The Shining Falcon

Chapter XXX The Falcon

Ljuba sprang to her feet, frantic and confused. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but her magic-weary body had betrayed her. God, how long had she been unconscious, while who knew what had been happening in Stargorod? The potion— No, only a gummy residue was left, nothing that could be frozen into a mirror. Ljuba began a frantic search, hurling aside clothing, jewelry, everything, hunting for anything with a reflective surface, anything that would let her know about Finist. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was—

Ah! She straightened, holding an elegant brooch set with a clear crystal, a small thing but perhaps large enough… Someone was beating at her barred door, Ljuba was dimly aware of that—evidently she'd been asleep long enough to worry people—but right now the mirror-spell was more important than setting some fool's mind at ease.

Finist was no longer in Stargorod; that much she knew right away. Then, where… ? For a desperate time, Ljuba couldn't find a trace of him, not the slightest hint of his aura, for a desperate time she had to fight down her growing fear lest she lose the scanning image altogether.

«Finist, where are you? Where are you?»

Wait… There was something… not so much seen as felt: a wild, confused tangle of pain and bewilderment and sheer, mindless terror, a bird's emotions—

No. Not quite a bird. Not quite human, either. Ljuba moaned in horror, but just then—

«Lady.» Semyon was in the chamber with her. They must have forced open the door; lost in the concentration-trance, she hadn't heard a thing. Ljuba supposed she should feel something of gratitude that they'd thought to worry about her, but right now she didn't have time for this nonsense, and—oh, curse them! Curse them all! She'd lost her hold on the image of the frantic, pain-wracked falcon!

Just at that moment, an enraged Semyon, seeing only that she'd dared disobey a royal command, snatched the brooch from her hand. Without thinking, Ljuba whirled and slapped him hard across the face.

«You old fool! I had him—get out of my way!»

He stood rigidly, blocking her. «I've told you, lady. The prince ordered — "

«The prince, yes, that's what this is all about! Finist needs me! No, curse you, I'm not being hysterical! He's been hurt, hurt by iron, he's lost in falcon-form, and I doubt he'll have the strength to make it all the way back to the royal palace! Semyon, if I don't reach him quickly and bring him back to himself, Prince Finist may be lost forever! Now, get out of my way!»

There was pain with every wing-beat, pain with every breath… The falcon no longer had a memory of a time without pain, but to fail now would be to die; dimly it knew that, and struggled on. A great object was beginning to loom on the horizon. A mountain? The bird‑mind could understand it only as some sort of strangely hued mountain. But something seemed to whisper, city, though the concept had no meaning to the falcon; Kirtesk; and then, Home.

Home. The falcon quickened its wing beats, hunting for whatever air currents might carry it more swiftly, no longer soaring over forest, but over open space, the fields that surrounded Home. But now the fickle currents were failing it, now the falcon's strength was failing, too. Struggling against the suddenly heavy air, it made one last valiant attempt to remain in flight. Then, with a sharp, despairing cry, it began to fall, spiralling helplessly down and down, at the last possible moment managing to use its aching wings to brake its fall as it landed amid tall grass in a crumpled heap of feathers, and lay still.

«Finist. Finist, hear me.»

The falcon stirred as something touched it. Frightened, it weakly tried to bite, to claw, but the something was holding it fast, the something was making odd sounds, over and over…

«Finist. Yes, look at me, look at me. You are Finist. Remember, you are Finist.»

Finist. Something stirred in the avian mind. Finist. Once, it seemed, it might have borne a different form… Finist. Once, it might have had a different self… Once, it had been more than bird, much more, once it had been—

«Finist.»

The falcon-shape blurred and was gone. Human once more, the prince lay where he'd fallen, naked and torn, too sick with shock and pain and weariness to move, wondering feverishly where he was, how he'd gotten here, remembering almost nothing of that nightmarish flight. Someone was gently slipping a caftan about him, but the touch of even that soft silk against the ugly gashes across his chest and upper arms made him gasp in pain and look up. Through the reddish haze of rising fever, he saw Ljuba, and some ingrained sense of wariness wanted him to pull away. But he was past the point of escape.

«Cousin.» His voice was a dry, anguished gasp. «Help…»

«Oh, I shall, Finist. Believe me, I shall.»

She smiled at him. And the sight of that smile, sly, cruel, and possessive, was the last thing Finist saw before darkness took him.