The Ominous Eye

by Tracey Hecht

  “He must be down there,” she said.

  The fox’s mind spun, and her heart felt heavy and pained. What could she do? How could she save her friend? Was it too late?

  “The birds!” she exclaimed. “They could help!” But as she squinted through the smoke, she saw that they had already vanished. Thinking quickly, Dawn leaped over the sizzling pockets of earth to the crater a few feet away. Perhaps they could use part of the net to reel Bismark back up to safety. But as she peered over the crater’s edge, her stomach sank. The net had already fallen deep into the smoldering pit.

  Dawn swallowed hard, trying her best to push away the thought that she might never see Bismark, or hear his voice, or roll her eyes at him, ever again.

  “Dios-mio! Mon dieu!” A high-pitched, familiar voice rose from the depths of the earth.

  The fox’s hair stood on end.

  “Bismark!” yelped Tobin.

  Dawn raced back to the pangolin. They peered into the hole once again. The smoke had thinned, and now they could see Bismark clinging to a narrow ledge with a single paw. The two friends shuddered. The space below the sugar glider was so deep and so dark, they could not even see where it ended.

  “This is it!” Bismark wailed. “This is the end! Il finale! La fin!” With his free paw, Bismark waved dramatically. His face was crumpled with a strange blend of terror and frustration. “I’ve always wanted to go out with a bang,” he began, “but this was not the way I imagined it!”

  Dawn squinted down at the sugar glider. With his arm strained and fatigued and his paw coated with sweat, his grip on the ledge was loosening. “Hold on!” she yelled.

  But Bismark shook his head. “It’s no use. I cannot.” His trembling voice was growing hoarse. “Hasta luego, my sweet! Fare thee well, mon amour! I shall see you and your tawny tail in another life.” And then, with lovelorn eyes and puckered lips, Bismark’s paw slipped from its hold, and he tumbled into the deep, deep hole.

  And so did Tobin’s tongue. Like a giant, pink jump rope, Tobin unfurled it, and it waggled and waved in the depths of the blistering canyon as Tobin aimed it at Bismark, trying to lasso him.

  Got him! The sticky surface of Tobin’s tongue made contact with Bismark, stopping his rapid fall.

  The sugar glider, eyes tightly shut, let out an ear-piercing shriek. “Death has a tongue!” he cried. “I am being swallowed by death!” Bismark squirmed and convulsed, which only resulted in the tongue wrapping even tighter around his body.

  Despite his friend’s flailing and the sweltering heat, Tobin’s tongue held strong. Dawn grabbed hold of his armored body and dragged him backward, and together they reeled in the still-yammering Bismark. The trio collapsed on the ground in a heap.

  “Is everyone okay?” gasped the fox.

  Tobin slowly rose to his feet. The earth was finally still. “I’m fine,” he wheezed. “My tongueth juth a little bit blithtered.” He held his tongue in his paws and showed the swollen red lumps.

  “Oh mon dieu!” Bismark yelped in horror.

  “I’m all right, really,” said Tobin. “Ith juth a thsmall burn.”

  “No, no, no.” Bismark waved away the pangolin’s words. Then he raised his paw to his own forehead. “I’m not talking about you, amigo. I’m talking about me!”

  Dawn and Tobin turned toward the sugar glider. Besides a few minor scratches and a thick coat of ash on his fur, he appeared to be completely fine. But then he turned around, exposing a totally singed, utterly hairless rearend.

  Dawn and Tobin stared for a moment. Then they erupted in laughter.

  “Funny, is it?” snapped Bismark. “Pah!” The sugar glider twisted his torso so he could examine his tiny, bare bottom. “I look ridiculo!” he cried, flailing his arms overhead. “Unsightly, stupido, stripped!”

  “Don’t worry, Bithmark,” giggled Tobin. “You thstill look—ow!” The pangolin winced and raised a paw to his mouth.

  Bismark patted his friend on the back. “Yes, mi amigo. I suppose you and your lasso of a tongue speak the truth—I still look handsome, indeed.”

  Dawn sidled next to the sugar glider and looked at his big, brown eyes. “I’m sorry you were hurt, Bismark. We should have stuck together.”

