Flight of the Golden Harpy (12 page)

Shail smelled fresh air flowing into the musty room and glanced toward an opening. It was night, and the safety of the dark trees lay beyond. Lured by the open window, he gritted his teeth and again tried to rise, but unbearable pain shot through him, making him cringe and sweat. He breathed hard with anxiety, knowing the hunters had far worse plans for him. Though he didn’t understand their sounds, he sensed their poisoned minds. Their thoughts had dwelled on hanging him by his wrists and then removing his sex organs and wings. His heart beat faster, dwelling on this fate. Shail grasped the material to drag himself closer to the window and noticed his wrists weren’t bound. Perplexed, he glanced around the shadowy room.

On the far side of the bed rested a sleeping female. Her long blond hair hid her face, but when Shail leaned over and sniffed, her scent was unmistakable and unforgettable. Her presence made him relax and breathe easier. He had waited ten long seasons to hold her again, and now she rested beside him, but how? Traumatized by the abuse, his memory was foggy. He shook his head again, trying to remember. She had held him as he waited for death, but he thought it was dream, the same dreams they shared since her return to his land. He nuzzled her cheek, making sure she was real. Shail closed his eyes, trying to recall the last few lights.

*   *   *

On a southern island, Shail had met Aron after his long flight over land.

“You found her?” Shail asked.

“Near the human river city,” Aron relayed. “It was wise I was sent to watch over her. She is your match, Shail. Like you, she fearlessly but foolishly faced a pack of grogins alone. This darkness she comes to her father’s home.”

“Tomorrow I shall go to the lake of our meeting,” Shail said. “There, she expects me.” Shail and Aron lifted their heads, detecting the distressing sound of a metal bird. “It nears the nests of many fledglings,” Shail said, darting into the sky, and Aron raced after him.

They flew rapidly to the island, hoping to lure the hunters away, but they arrived too late. Landing on a large limb, they gazed down at a hunter dangling an injured fledgling by his tiny wing. The human beast prodded the terrified, squirming youngster, and Shail sensed the pathetic silent calls from the baby harpy.

Shail relived the feeling of rage, an uncommon emotion for harpies, but it had been growing in him. Only recently, he had found two of his cherished males cut to pieces and hanging from a tree. As a golden, he was the monarch and protector of the flock. He couldn’t stand by and allow an innocent fledgling to suffer the butchery. Preparing to attack, he arched his wings.

Aron sensed his intentions and grabbed his arm, saying, “The fledgling is beyond your help. Be not reckless. Your flock needs you.”

Shail broke free of Aron and glared at him. “This one needs me now,” he relayed, and sailed off the branch. He dove straight down toward the hunter, catching the man by surprise. With both feet, he kicked the man’s back, slamming the brute into a tree. He quickly snatched up the fledgling and flapped hard to escape the laser blasts zipping past. Halfway through the open forest, he felt a terrible sting and smelled his burning feathers. He struggled to maintain his flight, but his wing was limp, and he and the fledgling tumbled to the ground. “Flee and hide,” he told the baby. The fledgling scrambled into the dense underbrush, and Shail went in the opposite direction, knowing the men would pursue him. As he leaped into the foliage, he heard and felt a second blast hit his side, forcing him to his knees. He gazed up and saw the hunters running toward him.

Aron swooped down and landed between Shail and the men. He fluttered his feathers and flopped his long brown wings hard on the ground, behaving like a wounded bird. “Look, a blast must have hit that brown!” one man yelled.

“Forget the brown,” another man said. “He’s trying to draw us off the golden.” Shail attempted to run during the distraction but collapsed after a few feet. “I am lost, Aron,” he silently relayed to his faithful friend. “Do not come for me. I order you to save yourself.” Teary eyed, Aron leaped into the air and disappeared in the trees.

Holding his wounded side and dragging the damaged wing, Shail managed to crawl against a wide tree trunk. He coiled up on the ground and shielded his body with his wings. The men swiftly surrounded him. He viciously hissed, warning them to keep away, but they produced ropes and grabbed for his legs and arms. Once in striking range, he battered them with powerful kicks, striking fists, clawing nails, and a flailing wing. He snapped his teeth at their approaching hands. His aggressive assault forced them back, and their eyes conveyed surprise. The young hunters had never encountered a golden male and were accustomed to hunting the docile browns. Shail quietly seethed as they doctored their wounds and discussed the best way to deal with his defiant nature.

