by Nancy Yi Fan
Remove the chains on our wings; we want to fly.
No matter how dim the hope is, we want to try.
Soon no longer slavebirds we shall be.
We shall be birds of joy, forever free.
Now we must trudge in the darkness of fear,
With only stars as companions,
But then freedom is near.
Left claw, right claw, farther into the night,
Soon the light of dawn came into sight.
Free at last, free at last…
Rejoice, the days of sorrow have passed.
– FROM A SONG IN THE OLD SCRIPTURE
13 ESCAPE
Midnight came quickly. The first-shift compound guard had gone back to his bed; the second-shift guard was now dead with darts in his throat. “Good shot!” Miltin congratulated Glipper. The slavebirds stepped over the body and left the compound. Tilosses used the knife to work their legs free.
Glipper came to the front of the line of birds to lead them. As he looked at the sky, he noticed that it had become cloudy. Yes, that’s good. The moon is bright enough for us to travel, yet not so bright that guards can take notice. He looked back and saw Miltin give him a wing tip-up. That meant the robin had placed the bird dummies, and all was well at the back of the slavebird group. He returned the signal and started to crawl faster. The slavebirds uttered no sound in spite of the painful jagged rocks.
Glipper soon reached the hut. He and Miltin first helped the old and weak birds fly up to the hut roof. After everybird was safe, they made sure that no signs were left on the ground. The flycatcher and the robin were the last to fly up.
“It’s time,” Glipper said in a hushed tone to Tilosses. He, along with Miltin and the vireo brothers, crept to the edge of the roof and jumped noiselessly to the ground. They tipclawed nearer, nearer to the gate. There were two guards. One of them was half dozing; the other had covered his eyes with his cap.
Miltin gestured left and right with his claw. “Glipper, attack Crooked-shoulder with me. You two can get Large-cap. Remember, silent as shadows, and stifle them with the rags!”
The other three nodded and vanished to their places, waiting for the right moment.
Miltin burst out of the darkness and threw his weight on Crooked-shoulder. The crow had the wind whacked out of him, so he uttered no more than a gasp. Glipper came close behind and stuffed a smelly old rag down his throat just as Miltin gave him a kick that knocked him cold.
Meanwhile, one of the vireo brothers slipped up and punched Large-cap in the face, followed by a blow to the stomach by the other brother. The guard collapsed to the ground without a sound.
The four signaled the rest of the slavebirds to follow. The others slid down the roof as quietly as possible and flew over the gate in twos and threes.
Soon the slavebirds were outside Fortress Glooming.
The slavebirds went north, remaining in the shadows. Nobird looked back to the nightmarish Fortress Glooming, not even once.
Blood pounded in Miltin’s ears. Freedom is near, he thought with a burst of excitement.
The faint moonlight shone on the slavebirds, kindly guiding them. Shadows were friends, greeting them, hiding them.
After a while a few birds gathered their courage to speak.
“How far is it now?” Glipper asked Miltin.
“Not very far, I suppose,” came the hushed reply. The dreamy smell of rich earth mixed with pine needles greeted the birds’ nostrils as the midnight breeze softly blew.
Crickets sang softly somewhere far off. “Free, free, free…” they seemed to chirp. The heartbeats of the slavebirds thumped along to the rhythm of the cricket calls.
Free, free, free…
“Stop!” Miltin suddenly hissed to the rest of the slavebirds behind him. They stumbled to a halt. “Somebird’s coming this way!”
The slavebirds all froze in fright. Only their eyes moved. Yes, in the distance there were sounds of wings against the wind and claws crunching on leaves. They came closer.
“Don’t move. It must be Slime-beak and his soldiers!” Glipper whispered. The slavebirds crouched stock-still, all hoping that the bushes and shadows were thick enough to hide them. No one dared to draw a breath, and all feared that the crows and ravens could hear the wild thumping of their hearts.