  Bismark’s ash-covered face spread into a grin. “No worries, ma chérie. My rear is like my heart, burning forever with love for you! I see your love clearly now—you cannot live without me.” The sugar glider sighed blissfully. “Neither fire nor fumes, crest nor crater, fortress nor foe shall ever come between us!”

  Dawn lowered her snout and smiled down at her two loyal friends. “Yes,” Dawn agreed. “The Brigade stays together.” For a moment, the fox relished the moment of peace and camaraderie. Then the wind picked up, and she lifted her gaze toward the forest. “Come,” she said, already starting to move. “Let’s go check on the others. We must make sure they are safe from the beast.”

  Chapter Twenty

  BLOOD AND FEATHERS

  “Oh, thank goodness they’re here,” said the pangolin. He lumbered over a log toward the group of jerboas and birds. They were clustered together, a sea of feathers and fur beneath the wide canopy of an ancient tree. Even though the worst was over, they still shook and shuddered in fear. “Is everyone all right?” Tobin asked.

  At the sight of the Brigade, the animals seemed to let out one big sigh. But their relief was short-lived. Almost immediately, they began to panic.

  “The beast! The beast!” the jerboas exclaimed.

  “Is he there?”

  “Is he gone?”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Did he follow you?”

  Dawn cleared her throat, hushing the anxious crowd. “We did not see the beast,” she began. “Let’s all remain calm. Remember, the most important thing is everyone’s safety. No one was badly hurt, correct?”

  The animals murmured and nodded in agreement. With the exception of a few scratches and bruises—and a few minor burns on the birds—they had escaped from the chaos unharmed.

  “Good,” said Dawn. With the crowd having quieted some, her voice was steadier—more commanding. “Now, are all creatures here?”

  “Yes.” The jerboas squeaked, the kiwis chirped, the falcons nodded, and the hawks squawked, confirming that their groups were complete. But the owls continued to rotate their heads, unsettled.

  Tobin looked at them with concern. “Is someone missing?” he asked. The pangolin started to pad toward the flock, but Bismark yanked his friend back by the tail. “Bah,” he scoffed. “They’re all here. Those owls just can’t keep their heads screwed on straight. The only thing missing here is the fur on my better half!” The sugar glider spun around, presenting his bare rear end to his friend.

  But despite Bismark’s antics, Tobin’s attention remained fixed on the owls. The round, puffy birds were still looking around wildly, swiveling their heads and nervously hooting among themselves.

  “It’s Otto!” the pangolin gasped. “I don’t see him—he’s missing!”

  “You’re right,” said the fox, drawing a breath. “We need to find him right away.”

  “Fret not, mes amies.” Bismark waved a flap in dismissal. “Have you forgotten how Otto flew? That cockeyed owl has probably zigzagged himself to the northern brambles by now!”

  “Otto is a little unpredictable, so perhaps you’re right,” reasoned Dawn, “but we need to track him down to be sure.” She spoke to the crowd. “Our best bet is to return to the crater—that’s where we saw him last. Let’s go.” The fox started to leave.

  “But the beast!” cried a kiwi. “What about the beast?”

  “Yes,” agreed a falcon, flapping his way toward the fox. “We can’t fly until that beast is gone!”

  “And now our net is torn,” lamented a hawk.

  The fox stopped and turned back. “We’ll take care of the beast,” she said. “We’ll study the net’s damage and repair it as best we can. Everyone will be safe,” she said, hoping that she could keep her pro
mise.

  Reassured by their leader, the animals followed Dawn back toward the crater. The jerboas skittered through the thick ash and the birds half-flapped, half-walked their way behind the rest. Most were still afraid to fly and anger the beast.

  “When will my bum’s handsome hairs reemerge?” Bismark moaned. The sugar glider was walking backward to hide his burnt rear from Dawn. “I cannot bear such a furless existence. What will I do? How will I sleep on those long, chilly days? My tuckus will freeze!” The sugar glider raised a woeful flap to his forehead.

  The crowd let out a loud gasp.

  “Tragic, oui. I know,” said the sugar glider.

  “No, Bismark. Look!” Dawn pointed to a pool of dark, red blood on the ground. Scattered here and there were damp, matted brown feathers.

