The Falcon

A shifting shadow struggled through the shore’s defenses of seaweed netted across piercing silver rocks. The blue-green monster behind him roared and grabbed at him with lapping hands. Reaching the tall black wall that belayed the promise of safety and dry land, the water logged young man began his perilous ascent. The climb was slow, as he could never be sure of his footing on the sea sprayed rocks. The salty mist blasted him as the sea’s last attempt to claim his life for its list. As his hand found its grasp on the soft, tough grass, the blonde struggled to stand on the stable land. Cobalt eyes caught a glimpse of soft, rolling land flowing to the horizon. As the traveler sank to his knees, his mind was filled with confused images of vibrant green grass and gray, stormy sky before the darkness blanketed his thoughts.

This young man was known to the world as Cain Athame, though there are many who suspected that to be a surname, a penname for his fans. Whether they are right or not is unimportant, for he was known to no one, except maybe himself, as anything other than Cain. He was, in addition, now dead to the eyes of society anyway. By now the whole world, and a majority of the colonies, were tuned in and watching the developing investigation like a train wreck. The U.S.S. Logos, the prototype for the next generation of combined air, sea, and land travel, had been in the newsvids for months. Its shakedown cruise, carrying several of the world’s top scientists, writers, and artists to the universal arts conference, was seen as a celebration of the wonders humanity could accomplish with it’s new found unity. When the news of the accident came through, it seemed all of humanity watched with baited breath. One could practically hear the collective gasp when the investigation team reported they could not rule out purposeful sabotage. Who would act against this symbol of peace and unity?

Of course Cain, the unknown survivor of the Logos, knew nothing of this uproar and mourning. He lay drying, unconscious, on the edge of the island where he washed ashore. The sun was rising anew, though it’s rays only filtered weakly through the silver washed sky. Cain stirred slightly, returning to consciousness with a dizzying slowness. A shadow circled him lazily, the shadowed image of sharp-eyed falcon sliding across the grass. The created swooped down towards him, sharp talons impaling the gray bark of its perch, a solitary oak tree standing feet away from the young author. Turning its mahogany crested head to peer down at the waking man below, the Falcon pierced the sluggish silence with a shrill cry. The cry tore Cain from his peaceful unconsciousness and left him blinking in the reality of his surroundings. As memories of the wreck and his journey here filled him, the blonde cursed under his breath lightly laid a hand over his face in despair. A moment or two of silence sufficed to calm him enough to open his eyes, and he found himself gazing at the falcon that had awoken him.

“ Well, hello there …” he started, calling out to the Falcon in polite tones “ I guess you’re my companion on this island, ne?”

The Falcon just tilted its head to watch him. He had half expected it to answer. Cain shook his head and chalked it up to his time unconscious. Standing slowly, the young author stretched and tested his various muscles. Finding himself in working order, he glanced around, mind wandering as to what to do next to insure survival. His gaze came back to the Falcon in time to see it take of lithely from its perch and soar inland.

“ Well, good-bye then …” the author mumbled, finding himself distracted by this Falcon. He had no sooner said this than the Falcon turned and backtracked the few feet it had traveled, circling close to Cain’s head, before returning to it’s former perch and staring at the blonde almost expectantly. The author stared back at the Falcon, then took a few steps forward and called, “ Well, what do you want then?”

As an answer, the Falcon circled once more overhead, before returning to the perch with an insistent glare. Shaking his head the author proclaimed, “ You want me to follow you …” Cain, realizing the absurdity of the situation, decided that he was either dreaming, dead, or insane. In any case, now that he was firm in this knowledge, he was free to see how deep the rabbit hole went. The blonde smirked up at the Falcon, crossing the remaining space between them, and gestured inland “ Lead the way.”

* * *

The hours swept on uncounted as the young author followed the Falcon through the relatively treeless landscape. With very few obstacles in his way and the Falcon leading a relatively straight path, Cain was left with time to ponder. He had always said that too much time to think was unhealthy, but he had much to mill through in his mind. Cain wondered how the public was receiving the news of the crash. He knew the public outcry and confusion would be immense. How could anyone want to sabotage the Logos, the symbol of all the new time of unity has and will accomplish? The poor sheep would never be able to process the protests of the terrorists. How could they? To them this new regime was a “ time of unity and peace for all the world, and the colonies beyond”. An unprecedented feat, Cain was forced to admit, but at what price? What society called unity, some recognized as uniformity. The process had been slow, so slow and insidious that the large majority even now don’t recognize it’s effects, but the new regime had turned them all into sheep. Identical, unthinking sheep that plodded along in their daily routines, happy in the knowledge that they contributed to a new unity and peace. Even the arts and sciences were beginning to be effected. Of course, the intelligents of society were the last to start losing rights, by that time the process had snowballed too much to stop. Cain was under the powerful suspicion that the Conference this year had been a guise to gather them into one place and distract, or appease, them while they finished shaping the snare.

The blonde was pulled from his thoughts suddenly by another shrill cry from his guide, the Falcon. Looking up, he realized they had stopped; the Falcon perched on willowy tree standing alone on the hillside. The sloping hillside blocked his view of what lay beyond, but from the stares of the Falcon he guessed that was their goal. Cain left the Falcon with a flourishing bow and “Thank you”, as he made his way up the hill. Steadying himself with a grasp on the sweet jade grass, he half crawled to the summit of the hill. Reaching the top with much effort, the traveler stood catching his breath and blinked in amazement at what lay before him.

Standing tall on the hillside were four, square frames of wood, each about two feet across, slicing the hilltop in a zigzag pattern. Nearing the structure cautiously, Cain’s gaze left the structures and looked through them to the view of the crashing ocean beyond. The next step left him rooted to the spot in shock and curiosity. Where before he had seen the emerald ocean crashing against the lush green land under a stormy gray sky, the author set his eyes on a different place altogether. The land rolled with thick amethyst grasses until it fell off the cliff, which met the crimson ocean with a soft roar. The ruby moon shone down softly from its perch in the velvet black sky. The push to move forward pierced through the infatuated fog of his mind and he glided over the grasses with dreamlike movements. Raising his hand to touch the image before him, he felt the warm wind blow from the wooden frame like an electrical jolt to his senses. The dream like fog faded away as Cain realized the reality of the “image”. Turning to cast a glance back at the island, his thought roamed over what this world held. The new regime, the unity and peace … The herd of sheep moving through this world that he was destined to join. With a last glance back at the Falcon, his guide who seemed to encourage him with its stare, the young author and traveler, once famous and now dead in the eyes of the world made his decision. He was already dead, dreaming, or crazy after all. Turning his back on his united and sleeping people, Cain jumped.