The Eye of the Falcon

  She spat a gob of purple snot. “She was a Marsh Dweller; an Outsider of the coast. They got on well with us Messenians. I was older than her, but we were friends.” She gave a rumbling laugh. “We both fell for handsome foreigners. I fetched up here. She went north to the mountains near Mycenae—”

  “Mycenae?” said Hylas.

  “He was Mountain Clan. But you must know that, you’ve got his tattoo.”

  Hylas stared at the mark on his forearm. “But—this is a Crow tattoo. They did it when I was a slave, I turned it into a bow by scratching a line along the bottom.”

  “Well, it’s the mark of the Mountain Clan. You’re the image of your father.” With a blotchy purple paw, she scratched her chins. “They quarreled. Your mother knew the Crows would invade, but he didn’t believe it, so she took you and Issi and went south.”

  “You—you know my sister’s name.”

  Gorgo shrugged. “Means frog in your mother’s tongue. She liked frogs.”

  Hylas was reeling. His father had been Mountain Clan, the clan that had refused to fight the Crows. His father had been a coward.

  “She never got as far as Messenia,” muttered Gorgo. “You were too small.”

  “So she left us on Mount Lykas,” said Hylas in a low voice. “Wrapped in a bearskin.”

  “Bears,” grunted Gorgo. “Sacred to your father’s clan. She left you and went to fetch help.”

  With a stick, Hylas jabbed at the fire. “Why didn’t she come back?”

  “She got sick and died,” Gorgo said brutally. “By the time her father heard about you, some peasant had taken you to his village.”

  Her father . . . Hylas remembered the scrawny old Outsider who used to teach him the ways of the wild. “He was my grandfather. He never told us, why didn’t he tell us?”

  “Who knows? I heard all this long after, when someone from my village turned up here. Maybe the old man couldn’t bear to talk about her, maybe he blamed your father for her death—”

  “He was right about that, wasn’t he?” Hylas burst out. “If it hadn’t been for my father, she wouldn’t have died and we wouldn’t have spent years slaving for some lousy old peasant!”

  “Well, it’s done,” snapped Gorgo. “You’re not the first boy to lose his parents.”

  Shortly before dawn, Hylas shook Pirra awake. “Come on,” he muttered. “Dawn soon, we’re free to go.”

  “Didn’t you sleep?” yawned Pirra.

  “No,” he said curtly.

  Outside it was still dark and as stormy as ever. As they headed off beneath the dripping trees, Gorgo appeared in the doorway and called to him.

  “Watch yourself on the road, lad! Odd people about. My sons saw a weird one a while back. Face smeared with lime, said he was in mourning. Could’ve been a madman—or an Egyptian.”

  “Where was he heading?” cried Pirra.

  Gorgo jerked her head. “Turonija. East along the coast.”

  37

  Pirra asked Hylas if he was all right.

  “Well, let’s see,” he said, raising his voice above the storm. “We can’t find Userref; sooner or later someone’s going to recognize you and drag you back to Kunisu; and we can’t find Havoc either, so she probably thinks I’ve abandoned her.”

  Pirra pushed her wet hair out of her face. “She might just be lost, but she’ll find us.”

  “Mm,” he said gloomily.

  Hoisting her bag on her shoulder, Pirra started up the hill. “We might be able to see her from the top.”

  Instead of following her, Hylas grabbed a stick and decapitated a bush. He wanted to tell her about his parents, but he couldn’t. Anger and shame churned inside him. He was the son of a coward who’d fled the Crows rather than fight.

  “Wait for me!” he shouted after Pirra. But the wind was too loud and she didn’t hear.

  Miserably, the cub plodded through the thorn bushes. She couldn’t find the boy, and it was frightening being alone in the storm. Trees flung branches at her, and she was nearly squashed by a falling pine. When she emerged from the bushes, her fur was all snarly with thorns. Wearily, she sat down to lick them off.

  From high above came the falcon’s shivering cry.

  The cub stopped licking. The falcon was calling to the girl. And wherever the girl was, the boy wouldn’t be far—so they were bound to find each other eventually.

  Feeling better, the lion cub headed off, keeping the falcon in view.

  And of course, the boy would be looking for her too. The cub was as sure of this as she was of the spots on her paws: He would never abandon her again.

