George the Orphan Crow and the Creatures of Blossom Valley

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George the Orphan Crow and the Creatures of Blossom Valley Page 5

by Helen Fox


  Without hesitating and with her usual grace and calmness, she walked to the weed, bent her head over its yellow centre and drew a deep breath. Seconds later, her eyes gleamed with tranquil joy.

  “Come on, girls. Hurry up and join me,” she called. “It’s a wonderful sensation, you’ll see.”

  The butterflies yielded and together bent over the weed and took deep breaths.

  The power of the weed took over the butterflies’ minds as if a spell had suddenly fallen on them and sent them into a trance. Imaginary plumes of haze swirled around them and inside those plumes, floated vague visions dancing to a soft tinkling sound. Estella beat at the haze to get it away from her eyes and she was now seeing fairies whirling and smiling at her.

  “Stop turning and let me touch you,” she pleaded. But the vision of the fairies gradually faded away, then vanished.

  “They’ve gone,” Estella whined drowsily. “Why?”

  “They’ve gone cause they were never there, Princess.” Heather said with a husky laugh. “It was an illusion that my magical plant created. And I’m not finished with you. The best is yet to come.”

  Heather’s two sisters, who’d shrunk back terrified, now dared to come forward.

  “Stop it, Heather!” Daisy, the older of the two, urged. “You’re being cruel to them. Please stop.”

  “Clear off then!” Heather snarled. “I don’t see why you fuss. It’s only an innocent sleeping weed. The old owl nurse uses it to sooth her patients’ pain or to sedate them if the injury is severe. Only she, being a nurse, knows how much she can give them. To delicate creatures like them, the effect...well, we’ll have to wait and see. But it won’t be the sleeping weed that’ll kill them. I’ve been planning for a long time to get the butterflies out of the way, especially that one.” She pointed at Estella and a spark of hatred and malevolence lit up her eyes.

  “I’ve been up here before to put my plan to test. My mother does a lot of spying and learns secrets. Good job too, cause she heard Plato, the old owl, say that this sleeping weed is rare and only grows on Devil’s Gorge. So she brought some meadow ladybirds, common worthless species, no one would miss.”

  “You’ve done this before?” Heather’s two sisters gasped and drew back.

  “I needed to test the power of the sleeping weed, didn’t I? It had worked fine and so had the rest of my plan. I’m a genius like my mother. She planted the idea in my head. She stayed behind to see that Prince Orpheo has a long sleep so he can’t alert the spider. A small dose of my magical weed will see to that. Now that you’ve heard it all, get out of my face or you won’t live to see another day.”

  The butterflies wavered in the air for a second or two then dropped to the ground. They shuffled about letting out short sharp squeals and then went motionless.

  Ten

  Beaten by the wind, George’s wings felt bruised and heavy as he landed on Devil’s Gorge. His eyes blurry, he dragged his legs under a craggy bush and kept huffing and puffing and heaving until an urgent yell shook him.

  “Don’t, Heather, we beg you! Have mercy on them. They’ve done you no wrong. What’s the matter with you? Have you no heart?”

  George craned his neck and saw Heather darting across to her sisters.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” she hissed. “You’ll wake them up. They’re in a trance and must stay so until...You dare say another word and you’ll be going the same way as them.”

  George stiffened. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped in utter disbelief. He tried to yell but his throat had frozen. Numb with horror, he watched Heather go back to the edge of the gorge and began speaking in a drawn-out, mesmeric voice.

  “Now ladies, stand on your feet. Listen to my voice and obey its command. Take slow strides and come to me.”

  The butterflies did as the voice commanded and Heather moved aside.

  “Good girls.” she murmured deep in her throat. “Keep walking. You’re almost there. Don’t be afraid. It’ll soon be over. Take one more stride and stay close together. Throw your heads forward. I’ll be right behind you to help you take the leap to heaven.”

  With a fierce caw George whooshed out. “Stop evil creature! Stop!” he thundered and swept her away.

