The Harpy

Once upon a time, when the touch of magic was still found on this earth, there was a young harpy. 

She lived with her sisters on the highest points of the peaks overlooking the ocean, sleeping together in feathery piles under the open sky. The harpies never worried about right or wrong, about the future or the past. There was only today, only the thrill of their hunts and the songs they sang in discordant unison to each other. 

The harpy loved nothing more than to go on long flights away from home, to return with stories and tokens from places far away that made her sisters laugh with glee and shudder in delicious fright. 

One day, she got caught out in a storm while she was on one of her journeys, too caught up in the wild joy of hurling herself through the sky to pay attention to the changing winds. She plummeted to the earth into a broken heap of feathers and bones, injuring herself badly. 

Luckily, she’d hit the ground near a tower hidden within the woods where a hermit lived. He’d heard the crash and took pity on the wild injured creature that landed on his doorstep and took her in. 

Although she was always warned not to trust humans, she let him slowly nurse her back to health and ultimately befriended the stranger who’d saved her.

The hermit was a lonely man and she felt so grateful that he saved her life, for the patience and kindness that he’d shown her, that she stayed even after she was well enough to travel again. Even though she disliked sleeping with the damp stone walls of the tower surrounding her and she missed the freedom of the sky keenly, the thought of flying away made her heart clench. It just made her think of him in that tower, all alone and with nowhere to go because although she eventually recovered  from her injuries, he had wounds that never healed.

In time, she realised she loved him. As for him, he’d made his admiration for her known from the start. How he loved it when she sang her harpy song, how he adored the sheen of her feathers and admired the wild strangeness of her heart. 

She learned that the hermit had once been a powerful sorcerer who, after a near-fatal incident, couldn’t practice magic much anymore. He would never speak about what happened that made him thus but she knew it had to be something terrible, for he’d sleep restlessly and barely left the safety of the tower, even with his walking stick. 

She felt his pain as keenly as if it were her own, as you’re wont to do when you’re in love, and set out to help him.  

She asked him whether there were healers in the area that they could try, and he told her that he’d already exhausted his options. That he already tried everything he could think of before he met her, though the conversation clearly got him thinking and one day while they were perusing through his scrolls and tomes to organise them, he broached the topic. 

“There’s something that might cure me,” he said, almost shyly. Almost as if he didn’t want to admit it. “In my studies, I’ve come across the legend of the Harpy’s Song. It is said to give courage to a man. If I had that, I might have enough courage to venture outside,” 

She liked the idea of being able to give him courage even though the story confused her, she hadn’t been shy about sharing her gift of music with him.

“But you’ve heard me sing before, haven’t you?”

“Oh that’s not what it means, little love,” he chuckled, amused with how literal her way of speaking was. “You need to give your voice to me for it to work,” 

“My voice?” she asked, “I won’t be able to speak?”

“You should still be able to speak and sing, it would just be with a mortal woman’s voice. It’s very similar, you won’t miss it,” he assured her. The desperation in his tone was what convinced her.

She did miss her voice, of course, she missed it the moment it was gone and she could no longer understand the calls of birds and other beasts, her mouth feeling too soft and clumsy and her tone too quiet and sweet.  

Her lover did, however, seem to have more courage. He’d go outside every evening and circle the tower slowly, leaning heavily on his walking stick and looking back at her with wounded, soulful eyes. It was so hard for him, the pain apparent with every laboured step he took.

He never mentioned whether he missed her old voice. 

After a few weeks he stopped walking as regularly and when she’d address that, he’d do his walk again for a few nights but there was never any progress other than a wishing path circling the tower, a little bare string of earth where nothing grew anymore. 

She watched the seasons go by from the window at the top of the tower and started to wonder why her heart felt so heavy when it was supposed to be in love. Why it felt like she couldn’t leap out of that window and soar into the sky like she used to, too weighed down by heartache, by guilt, love and responsibility.

“Maybe it just wasn’t enough,” he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, bowed over yet another stack of tomes. 

“Is there something else we can try?” she offered.

“It’s difficult to ask,” 

“You can ask me anything,” she said gently, like so many times before. Usually, he’d ask for her love and patience. This time was different.

“Could I..have a few of your feathers? I could make a potion that makes my step lighter, if it’s less painful for me then perhaps I can walk again.”

“..What about your nightmares?”

“They will be easier to deal with when my physical ailments ease,” he stated. 

She loved him too much to admit she doubted him, even to herself, so she nodded and he kissed her in thanks. His lips were soft and dry and she felt him smile against her skin but didn’t think anything of it. 

The next day she woke up and her wings had changed. Her flight feathers suddenly seemed much too short, and she could bend and move her wings much like human arms and hands. Useless for flight but easier to maneuver indoors. Her stomach went cold with dread. She felt deformed, and she told him as much.