The men chose to beat him into submission. They struck and poked him with long sticks. Shail frantically twisted in the dirt, trying to deflect the blows and hide under his protective wings. Toward dark, his body was weak with blood loss and the abuse, and his spirit was crushed. He panted hard, covered his head, and gave up. He curled up into a tight ball and shut his eyes. Seeing he was finished, the men leaped on him and held him down with their weight. He felt the tight ropes tethering his wrists, ankles, and wings. They grabbed his hair and gagged his mouth so he couldn’t bite.

They laughed and prodded him, treating him like a trophy. His bravery slipped away, and he watched them with timid eyes. Their leader stood over him, and Shail performed the act of submission. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and hoped the man would slit his throat, giving him a quick, dignified death. The ritual was known to hunter and harpy and was a measure of honor between the species. A wounded harpy that performed this act would no longer hinder his enemy, and the ethical hunter could prove his decency by ending the suffering of the dying creature.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” said the man whose friends called Jake. His sounds were confusing, but Shail sensed the lack of honor. He knew a slow, horrendous death awaited him. Jake tossed Shail over his brawny shoulder and took him to the metal bird, roughly throwing him inside. The noisy bird rose and flew over several islands before it landed on a floating dwelling. Once there, Shail was tied down, and the hellish journey across the water began. The men unmercifully kicked and tormented Shail, forcing him to thrash wildly against his rope bonds. By the second light the wounds and fatigue had taken their toll. He could only softly hiss and tremble. The men stopped the abuse when they feared he would die before the taking of his wings.

Shail remembered how he had tried to will his own death, but he couldn’t focus on it. With darkness came the smell of land, and he knew his death wish would soon be answered. It was then he saw her in a dream. She stroked him and said he should hold on to this life.

Shail gazed at her in the dark room. It had been no dream. She had come for him. He mustered his strength and slid closer, placing his arm around her and covered the two of them with his extended, uninjured wing. She continued to sleep, but unconsciously snuggled against his chest. A peace settled over him, and the panic dissipated. He wouldn’t leave the cage without her.

*   *   *

Doc woke at daybreak. After only four hours of sleep, he was exhausted, but his anxiety over the harpy forced him from the comfortable bed. He dressed, wondering if the golden had survived the night. He walked through the familiar cottage and saw the empty couch. The Turner girl had already gone to the harpy. He carefully pushed open the bedroom door.

A soft morning light rested on her and her harpy. They slept with their arms encasing one another, and a large wing lay draped over their slender frames. The male’s boyish face rested against the lovely girl’s head, and their long flaxen hair mingled. Doc was captivated by the breathtaking pair and watched them for some time. They’re beautiful, but doomed, he sadly thought. The golden male was the most prized game animal in the galaxy. Even if he recovers, his life would be short, and the girl had no future with a harpy. The creature would only bring her misery. He questioned whether he had done the right thing by saving him, allowing the forbidden love.

The girl moved, and the harpy instinctively nuzzled her without waking. Even in sleep, they were affectionate. Better they sleep and enjoy some peace, Doc thought. He went to the kitchen and made breakfast.

After a few hours, Doc returned to the bedroom, knowing the male was overdue for an antibiotic patch. He had purposely given the harpy a mild painkiller, hoping the pain would force him to lie still and allow the surgery wound to heal. Walking past the sleeping pair, he noticed the harpy stir and sniff the air. Like all animals, the harpy’s scent and hearing were acute. His blue eyes opened, and he looked at Doc. A seething sound came from his parted lips, and he grasped the girl while a protective wing completely covered her. The harpy defiantly glared, and his low seething became a noisy hiss.

“Easy, boy. I’m not going to hurt you or her,” Doc said as the male become more rattled.

His feathers quivered with the pain and stress, but despite his injury and weakness, the harpy looked prepared to defend the girl.

“Easy now,” Doc said. “I just want to check your wound.” He moved his small medical scanner toward the harpy.

The harpy’s fist swiftly came out from the feathers and struck the scanner, sending it flying across the room. The harpy bared his teeth and snapped, moving his body over Kari. He angrily tossed his locks, and threatening hisses escaped through his teeth. He crouched into a leaping position as he glared at Doc.

