Two Sparrows

The groundling harpy walked slowly through the giant Kanaria Forest, her face downcast as she belabored the walk back to her roost. The golden sun shone through the foliage above her, making the ground green and cheery in a way that mocked her misery. Her clawed feet compressed the soft grass beneath her as she glided through the woods, sliding around trunks as she neared her village. Ahead, she heard two of her kind deeply engaged in conversation, and she stopped at the edge of the clearing, glad for any excuse to delay. The words slowly wafted towards her, and she recognized two of her neighbors, Hane and Ashi.

“Did you hear Shira is to clutch today?” Hane’s feathery voice drifted across the wind.

“If she does, the Tamago will come,” Ashi replied, her voice harsh and grating against Shira’s ears. Shira shivered at the words, but huddled against the tree and listened closer. “And with her mate killed in the border war, she will be hard pressed to endure them.”

“Do not be unkind,” Hane scolded Ashi. “It is her first clutch. She has not had eggs purged before.”

“Bah!” Ashi spat. “It is the custom. She is not a child, Hane. She should be prepared to sacrifice for the greater good.”

“But Ashi,” Hane said softly, “Shira is still so young. She is a child mother.”

“Then she will learn what it means to be an aged mother,” Ashi said harshly. Shira felt her eyes pool with tears and started to push away, but Ashi wasn’t done. “She only shows how childish she is by her selfishness! Does she not realize that too many eggs would overcrowd the forest? We are packed too tightly already! We don’t need more mouths to feed. We need more forest.”

“It is true, Ashi,” Hane said.

“Of course it is true,” the other snapped. “The Tamago have decreed it. And they are higher than we.”

“They are higher than we,” Hane echoed the ancient maxim.

“Let the Flighted rule as they see fit, for they see more than we,” Ashi said, leaving no room for debate. “And why do you protest now, Hane? You gave no complaint when they came for your first clutch.”

“I was too young and scared to even raise my head,” Hane replied with a soft, embarrassed laugh. “They came, they purged, and they left. Who was I, who was but barely of age to clutch, to protest Flighted harpies, that are much stronger than we and only serve to protect?”

“And yet you question them now,” Ashi said accusingly.

“No, I only think that Shira is struggling with the same emotions I did when I was her age,” Hane said.

“And yet you defend her! She has shown by her actions her utter disregard for the Tamago. She dishonors her people. She disgraces her clan,” Ashi snapped. “Even now she is probably running away from her fate, clutching her damned eggs in secret. Cowardice!” Ashi spat again on the ground. Shira felt the tears trickle down her face, flowing unimpeded over her tribal markings. She tentatively reached up and brushed the tears away, her fingers resting on the left side of her face, over her mother’s markings. Did she go through this when she clutched, Shira wondered. The harpy forced herself off the bark and walked out into the clearing.

“The disgrace she’ll bring on her family…” Ashi’s words died away when she saw the pale harpy with a paler face standing like a ghost in the field. Shira felt Ashi’s dark, piercing eyes boring into her, accusing her of cowardly thoughts not acted upon but seriously entertained. Disgrace by any definition. Shira averted her eyes from the black-marked harpy, unable to endure the raven-winged female’s cutting glare.

“Hail, Shira,” Hane called in the standard greeting, her golden wings fluttering as she walked over to Shira. “May your clutch be strong.”
“And may your line last long,” Shira replied, barely whispering out the last few words before her throat constricted.

“When are you to clutch?” Hane asked, gently lifting Shira’s chin and brushing Shira’s muddy hair out of her face and back onto the base of her sparrow wings.

“This evening,” Shira said quietly, her vision blurring from the fresh tears springing up.

“Shh, don’t cry, Shira,” Hane said, gently brushing the tears away. After cleaning off the tears, Hane brushed her fingers on Shira’s cheek and said, “You come from good lines, Shira. Your mother would be proud.” She traced the brown design with her finger, rubbing Shira’s cheek softly with her thumb as she cupped Shira’s face comfortingly. “You will bear a strong clutch.”

Shira barely nodded but managed to force a tight-lipped smile.

“Bah! You are too soft on her, Hane,” Ashi said, walking back towards the groundling huts that sat near the center of the clearing. As she walked away, she called back over her shoulder, “Do you think the Tamago will be so gentle with her?” Shira’s throat clamped shut, and she fought the spike of panic that pierced her chest.

“It will be all right. Do not listen to her,” Hane said, her voice a soft murmur. Concerned, she looked into Shira’s eyes and said, “Are you all right?” Shira nodded her head, her face twisting into a pained frown as more tears slid down her cheek. “You should go home and rest. You will need it.” Hane gently withdrew her hand and led Shira back to the gathering of huts, directing Shira’s footsteps until they arrived at Shira’s house. “Will you be okay?” Hane asked as she watched the little sparrow-winged harpy walk into the hut.

“Yes,” Shira managed to whisper as she turned to face Hane.

