Flight of the Golden Harpy

by Susan Klaus

  “Mr. Turner, it’s suicide. There’s not enough time to go there and come back.”

  John reached in his tote bag and pulled out his laser gun. “There’s enough time for me to get there. I have to free Shail. He is the ruler of the harpies who can destroy these swarms, but unless he tells them, they won’t do it. Shail is the only one who can save these people and this planet. Understand? Now do you have a hover?”

  Ted wearily rubbed his forehead and started for a door. “Yeah, I was working on one on the landing strip. The electrical systems are fried for the air conditioner and lights, but the motor is fine.”

  They left the domed building and jogged across the vast landing strip. “It’s three lanes over,” Ted said. They reached the hover. “You might need help. I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” John said. “I need you to get my daughter off Dora if everything is in ruin. Aron will find you and bring Kari. I want you to get her on a ship.” He clasped Ted’s shoulder. “Just stay alive for me, boy. I’m depending on you.”

  Ted nodded and John fired up the small hovercraft and was soon airborne.

  * * *

  John landed the hover in the middle of the street in front of Simpson’s hunting range. He leaped from the craft and bolted through the doors, his laser ready to fire. Walking across the room, he stopped and dismally stared at the empty display cage.

  “Sorry, Mr. Turner, we’re closed,” said a voice.

  John wheeled around and pointed his weapon at Bill Simpson, who casually entered the room.

  “Where’s the harpy?” John asked.

  “Gone. The new owner took him last night. I imagine he’s on a ship heading for his new hunting range, but I’ll have others just as vicious now that I know how to turn one.”

  John aimed the weapon at Bill. “How do you turn a gentle creature into a man-killer?”

  “I owe that to my crazed brother, Gus, and his two pals. They tied that proud little stud to the top of a cage and took turns raping him all night. Gus claimed the blond was the best piece of ass he’s ever had.” Bill grinned. “It’s rather ironic that my brother’s best lay ended up killing him. Guess the little stud didn’t enjoy it.”

  John lowered his weapon and felt ill. He understood why Shail had killed and lost his will to live.

  “Well, you came all this way, Mr. Turner,” Bill said. “I don’t want you to leave empty handed. There’re a few fledglings through that door in the back room. Help yourself; my compliments.” The whole building suddenly became dark as a great shadow passed overhead. “The swarms!” Bill yelled and raced to the door.

  John started to follow him, but stopped and ran toward the back room. In the room animal cages lined the walls. He hurried past until he found the two tiny fledglings crouched in the straw. They were weanlings and hadn’t completely molted their down, making them incapable of flight. He blasted the cage lock and opened the door.

  “Come on, little guys,” he said. Too frightened, they cowered in the straw and sniffled for compassion. He reached in, took one in his arm and gently stroked its head. The cherub-looking fledgling clung to John’s neck, longing for a parent. He thought of Kari’s baby. Scared to be alone, the second fledgling crept across the straw into his arms.

  Holding the fledglings, John raced from the building. Although midmorning, it seemed like evening, with black clouds of beetles blotting out the sun. The swarms were flying to the heart of Hampton and had yet to settle. Looking at the street, he saw that Simpson had taken his hover. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he growled.

  A vehicle parked by the front door apparently belonged to the range owner. John opened the vehicle door, climbed in, and placed the fledglings in the passenger seat. When he fired the engine, the first beetle hit the windshield and then another. He pushed the vehicle to its top speed, and palm-size bugs pelted the transport. After only two miles, the beetles invaded the engines, and the vehicle fell a short distance to the ground, clogged and silent. Catching a glimpse out the window through the mass of beetles, he saw that everything—buildings, street, trees—was blanketed in black. There was no place to run, no escape.

  The crunching and buzzing sound was deafening. The two pint-size fledglings curled up in tight balls covered with their meager wings and trembled. John sighed and bundled them in his arms. Their tiny arms wrapped around his neck. “It’s okay, little guys,” he said. “It’ll be over soon.”

