Earth Force Son: An Epic Sci-fi Thriller

By James Thulin

EARTH FORCE SON - A Native American brave follows his ambitions to a cave, rumored to harbor a powerful, magical sphere. "Bring that back to the valley and you, Chief Lone Hawk, have the beginnings of an empire!"Guided there by the beautiful princess of a mysterious tribe, he is summoned by a force so demanding, the once brazen young brave fears

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Thulin
• Release date: Dec 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781952648571

James Thulin

Growing up in the flatlands of Illinois, family vacations to the mountains gave young James a great appreciation for nature, while the Native American tourist spots there enticed him with their exotic charm. Years later, he developed an interest in their histories and soon discovered, close to home, Devils Lake State Park. Amidst formidable cliffs, he marvelled at its ancient, bird-shaped burial mound, summer after summer, and knew--"There's a story here!" Thus, James was inspired to write this book, dedicated to honor a long lost people and the impossible dream that embraces all of us, and the future.

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Earth Force Son

Copyright 2021 by James Thulin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this book is illegal and publishable by law.

ISBN-EPub: 978-1-952648-57-1

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Earth Force Son

An Epic Sci-fi Thriller

James Thulin

Contents

Emergence

Lone Hawk

The Serpent’s Blade

Cahokian Queen

Earth Force

Till Summons Parts

Wind God Warrior

Mark of the Owlmen

Evermore Awakening

The Devil’s Code

Xavier & the Sphere Quest

Metamorph ‘X’

Prisoners Ally

Branion’s Way

Giving Windows

Communion Chasm

The Beasts beyond the Bay

Xeno’s Keeper

Unisons

Earth Age Dawn

About the Author

CHAPTER I

Emergence

Balmy and clear with an occasional breeze, local conditions were quite pleasant for a dog day’s night. Yet with no signs of trouble thus far, two forest rangers beginning their night owl patrol of Devils Lake State Park’s south shore in central Wisconsin were all but mired in depression. Earlier that day, at the ranger station on the north shore of the marginal, picturesque lake, Xavier Branion and his fellow park enforcer, Jeff Travis, witnessed an international tragedy on a television broadcast of the World News Network. To their utter dismay, the long-awaited manned Mars expedition, dubbed the Santa Marsia, ended over Cape Canaveral, Florida, midway through the stratosphere. The NASA Space Force led mission, a joint project with ‘the’ premier space innovator in design, manufacturing and testing from the private sector, was launched five years later than initially planned. While the most powerful, interplanetary vessel ever built was mysteriously vaporized with no detectable fallout, ground control was still stunned and searching for a viable explanation. Killed were five astronauts, a carefully selected, ethnically diverse team of champions, fated to represent this most ambitious quest into the cosmos. Their pioneering bravery, sacrifice and spirit was sure to be honored in a far-reaching, g lobal way.

While they mourned the dead with whispered curses at fate, Xavier and Jeff, both astronomy enthusiasts, were also crushed by the failed leap to another world. Considering a lengthy investigation, plus redevelopment and refunding, they were sure that a second attempt lay far in the future. Goddamn it! And with the fossils those jackhammer probes turned up, this was really going to get us on our way, knowing its evolution and its extinction, you know, level event, Jeff, a lanky, ginger with a slightly elfin face, whined in an exaggerated high-pitched tone to his partner, who nodded in concurrence as they marched through the swirling cacophonous waves of insects along the crescent moonlit beach. Everything, the test base with the genesis prep stage all packed up, waiting for `em and all for nothing— man! It’s gonna be another ten years before they give it another shot. And, what about the crew, smiling on their way to boarding the thing then, just a beer an’ a smoke later, get snuffed out in a flash. Kind of reminds me of that Challenger disaster in the eighties, but no fallout? I tell ya, they should have built the whole ship in orbit and taken off there, complete. That double-tiered rocket an’ refit deal with the space station was a big mistake!

Yeah, like you know better than they do, and besides… what if their shuttle or anything else going up there had been destroyed the same way? Xavier challenged, gruff of voice, as he always seemed to seek the alternative; yet, at the time, this muscular athletic type steered his dark, deep-set eyes toward Jeff, with a piercing intensity of a most alarming nature. I mean, there’s something not right that the government’s not telling us about. We’ve seen what was first palmed off as heat lightning but then you’d look, I mean really focused, and it’s like a shroud…or web, like we’re in a geo-matrix or something. Shit! Everyone’s noticed, and what does it get in the news? Strange, but natural magnetic phenomenon, resulting from the polar shift so many years ago...how utterly stupid do they think people are? There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s the government’ s explanation being force-fed to the gutless media. Just watch! The whole thing’s going to boil down to that satanic Star Wars program that was supposedly never really implemented -- yeah, right! They not only blew up their own, they let the whole world down as well. Man, is the international shit gonna hit the fan!