The older harpy nodded and said, “You will do fine, Shira. May your clutch be strong.” Shira didn’t have the will to say the final line, and Hane left quietly. When she was gone, Shira collapsed onto her mat and dissolved into tears.

The pain was just too great for her to bear. Shira felt her chest contract, like it felt when she flew too high, only more intense. These weren’t clutch pains. Shira knew from what Hane had told her yesterday that those would be lower. No, this was grief, grief that threatened to kill her too young. Yet that was what was going to happen to her clutch…all of them, save the one the Tamago chose to save, would be taken from her, killed before their time. Why? The thought brought fresh tears and less breath, squeezing her rib cage and suffocating her. She curled into a ball, cocooning herself beneath her speckled brown wings as she buried her face in her taloned hands and mottled feathers.

Shira sobbed beneath her feathery canopy until she was gasping for breath and no more tears would come. She rolled onto her side, jerking as the sobs racked her body. Peering through her feathers, she looked through the open window of her hut and saw the sun arcing down towards the horizon, shifting the sky from blue to orange. Several clouds dotted the sky, and were already starting to turn pink, mocking the darkness of the day with their beauty. The sunlight crept through the window, toying with her feather tips, and she jerked once more from another sob that refused to come out of her body. So much pain. Her limbs and sides were shaking in agony, both from the physical and mental pain. If it weren’t for her unhatched clutch, she might have given in to the darkness, given up and let herself drift away. So much pain, and she hadn’t even clutched yet. She shuddered a few more times, each less violent than the previous shake, and curled up and tried to rest, hugging her knees to her chest beneath her wings.

She must have dozed, for when her eyes snapped open it was dark out, and for just a brief moment she wondered what had woken her. Then the pangs shot through her legs again, jolting her awake. She sat up hurriedly, and then swooned as she felt both light-headed and the agony fracturing her abdomen and legs muscles. She collapsed awkwardly onto her back with a squawk, and struggled to roll over onto her stomach. The rocking moment only aggravated the spiking pain she had, and then she realized what it was. The clutch was coming. Hane’s advice flashed through her mind, that she breathe slowly and focus, yet the pain was so great. She tried to will her breathing to slow, and then cried out as her muscles coiled painfully, a hundred times worse than any flight cramp. She gasped for breath, and then another spasm sucked all the air out of her lungs. Between another wave of shooting pain she managed a warbled scream before all of her willpower succumbed to that one desire to breathe.

Somewhere during the screams and groans she heard rustling feathers flutter into her hut, and soft hands coming to help steady her. A hand brushed against hers, and she latched onto it, squeezing tightly at another spasm shook her. Torchlight flickered on the ceiling as the harpies brought in more light for the clutching. Shira watched the dancing shadows through squinted eyes. A new, harsher pain streaked through her whole body, and Shira screamed a raw, throaty scream as the pain coursed through her. Another shaft of excruciating pain, and then she laid her first egg.

She fought through the entire ordeal, her mind briefly and vaguely raising the fact that Shira might have to endure this three more times. As her eyes roamed the ceiling above her undirected, Shira squeezed the hand she held more tightly, and then the spasms squeezed her. Two more times she was crushed beneath that awful pain, and then it was over, her body heaving from the ordeal. She could hear the other harpies cooing to each other over which eggs they thought were the strongest, which would be selected by the Tamago for hatching. Hane’s face appeared over Shira, and the older harpy’s bronze and golden markings flickered strangely in the dimmed light.

“You clutched three eggs,” she told Shira. The new mother’s face contorted in pain, not from the clutching but from grief. Three eggs, she thought, and two of her clutch would never live to see the light of day. Shira struggled to sit up, but Hane gently put her hand on Shira’s shoulder, encouraging her to lie down. “Rest, Shira, mother of three,” Hane said to Shira’s tears. “May your clutch be strong.”

Shira lay back and let the fresh tears come. Hane’s words, though kindly intended, sent new pain coursing through her body, igniting the futile desire to save her brood. The thought only intensified her grief at her helplessness. She bore no rank, nothing that dignified her or her family. To the Flighted, she was just a faceless face amidst so many, indistinguishable from those that had clutched her and those she would clutch. Shira lay silently beneath her tears, listening to the working harpies as they dried and swaddled the clutched eggs. Then a hush fell on the room, and Shira felt all the heat from clutching dissipate from her body, drained by the cold vortex that had overtaken the room. Shira sat up, suddenly chilled, and saw the large harpies standing in the doorway, their torches casting dark shadows across their faces and ringing their eyes.