  19

  Shail stirred, and his half-opened eyes attempted to focus, but all was hazy. He was familiar with the groggy effect of tranquilizers that forced unwanted sleep. He lay still, waiting for his mind to clear. Smelling the moist air and the fragrance of seasonal flowers, he realized his jungle was near. His body felt comfortable so he ran his hand across the plush, silky material beneath him. He was resting on a human bed; its white sheets matched the vague white walls. He shook his head, hating the lethargic feeling that hindered his senses and strength. Gazing across the large room, he saw numerous potted plants and fancy carved furniture. He realized no chains or shackles clung to his wrists, and the shock collar had been removed from his neck, a clean harpy sash hung off his hips. Hearing a songbird, he slightly elevated his head above the pillows, but looked past the bird at the open balcony window at gray clouds. No cage bars held him. Only his weak, drugged body kept him from the freedom of open sky.

  Struggling to rise, he reeled with dizziness and then saw the drug patch on his arm. The same patch the old doctor had used on him. He ripped it off and lay down, hoping to recover quickly and regain his balance before the hunters came.

  Shail heard the sound of an opening door and footsteps. He half closed his eyes and lay still. The man who had taken him out of the hunting range leaned over his bed and ran a monitor across his body. “Poor little fellow; he’s still out of it,” said the man.

  Closer, Shail thought and felt his rage growing. Come closer to me. I might seem weak, but I have enough strength to reach up and rip your throat from your neck. Shail readied himself to pounce on the oblivious man.

  “Step away from him, Doctor, before you’re hurt,” said a woman’s voice. “He’s not as weak as he appears, and he’s waiting for you to get close so he can rip out your throat.” The man moved away from the bed.

  Shail curiously watched the slender woman glide across the floor in a long white gown. She had spoken the same words that dwelled in his mind. Could she be harpy? Approaching his bed, she bent over him, and her clusters of her long blond locks nearly touched his face.

  “Leave us now,” she said to the man, “and thank you, Dr. Watkins.” Her blue eyes sparkled when gazing into his eyes. “To answer your question,” she said softly, and placed her hand near Shail’s nose.

  Extending his neck, Shail sniffed her hand and detected harpy scent. The female was a golden harpy, but Shail had thought that he and Kari were the last of the golden line. She gently pushed aside his hair from his brow and stroked his head. “I waited twenty seasons to touch my son again, and like your father, you have grown sleek and beautiful.”

  Shail swallowed hard and stared with disbelief. His mother had died. How could this female claim to be her?

  “I am Windy, your mother, Shail, and not dead, but have been in seclusion in this city of Hampton all this time. I come forth now to help you and the harpies. You must be rid of the human hatred that blocks all reason and destroys your instincts. Your mind is so distorted, you would eagerly rip the throat from a good man who is here to save harpies, rather than sense and judge him fairly. Evil men gave you the hate and you embraced it, but this is not the harpy way. Your flock needs the guidance of a wise and rational ruler.”

  Shail lifted his head and leaned on his elbow. “I do not know how to rid myself of hatred, nor if I should. The hatred is powerful. It gave me the strength to survive all hardships, and I now fear nothing. With no remorse, I shall have my flock hunt and slay all surviving humans, forever freeing the harpies.”

  “So honor and decency shall
be cast to the winds to gratify your revenge?”

  Shail lowered his head. “What has our honor brought except death?”

  Windy sat down on the bed next to him. “Perhaps the humans deserve to be slain and the harpies forever free, but forever changed; the once-gentle race becoming savages, tormented, angry killers lacking a peaceful soul. Like warring men, we shall be without honor and grace. Is this the legacy you wish to leave your flock? Your decision must be made with a clear mind, not a wounded heart.”

  “I do not want to leave such a legacy, but I cannot rid myself of the rage. It grows.”

  “It grows because you feed and protect it,” she said. “The revenge supplied purpose and the will to live, saving you from harpy depression, but it is no longer needed. The vengeance smothers your love and happiness, and in the end, it shall destroy you.”

