill said, “and don’t come back until we’re closed.”

  At ten, the security guards opened the doors, and the people filed in after paying ten credits each. Mollie gave the golden a large dose of tranquilizers to control his trembling. A noisy, packed room with hundreds of humans wasn’t the best therapy for the sick male.

  * * *

  The people gathered around Shail’s cage, but he was so numb from drugs, he laid on the straw and gazed at them. His only concern was Gus and his two men. The devastating assault played over and over in his head. In one night all his emotions of love, joy, pride, and sadness were stripped away, and he functioned on the basic animal impulse of fear. It was the only thing that held him to the present.

  Mollie stood outside his cage along with men called security guards. The people quietly milled around and looked at him. Mollie leaned toward one of the guards. “This is more like a funeral than an exotic animal exhibit,” she commented.

  “Why is he in the cage, Mom?” a little girl asked. “Was he bad?”

  “No, honey,” the mother answered. “I don’t think he was bad.” She bit her bottom lip.

  A woman and her husband stared at Shail. “Oh, Frank. I can’t believe they’re going to kill him. He looks like an angel with his long, flowing wings and his beautiful, chiseled face.”

  “He’s not what I expected,” said the man. “These jungle creatures are called harpies, yet they certainly don’t fit the description, an ugly female monster. He resembles a nice-looking young man.”

  Shail sensed that the human minds held sorrow because of his coming death.

  * * *

  Kari and Ted pushed through the crowd and reached the front of Shail’s cage. She felt relieved when she saw her mate was unharmed. He lay on his side and calmly stared at the people. “Shail, I’m here,” she silently relayed. “We’ll get you out of here soon. Shail, do you hear me?”

  He glanced at her, but didn’t respond. He closed his eyes and moved his feathers toward his face.

  Kari silently pleaded to him several more times, but her budding instincts detected a darkness clouding his subconscious, a darkness so strong it choked out his love, devotion, and sublime spirit. He was not her Shail. Something was terribly wrong. She noticed a woman inside the ropes standing by his cage. “Is the harpy all right?” Kari asked.

  “He’s fine. He’s just sedated to keep him calm with the crowd,” Mollie answered.

  “You’re lying,” Kari said. “Something horrible has happened to him.”

  Mollie turned to look at the golden. He rested peacefully with his eyes shut. “I assure you, miss, he’s fine.”

  Kari moved closer to the rope, becoming increasingly upset. “Answer me, Shail!” she demanded in a loud voice.

  The whole room went quiet and stared at her, but soon the people focused on the cage. The harpy uncurled his body and sat up. He slid across the straw, gripped the bars, and leaned toward her.

  “I am lost to you, Kari,” Shail relayed silently. “Leave this place and forget me.”

  “No, my father is going to buy you and take you out of here,” she said with telepathy. “In two lights we’ll be together.”

  “I wish no rescue. I am dead and of no use to my family or flock. Please leave this dangerous place for the sake of our son.” He lowered his head and eyes.

  “Shail, you’re not dead, and I won’t leave here without you,” Kari relayed.

  He would not respond further and curled up in the straw, covering himself with his wings.

  “What did they do to you?” Kari said softly and looked at her handsome husband. Jake and the Westend hunters had nearly taken Shail’s life, but they hadn’t broken his spirit. She sensed terror in his mind, but could not tell the source.

  After Kari’s outburst, a security guard approached her and Ted. “I think it’s best if you left now,” he said.

  “Come on, Kari,” Ted said quietly. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll come back tomorrow, and maybe he’ll be better.”

  Kari nodded and glanced at Shail. “I love you,” she relayed in silence. “You may have given up, but I haven’t.”

  She exited the building with Ted, and they sat down on the street curb. Ted put his arm around her shoulder, and she placed her face in her arms and fought the tears.

  John and Charlie walked up to them. “Is it Shail?” John asked. “Is he all right?”

  “No, he’s not okay. Something awful has happened to him,” Kari said with a sniffle. “He doesn’t want to be saved. He doesn’t want to come back to me. He just wants to die.”

  John sat down on the curb. “Not too long ago you also were depressed and wanted to die,” John said, “but you’re better now. Shail is strong, and once I get him back and he’s free, he’ll come around, Kari. I’ll hire guards, put up fences … whatever it takes to turn the estate into a true harpy sanctuary. I’ll guarantee that you and Shail will have a long happy life, and you’ll raise your sons in peace.”

