The Ominous Eye

by Tracey Hecht

  Dawn growled. “We don’t have time for this! Where are they?”

  “Apologies,” the tuatara said at last. “My visions cannot be disrupted.”

  “Where are the birds?” she repeated. “Where have you sent them?”

  Polyphema tilted her head. “Why, I’ve sent them nowhere.” She opened her eyes, and Dawn saw them twinkle. “They’re here. Can’t you see?” The tuatara bent her angular face over the edge of the rock and gestured down toward the net. “They’ve done a marvelous job. Simply marvelous.”

  Dawn peered out at the scene below. She could see that work was well underway, despite Bismark’s—or Polyphema’s—perfectionism. The net’s final knots were being tied, and the second layer of vines was starting to be woven in. “Those are the jerboas,” she snapped. “I asked you about the—” The fox’s voice trailed off. She saw that in certain spots, even where there were no jerboas, the net seemed to be moving as if stirred by an invisible force. But there was no wind blowing. She squinted and saw a tiny orange beak grab the end of a vine, pull it under, and wrap it back around.

  Dawn suddenly understood, and the knowledge hit her like a tidal wave. “They’re under the net,” she said softly, afraid to believe the words she was speaking. Her horrified eyes met Polyphema’s. “What have you done?”

  The tuatara looked back, unflinching. “I have done what I must,” she replied.

  Dawn felt her heart pound in her chest. She had to get down there immediately. She had to do something. The fox spun away, but a low chuckle stopped her in her tracks.

  “Go ahead.” The reptile sneered. “Do your best. Take charge.” The tuatara’s lips spread in a mocking grin. “No one will listen. Why would they? Why would they defy me when I have the power to see what you can’t?”

  Dawn slowly took a step back.

  “Look at you. You’re all alone.” Polyphema glanced left and right, and then shrugged. “Even your friends aren’t here. How did that happen? Did I steal them away?”

  A fire blazed in Dawn’s chest. She could feel the burn of anger in her legs, her stomach, her eyes. Every instinct in her body was telling her to pounce. But she held herself back. She could not waste another moment. And so, the fox scrambled down the slope of the rock and raced full-speed toward the crater.

  When she arrived, she leaped onto the net, tugging the vines with her teeth, desperate to untie the knots. She heard urgent voices around her, but Dawn shut them out. The fox pulled with all her might. Her muscles tensed, and sweat dripped from her fur, stinging her eyes. But she could not be distracted. She wouldn’t stop until the birds were freed.

  “HALT!” A group of jerboas shrieked.

  The ear-splitting cry filled the air, prompting Dawn to stop at last. The fox wiped her gums with her paw then looked up. She was surrounded.

  “What are you doing?” the jerboas shouted in dismay.

  “You’re ruining all our hard work!”

  “We spent all night on those knots!”

  Voices rose from under the vines, and there was furious flapping as the birds struggled to push through to the surface. Dawn looked down through the net’s gaps and saw a sea of faces staring up at her.

  “Move away!” they cried out, joining the jerboas in protest.

  “You’re wrecking the trap for the beast!”

  “Yeah, do you want the beast to win?”

  Dawn scanned the crowd, searching for one sympathetic face. Someone who understood. Where were Tobin and Bismark? They must have been there, but there were too many birds and jerboas to see. Their voices grew louder, their protests stronger. She had to do something.

  The fox raised her snout to the sky and let loose a guttural howl—Yoooowwwwwl—the Brigade’s signal for trouble. Alarmed by the noise, the jerboas and birds went silent.

  “Listen to me,” pleaded Dawn. “I have done all I could to avoid starting a panic, but I’m left with no choice.” She wiped the sweat from her brow and held her tail high. “Polyphema does not want your help,” she began. With one paw, Dawn pointed down, toward the grid of feathered heads. “She’s taken the side of the beast! She wants you gone. This is not a trap for the beast. It’s a trap for the birds!”

  The birds swiveled their heads left and right, squawking in confusion. The impressive seal of the net, the tight knots they had helped tie, the ban on flying—it all suddenly made sense. Their feathers bristled with horror.

  Swish. Swish. Swish.

  Everyone turned toward the familiar sound of the tuatara’s tail sweeping through the ash. They watched in silence as the crowd of jerboas parted, yielding a clear, open path.