Jeff glared at him, sorry he ever mentioned it, and thus proceeded to point his high beamed flashlight around and about in hopes of finding a distraction away from the cosmic calamity. Following his lead, Xavier shined an inland sweep, then to the shore where, in the distance on the grass next to the beach, he spotted some articles of clothing. Upon closer examination, there were several pairs of shoes, shorts and various shirts set in clumsy array. Jeff began to chuckle when he aimed his flashlight upon the lake, revealing at least a dozen human heads, just above the water. Giggling amongst themselves, the nocturnal swimmers of a multi-racial, college variety acknowledged the rangers in their tan uniforms and started toward the shore.

Hey, it’s midnight, people, and park curfew is eleven o’clock! Xavier shouted, suppressing his laughter, which made his tall face, with high cheekbones and a strong cleft chin, very taught. Please, go back to your campsites or leave the park grounds! The naked parade, six men and seven women, trudged out of the shallows with embarrassed smiles.

Jeez! Talking about indecent exposure! Jeff amused as he danced the flashlight beam upon their less-than-model bodies. Please! Put on some goddamn clothes! This is supposed to be a place of beauty. Shaking his head, Xavier was uncomfortable with Jeff’ s demeaning treatment.

Cool it, Jeff, he whispered aloud, while crossing his tanned arms of olive complexion, only to then pull back his wavy brown hair, which had grown well past his collar. And you wonder why we get such a bad rap ...well, well, now the night really picks up! I wonder what’s with these kids? With hands waving in the air so as to signal for help, three white boys in their early teens, shaved of head and sporting the popular phosphorescent yak fringe head band, hurried over to them from the direction of the ancient bird mound, the park’s premier archeological attraction. Before reaching the shore, one of them tripped and fell, yet in his panic, barely lost a stride, rejoining the other two.

Genuinely shaken with fear, they all spoke in gibberish until one of them articulated their concerns. Mister Ranger, Sir, he said, nervous and out of breath, over there! He then raised his voice, pointing to the mound. At the bird mound we saw something so totally bizarre, you’re gonna think were crazy! It was like this big fog patch appeared, but then took the form of some creature. And there were these other ones, like regular ghosts, that it sucked up into its face. After that, the thing fell on its back and sunk into the mound. I tell ya, we heard voices and everything! You must have seen it! It was huge!

As Xavier and Jeff looked at each other, then back at the boys with sighing, unconvinced smirks, the flustered trio protested. Aren’t you guys gonna make a report, or at least goddamn check it out! the natural spokesman demanded with marked insolence, while the others grunted words of support. If we were adults, I bet you’d take us half seriously, and humor us with a little investigation...come on! We know what we saw, and it just about scared us to death!

In an attempt to calm the aggressively rattled adolescent, Xavier tried putting his psychology education to use. Easy, kid, he started, turning his flashlight to the ground while speaking in a firm yet non-threatening tone; I’m sure you’re fully convinced of what you saw. However, you must be aware that what you just described would sound rather unbelievable coming from anyone. Besides that, it’s also no secret that dropping acid, snacking on shrooms and doing other psychedelics are quite popular with you younglings these days. But you look like fairly straight kids so, therefore, I’ll just consider this a simultaneous case of mass hysteria, probably caused by those silly headbands you’re wearing - that’s what we’ll call it! Now, get the hell back to your campsite and save your weird-ass story for one of those paranormal shows!

Though disappointed, the three boys meandered, with some hesitance, toward the camping area behind the then-clothed skinny-dippers who were just hanging around beachside, quietly listening to their outrageous report.

