Shining Sea
sketches – Hawkgirl
Shayera, Hawkgirl…one of my favorite characters from the Justice League. There isn’t a lot of Hawkgirl memorabilia out there, so I thought I’d start working on some. I imagine more will turn up since she’s a character on a new live action show (Legends of Tomorrow), but I’m old school and like the old JLA Hawkgirl better.
27-Small Victories
What remained of the night passed in a blur of olive and pine trees. I mostly remember the scent of the earth, and those horrible little vines which trail along the ground solely to trip unsuspecting travelers. I gave away my curtain to one of the smaller girls for whatever warmth it could offer. I remembered no color, and only a vague surprise when I realized I could see the trees I touched. The world crept into gray, then eventually grew brave and donned green, then all at once the sun covered the forest in brazen gold.
Even though I felt dead, I lifted my face to the sun’s touch and let myself smile a little. We’d been out of the city for hours and were still alive, and still free. I looked at the women, nine were my circus girls, three I didn’t know before last night. My girls were dirty, pale, one or two were sniffling after a cold night in damp clothes, but their eyes were bright with freedom.
“I have never been so glad to see the sun,” whispered Olena, pausing to look around. Her eyes fell on me and she reached for my hand. “Thank you.”
I squeezed her hand and said nothing. It was a miracle, I noted, that we’d gotten this far. I wasn’t about to take credit for that. We walked all morning without a rest. I think Jemin was afraid that if we stopped at all we would never start again. So while our pace dwindled and hunger began to rear its head, we kept on. It’s not as if we had any food anyway. I remembered mournfully the supplies we’d left at the little inn in Gillenwater…and my donkey! When I remembered Line I spun as if to go back for him before realizing it was impossible. I hoped the tavern keeper would be good to him.
Our pace was such that it was afternoon when we reached the dancing little stream that would lead us to the camp. We all knelt gratefully on the stream’s banks and drank our fill.
Jemin made us cross over to the other side before following it south. “In case they bring out their hunting hounds,” he explained.
I didn’t think they would if they hadn’t yet, but one never knew. We’d only been walking an hour or so more when one of Quill’s scouts hailed us. Another twenty minutes and we walked into the little camp by the gorge. The score of men loitering around the glen leapt to their feet at our approach. Everyone looked stunned.
The awkward silence was broken by Gabe—the circus strongman—who pushed several men out of his way and ran across the stream crying, “Adva! Adva!”
One of the acrobats threw out her arms and ran to meet him. “Gabreal!” When they met, Gabe scooped the slight acrobat into his arms and collapsed to his knees weeping. She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried, too.
Then suddenly my brothers and Balleck were splashing across the stream and I realized that I was still at the back of the group and Olena was with me.
Jemin realized it, too, and quickly held up his hands, “Lady Zare is here!”
I grabbed Olena’s arm and pulled her forward. The others made way and we met our kin next to Jemin in a gasping mess of suffocating embraces—family first, then friends. My brothers and Balleck, who had obviously been worried, were now alarmed that they had not been worried enough, but were giddy that we’d turned up anyway. In all the excitement even Balleck gave me a fierce embrace, and I was pretty sure that Ayglos kissed Olena. For several minutes there was nothing but hugs and exclamations as they greeted all the circus women—and even the girls they didn’t know—with warmth and rejoicing. Returning to Olena and I, they fell upon us again.
“Zare—what has happened?” demanded Ayglos, after my bothers had crushed me with a second round of affection. “Your clothes are damp—is that blood on them? Are you alright? How did you get the women back? And where are our parents and Nadine?”
I swallowed. “They were already gone.” I felt so very many things, but at this moment I felt more like crying than anything else. “May we have food and sit down?” I asked weakly.
