The Falconer by Noble Dust

There are so many strange sounds in cold weather. Realities that don’t exist otherwise come into being when the temperature drops, and these invisible mysteries don’t obey the laws of acoustics. The snap of a twig as a creature moves through the underbrush takes on an alien quality and you’re not convinced it was a snapping twig, or that you really heard it. Sounds are far away and up close at the same time. The crunch of your boot under snow seems a mile away while the call of some beast across the valley sounds like it was recorded in an anechoic chamber. The voices of your loved ones become unfamiliar. Car engines are quiet while water dripping from icicles is deafening.

That winter Robin and I had talks deep into the night at our cabin and finally agreed to meet up with Heron and Ibis. We had resolved to find The Falconer. All autumn we’d been holed up, stoking the fire with the fir wood that surrounded us and drinking the beer Robin’s dad had made. I had hunted almost nonstop before the first frost and the freezers out back were filled to the brim with deer and wild boar. Yet by February, when daylight lasted 4 hours, our stocks were getting low, and we knew we couldn’t procrastinate any longer. The fatter we got on beer and red meat the lazier and more complacent we became. It took this nagging question at the back of our minds to rouse us: Who was The Falconer, and where did he live? Did he really have healing powers that worked at a distance? More importantly, Ibis had called us one night at three in the morning in a panic, telling us about how her daughter was deathly sick and how Heron had stopped eating in a comatose depression and we had to do something now oh my fucking god we had to move we had to find The Falconer if it was the last thing we did. I had tried to calm her down but knew it was no use, and knew that Heron was no use to calm his wife either. So with their daughter safely in the care of Ibis’ mother, the two of them left Coomb and set off for Deeping Hull where Robin and I were to meet them. We spent two weeks making boar jerky and sterilizing beer jugs so we could drink the stuff at room temperature, and set off in the jeep.

“You know, Merlin, I really have a hard time imagining Heron actually getting into that bad of a funk. I just don’t see it. He’s usually so, like...jovial?”

Robin looked at me with his typical side-eyed glance, neck cocked away from me. The muffled crush of snow under the ice-chained tires blended with his soft voice so I could barely understand him. I rested my right hand on the stick and leaned towards him, eyes on the road.

“I dunno, Rob. He can be bipolar like that. Remember when him and Grebe broke up? He didn’t answer the phone for days. We had to go to his cabin and practically break the door down and he was just sitting there in front of the stove staring at the embers and barely keeping warm. It took almost a month before we could pry him off the couch and drag him to the Sharp Shooter to try to meet girls.”

“Well, I guess. But Ibis exaggerates things. That’s why I’m still telling you I don’t think they should be together. I mean, I know they have a kid, the whole deal. But I knew they weren’t good for each other.”

“That’s just how things work out, man. Everyone you love ends up with people you don’t think they should be with. People are attracted to their own trauma. It’s like playing music. You convince yourself something sounds normal, something sounds good or right but in the back of your mind you know you’re out of key or you’re playing it wrong. But it has to be that way. If you actually played the notes right, their rightness would be jarring. Sounds can’t be what they’re supposed to be; people can’t be with who they’re supposed to be with. It’s like a learning process, you know? That’s what I realized back when I was writing all of those songs. A melody never sounds right; if it does, you get bored with it right away.”

“Well...maybe. You think about this shit way more than I do.”

“Stick to learning how to make beer, dude. I mean that as a compliment, I promise.”

“Yeah I know. I was surprised when you suddenly stopped all that songwriting, by the way. Speaking of Heron being kinda bipolar, you’re not, you know? You’ve always been so steady. Sure, I guess last winter you basically spent all your time hunting, butchering and writing, which was different. But I didn’t expect you to just stop the writing point blank. I never asked you what happened.”

“I dunno. I think it became an obsession. I became too enamored with the sound of my own voice I guess. It got to a critical mass that was sickening to me. I had to try to forget about myself as quickly as possible. Plus that was right around when Ibis told us she was pregnant. That changed something in me, I don’t know why. The world began to look and feel and sound different. It was kind of surreal.”