Shit, Xavier, you saw their simultaneous case of red eye! Man, we should have busted ‘em or, at the very least, given them a good scare, Jeff berated with his high beam flooding upon their backs in delayed chastisement. Coming to us with a story like that! They’d have to think us absolute fools to even try. I mean, were talkin’ total insult, and you with your ‘mister nice guy’ approach! My God, give me a break! Just as Jeff finished his monologue of dismay, the ground began to vibrate and a low indistinct hum came to be heard. The haunting baritone seemed to emanate from the direction of the mound where the boys were allegedly spooked. Wavering in pitch and tone, the strange sound had a rather melodic quality, similarly affecting the intensity of the surface vibration. Submersed in near hypnotic intrigue, Xavier assumed a gallant stride toward its source.

Xavier, don’t be a hero, man! This is too weird! Jeff warned with a holler, as more people started to congregate up shore around the three young visionaries, bragging of their sighted prelude to the rumpus. I’m callin’ in! Let the county or the state handle this! Come on, Xavier, I need some crowd control assistance over here!

Once at the mound, Xavier wandered about in a crouched posture and, within seconds, the ominous audio anomaly abruptly ceased to be felt or heard. Hey! Sorry, Jeff! he called to him from roughly fifty yards away, forgetting policy use of the shortwave communicator. Those vibes got me in a trance or something, but, don’t worry...I’ve snapped back since it’s gone mellow. Anyway, from here it sounded like someone was playing a hundred thousand watts of bass guitar in a cellar beneath the mound! Well, let’s put out a report and maybe get some geologists out here to do a sonar study. There’s got to be a cavity of some sort, his raised voice then tapered off to a whisper, as he felt an aftershock brewing with a vengeance, oh God...

Though his perilous beckoning to a higher being expected no answer, the earth below him rippled and rumbled with a mound-bursting reply that initially tripped up the doomed escapist in its ever-loosening soil. Atop the imminent explosion, Xavier was then catapulted by the surprisingly quiet impact, along with a few torn trees and several tons of sodden dirt in an even spatter. For a moment, he lay motionless and half buried in his hundred-foot vaulting spot from where Jeff froze back twenty yards, while the crowd of fifty onlookers promptly ran for cover behind a nearby lavatory building.

As the cloud of natural dust and debris began to clear before the ground lifting force, the massive silhouette of a towering creature, with banding bon-fire eyes, was revealed, standing like a statuesque monument. Stoic and unmoving, the entity’s presence seemed fixed so perfectly just to be cordially absorbed by the world until it soon emerged from obscurity with a sandstone chiseled face that bowed like a tilting mountain peak. Diminished to but a puny crawler for the gargantuan hunter’s grasp, the barely conscious Xavier struggled in the mud toward Jeff to only have his banged-up body forcefully turned around, void any physical contact, to face the monstrosity.

The instant that eye contact was established between Xavier and the creature, which was drooping a hood of giant scarlet-tipped feathers, dual beams of glowing, intertwining red, yellow and blue were emitted from its fiery optical caverns to create a violet sphere which encapsulated his head. Neutralized, the purging of his mind’s experience left only scarce remnants of the individual. He was almost brain-dead, a vacant subject primed to be administered an introjection of another man more foreign than he had ever known, and in a time warp indelibly predetermined. Thus, upon the mystical transfer’s completion, he was drawn, a will-torn spirit, to the cliff’s edge, high above the crystal blue waves held common to both of them. There, he became nestled in his host’s full sensory array, where he still had no control.

The captive Xavier portion did not yet panic since the man he had become seemed merely on the verge of a sacred ritual, a rite of passage perhaps. An abrupt stammer in his first breath seemed natural enough as to awe the glorious view before him. The golden orange sun, blurred by the summer haze, rising past the eastern ridge from across the narrow lake warmed and almost fused him, content in his new home. However, an increasing sense of non-assimilation took hold when his sights steered downward. On his scant-of-hair, well-toned legs and bony copper feet, crusts of streaked and spotted blood lay while his perceptions, immersed in chemical distortion, reaped grandiose hallucinations.

All the way down to the lakeside trees, the steep decline of quartzite boulders was morphing into a human congregation. Fully transformed, his adoring audience, with tan round faces and colorful, festive garments of Native American flair, began to chatter in praise of his name, Lone Hawk. Enough of Xavier’ s former self still lingered to evoke a ‘terror dreaming’ effect, far removed from the original’s delusional state, due to awareness sparked by an intense survival conflict. The situation reeked of ritual sacrifice, and after the interpreter wiring to his yah-dah-dah tongue was fully tuned, he would listen, wincing with excruciating dread and embarrassment, to the official statement of his intentions. All, for a fanciful mirage and the wicked one who was savoring it...

