Part 2 - The climb

Little Hawk has resolved to climb... But is he strong enough to overcome the challenges above him?

Part 2 - The climb

Little Hawk awoke with the sun’s breaking light, gently and indomitably chasing the stars away. Bringing with it all the beauty of morning, and all the trials of the day.

 

After a fitful night of chilled sleep in his small crevice, with its meagre grass and dirty feathers keeping the cold from killing him, the wayward chick stepped into the grey light and shook himself with waking.

Once again he regarded the scene that’s familiarity was to become a mark of progress on his great journey. For the journey to him was great, though insignificant it would seem to man, or to another creature even. Played out countless times through the ages, the story of survival, of overcoming. The story that none would know but the victor, and that would only be told in the strength of the offspring as it was told in him, spurring him silently but urgently, to resist all and take his place at the top of the world.

This decision to ascend, for so tiny a thing, constituted an insurmountable challenge. Little Hawk’s whole life, all manner of joy and thrill and pride that could be his stood at the top, he knew this instinctively, down was cold and death, the top was warmth and life.

This is what he had learned in his fall.

After spying some seeds that had fallen from above and sating his hunger some, he began his slow ascent.

 

The night of Little Hawks great undertaking, the one-eyed hawk mother had climbed her crippled climb to her cave of despoiled life, to die.

Mad with rage and pain, her wounds bled freely and her broken wing throbbed with the beat of her heart. She thrashed around the cave, writhing in pain and madness. Her retribution forgotten. Only the pain remained as she thrashed herself into a frenzy and finally fell exhausted and panting, accepting of her fate. Her death would be a slow one, with days and perhaps weeks of fever and madness to fuel her ferocious sadism towards the creatures that once used the crevice as the only way to make passage of the overhanging cliff face, to the final gentle incline and the world above…

 

Little Hawk hopped and scrambled, quickly becoming adept at making his way upwards on the rocky and grassy incline that steadily steepened, even using his wings to flutter and balance as he went. He quickly tired, though, and it seemed to him that great progress was made but the truth of it amounted to only 30 feet by the afternoon. He saw no other signs of life as the safest and most prosperous of abode was found in the higher reaches of the great cliffs, with the scavengers nearer the bottom, eating of the scraps that fell from above, and the higher breeds of hunters towards the top.

Despite his burning belly and his aching limbs, as he settled down between two boulders shielding him from the breeze that picked up with the heat of the day,  he had a view out over the ocean that now covered the yellow sands completely and Little Hawk felt joyful. The scene before him had once again gained some higher level of familiarity, though only slightly. He felt vindicated in his ascent and exalted in the bathing sunshine that loosened his tiny muscles and made him doze comfortably.  

On the slowly expanding horizon, a dark patch was growing in mass and imposing on the perfect blue-to-blue of the sky and sea. Little Hawk had lived through a squall before but could not recognise the signs of ones coming, for he had been only just born and shielded from the view by the cave mouth. So, as he dozed and the afternoon waned, he had no warning of previous lessons to bid him find a place of shelter. He dosed still as the suns light weakened and the breeze began to gust with an increasing rhythm.

With this change came the cold, which he knew, and though too late to avoid being caught by the squall that now dominated the sky, he aspired to find some shelter from the cold wind. He hopped upwards and across, looking in vain for a crack or crevice in which he could wedge himself, but the situation was quickly worsening. He was buffeted by the gusts that were now so regular they could be called a gale, he was lashed with heavy and spitting rain as the engine of atmospheric energy started and stalled on it way to full throttle. He was bowled over and knocked back, and on more than one occasion his belly clenched in anticipation of the fall that would surely mean death, his tiny talons gripping with the panic of life the moss patches that were his anchors in the gale. When the first thunderous crash gave way to the waterfall of rain finally released, and the sharp lighting flash blinded his little eyes and sudden fear dissolved his new found joy and confidence from the days progress. It was his momentary blindness that saved him.

In all the white and fading flash that stayed with his vision after the lightning had departed, a black part that was unaffected stayed in his vision. A crevice that did not reflect the flash was ahead, and Little Hawk assigned the last of his strength to wading through the surging wind towards it. Through one final gust he braced, and when it uncurled its invisible fingers for a split second he was out of it and into the dark crevice.