  “No!” cried Tobin. He rushed over and picked one up with his claw. Fighting back tears, he inspected it, hoping his conclusion was wrong. The pangolin’s shoulders slumped; the feather’s owner was clear: “Otto.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Dawn. “It’s his?”

  Tobin nodded.

  “He was attacked!” called a hawk.

  “Kidnapped!” squawked a falcon.

  “Maybe worse…” cried an owl.

  The birds shouted and trembled, shaken by anger and fear.

  Suddenly, a low, flat voice interrupted the chaos. “I see the beast has left his mark again.”

  Polyphema emerged from the mountain’s long shadow. Her golden irises seemed to shine even through the curtains of dust that lingered in the air.

  “All this pain and destruction….” The tuatara picked up a bloody feather and shook her spiky head. “I told you, the beast won’t stop unless you listen to me. You won’t survive unless you listen to me.” Her third eye burst open.

  The jerboas released ear-splitting squeals, and the birds flapped in place.

  “What do we do?” screeched a hawk. “The beast is out there!”

  “Out there and angry!” added a falcon.

  “We need to trap him!” cried the jerboas. “We need to repair the net now!”

  Despite their fatigue, the animals raced toward the crater, full-speed.

  “We have to start right away!” they exclaimed. “Prepare your paws! Ready your beaks! We have no time to—”

  But as the animals peered into the gigantic hole in the earth, they fell suddenly silent. The net had burned to cinders, glowing like a fiery spider’s web.

  “Mon dieu! It is hopeless!” wailed Bismark, wringing his tiny paws. “We’ll be the beast’s midnight mincemeat!”

  “No…we’ll fix it…” Dawn started. “We’ll—”

  But the tuatara scoffed, cutting her off. “We have no more time,” she said coldly. The spikes on her back seemed to shine. “Otto was the beast’s final threat.”

  “Final threat?” Tobin gulped. “What did the beast do to him? How can we save him?”

  “It’s too late for Otto,” snapped Polyphema. She was shaking now, as if overcome with panic and fury.

  “What do we do?” asked a kiwi.

  Everyone started shouting at once.

  “We have no net! How can we trap the beast with no net?”

  “Look at what happened to Otto. We’re next!”

  “The beast will roast us and have us for dinner!” they cried.

  “Everyone—quiet!” Polyphema raised a claw, silencing the crowd. All eyes turned to face the tuatara. In the dim light of dusk, her scales shimmered like crystal. “There is only one thing to do,” she announced.

  “What is it?” asked the jerboas.

  “We’ll do anything,” added the birds.

  For a moment, the fear on Polyphema’s wrinkled face gave way to something else, something commanding, something almost calm. “We give the beast what he wants,” she explained. The tuatara paused. When she spoke again, her voice pierced the air like sharp ice. “We banish the birds.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  BANISHMENT

  For a single, charged moment, a stunned silence fell over the crowd. The only sound was the wind whistling through the valley.

  Bismark leaped next to Polyphema and stroked her scaly cheek. “Come now, Tutti-Fruity,” he sang, laughing nervously. “You must have misspoken. The only thing banished around here is banishment itself, oui?” Bismark anxiously hopped from foot to foot, waiting for the tuatara to take back her words. But she didn’t, and her expression remained distant and stiff.

  At last, her thin lips parted. “As I said,” she began, speaking in a low hiss, “we have no other choice. Our net is ruined. And the beast will strike again.” She lowered her chin toward the ground, exposing her flickering third eye. “He is enraged. I see it.”

  A low growl arose from the crowd. It was Dawn. Her claws dug into the ground, her jaw clenched tight, and her fur stood up along her back. “Even if you do see something,” Dawn started, “banishment is not a choice. Nothing has changed. No one supports you.”

  The animals began to stir. The birds’ feathers trembled with fear and anxiety, and the jerboas chattered nervously among themselves.

  Dawn snarled again, this time exposing her long, gleaming fangs. “Give up, Polyphema. You’re outnumbered.”

  The jerboas’ chattering grew louder and more ordered, as if they were starting some sort of chant.

  Dawn craned her neck, attempting to make out their words, but the wind carried their voices away. Nevertheless, the fox stood tall, encouraged. “The animals are united!” she shouted at Polyphema. “Even without the net, we’ll find a way to fight the beast!”