This set off another flurry of activity as the rebel soldiers hurried to help the women across the water, make places for them to sit, and bring out cheese, dates and bread for us to eat. Namal guided me over to a spot near a large rock where I saw Quill standing squarely, his arms crossed. I sat down on the ground without waiting for a bedroll and curled my fingers into the scrubby grass. Sitting down: The only thing better would be laying down.
Namal sat down beside me.
“Welcome back, my lady,” said Quill, lowering himself to the ground.
“Thank you.” I watched him—he was favoring his wounded leg but making a real effort to use it. My eyes narrowed. “No one changed your bandage while I was gone.”
“And yet I still live,” returned Quill. “It appears that you had an eventful scouting mission.”
I nodded, I felt like a pound of sand was in my eyes. “I lost my donkey.”
Namal looked at me incredulously.
Quill’s face twisted as he tried to stifle a laugh. “For a start, anyway,” coughed Quill as Ayglos, Jemin and Vaudrin joined us.
I felt a smile tug at my lips.
Jemin handed me food and I fell upon it without mercy. The others waited patiently as Jemin and I ate, and when we were done Namal said, “Report.”
I arched a brow at him, but Jemin began to relate the whole story—starting with our arrival in the city, the opinions of the people, and the plans we made to find out the lay of the garrison.
When he got to the water tunnel everyone looked sharply at me—but for different reasons. Quill and Vaudrin, at least, looked at my brothers also, with the revelation that they were also half-blooded. My brothers’ eyes bored into me and I could already guess their reproaches. Yet with our mother a prisoner, secrecy about our blood was almost certainly pointless. I returned their looks tartly, and then gave my attention to Jemin just in time to hear him say, “When Lady Zare returned she brought one of the kidnapped women back with her through the tunnel, and then spent the next two hours extracting all the others. I have not heard her portion of the tale.”
Find the lucky one
I have always loved the Irish–there is a solid smattering of the British Isles in my blood, but I married a man whose Irish lineage is much more prominent. St. Patrick’s Day is a big deal for us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There is, of course, more to the Irish than shamrocks and Guinness.
There are potatoes, too.
J/K, there are potatoes, but there is so much more than that.
St. Patrick’s story is an amazing one, you should look it up. The short version is that he was kidnapped by Irish marauders as a kid, and enslaved by a warlord on Ireland for years. He eventually escaped and went back to England (Patrick’s English! What!), at which point God told him to go back to Ireland and spread the Gospel.
So, he did.
He had epic showdowns with the king’s druids, and legend holds he drove all the snakes from Ireland–legend takes that literally, but I suppose it might be figurative, too.
Patrick is only one of Ireland’s saints–they all have pretty amazing stories. This little book, Celtic Flames, is a good appetizer to get you into their stories.
In the mean time, I made it easy to find the lucky clover. Had fun sketching a bazillion clover for this one, it’s up on Redbubble if you’re interested!
26-Escape
I was not as good with the ropes as the other circus performers—by a long shot—but I managed to make it down without destroying my hands or falling. The scrubby grass at the base of the wall had never been so blessed.
I stepped back from the rope and waited for Jemin to descend. He was better on the rope than I was, and I was thoroughly impressed as the burly man descended with grace. When his feet touched the ground he turned and surveyed our surroundings grimly. I turned, too. An open space fell away from the walls for about a hundred feet—give or take—then a bramble of forest started. If we were further south, by the main gate, we’d see a road leading to the red-fenced festival grounds where the circus had camped not so long ago. By now it had to be three or four hours after midnight, the moon was low and shadows were long. Even in darkness, the open space could easily undo us. I turned my head to look back: The women lined the wall like a relief sculpture. A soulful portrayal of determination and desperate times.
Jemin touched my shoulder, “Listen carefully, lead them north a little ways. When I have set fire to the rope, wait for the alarm on the walls, then cross the open space. Once you are in the woods follow the moon due west, while you have it, anyway. You will eventually come to the stream, or to our patrols, and from there find the others.”
