The Tree Shepherd's Daughter (12 page)

Hadn't she seen the toll-free collect-call commercials
on television? She'd call Elizabeth. She would make immediate arrangements for Keelie to come home once she told
her of the horrible conditions that she had to endure here.

Two men dressed in leather vests, white muslin shirts,
and cloth breeches scurried past her and out the exit.

"If she flies past the grounds, we'll never be able to
catch her," said one man. "She'll die out there."

"Aye, we'll need to alert the management. I've never
known a bird more tenacious than that one," said the other
man.

She wondered what that was about, but it didn't concern her. She was on her way home. Keelie lifted the
phone from the cradle. She stopped as she heard music
nearby, the sound of a harp. Had Elia followed her? She
looked around, but there was no golden-haired witch in
sight. The harping stopped, and then she heard the dial
tone and punched in one of the 1-800 numbers she recalled. An operator answered, "To whom would you like
to make a collect call?"

"Laurie Abernathy in Los Angeles, California. This
is Keelie Heartwood." Keelie gave the operator Laurie's
number. Thunder rumbled above her as the phone rang.
Keelie's heart pounded against her ribcage, and on the
other end of the receiver, a familiar voice said, "Hello?"

The operator said, "Will you accept a collect call from
Keelie Heartwood?"

"Yes!"

Laurie's voice was like warm sunshine after a cold, rainy
day. It was home and school and listening to new CDs by
the pool. Keelie wanted to transform herself into little bits of
microscopic Keelie pieces and travel through the telephone
cord over the fiber optic network to be with her friend.

A dark shadow swooped over her. Keelie looked up
into the sky to see what it was-

-and screamed as razor-sharp talons reached for her
eyes.

"Keelie? Keelie, is that you?"

Keelie heard her friend's voice, tinny and far above.
She'd dropped and rolled onto the ground, arms over her
head. A harsh screech sounded directly overhead. She
flinched as something brushed her back.

Eyes closed, she pictured the claws extended like powerful scythes, ready to shred her face. She pulled her legs
up tighter and tucked her face into her arms. A hawk. A
huge one.

Keelie's muscles felt frozen by the frighteningly shrill
cry and flapping wings. The pay phone cord dangled somewhere above her head, and Laurie's voice was replaced
by a woman's monotone voice, "If you would like to make
a call, please hang up and try again."

Keelie closed her eyes tighter and covered her head. All
those years of earthquake drills in school finally came in
handy. She listened for more of the bird's movements; instead, she heard only the irritating beeping of the phone.
She twisted her head and peeked between her fingers.
Blackening, swirling storm clouds, but no movement. She
cautiously moved her arm. No hawk hovering above her,
waiting to tear her into shreds.

She rose to her knees and scanned the surrounding trees.
Still no hawk. Relief flooded through her. It was gone.

Keelie stood. Something skimmed the back of her head
with a light stroke. Panic returned. She remained perfectly
still, then inhaled sharply when the hawk landed lightly
on the nearby fence. Its claws dug into the wood as it attempted to balance itself, wide wings tented.

Mouth dry, she gazed into the bird's golden eye as it
scrutinized her. It turned its head, and her fear lessened, replaced by sympathy. The other eye was milky white. Blind.

Keelie had never been this close to something so majestic and beautiful in her entire life. Its blindness didn't mar
the power, and being this close to it touched something
inside her-tripped a switch deep within her soul.

A warm breeze ruffled the bird's feathers. The irritating
beeping from the pay phone receiver pulled Keelie's attention away from the hawk, and back to the fact she'd lost
her connection to Laurie: her connection to home.

Keelie reached for the receiver, picked it up, and stretched closer to the pay phone to push the buttons to
call Laurie. She smiled at the hawk. It watched her, unmoving, until she pressed the metal buttons. The bird cried
out again as if asking her, "What are you doing? Why do
you want to leave?"

She left the pay phone and walked over to touch the
wooden fence. It was cedar, and in her mind she saw rows
of planted trees. Tree farm.

The hawk cried out. Keelie turned to see the two men
who had rushed by only minutes before. They walked
through the tower gates, then stopped when they heard
the hawk cry out again. Keelie looked from the bird to the
men. "Is this your bird?"

One of the men called out, "Don't move, kid."

The other one held out an arm encased in a thick, stiff
leather glove. "Come, Ariel, come to me," he called out.

The first man motioned cautiously to Keelie. "Don't
move. She's dangerous."

Yeah, now you warn me.

The hawk turned its head from the men to look once
more at Keelie. This must have been the bird that had
flown away during the raptor show when she'd arrived yesterday.

Above her, the trees whispered to each other. She felt
their touch in the breeze against her cheek. Feather light.

Feathers. She sensed that the hawk wasn't going with
these men, but maybe she would come to her.

Ariel the hawk turned her golden eye to Keelie and
as their eyes locked, the two connected. Understanding
flowed between two hurt souls, bound in pain. At that moment, Keelie knew she had a friend at the High Mountain Renaissance Festival.

She edged closer to Ariel. "Will you come to me?"

The hawk bobbed her head as if saying yes. Ariel
inched her talons down the fence closer to Keelie.

"Move slowly," the gloved man called. He drew the
glove off and tossed it to her underhand. It fell at her feet.
Ariel shifted her weight back, as if ready to jump on it,
then settled down.

"Put the gauntlet on, then put out your arm. Be careful, her talons are as sharp as knives."

