One for Sorrow, page 7
“So, Mister Clever, it’s not going to be so easy, after all. Think hard, old bird. There must be a way!”
As Tomar pondered over his problem, the boy was in the farmer’s kitchen, being fed himself. When he had sated his appetite, typically huge for a child growing up in the countryside, he slipped from the table and made his way quickly outside, eager to see the owl again. But as he crossed the farmyard, he stopped suddenly, remembering his unfinished task with the traps.
The boy returned to the shed where he had left Tomar and, on entering, was greeted with a shriek from the old owl. He reached his hand out carefully, and ruffled Tomar’s feathers. Then, he turned his mind to practical considerations and began to collect the items he would need to reset and replenish the traps. He selected a few nooses and wires, and then moved over to a small refrigerator, from which he withdrew several pieces of offal and a variety of vegetables for bait. Standing straight once again, he turned, and came over to where Tomar sat. Reaching behind the owl, the boy stood on tiptoe to take down a small phial from the shelves. Tomar knew that he had to act quickly, whilst the boy was close, for his subterfuge to be maintained. Without hesitation, he hopped onto the boy’s shoulder, and pecked gently at his ear.
“Want to come with me, eh?” said the child. “Yes, I suppose it must be pretty boring cooped up in this place. OK. Off we go then.”
And, with that, the boy strode manfully out of the shed and off across the fields. He was a strong lad, but the heavy owl weighed cruelly on his shoulder. Tomar sensed this and shifted his position, flapping his wings to ease the pressure from his talons.
Boy and owl progressed happily in this fashion, to the far edge of the farm’s perimeter. Then Tomar was set down on a tree stump to watch, as the child prepared one of the traps. First he removed a dead squirrel and placed the prone body into his sack. Then he baited the trap once again with a small, enticing piece of turnip. Finally, he uncorked the bottle and carefully spread a few drops of the poison over the bait.
Tomar watched intently, and noticed how little force the boy needed to remove and replace the stopper in the phial. The child came back to the tree stump, picked the owl up, and deposited him on his shoulder. Then they set off towards the next trap, the boy whistling happily. When they reached the site, they found no sign of bait or animal. Obviously, some unfortunate creature had evaded the trap, but was somewhere in the undergrowth, having suffered a lingering death from the effects of the poison.
The boy cursed softly. He was a practical child and knew the necessity of protecting the crops and livestock. But he was also kindhearted, and hated the idea of the agony his traps sometimes caused. He far preferred the quick, clean kill. The boy got out the phial and placed it on the ground beside him, as he reached into the bag to select some fresh bait.
Feeling an instant of regret, Tomar stirred himself into action. He swooped down, seized the phial in his talons and, flapping his great wings, miraculously now free of any injury, flew off and disappeared over the tree line. As he did so, he turned to look back and saw the boy standing, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, staring in astonishment at the receding image of the owl. Then Tomar lost sight of the child and, looking ahead once more, set his course for home.
Many days and nights passed, as Kirrick travelled north, towards his next destination, and an encounter that he feared even more than the last. A falcon was intimidating enough, but an eagle? . . . Still, Kirrick knew that he had no choice. The future of Birddom was in his wings alone. This second journey was long and arduous, and took the little robin to the very limits of his strength. He had already flown so far, and the need for escape from Traska’s trap had meant that Kirrick had found scant time for rest and recovery. Only his strength of purpose kept him going. That, and the knowledge that his first quest had been successful. Kirrick faced many hazards and dangers (the tales of which would, in times to come, add to the near legendary stature of this brave bird). Suffice for now to say that the robin triumphed in the face of adversity on several, life-threatening occasions.
Kirrick’s second journey was almost fatally delayed when he became seriously ill, less than halfway to his destination. The infection was virulent and immediate, affecting his breathing and making flight impossible. He first realised that something was wrong after a short stop for food and water. On taking to the air once more, he felt leaden-winged and struggled to gain any height. His vision swam and a pain stabbed across his chest. Kirrick bravely tried to ignore the discomfort, but soon realised that he could not go on.