  The tuatara flashed a toothy grin. “United, yes,” she whispered. “With you? No.”

  Dawn opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, the wind slowed its speed and the chanting grew louder, allowing the jerboas’ words to reach her ears at last. The fox froze.

  “Banish the birds…banish the birds….”

  The words, though faint, stuck her like porcupine quills. An unpleasant tingle ran down her spine. The jerboas were not shouting in protest—they were chanting in support.

  “Banish the birds! Banish the birds!”

  The chant continued, picking up volume and power like an avalanche.

  “BANISH THE BIRDS! BANISH THE BIRDS!”

  The jerboas were in a frenzy now, jumping up and down, pumping their tiny fists in the air. The birds, meanwhile, retreated, taking the first few steps back in a slow, painful exit. Their faces were blank.

  “Oh goodness!” cried Tobin, edging closer to Dawn. “The jerboas are revolting! What do we do?”

  “Allow me,” Bismark said, cracking his knuckles. “This teensy-weensy little problem will be resolved in no time at all. These little pea-brains forgot who they’re dealing with.” The sugar glider cleared his throat and cupped his paws to his mouth. “Jerboaaaaaaas!” His voice boomed over the crowd. “This is your maestro speaking! Now listen up! Écoutez! Lend me your big floppy ears!” Bismark paused and cocked his head. His face crinkled up with confusion. “Uno momento,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder at Dawn. “What, exactly, am I commanding these peewees to do?”

  The fox marched forward. “Stop your chanting at once,” she ordered, narrowing her dark, amber eyes.

  “Exactamente!” Bismark bellowed. “My words precisely! Stop your chanting! At once!”

  But the chanting did not stop. It grew louder.

  “BANISH THE BIRDS! BANISH THE BIRDS!”

  “Mon dieu! Don’t you listen to your maestro anymore?”

  “We’re…we’re sorry,” stammered a jerboa, stepping forward and approaching the Brigade. “We don’t mean any disrespect. We just don’t have a choice. If we don’t banish the birds…well…”

  “It’s them or us!” another jerboa chimed in. “Either they leave or we die! Banish the birds! Banish the birds!” He raised a clenched paw in the air and picked up the chant.

  Step by step, the birds backed away from the angry, wild mob
. But then, one hawk sprang forward. “This isn’t fair!” he protested. Though his voice came out strong, his speckled feathers were trembling. “We’re in danger, too. We worked just as hard as you did to make that trap. We don’t deserve this!”

  “We wove the net—not you!” the jerboa shot back. “And you’re the ones who broke it! If the beast strikes again, we’ll be doomed. At least you can escape—you have wings!”

  “That’s right,” said Polyphema. Slowly, she moved forward to stand alongside the fox. “The birds must depart. It would be selfish of them to stay.”

  Faced with the intimidating glare of the tuatara, the hawk tucked his beak toward his chest and backed off.

  “But this is our home!” screeched a falcon. “This is where we were born, where we built our nests, where we lay our eggs!”

  The tuatara tightened her muscles and swallowed hard. “The forest has spoken,” she declared. “You must leave. Now.”

  The birds bowed their heads, and the jerboas’ chant faded. It was no longer necessary. The decision was made. Then, from the back of the crowd, burst loud, uncontrollable sobs.

  “I can’t go!” blubbered a kiwi. “I just can’t!” She buried her long, pointed beak in her partner’s feathers. “Honey, do something! Anything!” The bird was quivering uncontrollably.

  Many of the kiwis that surrounded her had begun to shed tears as well.

  “Mon dieu,” Bismark sighed. “I never thought I’d say this—but this is even sadder than losing my fur! Poly-poo,” he called, “por favor! There must be a better way!”

  But the sugar glider’s call seemed to fall on deaf ears, for the tuatara simply brushed by him. With measured strides, she wove through the crowd, carving a path with her tail, until she reached the bereaved kiwi birds.

  “Oh goodness,” said Tobin. “I hope she doesn’t get angry. Those kiwis can’t take anymore!”

  With a knot in her gut, Dawn watched Polyphema. Her heart rate began to quicken.