“The songs were good though. And you didn’t even record half of them.”

“I know. You just have to let some shit go, right? Pass me a beer.”

We made it to Deeping Hull by 2AM. Heron and Ibis were staying at the motel. We arrived and asked the desk clerk for their room number.

---------

“Oh my god guys, I’m so glad to see you.” she leans forward and fully embraces me, vodka fresh on her breath. I feel her chest heave and her skeletal breasts press into me. I feel the barely contained paranoia rattling through her scant body. She leans over and gives Robin a side hug and peck on the cheek. She steps aside and we move into the tiny room with two twin beds. It smells of moth balls. Heron is sitting at the edge of the far bed with his bare back to us facing the bathroom door. The walls are made of faux wood paneling. Heron’s body is positioned in a way that feels wrong. I cautiously step into the dim light from the bedside lamp. Some type of bugs are impossibly congregating around the light despite the sub-zero temperatures outside.

“Heron...hey bud.” I gingerly step over towards his gaunt figure. He doesn’t move. I turn around and look at Ibis. The desperation on her face sends a guillotine through me. Robin is hanging back by the open door. The room is quickly getting cold.

“Rob, shut the door sweetheart.” Ibis tries to speak in a motherly way.

“Ibis, we’ve got beer and jerky in the jeep. You guys thirsty? Hungry?”

“That sounds wonderful honey, I’m parched.” I block out the memory of her breath and walk back to the door to fetch refreshments. I hear Robin awkwardly try to make small talk with Ibis as I trudge towards the jeep. To be fair to Robin, none of us have seen each other since last season. Robin and I haven’t even met the sick kid. When I return with the cooler and jugs, everyone is in the same place they were in 60 seconds before. The air is tight and the sound of my feet on the lime green carpet is loud and unnatural. I grab tiny paper cups from the side table and pour everyone a beer. I leave the jerky on the bed that’s closer to the door. No one takes any. Heron hasn’t moved.

“So Ibis what’s wrong with your daughter?” I sit in the armchair by the TV and Ibis and Robin take seats on the beds.

“Oh god, we don’t know. She had fever and chills and night sweats and her urine was brown. The town doctor said she couldn’t do anything for her. And all tests passed with flying colors. An unknown disease or virus. She said nearly 6% of illnesses annually go undiagnosed. The symptoms point to something that could be fatal. She’s with mom, and the doctor said she’d call daily. I don’t know. I just don’t know, Merlin. I’m so scared, and Heron practically doesn’t exist at this point. It’s like I’m waiting for him to wake up. I’ve never seen him like this.” She looks over and puts her hand on his shoulder. He stirs slightly. Robin drains his tiny beer and looks at me for a refill.

“What have you heard about the Falconer, Ib?” He turns his body towards her from the other bed but she doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Just what we’ve all heard. He’s not so much a hunter as a gatherer, a gatherer of secrets and potions and remedies and shrubs locked inside the depths of this endless forest. That he speaks to no one but heals those in need, and that he does it from far away. They say he’s like the distant rumble of an avalanche. That he’s always lived out here in these woods, on these mountains. The things we’ve all heard our whole lives.”

She drains her beer and I fill her cup. She looks at me searchingly, longingly. Her gaze burns into my chest. I don’t know what to add, but I speak anyway, mindlessly.

“My grandfather used to tell the story of how he made the trek into the unknown and found only an abandoned campsite. He found strange markings, bits of dried flowers, weird frozen deposits of beeswax and pine resin, and a stench that cut through the bitter cold and was unbearable. Signs of healings or rituals or something. The legends run too deep to be completely false. He must be out there.”

“Yes...yes, he must.” Her eyes blaze as some drunken vision flits across her lids momentarily.

“What’s our plan?” Robin drains his beer again and I fill his cup. He slouches towards me to receive it.