I stared at him for a moment, not understanding. Then anger burned through me; he intended to stay behind as a distraction. “No.” I struggled to keep my voice low. “Where will you go? If they catch you, they may torture you and find out about the rebellion!”
Jemin pushed something into my arms, I looked down and it was one of the sideways bows I’d seen on the bridge the night I rescued Quill. “Have you ever used a crossbow?” he asked.
“No.” It was heavier than I expected. I ran my hand over the smooth wood and metal. A leather carrying strap dangled from either end.
“Here is the trigger,” he guided my fingers gently—taking care that the crossbow was pointed at the ground. “And here are quarrels.” He handed me a hefty pouch.
“Jemin,” I grabbed his arm with my other hand, “Please—we can just crawl across the grass. We don’t have to raise an alarm at all. They don’t know we went this way. It’s dark and getting darker.”
Jemin shook his head skeptically.
I lifted my chin. “We crawl,” I said with finality. He was the experienced soldier, but I was a princess, and I gave him a look that invited no argument. “You can go last if you wish, and if they raise a cry, then you can set as many fires as you like to turn them off our trail.”
Now it was Jemin’s turn to stare at me a moment before understanding. Astonishment, irritation, and then resignation paraded across his face like the ornamental fish in my grandfather’s water gardens. “Very well, my lady.”
The plan was passed down the line of women, and I led the way again. I strapped the crossbow to my back and tied the quarrels to my belt. My curtain I draped over the crossbow. Getting down on my belly I began to crawl away from the wall on my elbows and knees. I daren’t look back and show the whites of my eyes to the wall, I had to assume the others followed. The quiet of the grassy space was both comforting and discomforting in that way. I set a languid, irregular pace. For one thing, I was exhausted and it was a relief to slow down. For another, I hoped if we moved slowly enough no one on the wall would notice human lumps in the grass. Though, with reduced speed came increased cold. I rolled my lips together and tried to focus on the touch of the scratchy short grass and the scent of dirt rather than the bite of the air on my damp skin. One hundred feet takes an eternity to crawl, and some part of my mind suggested perhaps we could just sleep in the grass and escape later. I reached the edge of the forest and had to finagle a bit to get through the scrub without rattling hundreds of dry branches. But suddenly there was a little screen between me and the watchful wall and I scrambled to my feet taking deep breaths of the woody air.
I had about three breaths before the first of the girls wriggled through the bracken, and at the same time I heard shouting on the wall.
The girl gasped and wriggled faster, popping up next to me, her eyes wide with fear. I slung the crossbow around and pointed it at the wall—uncertain of the weapon’s range or my purpose. Another girl cleared the bracken and joined the first.
“Don’t rush!” I heard Jemin’s voice wisp up from the open space as another girl reached the shrubs.
The hustle on the wall got louder, I noticed torches springing to life and men converging on the guardhouse we’d left. I couldn’t tell if they had found the rope yet, or had jumped to the right conclusion about its use. Though, they couldn’t possibly miss the rope for long. The alarm spread along the wall, jumping from one torch to the next till a ring of fire stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Vaguely I heard Jemin’s soothing tones again urging the creepers to stay slow as they slithered into the cover of the wood. At the last, Jemin dragged his bulk through the bushes—with some delicate maneuvering and assistance from the girls who held branches out of his way.
“Where are the others?” asked Olena beside me.
“Are we missing someone?” I looked around, trying to count.
“No—the other rescuers.”
“Oh,” my cheeks heated, “The others are half a day’s walk.”
“And we need to get going,” Jemin broke in, “now.” He turned and started west into the darkness of the forest. I gestured for the girls to follow him—quickly before he disappeared from view. I waited to bring up the rear, and Olena lingered with me.
“You came alone?” she asked again. “Is Ayglos alright?”
