The Hawk Eternal

by David Gemmell

  Gaelen pushed his trembling hand toward the fire, grasping the last of the branches they had stacked. It had not been stripped of its dry leaves for they would be good tinder for the morning blaze. Lifting the branch, Gaelen held it over the flames. The leaves caught instantly, flaring and crackling. On trembling legs, Gaelen advanced toward the beast, holding the torch before him.

  Layne and Lennox exchanged glances, then followed behind him. Gwalchmai swallowed hard, but he could not force his legs to propel him forward and stood rooted to the spot, watching his friends slowly advance on the nightmarish beast. It was colossal, near nine feet in height, and the light from the blazing branch glinted on its dagger-length talons.

  Gaelen’s legs were trembling as he approached the monstrosity. It reared up and tensed to leap at the youth but he drew back his arm and flung the blazing brand straight at the creature’s face. Flames licked at the shaggy fur around its eyes, flaring up into tongues of fire on its right cheek. A fearful howl tore the silence of the night and the beast turned and sprang away into the night. The boys watched until it blended into the dark woods. Layne placed his hand on Gaelen’s shoulder. “Well done, cousin,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I’m glad you woke.”

  “What in the seven hells was that?” asked Gwalchmai as they returned to the comfort of the fire.

  “I don’t know,” said Layne grimly. “But from the look of those jaws it’s not after berries and grubs.”

  Gwalchmai retrieved the blazing torch and examined the beast’s tracks. Returning to the fire he told Layne, “It’s the same track we saw in the valley. And we know no hunter made it. Congratulations, Gaelen, you saved our lives. There is no doubt of that.”

  “I had a dream,” Gaelen told him. “An old man appeared to me, warning me.”

  “Did you recognize him?” asked Layne.

  “I think he was the druid with Cambil on Hunt Day.”

  “Taliesen,” whispered Gwalchmai, glancing at Layne.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Lennox. “Go back?”

  “I don’t see that we need to,” said Layne. “We turned the beast away easily enough. And most animals avoid men anyway. Also, we will be at Attafoss in the morning, so we might just as well see it through.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Gwalchmai. “That thing was big. I wouldn’t want to face it without fire.”

  “If it’s hunting us,” said Gaelen, “it can do so equally well whether we go forward or back.”

  “Are we all agreed, then?” Layne asked them. Gwalchmai longed to hear Lennox suggest a swift retreat back to the valley, but Lennox merely shrugged and donned his pack.

  Dawn found the companions on the last leg of their journey, climbing the steep scree-covered slopes of the last mountain before Attafoss. As they crossed the skyline the distant roar of the falls could be heard some miles ahead.

  “Always roaring, never silent,” quoted Gwalchmai. “Whenever I hear it I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck.”

  Layne hitched his pack into a more comfortable position. “No sign of the beast, anyway,” he said, leading them on down the slope to cross a narrow stone bridge and on to a winding trail through gorse-covered countryside. Layne bore right down a rock-strewn slope and on, at last, to a narrow strip of black sand nestling in a cove below the falls. Here they loosened their packs and settled down for breakfast. The jutting wall of rock deadened the thunder of the falls, but the wind carried the spray high into the air before them, and the sun made rainbows dance above the camp.

  “It occurs to me,” said Gwalchmai as they ate, “that we have not come across a single clue. No pouches. No stones marking the trail. It is an unpleasant thought, but we might be wrong.”

  “I’ve been thinking that,” said Layne, “but then the rhyme is clear. Perhaps the clues are all at the falls.”

  After the meal they gathered at the water’s edge to indulge in the age-old sport of stone-skimming, at which Gwalchmai excelled, beating Layne by three jumps. Refilling their water canteens, the boys picked their way up the slope and into the timberline above the falls.

  Lennox prepared a fire in the afternoon and Layne suggested a quick search of the woods for clues. Leaving their packs by the fire they set off to scout, traveling in pairs—Lennox and Layne moving south, Gaelen and Gwalchmai north.

  From a highpoint on the hillside Gaelen gazed once more at the majesty of Attafoss, watching the churning white water thunder to the river below.

