39

Hawk Knows

Moments later, three generations of Breima's crowded around the iron sculpture of Hawk in the alcove at the top of the stairs. It’s eyes still pulsing pale blue.

"I'm not trying to be sarcastic or anything, but is this unusual?" Lottica asked.

Deilune looked to his parents, who remained silent, before he answered. "Given recent events, unusual may have changed its meaning a bit. However, I can tell you that to my knowledge this never happened while I grew up here. Now, I will say that there have always been stories about this old statue. This Hawk. My parents would know more about that, though."

Deilune gave a deferential nod towards his father who, in turn, inclined his head to Grandmother Breima. She pursed her lips tightly. "We talk at dinner. Twenty minutes." Without another glance, she started down the spiral staircase.

"What about your ring?" Lottica asked her dad, curious to see how it reacted in the statue’s presence.

Deilune held out his hand. Light still flashed from his ring. He reached for Linda's hand and placed her wedding ring near his. The stone on her ring also pulsated with the wan light.

"What does it mean, Dale?" she asked amazed.

"I don't know, dear. Maybe at dinner my parents can tell us more."

He started to lead Linda down the stairs, but noticed his father heading the other direction down the hallway. He did an about-face and followed his father. Linda, Nick and Lottica did likewise. They passed the stately paintings of the Breimas, though Lottica edged away from Beilla’s glowering portrait.

At the far end of the hall, Grandfather Breima stood in front of a very large painting. They gathered around him. The portrait was of a middle-aged man in a bejeweled robe. Around his neck hung a shining, dazzling blue pendant. In his open hand, he held a fiery red gemstone. In the upper right hand corner of the painting a hawk sat on a precipitous peak, its eyes lit just like Hawk’s statue down the hallway. The hawk was staring to the opposite corner of the painting where on a bare limb a raven perched, its sharp, dark head looking down at a brilliant teardrop falling into blackness.

Grandfather Breima tapped on the pendant in the portrait. "Kareima," he indicated. He tapped at gem in the figure’s open palm. "Fareima," he said. He tapped on the falling teardrop of pure white light. "Astreima."

Then he reached up high on the canvas, pointing to the hawk whose eyes lit the portrait with a sad certainty. "Heidein zei," he said, solemnly.

"Hey-den-zay?" Lottica asked.

Grandfather Breima glanced back towards the statue's rhythmic glow. “Heidein zei," he repeated, lightly tapping the painting again. “Hawk knows."

Without further explanation, he strolled down to dinner.