THE HAWK
Karil rubbed her hands before the red flames. They made camp on the desert, just outside a ruined town. The nearby trees cast shadows on the flat land. She watched them out of the corner of her eye, reassuring herself that they were not creatures standing still in the night.
“Find anything?” she asked, noticing Rydel had slipped into the camp like a shadow and now stood beside a nearby tree. The elf threw a cloth bundle on the ground and she unfolded it.
Rydel held up a small root. “This’ll be enough for me. The rest is yours.”
She eyed several shriveled roots the color of dirt, and a green head of leaves. Grabbing a long root, she nibbled on it. It was bitter, nothing like she had ever tasted in Farhaven. She thought of the farms of Eldas. What she wouldn’t give for a lignin fruit, head-sized melons that hung from small trees or the crisp tang of moonroots plucked on the twelfth night of every moon. She took another bite. At least it was edible. It had been two fortnights since they had left Eldas and her heart panged with thoughts of her home.
“What’s bothering you?” Rydel asked.
“Nothing.”
“It is a strange thing when you lie,” he said. “It is truly not elvin.”
She said nothing, staring into the flames as she ate.
“I understand your sorrow,” he said softly.
“Do you? Or is caring for those you loved simply my human side as well?” She regretted the words immediately. It wasn’t Rydel’s fault. But sourness gnawed at her insides like a poison.
The elf looked pained. “I did not mean to offend. I loved your father, too.”
She shook her head, feeling a fool, and touched his arm. “I know you did. Forgive me.”
“By tomorrow, we will see Lakewood, and your uncle,” he said, changing the subject.
The thought lifted her spirits. For a moment, she wondered how different Mura would appear after two years outside the realm of magic. It was said that ten years within Farhaven was the equivalent of one year within Daerval. “And even more pressing, we will finally see the boy of prophecy,” she said. “My mother was right, as always. I was forced beyond the Gates. Now I must continue to follow her words. I must watch over the boy, and ensure his survival.”
“And how will you do that?” Rydel asked. “We’ve seen the destruction the enemy has wrought. He may already be in danger.”
Karil couldn’t deny the truth of that. Upon their journey, they had come across barren towns, and ruined villages, each more horrifying than the last. Fear for the boy’s safety wormed its way beneath her skin like a deep cold.
Suddenly there was a disturbance in her ka. Rydel turned, seeing it in the darkness before she could. The air distorted with the flutter of wings. Come, she beckoned in her thoughts.
From out of the darkness, a hawk appeared, landing upon her pack. It was a beautiful creature, even in the dim light, large with golden plumage, slightly ruffled by its sudden change in course. It eyed her regally.
“Sa mira, kin ha elvia su nivia,” she whispered, enjoying the feel of her language as it flowed across her tongue. At her words, the bird leapt into the air and landed upon her arm. Its sharp claws gripped her harmlessly. She smiled and the hawk tilted its head, listening attentively. She touched the bird’s side calmly, closing her eyes. Save the boy, she implored. Watch over him. But aloud she voiced, “Tervias su unvas. Remlar uvar hil.”
The bird twisted its head, as if in acknowledgement and then flew off.
“At least now we will have eyes on him,” she answered, watching the creature fly away until it was obscured by the dark night. Attuned to the spark, the creature knew her words. But it was still the bird’s choice to follow her. The bird had answered simply. It would obey her command unto death.
“Get some rest, my queen,” Rydel said.
“I will take first watch,” she replied, eyeing the nearby trees again. When Rydel looked ready to argue, she raised a brow. “That’s an order.” The elf grumbled, and settled beneath his dark green blanket, asleep in moments, sleeping dreamlessly as full elves did. The notion of dreams gave Karil a shiver. Her watch was not wholly altruistic. She feared her dreams and would do anything to stave them off for as long as she could. She huddled closer to the red flames that warded off the cold night. With thoughts of the boy and her uncle, she looked south, praying to see Lakewood soon.