Nearer the crows and ravens came. Flickers of light indicated the torches that some soldiers held. The slavebirds could almost see the malicious eyes of the foul bunch glittering in the darkness. The first few crows and ravens brushed by, followed by another, and another. More flew overhead. Almost every one of them had a sharp spear. The smell of beans came from them, mixed with the stench of blood and burned feathers. Though there were about thirty crows and ravens, to the slavebirds it seemed as if the line were endless. It seemed like an eternity before the last of the regiment-a bony, mean-looking raven with a knife in his claw-passed by.
Miltin sighed in relief. The danger was over.
Tilosses coughed and quickly pressed his beak against his chest feathers to muffle the sound. But it was too late. The scrawny raven spun around, throwing his knife at the noise. The long blade whirled as it sliced through the air, moonlight gleaming on it. It struck the bark of the tree that Tilosses was leaning on, barely an inch from the old bird’s throat. Not a single slavebird moved.
Narrowing his eyes as he scanned the darkness, the raven quietly walked toward Tilosses. His clawsteps were the only sounds in the night.
He stopped right before the bush that concealed Glipper. Glipper crouched lower and pressed his head to the ground. The other slavebirds were horror-stricken. Yet they could do nothing. The raven looked right and left.
Miltin was hiding in the shadow of an elm tree only a few clawsteps away. He picked up a round stone without making any sound and stood up very carefully. Everything was silent and still. All of a sudden he threw the stone as far as he could and then ducked down.
The thump of the stone on crisp leaves drew the raven’s attention. He turned sharply and rushed toward the stone, which was a safe distance from the slavebirds. He found nothing, of course.
The raven growled to himself, taking a last look at the trees and shadows where the slavebirds were hiding. Then he jogged off to catch up with the rest of Slime-beak’s regiment. His figure soon became a tiny speck in the distance.
Slime-beak and his battered troops finally arrived at the gate of Fortress Glooming. It wasn’t a pretty sight, half the soldiers hopping, walking, or running and the other half flying. The captain knew he would be in deep trouble. When he had set out to battle, he’d had about fifty soldiers in all. When he retreated, there was only a sad number of thirty or so.
Normally Slime-beak would fly over the tall gate, but because his wings were sticky with bean soup, he had to call the guards at the other side of the gate. “You, in there! Open up!” Slime-beak called. No response. “Guards! No sleeping. You hear?”
Sensing that something was wrong, the captain sent a raven to check on the guards. Moments later, the raven croaked, “The guards are tied up and unconscious.”
“They-slavebirds!” The words caught in the captain’s throat. He dashed away to check the slave compound.
Slime-beak rushed into the musty, reeking place and tripped over something soft near the entrance. It was the body of the compound guard. Horrified, he stood up and looked around. There seemed to be lumps and bird-shaped shadows, but something was not quite right. It was quiet. Too quiet.
“Come on, sleepyheads! Get up and follow me!” There were no replies, only echoes. Slime-beak tore the sheet from a slavebird’s bed, uncovering a reed-made dummy. He howled with rage. Bug-eye, the slave driver, was nowhere around.
“Soldiers!” Slime-beak ordered. “Use your skills now, and find those slavebirds! If you don’t catch them, I’ll use your hides to make shoes! Come on! Look! You miserable bunch of featherballs!”
The soldiers rushed out in different directions, investigating shadows and liste
ning for noises.
Slime-beak quickly scrubbed and dried his wings. Then he led a squad and flew some distance before landing and investigating. One of his crows squinted at some moving shapes not far off. “What are those?” another soldier asked, holding a lantern in his claw.
Seeing the shapes moving rapidly away, Slime-beak charged at them. “Quick! Get the escaping slavebirds!”
When Glipper heard the crashes and the yells of the pursuing soldiers, he made a quick decision.
“I’ll be the rear guard,” Glipper said to Miltin. “You lead. No ifs and buts. Go! Hiding means nothing now!”
The slavebirds flew as fast as they could. Arrows whistled by their ears. A few unfortunate birds were hit and fell to the ground.
Slime-beak called out to his birds: “Soldiers! Fly to the other end and surround the slaves! Make sure no one escapes or I’ll peel your hides and send you all to Sky Land!”