Fortunately, he was, at that time, flying over a heavily-wooded area, and quickly found a place to alight and rest. His intention, on landing, was just to get his breath back and then to find somewhere safe to sleep off the sickness that he felt. But the swiftness of the infection would allow no such luxury. In a matter of minutes, it had him in its grip, and he had no choice but to go to ground and lay there, in surrender to the raging, wracking agonies of the illness. For two days, Kirrick was in delirium, his mind racing and swirling, nightmare images tormenting him as he lay utterly helpless.
He was very vulnerable then and could easily have fallen prey to a predator, exposed as he was, with only a small covering of leaf debris which he had gathered around him before the sickness had swallowed him up entirely. But the very illness which was trying to destroy him from the inside became his saviour. For, in his delirium, Kirrick began to make noises. Loud, clear and haunting, his voice rose and fell, echoing around the woodland. It was an eerie, unnatural sound, unlike the call of any bird, and it made the hairs rise on the back of the necks of animals which ventured nearby. Each and every animal turned away and circumvented the area, giving this strange-sounding creature a very wide berth.
Kirrick’s recovery was slow, but gradually he emerged from the nightmare world into which the sickness had plunged him. In his weakened state, he had no idea of how much time he had lost, but he made sure that he foraged and fed well, knowing the need to replenish his reserves of strength, for the journey still to come. He was worried that the delay would prove costly to Tomar’s plan, but knew also that he could not afford to launch into a headlong flight into possible danger. Certain now of pursuit, Kirrick journeyed cautiously and avoided any deliberate contact with other wildlife, who might pass on knowledge of his whereabouts. Kirrick had seen his enemy once and had no wish to be so close to the evil magpie again. But no bird can be made invisible, and Kirrick had left enough clues and signs to allow successful pursuit by a determined hunter. And Traska was very determined.
Traska had not gone off immediately after the robin, but had isolated himself from all company for a while, giving himself time to think clearly. He knew the direction that Kirrick had taken and, knowing that, for some purpose, the robin had made contact with the falcons, he felt it safe to assume that Kirrick’s second mission must be along similar lines. So, who was the robin journeying to visit? Tomar was clearly seeking allies, and such ones that were amongst the largest and most powerful in the land. The falcons were, individually, as perfect a killing machine as the Creator had devised in Birddom. Their lack of numbers meant that they posed little threat to the corvidae. But what if ...?
Traska’s mind took the next logical step and he gasped, stunned by where it took him. The robin was going to the eagles! If that was true, then everything that the magpies had worked to achieve could be lost. But only if Kirrick succeeded. Logic told him to report back at once to Slyekin and warn him of the danger that lay ahead. But, in doing so, he knew that his position would remain diminished, and he was by no means certain that, in this case, forewarned would necessarily be forearmed.
Anyway, his vanity dictated that he would not be outwitted and defeated by a mere robin. No, now that Traska knew where Kirrick was going and why, he could finally end this. The magpie knew that, in open flight, over such a distance, he could overhaul the robin, but catching up with Kirrick, in terms of time, was very different to finding him in the vastness of the landscape ahead. So Traska decided that his best chance lay in outdistancing the robin and, once ahead, in choosing a suitable place of ambush. Knowing, with a certainty, what he must do, Traska took a hasty meal, and then set off in pursuit of the robin.
Tomar sat contented in his nest hole. He was proud of himself and of what he had achieved. If only Kirrick were here to hear about his exploits. Tomar wondered about the little robin and the adventures that he must be having. It was hard to have no word of Kirrick, but Tomar had every faith in the bird he had chosen. Kirrick would not fail him.
Nor must he fail the robin. This new idea of his improved their overall chance of success, but it needed careful planning. He must allow himself time to do what he did best – using his mind to think things through, to evaluate and then to decide. Tomar knew that he had to make an alliance unlike any known before and to do so he needed to find a suitable inducement, to make such strange bedfellows fall in with his plan.
So the old owl spent a long night pondering on just what he could offer in return for their aid in his quest. Just before dawn, a look of satisfaction came over the owl’s face and, smiling to himself, he closed his eyes for sleep. He knew what he could offer the insects.