Just as the good chief had told, he raved, spewing an air of confidence in anticipation of the impossible, the mighty Earth Force has now summoned me!

Lone Hawk bowed his head of thick, feather-tangled black hair and panned his wide, crazed eyes over his muscular arms. Proud of the rows of freshly sewn-in feathers spanning their lengths, he licked up the blood, which seeped from the hasty self-mutilation. Although his sweeping motions left a generous crimson smear upon his favorite war garment of intricate gray-white stripes, the sight only further enthralled him as did the salty taste of his vein’s drink.

Then, feverishly stroking the red tail’s beak affixed to his broadly chiseled chin, Lone Hawk peered into the sky with twisted visions of mystic glory. However, his attention was soon demanded by the one who prodded him there, his only true spectator, Stout Raven. A thin man bearing a facial resemblance to his namesake, he was the Warbirds’ senior shaman and, as the most powerful advisor to their puppet chief, he was very anxious in his decision.

`I could not possibly allow this madman to continue the spreading of his Earth Force nonsense to our people,’ Stout Raven thought to himself, easing his conscience and justifying his administration of the ‘day dream’ potion, which would seal the radical’s fate. ‘In but a day, he has spoiled their minds to such dangerous thoughts that they may become as crazy as he. But, fortunately, for the good of the tribe, my magic brew has made him even more insane and so, a slave to my words. Hah! Earth Force, as you now know, the power in the valley is mine! Just as you have taken our premier brave, so shall your impostor follow...to hell!’ Self-assured enough, he made frantic gestures from the trail aside and below the towering bluff where the South Shore Village, currently under military arrest, could be seen far off in the distance. Hence, he voiced a sense of urgency with a desperate, shouted rasp:

The window of time is here and will soon be gone! the black robed visionary warned, with his left fist raised toward Lone Hawk and his open hand beholding the sky. Your words must be brief to coincide with the prophecy. Do not stray your eyes from me, for I will show the talon symbol at the latest juncture. Then, you know what to do!

Thanks to the Earth Force, the Wind God and the Avenging Hawk, he started again, but in a different tone that would escalate from a loud whisper to the summit of his vocal ability; thanks to all the forces that have combined within me, it’s will shall be done. By my actions so divinely instilled, a common enemy will be vanquished, allowing the Warbird, Earth Force and all great nations of good intent to flourish without worry. As he could tell that Stout Raven was about to signal, he hurriedly pulled his prized Toltec sword from its holster and raised the silver bladed keepsake to reflect the solar emergence.

Beware, Owlmen! he shouted amid fearlessness, midrange of his total vocal projectional climb; your worst nemesis has been born in me with the fury of a thousand braves. By the power of the Earth Force, I will seek out your sky-bound domain and remove your threat from all reality! On behalf of the entire world, triumph by my magical hand is destined to prevail!

Following his bold and faithful declaration, Lone Hawk began to oblige his cue. Stout Raven gave the talon sign by clenching his index and middle fingers to his thumb, to which he nodded with affirmation to the sun’s less-than-profound clearing of the ridge across the lake. His heart was pounding with an anxious, yet eager, rapidity and the Hawk Spirit seemed to encourage him through a shrilling voice inside his head, Yes, Lone Hawk, let there be no doubt that you are The One.... The Wind God will catch and deliver us until my flight is reborn in you.... The Owlmen will be but sand flies to our power, which shall crush them out of existence to complete our sacred revenge. Proceed now, good brave, savior and friend. Carve your glorious path into history!

Upon the winged warrior’s faithful guarantee, Lone Hawk extended his arms and thrust himself forward with all his strength, and for a moment felt as though he were swooping, yet, in an instant, he was all too aware that the Wind God was not there. He only plummeted, catching a glimpse of the smug-faced Stout Raven, who tossed his Earth Force amulet of turquoise disc to join his fall, the most thorough of insults to them, the fool and his hapless god. To follow, in a flash of torturous disbelief, he could swear that the taunting bevy of boulders, awaiting him below, engaged in uproarious laughter just before he met them.

`How can this be?’ His thoughts raced by during his quickly receding moments. ‘The magical sphere of the Earth Force spoke only to me as the savior,’ he gasped his last breath of life-giving air to press against his heart; ‘I am not crazy! The Chief confirmed my victory by prophecy, but Stout Raven only pretended to believe in me. Betrayed by one of my own people and I was their only hope. None of them can stop the Owlmen! Oh! That did not hurt at all!’