The nearest harpies stepped back for the group of four Tamago that entered. The lead harpy surveyed the small cluster of harpies in Shira’s hut with a cutting eye. Shira followed his gaze, and noticed for the first time just how many females had come to her clutching-five total, including Hane, who’d moved to help with the eggs. Shira felt suddenly alone beneath those piercing eyes as the Flighted glanced over her. His face was flat, immobile stone etched with the black markings of Ashi’s tribe. The other three Tamago entered and walked straight for the eggs, each taking an egg and inspecting it before swapping with another Tamago. The Flighted harpies were swift and efficient in their assessment, and one brown-speckled egg was finally brought to their leader. The black-marked harpy broke off his stare at Shira and took the egg, weighing it in his hands, rolling it over and inspecting for any cracks or defects. The egg was a tannish white resting on browned, calloused hands, before it was passed back to the giver. The other Tamago handed their eggs to the leader, who gave those the same critical eye as the first egg. His assessment done, he handed the last egg back and stared at the three eggs, cradled softly in calloused hands, as if considering the different options. He then took the left and center eggs from his subordinates and held them up in the crackling torchlight, then with a quick flick of his wrist tapped them together.

One eggshell cracked slightly, and in disgust the Tamago leader smashed it on the ground, spilling fluid and the underdeveloped chick all over the ground. Shira felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight of her unhatched child lying in its incubating fluids on the dirt. It had short, stubby limbs and knobby wing stumps, with matted, sticky gray feathers on its undeveloped wings and legs. Its face was curved, and its jaw slanted to a point, designating it as a female. Her soft, delicate features pierced Shira’s heart, begging for a mother’s love she would never get. And then Shira’s heart shattered as the little girl’s mouth gaped open, gasping in the strange, hostile air, her back arching and her arms curling inward onto her chest. The chick writhed once on the ground, then succumbed to the harsh environment and lack of development. She lay still, gone.

The lead Tamago took the last egg in his empty, calloused hand, ignoring the dead harpy chick. He held the two remaining eggs above eye level and chinked them together. The first egg cracked as the second had, and the Tamago threw that on the ground, splattering its content everywhere. Shira jerked back as some of the fluid splashed onto her face, and amidst tears she brushed it off and held her curled fingertips in front of her, then pressed her fingers to her lips, kissing her dead child goodbye.

His duty done, the Tamago handed the surviving egg to the nearest harpy and turned and walked out of the hut. Shira watched her second chick writhe on the ground and die, this one a son, as the calloused Tamago left. The last of the four stopped to squish both dead chicks, sinking his claws into their bodies. With each twist of his scaled foot, Shira felt her heart rent into tatters. His job done, he stooped and picked them up, carrying the dead hatchlings out with him.

Shira felt numb as Hane brought the surviving egg to her. Hane kneeled beside Shira and wordlessly handed Shira the reswaddled egg, and then gave the other harpies a look that said it was time for them to leave. The harpies filed out quietly, and Hane, with a final pat on Shira’s shoulder and a whispered word of encouragement, left as well. Shira clutched the surviving egg to her chest, and let the last of her tears stain the top of the egg. It was well after the moon had reached its zenith and all the torches had extinguished themselves that Shira finally lay down, the egg clutched to her bosom, and slept.

The next day she awoke not at all refreshed, her arms coated in a blend of sweat and dew. She was chilled, and shivering. The egg sat still in its wrapping, clutched between her arms, warmed by her body heat. She sat up tentatively, brushing her hair out of her face, and lifted the egg into her arms, cradling it as she felt warmth seep back and forth between herself and her unhatched child. A brown object by her doorway attracted her attention, and she recognized the carrying pouch most of the harpy mothers wore to carry their eggs with them when they traveled. Shira’s eyes watered and she looked away. That device represented comfort and ease, the two things furthest from her mind. The Tamago had crushed two of her children without a second thought, and then had the gall to suggest she live a more convenient lifestyle. She gently walked across the dirt floor on her knees and curled up against the wall, her nose in the corner of the floor between dirt and wall, her egg clutched tightly between herself and her house.

How long she lay there, she didn’t know, but she didn’t care. She let her heart beat against the eggshell, felt the smooth surface with the sporadic little dimples against her skin. The grief from her loss was still strong, still too raw a wound to touch, but her mother’s instinct was kicking in, firmly cementing the wall between herself and her darkness. The loss of her chicks hurt worse than her molting, worse still than that first failed attempt at flight from the aerie. Nothing had ever hurt her so much. But now, with those eggs gone, she had just one, one final chick to bestow all her affections and protection on.

The Tamago didn’t understand what it was like to be a mother. Of the few females in the Tamago, none were mothers, and what would the males care of motherhood? Shira felt a tear streak down her face. She was just a common sparrow harpy, a groundling that spent most of her time on the earth. She was insignificant. Her mate had held no true power before he died. Even if he had, she still would have lost her eggs to the Tamago. Carefully she cupped her hands around the egg and rubbed her hands across the smooth surface, washing it with the swaddling rags and her tears. Her final egg. Her only egg. It was as common as its mother, and so fragile. What would the Tamago care if it grew up without siblings? The chick would hatch, it would grow, and it would be as insignificant as Shira. She cried softly at the thought, cleansing the eggshell with her pain. At least some good had come of her pain, as insignificant as it was. She lay there until the evening, when Hane came with a ration of dried jerky for the new mother. Shira managed to force herself up off the floor when she heard the older harpy approach, and gently clutched the egg between crossed legs as she took the meat from Hane.