“He is,” I promised, but I could feel the skepticism radiating from Olena, even though I couldn’t see her face. “We weren’t expecting to be able to rescue you tonight,” I confessed, “Otherwise Ayglos and Namal would certainly have come with us.” Weren’t intending to rescue tonight, more accurately, but so say it that way made me sound so impetuous and possibly unfeeling. Feelings, though, are what got us here.
“I’m glad you did,” replied Olena.
I nodded, wrapping my ams around myself for warmth. “Me, too.” Then Olena and I walked as close as we could manage while dodging trees and brambles. Jemin set a steady, fast walk, and I could feel warmth starting to grow again in my core. The night sounds of the forest swallowed our movement and my mind started to slow down. My consuming occupation became staying upright and not walking into anything.
25-Ghosts
Movement caught my eye and I spun. To my right, a ragged curtain fluttered from the second story of a rundown building. The curtain looked pale and mournful, a ghost of how things used to be in Gillenwater. A ghost. I paused and looked down at my homespun. Then I ran across the street to the building and began climbing its dilapidated side. When I reached the curtain I tangled my fingers in its shreds and tugged until it came loose with a dull crack. I slung the rags over my shoulder and climbed back down to the street. I took off toward the wall at a quick jog; I didn’t dare look back to see if anyone appeared at the window I’d defrocked. When I reached the end of the street I stopped. There wasn’t much to the curtain, but what there was I spread across my shoulders so it hung from my arms like robes.
Drawing a deep breath I drew myself up and stepped out into the lane between the houses and the city wall. All the dance lessons from my childhood and the days and days of practice with the circus served me now. I moved as lightly as laundry turning in the wind. My arms rose and floated out by my sides as if on their own, and I glided smoothly across the ground. It was easy enough to imagine myself a heartbroken ghost haunting the wall, and to make my expression one of vague sadness—I just had to remember how cold I was and how much further we had to go. Also that I had to keep the men on the wall from noticing thirteen people climb the stairs.
Suddenly afraid that no one on the wall would notice me, I let out a long moan—loudly.
I felt ridiculous.
An excruciatingly long moment passed and I hazarded turning my face toward the city wall. To my relief my gaze met one of the inward-facing soldier’s. I didn’t flinch, but gave him a deep mournful look and slowed my floating walk.
He tapped the soldier nearest him and that soldier turned around to stare also. I slipped to a stop and faced the city wall and swayed in the night breeze as I imagined a ghost might. Out of the corner of my eye I saw another man turned around, then another.
I was also vaguely aware of Jemin at the edge of my periphery. He gained the top of the wall and choke the first soldier he reached. My heart quickened. I wanted to watch Jemin but daren’t. Focusing on the soldiers before me, I raised one hand and moaned imploringly. The men on the wall looked thoroughly unsettled. I raised my other hand and moaned again.
I caught a glimpse of the girls darting to the stairs. This was the hardest part—and how was I supposed to get over? I grimaced inwardly; my father was right about my ability to get into trouble.
I lowered my hand to my side in a slow fluid movement—as if my arm were made of paper and drifting down as fast as it could go. Most of the men on this stretch of wall were watching me now. I moved back a step, and searched the faces of the soldiers as if despairing of help. They stared back at me, some looked nervous, some frightened, and one or two looked sad.
I was pretty sure the girls were up the stairs and hiding in the shadow thrown by the guard house.
I took another floating step backwards. Then, since I couldn’t afford to back into a wall and betray my solidity, I pivoted until I was pointed at an alley and started gliding down it. I kept up the drifting movement until I reached a cross street and could duck out of sight. Once around the corner I jerked off the ragged curtain and rolled it up. Tucking it under my arm I ran down the street and turned down the next alley toward the wall.
Some of the soldiers were staring searchingly at the alley I had disappeared down—others were talking amongst themselves. I darted across the open space and made the stairs without attracting attention. When I reached the top of the stairs I saw that the guard at the top leaned awkwardly on the guardhouse—unconscious, or dead. I crept past him and found Jemin crouched in the doorway. He gestured for me to enter the guardhouse.
