Read Copper Falcon for Free Online

It was hard to believe he’d risen earlier than I, let alone that in my sleepless state I hadn’t heard him.
    I stepped out into the cool air, used the latrine, and then crossed the Avenue of the Sun to the western plaza. Dawn was still a gray haze in the eastern sky as I walked to the chunkey courts. These were Four Winds courts, for the exclusive use of the clan.
    In the dim light I laid my pack to the side, withdrew my red granite chunkey stone and lance, and walked slowly down the length of the court. The packed clay felt perfect, with no slants or dips, level as the surface of a calm pond. I’d never played on such a well-groomed court.
    In the graying light I could see the Keeper’s palace with its two guards at the base of the stairs. The palace itself was a steep-roofed gray shadow. I’d be able to spot anyone coming or going.
    Walking back to the start, I swung my stone, limbering my arm. Taking my position, I hefted my lance in my left hand, checking its balance. Then I charged forward. Four paces, and my arm swung back. I bowled the stone, the release perfect as the disk touched down on the clay.
    Two strides and I’d shifted my lance to the right hand, whipped my arm back, and cast. I could barely see its flight in the dim light, but chunkey wasn’t about seeing with your eyes; it was knowing where the stone would stop well in advance of the moment it slowed and pitched onto its side.
    Walking down, I found my lance jabbed into the clay no more than a forearm’s length from the stone.
    When I collected my pieces and walked back, someone was standing at the head of the court. I could barely make out the lance and stone he held. The white apron, however, stood out in the gloom, and something dark was wrapped across his chest like a binding.
    “Good cast,” he greeted, and I was surprised by the contralto melody in his voice. Some youth up early to practice his skill before the adults arrived?
    “Thank you.”
    “Play to twenty?”
    “Sure. What will you play for?”
    I could barely see a smile in the gloom. “Your stone?”
    That surprised me. Chunkey stones were highly prized, often took over a year to grind into perfect disks with just the right balance and fit for a player’s hand. My red granite piece, my most prized possession, had been Traded down the Tenasee from the mountains.
    “Are you sure?” I countered, uneasy over the prospect of depriving a mere boy of his stone.
    “Oh, very. I’ll play white.”
    “I’m happy with the red.” And I was. Red denoted the Power of chaos, war, creativity, procreation, strife. White was the Power of peace, wisdom, harmony, and reflection. Hardly where my mood and concerns were centered.
    “Take your warm-up,” I offered, surrendering the course.
    He took his position, and I realized his build, though tall, was slight; the apron seemed to widen his hips and gave him an awkward stance. Really, to be successful, he needed to wear something that fit closer to his skin.
    The youth launched well, sprinting forward, bending, rolling his stone. The lance’s transition was smooth, the cast made with poetic grace. I faced no raw youth—which on reflection should not have been a surprise. This was, after all, a Four Winds Clan court, and we were playing in the literal shadow of the reincarnated Morning Star’s mound. Morning Star, who invented chunkey in the Beginning Times. He had played against the Giants for his dead father’s head and had brought the game to the world of men.
    In the gray light, I could see his lance hit within a pace of where his stone had stopped. He might be a boy, but he was good.
    The light had brightened by the time he returned, the grin still there. His face, I noticed, was a delicate triangle, the eyes large. I wondered what he’d look like when he hit that spurt of growth that turned a boy into a man.
    “For the first point? If you’re ready.” He gestured at the court. “I’ll measure your cast; you measure mine.”
    I