  The falcon still hadn’t made her first kill. Bats, crows, magpies, they’d all escaped; it was so humiliating.

  The Wind was lumpy and kept trying to fling her off, but at last she found an updraft, and below her the girl and the poor plodding lion cub dwindled to specks.

  That cub. Why did she like it so much when the boy scratched her flanks? The thought of anyone scratching the falcon’s feathers made her feel sick.

  And yet. She couldn’t help admiring the cub’s stubborn determination to find the boy. It made the falcon feel that if she also kept trying, she might make her first kill.

  Far below, she spotted a flock of birds, so she tilted one wing and slid across the sky to take a look. Pigeons. Flying upwind.

  Again the falcon caught the updraft, this time soaring so high that she burst through the clouds into a dazzling glare. For the first time ever, she was face-to-face with the vast power she’d always sensed hidden beyond the clouds. She knew at once that this was the Sun.

  Still she climbed, until the height made her ears sing. She would fly higher than she’d ever flown before.

  And then she would dive.

  On the hilltop, Pirra slitted her eyes against the rain. Below her the dirty Sea crashed on the shore, and a group of peasants straggled homeward. The storm was still punishing Keftiu and the Sun was never coming back. She had failed Keftiu and she’d failed her mother. And Userref had vanished without a trace.

  Glancing skyward, she glimpsed a dark speck against the gray. It was Echo. Pirra’s spirits lifted a little.

  A flock of pigeons sped past. Echo was going after them. As Pirra watched, she felt that she too was hunting, experiencing the rush of limitless flight . . .

  She is Echo. The earth falls away as she spirals higher and gets ready to dive. Now she’s tucking her legs beneath her tail and folding her wings, she’s hurtling toward the prey.

  Faster than an arrow she plummets through the screaming air: faster than any creature who’s ever lived. Her eyes lock on to a pigeon that’s strayed from the rest. The pigeon swerves. She adjusts her dive to follow. As she hurtles closer, she swings her legs forward and clenches her talons—she punches into the pigeon, snapping its spine and knocking it out of the sky.

  With a jolt, Pirra was herself again. “You did it!” she yelled, jumping up and down.

  Echo caught the prey in one talon before it hit the ground and flew to a branch, where she ripped off its head and started plucking feathers from its breast.

  “You did it,” murmured Pirra. She was breathless and exhilarated, as if she too had flown faster than thought.

  It was then she became aware that the rain had stopped. The wind had sunk to a gentle breeze. The thornscrub was no longer grimy with ash; the storm had washed it clean. She was hot.

  Below her Hylas was trudging uphill. Suddenly, a yellow blur burst from the bushes and streaked toward him. “Havoc!” he cried. Then the lion cub knocked him over and they were rolling together in the rain-washed thyme.

  Pirra caught her breath. Hylas’ hair was shining like gold. Then the gods tore away the last of the Great Cloud that had blighted Keftiu for so long, and she turned up her face to a sky of astonishing blue—and shielded her eyes from the life-giving
glare of the eternal Sun.

  “You did it,” said Hylas.

  “But I didn’t complete the Mystery,” said Pirra.

  “No, but that’s because the Goddess sent Echo to save you. Maybe—maybe the Goddess decided that you’d done enough.”

  Pirra didn’t reply. They stood watching the peasants on the shore falling to their knees and stretching out their arms to the Sun.

  Havoc, washed a clean glossy gold, rubbed her forehead against Hylas’ thigh, and he scratched her ears. Then she turned her head, and her tawny eyes caught something far to the west. Following her gaze, he made out the white shimmer of Kunisu. He felt a twinge in his temple, and glimpsed a tall gray figure on the Ridge of the Dead.

  “I wonder if she knows,” Pirra said shakily.

  Hylas saw the ghost of Yassassara nod once, then fade back into her tomb. “She knows,” he said.

  By the time they reached Turonija, spring had arrived in a rush. Almond and olive trees burst into flower. Green spears of barley shot up, and flaxfields became drifts of brilliant blue. Hills throbbed with scarlet poppies, yellow broom, and white asphodel, and the wind was warm and fragrant with hyacinth. Crickets rasped, frogs piped—while in the Sea, shoals of tiny silver fish darted about, cleaning up the shallows. All Keftiu was on the move: washing, rebuilding, burying.

  “I’m glad you’re seeing it at its best,” said Pirra.