The soldiers quickly obeyed, filling up the sky. In a flash, screams pierced the air as the slavebirds were caught.
Miltin felt a stab of pain in his shoulder and he crashed to the ground. He grimaced. An arrow shaft was sticking out. Through the shock of being wounded, the robin glimpsed a clump of dense, tall bushes by the dim light of the moon. He looked right and left. Nobird was paying attention to him. Silent as a shadow, he vanished behind the bushes and crouched there, waiting. He held a bloody claw over the wound, panting slightly. Behind him Miltin could hear the haunting screams and yells of other slavebirds. He closed his eyes momentarily, taking in big breaths. Though Miltin yearned to fight side by side with the other slavebirds, his instincts told him to stay put, for he knew he could only save them by finding Aska’s tribe. Gradually the screams and noises faded and died away; only then did Miltin open his eyes.
The night was noiseless now; the crickets sang no more. Only Miltin’s labored breathing broke the silence. He felt his bloody wound. I cannot stay here; it’s unsafe! Miltin clenched his claw around the arrow and pulled it out. He took a deep breath and tried to fly once more. But his wounded shoulder failed him and he dropped again. The pain worsened. He forced himself to get up and started to stagger north. Blood flowed down his side in thick streams, so he grabbed a dock leaf in his beak and pressed it to his shoulder.
He did not know how long he had been stumbling, and the pain grew worse with every step. Blood throbbed in his head, almost pounding his brain to bits. Thoughts whirled inside. Glipper and Tilosses…Aska and her tribe…Fortress Glooming…peace…freedom…
Suddenly Miltin tripped over a stone and fell facedown. He didn’t bother to get up, just lay in the dirt with his eyes closed. Oh, he was tired. Oh, his wounded shoulder hurt. Though his feet still kicked wildly as if running, his efforts were in vain. Blood had covered his right shoulder and a part of his right wing and had now dried in layers. Despite his tiredness, he struggled to rise once more. The pain was too intense; tears squeezed out of his eyes as he tried. Panting, he lifted his head a little. In the distance he could make out a camp of some sort. He was tired. So tired. Darkness began to take over Miltin’s mind. “Freedom!”-that was the last word he wanted to shout out, just before he fell unconscious.
Off we go to the mountaintop,
What lies ahead we do not fear.
No obstacle will make us stop,
Till we reach the land so dear.
May the wind under our wings
Be smooth and fair on this journey!
– FROM EWINGERALE’S DIARY IN THE OLD SCRIPTURE
14 THE LEASORN GEM
Miltin opened his eyes with a feeble moan. He heard a voice: “Miltin!”
He smiled weakly as he recognized a face. “Aska,” he managed to whisper. His questioning look prodded her to explain.
She gestured to a far-off place through the branches. “My tribe found you not far from the northwest shore of the Silver Creek, unconscious. We managed to get you here and call for a medicine bird. I expect him to arrive any minute now. Hmm…since you’ve escaped, no doubt there will be trouble from that hawk again.”
Miltin let the information sink into his brain. He immediately sat up, in spite of his wounded shoulder. “I must go at once!” he declared.
The medicine bird and Glenagh came in just at that moment. They looked strangely at the robin.
“Where do you need to go?” questioned Aska, thinking that Miltin had become slightly delirious.
Miltin blinked several times, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. “To my home, the Waterthorn, of course. I must! The red gem…”
“What gem? Why?”
Miltin slouched, but his eyes shone brighter than ever. They seemed to see nothing yet everything. “I must…my friends-the slavebirds-they need it…so does your tribe… I must! The red Leasorn! Let me take you to get the gem and call for Swordbird!” Miltin paused and panted with the effort of speaking. His voice faded to a whisper. “Call for him! Let Swordbird come!” With that, the robin collapsed back into his bed, exhausted.
Aska was silent for a moment and then turned to the elder, Glenagh, in confusion.
The old blue jay went into a spiritlike trance. His eyes grew bright as he murmured: “The Leasorn gem! The valuable gem of the Great Spirit!” He gazed up at the sky for a moment, his face illuminated with joy.