  Shail curled up and placed his head against her leg. “How can I release the hate?”

  “Expose it and the horrors that created it. These memories dwell deep and are sheltered, too painful to face. This agony holds you captive. Expose them to me, my son, and it shall set you free.”

  Like a small fledgling, Shail trembled and swallowed deeply. “I do not want to remember what was done to me.”

  Windy stroked his neck. “You must. You are the golden ruler and must do all for your flock. The harpies deserve a wise leader, not just a brave one. Remember, Shail.”

  Shail closed his eyes and focused on all the things that created his hate. His mother placed her hand on his forehead, telepathy revealing his thoughts to her. He recalled the knot in his stomach when he and Aron stood before two slain harpies that hung from a tree. He had grown up playing with, loving, and cherishing the two males. It was the beginning of his rage and revenge against men, seeing the unspeakable torture the males endured. Soon after, he released the beetles, allowing them to grow into massive swarms to chase the humans out of his jungle.

  He remembered his own suffering. Wounded, kicked, and beaten, he barely survived the island hunters. He shivered, reliving his terrible pain and fear. The vengeance was personal now. And then there was the attack on Kari, causing the war against humans to begin. His hate was further fueled when he was sold to Gus. The man’s deadly shock rod nearly stopped his heart. Humiliated and abused, he lost his gentle and reasoning nature.

  His thoughts drifted to the most dreadful night of his life; the final blow that consumed him. Drowning out everything he loved, he became as evil as his enemies.

  Shail lifted his head and stared teary eyed into his mother’s eyes. “I cannot.”

  “Go on, Shail,” his mother said. “Relive that night.”

  Gus and the two men had tied him to the top of his cage. He recalled his desperate struggle against the chains as each man mounted and brutally ravaged his body over and over again. He vividly remembered the details: the smell of whiskey and their bodies, the sound of grunts and slurred words, and the harsh fondling hands, their crushing frames over him, and the rape. Drained of all fight, courage, and pride, he gave up at dawn and attempted the heart-stopping suicide.

  When Shail finished revealing the horror to her, Windy wiped the moisture from her eyes. “There is one more thing,” she said. “I feel a dark shadow hiding in your subconscious. It so horrifies you that you have tried to erase it from your memory.”

  “The drug,” Shail said softly. The sickeningly sweet pills Gus had forced down his throat, and Shail had soon lost control of his own body. The men laughed and stroked him, and he frantically fornicated to relieve the itchy sex drive. Stimulated by the pill, the rape, and the man’s hands, he strained to release his seed again and again, the lust so powerful he became a party to the men’s cruelty.

  The men had forced him to violate the sacred right that a male reserved for his female. He had endured the ultimate rape. Revulsion, grief, and tremendous shame turned him into a killer.

  Filled with gruesome memories, Shail placed his head in his mother’s lap, shuddered, and broke down and cried.

  “Let it go, Shail,” Windy said and stroked him. “Let it flow out of you. The disgrace and mortification you feel proves your honor and decency. You did nothing wrong, but your grievous shame has created a powerful hate.”

  Shail pulled his limbs in, became a tight ball, and sobbed. His insides ached with physical pain, and his once-silent vocal cords whimpered. Never before had he released such sorrow, the sorrow of a lifetime full of struggle, fears, and hardship.

  The early morning passed with his mother caressing and consoling him. He finally managed to raise his head and shake his wet locks from his face. “I feel so weak, so empty,” he relayed. “The rage goes, but I am left numb. My life shall never hold joy again.”

  His mother smiled. “Like all harpies, you dwell in the present, but the joy shall come, and the hollow feeling will be filled. When you fly from here, you shall feel freedom, and soaring over the trees, you shall see their beauty. When you hold your mate in your arms, the love that binds you shall awaken, and when you look upon your fledgling, you shall be healed. You are strong, Shail. No other harpy has endured such long and terrible hardships and survived it. You are a great and cunning ruler who has saved his flock. Do not allow the hate to return and destroy you.”

  “How do you know me and all of this?” he asked.

