The Eye of the Falcon by Michelle Paver

he ducked. The falcon was astonished. Did he imagine she was stupid enough to hit him? He was enormous; she’d rather crash into a boulder. But the human didn’t seem to realize that, and this gave the falcon an idea.
    When she swooped again, the human bent back a stick and sent another stick wobbling through the air toward her. This stick was so ridiculously slow that she dodged it with scornful ease. Did he think he could hit a falcon with that?
    Letting the Wind carry her out of reach, she scanned the mountainside. She saw more crow-men floundering in the snow below the eyrie. She caught the purple flash of a weasel near the rainbow torrent of the waterfall. But where was the girl?
    At that moment, the falcon spotted movement in the bushes below the waterfall. It was that boy again, the one who’d watched her failing to kill a crow.
    The falcon flew nearer.
    This boy wasn’t one of the crow-men. He smelled of the forest, and he puzzled her, because unlike all the other humans the falcon had ever seen, his hair wasn’t black; it was dark gold with flashes of red, like an eagle.

    From his hiding place below the waterfall, Hylas watched in horror as the Crows ransacked Taka Zimi: hauling chests onto the steps and hacking them to pieces with axes, spearing mattresses and smashing stools, pots, lamps.
    He could see no sign of Pirra, and it flashed across his mind that such savagery might mean that they hadn’t found her, and were venting their rage.
    Suddenly he caught movement above, and a bird swept overhead. It was that falcon again, the young one he’d seen being mobbed by crows. Puzzled, he watched her wheeling over Taka Zimi, shrieking her alarm call at the warriors.
    This had to be a sign. She’s still here, the bird’s shrill cries seemed to be saying. She needs your help.
    At least—Hylas thought that was what it meant. If he was wrong, he was about to risk his life for nothing.
    From his hiding place, the stream tumbled down a scree slope dotted with juniper bushes, and rushed past a corner of the sanctuary. There wasn’t much cover, although at least the water might mask the sound of his approach.
    And then what? Those walls were unclimbable, and the whole place was crawling with Crows.
    As Hylas hesitated, he caught a bitter tang on the wind, and his belly tightened. Black smoke was rising from the roof of the sanctuary, and orange flames were flaring in the thatch.
    If Pirra was inside, her time was running out.
    The Crows were setting Taka Zimi on fire.

16
    T he crackle of flames grew louder, and smoke seeped into the cellar. Pirra’s heart hammered in her chest. If she stayed down here, she would die.
    The hatch above her head felt hot, and when she pushed, it didn’t budge. She pushed harder. No use. She fought the urge to scream. She’d prayed to the Goddess to hide her—but whatever concealed the hatch was now shutting her in.
    â€œPirra, it’s over!” Telamon’s voice was muffled; he must have fled to the courtyard. “Tell me where you are and I’ll save you!”
    Pirra pictured him standing triumphant in the snow—and her panic turned to cold hard rage. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Telamon? Then you could show me off as your captive and make all Keftiu bow before you. Well, I’m not some weasel in a hole, I’m the daughter of Yassassara—and I beg no man for help.
    â€œPirra, come out!” yelled Telamon. “It’s not worth dying!”
    Gritting her teeth, Pirra groped for the hammer and wedge she’d hidden near the water pipe. She would make one last attempt to dig herself out. She’d rather die trying than give in to the Crows.
    The wedge was where she’d left it, stuck in the joint between two stones edging the hole. She hit the wedge as hard as she could, and one of the stones rocked. She struck again and again—kicked, pulled, hammered. Couldn’t work it