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Mother’s hawks are beautiful. I have been taught and allowed to handle them and feed them. I am even allowed to pet their front feathers, softly and not too much as to not upset the birds and damage the oily coating of their feathers.
None of them have names, and I am not allowed to give them one. Once I was overheard by one of my hand-maidens calling the smallest of them Sapphire -for its deep blue eyes- as I was feeding it. I was welted by the senior maid by order of my mother. Afterwards I was told that if this event was to repeat itself I would have my preferred bird’s head as a birthday gift and barred access to the rest of the collection so I had enough time to take care of my pet’s head.
I knew Mother did not lie.
Father sometimes lied, saying things like “Come here so I can eat you!” As he chased me around the backyard, doing wild gestures with his arms and with a stupid grin on his face. One time he even apologized for going overboard after he punished me, saying I was still to be reprimanded but that he had been too harsh with me and giving me a hug.
Mother does not lie. Mother does not apologize.
So I kept the names I gave them to myself.
The hawk I remember most fondly from those days was Lily, which I childishly named after myself. For our eyes seemed to be quite identical. The demon blood that runs in Mother’s side of the family usually manifests in bird-like traits. Mother has talons and scaled hands and I had prey eyes - and the stray feathers that appeared among my hair as I grew older.
I overheard one of my handmaidens joke with another that the bird might indeed be related to me considering how similar our eyes were. She was let go not long after I reported that happenstance to Mother.
When I looked at myself in the mirror the being looking back at me -the human, Liliann- was so similar to my beloved Lily that I could believe it to be true, maybe we were related. And even in my delusions fueled by infancy folly I wondered how it would be to live as a prey bird, flying, diving, eating doves, rats, dogs, cats and other vermin alive.
And sometimes even wished to become one, to fly in the sky with my sweet Lily and to be true blood sisters.
*****
Aunt Mercy taught me how the world worked from the first day she took me under her wing. She spoke to me the same way Mother did, like an adult, and expected the same kind of manners and grace that had been beaten into me.
"Our family, young Liliann, is made of Hawks. We prey on Doves. We do not own the Doves, we are not better than the Doves, and we certainly are outnumbered by them. Still we hunt and consume them for nourishment, we depend on their continued existence as a matter of fact."
Mother and Father would never again see the light of day, and I would never see them again. Our house had been ravaged and I often wondered what had been the fate of Lily, Sapphire and the other hawks. Aunt Mercy had no hawks, and she lived in a small house closer to the center of the city with no backyard, no garden and no maidens.
"Your father, and to an extent your mother forgot about that fundamental fact of our existence. There are rules to this system and we are not over it, just a natural part. We are no gods, we are not that different beyond the sharpness of our beaks and talons. If we step out of line there are others that will gladly consume us in turn. Not only other Hawks seizing weakness, a flock of Doves may very well be your end. Like it was for your parents."
The future I was being raised for, marrying and continuing the family business had vanished along with my parents state and life. I was to attend the local school and learn to fend for myself and earn a living on my own when I got older.
"Commit this to memory so you might not share their fate. But remember you are not a Dove Liliann, but a Hawk. And you will learn to be a better one than my dear sister was."
The third day in school a young Dove tried to play the role of a Hawk against me. She pulled my hair, I punched her face, she screamed for help, I jammed my fist inside her mouth, when she tried to scratch and bite me I plunged my thumb in the vulnerable flesh as Mercy taught me, she resisted harder for a bit but gave up and started crying.
In her eyes I could see it, fear, pain and defeat. Then I spoke and she listened.
I felt like I imagined it would be to fly alongside Lily. To soar the sky, diving against a dove, and eating its raw flesh.
It felt right.
School became a field of experimentation and practice. How much could I push before people started to care or notice? What did I have to do to dissuade other Hawks, to appear as big and dangerous as I am? Or even bigger. To pick and choose my fights, to understand those that surround me. To tell apart Doves from Hawks. And to gauge the sharpness of their beaks.
*****
Almost no lamplight reaches this alleyway, and most of the sound that goes out will be unheeded which by all intents and purposes is the same as having it be soundproof.
Information brokers are usually a careful sort, canny, suspicious and unwilling to meet without multiple failsafes.
They also think themselves smarter than they are, and untouchable. As if not picking a gun or weapon while blood rains all around them makes them an invalid target. As if it means they might just lose profit or connections when they cross someone they should not. Doves that think themselves safe, one of the many that lie to themselves or mistake hope for factual knowledge.
The one that lies in front of me still thinks himself safe, or at least with some degree of control. If you cut their wings fast they lose their mind and become unpredictable, you have to corner them, reduce them and pluck their feathers one by one.
“Do you know who I am?” He landed into a heap after I all but tackled him into the ground, deeper into the dark alleyway.
“Of course, a rat that crossed the wrong brigade of blue coats.” He had been one of the many informants we had, they gave us easy targets and info on other gangs and we turned a blind eye to their extortion and smuggling.
This is beneficial for all involved, increases stability in the district and reduces the resource drain that is put on the blue coats, while keeping tensions low between some of the gangs in the districts and those blue cloaks. Though never gone.
He reaches for his gun. Hand was already prepared, but Doves like him always overestimate how much it takes to pull a gun on someone.Draw, aim and shoot. I lunge out of the long shadow cast by the lamp far into the main street and swing my baton onto his arm.