  Hylas glanced at her. “Will you be sorry to leave?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She gave a crooked smile. Once they left Keftiu, she could never return. If the priests caught her, they would drag her back to Kunisu and keep her there, or sell her off in marriage to some chieftain far across the Sea. Daughters of High Priestesses were not allowed to be free.

  But now that the Sun had returned, Hylas felt more hopeful. Pirra had told him that she’d overheard his talk with Gorgo, and that was a huge relief, as it meant he didn’t have to talk about his mother. And to Pirra’s lasting joy, although Echo was now hunting for herself, she seemed keen to stay close.

  And yet they still hadn’t found Userref.

  Turonija was a big settlement that had been wrecked by the Great Wave, but was now a hive of activity: men rebuilding houses, women making offerings and cooking pots. Twice, Pirra hid her scar and went to seek news of Userref, but no one had heard of a wandering Egyptian. What she did learn was that the priests were preparing to choose a new High Priestess, and in Kunisu they’d found the remains of a Mystery; word had spread like wildfire that Yassassara’s daughter had brought back the Sun—then turned into a falcon and flown away.

  “I’m glad they know it was you,” said Hylas. “And it’s good that they think you’re gone. Now they won’t be looking for you.”

  Pirra didn’t reply.

  They were on a hill feathered with tamarisk trees, looking west toward Kunisu. As they watched, the sky was briefly dimmed by cloudshadow; then the Sun blazed out, and the House of the Goddess glittered like crystal.

  “That’s how I want to remember it,” said Pirra. Her face was taut, her fists clenched at her sides. Hylas put his arm around her, and for a moment she leaned against him. Then she ran off, calling for Echo.

  Just beyond Turonija, they found a secluded cove, where they agreed that Hylas would wait with Havoc, while Pirra slipped back and tried yet again to learn something of Userref.

  Havoc was scared of the Sea, so to put her at her ease, Hylas crouched down and let the waves lap his feet. The cub edged forward and pawed the water—but fled when it came surging in. Then Echo swooped, her wingtips skimming the waves, and this seemed to give Havoc courage. Soon she was happily splashing about, and Hylas was trailing seaweed for her to hunt.

  Pirra came back at a run, looking fraught. “He’s gone!” she panted.

  “What? Where?”

  She met his eyes. “Egypt.”

  “Egypt?” He was appalled. “Are you sure?”

  “He bought passage on a ship a few days ago.”

  “But—Egypt! That’s at the end of the world.”

  “I should have realized. He thinks I’m dead, and I made him swear to keep it safe . . .”

  Hylas stared out to Sea. “I suppose—he will try to destroy it?”

  “Yes, but he’s Egyptian; his way of doing that will be simply to wait and let things take their course!”

  He nodded. “And it’s only a matter of time before the Crows find out where it is, and go after him.”

  “We can’t risk it. So I suppose—this means we go to Egypt.”

  Hylas didn’t reply. However hard he tried to get back to Akea and find Issi, the gods always sent him farther away. First the Island of the Fin People, then Thalakrea, then Keftiu, and now—“Egypt,” he said out loud. “How are we ever going to get there?”

  Pirra gave him a strange look. “Well, at least buying our passage isn’t going to be hard.” Taking her bag from her shoulder, she tipped a clinking river of jewels onto the seaweed.

  Hylas stared at great golden collars hung with flashing scarlet and leaf-green stones, silver anklets and long ropes of amethyst and lapis lazuli.

  Pirra was trying not to look smug.

  “You brought these from Kunisu,” he said in disbelief.

  She broke into a smile. “Of course I did. You’re always telling me the first rule of survival is to sort your day’s food and water. I just went a bit further.”

  Hylas scratched his head. Then he snorted a laugh. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t either,” said Pirra, elbowing him in the ribs.

  He elbowed her back, and with a yelp she fell over, then chucked a handful of seaweed at him. Soon they were staggering about, pelting each other. Havoc bounded up from the Sea to join in, and shook herself, soaking them both.

  “Although there is one problem,” said Pirra a bit later as she was brushing herself off.

  “What’s that?” said Hylas, pushing Havoc’s cold wet muzzle out of his face.

  “How are we going to get Havoc on a ship?”

  Hylas blinked.

  The lion cub glanced from him to Pirra, as if she knew they were talking about her.

