The Shining Falcon

The boyar whirled. Before him stood a bent, mysterious figure hidden completely in a hooded cloak that looked as though it had been hastily cobbled from every scrap of cloth in Kotina. «You know of Finist the falcon?» Danilo asked warily, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the face hidden beneath that bizarre hood.

«Oh, I do, I do indeed! And here is his feather!»

Danilo gasped. The strange figure held out what had looked like a common bird's feather—until it caught the sunlight. Then—how it gleamed, shining bright silver, splendid as something from the forge of a master metal-smith. Stunned, the boyar let the gorgeous thing be put into his hand, hearing the figure give an odd, anxious little laugh.

«It is to be a present for your daughter—yes, I overheard you—a present for your daughter, Maria. Come, take it to her, the feather of Finist the falcon.»

«But the price — "

«No price! Take it home to your daughter as a gift from me!»

Danilo, bewildered, glanced down at the shining feather in his hand. But the sun had gone behind a cloud, and all the magical glow was gone. The boyar glanced quickly up again, with a cry of «Wait! Who are you?»

The stranger was already gone, vanished into the market crowd as though into thin air.

* * *

He had agonized long and hard over giving his daughter something that seemed so blatantly magical. But, Danilo decided reluctantly, he had promised her the feather of Finist the falcon. And the look on Maria's face, that compound of open amazement and sheer, delighted wonder, was almost worth all his doubts.

Vasilissa, cradling her father's presents in her arms, stared dubiously at Maria's prize. Now in shadow, it really did look like the drabbest of feathers. «Is that… thing what you really wanted, Maria?»

«Yes.» Maria didn't know why she'd said that; yet it was true. «Yes," the bemused young woman repeated, looking down at the feather. «Somehow I really think it is.»

Maria sent her well‑meaning but fussy servants away, and sat, alone, on the edge of her bed, still completely dressed for all that the hour was late, turning the silvery feather over and over in her hand, watching it glitter in the candlelight, shivering a little at this overlapping of dream and reality.

That dream… Maria couldn't remember all of it, only that there had been a mysterious young man in it, vaguely seen, yet strikingly handsome. In that odd, unquestioning way of the dreamer, she hadn't wondered about the fact that something her sleeping self had known to be magic had been shimmering about him most alarmingly. And yet she hadn't been alarmed.

Maria frowned, trying to remember details. His hair had been of a strange hue, so fair as to be nearly true silver, just the shade of this remarkable feather. And he'd said something to her… about seeking the feather of Finist the falcon.

Whomever or whatever that might be.

But his voice… There'd been something so oddly familiar about it, so teasingly familiar…

«Finn!» said Maria.

The dream-figure's voice had been Finn's. Maria reddened to think how handsome she'd dreamed him. And magical, too. But was it really only her imagination? It had all seemed so real, and— Oh, nonsense, dreams were nothing more than fantasies!

Were they? Then how explain the reality of this shining feather? And how explain her certainty that she was suddenly on the edge of wonder?

Poised just outside Maria's window in the warm spring night, Finist waited with ever‑mounting tension. Call it! he urged her silently. Oh, Maria, call my name!

There had been more to the dream, Maria remembered. Once she actually held the feather, she was supposed to call the name of the falcon. Bemused, the young woman turned the glinting feather over in her hand. «Finist?» she said tentatively. «Finist the falcon, I, uh, summon you.»

The unlatched shutters slammed open. A wild wind swirled through the room, pulling at her clothes and hair, tearing the feather from her hand. Maria bit back a scream as a falcon, a silvery falcon clutching a golden cloth in its talons, dove smoothly into the chamber. Once it circled the room, twice, three times, then came to a landing before the window. As Maria stared in disbelief and wonder, the gleaming form seemed to grow, to alter, though a sudden swirling of silver mist kept her from seeing what… Then the mist was gone, and the falcon with it. The shining-haired stranger of her dream stood before her, dressed in a most splendid caftan of gold-worked silk. For a moment, they regarded each other in silence. Then

Maria recovered her senses enough to gasp, «Who are you?»

The stranger swept down in a deep, courtly bow. «Why, Finist the falcon, of course," he told her, and smiled.

Chapter XXIV

Surprises

You fool!