The Wisdom of Hawks
by Hari Blackmore
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
The two entered a momentary stand-off, trying to read their opponent’s next move, neither quite ready to take the risk and go for a strike. They were mere feet from each other, one standing, pained on her left leg, and the other bleeding on the cold floor, unable to bring itself up. Tension saturated the air; like predators facing off, both stared hard, breathing heavily. Drops of sweat mixed with pigment left patterns of grey-toned dots around Khanat’s feet.
The Lath moved first, launching its rock towards Khanat’s chest with a roar of effort. Its other arm giving out with the strain, causing it to flop back down onto the slabs. On another day, Khanat would have easily sidestepped the projectile, but she could only stumble away, leaving the rock to glance off her shoulder. She cried out and was sent sprawling to the ground once more. The abomination grunted with satisfaction before moving to scramble forward, its arm muscles straining to haul its bulk across the floor.
While she again lay on the floor, body weak and pained, an image of Iffe entered Khanat’s mind once more. Her girl. Would it not be sweeter to let the Twin Deaths take her to where she may see her girl once again?
Anguish filled Khanat’s being. Her child deserved more life. Iffe, her Little Fish. Completing the ritual would be a second death, her love lost. Khanat raged inside her head. She’d served her clan, did she not deserve this last respite?
Time slowed, the world again became blurred. The sounds of the waves and the slap of monstrous hands on stone turned muffled. She had kept hold of the spear shard, gripping it so tightly that her hand quivered and ached. The grey sky seemed to extend itself upwards and outwards while she lay on her back. Tears rolled down her temples, tracing lines through the paint on her face.
Silent and unmoving, the three priestly figures continued to stare down upon the awful duel. They would not — and could not — intervene as the Lath drew itself up next to Khanat, looming over her and preparing to strike down and pummel her with its terrible, clublike fists.
It was the fastest she had moved in a long time, but with the half-spear gripped firmly, Khanat strained her abdomen, pushed up with her arm, and thrust the point through what passed for the Lath’s chin and into its grotesque, bulbous head. Even she did not register the movement until it was done. Was it an unthinking reaction born of training and experience or a genuine will to survive? Khanat didn’t know the answer, but the fight was done.
The two bodies held in place for what felt like an age. Khanat stared at the creature’s open maw and now glassy, dead eyes. Viscous greenish-black blood oozed down the spear shaft and onto her hand, emitting the same steam and feeling hot on her skin. The Lath’s hide continued to blister in the sunlight, somewhere it could never belong.
Eventually, the monstrous corpse slumped down next to her. She released hold of the spear shaft, and it clattered on the rock as the creature’s head limply twisted and lolled from side to side.
Khanat’s spear arm numbly flopped to her side as she again lay still on the cold rock, the sea breeze washing over her as she closed her eyes, breathing heavily. Her energy sapped, she could not move. The realisation that her Iffe will now be utterly gone from the world weighed her down in a way she’d never felt. Was it worth it? Now she would never even know.
As she lay there, unmoving, the priests standing above began to chant. To Khanat, it was merely a jumble of raw sound, not recognisable as words or song. Dull, muffled footsteps interspersed with the sound of chanting as one of the priests made his way down towards her.
Her eyes still closed, Khanat’s chest heaved in aching, silent sobs as tears flowed out to pool on the floor, grief overwhelmed her as she unremembered her daughter, knowing one final time that she will soon be unable to think Iffe’s name or recall any aspect of her girl’s life.
* * *
The following weeks were a blur, existing only as short flashes of memory. In the centre of the Round, Gham, Life’s Chosen, had used his blessings to staunch the bleeding in Khanat’s leg, muttering prayers and packing the cut with herbs to quicken the skin’s knitting the wound back together.
Khanat was washed and taken on a narrow raft back to her home on Haken Island. She was carried up from the shingle beach and through the wooden gates of Jhalin, a small town on the bluff overlooking the shore. Within her stone-walled hut — which felt just that little bit too big — she was laid down on a cot lined with goat skins.
Nobody stayed with her. The priest’s blessings had left her leg mobile, though sore, but visitors occasionally came to bring her food and good wishes, telling her how she looked well again. Maat, a well scarred elder Vigilant, was the most frequent to stop by. They had fought side-by-side numerous times against Undersea monstrosities and trained together often. Khanat had stood over him and dispatched the Sket that had taken his eye with its whip-tail. His affection for her was difficult to see through a gruff and hard exterior, but he brought fish and kelp prepared by his wife, Ama, and got Khanat moving again to strengthen her leg.
It was Maat who informed her that she would accompany him to the tin mine in the Fardash foothills. They were to guard the workers in the darkness as they blocked up an old passageway.
The morning Khanat was due to move out, she had been up since before sunrise. Khanat never slept well before potential fights, even when she was safely behind the town’s walls, and the past night was no exception. She busied herself in the low light of the hearth, checking and oiling the leather breastplate, straps and greaves that she had already checked and cleaned the evening before. The armour had sat unused on her stone dresser for some time; she had worn none of it in the Round. It was scratched and nicked in places but still in good condition.