Chapter 7
Kirrick flew on, over a landscape of increasing beauty. Deeply-forested glens gave way to rocky, mountainous outcrops. Heather covered the hillside with rich, purple and brown hues and everywhere water was in abundance. Sunlight shimmered in reflection from mirrored lochs, and waterfalls cascaded down steep inclines, as rivers fed into their unfathomable depths.
Kirrick knew that he had nearly reached his destination and, now that he was close, his earlier feeling of fear was replaced by an eagerness and excitement, born of anticipation for what lay ahead. Eagles! Kirrick had been impressed and even somewhat in awe of Darreal, Tomar and Isidris. But now he was going to meet one who could justifiably claim the title of king of all bird life. Kirrick felt daunted by his task of persuading such a majestic bird that he must do the bidding of so lowly a robin. But he had total faith in Tomar’s master plan. It had been vindicated already in his dealings with the falcons and he knew that he would, with luck, find a favourable reception once more.
Suddenly, a flash of scarlet in the distance caught Kirrick’s eye. He stopped in mid-air, his pulse racing and his eyes swivelling frantically round for another tantalising glimpse. He had seen her, he knew he had! It couldn’t have just been his imagination.
Yes, there, over in the gorse, down to his right. A beautiful female robin. It was beyond all hope. Kirrick had been so sure that he was the last. He had travelled so far and had seen no sign. But there she was, and she hadn’t seen him. His heart leapt with joy and he swooped down towards her, opening his beak to sing out his greeting. At that instant, a stinging, searing pain exploded into his leg, as the pellet hit him. His swoop turned into a freefall and blackness took him as he tumbled earthwards.
When he awoke, the first thing that Kirrick saw was his reflection, his image superimposed upon a lustrous black. Focusing with difficulty, because of the pain, he looked into the beautiful face of the female robin. Her features changed, from a show of concern and anxiety into one of delight that he had regained consciousness. When she spoke, the gentleness in her voice enhanced Kirrick’s first impression of her, and his heart turned over with an immediate feeling of love for this pretty young robin.
“Ah! You’re awake then. You’ve been unconscious for a long time. I thought I’d lost you more than once. But you’re a fighter, aren’t you?”
“What is your name?” asked Kirrick, in a weak voice.
“I’m called Portia, and until now I thought I was the only robin left alive. Indeed, if that young boy had had his way, I might have been. Honestly, I could peck his eyes out!”
Kirrick laughed. “Well, I’m Kirrick, and, as for taking revenge on my behalf, please be my guest!”
Portia looked tenderly at the injured robin.
“You’re accent is strange. You’re not from around here. What brings you to these parts?”
“I’d heard of your loveliness!” Kirrick teased, and Portia blushed to match her chest feathers. “But seriously, it’s a very long story.”
“Well, you’ll not be going anywhere for a while, with that leg of yours all shot up,” replied Portia. “Besides, I’ve always enjoyed a good tale.”
She put her head on one side and listened as Kirrick began. She was, in turn, fascinated and appalled as she heard of his adventures. Kirrick, for his part, ceased to feel the pain of his leg, as he stared into the beautiful eyes of this wonderful bird, and time seemed to fly by. There were tears in Portia’s eyes as Kirrick came to the end of his tale, and she said simply,
“What can I do to help you, Kirrick?”
“Well, you could get me something to eat!”
Portia scratched him playfully with her claws and then flew off in search of a meal. The pain returned with a vengeance and Kirrick’s head swam, as he looked at the damage to his leg. He tried to rise. The agony was excruciating and took his breath away, but he steeled himself against it. Heavily favouring his good leg, he stood and swiftly launched himself into an experimental flight. The leg felt strange and ungainly, but presented no problem when flying. However, Kirrick realised that another difficulty would have to be overcome. How could he land on one leg?
“Oh well,” he said. “What flies up, must come down!”
So, he slowly glided back to the spot where Portia had found him. His landing was, to say the least, undignified, but he managed it without further damage to his injured leg, and looked up, proudly, as Portia reappeared with a beak full of worms. But her eyes flashed angrily and, depositing the worms on the ground, holding them securely in her claws, she admonished Kirrick severely.