“We sleep off the rest of the night and get started in the morning. I’ve heard we need to go on foot. I’m not sure how long the journey is. We’ll probably need more provisions. We’re running low on beer.”

“We get up when we can tomorrow, we gather information and provisions, and we go.” Ibis’ eyes pierce me.

“Yes”.

---------

By 2PM the next day everyone is awake, even Heron. The sun is beginning to set. Robin goes down to the desk to ask about our needs for the journey. Heron is unable to shower and Ibis has to wash him. She’s wiping away tears as the two of them emerge naked from the tiny bathroom. I turn, walk outside, and light a cigarette. I see Robin hurriedly walking up from the main office.

“The desk clerk said there’s one general store in town and it’s a half hour walk from here. She said The Falconer is a half day’s march due north on cross country skis and that the going is tough and it’s super dangerous. We can’t go by car. I guess he lives in a hut where the Coomb river branches out from the Drager. We need to start now if we’re going to make it and apparently there’s no guarantee he’ll even be there.”

“Ok.”

We duck back inside and the two of them are dressed. Ibis has her forehead pressed against Heron’s and they seem to be conversing at a low volume. They look up.

“Heron? Hey man. We’re here in Deeping Hull and we need to leave ASAP to reach The Falconer. We have to act now. For your daughter, man. We need to head to the general store in town for skis and more provisions. Let’s roll.”

Heron finally meets my eyes. He seems to understand. We move off, stock up at the general store, and head north.

---------

The woods are pure pine and we ski through in dusk as the way becomes denser and denser. Conversation dims as the cold creeps in. Knowing we need to find a balance of moving quickly and taking breaks to fill our bodies with protein and carbs, I try to gauge everyone’s feelings. Thankfully Heron has fallen in line and is skiing at everyone else’s pace, but I still worry for him. We come to a hill.

“Break!” We all collapse in the snow. Beer, jerky and preserved fruits from the general store are passed around.

“Ib, when exactly did you have your kid anyway?” Robin asks. “It was kinda sudden news for me and Merlin. We hadn’t realized you two were looking to have kids.” There’s an agonized pause. Ibis clears her throat.

“Only a year and a half ago. She was a surprise to us. A beautiful surprise, right Heron?” She taps his head like he’s a toy. He stirs.

“What? Who?”

“Our daughter, silly.”

“We don’t have...a daughter…” Ibis makes a funny face and gently slaps him upside the head.

“We need to keep moving.” I get up.

---------

The scant light is gone as we press on through increasingly tall drifts. No paths here but none of us are strangers to these conditions. We’ve all done this before. We here the howl of wolves, so much more high pitched than people know. Miles away yet they sound right ahead of us. Still gives me goosebumps despite years of hearing it. I begin to shiver.

“Anyone wonder why we even live out here?” I ask.

“We’ve always known these woods. Kind of a cruel beauty to it,” Ibis says.

“Yeah. I traveled south once. Came across some town. All of the people seemed miserable, ya know? Like they had no motivation. The cold moves us, energizes us up here. Makes us feel alive.” Robin the optimist. Sometimes gets old.

“Agree to a point Rob, but think. Aren’t we lazy too? And miserable? You and me just spent two entire months drinking beer, preserving meat, playing chess. All we did. What kind of life is that? At least now we’re doing something that matters. We’re doing this for...for Ibis’ daughter, right?”

“Right. For her daughter…”

“Guys, I’m beginning to shiver. Can we take another break?”

“Ibis if you’re shivering we keep moving. We’ll take a food and beer break in a sec. Er, I mean in an hour.”

“A whole hour? When did we eat last? Did we even eat before we left?”

“Course we did. And we ate an hour ago. I think.”

“Wasn’t it two hours ago Merlin?” Robin sounds haggard.

“No, it was definitely only an hour ago.”

