SHE glided in the sky, her wings poised like a dancer in the wind, the falcon, majestic heiress of her own world.

In the day, she flew over the mountains, valleys and rivers, in her quest for something hidden; something she had to find, for a hunter’s lethal arrow could pierce her breast and the curse would stay unbroken; a curse that entrapped her in this bird form, until dusk, when, in the dark, she could not even see her reflection for the girl she was.

From her vantage point in the sky, she saw the young man, a native hunter, sitting on a rock on the river’s bank, watching the sun set on the horizon. At the end of the day, the magical beauty of the sunset was like a soothing balm to his weary body as he relaxed by the riverside.

The reddish-orange hue, a masterpiece of creation, suddenly seemed to come to life as a black falcon streaked across, like the sudden swish of the artist’s brush. The hunter’s hands, in a swift, smooth motion, armed his bow and watched as the bird alighted on a rock on the opposite bank, folded its wings, and tucked its head in its chest. The hunter’s hand steadied, but he didn’t take aim, waiting for one little movement, because this majestic bird was more valuable alive than dead.

But the bird stayed still as the dark curtains of night spread across the land. The hunter shook his head as he sheathed his arrow. “Maybe not today,” he said, and left the riverside for his village.

She watched him go, fear beating in her breast, wondering if he was the one who could help and not harm her. Another day gone; now she will rest somewhere in the thick foliage of the forest. As her feathers vanished and she stood there, a stunning vision of a dark-haired girl, her flawless beauty and velvet smooth skin not of this world, she seemed lost in thought, but of a world ruled by kings and queens.

Who was she? And to which dynasty did she belong? She closed her eyes and let her mind wander, thinking of the young hunter.

The native hunter was restless in his sleep that night, for there seemed something strange about the bird. In his dream, as the falcon glided in the sky, every arrow he shot missed its mark. He awoke before the sun rose, disturbed. It was a bad dream, for he was an ace hunter, never yet missing his mark.

He did not go deep in the forest that day, waiting for the falcon.  But at the end of the day, he had not seen it; not in the sky, nor on the rocks at the river’s edge.

She saw him from another vantage point, knowing he was looking for her, and as night closed, she laid down on the forest floor to sleep, crying softly, not sure where she was, or if she’d ever see home again.

On the fourth day close to dusk, the hunter did not watch the sunset but secluded himself in a thicket of trees, not too far from the river, for he had seen the bird in the sky that day. His hunting instincts told him it would come up to the rive,r and he waited, wondering why the bird came into his dreams every night, and why he could not hit it.

As dusk approached, the bird flew down from the sky with such speed, it was as though it had lost the power of its great wings. It didn’t take the hunter long to realize that it was injured, and he moved swiftly, just as the falcon hit the water.

He dived into the water to rescue it from drowning, but with an arrow protruding from its wings, its fluttering wings and sharp claws were its weapons of vicious defense.

She felt this was the end; to die in this cursed form as the hunter subdued her weakened wings and pulled her out of the water. His arms and chest were bleeding where her claws had ripped his flesh. He stood looking at her, not daring to go closer. And as day became night, something unbelievable happened; something he could not describe. Her feathers slowly vanished, and, lying on the river’s banks, an arrow in her shoulder, was the most beautiful woman the native hunter had ever seen.

He stared at her in awe, and, calling all his ancestor’s names in his mind, he knelt by her and gingerly extracted the arrow from her shoulder. The pain was so extreme, she screamed until darkness closed over her eyes. When she opened them  again, night had advanced, and the hunter was sitting close by, watching her. He had treated her wound with herbal extracts; constructed a shelter from branches; and had laid her on a soft bed of fallen leaves.

She sat up, grimacing in pain, and stared at him for a long moment, before speaking. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Her voice was so soft, like the touch of a feather, and as he looked at her from the little light streaming through the trees, he saw the deep sadness in her eyes.

“I have been hunting in this forest since I was a young boy,” he said to her, “and I have seen many strange things; but I have never seen anything like this, nor anyone as beautiful as you are. Who are you? And what happened to you?”

She grimaced in pain, and did not answer for a while, drinking the liquid herbal medicine he gave her to ease the pain.

“It will take a little while to heal but you’ll get better.”

She nodded, and, composing herself, she told him her story. She was an Indian Princess of the Aztec dynasty, where kings and queens ruled; where it was traditional that she marry a prince, but the prince who she was to be betrothed to was not the man of her dreams: He was from a dark kingdom, cruel and brutal to his people. He became so enraged at her refusal to marry him that he put an ancestral curse on her.

“Since that day,” she said, tears in her eyes, “this has been my life; cursed to live as a bird in the day, and human in the night.”

“Is there no way to break the curse?” he asked.

“It has been said that on top of a high mountain, there grows a small flower, its nectar so powerful, it  can cast away any evil, just one drop to taste.”

“That is why you have flown so far?”

“Yes. I’ve searched so many mountains, but I have not found it; and I have grown so tired and weak.”

“I know the flower,” he said.

“What!” She sat up, forgetting her injured shoulder.

“It’s a legacy of our tribe; I’ve heard my great-grandfather speak of it.”

“Can you help me find it?”

“I’d be honoured; not every day a simple, poor hunter gets to speak to a princess.”

She smiled a little, and that little smile was enough to send him climbing up the high mountain.

One day and one night passed as she anxiously awaited his return, and on the second morning, as she rested high on a tree limb in her bird form, she heard him calling for her. She flew down, alighting on his arm, and just like the legend stated, one drop of the nectar cast away the evil, breaking the curse.

She stood there in the daylight in her royal robes, in her true princess form, a light in her eyes, a glow on her face, the wind caressing her long hair. It took his breath away to be in the presence of such beauty, and to be honoured, for she was royal. She touched his arm, and, reaching up, kissed him lightly.

“I will remember you always as someone special.”

“And forever I will dream of you,” he said quietly, as he watched her leave, “my Falcon Princess.”
Written By Maureen Rampertab