“What do you think you’re playing at, you stupid robin? Do you think I’m going to waste my time caring for you, only to see you break your good leg in such a display of madness? Your injury needs time to heal!”
“But that’s just the point,” Kirrick responded vehemently. “We have no time. We must go on and finish this mission. There is so much still to do and so many other lives are dependant on our success!”
Portia quietened at Kirrick’s reply. “You really are an extraordinary bird, Kirrick,” she stated gently. “Forgive my anger. It was born out of concern and love.”
She moved close to Kirrick and they sat together in a wonderful silence, their bodies softly touching and their heads held close. Portia began to tell Kirrick of her own life and of the dangers that had beset her. The depredations of the magpies, in this part of the land, had been just as devastating as in the south. The linnet, wren, siskin and brambling had been eradicated entirely, and very few other species of small bird could boast more than a handful of surviving individuals at best. Portia had seen her family wiped out and had known of dozens of other robins massacred by the brutal magpies. These evil birds were not indigenous to the highlands, but had moved in with a purpose, marauding into the mountains, to murder and destroy.
Portia herself had faced terrible danger on several occasions and had escaped more than once by the breadth of her tail-feathers. Her family had been more resilient than most. But then, they were amongst the robin elite. However, the advent of such evil had destroyed the social distinctions. Every robin died just the same. Her mother and father were no exceptions.
It had taken a dozen of the large corvidae to down the plucky pair, and her father had put up a spectacular show of defiance, fighting bravely against the odds before he was mobbed and torn apart. Portia’s mother died protecting her daughter and only great fortune saved the beautiful robin herself. But before she could tell Kirrick of her own escape, Portia was overcome with a resurgence of grief.
Kirrick wrapped her in his wings and held her tightly while she cried. In this position, exhausted, they slept. As they did so, the worms, which Portia had so painstakingly collected, wriggled silently away, disbelieving their good fortune.
Traska had flown hard and with very little rest and, on arriving in the highlands, he had bullied and badgered the magpies of the local corvidae covens, bending them to his will. One headstrong local leader had challenged Traska, resenting his demands, and the evil magpie had taken the opportunity to show the local birds his power and ruthlessness. Traska had left the other magpie torn and bloody, with broken wings and both eyes pecked from his head. That particular coven got the message and word soon spread that this was a magpie that you did not cross.
Traska sought news of any sightings of robins in the area and asked about the eagles and their leader. All the magpies spat out one name: Storne, the great golden eagle. Their hatred of him knew no bounds, for, under his leadership, the eagles had persecuted the local corvidae, disdainful of their habits as carrion-eaters, and in retribution for their attacks on other bird life. Here was an ally indeed for Kirrick and Traska was now more desperate and determined than ever that the robin should not make it through to the eagle’s lair.
Traska posted watchers over several miles, to the south of the valley in which Storne’s eyrie was sited. They were to report back immediately if the robin was spotted. The nature of the terrain made it almost certain that Kirrick would have to come this way, and Traska selected the fastest and fiercest of the local magpies to help him ambush the robin. Other magpies and local corvidae were arranged as a rearguard, to protect the main party from attack by the eagles. The trap was set. All they had to do now was wait – wait for that accursed robin.
Traska’s old coven had been especially chosen by Slyekin to help organise the Great Feast. This was an annual event, held in the autumn, when the humans celebrated their harvest and before many animals began their long winter hibernation. This time of year had been chosen for the abundance of food that it provided for the magpies. Each feast had succeeded in outdoing its predecessor and now the annual event attracted corvidae from covens all over the country. It was a gathering in celebration of the magpies’ increasing dominance over Birddom. Slyekin always enjoyed the Great Feast because, as leader, he was fawned over and adulated, which fed his enormous vanity. It also gave him the opportunity to provide spectacular entertainment for the delectation of his followers. Last year’s ‘Thrush Thrash’ had gone down very well. The cruel visual pageant had been a fitting climax to the feasting and fornication. It had also served the purpose of wiping out the last of that particular species of songbird.
