by M. S. Verish
“She’s a good hunter,” Jinx said. “Sorry I messed up your shot. You woulda had it.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Hawkwing returned. “My aim was off. Are you ready to try again?”
“Again?” He blinked.
“I doubt one rabbit will satisfy our lot,” the tracker said.
“You think we’ll find another one?” Jinx asked, his attention upon the sliver of a sun at their backs.
“I’ve never known a shortage of rabbits,” Hawkwing confessed, replacing his hat.
Jinx walked beside him, across the field. “Me and the guys always got scraps. It was like hunting, but we didn’t have to kill anything. And we never left the city. People left ‘em for us on purpose.”
“I promise you won’t need to eat scraps as we travel,” Hawkwing said.
Jinx grinned. “A real supper. Can’t wait.”
Hawkwing handed him a bag. “If you don’t mind holding that open….”
“Sure,” Jinx said, and Hawkwing dropped the rabbit inside. “So… I know what Kariayla told me, but ya think the White Demon was really caught?”
Any hint of good humor slipped from the tracker’s face. “It is the truth. I was also a witness.”
Jinx bit his lip. “But the White Demon’s got magic. It coulda looked like he got caught, but he really got away. I mean, you can’t catch a demon. It’s not like—like hunting a rabbit.”
“I’m certain not all is as it seems,” Hawkwing said, and knocked the dirt from the arrow.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you’re right.” Jinx said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Are you… Do ya… I mean, are you happy he’s caught? I know Arcturus is. He don’t like thieves.”
“I cannot say that anyone speaks of thieves in a favorable light,” Hawkwing said. He prepared the bow. “But I do not believe that every instance can be judged at face value. We don’t always understand others’ motives.”
Jinx considered his words. “So you don’t think I’m a bad guy.”
Hawkwing loosed the arrow and lowered the bow. He looked the thief in the eyes. “I know you’re not a ‘bad guy.’” He waved for Jinx to follow him.
“How’d you see it from so far away?” Jinx asked, amazed at how far they were walking. “I couldn’t see this far if I squinted.”
“You’re not Falquirian,” Hawkwing said.
“Not what?”
“Falquirian.”
Jinx scratched his chin. “Ya mean you’re not—”
“Human? No.”
Jinx had stopped in his tracks, and the tracker turned to coax him onward. “But you look like a Human. You don’t got wings like Kariayla; you ain’t got red skin like Arcturus.”
“Ah, lesson learned,” Hawkwing said. He stopped to pick up the rabbit. “What I said about judging at face value. Not all is as it seems.” He waited while Jinx caught up.
The thief opened the bag for the second rabbit. “So what’s different about a Falkeerean?”
“Now that is another story for another time,” the tracker said. “It’s getting dark, and we should get back to camp.”
“But—”
“You can help me prepare dinner.”
Alright, I’ll give you this one, Jinx thought, and they made their way back to the others.
*
“I know there is a way to make it produce flames,” Arcturus said, contemplating Whitestar as Kariayla dropped another bundle of sticks in the growing pile.
“We can strike the flint Hawkwing left for us,” Kariayla said, and the Markanturian made a face.
“Yes, of course,” he grumbled. “We achieve the same result either way.” Instead of taking up the rocks, he unpocketed his pipe.
Kariayla stopped and watched him. “How will you light it without a fire?”
“This is a Mystland Everburner’s Pipe,” Arcturus explained. “Upon packing, it will generate its own heat—which is why I was eager to retrieve it from the jailer’s treasure trove.” He held it up for her to see. “Medoriate Samus Everburn was a genius at his craft.”
Kariayla gave a cry as the stick pile moved, and out burst Ruby. The imp bolted for Arcturus, snatched his pipe in a blur, and was lost amongst the grasses. The Markanturian was on his feet immediately. “I demand you return what you have stolen—this instant!” he commanded.
Only silence followed.
“If you do not, I will see that your thief gives you fitting punishment for this outrageous behavior!”
More silence.