  Heather jerked back violently and glared at him, her eyes blazing with fury.

  “Treacherous black feathered creature!” she yelled. “How on earth did you find out? What evil spirit sent you to ruin my plan? Go to hell! Get out of my sight! Get out!” She screamed on and on with bitterness outrage and madness until she had no more voice left to scream and then she collapsed with a venomous hiss.

  Another split second and the butterflies would fall over the edge to their death. They were standing right on the edge. George couldn’t save them from behind. A sudden sound or movement might startle them and send them toppling over. He had to be at the front so he could look at them and talk to them. “Oh God, help me!” he panted. He noticed some tufts of grass sprouting out of the rock crevice and clawed on them. George lashed his wings against the rock and yelled, “wake up Princess! Wake up, all of you and step back! Step back! Help! Help!”

  The butterflies didn’t move. They stared at him and the look in their eyes was distant and cloudy.

  George’s heart sank and his eyes filled with tears. “Move back, Princess Estella,” he cried helplessly. The butterflies staggered slightly backwards and through his tears, George saw a slow blink in their eyes. Encouraged, he cried. Help! Help!”

  A horde of bumblebees that happened to be a short flight away, responded to his cries. One flew over to him while the others moved the dazed butterflies away from the edge.

  “A pretty mess you’ve got yourself into, haven’t you, Crow? What happened?”

  George hadn’t seen such a stout bumblebee before. She had a pretty face and her eyes shone with kindness.

  “Gloria’s my name. Call me Glo. How can we help?”

  “Take care of the butterflies. Keep talking to them until they come round. Heather forced them to sniff the sleeping weed. It will take time to wear off. Keep them safe. Don’t let that wicked ladybird get away. Her sisters are innocent. Send a message to Plato the owl. Any creature will know him, but hurry!”

  “Don’t worry, Crow, I know the old owl well. Concentrate on getting yourself out of the plight you’re in.”

  “I don’t think that I can,” he said. “These tufts have gone loose under my grip and I can’t use my wings; they’re bruised and...”

  Before he could say any more, he felt the grass slipping away. With the last bit of strength he had, he tried to scramble up, scraping his claws on the hard rock surface, and in his despair he pulled hard on the tufts of grass which came away at the roots. Damp soil, landed on his chest and sent him plummeting onto the thorny bed of the brambles. As he lay flat on his back, wings spread out, he tossed and turned to free himself from the thorns, but they’d snagged deep in his feathers and were tearing his flesh. He gave up the struggle, let out a deep moan of pain and shut his eyes.

  The bumble bees peered down and squeaked with dread when they saw the blood oozing from his sides.

  “He’s dead,” one of them cried.

  ***

  With the help of the bumblebees, the butterflies came round, feeling giddy, weak and tired, but remembered nothing of their nasty ordeal. When Glo was confident they were fit for the long flight, some of her girls escorted them back to Blossom Valley.

  While the bumblebees were busy attending to the butterflies, Heather shambled about in a thick clump of grass, stunned at the unexpected turn of events, and for the first time ever she allowed tears to run down her face.

  After all her hard work, the months of planning and experimenting, her dream of getting rid of the butterflies had been wrecked. Heck, she’d come so close! One more instant and it would have been over. Tho
se precious butterflies would have gone forever, perished on the sharp thorns of the brambles and no one would have known. It would have been hers and her mother’s secret. Her two so-called-sisters, who in fact were two strays her mother had picked up, wouldn’t make it back to Blossom Valley. She’d planned something clever which would make it look as if they were the ones who had taken the butterflies out but had never made it back. They would go the same way as the butterflies and perish on the brambles. The winds would blow their remains, if there were any, away across the hills. She would then sneak back into the valley and spread the story that her two young sisters had told her they were taking the butterflies out to the cornfields for the day and had asked her to keep it a secret. A huge search would take place, the whole valley looking for the butterflies. She and her mother would be looking for the young sisters, calling their names, searching under trees and bushes and laughing silently to themselves. Their disappearance would remain a mystery for many years to come and she and her mother would have the last laugh. They’d be the happiest creatures on earth to see the spider mourn her precious Estella and the rare butterflies. And Orpheo oh, how she’d love to see him grieve for his princess! She would be there to comfort him. Of course she would. In time his wound would heal and he’d come to like her, love her and marry her. Heck! Heck! She wept, if it weren’t for that damned crow. He’s now lying dead on the thorns, but what good has that done her.