  “That, my friend, is the soul of the Farlain,” said Gwalchmai.

  Gaelen turned to his comrade and grinned. “I can believe it.”

  Gwalchmai’s face shone with pride and his green eyes glittered.

  “Everything we are is contained there,” he said. “All the poetry, the grandeur, and the strength that is Clan.”

  Gaelen watched him as he soaked in the sight. Gwalchmai was not built on the same powerful lines as Lennox or Layne—he was slight and bird-boned, his face almost delicate. But in his eyes shone the same strength Gaelen had come to see in all clansmen—a sense of belonging that rooted them to the land, allowing them to draw on its power.

  “Come on, Gwal, let’s find the clues,” he said at last, and the two of them reentered the timberline.

  By midafternoon they had found nothing, and then Gwalchmai discovered a set of tracks that set him cursing loudly.

  “What is it?” asked Gaelen. “Hunters?”

  “No,” snapped Gwalchmai. “It’s Agwaine. They reached here this morning. That’s why there are no clues; he’s taken them. Curse it!”

  “Let’s follow them,” said Gaelen. “We have nothing to lose.”

  The trail led south and was easy to follow. After less than an hour they reached a gentle slope, masked by thick bushes. Here Gwalchmai stopped.

  “Oh, my soul!” he whispered. “Look!”

  Overlaid upon the moccasin tracks was a huge print, six-toed, and as long as a man’s forearm.

  Pale-faced, Gwalchmai looked at Gaelen. “Are we going up the slope?”

  “I don’t want to,” answered his friend. “But is there a choice?” He licked dry lips with a dry tongue.

  Slowly they made their way to the top of the slope and entered a grove of pine. The sun was sinking slowly and long shadows stretched away from them.

  “The beast was upon them here,” hissed Gwalchmai. “Oh, Gods, I think it killed them all. Look at the tracks. See, they scattered to run, but not before one was downed. Look there! The blood. Oh, God.”

  Gaelen could feel his heart racing and his breathing becoming shallow: the beginning of panic. Caswallon had told him to breathe deeply and slowly at such times, and now he did so, calming himself gradually. Gwalchmai was inching his way into the bushes, where he stood and covered his face with his hands at what he saw lying there. Gaelen joined him.

  His stomach turned and bile filled his throat. He swallowed hard. Inside the screen of bushes were the remains of three bodies, mutilated beyond recognition. A leg was half-buried in rotting leaves, and a split skull lay open and drained beside it.

  Everywhere was drenched in blood.

  Gwalchmai stumbled back from the sight, and vomited onto the grass. Gaelen forced himself to look once more, then he rejoined Gwalchmai who was shivering uncontrollably.

  “Gwal, listen to me. We must know where the beast has gone. Check the tracks. Please.”

  There was no indication that Gwalchmai had heard him.

  Gaelen took him by the shoulders and shook him gently. “Gwal, listen to me. We must find out; then we’ll tell Layne. Can you hear me?”

  Gwalchmai began to weep, slumping forward against Gaelen, who put his arms around him, patting his back as with a child. “It’s all right,” he whispered.

  After a few moments Gwalchmai pulled away, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said, drying his eyes on his sleeve.

  “That’s all right, cousin,” said Gaelen. “They were your friends.”

  “Ye
s. All right. Let’s see where the swine went.”

  For several minutes Gwalchmai circled the scene of the massacre, then he returned.

  “The beast waited for them, hidden at the top of the slope. It reared up and killed the first as he cleared the top. The second, it was Ectas I think, turned to run and he too was slain. The other two ran west. The beast overtook one of them, but the fourth—Agwaine—got clear. The beast has followed him now. But first it . . . it ate.”

  “So,” said Gaelen, “the creature is in the west. Now let’s find Layne.”

  Gwalchmai nodded and set off in a loping run, his green eyes fixed to the trail. Gaelen ran just behind him, eyes flickering to the undergrowth around them. Fate was with them and they found the brothers within the hour. They were sitting by a stream. Swiftly Gaelen explained about the slaughter.