The golden winged harpy let go of the strand of jerky with a long look at Shira’s puffy face. “Are you all right, Shira?”

Shira sank her teeth into the strip of meat, tearing off a chunk and chewing ravenously. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she smelled the meat, and eating gave her an excuse not to reply. Keeping her face down and her eyes away from Hane, she took another bite and focused on the ground at Hane’s feet.

“Shira, you know you can come to me for anything,” Hane said gently, her voice soft and comforting. “How are you coping?”

Shira choked on the meat, and looked up at Hane, her eyes misting immediately. Hane smiled empathetically. “I…” Shira stammered through her food, her throat choking off her words. Her lips puckered, and tears followed the dry, sticky trails lining her cheeks.

“Shh,” Hane whispered comfortingly, her soft eyes meeting Shira’s as she leaned down and let the young mother collapse into her arms. Hane held Shira as she cried, letting her sob against her shoulder. Carefully Hane twisted to sit beside Shira, and patted the younger harpy’s back lovingly as Shira sobbed.

“Why?” Shira sobbed, her voice muffled and broken. “Why did they have to kill my children?”

“There are too many harpies already, Shira,” Hane said quietly, trying not to pain the distraught mother further. “The Tamago serve the Flighted. They are wise.” Hane waited patiently for the standard response. Finally Shira’s sobs became small, halting jerks, and she pushed herself off of Hane.

“But they do not have our best interest at heart, Hane,” Shira said, denying the ritual. “They killed my children!”

“They left you the chosen one to raise, an honorable service to our kind, Shira,” the older harpy said.

“But if one chick is honorable, wouldn’t three be even more honorable, Hane?” Shira asked, her eyes pinched in pain. She grabbed Hane’s forearms for support. “How could they kill my children?”

“They know best, Shira,” Hane said, her eyes full of compassion for the grieving mother. “They fly above us, watching our forest, guarding our home from threats, both external and internal.”
“How could two chicks ever be a threat?” Shira shrieked, interrupting Hane.

The older harpy waited until Shira had calmed before replying. “They guard against selfishness. They watch our kind’s numbers. If there were too many harpies, then food would be scarce, and we would be starving and suffering. Which is better? Your children to live and die slowly at an older age, while you watch, unable to feed them when they cry for food? Or for them to die honorable deaths, in service to their kind?”

“But why must they die, Hane?” Shira cried pitifully. She released Hane’s arms and softly picked up her egg, clutching it to her chest. “I should have grown old, watching them grow and mature, bearing clutches of their own. I would pass before they did.”

“They could have died before their time, Shira, and you could outlive them,” Hane said carefully. “Disease could have smitten them, or foreign swords, and then they would have followed the honorable path of their father.”

“Like their father,” Shira echoed, turning her eyes away. She sniffed from another sob and looked back at Hane. “If harpies are dying, why must my children be killed? Why, Hane?”

“The Tamago know best, Shira,” Hane said. “Their reasons are their own. It is our duty to respect and honor them.”

The young harpy looked away, her face hard. “Thank you for your gracious gift of food, elder. May your flight be long.”

Hane watched Shira for a moment before standing and leaving. As she stood in the doorway, she turned back and said, “And may your nest be free of Samui.” Then Hane left Shira in peace. Shira picked up the last of the meat and devoured it, then curled up around her egg and slept.

The next few days passed, the daylight hours blurring together, and the nights no more memorable. Hane brought Shira food when she needed it, and took the harness away when Shira made it clear it would not be used. Three days passed, then four, five, six, until the seventh day since her clutching arrived, and with it the hope of new life. Shira clutched the egg tightly to her chest in the morning light, fearing that some outside force would come to take this egg, her last, away from her and slay it as well. A few curious faces had peered through her doorway, but Shira had scattered them, hissing fiercely and flaring her wings. Shira thought that her warning had spread, for as the day progressed toward afternoon no spectators had appeared. She kept her egg wrapped in its clothe and clutched it firmly against her, holding it and warming it while she waited for her egg to hatch.