Arcturus groaned, and sat back heavily upon the log. “I will never see it again.”
“I’m sure she’ll bring it back,” Kariayla consoled. “She will probably give it to Jinx.”
“Jinx.” Arcturus lifted his head from his hand. “Yes, I will have words with Jinx. He has clearly taught her this little trick. I cannot believe we are sharing the company of a Freeland thief.”
Kariayla came to sit across from him. “I don’t think he means to be trouble.”
“Intentions never constitute true virtue.” He found his wine-bearing costrel. “This entire expedition has me troubled. No, not troubled…there is a word… Vexed is more appropriate.” He took a drink and dabbed his mouth with his sleeve. “I am vexed by our criminal and his pet, but I am more vexed by our leader. We follow a man who is all but straightforward with us. He lied about his name and his occupation, and what I deem important information is what he chooses not to disclose. Our destination is a mystery. His reason for abandoning us is a mystery. Who is paying the man is a mystery.” He took another drink. “I cannot help but feel he was somehow involved in the detention of the White Demon and the thieves.”
“I’ve wondered about that too,” Kariayla confessed. “But he has not been unkind. He did try to help us in his own way—leaving us a map, warning us about the Freelands, having the hawk follow us….”
“Ah! Yes. His bird. His warnings. And…” Arcturus fished in his bag. “His map.” He brandished the item. “This he can have back. Our relations with him are strictly business, and that out of necessity. I cannot trust a man who pretends to be someone else. For all we know, he is still not who he says he is.”
“Maybe we can ask him to explain himself,” Kariayla suggested.
“I have,” Arcturus said dryly. “During our last meal, when he approached me, I asked that he salvage my trust with some insight to his actions.”
Kariayla waited while Arcturus indulged in the costrel again.
“He said he ‘might be able to explain more later.’ Could there be a more vague and evasive answer? I had no choice but to accept this response.”
Kariayla frowned and picked up the flint.
“Hey, where’s the fire?” Jinx asked, approaching from near the cart. Hawkwing was close behind him. “We got dinner.” He held up the bag.
Arcturus stared at him.
“What? I do somethin’ wrong?” He set the bag next to the pile of sticks. “Where’s Ruby?”
“She absconded with my pipe,” Arcturus announced. “And she would be in that general vicinity.” He gestured to the adjacent field.
Jinx looked from the field back to the Markanturian. “You didn’t go lookin’ for her?”
“No,” Arcturus said tightly.
“I’m sure she’ll come back when we get the fire lit.”
“That was not my concern.”
Jinx sat down. “Oh. Right. Your pipe.”
“Yes, my pipe.”
“She might bring it back.”
“You should hope that she does.”
“Uh, so you need help starting the fire, Kariayla?” Jinx asked, though Hawkwing was already lending his assistance. The tracker passed the task on to him while he removed the rabbits to be skinned. Before long, a small fire crackled and snapped. Snowfire came to land near Hawkwing, and he murmured something to the bird before she flew off again.
Kariayla watched the hawk vanish from sight. “Does she hunt for you?” she asked. “At the castle, t
he nobles used hawks for hunting.” Her eyes returned to Hawkwing as he continued preparing the rabbits.
“We usually hunt together,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jinx chimed in, “Snowfire caught the first rabbit. Hawkwing got the next one with his bow.”
There was a rustle in the grass near the fire, and the saucer-eyed imp launched herself at the unwary thief. He fell backwards at the same time a small object dropped from the sky into Arcturus’s lap.
“My pipe!” he exclaimed, cupping it protectively in his hands. “But how—”
Snowfire lighted near Hawkwing and began preening.
“You do not expect me to believe a bird retrieved my pipe,” Arcturus said.
“What, then, would you believe?” Hawkwing asked, though he did not look at the Markanturian.
“I believe it,” Jinx said. “And she found Ruby, too.” The imp was huddled near him, her wary eyes upon the hawk.
“Allow me to make this clear,” Arcturus said. “There will be no more theft amongst our party, or you will seek other company.” He repacked his pipe, but his eyes did not leave them.