  “How long ago did this happen?” Layne asked Gwalchmai.

  “This morning, while we sat on the beach. I think the beast was following us, but when we cut away down to the waterside it picked up Agwaine’s trail.”

  “Do you think Agwaine survived?”

  “He certainly survived the first attack, for the beast returned to the bodies. But then it set out after him once more. What kind of creature is it, anyway? I mean, it’s fed. Why hunt Agwaine?”

  “I don’t know, but we must help our cousin.”

  “We will not help him by dying, brother,” observed Lennox. “Gwal says the beast has gone west. If we follow the wind will be behind us, carrying our scent forward. And we will be walking straight toward it.”

  “I know that’s true,” said Layne. “Yet we cannot leave Agwaine.”

  “Would you mind a suggestion from a Lowlander?” Gaelen asked.

  Layne turned to him. “You’re not a Lowlander, cousin. Speak on.”

  “Thank you. But I am not as wise in these things as the rest of you, so my plan may be flawed. But I think we should find a hiding place where we can watch the . . . food store. Once the beast has returned, unless the wind changes we should then be able to travel west without it picking up the scent. What do you think?”

  “I think you are more clan than you realize,” said Layne.

  They left the stream at a brisk run and headed for the line of hills less than half a mile distant—Layne leading, Gaelen and Gwalchmai just behind, and Lennox at the rear.

  Once on the hillside they settled down on their bellies to watch the trail. From their vantage point they could see clearly all the way to the lake above the falls and beyond, while to the northwest a range of rocky hills cut the skyline. Above them the sky was red as blood as the sun sank to the level of the western mountain peaks.

  “I hope it comes back before nightfall,” said Layne.

  Luck was with them for, in the last rays of the dying sun, Gwalchmai spotted the beast ambling on all fours along the trail. It moved carefully, hugging the shadows before disappearing into the bushes where the corpses lay.

  The companions wormed their way back down the slope, cutting a wide circle around the beast’s lair before picking up its trail and beginning the long process of backtracking it to the west. They ran through the timberline and on toward the rocky hills. The moon had risen before they arrived, but the night sky was clear and Gwalchmai pointed up to the boulder-covered hillside.

  “I think Agwaine sought refuge in the caves,” he said, and they climbed the slope, seeking a sign.

  “We must bear in mind,” said Layne, “that the beast will come back tonight after it has fed.”

  It was Gaelen who found the boy, wedged deep in a narrow cleft in the rocks halfway up the slope. “Agwaine, are you all right?” he called.

  “Sweet Gods, I thought it was the beast come back,” said Agwaine. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he gritted his teeth to strangle the sobs he knew were close to the surface. Gaelen reached down as Agwaine climbed closer and he pulled him clear as the others gathered around. Agwaine was unhurt, but his face showed the strain he had endured. His eyes seemed sunken and blue rings stained the sockets.

  “It came at us from nowhere,” he said. “It beheaded Cael. Ectas was next; as he turned to run, the beast opened his back with one sweep of its talons. There was nothing to do but run. I was at the back and I turned and sprinted away. Draig was right behind me. I heard his screaming, but it was cut short and I knew I was the only one left. I could hear it chasing me and I ran as never before. It found me here, but it couldn’t reach me.”

  “We must get away, cousin,” put in Layne.

  “Yes. No! First I must get something. I threw it away as we ran.”

  “We can’t go back in those woods,” hissed Gwalchmai.

  “We must. It’s not far; I threw it as I saw the slope.”

  “What can be that important?” asked Layne. “Even now the beast may be coming.”

  “You set off then and I’ll catch up,” said Agwaine.

  “Damn you, cousin, you know we cannot do that.”

  “Let’s find the cursed thing,” said Gaelen. “I don’t want to spend all night discussing this.”

  Agwaine led them back to the woods. Gaelen was furious, but he held himself in check. He knew what Agwaine was seeking. The sword. Agwaine had found the sword.

  The woods loomed dark and threatening and the boys drew their knives. Little good would they be, thought Gaelen. He glanced at Gwalchmai. His friend’s face was pinched and ashen in the moonlight. Only Lennox seemed unconcerned.