And then, as the sun went down, the egg started to shake, and muffled chirps crept out of the shell. Shira quickly and carefully unwrapped the cloth, then sat cross-legged around the egg, letting it rock gently back and forth as the chick inside battered against its cage. The egg would wobble, then settle back into an upright position, and then jerk again as the chick pecked the inside of the shell, chirping at its restraint. With a cry and a jerk, the first crack appeared, and Shira sucked in her breath, eagerly watching her chick, her last chick, fight for its freedom. How long she watched, she didn’t care. Many times the egg rocked, and sounded as if more had broken, but no new lines appeared. Then the egg began making a new noise, a scraping sound, as the chick scratched at the shell’s insides. Another jerk, and the shell spider webbed around the first break. The chick struck once more with a loud squawk, and bits flaked away, creating an opening. The tiny, delicate mouth poked around the edges, biting and snapping off flakes to enlarge the opening, Shira watched in rapt silence as her little chick broke an opening in its cell’s walls, then finally pushed and kicked its way out, falling awkwardly into Shira’s waiting hands. The chick’s long, delicate hair was matted to its head from being inside the egg, and its feathers were in no better condition. Small, dark, childish eyes blinked up at Shira out of a delicate, graceful, feminine face, and stubby wings jerked uncertainly as the chick fought for stability. Shira gently cupped her hands around her chick and clutched her to her chest, rubbing down her daughter’s shivering body with the swaddling cloth.

“My daughter,” Shira whispered softly, tears of joy running down her face. “My beautiful daughter.” The young mother softly preened the chick’s wet hair, then smothered her in kisses. The chick squawked and squirmed in protest, then chirruped hungrily. The chirps became fiercer until Shira nestled her chick into position and began feeding her. The chick rooted for a few seconds before latching. Shira lovingly watched her chick feed, and said, “You are my hope and my joy, my Kibo.” The chick nestled closer, wriggling as if in satisfaction at her new name. Shira smiled and brushed Kibo’s cheek, gently stroking her smooth face until Kibo finished eating. When her daughter finished eating, Shira swaddled her in the warming rags, and gently rocked Kibo to sleep.

She held her sleeping daughter in her arms, carefully getting up and moving over next to the wall. After sitting back down, Shira leaned back against the wall and watched her sleeping chick rise and fall with Shira’s breathing. Kibo’s tiny nostrils flared open, then relaxed, her soft, warm baby breath slipping in and out. Her small eyelids were slightly wrinkled, a residue of her hatching. Shira sat and watched her sleeping infant rest through limbs gone numb from poor circulation, and a back stiff from not changing position during the hours Kibo slept. Late into the afternoon Kibo finally woke up, chirping hungrily. Shira began feeding her as Hane came in, bringing Shira’s ration of food. When she saw the chick, she gasped and almost dropped the food.

“Oh! It hatched,” Hane exclaimed, her eyes warm and congratulatory. “What is its name?”

“Her name is Kibo,” Shira said, smiling fondly at her chick.

“Hope. A fitting name for her,” Hane said as she brought the food over and set in by Shira. “Are you hungry, Shira?”

The young mother glanced up, her eyes startled. “Kibo must feed first.”

“Yes, but her mother must eat as well,” Hane reprimanded. “You must not neglect your chick by neglecting yourself.”

“I can eat when she has fed!” Shira snapped angrily, her head feathers bristling. Hane held up the food placatingly.

“Shira, I know you love your chick. But you must keep your strength up if you are to care for your chick.” The feathers relaxed, and Shira nodded submissively to the older harpy. Hane patted Shira’s shoulder and sat down next to her. “When she is finished, you will eat.”

“Yes, Hane,” Shira said, smiling briefly before looking back at her chick. Her voice was filled with admiration as she said, “She’s so delicate, Hane. So fragile, like one of the flowers I find in the forest.”

“May her beauty last longer than such blossoms,” Hane said, pressing two fingers against her lips and placing them on Kibo’s forehead in blessing. Kibo wriggled beneath the fingers but did not release her latch. Shira laughed and clutched her chick a little tighter. A few minutes Kibo finally finished feeding and unlatched, opening her bright, dark eyes to look around.

“She is so precious,” Shira whispered, kissing her chick’s matted head.

“As is her mother, who needs to eat,” Hane said, holding up the food once more.

“But I can’t set her down!” Shira cried, clutching her chick tightly and backing away from the food.

“Shira, you have two hands,” Hane said softly, and Shira looked down at her chick with concern.

“But I want to support her,” Shira said. “Won’t she be uncomfortable if I hold her with one?”

“Not if you hold her correctly,” Hane replied, setting the food down and scooting beside Shira. “You set her head in the crook of your elbow, and you place your hand here, then let go. Carefully.” Hane helped guide the young mother’s uncertain hands into the proper position, then when Shira’s hand was free Hane picked up a strip of meat and handed it to her. “Now you eat.” Shira took the meat and began to nibble on it, then took larger bites after tasting the meat. She chewed hungrily, but kept her eyes on Kibo.

Hane laughed at the young mother’s antics and said, “She is not going to vanish out of your arms, Shira.” The younger harpy glared at Hane before returning to her affectionate stare, distractedly biting off a chunk of meat with the side of her mouth. Kibo’s dark eyes met those of her mother’s, two pairs of bright, glistening eyes locked in love. The little chick cooed softly and wriggled her little arms beneath the wrappings as her mother finished off the last of the meat. Hane listened to her grunts for a moment, and looked down at Kibo thoughtfully.

“Has she fletched yet today?” the elder harpy asked.