The medicine bird who had been examining Miltin’s wounds was surprised by the actions of the elder. “You scared me for a second, old Glen.” He took out a bandage from his bag. “What’s all this about the Leasorn gem and Swordbird?” Aska looked puzzled too.
“Oh, dear friend, don’t you see? To make Swordbird come we need to learn the song, and we also need a Leasorn gem. However, legends say that there are only seven gems on the earth and another on Swordbird’s sword!”
Aska gasped. “You mean, Miltin’s family, the Waterthorn tribe, has a Leasorn!”
The medicine bird paused as he looked up. He met Glenagh’s excited gaze. “The problem of Turnatt is solved!”
Glenagh smiled widely. “Not yet, my friend, but soon!” He put a wing tip to the robin’s shoulder. “Thank you, Miltin!” he whispered as he left the room. “How the birds at the meeting will rejoice at this information!”
The meeting was held not far from Miltin’s room, at a branch that curved into a perfect oval. Many important birds perched on it. Smaller twigs stretched off into the oval, covering the hole in the middle and making a suitable table after a tablecloth was draped on top.
The red and the blue were arguing and discussing when Glenagh made his appearance. “I have the solution, ladies and gentlebirds!” he declared, wings spreading out. The noisy talking ceased immediately. All eyes turned to Glenagh. “Our only chance to fight off the hawk and survive is to call for Swordbird.”
Flame-back, the cardinal leader, spoke with urgency. “Quite right. We have no other choice since most of us believe that Turnatt will launch a second attack. We must try to prevent him from doing further damage to our Stone-Run. In order to do so, we need to learn the song and find the Leasorn gem.”
“I’m translating the song,” Glenagh said.
“But the Leasorn!” The cardinal leader went on. “How in the name of Swordbird are we going to find such a rare gem?”
Glenagh’s smile became very wide. “Ah, that was what I was coming to. Our friend, Miltin, the robin, knows how.”
“How?” the meeting members asked in unison.
“His family, the Waterthorn tribe, who live beyond the White Cap Mountains, has a Leasorn.”
The red and the blue turned silent. Outside, leaves rustled as the wind grew stronger.
“We must pick a few who will fly on a mission to borrow the Leasorn,” Skylion proclaimed solemnly. “It won’t be easy. The mountains are high and desolate, and those robbers the Sklarkills haunt the passes. We must choose birds who can withstand all dangers to protect the Leasorn, birds who can be of good health even without food and water for days.”
“Aye, that’s for sure,” murmurs
came from the meeting members.
“I’ll go.” Cody spoke earnestly. “I would like to do anything I can for Stone-Run.”
“And I’ll go with him,” Brontë added. “Two are better than one.”
“They are both kindhearted lads,” the birds whispered among themselves.
“Aye, they are.”
Just then a voice pierced the air. “No, I will!” Aska cried. Her eyes shone with determination and bravery. She stepped through the doorway and looked at the silent crowd.
Glenagh turned around in surprise. “And why is that, young lady?” He shook his head slowly as he looked up and down at the blue jay. “Can you survive the dangers of the White Cap Mountains? Can you withstand hunger and thirst if supplies run out? Can you make your way through all the obstacles?”
Aska bowed her head. “I can,” she whispered.
It was only a second before she suddenly stood tall, and her eyes opened, filled with love for Stone-Run. Her voice became louder and stronger with every word. “I can! Being a girl doesn’t mean I can’t stand these hardships. I should be the one to go. Why, here, two strong, able-bodied warriors are willing, but they shouldn’t go. They are needed here. Who will defend the old, the young, the sick, and the disabled when they are gone? Who will stop Turnatt if he plans a second attack and tries to destroy Stone-Run once and for all? They are our protectors. They should not leave for such a task. I can get the Leasorn. Besides, Miltin will go with me; he knows the way.” She breathed hard as she finished her speech and shifted her gaze from one bird to another.
The meeting members were silent for a second. Then a small wave of clapping gradually turned into a thunderous applause. Tears were in some birds’ eyes, they were so moved by the speech.