“No more stealin’, Ruby,” Jinx told her, “or Arcturus will kick us out. Got it?”
The imp nodded, her tangled mass of red hair bobbing with her head.
Hawkwing enlisted the help of Jinx and Kariayla to cook the meat while he went to the cart to gather additional victuals. It was then that Arcturus approached him.
“We appreciated the map, but now I think it best I return it,” Arcturus said, the item in his outstretched hand.
“I’m glad that you found it useful, but you don’t have to return it,” Hawkwing said, glancing up from the bag in front of him.
There was a second of hesitation before Arcturus took a step closer. “I am afraid I must insist.”
Hawkwing stopped and turned, silently taking the map.
“I would appreciate insight to our route, as you see fit to share,” the Markanturian added, his tone unyielding.
“Of course,” Hawkwing said.
Arcturus nodded and returned to his seat. He gave Kariayla a knowing glance, but her frown did not lighten.
Soon they were all feasting upon rabbit, bread, and cheese, but though their appetites were being satiated, tension filled the air. Through the accumulating haze of the Markanturian’s smoke, his voice rose, but it lacked the usual undertones of irritation.
“I admit this experience is new for me,” he said. “I have traveled before, but not without certain luxuries. I have considered that there are times we are called to cross the boundaries of familiarity and comfort to grow in experience and in character.” He puffed on his pipe and thoughtfully regarded his audience. “Regardless of our hardships and our histories, we travel this road together. Some of you know next to nothing about our purpose, and I have been overdue in introducing our awaited host.”
“The wizard guy, right?” Jinx asked.
“William,” Arcturus said. “His name is William. And if he is truly a wizard, I cannot say, but he does command certain power that might label him a medoriate.”
“Meddoreeit? Is that like a caster?”
Arcturus made a face at the term. “You should know that your vernacular is mildly derogatory, but for the sake of communication, yes: he is one who wields magic. William is…eccentric…to say the least. He may seem scattered and ostentatious, but he is never without purpose. This is not always a favorable trait, though I am reluctant to believe he has ever intended anyone harm.”
Jinx had pulled out his knife and was toying with it in his hand. “I don’t get it. Is he good or bad?”
“Neither,” Arcturus said, shaking his head. “I would not describe anyone as being inherently ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ He can be selfish, but he can also be quite generous. He is a walking contradiction.”
“How did you meet him?” Kariayla asked.
“I met him nearly 200 years ago, when I left Markanturos. He was my mentor in Mystland. He taught me most of what I know about magic, cantalere, and those who wield such power.”
“Wait,” Jinx said, pointing the knife at him. “Did you say ‘200 years ago’?”
Arcturus raised an eyebrow. “My people are long-lived, my boy, and I was, at that time, still a young man. Age is relative.”
Kariayla’s attention drifted to the tracker, who had apportioned some uncooked meat for Snowfire. “You also know William,” she said, and a glimmer of a smile crossed his face before it was gone again.
“I do,” Hawkwing said, “but I know him better as ‘Bill.’ And it was twenty-some years ago, not 200, that I made his acquaintance.”
“Yes, yes,” Arcturus said dismissively, “William has often made known his preference for that abbreviation. I cannot, however, bring myself to call him by that name. In Markanturos, it is proper and respectful to call one another by his or her full birth name.” He blew a smoke ring from his pipe and eyed the thief. “‘Jinx,’ for instance, is not a name but a word with a definition.”
“Not for me,” the thief said. “That’s what my buddies called me, so that’s my name.”
“Your mother would be offended, I would think, that you not use the name she gave you,” Arcturus said.
“Why?”
“Because if she wanted to name you ‘Jinx,’ she would have done so upon your birth.”
Jinx stuck out his chin. “You just don’t like it.”
“Indeed, and I will not employ that name,” Arcturus returned.
“Ya gotta call me somethin’,” Jinx argued. “Or I might just ignore you.”
“Then you would find it best to disclose your given name.”