“No,” Shira replied through a mouthful of food. “Where are the clean wrappings?”
“I’ll get them,” Hane said, pushing herself up off the floor. She walked over to the small mat which held the clean swaddling clothes. As the older harpy bent over to pick one up out of the pile, Kibo gave a great grunt, and a trickle of white fluids soiled the wrappings.

“How did you know?” Shira asked as she began peeling the wrappings off Kibo.

“A mother’s ear,” Hane replied, taking the dirty cloth and handing Shira the clean one. “You’ll learn to recognize those grunts as Kibo gets older.”

“I hope so,” Shira said. Kibo shivered from the cool breeze on her exposed skin, and Shira hurried to finish swaddling her chick. Back in her swaddled cocoon, Kibo chirruped happily and nestled against Shira, who had once again clutched her daughter to her chest. Hane smiled at the pair, then gasped as she looked out the window.

“Shira, look,” she said, pointing.

“What?” Shira said, glancing that direction. The window framed a gorgeous sunset, the sky golden and orange from the setting star. The star itself had turned blood red, and cast a hazy aura of red around itself as it slowly sank lower into the horizon. Very few clouds floated in the sky, as if the heat of the sun had boiled them all away. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is. And it means I’d best be going,” Hane said, patting Shira lovingly. “Ashi will be by tomorrow to bring your food.”

“You’ll come with too, right?” Shira asked uneasily.

“I will,” Hane promised, and looked down at Kibo. The little chick’s eyes searched Hane’s face inquisitively, and Hane smiled as she gently tapped Kibo’s nose. “You behave, young one, and grow to be a strong, beautiful harpy, just like your mother. Goodbye, Shira.”
“Goodbye, Hane.”

Shira clutched Kibo to her chest, warding against the chill of the night. The light of the sun slowly faded away to darkness, and Shira finally slept, her back against the wall and her chick huddled in her arms.

The air was frigid when Shira woke, and the blackness of the night was an inky oil that blinded Shira. Her eyes squinted painfully, both from the darkness and from the lack of sleep. Kibo wriggled in her arms and squawked loudly, rooting around for food. Shira repositioned her and her chick latched on, sucking hungrily. Kibo’s little fist flailed around as she settled down, and Shira held it gently. Kibo’s hand felt cold to the touch, and Shira wrapped her arms protectively around her chick. Kibo finished feeding and began to cry, hiccupping intermittently. Patting Kibo’s back and rocking her, Shira tried to soothe her troubled chick. She held Kibo close to her face, rubbing cheeks with her daughter and smothering her in kisses. Kibo’s cheeks felt clammy, and Shira slowly shifted and got up, carrying her daughter over to the pile of swaddling cloth. Fearing Kibo might have Samui, She wrapped Kibo in another piece of cloth to help keep her warm. Then she went over to the torch rack at the back of her hut, which held four torches. Carefully Shira balanced on one leg, gripping the striker cord between the talons on her feet. The torch cap fizzled with sparks when Shira yanked the twine off, and after a brief contest with the wind the torch flared to life, illuminating the small room. Shira held Kibo by the small torch, trying to dispel the chill of the night. Kibo began to tremble slightly, and Shira clutched her daughter a little tighter.

Shira spent the hours until dawn holding Kibo close and watching the shadows cast by the torchlight flicker across Kibo’s face. The little chick’s hair became matted again from a cold sweat, and her skin felt clammy to the touch. As the sun crested the eastern horizon, Shira felt a chill settle over her, a cold void that leeched her life away. If Kibo had caught Samui, she wouldn’t live to see tomorrow dawn. Panic spiked through Shira’s chest, sending cold shafts through her limbs. She shivered, and clutched Kibo tighter. She wouldn’t let her little chick die, no, she couldn’t.

“I will protect you,” Shira whispered softly, kissing Kibo’s forehead. Kibo’s skin felt chilled, although damp with sweat. Shira sat beneath the torch rack, listening to the hiss of the torch as it died out, its flame vanishing as the morning sunlight crept into the room. The spent torch spit off a puff of smoke that rose towards the ceiling, then dissipated quietly into the chilly air.

A knock sounded on the doorframe, and Ashi entered, carrying a small pouch with Shira’s food ration. The dark raven wings filled the doorway and seemed to cast a dark shadow over the mother and her chick, but to Shira even Ashi’s cold, black-marked face was a welcome sight. Surely the older harpy would know what to do.

“Ashi, I think…I,” Shira choked on the words, and tears sprang into her eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Speak clearly, Shira,” Ashi said harshly, scolding her. Ashi walked over rather stiffly and hovered over the pair.

Shira swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “I think Kibo might have Samui.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she looked down at her daughter, clutching Kibo tightly to her chest. Tears trickled down her face and coalesced on her nose, dropping off to splash on the swaddling rags.

