Today's Reading

After many hours of steady uneventful walking, the boy had almost reached the mountains proper. The slopes were jagged and stark against the sky, rising to block his view to the east. He could smell the sharp fragrance of ice and snow that rolled down from them, mixing with the warmer, earthy smell of the tundra. The calls of the seabirds had long since disappeared, replaced by the chattering of ground squirrels. Soon enough, the marshy tundra would be replaced completely by the dry brittle stones of the mountain slopes. He would reach the place of obsidian a little past midday. He had chosen the best route and was traveling fast.

Glad that the first half of his trip was almost complete, he decided to stop and eat. He found a small boulder to sit on, slipped his bow and arrows off his shoulders, and carefully unwrapped the paste that his mother had prepared for him. It was his favorite traveling food— berries and dried caribou meat suspended in whipped caribou fat. His mother had even added the leaves of a red flower that grew near their camp, a special tangy treat that made his mouth fill with saliva.

After eating and drinking a good measure of creek water from his water pouch, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the nuna, listening to the world around him speak. To his left, a marmot whistled a warning. A heavy bumblebee vibrated above his head. The soft, sparkling sounds of tiny rocks tumbling down a nearby cliff drifted to him. As always, the sounds centered him. They quieted the echo of his parents' worries.

Suddenly, a golden eagle yipped, announcing itself. Its cry made the boy shiver with surprise as his eyes flew open wide. Golden eagles usually stayed farther inland, near more favorable hunting grounds. Excited, the boy searched the sky for the silhouette of the great bird, wondering if it would be close enough to catch. But the sky was empty. The boy kept scanning above him, sure that the eagle would soon appear.

Another series of cries rippled over the tundra; these were much closer and came not from above the boy but from down low, in front of him. The boy turned toward the sound. The golden eagle hurtled toward him with alarming speed, a mere five feet above the ground, so close that the boy could see the slight adjustments it made midflight for the buffeting winds. The bird was huge, at least three times the boy’s height from wing tip to wing tip. He had never seen a bird of this size. Its body gleamed gold in the sun, copper accents flashing at each feather tip. As it got closer, talons as long as the boy’s forearm gleamed black in the sunlight and swung out in front of the great beast. Slowly the boy realized what the bird was doing. It was coming in for a kill, swift and dangerous—its eyes were focused on him.

3

SAVIK

The boy threw his body to the side. Too late, he realized that his bow and arrows were out of reach. He rolled again, pulling his obsidian knife from his belt. Dread flooded his mind like cold water, but with determination and resolve—and more than a little fear—he leapt up into a crouch, knife held low in front of him. He braced himself for impact, breathing harshly through his clenched teeth.

But nothing hit him. Instead, the air swirled around PiKa, catching his hair and throwing bits of the dirt into his eyes. He heard the sound of claws digging into stone, making his teeth itch. He turned his head toward where the noise was coming from. He saw the eagle had settled onto the boulder where he’d been sitting just moments before. The great bird scrutinized the boy, shifting its head side to side, holding its razor- sharp beak agape, wings pulled away from its body in readiness, muscles tense, body poised to launch.

The boy remained motionless, mind racing as he took stock of the situation, afraid to trigger the bird’s attack instinct by moving.

The world slowed down as PiKa’s heartbeat sped up.

A hundred thoughts poured through his mind.

The bird seemed winded from its flight, but it was large enough and quick enough to take him down without trouble. His light caribou- skin parka would offer no protection against talons made to rip and shred. There was nowhere to hide on the open tundra nearby, besides a few small and flimsy willow brushes. The knife he held would barely scratch the bird. He cursed himself for not carrying his father’s heavy throwing spears.

His breath quickened. If the eagle attacked now, it would be a fight to the death. His instincts screamed to run, to put an object between them, or to surprise the bird and attack first. But he held his body as still as he could and slowed his breathing. His attention became razor sharp as he focused on every single movement the bird made.

The great bird cocked its head from one side to the other slowly, eyeing the boy with a predatory intensity. The pauses became longer between head swings, as though it was thinking about what it saw. After a few tense moments, the bird relaxed, lifted its head, and dropped its shoulders, tucking the great wings along its body. The beak closed with an audible slap. The boy stayed crouched, waiting. Maybe the bird would judge him too much a fight, prey not worth the energy to take down. Maybe it would leave.

Maybe.

Finally, the eagle seemed to reach a decision. It stretched and flapped its wings once—which almost made the boy turn and run. Then the great bird began to shudder and shake its head. Confused, the boy just stared. Soon the head shaking turned almost violent. Small feathers drifted to the ground as the bird tossed its head from side to side, and the topmost part of it began to peel away. The feathers receded as if being sloughed off, and with one final shake, the bird’s face came down like a hood around its shoulders.

This excerpt is from the ebook edition.

Monday we begin the book THE NIGHT HUNT by Alexandra Christo.

 
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