  “Though many seasons have passed, you are my son, my blood, and I can sense deep into your soul, and I, too, was once nearly destroyed by hate and loss.”

  “Aron’s father, Rue, told me you had died.”

  On an end table she reached into a bowl and produced a piece of fruit. “Rue and all harpies believed I had perished after the death of your father.” She handed the fruit to Shail. “It is a long story.”

  Shail leaned against the pillows. “I wish to know it,” he said and nibbled on the fruit.

  “I shall start at the beginning,” she said. “When nearly an adult, I was brought by my father to the harpy gathering at the base of the sacred mountain. I was there to find my future mate, and the males had come from across the land to pick a new ruler. The old ruler had broken his wing and could no longer lead the flocks. For three lights, the golden males fought in challenges to prove dominance and their skill in daring harpy games. I am saddened when I think of all those beautiful blond males, gone now, killed by hunters when they were defending their flocks.” She reached over and petted Shail’s head.

  “At the end of the gathering, one golden male stood alone. He had proven his courage, wit, and strength. He became the new ruler and your father. We made our nest in the northern mountains, and I became pregnant with you. It should have been a happy time, but it wasn’t. Seeking rare yellow wings, numerous hunters came west. In the following four seasons they nearly exterminated the golden bloodline. Your father was desperate and helpless. He flew night and day, moving brown flocks out of harm’s way and to the islands. With the golden males gone, the flock leadership fell to the browns that would never face down a man. It became flee and hide, with every harpy for himself and his family.

  “At age of five, you were the last golden male fledgling who had survived. Your father had heard of a golden female in the south. She sought protection with a powerful young man named Turner. They bonded, and she gave birth to a female.

  “Fearing the loss of the golden bloodline, your father met with the female and said that her daughter must bond with our son. Only these future golden harpies would have the strength to save the harpies. As you know, Turner rejected the harpy bond and wanted his daughter to marry a man. A conflict ensued over your mate’s future. Would Kari be raised human or harpy? Your father wanted the female and her daughter to leave the unyielding man and return to the jungle, but I told him the decision was not his or Turner’s. When mature, Kari would choose her mate. I knew the love would grow once she saw you. Your father agreed and went to tell Kari’s mother that she could remain with Turner. It was then that Turner accidentally killed his own mate and then mine with
his anger.

  “When I learned of your father’s death, I became consumed with grief, and I lost the will to live. Rue was your father’s best friend, and I asked him to take you and raise you with his son, Aron, on the farthest island that was still free of hunters. Rue sensed my depression and knew that even the love of my son could not save me. After you were gone, I went to the jungle to die. I do not recall how many lights I wandered in a trance.

  “A harpy hunter found me under some ferns and close to death. He took me to a cabin and attempted to revive me. At first I was frightened, but my fear turned to anger; anger with the humans who had killed my lover and ruined my life. Like you, hatred replaced my depression and saved me. I fought the middle-aged man who was named Henry. I bit and scratched him, but he remained gentle and calm. I watched him and sensed his worry. Henry knew I was harpy and no woman. He stayed by my side and nursed me back to health, promising to free me when I had healed.

  “After many lights Henry released me back into the jungle with tears in his eyes. His kindness had not only saved my life, but also cured my hate and despair. I learned that not all humans were evil. Of my own free will I returned to the cabin and Henry. I did not feel the passionate, undying love for him like with your father, but I cared for the man. You were safer with Rue and Aron on the islands, and with Rue’s guidance, you would become a good ruler, and I discovered that Henry was a wealthy, powerful senator. By staying with him, perhaps I could help the harpies. He loved me, but always feared I would leave him for another male harpy. After many seasons, the trust grew. He knew I would not leave him, and I told him about you, my son and the last golden male. We set in motion a plan to end the hunting and save the harpies and you. He campaigned and became the governor of Dora, but the senate decides the laws. We hired Dr. Watkins to perform a study on harpies, hoping to prove we are part human and carry human blood. With hard evidence, a law could be passed to end the harpy slaughter.”