“She isn’t dead yet, Shira,” Ashi snapped, setting the food down and reaching for the chick. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly Shira sat up, gently handing Kibo to Ashi. When Shira’s hands brushed against Ashi’s cold hands, the young mother involuntarily shivered. Ashi’s cold hands worked methodically, unwrapping the cloth and examining first Kibo’s face, then her arms, legs, and wings. Her eyes held no warmth or emotion save the same cold efficiency which she applied to her hands. She felt beneath Kibo’s chin, holding a finger behind Kibo’s infant jawbone, and watched the chick with cold intensity. After a few seconds of watching, Ashi removed her finger and began rewrapping Kibo.

“The signs are all there,” Ashi said bluntly. “Of course you could always have the Tamago

onfirm the cold hatch, but what good would that do?” Ashi’s words were penetrating death knells in Shira’s chest. She felt the pain again, that same, inky darkness she’d felt before her clutching, and for a moment her vision went black. When it returned, Ashi’s face was still flat and she still held Kibo. Shira grasped for her chick, and tightly clutched her to her chest.

“No!” she shrieked, tears blinding her. She hugged Kibo tightly, despite the squawks and protests of the chick. Kibo’s forehead brushed up against Shira’s neck, and fresh pain lanced through her chest when she felt how cold and clammy it was.

“Please, there must be something,” Shira gasped between the sobs.

“There are no herbs for Samui, Shira,” Ashi said, her voice cold and unsympathetic. “There is no cure.”

“There must be!” Shira said, collapsing on her seat as she clutched Kibo tighter.

Ashi shook her dark head. “There is no cure.” She turned and walked out of the hut, leaving the young mother quivering in agony on the floor. As she passed through the doorway Ashi said, “I will get Hane.”

Shira was to numb to reply. When Ashi left, sunlight flooded through the doorway, but it was an empty sunlight. It held no warmth, and it didn’t brighten the room at all. Shira held Kibo upright, the chick’s head on her mother’s shoulder, and let her cheek rest against her daughter’s face. Soon the tears had wetted Kibo more than the cold sweat, but Shira could do nothing to stop the tears. She held Kibo and cried, and kissed her daughter repeatedly, trying to make up for a lifetime of love that should have been, but was not to be. Kibo protested initially, but as the day progressed she grew colder, and her energy wilted with her warmth. Kibo’s breathing became nasally and shallow, her breath rasping in her throat. As the day progressed, Kibo grew colder, her skin chilled unnaturally. Her breaths became shorter, turning into little gasps, until finally she fell asleep, taking shallow little breaths. A long pause followed each breath, and Shira could only watch helplessly as her little chick deteriorated in her arms.

The pain in her chest slowly shifted from an unbearable ache to a dull throb, a black helplessness that Shira couldn’t shake. The agony she felt from her inability to heal Kibo had stiffened her limbs and left her chest filled with a strange sense of apathy. The moment she thought the word, grief spiked through her ribcage, threatening to shred her tattered soul into mangled threads. Kibo’s life was a fraying cord, and Shira felt another strand snap each time Kibo inhaled. Here her daughter, her only daughter, was dying in her arms, and she couldn’t feel the full impact of grief anymore. The Tamago had taken two of her children, and Samui would take the third. She would be left with nothing but scars for all the pain she’d endured to clutch her children. Cradling Kibo as gently as possible, Shira held her daughter at shoulder level, letting her cheek rest on Kibo’s tiny, sleeping face. Shira’s tears mixed with Kibo’s thin sweat, both filled with the bitter saltiness of the struggle for life. It was a battle Kibo was losing, and Shira could do nothing to help her chick survive.

The afternoon bled slowly away, and with each passing hour Kibo grew paler and colder. By evening she felt cold, even beneath Shira’s warm cheek, and Kibo’s lips had started to turn blue. Her breathing came so intermittently that Shira feared she’d lost her daughter every time the next breath took just a little bit longer to come. And when it did come, it was so short and shallow that Shira couldn’t feel Kibo’s chest move at all. Only the small beating of Kibo’s heart beneath her hand told Shira that her daughter still lived. As the sun began to set, a flurry of wings landed outside the door, and a breathless Hane stumbled in. Her golden feathers tinted the sunlight, but the beams seemed to fall short of the mother and chick.

“I came as quickly as I could, Shira,” Hane said breathlessly as she righted herself and came into the hut. “Let me see her.” Shira clutched Kibo tighter as Hane stepped closer, and Hane approached with comforting hands held out. “I am not going to take her, Shira. Let me see.” Shira scooted closer and turned Kibo so Hane could view her. Hane’s eyes fell when she saw Kibo, and tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Shira,” Hane said quietly, brushing the tears away.

“What can I do?” Shira asked, but her voice betrayed her hopelessness.

“Hold her,” Hane replied, her eyes pained. “There’s nothing else to do. I’m sorry, Shira.”

“It hurts, Hane,” Shira said, crying. “It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt like it did before. That hurts.”