With a loud clang of his sword, Lone Hawk’s blood splattering impact against the jagged rocks was physically painless. His passing of death’s doorway was complete, and only darkness followed. Free of the vultures’ feast, which he left behind, he continued to speed on a downward path to nowhere. Suddenly, he felt like nothing more than a regretfully aware boulder that had heaved itself into a bottomless black lake.

`Falling and falling, but to where?’ he wondered while his emotions had traversed in so few moments from prideful exhilaration to panicked disbelief. ‘It does not change. Only a path of darkness and I have no choice! I am as powerless as I was in the womb, void even of a nurturer. This is simply unbearable. Stop!’ he commanded in desperation and, to his immense relief, his descent slowed to suspension. To that, he could only assume it was an answer of profound accommodation. ‘Earth Force, thank you! I suppose Stout Raven’s meddling has changed everything. Please, reveal to me our true plan of attack, which will eliminate the Owlmen.’

There was no sign of his acknowledgment and soon a cold and lonely fear poured into his soul. His request was swallowed by the silence around him as he hovered in burning stillness. After repeating himself several times, the stark realization occurred to him that, for some reason, he was unheard, or worse, ignored.

`Why have I been banished?’ his detached spirit howled with burgeoning anger. ‘Earth Force, do not desert me to this! You have put me through much too much pain already! I want my reward, the chance for glory, the glory which I have earned! Earth Force!’

No one answered him as his shrieking words echoed in the darkness.

`You know I am the only hope, who else?’ he challenged. ‘No one! The world to them is but an orphaned fawn to the hungry wolf without me!’

Lone Hawk’s fury dissipated, giving way to a qualified acceptance. ‘This is not the end,’ he reconsidered, his faith glowing anew. ‘Though I have not a body, I think and feel. I have a purpose yet in this life. I am not dead; I am cocooned. The day will come when I will bear my sabered wings, shred my way out of this nowhere and fly to my sacred destiny.’

Set in his commitment, he did not care that his life’s flashing-in-its-closing-moments experience had been denied since past reflections, anyway, were upstaged by explosive yearnings for the future. However, the review of a mortal existence so wound toward the extraordinary could not be long ignored. Lone Hawk soon surrendered to a look back on his days of flesh and blood. And with no shortage of time, he sifted through their every aspect, from the point of childish innocence to the unsavory period of bestowal and possession by the forces he did not yet understand.

CHAPTER II

Lone Hawk

‘H ow very fortunate they were to conceive me,’ Lone Hawk’s thoughts drifted to his absolute beginning, though, unlike the last days of his righteous reign, they were of selfless reminiscence. Void the smug air of destiny roots, only extreme happiness was wallowed for his parents, Timbers Earth and Solar Rain, since their life together may have never been. Trying for years to reap offspring without any luck, they were thought an infertile match. From what he was told, they were then repeatedly coerced to seek suitable, fruitful mates, because the old ‘replenishing and expanding of the tribe’s numbers’ was preached a sacred duty. However, being of such splendid compatibility, to separate them would have been a crime. Just by the mere sight of their mutual stares and open kisses, anyone could tell that this love mustn’t be denied.

Thus, it was to the tribe and his parents’ great relief when he was born during the first autumn’ s snow, a healthy bundle of boy initially named Timber Seed for his father’s sake. Though, due to his mother’s slight pelvis and his hefty size, it was a very difficult birth and she would not risk another. He would remain an only child, and how fortunate for them to have no more than this one, since he was quite a handful, very curious and tempting death as a constant from the start.

From the time he was very small, young Timber Seed took this energy to the trees. In pursuit of birds and squirrels, he climbed as a predator and called himself the Bobcat. Soon, with his insistence, he was known as such, and a little later he became the avid Tree Stalker. While only a child’s game, the exercise was excellent strength and coordination training, leading quite naturally to his superior physical condition. As a bonus, a mind-enriching benefit was gained by this activity. For once he could climb the highest treetops, especially those atop the towering bluffs, their majestic views captured his wonderment and made him ever want more. He was insatiable!

At seven summers old, Tree Stalker was already helping his father, the Warbirds’ chief builder and designer, to put up lodges.