  She peered through the grass blades and saw her sisters clinging to each other, weeping and an idea struck her. She cautiously walked over to them. “You must help me escape,” she said.

  “How? “ The young ladybirds asked.

  “Wipe your stupid tears, put on a better face and walk slowly to where the bumblebees are. Try to distract them by talking to them, asking questions about the gorge or whatever. Don’t try anything funny. Remember you’ll have to face my mother if anything happens to me. Now start moving.”

  The two sisters did as they were told and, chatting cheerfully, they reached the bumblebees.

  “Hello girls,” Glo said loudly. “We’re glad to see you look well. You want some company, don’t you?”

  “We would like to ask you some questions about the gorge, if you have the time.”

  “We have all the time in the world, girls,” said Gloria her eyes darting in all directions, recording the slightest movements all around and at the same time communicating with her girls with a series of peculiar barely-audible hissing sound that she made through her half closed lips.

  Heather looked around. Her sisters were doing a good job she thought, because Glo, the fearsome bumblebee seemed quite relaxed, sharing a joke with the young ladybirds, but she couldn’t see that Glo’s eyes were still recording movements and her half shut mouth was still emitting those peculiar hissing signals.

  Heather opened her wing shell. But before she let her wings out, three huge bumblebees pounced on her from behind.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” shouted Glo and held her shell tight.

  “Let go of me!” Heather screamed, pushing and kicking to free herself. “I was only trying to stretch my wings a bit, that’s all.”

  “Ha! Ha!” Glo scoffed. “Nice try. You thought you’d fool us, you ghastly creature.

  We’ve kept our eyes and ears on you in our secret way the whole time. We heard what you said to your sisters. Tie her wings shell, girls. That’ll keep her nice and still.”

  “No, you don’t!” Heather screamed. “I won’t let you ruin, my five spot shell, you ugly fat monsters.”

  Glo’s eyes flashed with anger. “You were about to kill those innocent butterflies in a most cruel way and you think I should give a damn about your shell? Put her in the wicker basket, girls. Keep the young sisters separate,” she whispered. “They took no part in any of this, the crow told me.”

  Eleven

  The strong winds had snatched George’s cries and sent their quavering echoes across the woods and plains. Up in his tree Plato stirred when the first echo travelled though Penny Wood. He listened. There came a second, then a third.

  “A crow’s cries,” Plato muttered.

  Immediately he let out his alarm hoot and Swift, the scout bird, responded in no time.

  “I heard the cries.” Swift said. “I gauged their direction. They came from over there.”

  “That’s the direction of Devil’s Gorge,” Plato replied. “There isn’t much life up there. What could have happened?”

  “I was on my way to investigate when I heard your call. I’m certain it was a crow’s cries for help.”

  “Swift,” Plato said urgently. “Send Nurse Tawny Owl over there. The ambulance cart must take the short cut behind the hospital. Tell the hares. They’ll know which route I mean. Avoid talking to anyone, even Thelma. Otherwise panic will spread throughout the valley.”

  Swift nodded and in the blink of an eye he’d disappeared into the clouds.

  Plato sped through the air in eerie silence but after he’d left the woods and plains behind, the strong gusts of the northerly wind, came racing against him whipping his wings and snatching the air from his lungs. He blinked trying to see through his clouded eyes, but could make out nothing. He dropped to the ground and regained his breath. He dried his eyes and looked around to make sure the wind hadn’t drifted him off course.