“You barely flew anymore, anyway, and you’ve got perfectly good legs for if you need to run errands,” her love cheerfully mentioned, giving her a peck on the top of her head as she quietly inspected her new feathery appendages. 

She tried to smile for him and his newfound energy, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“It looks better, I think. You look more like a woman,” he mused, openly appraising her. 

But I’m not a woman, I’m a harpy, she thought miserably, and wondered if it was still true. 

Her love’s step was lighter for a while, he barely needed his walking stick in the house and he was able to practice magic more freely again. Unfortunately, it didn’t last and when the pain returned in full swing, his attitude towards her twisted. 

It felt like she could no longer win his favour, like she was never as ladylike or womanly as he needed her to be, that every inch of her was scrutinised every day; from what she looked like to how she spoke and acted. 

When she finally exclaimed in exasperation that he’d known what she was when they met, that he knew she wasn’t a woman but a harpy,  he sighed and shook his head, arguing “Men have their preferences and I can’t help that I’m a man,”

“I thought we loved each other unconditionally,” she whispered, “I thought you loved me for more than what I look like or what I can do for you,”

“Oh please, unconditional love doesn’t exist,” he scoffed.

She felt the last part of her wild heart break.

She started looking at the birds flying in their flocks from her windowsill with envy, longing to kiss the clouds with her wings, fearing she never again would. She briefly wondered how much it was worth it to her if she could even do it just once, even if she could only fly for a moment and then plummet to the earth. 

At least she’d die with the open sky above her.

I’m stuck here, the thought looped around her mind like a snare snaking along her talons. The walls in the tower surrounding her had never seemed taller, had never seemed more unforgiving and impenetrable. Once she realised it, she couldn’t stop the thought.

I’m stuck I’m stuck I’m stuck I’m stuck 

“I need more feathers,” he told her, standing behind her as she was looking out of the window once more. She turned towards him reluctantly, having feared this very request for weeks. 

“I’ve given you all I possibly could,” she told him with her voice breaking.

He assessed her, his distant gaze never meeting hers but focused on what he needed from her. 

“I still see enough,” 

He reached his hand out to her, calmly taking one of her feathers between his fingers and thumb with a detached look on his face. The ownership in his touch made her cringe away from him. 

“Why are you acting like you’re afraid of me? I’m not going to hurt you,” he laughed, as if the notion was ridiculous.

You’ve hurt me plenty, she thought, stepping backwards until she felt the cold bite of stone on her lower back. 

“I’ve given all I can,” she said again, her voice steadier this time. She leaned back on the windowsill, raising a quivering taloned foot in defense. 

“Don’t be like that,” he tutted, his lip curling in annoyance and he reached towards her again. Quicker this time, grabbing at her right wing. She searched his face for a semblance of the kind and loving man she fell for and couldn’t find him anywhere. 

He was much bigger than her but not nearly as quick, she ducked to the side and he only managed to graze her, snatching a handful of her feathers without being able to pin her. She scratched and kicked, not caring what she hit as long as she was free. 

Standing on the windowsill and panting heavily, she looked back. The ground seemed so very far away, she’d never noticed that before. 

The man who’d once held her whole heart in his hands stood cowering in front of her, covering his bleeding face. She used to think he was so lovely, now all she could notice was that he was still blocking her path. She had no way past him, unless she wanted to risk the chance of him taking hold of her again.

“Please don’t leave me,” the human started to cry. “Please don’t do this to me. I won’t survive.” After everything, she still felt the familiar guilt clench around her heart like a fist. 

If I don’t go, we both won’t survive, she knew. She knew in her bones that he would continue to take until there was nothing left. Such was his nature.

The harpy chanced a glance behind her again, aching for the winds to carry her away and frightened of the choice laid out in front of her. If she leapt into the darkness, she wouldn’t know how it would end, whether she’d fall to her death or glide to the ground on her atrophied wings. If she stayed, it would surely eventually spell her death but first she’d live to see herself plucked bare and bleeding. 

She felt no need to reply to his pleas, her face was streaked with tears but her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time, now that she knew what she had to do. 

Just a second too late he saw the conviction on her face and let out a terrible howl, sounding more beast than man and lurched forwards, trying to snatch her up before she could escape but his hands caught nothing but air.

The harpy had opened her arms and let herself fall backwards, her eyes on the night sky above her. It had never been more inky black and gorgeous, its shy moon peeking from behind cloud covered curtains and its uncountable stars stretching into infinity. 

She wept for the beautiful and terrifying freedom of it and let nature take over, trusting the wind and her body to carry her safely to the ground. 

They did.