  With her third eye open, Polyphema swept by the jerboas, brushed past Dawn, and finally stopped at the edge of the net. Wearing a hint of a grin, she looked down at the birds’ feathered heads. “Your so-called leader seems slightly confused,” she said evenly. The tuatara glanced sideways at Dawn. “Let me clarify. I never wanted to banish you. The beast did.”

  “Then why are we down here?” an owl howled.

  “Why are we trapped?” screeched a hawk.

  Polyphema held a claw to her lips. “You’re not trapped,” she replied. “You’re protected.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” said the fox. “You’re not protected. If we capture the beast, you’ll be crushed when he falls in the net! Can’t you see?”

  At this, the tuatara laughed smugly. “No,” she hissed quietly. “They cannot. That’s the whole point. I’m the only one who can see.” Her third eye flashed in the light as she addressed the birds once again. “I know what to do,” she insisted. “I know how to deal with the beast. I had to hide you. If you were out here flapping about and he saw you? With the terrible, violent past he has with your kind? Well,” she scoffed, “the beast would be very upset.” The tuatara shifted her gaze from the birds to the jerboas, who had huddled in a nervous cluster. “The beast would destroy all of you!”

  The crowd of animals looked at each other, then at the two leaders before them. Which one told the truth? A tense silence fell over them all.

  “Golly gee!” Otto barreled his way through the crowd, wings akimbo, eyes crazed, head unnaturally bent. “Oops,” he muttered, accidentally trampling over a jerboa. “Sorry ‘bout that. ‘Scuse me.” After a few more collisions, Otto arrived at the crater’s edge. “What’d I miss? Why is everyone so quiet?” He cocked his already twisted head to the side.

  “What are you doing out here?” Polyphema bellowed, clawing her way toward the owl. “You need to get under that net—now! Don’t you know the beast is coming? Coming for us all!” Desperately, the tuatara reached out, hoping to grab hold of Otto’s wing. The crowd stirred, uneasy.

  “Come now,” Polyphema said, clearly flattening the edge in her voice. “It’s for your own protection. And everyone else’s as well. If the beast sees you, then—”

  “Then what?” challenged Dawn. “What will happen? What do your visions say? And where is this beast you’ve described?”

  But as soon as the words left her mouth, Dawn sensed something strange.

  The air felt heavy and charged.

  The ground began to tremble below her.

  The wind started to blow and quickly turned gusty. It whipped their faces, sending clouds of ash swirling around them.

  And then…

  BOOM!

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE BEAST’S ATTACK

  “Holy glider!” cried Bismark. “We are under attack! Under siege! We are doomed!”

  The animals froze and looked toward the mountain. Low rumbles and violent claps rang from its depths. The ground started to vibrate, hum, and heat up. At first, it felt pleasantly warm, but then it grew uncomfortably hot, threatening to burn their paws. Tiny bits of stone cracked and flaked off in triangles and blew toward the crater.

  “It’s the beast! It’s the beast!” With panicked cries, the jerboas fled, running as fast as they could back into the forest.

  “Oh goodness,” mo
aned Tobin. The pangolin curled in a ball, shielding himself from the stampede of tiny rodents. “Is it true?” he asked, his voice hollow and faint. “Is the beast coming to get us?”

  Nervous beads of sweat stained Bismark’s brow, but he forced himself to stand tall. “Have no fear, mi amigo. The beast is no match for moi!”

  The sugar glider flexed in a show of strength, but his muscles appeared even punier than usual. Quickly, he tucked them back under his flaps.

  The ground jerked violently, and the low rumble from underneath grew louder and louder.

  “Mon dieu.” Bismark shuddered. “Where is Dawn?” Tugging Tobin by the tail, he forged through the sea of jerboas. “Dawn!” he called, pawing his way through the crowd. “Mon amour!”

  “Bismark! Tobin!”

  At the sound of Dawn’s voice, Tobin uncurled from his ball and Bismark calmed down. But between the swirling clouds of dust and the dense swarm of rodents, it was nearly impossible to see.

  “Blegh!” Bismark spat. “This smoke is too heavy and thick, even for my brilliant peepers. He ducked as a sharp, airborne rock whistled over his head. “Mon dieu! It’s an assault, I tell you! A beastly bombardment! A blitz!”

