By Carolyn O'Doherty
Hawthorne Fellow 2012
Carolyn lives and works in Portland. She has an MFA from Stonecoast through the University of Southern Maine.
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An excerpt from The Flight of the Hawk
Finn woke when he heard Wren’s giggle.
“It’s pitch dark,” she squealed.
She sounded so near. Finn leapt from the straw that covered most of his cell, every muscle tensed so he would be ready… but ready for what? Stretching out his hands, he crept forward until he found the wall. The sulfur scented stones felt damp.
“Who needs light?” a second voice, deeper and slurred with drink. There was a rustling sound of cloth being crushed and Wren giggled again.
“Do you guard this place all by yourself?” Wren said. She was talking in a high pitched voice that made her sound much younger than her eighteen years. Finn cringed. The Guard, however, laughed.
“Guarding the prisoners is easy duty. It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”
Finn slid his hands along the wall until he found the wood of the cell door. He leaned his ear against its splintered surface. Wren and the Guard must be right outside or else the thick walls would have hidden their voices.
“You’re so brave,” Wren said. “I’d be scared down here alone at night.” Finn rolled his eyes. His little sister? Afraid of the dark? Wren was the one who used to catch spiders and sneak into his room at night to drop them on his head. The man made some sort of reply. His words sounded muffled, as if his face were pressed against something soft. The silence that followed seemed to last a long time.
“What’s that?” Wren asked finally. “It’s poking me.”
The man gave another husky laugh. “They’re my keys.” Finn heard a metallic jingle as the Guard shook them.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing any keys tonight,” Wren murmured. The keys clattered. It sounded like they hit the floor. The man groaned.
“Can we go someplace nicer?” Wren’s voice was just above a whisper.
“I’m nice,” the man said. He was panting a little.
Finn’s fists clenched so hard his forearms ached.
“It’s smelly down here,” Wren said. “And they’ll notice if I come back all dirty. I know a little closet right off the kitchens. It’s very quiet and no one will be there until morning.”
There was more rustling, then the man gasped out: “OK, show me.”
Finn listened as their footsteps faded away. He had just started to wonder what on earth Wren was planning, when new footsteps sounded. These moved quickly, tapping lightly over the stone floor. Finn saw the glimmer of a candle in the crack under his door. The feet moved decisively toward him. There was a short pause, then a clink as someone picked up the keys.
“Finn?”
Finn knocked on his side of the door. A few more steps, then the key rattled in the lock and the door swung open.