Dark crowds in on us menacingly. Like walls of a cave that dwindle to an impassable point. Trees get thicker out here, pines feel sharper as they scratch coats. We don’t speak for a long stretch. All I hear is the huffing and puffing of Ibis, then Heron, then Robin behind me. Elk to the left running in the opposite direction to us, wisely keeping away. Animals are smarter than us. Or are they running towards us? Ears are usually keen but I feel disoriented suddenly.

“Do you guys here elk? Should we alter course?”

“No we’re fine. Not elk, just deer. Elk are loud. You should know that.”

“No they’re not, they’re...quiet. Right?”

“You can’t hear deer at all honey.” Ibis not very confident. Begin to feel a sense of fear that I never feel out here. Something’s been bothering me too and finally realize.

“Has anyone heard any birds...this entire trip?”

“Well yeah...or wait…”

“Weird...”

“We’re out here why again?” Ibis sounding weak. Surge of fear in me.

Heron trying to say something. No one listens. Getting pretty tired. Awkward silence lasts kinda long. Feel I should make conversation to keep energy. “Ibis what’s your daughter’s name anyway? Can’t remember.” Instantly embarrassed by lack of memory. Wish I said something else.

“Her name...is...fuck…”

“Wasn’t it…”

“She doesn’t have a name because she doesn’t exist.” A completely foreign voice. Panic. Look back. It’s Heron. Eyes lock.

“The fuck did you just say.” Everyone at a stand still. In a circle.

“I said Ibis’ daughter doesn’t have a name because she doesn’t exist.” Clear voice. Strong. Loud. Too loud. What.

“Heron...why you were so comatose...what…”

“Because you and your wife drugged me. To bring me out here and kill me. Robin’s the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Honey, Heron. You...love...I really, but shud the fug ub.” Her balance wrong, kind of falls. Not shivering now.

“I’m not your honey and you don’t love me. And you’re not my wife.” She try to hit him with ski. Miss. I stumble at Heron, try pull out gun. Lights out, on my back. How long? Still dark but hint of sunrise. Get up. She on ground slowly taking clothes off. Bare buttocks in the snow.

“Honey what...don’t do...where’s the others…”

“Falconer behind you, look…found him. What’s carrying.” Nothing there. Turn around she’s taking off her shirt. Need to be alone. Panic now it’s just I don’t know what. Need to leave. Being need crawling away from her. Disgusting woman.

Found campsite. Snow cleared, lots of coals. Deer blood. Piss in snow. Old bucket. Carcass on the spit. No meat. Fuck you. Cold coals despair and laughter stiff legs just a nap

---------

I left those murderers in their hypothermic stupor. I didn’t even bother killing them. I just let them die because that’s what they deserved. I’m not guilty of anything. My name’s not even Heron; in fact, none of those cold blooded freaks were named after birds. They hypnotized and drugged me and subjected me to sleep deprivation. They knew I was a falconer; all the bird shit was for pure sadistic pleasure. They even convinced me birds didn’t exist. Fuck those fucks. Jesus. I fucking hate them. Those creeps knew everything about me. They must have been staking out my cabin for months. The kid Stephen, who they called Robin, is an innocent idiot so I took him with me and revived him, although he almost died, poor kid. I think they brought him out there to make it look like an accident. Or maybe they were going to kill him too. Lucky to have me with him.

It took us nearly six hours to get back to Deeping Hull, but we made it, checked back into the motel, and passed out. The next day I reported two missing persons to the Sheriff’s office. The girl at the desk took the report down like I was telling her I saw someone going five miles over the speed limit. Cute chick. Stephen had regained his wits and naturally had a lot of questions. He remembered that “Merlin and Ibis” were married but apparently was oblivious of their plot to kill me. He also seemed to believe The Falconer was an actual person, some kind of mystic guru I guess. I felt bad I had to dispel that one for him, like telling a kid Santa’s not real. What a mean thing to have to do. Oh well. Life is cruel. We’re addicted to our own weaknesses.