  The earth sizzled and cracked. From the opposite end of the crater, Dawn struggled to maintain her balance. A loud POP! rang out near her ear. She heard high-pitched cries, then a muffled wash of beating wings.

  “The birds!” she gasped. They were frantically flapping, trapped beneath the expertly woven vines. The ground grew hotter beneath them. Steam rose from the small holes in the net. Panic coursed through Dawn’s veins. “We’re going to get you out of there!” she called to the birds, unsure if they could hear her over the sounds of chaos.

  The fox’s eyes darted around, searching for some sort of solution. Then she saw a flicker of light, and a sharp, spiky tail.

  “Polyphema!” she yelled. She hated to admit it, but the tuatara’s three rows of teeth would be useful in tearing the vines. “Polyphema! Help us!”

  But the tuatara was out of earshot—or so it seemed—and she kept moving farther and farther away.

  The hair rose on the back of Dawn’s neck. While the floppy-eared jerboas and furry kiwis were sprinting away from the mountain where the explosions were loudest, Polyphema was headed toward it, full speed.

  “Mon amour!”

  Dawn spun around, jarred by the sugar glider’s high-pitched cry.

  “My tawny treasure! My amber ambrosia! My reddish-brown rosebud!” Bismark threw up his paws in pure joy and wrapped himself around Dawn’s neck. Tobin, catching up from behind, joined the embrace, nestling his scales in Dawn’s fur.

  Dawn loosened herself from her friends. “Let’s hurry,” she said. “We have to remove that net. The birds are still trapped underneath it!”

  Bismark widened his eyes in shock. “Are you loco, my love? Look around you!” The sugar glider gestured toward the earth, splitting and crackling beneath them. A blast of steam escaped from a gap in the earth, hissing like a thousand vipers. “We have to go! Plus, it might not be so terrible to leave those birdbrains behind.” Bismark mischievously stroked his chin. “More airspace for moi.”

  But Dawn was at the edge of the crater, tugging at knots with her already sore teeth.

  Tobin eyed the net. He knew it was dangerous, but he could not leave the work to Dawn alone. And he could not leave the birds. “Come on, Bismark,” he urged. “We can’t abandon the birds. The Brigade leaves no one behind!” Mustering his bravery, the pangolin stumbled toward the fox. Then, using his sharp, pointed claws, he slashed strands of vine, tearing apart the carefully fastened ties.

  “Help us!” Below the net, the birds were crying out in despair.

  “Hurry!” they shouted. “The beast! He’s here! He’s attacking!”

  Blasts of smoke shot up through the air.

  “Oh mon dieu.” Bismark groaned. “You’ll never untie it in time with those clumsy mitts. I supervised the construction of this net myself!” The sugar glider scampered over the trembling earth toward his friends, and squeezed between them. “Please, por favor, allow me. I have just the nimble digits we need.” Bismark wriggled his paws then quickly got down to work.

  Together, the Brigade pulled, tore, and ripped at the net. At last, with the birds working below and the Brigade working above, one side of it tore wide open.

  Like water escaping a dam, the birds rushed from the gap—exiting the crater in a band of multi-colored, soot-stained feathers.

  “Eureka!” cried Bismark. He threw his paws in the air then lowered himself in an exaggerated bow. “Yes, oui, you are welcome.”

  “Freedom!” cried the chorus of birds, unconcerned with anything but escape.

  As the earth continued to jolt, the flock, safe in the air at last, flapped away toward the forest.

  “Mon dieu,” Bismark scoffed. “Where is the thank you? The gracias? The merci? What terrible manners. Those feather-flappers could stand to learn a thing or two from yours truly. Even in the harshest conditions, a glider is always refined.”

  Tobin squinted up at the birds, then tilted his head, perplexed. “Where’s Otto?” he wondered. “Oh goodness, I do hope he’s in that flock somewhere.”

  “Probably not,” Bismark sneered. “Those birds are flying successfully—in a single direction. That owl-head Otto zigzags worse than a moth in a maze.”

  Dawn shot Bismark a glare. “I’m sure he’s all right,” she said. But the fox grew worried as she returned her gaze to the mountain. Steam rose from its peak, and chunks of earth fell from its sides. “Come on,” she said. She dug her claws in the shaking ground, struggling to maintain her balance. “We need to leave. Now.”