 

Here he stood and blinked away the lightning blindness. The crevice went in a few feet deep and retained some of the day’s heat, its depth keeping the storm at bay on the outside. As the impenetrable dark slowly began to fade into the shape of the small crevice-cave, Little Hawk jumped with a start. In the very back of the crevice was a great black-feathered thing, not so big as his mother or One-eye, and with a small orange beak. Its eyes were closed and it seemed to sleep. This ‘not-mother’ had seen the signs and taken refuge before the squall hit, avoiding the violence of its coming.

Little Hawk hesitated.

He knew that to leave now meant death. But he did not know the nature of this thing and he was weary. After a moment of deliberation caused him to shiver with the cold, he made his way slowly over to the great black-feathered thing and found it warm. Remaining quiet, gentle and careful, Little Hawk slowly sidled over, cuddled up to the unknown and went to sleep.

 

The storm raged most of the night and Little Hawks sleep was fitful, but he eventually slipped into the sleep of the exhausted. The orange beak did not stir, despite the violence of the storm. As dawns light calmed the storm and sent it on its way, leaving a tail wind that made the choppy sea boil with flashes of white that danced to the horizon, Little Hawk awoke and made a discreet exit before his stowing away could be noticed by the potentially malevolent Orange Beak. As he moved out into the chill grey light, Little Hawks hunger hit him hard. Dazed and cowed by the evening’s events, he knew that he must find food or not be able to continue. Still in the mouth of the crevice-cave he searched in vain for any scraps that littered the ledges nearest, but the wind and pounding rain had left only what held on with defiant roots.

It was then that Orange Beak stirred and announced his waking with a grumpy squawk and a stretch of his wings. Little Hawk was so dazed in his despair that he did not hop away or attempt to hide, he stood and watched the creature hobble out, stretch and on noticing the little thing regarding him with such earnest need, stopped and cocked his head in contemplation.

Little Hawk could do nothing but place his hope in the good nature of this Orange Beak thing, that was double his size and showed no sign of its intent for a seemingly eternal moment. Or so it seemed to the little hawk, on which the nature of this thing his life depended.

It slowly cocked its head to the other side and took a tentative step towards Little Hawk, to which the tiny bird of prey gave an involuntary chirp of fear.

Orange beak continued to c**k its head slowly from side to side in time with his steps as he closed the distance between them, Little Hawk shuddering with weakness as much as fear.

In touching distance now, the thing lowered it head and stretched its neck forward and looked this tiny thing square in the eyes, beak to beak. A moment of understanding seemed to come into its eyes and it straightened up, looked left, then right, made a squawk and hop-flapped to a ledge above. Looking back over its wing with another squawk it hop-flapped again, and once again looked back with its raspy squawk. Little Hawk summoned the last of his strength and scrambled in his own way after Orange Beak.

 

After a few hops upward, they ambled along a flat ledge section that led them some way horizontally, with Orange Beak looking back at the flagging Little Hawk and making his ‘follow-me’ squawk. This thin and easy-going section stopped abruptly in a wall of greenery in the lee of a jutting wall, sheltered from the worst of the prevailing winds. Orange beak shuffled up to it and stood firm.

“Squaaaaaaawk” he exclaimed with emphasis.

Little Hawk was now so fatigued that he stumbled as he hopped his way closer, still with some caution.

Orange Beak then rummaged into the bushes and came out munching on something. Little Hawk moved closer still, his stomach burning as the notion of the presence of food began to take shape in his mind. All caution to the wind he chirped and hopped at Orange Beaks feet, craning his neck as he had to his mother in anticipation of the food to come. But Orange Beak shuffled away incredulous, still munching and not understanding this reaction. His feathers ruffled and with the young one still hopping on the spot and chirping at him, he opened a wing and delicately batted Little Hawk into the bush. In shock and confusion Little Hawk stumbled into the greenery, fell and found himself face to face with a large beetle.

He blinked, and instinct made his stomach burn once more. The beetle turned tail and made its hurried march away. Little Hawk, facing the loss of his quarry, found his feet and with one great hop his tiny talons were into it, spilling the life of it forth, and after cocking his little head from side to side, he took a cursory peck-nibble. His appetite took hold in the way of starving things and the little bird devoured his first kill filled with the relief of hunger and a new feeling that seemed a shadow of what it could be, similar to the joy and accomplishment of the previous days progress towards familiarity, but different and greater still.