As the sun rose and light filtered through the window shutters, she tried to eat a leftover barley gruel flecked green with seaweed, gifted to her by Ama, but she had little appetite. Still, she forced down more than she wanted since it was almost a full day’s travel to the mine.
Her leg was still sore, stiff after having spent time on the floor preparing her armour. To loosen it, she stood in between mouthfuls, pottering around the house, fetching water from the large jar outside the door and preparing supplies for the road.
Sounds of the town waking for the day began rising into the air, prompting Khanat to think she should head out towards Maat’s house near the forges. She started pulling on her armour, which took longer than she anticipated. Her fingers had weakened, becoming unused to work, making various small straps and fittings a chore to fasten.
She was trying to pin a portion of her undershirt in place when her numbed fingers slipped. The metal fixing she was fumbling with dropped to the floor, bouncing off into a small alcove. It was a cool place that the light rarely touched, filled with various small jars and woven baskets holding grains, wild herbs and dry roots.
With an exasperated curse, Khanat knelt to feel around between the pots, finding not the pin, but something made of cold stone; something shaped with two points at each end.
She strained to grip it with her index and middle fingers, drawing out a small piece of rock carved into the vague shape of a bird in flight, a sea hawk. She sat back on her heels, holding the object in her fingers, considering it carefully. Something murmured within her, this thing felt meaningful, but Khanat could not recognise why. Was it something old Eio had made for her? It was as if she peered into murky water, knowing there was something important under the surface but feeling unable to locate or grasp it.
Khanat continued to stare at the figurine, transfixed and unmoving. Outside voices and noise became muted and dull, as if she were now underwater herself. This carving felt familiar, comforting, holding it put her at ease, but at the same time she knew within her gut that it was something forbidden. Doubt that she should possess this small thing pressed hard into the back of her mind, but she could not put it down.
She ran her fingers over it, wingtip to wingtip, feeling the less than intricate ridges that were supposed to resemble feathers. Her mind was buzzing with activity, but it seemed like none of these thoughts could or should be grasped; they were suppressed, dark, their way into her waking mind barred. A discomforting cacophony of emotion and thought rang inside her head, her stomach and chest churning.
However, amongst this strange mixture of feelings was an uncanny sense of hope. Hope for precisely what, Khanat could not catch, but it was there. “The wisdom of hawks,” she unthinkingly muttered under her breath.
Three sharp taps struck the outside stone wall near her door, bringing Khanat out of her trance with a start.
Maat’s voice came to her ears clearly now: “Kha? You up? It’s time to move.”
“Y...yes,” she called back, closing her fist around the rock carving as she pushed herself to her feet. “I’m here. Just having a bit of trouble with the armour, I will be out soon.”
“I’ll be here,” Maat said in his flat manner.
Khanat hurriedly picked up the leather pouch containing her travel provisions and looped the strap over her head. She made sure the hearth was cool and turned to leave. She picked up the oak staff she had been using during training with Maat before heading through the doorway, glancing back to make one final check that all was as it should be.
As she emerged into the warm, bright air, she saw her companion waiting beside the door. He stood full and squarely, as he always did, holding two spears, one of which looked newly made. “Sorry, Maat,” she said. “It’s been a while and I’ve lost a pin.” She gestured towards her side.
“Understandable,” Maat said. “We’ll get that sorted before we go.” He paused. “What’s that?” He made a slight nod down towards her left hand, where Khanat clutched the bird figurine.
“Oh... this?” she said with some puzzlement. She didn’t recall having kept hold of the thing. “I don’t know. It’s just some trinket; I am not sure where it came from. Something Eio made, maybe.” She mumbled the final words with some uncertainty.
Maat stared at her for a moment with his one good eye, his bearded face stern. “Aye, a trinket,” he said dryly. The lines on his face moved and belied worry. “Yours?”
Khanat looked down at the thing in her hand, still feeling comfort from it. “It must be,” she said softly, “but, perhaps, I don’t think I need it any longer.” She looked back up at Maat with an almost imperceptible smile. She carefully placed the carved stone bird on the low wall that enclosed her dwelling. Turning back, she said, “I’m sure someone who can look after it will find it here.”
Maat nodded. “Here, this is for you,” Maat said as he handed over the new looking spear, bronze tip glinting in the sunlight. “You won’t be needing that staff.”
Leaning the staff on the outside wall near her door, Khanat took the spear, weighing it in her hand. It was well-made, and gripping it felt familiar, despite its newness. She held it up to examine the artisanry. A strong and straight piece of ash made the shaft and the spearhead looked serviceable, probably recast from another piece.
“You ready?” Maat asked.
Khanat shifted her gaze from the spear in her hand to the hawk figurine on the wall, and then to the stoic face of Maat. “Yes, we should go.”
“Good,” he said, his eye still lingering on her, reading her face. “We’ll go by the forge and get another pin.”
At a brisk pace, they moved off together down the narrow, dusty street that ran between the neighbouring huts and their low garden walls. The bustle of a new morning was already rising as several neighbours moved to get to their boats or collect water; all greeted the two Vigilants as they passed. The figurine remained atop the wall, and, as she made her way and rounded the corner, Khanat did not once look back.
Copyright © 2026 by Hari Blackmore