  Tobin eagerly waddled toward Dawn, moving safely away from the edge of the crater. Bismark started to follow, but then he paused.

  “Ahem! Never fear, mis amigos. I can take it from here.” Bismark puffed out his chest and dusted the front of his coat. “The birds needed our help, and I obliged—like a true gentleman, I might add—but this brave muchacho still has to defeat the beast.” He glanced back toward the sputtering crater and the shuddering mountain beyond it. He gulped, but held his ground nonetheless.

  “Bismark,” said Dawn, “it is too dangerous here.” Another quake rattled the earth, and a glowing boulder shot down the side of the mountain. “Don’t be silly!”

  “Silly?” Bismark balked at the word. “I am a sugar glider—airborne wonder, king of marsupials! I am not silly! No, no, no. Nothing, not even the big, bad beast, can defeat—”

  A sharp lurch and the tumbling sound of loose rocks drowned out his last word. The land was breaking, fracturing, cracking like the shell of an egg. Solid ground broke into hazardous ledges and jagged trenches. Smoke and heat rose from their depths.

  “Whoaaaaaaa!” A zigzagging split pierced the ground just a paw’s length away from the sugar glider. On the edge of the newly-formed cliff, Bismark struggled to stay on his feet.

  “Bismark!” cried Tobin. “Be careful!”

  “Have no fear, pangolino!” the sugar glider called, still teetering and tottering over the edge. “I was born equipped for situations precisely like this. Now watch! Learn! Marvel!” He took a deep breath and stood at his full, but still miniscule, height. “This, my friends, calls for the—”

  But as Bismark extended his flaps in an effort to maintain his balance, a giant column of smoke burst from the earth behind him.

  Dawn’s eyes widened. “Bismark—no!”

  BOOM!

  Propelled by another forceful explosion, a strong gust of ash blew toward Bismark and gathered in his skin-like folds. In less than an instant, the sugar glider’s flaps were fully inflated, and he whooshed off the ground like a leaf swept away by a storm.

  Dawn and Tobin looked up, searching through the thick smoke and soot for any sign of their friend. But through the ash and the chaos, they could not see a thing. The only trace of the sugar glider was his bloodcurdling cry:
r />   “—flaaaaaaaaaaaaaaps!”

  Then that, too, faded into the clouds.

  Chapter Nineteen

  HANG ON, BISMARK!

  “I don’t see him anywhere!” cried the pangolin. The black, foul-smelling smoke filled his sensitive nostrils and stung his eyes.

  “Bismark!” Dawn coughed. “Where are you?”

  As if in reply, a shrill cry rang out overhead.

  “Mon dieeeuuuuuu!”

  “Oh goodness!” cried Tobin. Above him, the sugar glider whipped and whirled in the smoke, limbs akimbo, eyes bulging. The pangolin reached up and out with his clumsy digging claws, using his tail to maintain his balance, but his arms were far too short to grab hold of his friend. “What do we do?” he asked Dawn. Panic rang in his voice.

  But before the fox could reply, the angry earth seemed to calm. The ground ceased its shaking. The smoke thinned to a wisp, and then faded into the air. Nervously, Dawn and Tobin looked up.

  Bismark hung still against the sky, his billowing flaps still full of the rising hot air. “I’m okay!” he yelled. A proud grin flashed on his face as, for a moment, he defied the laws of nature and tasted the sweet nectar of true flight. Then, slowly, his expression shifted to one of pure dread. His ascent slowed, then stopped, and now he was falling downward, faster and faster, right toward a new smoldering split in the earth.

  “Use your flaps!” cried the fox.

  Desperately the sugar glider tried, flailing and flapping like mad. But it was no use—gravity and time were against him, and, just like that, Bismark vanished into the crack in the ground.

  “Bismark?” Dawn yelped. A lump formed in her throat as she anxiously awaited an answer, a sign that he was unharmed.

  But nothing came.

  For a brief moment, the fox and the pangolin stood, mouths open in shock. Then, at once, they sprinted toward the deep hole and peered over its edge.

  “I…I don’t see anything….” Tobin’s voice trailed off. All he could make out below were thick swirls of smoke. His stomach tightened with unspeakable dread. He wiped large beads of sweat from his scales—the mouth of the hole was radiating intense heat—then he glanced sideways at Dawn. Her usually calm face was stricken with horror.