Working stone, wood and earth just right was very hard work, but he did well, so that his father would treat him like a man. In turn, by eleven summers of age he was almost as strong as an average man and, with his father’s approval, ambitious enough to pursue his dream. Compiling all his hopes, he planned to build a massive watchtower of twenty men tall on the highest bluff, his Warbird landmark to gleam upon the territory and beyond. A giant conglomerate on a four-pronged base with multi-level structuring, all of thick timbers and quartzite supports, it certainly would have been the Warbird jewel, but it was not to be.

Once he thought the project had adequate political support to get past the preliminaries, Tree Stalker’s dream was shattered. By the orders of Chief Howling Wind and nameless opposition, Timbers Earth’s over-zealous son and his grand tower idea was canceled, just as they started construction. He was devastated and, as some kind of appeasement, was taken into the army, a scout. Though with honors of ‘so young, yet so qualified’, he felt like captured prey, with no choice but to die. Fortunately, his outlook improved and he decided to be nothing, but the best. And soon after this declaration when mock battle practice commenced, the fear in his opponent’s eyes, intimidated by his unrelenting ferocity, further fed a will that seemed boundless.

Since he also knew the territory better than anyone else, the thriving Tree Stalker was inducted most aptly, the knower of the forest, cliffs and the animal calls. The animals...he always loved the animals. They did not bother him with wasteful chatter like, so often, the humans would. Refreshing in their way, they gave him an extra sense, with unassuming rapport of the invisible, vital things that they knew, and that he, otherwise, would so naturally have overlooked.

By his second winter of military service, the champion-scout rapidly reached physical maturity and, through his regimen conditioning, was as strong and nimble as any warrior or brave. It was then that recognition of his efforts began. For, with his outstanding performance being well noticed, he was exempt from the traditional rites of passage into manhood. A grueling winter survival task, it was as but an unfounded formality with its host of unpleasantries, which he found needless anyway and happily avoided. While such an exclusion was unheard of until then, he was also promoted to warrior status, the youngest Warbird ever to achieve the intermediate post.

Though officially a member of the warrior camp, Tree Stalker, exuding with ambition, was considered unreasonably favored in his rapid advancement by the others, who were at least a few summers his elder. Indeed, they respected his fierceness and raw physical ability, as well they could not deny the obvious. Even so, they were not required to accept him socially and did not. Besides the barrier of jealousy, he was considered a boy in a man’s body. With that, he had no peers. Anyone of his age was, by responsibility level, too immature, and the older warriors, of course, despised the warrior pet. Rendered a serious loner, his misfortunes of friendship did not finally turn until late that spring.

During the brisk forest survey when this fateful transition occurred, erratic strips of midday sunlight seeped through the tall, wind torn treetops to the dense undergrowth, which he slashed with a crude moose-horn sword to clear a new trail. In forming the virgin passage, he etched the mark of the Warbird, an upright arrow with horizontal zigzagged wings, into every big tree of twenty paces. Proceeding as he was in the low priority Warbird territorial expansion project of the desolate northwest fringe, he stumbled upon quite a gem of a tawny and white-speckled bird with tail feathers streaked as red as blood.

Unable to fly, the red-tailed hawk chick, barely taller than his hand, approached him with an impressive display of valor. With its high-pitched shrill and under developed wings at full spread, the brave chick tried to be as loud and big as possible, an aggressive attempt to intimidate the intruder and survive. Tree Stalker was very impressed and confronted the little hellion as gently as he could. He knelt before it and laughed, but when he put his hand out, only as a calming gesture, it lunged forward and bit his finger.

You are a brave little screecher, but you draw no blood. Or, did you not even try? He spoke softly to the riled creature, still in its survival stance. Where is your nest from which you fell? Oh, worry not! I know the trees...await, while I seek out your nest and then I can return you for your grief-stricken mother. In a systematic search for the chick’s treetop abode, the concerned Tree Stalker patrolled forty paces from the midpoint to form a circular route, returning every quarter span. There was no hawk’s nest in sight, leaving him befuddled as to how the abandonment occurred. He decided then to conduct a broader search, twice that of the first, yet this time he would bring the chick for its safety’s sake. It was quite a surprising struggle subduing the flapping, pecking and scratching handful, but once he had a good grip around its wings, he pinned them to its back, gaining submission.

The second round revealed not a clue to the mystery, until he found a fallen nest with two dead hawk chicks nearby. Hence, Tree Stalker felt very sorry for the noisy little imp for which he had developed a paternal fondness. He would save this one from sure starvation and adopt him, allowing a unique friendship to bloom.

