FICTION| MYTHOLOGY
Curse of the Thunderhawk
A protected legend reveals an ancient treasure and a man bent on riches and fame ignores a mother’s plea
A warm, westerly breeze tussled the swath of dark hair around his neck. Sitting atop Talon, his glistening, black-coated Friesian mare, Magog looked down over the lush valley below. Thousands of his people moved about, waiting for his command to go into the fertile plain to stake out homesteads that would grow into villages, towns, and eventually cities.
Running a scarred and calloused hand over his weather-worn face, Magog closed his eyes and faced the sun. Although it was only morning, the heat was already fierce; rivulets of sweat ran like crooked creeks in the creases of his face. At 55, he was nearly the oldest of the clans and had already been their leader and lord for two decades.
Emeshe, the great mother’s vision, was delivered to her by the Dugud, the sacred, lion-headed hawk, a messenger of divine intervention that brought them here. Daughter of a Scythian King and Assyrian Queen, unwed and virginal, she saw the mystical thunderhawk descend, its great, black wings cocooning her into its bosom, the soft down feathers drawing her into a cradle of premonitions.
