BTW - The Hawk's Cry

Part I

The Hawk's Cry

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Blodwen Wonderland

“Kree-eee-arr”

A red-tailed hawk screamed his hatred of winter on the way down from the gray sky. It was expectedly cold on the eve of the Christmas Eve. The never-green forest was jeweled by a flurry of snow, the soul of wintertime. Ice crystals that were falling down on the big bird’s brown broad wings made the bird of prey desperate enough to release a fierce cry again. The high pitch angry voice chased mice and squirrels, or even snakes, away. The Bueto started to land when he saw a villa which his owner had directed him to. The good hunter pulled up on a bare branch of Oak tree near a stained-glass window, the one that wasn’t too snowy. And then, he knocked the glass with his hooked beak arrogantly.

Knock, knock, knock.

He shook his head and again,

Knock, knock, knock.
He was about to croak with anger when a woman in a black afternoon gown opened the window. Her blue eyes broadened. But the hawk didn’t wait for her to reach out to him first. He didn’t want to waste any minute in this frore garden without the company of the Sun. The wetness and chilliness made him squawk. He croaked and repeatedly pecked the golden thread used to tie a letter to his right leg, inviting her to take the rolled paper off.

“You don’t have to glare at me like that. I know it’s frozen out there.” The woman slowly seized the letter from the hawk’s leg. “Blame your owner for sending you here.”

Once the thread was torn from his strong claw, once the woman had the letter in her small hand, the red-tailed spreaded his large wings and took off into the stream of snowfall. He soared upwards to the sky so high where mere humans couldn’t reach. He never glanced back. He never glanced down. He screamed arrogantly and disappeared behind the clouds.

The woman closed the window then opened the letter in her hand. It was a beautiful handwritten letter. The paper was soaked through but the navy blue ink was still magically legible. ‘To the Witch,’ it said. The name of the sender was absent.

Among goods and gold,

Afar from the rabble and the cold,

Find me between the midnoon and the midnight,

On the eve of Eve,

where the Guiding star shall rise.

                                                    

                                                             Please.

Instead of a name, there was a begging. The last word seemed out of place, like it had been added just to throw in an awkward humility and it did a perfect job. Like the owner, like the bird, the message resembled the hawk’s cry. Even the word ‘please’ sounded like an order. But the woman didn’t mind.

The Witch didn’t mind.

She put on her hooded cape and water-proofed boots.

**********

Goods and gold referred to a marketplace. The letter didn’t specify the place in details, so, she guessed it meant to lead her to the big market at the town center where domestic and foreign merchants always assembled. According to her memory, there was an inn named North Pole at the market. The finest meaning of the Guiding star, it should be.

People were singing and celebrating. Sellers were, of course, selling but many of them had been drinking rum. The street was frozen but northern citizens and even outlanders didn’t seem to care. They were laughing white breathes. On the corner of the main street that led to the inn, there was seen a large carriage full of toys which belonged to a caravan. Its members were families. Half of them looked eastern. The other half were either tanned or white-skinned with black hair. Men were tending horses. Women were knitting and humming. A salt and pepper bearded man was performing a puppet show. She stopped to watch his performance until the meeting was almost due to take place. But she knew that the inn wasn’t that far away.

The dusk began to set in as she push the inn’s door open. The inn’s bar was crowded by drunk men, two whores and skinny boys in their teen. A waitress was very busy serving beverages. There were shouts, laughters and sneezes. The bar wasn’t warm. It was just acceptably warm since there was only one fireplace hidden at the deepest corner of the room. And there, he settled in, afar from the rabble and the cold, as the letter had said.

At the table besides the fireplace, which should be the warmest and the most peaceful space in this room, a small figured man, wearing fox fur coat and a pair of leather boots, was quietly sharing his stewed rabbit and biscuits with the red-tailed hawk. He ate biscuits, baby carrots and peas but gave the meat to the broad-winged. His pet noticed her right away as she walked closer towards him. The bird shifted alertly on the back of the chair, then, croaked guh-runk.

The hawk’s owner raised his head, and then he smiled with great delight. “Good evening, milady. You came at last.” The man quickly got on his feet and helped her to her seat.

“Why are you here?” The woman asked. She was still standing even though the man was offering her a seat.

“We can talk later, milady. Sit down, please.”

Again, the please sounded like an order. It was still a mystery who had given him the name ‘the humble cavalier.’ Has he ever been really humble at all? She had met him once when she had been to the South. When the Snow Queen had given birth to the Princess Luna, King of the South and Vermillion Queen had come to celebrate but he hadn’t. Instead of his presence, he had sent a poetry along with the other gifts.

She should have known that the sender of the letter was the generalissimo of the South’s sand, the poet who commanded.