  “She hated the voyage to Keftiu,” said Pirra, “she was seasick the whole journey.”

  Hylas looked at Havoc; then at Echo, soaring overhead, and finally at Pirra—and his spirits lifted. He felt that as long as they all stayed together, he could do anything and journey anywhere, yes, even to Egypt.

  Stooping for a pebble, he sent it skimming across the waves. Then he smiled at Pirra. “We’ll find a way,” he said.

  Author’s Note

  The Eye of the Falcon takes place three and a half thousand years ago in the Bronze Age, in what we call ancient Greece. But this was long before the time of marble temples with which you may be familiar. It was even before the Greeks ranged their gods into an orderly pantheon of Zeus, Hera, Hades, and others.

  We don’t know as much about Bronze Age Greece, because its people left so few written records, but we know something about their astonishing cultures, which we call the Mycenaeans and the Minoans. Theirs is the world of Gods and Warriors. It’s thought that this was a world of scattered chieftaincies, separated by mountain ranges and forests, and that it was wetter and greener than today, with far more wild animals in both land and sea.

  To create the world of Hylas and Pirra, I’ve studied the archaeology of the Greek Bronze Age. To get an idea of people’s thoughts and beliefs, I’ve drawn on those of more recent peoples who still live in traditional ways, as I did in my Stone Age series, Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. And although people in Hylas’ time lived mostly by farming or fishing, I’ve no doubt that much of the knowledge and beliefs of the Stone Age hunter-gatherers lived on into the Bronze Age, particularly among the poorer people, such as Hylas hims
elf.

  A quick word about place-names: Akea (or Achaea, as it’s often spelled) is the ancient name for mainland Greece; Lykonia is my name for present-day Lakonia. I’ve kept the name Mycenae unchanged, as it’s so well-known, and adopted the name “Keftian” for the great Cretan civilization we call Minoan. (We don’t know what they called themselves; depending on which book you read, their name may have been Keftians, or that may just have been a name given them by the ancient Egyptians.) As for Egypt, although that name derives from the Greeks, I’ve kept it because, like Mycenae, it felt too artificial to change.

  The map of the World of Gods and Warriors shows the world as Hylas and Pirra experience it, so it leaves out some islands that aren’t part of the story, and includes others which I’ve made up, such as the Island of the Fin People, and Thalakrea. The same goes for the map of Keftiu: I’ve included only those places important to the story, such as Taka Zimi (which I’ve moved from the site of its real counterpart). In reality, Minoan Crete had many more settlements, palaces, and so on than I’ve shown, but I’ve left these out, as they would have cluttered up the map.

  To create Keftiu as Hylas and Pirra know it, I’ve been to Crete several times and explored many Minoan sites, including Knossos, Phaestos, Gournia, Petras, Zakros and the cave at Psyhro. I climbed to the incredibly windy peak sanctuary at Juktas, which gave me ideas for Setoya. I found my way through the Gorge of the Dead at the extreme east of the island. The fact that its caves contain unexcavated tombs gives it a rather spooky feel, and on the day I walked the length of the gorge, the only other creatures I saw (apart from goats) was a pair of peregrine falcons having a noisy spat with a couple of ravens.

  To get ideas for Taka Zimi, I visited the ruined sanctuary at Kato Syme on the flanks of Mount Dikte. Even today it’s hard to find, and feels astonishingly remote. I was there on a misty, overcast day with clouds seeping over the crags. It was easy to imagine Pirra’s feelings on being imprisoned there.

  The House of the Goddess, or Kunisu, is based on Knossos, the greatest of the Minoan “palaces” (that’s what we call them today, although we’re not sure how they were used)—but I need to make clear that I’ve changed it to suit the story. The layout is different and so are the rooms. Also, I’ve added details from other Minoan ruins; for example, the loo comes from one in Akrotiri on present-day Santorini (which I also visited). I’ve visited the real Knossos several times, and my most useful visit by far was when Professor Todd Whitelaw kindly took time out from fieldwork at Knossos to show me over the site, including the Little Palace and the Unexplored Mansion, and let me examine some of his recent finds. One of the many valuable insights I gained was that the hills surrounding the site are riddled with as yet unexcavated tombs. This gave me a powerful sense of how Pirra feels at the thought of her mother looking down at her from the Ridge of the Dead.