Keelie tugged the glove onto her hand, moving carefully so that she wouldn't scare the hawk. She was glad for
the protection from Ariel's sharp claws.

Ariel bobbed her head up and down, examining her,
then launched herself toward Keelie and landed on her extended forearm. She was large, but not as heavy as Keelie
had thought. She kept her head back, afraid of the wicked
beak so close to her face. Ariel lowered her head and leaned
forward. Keelie mirrored the move, and Ariel touched her
forehead to Keelie's.

"Holy cow!"

"Will you look at that?"

Ignoring the wondering cries of the men, Keelie and Ariel
touched, feather to skin, until at last Keelie raised her head.

"We both should've flown free when we had the
chance," Keelie whispered against the smooth head.

At the raptor mews, Keelie learned Ariel's sad story from
the two men. Some teenage boys had shot at her with a BB
gun, and the pellet had permanently blinded her left eye.

No longer able to see to hunt, she had been brought
to the raptor rehabilitators. Since Ariel could fly, she kept
attempting to escape. Each time she'd returned when she
was hungry, but her impaired vision put her in danger of
being injured.

This was the first time she'd flown to a person, and the
men seemed in awe of Keelie as they flanked her on the
walk to the mews.

"Thank the stars and the planets, Ariel has returned to
us," said a tall, slender woman with odd, brush-cut hair.
Keelie recognized her; it was Cameron, the lady who had
held the snowy owl the day before, and the only other
woman at the Faire with short hair like hers.

"You must be very special. She lets no one touch her,
other than Tom and me." The woman motioned with her
head toward the man who had given his leather glove to
Keelie.

Warmth rushed through her at the praise. Wind from
the rising storm flipped a curl onto her forehead, but she
didn't dare brush it away.

Cameron turned toward the men. "Have you been introduced to Keelie Heartwood?"

The men stared at her intently.

"Is she, now?" one said.

The other nodded as if he'd learned something special.
"Makes sense."

The woman frowned at the wind-whipped trees over head. "Storm's getting closer. Let's put the rest of the birds
up.

The men hurried away. Keelie's shoulder ached from
holding up the bird. She rolled her neck, trying to get the
blood moving again. "How did you know my name?"

"We met yesterday, remember?" Cameron shifted her
birdlike gaze to Keelie. "Have animals always liked you?
Did you know you also have a gift for healing?"

"I've never been around any animals, other than my
friend's cat." She didn't answer the question about healing. What a joke. Mom had always considered medicine
an unsuitable career for her.

Cameron opened the door to a large steel cage and
beckoned to Keelie.

Although she didn't want to do it, Keelie reached into
the cage with Ariel still on her arm, and placed the hawk
next to a large branch inside. Surprisingly, the bird hopped
over to the perch and settled right down, as if flying away
was no big deal and now it was time for a nap.

"Amazing," said Cameron. Her smile widened as she
watched Keelie put the hawk away. There was no disdain
or condescension in the woman's eyes.

"If you aren't the squeamish type, Keelie, you can come
by tomorrow and feed Ariel her lunch."

"What does Ariel eat for lunch?" She imagined a bag
of hawk chow.

"Rats."

Keelie's face must have shown her disgust.

"Are you up to it?"

She watched Ariel on the perch. The hawk's milky eye faced her. She was not totally blind, Keelie thought. The
white eye was like a lens that allowed her insight into the
hawk's soul, and Ariel shared the pain of losing her freedom.

Feeding rats to birds was gross, but she couldn't imagine not coming here. Cameron took the glove from her.

"When?"

"One in the afternoon," said Cameron. Her eyes darted
back to the birds and then to Keelie. She was like a bird
herself. "I'll be here."

Keelie walked away, but turned to catch one last glimpse
of Ariel. The hawk had closed her eyes.

"See you tomorrow, Ariel."

On her way back to her father's booth, Keelie noticed
that a lot of people were leaving, anxious eyes on the lowering clouds.

She was starving again and stopped to buy a corn on the
cob dripping in butter. When she paid for it, she overheard
a mundane say that they were under a tornado watch.

"Excuse me, sir. What time is it?"

"Four o'clock. What are you dressed as, kid?" The man
was grinning at her skirt.

She glanced down. "I'm a fairy princess. What else?"

She left the guy staring openmouthed after her and
hurried back up the path. Tornado watch. There weren't
any of those in California. What was she supposed to do?
Her only experience with tornados was at the movies.
Twister and The Wizard of Oz.

She watched a wrinkled man in a long beard hurry past
her, his purple robes flapping in the wind. Come to think
of it, this place was very Oz.

She had stayed a long time at the Raptor Motel, longer
than she'd meant to. Dad would be worried, but then he'd
said she should explore the Renaissance Faire, and she had
explored it. He probably hadn't missed her at all today. She
bet he'd been busy with his furniture and his groupies.

It was funny how quickly time passed once she was
with Ariel. She'd totally forgotten Laurie, too, though she
needed to call her again. Tomorrow, she thought. After
she'd fed Ariel.

She came to a sudden stop. She'd been so busy attending to the messy buttered corn that she hadn't paid a lot of
attention to her surroundings.

There it was: the Muck and Mire Show's stage. She
looked down at her bodice, and then glanced back at
the handprints painted on the back of her skirt. She had
to smile in spite of her hatred of the costume. The man
named Tarl, who had brought her the dress, stood nearby
talking to a small man.