“You’re a mean little cuss,” Doc grumbled, walking over and picking up his scanner.

Kari woke with the commotion and found herself under the harpy’s body. “You’re alive.”

“He’s alive, all right, and full of the devil,” Doc growled. “He keeps moving, he’ll damage all my surgerical work. Come away from him. I believe he’s trying to protect you.”

“Doc won’t hurt me, Shail,” Kari said, unclasping the harpy’s arms. When she moved off the bed, the harpy tilted his head, looking perplexed.

“Let’s try this again,” Doc said, approaching the bed. Instead of standing his ground, the harpy retreated, scurrying across the bed. He defensively coiled up and seethed. “This is impossible,” Doc said. “He’s too wild to be handled.”

Kari went to Shail and stroked the soft hair on the shivering harpy. “He’s very scared.” She cupped Shail’s chin. “Doc saved your life. You must let him treat you.” She looked up at Doc. “Do you think he understands me?”

“Obviously not,” Doc said and watched the harpy. Like a trapped animal looking for an escape, the harpy nervously seethed as his alert eyes shifted from the man to the screen window. Doc rubbed his beard. “If I force him into corner, he’ll fight me out of fear or he’ll make a dash for the window and smash the screen. But maybe he’ll fall for an old hunting trick. It supposedly can calm a frantic harpy.” He left the bedroom.

Kari sat on the edge of the bed and watched Shail. Despite his human features, he behaved like a feral animal. His wide terrified eyes hastily scanned the room while he shook and panted. None of her soothing words and touches would tame him. Every inch of him was tense and displayed an unwillingness to yield.

She took his hand. “Shail, you’re going to be all right.” He swallowed hard and gazed at her, his watery eyes showing distress.

Doc walked into the bedroom with a large butcher knife. “You want this?” He raised the blade over the harpy.

“What are you doing to him?” Kari screamed.

“Trust me,” Doc said.

The golden sniffed the knife and turned toward Kari with a look of profound longing. He glanced back at Doc and shivered, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Doc moved in, grabbed the harpy’s hair, and held his head back. The harpy shuddered, but didn’t resist.

“Pretty good trick,” Doc said, putting down the knife. “I always wondered if it really worked.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Doc frowned. “For such a harpy lover, you sure don’t know much about these creatures. Come around here and hold his hair. He’ll think I still got him. Keep his throat exposed, and I’ll make his exam quick.” Doc placed two patches under the harpy’s wings and scanned his wound. Removing the old bandage, he treated the injury with antibiotics and sprayed on a sealant bandage. “Watch what I’m doing. You may have to do this next time.”

After a few minutes, Doc had finished. He grabbed the harpy’s hair and motioned Kari away. “Good boy,” he said, releasing the hair and petting his head. The harpy opened his eyes and stared up in bewilderment. “Can’t blame him for being trouble. Those hunters gave him a rough time.”

The harpy slid across the bed and pulled in his limbs, covering his body with feathers.

Kari scratched her head. “Why did he let you treat him?”

“He expected me to cut his throat,” Doc said. “Hunters say that mortally wounded harpies perform this ritual, toss their head back and go dead still. Some men believe harpies just give up because they’re spineless, but your golden is no coward. He was fixing to jump me. Healthy, he’d be a hell of a handful.”

The harpy cocked his head at Doc.

“He’s a curious little fellow. Can’t figure out why I spared him.” Doc chuckled and stood. “I’m having another cup of coffee and watching the news. There’s a sedative patch on his back, and he’ll go down in about ten minutes, but you better stay with him. He was eyeing the window. He’s strong enough to break the screen and climb out. It’s amazing how fast he recovered.” Doc left for the kitchen.

Kari sat on the bed, but the harpy ignored her and watched the door.

“Not all men are bad, Shail.” She stroked his head and the harpy relaxed, uncoiling his body.

*   *   *

Shail realized the man wasn’t coming back, so he focused on the female. He reached up and caressed the side of her face, running his thumb over her moist lips. She didn’t reject his advance, so he leaned closer and kissed her mouth while gently forcing her to recline. Uncertain if he would survive the hunters or his wounds, he had no time for harpy courtship. He crawled on her, assuming the breeding position, and stimulated her with soft kisses and his manipulating hands.