His blond hair was tidy and his mustache was trimmed as she had ever seen but almost everything looked different. General Stanley was wearing western clothes, the very warm ones, instead of his native bisht and keffiyeh which were the southern high ranked noblemen’s formal attire. He finally seated himself opposite to her, then blew on his hands to warm them. The weather surely reminded him where he was. The North. Yet, despite his soft voice, his way of speaking was still all high-and-mighty as if he was in his own God blessed barracks where any soldiers crawled at his feet.

She sat down anyway, without taking off her winter cape. As soon as her skin was stroked by the gentle warmth, her pale skin regained the redness. The fire shone in her golden hair, as well as his.

“Why are you here, milord?” She asked for the second time, though, the curiosity somehow had vanished.

“Vacation break.” The man blew on his hands again and rubbed them. She knew that the South’s winter was mild and dry. Although southern people called the period ‘winter,’ it still wasn’t as cold as the North’s warmest season.

“And you chose to come to North to torture yourself.”

He chuckled. His laughter was also dry, like the South’s winter.

“Lady Ivanova. Can I get you something to drink? Or food perhaps?” He asked.

“That’s not necessary,” said Elena Ivanova, the lady-in-waiting to the Snow Queen. “I reckon you have a business with me.”

“I want to talk to you, indeed.” He waved to the waitress. “May I have a glass of ginger beer, please.”

“How can I serve you, milord?” Looking at the man feeding his bird of prey, Elena suddenly jumped to the point. “If it’s the same thing as the last time, you might have known that you need not come all the way here....”

“No, I don’t use it recently. But it sure did magnificent jobs.”

So he did really use the poison, several times on top of that.

Stanley fed the red-tailed another bite of tender rabbit meat. He thanked the waitress as she put down a glass of ginger beer garnished with a slice of lime in front of Elena. He watched her sipping the drink. Then, he said. “I came here to find a man. I think you could help.”

“I might not be useful to you.”

“I’ll pay plenty for his whereabouts.”

It meant that he wasn’t asking for a favor. And listening to his offer wouldn’t hurt. Elena nodded. “Whom do you want to find?”

“Santa Claus.”

Stanley cracked a smile after he had said the name.

Elena didn’t know how to response. Is it a joke? Is he serious? It would be rude to let him see that she didn't appreciate his humor. She waited for him to burst out a laughter or something but he just tipped his head to the right taking an eyeful of her confused expression. It wasn’t long until the light glowing in his eyes became irritating.

“That’s so funny, milord.” She uttered.

“I’m not joking.”

“But, you know, that Santa Claus isn’t real.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”

“Isn’t that enough to prove that the old man doesn’t exist?”

He bent forwards to rest his arms on the table. “I’m not a good boy, milady. So, Santa has never come to me.”

Is this man for real believing in Santa Claus?

Thinking he was playing her, Elena asked for the third time. “Why exactly did you come here, milord?” Though, on the second thought, she didn’t want to know. She wanted to leave.

“Vacation break. Everybody is going somewhere.” He repeated his answer.

“You had no one to mess with, so, you came here.”

He smiled briefly. “Didn’t I tell you that I came here to meet Santa Claus.”

“And I also told you that he isn’t real.”

The man seemed upset. He lowered his eyes to the table. “He hasn’t come to you, too, has he?”

What’s that supposed to mean?

Elena lifted her chin a bit. “I’m sorry that I cannot be a good use for you, milord.” She prepared to leave.

“But you like toys, don’t you?”

She stood up, straightened her shoulders. “Who said I like toys?”

“I’d been watching you enjoying the puppet show.”

Hot blood flushed across her cheeks. “Did you spy on me?”

“I just found you there.”

Good Lord. He found me there and he pretended to be surprised when I arrived.

“I’m leaving first.” She stepped out of the chair. “Good day, milord.”

“Let me send you back.”

“Don’t bother.” She waved him off.

“Hey! Are you getting dumped, kid?” One of the drunkards yelled across the room.

Surely they had been the center of attention since Elena came in. It wasn’t because her appearance, or his, as she wasn’t wearing garments of the finest silk or anything luxury. It was because of him acting like a gentleman helping her to her seat which was rare in this kind of place.

More than embarrassment, Elena was worried about the kid part. But the South’s commander in chief didn’t seem to take it seriously. He said to the drunk men, “Yes, sir. She just broke my heart.”

“Shall I comfort you tonight.” One of the whores shouted out loud, then everybody in the group and the commander laughed.

Elena had enough. She fastened her steps across the floor to the front door. Stanley and his hawk willfully followed to see her off. They went out of the bar. He closed the door behind him to get rid of the curious eyes of noisy drunkards. He said that he wanted to send her back by himself but she declined.

“Good bye, milord.” Standoffishly, she made him a beautiful curtsy.

“Good bye, milady. I wish we could meet again.”

As she started to step down to the street, he reached out his hand.

“I’m truly sorry if I anyhow disconcert you.”

Elena cracked a cold smile and walked away.

He might be sorry for his little game. But his words never sounded sincere.

******

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