The guardhouse had one torch flickering in a corner—though I saw sconces for more. There was a tall, thin window—probably only two feet across—facing the outside and Olena stood by it with six of our rescued women. This explained where Jemin had managed to hide so many people. I hadn’t thought of hiding inside the guardhouse. Jemin followed me inside and took up a position next to the doorway, ready to pounce on any soldier who happened by.
One end of Jemin’s stolen rope was tied to an empty sconce and the other disappeared out the window. I noticed three more inert soldiers in the corner. Olena gave me a grim smile as one of the other girls got started climbing down the rope. I felt a horrible weight in my stomach. So many to go—I had cut my ghost act too quickly. The first girl disappeared from view and immediately another hopped up on the ledge. She grabbed the rope ably and spun lightly into the darkness beyond. As soon as she was gone from view another took her place. Acrobats. The number of women in the guardhouse dwindled quickly as the circus performers took on something they knew how to handle—rope and heights.
Olena looked at me. “I sent the girls from town among the first—since they would need the most time.”
I smiled, a real smile, “Good thinking.”
When it was down to just Olena and I, Jemin stepped back from the entryway. Olena hopped up on the sill, grasped the rope and started a skilled descent. I stuffed my curtain down my tunic and jumped up behind her. I waited till Olena was halfway down, and then swung myself off the sill into the darkness.
Elements are up!
23- Shadow and Spark
Thirteen people, for all their efforts, make much more noise than two people when darting from one shadow to the next. If I had had time to fuss over it, I would have. Jemin had given me directions and I led the way quickly through alleys, pausing at the cross streets to look and listen for patrols. It was hard to be sure, with so many people panting behind me, that the coast was ever clear, but we had to keep going. My senses were on edge, and I strove to keep us close to the river as we wove our way through the dark places. At least the running kept us warm, for our wet clothes were useless in the cold night air.
The large homes and walled gardens gave way to narrower roads crowded by hodge-podge buildings with big windows. There were awnings and porches along the bigger roads to hide us now, so we moved more quickly. The shopping district, I guessed, though all the windows were covered with curtains. Just a little further and we’d cut back west–before the burned out forges and the bridge, since that was doubtless guarded.
Then the drums started.
If anyone in the garrison had still been asleep, they weren’t any longer. Doubtless they had figured out we’d left the garrison; it didn’t matter if they had figured out how. I imagined a fast rider was being sent to the city gates this very moment—if one hadn’t gone already. And the drums told the guards on the city walls that something was afoot. My heart beat faster and I took the next alley that led west toward the river. It was time to get back to the Tryber anyway. The alley was so narrow that if I tucked my hands into my armpits and spread my arms, my elbows would scrape against the buildings. Trash littered the ground. I stopped at the end of the alley to watch and listen. The river glittered in the moonlight ahead of us. Between the drums, the gaggle behind me, and the hammering of my own blood, listening for patrols was almost pointless. I forced myself to wait and watch carefully.
I had almost decided to move on when I noticed three men in helmets walked abreast on the little road by the riverbank, their silhouettes clear against the river. A round lantern bobbed along above the middle soldier as if by some dark magic. They were talking. I glanced behind me and gestured for the women to squeeze against the wall and hide as best they could. One of the girls tripped, and a broken bit of crockery shattered under her foot.
Everyone froze like rabbits. Olena’s eyes met mine from deep in the alley, she gripped the knife I’d given her. I turned back to watch the patrol, fingering the hilt of Azzad. The soldiers had definitely heard the crockery and were moving toward the buildings. Could I take three by myself in the open? These men were wearing armor, unlike the men in the garrison. I wondered when Jemin would return and if they had those little crossbows which had wounded Quill.
Quill. An idea started. I released my daggers and cast about the alley for a bottle of any sort. Finding half a glass bottle, I turned back to the coming patrol.