Jinx frowned and picked up a stick. “That’s not fair. Hawkwing don’t haveta give his name.”
The tracker regarded the thief thoughtfully. “‘Hawkwing’ is my name.”
“That’s what your ma named ya?” Jinx asked, unwilling to believe him. He began to peel the bark off the stick with his knife.
“It is the name I earned,” Hawkwing said. “Amongst my people, it is proper to refer to one by their Spirit Name, not their birth name.”
“So you imply there was a rite of passage by which you earned your name,” Arcturus said, leaning closer.
“At fifteen, you venture into the Wild to discover yourself. You do not return until you have accomplished your mission.”
“What sort of mission?” Kariayla asked, intrigued.
Hawkwing stoked the fire before he answered. “That would depend upon your adventure. The mission asserts itself, but you must return with proof of your success.”
Arcturus waved the cloud of smoke from his face. “In my many years of existence, I have versed myself in various cultures and their traditions. I have not, however, heard of any people sending their youth into the wilderness to invent a name.”
Hawkwing merely shrugged.
“You ain’t heard of Falkeereens, Arcturus?” Jinx asked, still agitated over the name conflict.
“Do you mean to say ‘Falquirian?’” the Markanturian asked dryly.
“Yeah. Them.”
“I have heard of the race, but I confess I know little about them.” Arcturus gestured to the tracker. “Perhaps you would like to elaborate?”
“I would not want to interfere with Master Jinx sharing his proper name,” Hawkwing said.
“Wait a minute,” the thief balked, “I ain’t gonna—”
“Please do,” Arcturus encouraged.
“You can tell us, Jinx,” Kariayla said.
“There is no logical reason for you to refuse such a trivial bit of information,” Arcturus added.
“It ain’t special,” Jinx said, thrusting the tip of the stick into the fire. The motion startled Ruby, who had fallen asleep beside him.
“It is who we are, not our name, that makes us special,” Arcturus preached.
“If I might make a suggestion…” Hawkwing looked at everyone in turn. “Rather than pressure an individual to disclo
se a personal fact, we might each contribute something of ourselves.”
“So we all haveta share somethin,’” Jinx clarified. A grin slowly arched across his scruffy face. “Yeah, I like that better.”
“Let it be known that I harbor no secrets,” Arcturus said.
Kariayla shifted uncomfortably. “Does someone dictate what we have to disclose?”
“I think we can make inquiries, but ultimately it is for the individual to decide,” Hawkwing said.
Jinx clapped his hands together. “So, then, Mr. Wing… Gonna tell us how you got your name?”
Hawkwing smiled. “Not on this particular occasion.”
“Then you will tell us your birth name,” Arcturus said.
“No.”
“Might you tell us about Snowfire?” Kariayla asked, her eyes upon the hawk.
The tracker shook his head and removed his hat. “I will tell you one of my greatest fears.”
“Ooo!” Jinx elbowed Ruby. “This should be good.”
Hawkwing’s smile faded. “I will tell you my fear, because you may question my actions along our route—especially as we near the Nightwind Mountains.”
“What’s so special about the mountains?” Jinx asked.
“Let me first say that there are creatures in this world with great power—most of which are seldom seen.”
“The Great Spirits,” Kariayla whispered, and the tracker looked at her, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight.
He stirred the embers, and new flames arose where others had died. “A few of these creatures have earned enough repute to carry them into folklore and fairytales, where others have simply been forgotten with time. What your mother or father may have used as a story to correct your behavior as a child could, in fact, have a strand of truth to it.”
Hawkwing held up a hand before Jinx could interrupt. “I may have been a little older than you, Jinx, when I began my lengthy excursions to follow in my father’s footsteps. There was so much of Secramore yet uncharted, and I had grand ambitions of drawing the maps of places that no one had ever seen. The southeast was well-known around the coast, but further inland was a dark and veiled range of peaks known as the Nightwind. The few stories I had heard were vague and inconsistent. Ravenous beasts, malevolent giants, and even ghosts were said to dwell in the mountains. All this I dismissed as fiction.
