CHAPTER 16 – CHRONIS

Mitakahn walked off and Axion went inside to ask Queen Adyána to go with them to the festival. Mitakahn went to the outer limits of the village. Dark rosy trees stood like giants above him. This forest was very old. Mitakahn had never seen a red forest before. He marveled at the unique qualities of the wilderness terrain. It was a bright sunny day, and yet there was a thin blanket of smog covering the woods.

The Burning Mountains were truly a bizarre place. Mitakahn took out his buck knife and began to throw it at one of the large red oak trees. The first time he tried it the knife’s tip missed its target and the handle clanked against the tough bark. Mitakahn walked over to the knife, picked it up, cleaned it off, and returned back to his throwing spot. This time, when he threw it, the rotation of the blade was perfect, and it stuck deep into the bark.

“Nice throw, but I would be careful if I were you,” said a voice lurking from somewhere beside Mitakahn, “It’s a big forest and who knows what might wander right into your throwing knife mid-air…or who…”

A swift burly man appeared from behind a tree. “I’m sorry if I startled you, my name is Echo. I am one of the guards of the village. I was just on my round when I heard your racket.”

“I didn’t realize this village had guards. I’ll be sure to tone down the ruckus,” Mitakahn bitterly responded to Echo’s greeting.

“I’m sorry if I came across as annoyed, I was merely trying to make a joke.”

“I’m not in the joking mood,” said Mitakahn as he pulled the knife out of the tree in a hostile manner and tucked it back into his sheath.

“Listen, I understand you don’t know many people around here, and you and your family has been through some hard times recently-“

“Then you know enough to leave me to myself, thank you,” Mitakahn rudely cut off the villager trying to extend an olive branch.

“As you wish, I’m sorry I bothered you,” said Echo, as he bowed and left Mitakahn’s company.

Mitakahn regretted treating the villager like that at first. Then his new found air of resentment made him feel better. He was no longer the prince who had to be nice to everyone. He was a different person now; he did not want to be the same person. He could not be. His father’s death had symbolized a schism in his life, starting a new era.

And in this new era, he was taking on a new identity. This new identity was not entirely known to Mitakahn, yet he thought he had it all figured out. Deep down at the core of it Mitakahn thought to himself ‘I am no longer a boy with a father.’ And that gave him permission to act uncharacteristically petulant. He agreed with his own cynical sense of logic and went about his business.

Mitakahn walked further into the woods, careful not to be found by any more unwanted visitors. He came upon a mighty rock peering over a short cliff-side. Mitakahn always found comfort in these types of settings. From this high up, he could see the slow pillars of smoke rising into the air from the mountains below him.

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While Mitakahn was admiring the clouds he saw something moving within them. From this far away he could only describe it as a moving black speck. As it got closer to him, and its detail became clear, he realized it was a bird. Its graceful wings were enormous and powerful enough to be able to fly through the dense clouds, spreading the smoke out with the dancing spirals of its wingspan. This was no mere indigenous bird. Whatever it was, it was making its way towards Mitakahn.

Head to head, its path took no turn or tangent, although moving somewhat erratically. it was flying to Mitakahn. At first, he was a little worried that he might have to fight some iron-strong bird on the mountainside. Then he noticed once again, the creature’s gentle nature and graceful yet lopsided flight. It was not coming to attack him, and that intrigued Mitakahn. If it was not a predator out for prey, what was its interest in Mitakahn?

The bird got close enough, now, for Mitakahn to make a clear observation of it. It had the face of a hawk, with a red chest, dark shining silver feathers on the edges of its wings and slightly crooked tail; and black, perfectly round eyes with golden yellow rings around them. This was certainly a wondrous species of bird.

The hawk circled above Mitakahn once and then landed right beside him on the rock. They both looked straight forward at the landscape, Mitakahn with an innocent smile on his face. The first smile he had worn since Orion tackled him during the wake. He noted a definite affinity he shared for the animal kingdom, one rooted in his love for the lions of the royal garden. This intruder of his privacy was much more welcomed than the villager before. Mitakahn subtly turned his head to gander at the proud bird. Its chest was puffed out and its feather’s clinked together as it got comfortable.

Mitakahn caught a better look. The hawk’s tail was actually metal. Mitakahn blinked in utter shock, a Silver-tipped Hawk, one of the rarest birds in the world, was sitting right beside him. The charming kestrel twitched its head towards Mitakahn and they made brief eye contact. Mitakahn thought for sure the bird would fly away, but it was acting as if Mitakahn posed no threat. He was amazed at the boldness of this hawk. So, he turned back towards it, saying, “And what is your name?”

The bird screeched and cawed, and the piercing sound stung Mitakahn’s ears. He cringed and rubbed his ears, and the bird screeched again. But this time it ruffled its feathers, and they chimed out. The chimes coupled with the screech in an unexpected manner. The combination of the two created a beautiful sound that was quite pleasing to Mitakahn’s ears. In the muffled aftershock, he heard an echo. Whether it was in his head, or the bird was actually saying it, Mitakahn could hear a definitive word. And he could only assume that it was the answer to his question. So he then said in a much more serious tone, “Your name….is Chronis?”

The hawk gave another squawk and rustled its short chin feathers. Mitakahn laughed, he could not believe that he was actually communicating with a bird. The Silver-tipped Hawk fluttered its tail feathers as it tried and failed to remove an obtrusion.

Mitakahn listened to the chromatic tones sounding off from the small collisions, and something was out of tune; sharp and flat notes that do not coincide with each other. Mitakahn looked carefully at the bird’s metal feathers. There, underneath the silver-encrusted layer, a small twig was caught inside the bouquet of soft tail feathers. The poor majestic fowl clearly needed a hand. Mitakahn reached down slowly and carefully pulled the twig out from under the silver tail feathers.

Chronis shook his entire body and reset his feather formation, a harmonious scale of melodic perfection emitted. Mitakahn flinched at the magic of natural music. The hawk looked at Mitakahn and then took off from the rock back into the sky. Chronis sang out in chorus with the chimes of his flapping wings as he reentered the clouds and Mitakahn responded, “So long, friend.” Mitakahn watched as Chronis, the mighty Silver-tipped Hawk, turned back into an unrecognizable dot and thought to himself, ‘what a majestic creature.’ Perhaps, one day, their paths will cross again.