“I know, Shira,” Hane said, hugging Shira. Shira cried on Hane’s shoulder, clutching Kibo beneath Hane’s arms. The elder harpy held Shira as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and then gently let go. “Let’s get some light in here, okay?”

Hane stood up and silently glided over to the torch rack. She grabbed the striker cord of the first and yanked it off. The torch cap flared violently, fire bursting out before vanishing just as quickly in a puff of smoke. Puzzled, Hane reached for the second string. After jerking that cord, she received the same result, another torch cap burned out before its time. She gripped the last striker cord firmly, and snapped it off the torch head. The last torch flared to life, but less suddenly than its predecessors, and settled into a steady burn. Hane pulled the two spent torches out of the rack and tossed them out of the hut, then went back over by Shira.

“She’s so cold,” Shira said, glancing up at Hane. The mother’s hand rested on her chick’s soft, velvety cheek, now a chalky white. Shira looked around the hut and said, “It’s so dark.” The emptiness of Shira’s voice sent chills down Hane’s back, and she glanced up at the last of the fading sunlight as it crept across the underside of the hut’s roof.

“Yes, it is dark,” Hane replied, sitting down next to Shira.

“She’s fraying,” Shira said, her dull eyes watching her chick. Kibo’s nose barely twitched with each breath now, her breaths so small they were almost imperceptible. Hane gently put her hand on Shira’s shoulder.

“Shira,” Hane began, but then stopped and glanced up at the sudden change of lighting. The last strand of sunlight had been yanked back through the window, leaving the torchlight to dominate the ceiling. The torch gave off a puff of wispy gray smoke that clung to the ceiling for a moment, before dissolving into nothingness.

“Hane,” Shira said, her voice racked with grief. Hane looked back, and saw fresh tears streaking Shira’s face. The young mother looked up at Hane with dull, empty eyes. “She’s gone.” Shira’s voice broke on the last word, her throat constricting. Hane felt her heart break for the young harpy, and she swiftly enveloped Shira in a soft hug.

“I’m sorry, Shira,” Hane whispered, and Shira drooped lifelessly against her.

“I can’t feel the pain,” Shira said, her voice hollow but frightened. Instinctively she clutched her dead chick tighter. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. What’s wrong with me, Hane?”

“Give it time, Shira,” Hane said, her voice filtering through Shira’s hair. “You have been through so much already. This is just your body’s way of mourning.”
“But why can’t I feel the pain?” Shira asked, pushing herself off Hane. She looked pleadingly into Hane’s eyes. Hane cried when she saw the hopeless bewilderment in Shira’s dark eyes. They were lost, lifeless.

“I don’t know, Shira,” Hane said, sadly shaking her head. “I wish I could help you.”

Shira hung her head quietly, not speaking for several minutes. Finally she said, “Please leave me to mourn in peace, Elder.”

“Shira,” Hane began, but Shira looked up with those dark empty eyes.

“Please,” Shira said, her voice hopeless and pleading.

“All right, Shira,” Hane said, slowly standing up. “If you need me, please call. I will be there for you.” The golden harpy silently padded out of the hut, vanishing into the darkness of the night. Shira sat in her hut, unmoving, as still as stone. For a long time, she just sat and watched her dead chick, trying to feel the grief she knew should be there. Kibo’s lips were blue in death, her face unnaturally white, as smooth and fine as marble. The little chick’s dark hair was no longer matted with sweat, but it was beginning to grow stiff and brittle. Shira felt empty tears slip down her cheeks, tears that were not spurred by grief and did not soothe her spirit. Gently she stood up and walked over to the pile of clean cloths, passing ceremoniously over the broken egg stains on her floor. With steady, unwavering hands she removed Kibo’s cold, stiff cloth and swaddled the dead chick in a new rag, then set Kibo on the pile of rags, arranging them as if Shira were putting her chick to bed for the night. Shira stood back and watched her chick lay lifelessly, a look of peaceful rest etched on Kibo’s face.

The sight finally broke the last cord of Shira’s heart, as if the pain had finally found the last part that hadn’t been ruthlessly crushed. Shira’s chest imploded, and the young harpy hugged herself as the final strains of tears began to trickle down her face. She threw her head back and shrieked, a piercing cry that rang throughout the night, then rushed out of her hut. She had to get away from the hut, away from the grave of her three children. Mindlessly she ran across the field, tearing through the grass. Mad with grief, she changed directions several times, raw cries pouring out of her throat. She thought she heard someone call her name, but she ran on. The first time her name reached her ears, it was Hane’s soothing voice, floating through her twisted senses and urging her to come back. But the second time, it was Ashi’s harsh, grating voice, accusing her of dishonor and disloyalty to her kind. The thought drove her further onward, making her pick up her pace as she neared the forest.

Back in her hut, the torch’s flame flickered uneasily, and as Shira broke through the edge of the forest, it spluttered and died, shooting off a white puff of smoke that dissipated into the air.