  Kari looked up helplessly at her father. For the first time in years, she felt like a little girl again, and her dad was her hero. He would make everything okay. She hugged him and whispered, “Oh, Dad, it would be a dream come true.”

  John stood up. “Ted, can you take her back to the hotel? I have to go in there and register for the auction.”

  “Sure, Mr. Turner,” Ted said. Kari and Ted walked down the street to Ted’s vehicle.

  * * *

  John and Charlie got in line to enter the hunting range. “They have a lot of security guards posted inside and out,” Charlie said.

  “I know what you’re thinking. There’re too many to steal him.”

  Charlie nodded.

  They entered the building and approached the display cage. Shail was curled up, sleeping under his wings. “It must be hard for her to see him caged like this,” Charlie said.

  “I’ll go register.” John walked toward an office marked for the auction catalog. He went into the room and found six other men waiting their turn.

  “John Turner,” said a man.

  John recognized the stubby, balding man seated by the door. “Hello, Senator Blackwell,” he said. “I’m surprised they’re making you wait.”

  “I guess senators don’t get priority when it comes to bidding on the last golden, but why are you here? You banned hunting on your property. I figured you became one of those harpy lovers.”

  John grinned. “Maybe the ban is on my property so I can do all the hunting.”

  “That might have been smart,” said Blackwell. “Your estate is probably the last on the continent that still has large flocks of harpies. I remember the magnificent golden you brought down twenty-some years ago.”

  “I still hold the record for that one,” John said, “but I’ve come so I can have a matching pair.”

  “This golden won’t break any records; too young. He needs to be in his thirties, but he certainly is a seductive creature. All the women spectators are crying over him. These magnetic creatures have always posed a threat.”

  “A threat?” John said. “I guess they could be a threat if you have something to hide.”

  Senator Blackwell sheepishly grinned. “I meant they’re a threat to a weak-minded woman.” The senator’s name was called, and he nodded to John and disappeared into an office.

  John’s turn came, and the large man from the earlier com call greeted him with a handshake. The man resembled a wrestler rather than a businessman. “I’m Bill Simpson, the owner. It’s nice you came despite the negative publicity.”

  “Turner, John Turner.”

  “Are you the same John Turner who has a timber estate on the west coast?” Bill asked.

  “One and the same,” John said.

  “It’s well kn
own your place is loaded with harpies. What brings you all this way?”

  “I’ve been after this golden male for some time, and I’m not about to lose him now, but he seems awfully docile compared to the last time I spotted him. Hate to spend a lot of credits if there’s no challenge in the hunt.”

  “He’s tranquilized. Once he’s off the drugs, he’ll be lively and give you a good hunt. Fill in these papers, and Mr. Turner, you don’t even have to verify your accounts. I know you’re good for the credits. I’ll get you a bidding number.”

  Bill left the room and returned with a number. “Two hundred and seventy-six. I hope it brings you good luck.”

  “That’s a high number. You have that many bidders?”

  “Most are off-planet bidders. This auction is drawing attention across the galaxy. Everyone wants a golden-winged trophy. I look forward to seeing you Monday night.”

  John walked to the door and turned. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on him. No sense in staying till Monday if he takes a slide downhill.”

  “We’re taking good care of him, but if you come back, show a guard your number. You won’t have to wait in line or pay another ten credits to get in.”

  “Thanks,” John said and left. He strolled across the large room to join Charlie by the cage.

  “How is he?” John asked, coming alongside Charlie.

  Charlie sighed. “Kari is right. He is not the same. He acts like an unnerved wild animal that has suffered a bad trauma. He shivers with fright, yet is indifferent to the crowd. His mind is impaired, and I don’t believe a drug would cause that.”

  John stepped near the rope that held back the people. Shail was awake and gazed down at the straw. Periodically his whole body trembled, and he swallowed deeply.

  John approached a security guard by the cage. “I’d like a closer look at the animal,” he said, and produced his bid number.

  “Sure, mister,” the guard said and lifted the rope. “Just don’t get too close or touch him.”

  John looked directly into the harpy’s eyes. “Look at me, Shail,” he said with a low voice. “You know who I am, and I know you. Don’t let these men take your courage. You will survive captivity and be with Kari again. With the same honor I vowed to protect your son, I now promise to protect you. Stay strong. I will free you.”