Looking around he saw more marching things fleeing before him, and a great thrill took him. He jumped on another, and another. His small talons ripping and sending one as a projectile deeper into the greenery, chirping with delight he sated his hunger and gorged still more until Orange Beak stuck his head in to see what all the fuss was about. His eyes adjusted to the darkness in this vast green pantry and Little Hawk looked up and stood in tableau, one razor foot atop a struggling beetle, his victims laid to waste around him.

With an almost guilty, embarrassed chirp, he looked down sheepishly at the struggling thing in his grasp, legs clawing with an urgent rhythm at nothing, and flicked it in Orange Beaks direction.

With his customary ‘squaaaaaawk’ he accepted and crunched and pecked it. Filled with strength once again, Little Hawk hopped and skipped about curiously, discovering a regiment of smaller crawling things that moved in lines and disappeared into small holes in the ground. He pecked at one and found it a morsel, but agreeable. Orange Beak had retracted his large form from what was to him a small space, and squawked from the sunshine outside.

Little Hawk obediently followed and with a look back, remembered the thrill and the cessation of his hunger as he burst out into the light, and made an association that marked the beginning of his survival in this near vertical arena.

 

With his belly full and the sun warming him, Little Hawk hopped and skipped chirping happily. Orange Beak regarded the display in his quizzical way, cocking his head from side to side.

He turned away from the tiny chirping thing and looked out to sea. Cocking his head once again, he spread his wings slowly to their full length. With this, Little Hawk cut-short his joyful display and cocked his own head in wonderment, unsure. The great expanse of Orange Beaks wingspan was all he could see on the narrow ledge and so black were they that the birds obsidian feathers seemed to absorb the sunshine.

As Little Hawk cocked his head to the other side, Orange Beak leapt from the precipice gliding easily, out and away. Little Hawk quickly hopped to edge, chirping after him, but his new friend was gone as quickly as he had come.

For a moment the abandoned eyas just stood there, watching. His keen eyes picked out Orange Beak among the other sky-dwellers for a while until he lost him in the crowd.

Abandonment set in once again.

He cocked his head once more and, gingerly; spread his own wings, regarding them with curiosity. He inched closer to the precipice and felt a thrill stirring inside him… As his weight began to tilt him forward the world below him showed itself with a different perspective. A view that resonated with his nature, his instinct, the sharply-bright sunshine showed every detail to his keen eyes, the blue of the ocean, the different shades of grey to brown to red of the immense cliff face with a patchwork of green interspersed, here and there. Everything below him, as it should be.

Before his nature could enact the leap building inside of him, the wind blew her gentle kiss and the little hawk was pushed back, his head cocking once more. The step back was enough to draw his attention away from this unknown urge, and back to his task as he saw it, to climb and find his mother.

As he turned though, to look for a hopping rock and a way further up his vertical adversary, something awoke in him, a curiosity with the edge that he had no concept of, and neither the attention nor reasoning to explore it further. But it was there, like a seed, germinating in the dark of his subconscious.

With the sun moving towards its zenith, Little Hawk moved a ways down the path he had followed with Orange-beak and spied a crevice that crept upwards with little crags and cracks that he used as footholds. The going was tough through this vertical section and he used his wings to steady himself and to jam himself when the crack widened and the footholds were not easy to reach. The light of the sun had turned a deeper gold, and cast shadows along the cliff face when he finally reached the crest of this vertical, craggy section  of cliff.

His exertion was such that despite his hunters hearing, he had not noticed the gradual build up of the cacophony that now assaulted his senses. He peeked over the top to snatch a look at whatever new challenge his undertaking had in store for him, and was greeted by a vast and gentler incline that spread out under the protection of a huge overhang, tucked into the corner of the vertical outcrop that had blocked his progress with Orange-beak far below. The protective combination of this vertical wall that blocked the worst of the trade winds and of the overhang that afforded protection from the elements; while still allowing most of the days light to warm the inhabitants, created a natural nursery. In front of Little Hawk were thousands of nests, filled with screaming chicks and bustling parents. Above the sky-dwellers circled and soared, identifying their nest with some innate sense beyond the understanding of those who had not birthed their own.

Little Hawk ducked back below in shock and fear of such a busy scene. He had never seen so many of his own kind! A sea of feathers, talons and beak’s seethed before him, and boiled like the ocean when pushed to a rage by the wind. The calls of the shrieking chicks undulated like a demonic atonal orchestra, as the parents flitted and fluttered, screeching their violent solos and becoming lost in fray.