  Agwaine held up his arm and then stopped. The Hunt Lord’s son disappeared into the bushes, returning quickly with a long closely tied package.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and led them away down toward the falls. The shifting wind made them take wide detours to avoid their scent being carried to the beast, and dawn found them below Attafoss with the river to the left, a section of woods before them. They were tired, but the fear of the beast was upon them and they hesitated before entering the woods.

  Daggers held firm, they walked warily, but as they moved under the overhanging branches a voice jolted them. Gwalchmai dropped his dagger in fright, then scooped it up swiftly.

  “Good morning, boys.”

  To their right, in a circular clearing, a woman was sitting on a fallen oak. At her feet was a blanket on which was laid a breakfast of black bread and cold meat.

  She was dressed in a manner they had never seen before. Upon her shoulders was a mail scarf of closely linked silver rings. Beneath this she wore a fitted breastplate of silver, embossed with a copper hawk, its wings spread wide, disappearing beneath the mail scarf. About her waist was a leather kilt, studded with copper and split into sections for ease of movement. She wore dark leggings and silver greaves over riding boots. Her arms were bare save for a thick bracelet of silver on her right wrist; on her left was a wrist guard of black leather.

  And she was old. Thick silver hair swept back from a face lined with wisdom and sorrow. But her eyes were bright, ice-blue, and her bearing straight and unbending.

  Gaelen watched her closely, noting the way she looked at them all.

  She must have been beautiful when young, he thought. But there was something in her expression he could not pinpoint; it seemed a mixture of wonder and regret.

  “Will you join me for breakfast?” she invited.

  “Who are you?” asked Agwaine.

  The woman smiled. “I am Sigarni—the Queen,” she said.

  “We have no queens in the Farlain,” said Layne.

  “I am the Queen Beyond,” she said, with a slow smile.

  “You are on Farlain land,” Agwaine told her sternly. “No stranger is allowed here. Are you from the Aenir?”

  “No, Agwaine. I am a guest of the Lord Taliesen.”

  “Can you prove this?”

  “I don’t feel the need to. You boys are here on the Hunt. Taliesen asked if he could borrow my sword for it. If you open the package you will find it—a beautiful weapon of metal which one of you will have seen. The hilt is of ebony,
and shaped for a warrior to hold with both hands, while the guard is of iron decorated with gold and silver thread. The scabbard is embossed with a hawk, even as on my breastplate. Now open the package and return what is mine.”

  “Open it,” said Layne. “If it is true, then the sword must be returned to its rightful owner.”

  “No, it is mine,” said Agwaine, flushing. “I won the Hunt and this is my proof.”

  “You don’t need proof,” said Gaelen. “We know you won, the sword is only a symbol. Open the package.”

  Agwaine drew his dagger and sliced the leather thongs binding the oilskins. As the woman had predicted, the sword was indeed a wondrous weapon. Reluctantly Agwaine handed it over. The woman swiftly buckled the scabbard to her waist. Had there been any doubt as to the ownership, it was laid to rest as she placed it at her side. It was like watching a picture completed, thought Gaelen.

  The sword in place, she returned to her seat on the tree. She gestured at the food. “Come. Eat your fill,” she said. “I was expecting eight of you. Where are the others?”

  The boys exchanged glances.

  “They are dead,” said Gaelen.

  “Dead?” asked the Queen, rising to her feet gracefully. “How so?”

  Gaelen told of the beast and their flight from the mountains.

  “Damn!” she said. “Taliesen came to me in a dream yester-eve. He told me you were lost upon the mountain and that I should seek you here. He said nothing of a beast.”

  “He came to me also,” said Gaelen. “And he said nothing of a queen.”

  She smiled without humor. “So be it, then. The ways of wizards are a mystery to me and I pray they’ll stay that way. Now, describe this creature.”

  All of them started to speak at once, but she waved them to silence and pointed to Agwaine. “You saw it closely. You speak.”

  Agwaine did as he was bid, recalling vividly the power of the brute and its awesome size, its speed, and its semihuman appearance.