  “Plato!” exclaimed Gloria. “I flew out to see whether you were coming. I knew you’d pick up the cries and was certain you’d come. Am I glad to see you, old, friend!”

  “What on earth are you doing up here, Gloria?” Plato said in puzzlement.

  “I’ve got my girls with me,” she replied. “There’s no time to tell everything but, in a nut shell, the ladybird tried to kill the butterflies. The crow saved them but is now lying on the brambles, as good as dead.”

  Plato swallowed hard to get rid of the lump that suddenly wedged into his throat. “Let us make haste, Gloria,” he said. “We’re only a short flight away.”

  Plato’s eyes filled with grief as he hovered over George’s still body. Trying to avoid the sharp thorns, Plato landed beside the crow and bent over his chest but he couldn’t tell if there was a heartbeat there.

  “George, can you hear me?” he cried, his face right beside George’s. “Hold on, my friend! Help, is arriving. Can you hear me?”

  But the crow’s eyes remained shut tight and his body stiff.

  “Has he got a pulse? Did you check?” were Tawny Owl’s words before she’d even landed.

  Plato looked up. “I couldn’t find any. I hope I’m wrong but I thought his body was slightly warm if that means anything.”

  Tawny Owl, her face marked with anxiety, hovered over George’s body.

  “The thorns look ominous,” she said gravely. “He’s lost a lot of blood. His back must be stitched straight away or he won’t last and it could already be too late. I can’t do it down there, Plato. I’m going to fetch the reel of vine I always keep in the ambulance. There’s no other way but to haul him up.” With that she was gone.

  For a few short seconds Plato remained sceptical, his mind working fast, weighing up the options.

  “Hauling him up won’t do,” he said loudly to himself. “The thorns will pull on his feathers and tear the skin. No time to consider any other option but to act now, for every fraction of a second is precious.”

  At once he set his strong beak to work, hacking at the dry thorns. With great speed he went as far under George’s body as possible and under his wings. After he had freed both wings, he folded them across George’s chest and went on clearing a big patch he could steady himself on. Next, he curled his talons under George’s body and beat his wings hard to give them power. He slowly lifted up and up, inch by inch, until finally he reached the top and lay George’s body on the stretcher.

  “Do your best, Tawny Owl,” he gasped breath
lessly.

  The bumblebees, the ambulance hares and even Tawny Owl who’d been watching on tenterhooks heaved sighs of relief.

  Before she turned George on his tummy, Tawny Owl forced his beak open and squeezed a couple of drops of some thick liquid in. She then washed away the blood and, taking great care, she stitched the torn skin. She spread another kind of jelly on his back and took him to the ambulance which drawn by the four special hares zoomed out of sight.

  Plato fixed his eyes on Tawny Owl, waiting for her to speak.

  “George is gravely ill,’’ she began. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I’ve given him something that hopefully will steady his weak heart beat until he and I can get to the hospital. He may not make it, Plato, I must warn you. His wings are badly bruised and a number of the finer bones on his back are fractured though they may heal with time. What mostly worries me is his mental state. He suffered a horrific shock today and not so long ago he went through the trauma of seeing his parents shot, followed by the fire at Crow Lake. He’s been through a lot of emotional suffering, Plato. He will need the best attention and medical care, which of course he will get. I only pray to God that he stays with us. Thelma needs to know. I trust that you’ll tell her as soon as you get to the valley.”

  Tawny Owl beat her wings and in the next instant she was speeding across the sky.

  Plato sat pensive, lost in sorrowful thoughts, his eyes staring into empty space. It was Glo who shook him out of his thoughts. “George is strong and determined, he’ll pull through you’ll see,” she said with a smile. “The butterflies should be safely in Blossom Valley by now. We’ll leave it to you to tell Thelma what happened. Heather is securely cooped up in the wicker basket. The young ones who did no wrong, the crow told me before, he...” - she hesitated - “we kept them separate. We’ll bring them over in a while. Give the ambulance cart time to reach the hospital and Tawny Owl a chance to see to George.”

 

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