He poked his head up slowly and looked again. The entire expanse of the habitable (and traversable) cliff was covered in this fracas ooze and the only path lay through the middle of it. A cave, at the base of the overhang loomed, its stark black and emptiness stood in obvious contrast to the fury before it. But underpinning it, like a metaphor for the inevitable end of all this warmth and activity. It looked out, like a malignant conciousness, its eye not a mirror for light, but a devourer of it.

Little Hawk fixed his eyes on the cave for a moment, and hopped to the edge of the fray. He moved with intensity and braced for the initial impact of pushing his way through, but to his surprise the crowd scattered before him. He slowed and watched terrified chicks climbing over each other to get away from him. His instincts kicked in with an alarm bell of anxiety as he pushed deeper and this disturbance in the order of the chaos began to be an apparent, and noticeable, anomaly. The parents of the scattering chicks wheeled upon him and he was battered away with wings and harried by beaks wherever he encountered them. Soon a few bullies were hounding him and more joined the mob, Little Hawk could not know that the fear of the chicks and the wrath of the parents was a result of the crimes of his ancestors. The mob saw this little hawk and remembered the close encounters, the sharp talons and the missing chicks of the previous spring.

Little Hawk could not know, and saw the malice of his own kind as unprovoked. As he ran, steering towards the cave when he could, he climbed over swathes of fleeing chicks and turned upon his attackers when he needed to. The instinct of battle overcame him, and he began to hop and flutter in order to show them his talons and scratch and tear if they became too bold.

Desperation had begun to creep into his movements when he finally broke free of the crowd at the mouth of the cave. But something was strange…

The crowd of occupied nests stopped short of the cave in a wide ring. The remnants of nests continued right up to the cave mouth but had been abandoned. Little Hawk had time to c**k his head once in speculation before the mob caught up to him. He quickly hopped forward, narrowly evading a slashing beak, and spreading his wings; wheeled, ready for the attack.

But no attack came…

The mob stopped at the edge and spread out rather than surging forward. They appeared apprehensive as Little Hawk made himself look as big and fearsome as he could. This gave him a burst of confidence and he gave a battle scream that shocked even he. At this, the mob seemed to lose its momentum and grudgingly began to disperse.

Folding his wings and snapping his beak in a ‘and that showed you’ fashion. He jumped and looked back, as a long and powerful ‘SCCRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHWWWWWWW’ answered his from the cave. It was gravelly, maddened and fearsome as it echoed out, giving an ethereal quality that sounded like a chorus of demonic insanity, with designs dark as the black from whence they came.

Little Hawk put one foot forward lowered his body and moved his head out and down, his wings slightly raised. He knew now why the nests had been abandoned, something was coming, he could hear the scraping and the rubbing of feathers against rock as it made its way towards the unknowing challenger that had dared a battle screech at the mouth of its cave.

As it neared and Little Hawk tensed, alone in the centre of the clearing, the fracas ooze of fury and feathers behind him, fell silent. The quiet lay upon them all for a moment like a heavy morning fog, Little Hawk stared deep into the blackness, not blinking, unmoving.

So small and yet full of courage was he.

The great black and brown One-eye burst forth from the blackness, her good wing flailing out and upwards, her bad wing dragging behind as she jump-limped in a lunge out into the clearing, facing only the little hawk. Her sight adjusted and she focussed her good eye with a slight turn of her head, and with one step forward, also lowered her body and stared, with her good wing slightly raised.

Little Hawk knew this monster then, as the one that had ripped him from his mother and destroyed his siblings. A low and building squaw began to growl from his razor beak.

The thing before him stank of putrid and infected flesh, One-eye stood firm on her feet as parasites crawled over her body, but she would shudder and twitch regularly as a fever was deep within her blood. She, who was once proud and full of vengeance, was now mad and had been on the edge of her death for a long time. The fearsome One-eyed mother had become a wraith of the dark, preying on the weak and the foolish, keeping the cold grip of her death just outside the mouth of her cave, hiding in the dark.

She did not know Little Hawk, all she saw was another challenger, some sustenance that would keep her alive for a short while longer, or end it all in the battle-death that she sought. The wide and ascending cave that she had fled to after her final battle with the Hawkmother had been used by the other inhabitants of the cliff face as an express tunnel leading to the gentler incline of the top. So ignorant challengers had been regular, regular enough to keep her fighting instincts keen and her thirst for blood at the boil.