All right, you little screecher, I am taking you home where you will eat like a chief, he reassured the exhausted little hawk that was reduced to peeps. Ah yes, Screecher! That will be your name.

Cradling the near silent Screecher against his chest, Tree Stalker back-tracked his trail to the Valley of the Warbirds, trotting most of the way with a sense of urgency. When he bounded down the steep path, just inside the valley the winged orphan was in a state of shock and was losing body heat. He burst into a full gallop, yet further down the trail at the edge of the village, he encountered a few warrior acquaintances, one of whom blocked his way.

What is your hurry? And what are you hiding in your hand, Tree Stalker? the outspoken, brutish Jaded Fist teasingly queried, while he grabbed his wrist for a peek. Awe, the loner found himself a baby hawk to fill that maternal void in his life...hah! I know -- ’Lone Hawk’! It fits you perfectly. They laughed and Tree Stalker batted Jaded Fist’s intrusive hand away.

If this chick dies, you are next, Jaded Fist, he warned with hateful eyes, as Jaded Fist stood wide-eyed, feigning deep fright of his threat. Or, at least, when I become chief, you will die the oldest scout in Warbird history!

Chief? A freak like you! Jaded Fist retorted and wallowed in more sadistic laughter with his friends, but Tree Stalker did not hear them for long, as he quickly left their levity far behind. And, even though he hated the man with his blatant disrespect, the name ‘Lone Hawk’, clumsily meant as an insult, rather appealed to the young Tree Stalker. So, he adopted the regal identity to proudly be his own. Decidedly so, his full attention returned to the chick in hand, as he arrived in a panic at his parents’ lodge, a plain, earth and timber reinforced square structure with a centered chimney jutting through a thick, slightly pitched thatch roof. Though it resembled the other one hundred and eighty homes on the south shore, it was larger. Measuring fifteen paces per side as opposed to the average ten or twelve, it also was favorably located just down the main path by the lake, market and ruling class near the village center.

He drew no special attention, as most everyone else was resting at the beach, including his parents. Therefore, he had time to prepare an adequate environment for the young Screecher, undisturbed. Thus, he began the project with the discovery of some fresh bass in a ceramic pail on the hearth, which he cut up into small pieces for the starving bird. As expected, Screecher’s fear evaporated in an instant when, first exhibiting his voracious appetite, he gobbled down half of a sizable fish.

After he was fed, Lone Hawk put the stuffed sleepy bird into a large burlap bag, which he found in the storage loft to the rear of the lodge. Put at slight ease, he utilized his excellent wood working skills and whittled many conforming pegs to build a crude, yet sturdily inescapable, cage. Adding a nest-like habitat and a dish of water inside, Screecher took to it well enough; yet, unfortunately would live up to his name. Understandably, Lone Hawk’s parents were displeased when they returned home that evening.

Allowed only ten days to put the outspoken Screecher someplace else, Lone Hawk came upon the luck that his uncle, Wonders Eye, a roving barterer, provided his rarely inhabited, broken-down shack at the far south end of the village as a place to keep and raise the young Screecher. Through the following summer, that was Screecher’s home, with Lone Hawk staying there whenever he could. But, most of the time, the military life kept him away and so the young hawk was kept locked up in the sweltering heat because Wonders Eye could not watch him either. Due to his aloof uncle’s departure for the lucrative summer’s trade season in Big River City, the commercial metropolis far to the distant southwest, the culpably conscious warrior was forced to leave Screecher, for many a duration, by himself pent-up in the forsaken shack. However, the feathered one no longer could tolerate the confinement and soon broke free.

Lone Hawk was on duty that mid summer’s day when Screecher learned how to fly. At first, returning from his regular warrior day, he found that his precocious companion had thoroughly dismantled the crisscross pattern of sticks and earthen-stone, his long tempting prison’s window to the outside. Even though his still being there, inside, would have been a preposterous notion, a bereaved Lone Hawk searched the crippled lodge in frantic desperation and, most depressed, he turned up nothing. Then, after gathering a mildly willing task force to recover his friend, all was not lost. For, everyone in the vicinity had the treat of a precious sight.... The newly airborne-capable Screecher suddenly soared down from the south sky, behind the trees, and landed on his shoulder. From that point, they were inseparable, as the lovable raptor became his gray, all knowing eyes in the sky.

Before