The pistol leaves his hand and falls to the floor, I position myself between it and my target.
Sometimes you can afford to let them shoot, the reinforced blue cloth can usually take it, if they are scared enough their hand shakes and they cant make your shape in the shadows properly. But this is business, not pleasure.
“Thought we would forget? Lay down for a while and move to a different district and you would be safe? That your new buddies would protect you?”
I don’t really need a response. His fate is already sealed, not when he fell after I pushed him, not when he crossed his old gang and the blue coats, or when he failed to shoot me. No. It was when I was assigned to make an example out of him.
“Wait, it doesn’t have to be this way, we both can profit from this. I have coin, plenty of coins for you!” He says, leading with the carrot, a smart move for most blue coats, most of all if they are on their lonesome.
“Let us see it then?”
He lobs a small sack that clings with the song of silver coins near my feet.
“Pleased to make business with you, miss.” He says trying to get up.
That is when I kick him back into the ground. Realization soon dawns on him, and his pupils contract so fast I can almost hear them crack.
He is going to leave this alley crawling.
*****
I stand before the entrance to a Doves nest. Among thugs, my thugs this time. The job change from law enforcer to criminal was easy and natural. You need mostly the same skills for them.
I signal Softie and Matchstick to stand at both sides of the entrance and cover me after I enter. They obey fast, and prepare their weapons. Matchstick even painted his crude cudgel red at the top, we all had a good laugh when he showed us.
They are my good little Hawks.
Fisher and the rest of the gang should be at the ready, taking positions now. Awaiting for me to break into the nest.
A Dove’s nest, property of the Burning Sisters, property of Hawks that is. A few Hawks are sure to be guarding it but that is not an issue.
I have come to know the colors I painted my reality with are more murky than I thought, the line between Dove and Hawk is smudged. And there is something that goes beyond.
The old door falls easily and I strut in.
“If you don't want to choke on your own blood, get!” And smash the first cabin I see, sending crystals flying everywhere.
The smart Doves make for the exit, the dumb ones gather vials, scalpels and other sorry excuses for weapons and join the three odd Hawks as more stream down the floor above.
I engage the nearest target, pushing aside their weapon and cracking their clavicle with my baton, they land on a heap as I turn for the next. A Dove tries to douse me with something but I break the bottle in her hands before she has a chance and she screams as the noxious substance starts to eat away her skin.
A man comes down the stairs, from a glance I can tell he is the flock’s leader.
“GET THAT WHORE” He says, foaming at the mouth, and veins bulging. Doped up with something.
The ones that just walked down flank me, and one slams the bitter end of a mancatcher against my side. I lose balance and have to advance near the wall, cornering myself.
Softie and Match are handling their part near the entrance while more and more of the workers flee. The rest of the gang is on the backdoor, holding out against the tide of Hawks. And I am in the center of it all, nearly surrounded and overwhelmed.
I cross eyes with Fisher. The big masked man pauses for a smidge, and we lock eyes. He nods.
And I feel it once again, time stops. The light, the warmth, rightness? The same feeling I had when I put that girl into her place back when I moved into my aunt's place. It felt correct, it felt right, it felt like flying. That and so much more.
Beyond what my eyes can see a huge fire forms, blazing and eating away everything.
It is a small candle compared to the bonfire that first drew me to Six Towers after I lost my position among the blue coats. Where I met the rest of the cult. It is the same undeniable feeling though. Power, truth and justice blazing like the SUN I never met. Within arms reach.
Behind my form, born from the shadow cast by the searing light, the shadow of Fisher takes shape. The old Leviathan hunter’s frame precedes me and my conscience is back into the melee, back in the losing position I was pushed into.
“ YES, YES COME GET ME, SAVE ME THE TROUBLE OF GOING AFTER EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU ” The shadow talks alongside me, giving my words the smell of smoke and coal. I can’t help but give a manic laugh, unbecoming of a lady of my uprising as it is.
Suddenly, the Hawks notice the wriggling body stained with acid, the sorry state that their comrades are in and the fact that they have yet to dispose of a single of our guys.
And they see me, my black and yellow prey bird eyes, demon blooded. And they feel but not see the presence behind me. The shadow cast by the SUN . Just like that, what would have been an easy win for all of them, turns into a chaotic escape for some.
As I savor the power and join my two pets we make quick work of the rest of them. Their frenzied leader manages to shank me with a saber, but it doesn’t go through my old blue cloak.
The taste of sunlight is as sweet as ever. No need to be a Hawk, no need to worry about others, competition, circumstances or precedent. The SUN offers to turn me from a mere bird to the sky itself, the wind that sustains their wings that can so easily turn into a storm.
It is done.
I pat Fisher in thanks and congratulate everyone as I draw out a cigarette. Matchstick does honor to his name and lits it for me, he adds an unfunny joke that I scoff at while Softie gives him an amused snort. Morale is high, it was quite the clean hit.
The high ends though, and as we continue with what is left of the menial work for the hit, I am left longing for the SUN’S EMBRACE . I take another long drag, and revel in the smoke’s warmth. Each hit brings us closer to raising it once more, to making it shine as bright as it should.
So this will have to do, for now. So I imagine how it will be when I become the indomitable wind, and unstoppable force of nature, much like I imagined soaring the skies with my dear Lily as a child.