The moment of silence seemed to come to a climax.

Little Hawk was the first to move, lunging forward and then hopping to the side as she moved with a shocking suddenness that startled his advance. He moved around to her injured side she moved in turn, dragging her wing.

They began to circle. The death dance was upon them.

The mob that had harried Little Hawk stood and swayed as more joined to watch the showdown between this fierce newcomer and their dark oppressor.

Little Hawk watched One-eye, and One-eye watched Little Hawk, neither giving ground, nor showing fear. Little Hawks inexperience bid him break the tension and he hop-fluttered upwards in an arc towards the injured wing, One-eye side stepped and almost casually swiped her good wing in an uppercut that sent the little hawk sprawling. With that, she was upon him. Little Hawk found his feet as her talons raked his back, not yet penetrating his tough feathers. He was bowled forward by her weight and did not have time to brace as she came down with the hard side of her skull upon his own. He stumbled, dazed away from her spreading his wings for balance and to make himself appear larger.

The crowd began its slow build up of screeches squawks, and when the mêlée neared them they would flap away and make way for the wrathful tumult. Little Hawk, utilising his quickness and the injuries of the zombie hawk, that despite her madness, had a keen mind and the experience of the blood of tens of foes to counter his attacks; began to jump and slash as he retreated. Adding the poisoned blood of One-eye to the battle ground.

She reared upwards in a lull and jumped at him, attempting to crush him with her weight, but Little Hawk lowered his body, tucked his wings and leapt forward and down, slipping through her talons and rolling to his feet. The slower One-eye took a moment to recover and Little Hawk saw his chance.

He leapt upwards and landed with both feet on One-eyes injured wing, she let out a squaw of pain and Little Hawk, digging his talons into her old wounds as he moved, ran up her back in 3 quick steps. As she turned to slash at him with her beak, he jumped, spread his wings and sprang his talons forth with a shriek. His centre talon, the longest, with his momentum and her turning towards him sank deep into her good eye. She wheeled in panic and pain and shock that her eye had been taken. The world was now black and only pain remained. Little Hawk had sunk his talon so deep that he was stuck and with his other foot gripped her neck as she thrashed and rolled. He connected with the ground, hard. Once, twice, countless times and soon he was battered and dazed with pain and fear that he had come so far to be crushed in his enemies’ death throes.

In one final flurry he was thrown upwards and his talon, the bone long broken, was ripped from his foot, as One-eye extended to her full height and threw her head back, her body spent. Little Hawk landed next to her and they both lay there, panting, as silence once again overcame the crowd.

Little Hawk looked with his keen eyes over the crowd. In that moment he glimpsed the oceans deep blue, sunlight sparkling over it like diamonds strewn across its light blue glow. And through the pain and exhaustion, he remembered his task.

Struggling to his feet he turned away from One-eye and limped towards the cave, to climb. As he moved away One-eye began to stir, and then thrash. The sounds seeping out of her throat were horrifying and even the carnivores of the mob that watched still, did not dare to pounce for their easy meal.

As Little Hawk stepped into the darkness of the cave he looked back and regarded the thrashing mess that was One-eye, and let out a scream of victory. One-eye was up in a flash and running towards the mouth of the cave, blind but heading with singular intent for the source of the sound. Little Hawk wasted no time and plunged into the darkness as One-eye hit the black like a storm.

Little Hawk could not see, he could only scramble and flutter his wings for balance as the raging thing behind him did the same. Ahead and above him was a speck of white light, all he could aim for. He climbed and climbed with the thrashing thing just behind him. He hit a wall and the light had disappeared, panicked he bumped around in vain looking for a way up. He could feel the air and hear the ragged breathing of One-eye just behind him when his little feet finally found a step that brought his head up to the level of the light. He jumped, and heard One-eye crash into the boulder that he had been pressed against a moment before. With that her death throes faded behind him as he limped his way up towards the light. Closer it came after countless falls and stubbing of his injured toe, when he thought that the climb would never end he burst out into blinding green before him and blinding blue above.

The cave opened into the steep pastures of the top of the cliff. Little Hawk fell against a rock and held his injured foot up off the ground, close to him. Looking back at the darkness where his nemesis would die, blind and alone, and she would have had him join her. 

Author's Note

Literally wrote this in one go so it still needs editing. I would appreciate some feedback on the style and storyline :)