Two of the soldiers had drawn their weapons—swords, mercifully—and were moving cautiously ahead of the one carrying the lamp. I guessed they weren’t completely sure where the sound had originated. Or perhaps they were thinking of the fight on the bridge just a few days ago. Now that they were closer I could see the poll and chain that held the lamp aloft—not dark magic after all. That was a relief.
With a deep breath I swaggered into the open, holding my broken bottle and mumbling any words that came to mind about “too much wine” and “go home.”
“Halt!” cried the closest soldier.
I recoiled sloppily, “Oh, no!” and covered my mouth with my free hand.
The three soldiers approached, lowering their weapons. “No one is allowed to be out at this hour.”
“Trying to go home,” I slurred, my head down and the broken bottle dangling in my fingers.
One of the soldiers sheathed his sword, stepped close and took my free arm. “You have to come with us.”
Savagely I twisted my hand free and with my other hand propelled the broken bottle full force into his face. He toppled backwards and the other two looked stunned. I made for the lantern—grabbing the pole with both hands I aimed a kick at the man’s knee and twisted the pole away from him. He collapsed with a cry, grasping at his knee.
The last man leapt at me with his sword. I blocked the sword with the lamp pole–the light doused with a slosh of oil—and then hurtled the butt of the pole into the soldier. He stumbled back, bringing his sword up at my side. I slipped to one side to avoid it and smashed the lantern on his shoulder. The oil splattered harmlessly and the soldier attacked again. I blocked, my eyes on the oil. I threw the pole at him and jumped back to draw my daggers. Deflecting the pole he charged after me. My flint hilts smashed together, scattering sparks and turning the soldier’s oil-soaked shoulder into a sheet of fire. He yelped and stumbled back beating the fire with his hand.
I didn’t get to gloat. The wail of a horn started behind me. I spun and saw the lamp-man, sprawled on the ground, one hand still clutching his knee, the other holding a curling horn to his lips. In two steps I kicked the horn away from him, sending it skittering away on the cobbles. I stood over him glaring. Fear pinched his face as he gazed up at me. “The Nether Queen is not the only women you should fear,” I snarled and clubbed him with Shiharr’s hilt. He dropped to the ground unconscious.
I turned, looking for the man I’d set on fire. I found him face first on the ground, the fire burning out, and Olena standing over him. Her face was deathly pale as I approached. “Are you alright?” I asked.
She dragged her eyes off the soldier and met my gaze. “I killed him.” She gestured to the body and I noticed Jemin’s knife hilt sticking out of the soldier.
“You did what you had do.” I bent and, retrieving Jemin’s knife, cleaned it quickly. “Come on, we need to get going,” I squeezed Olena’s shoulder, hoping that would help ward off the shock of killing.
She nodded, her face was grim, but she met my eyes evenly.
I trotted to the alley and beckoned. My gaggle of stolen women trickled out and followed me across the little open road down to the river’s edge. Along the way I paused to scoop up the pole with the shattered lantern, it wasn’t a buoy but it would do.
President’s Day
It’s a national holiday here in the US, Zare will be back next week!
Water Horse
When I set out to draw something in particular these days, I end up browsing Pinterest for reference pictures, and end up working off of one or two. I never used to work from pictures, but I’m finding it really helps me improve; learn how to draw new things, new angles. Also, searching for Mustangs is a lot of fun. There are some great pictures out there, and I’m starting to recognize the iconic stallions of the various herds around the west (just search for Picasso the Mustang–or Cloud, for an even more famous name–and if you want wild horses in water, search for the Salt River Wild Horses of Arizona.)
So, here is the progression of the water horse, from pencil to ink to t-shirt. This was draw taking inspiration from one of the Salt River Wild Horses, (you can find some of my inspiration on this Pinterest board)
Add water:
Add eyes:
Scan, clean up, and add to Redbubble.
Voila!
The Legend of Zare Caspian 