The Ominous Eye

by Tracey Hecht

  The tuatara stood before the kiwis, craning her scaly neck, as though she were examining the round, fluffy birds. Then she spoke. The kiwis can stay,” she said abruptly.

  Polyphema’s words struck Dawn like a lightning bolt. While the kiwi birds rejoiced and the other animals buzzed with confusion, the fox was already deep in thought.

  “I don’t understand,” said the pangolin. “Why did she change her mind? Why only the kiwis? Why can’t the other birds stay?”

  “It’s befuddling, indeed,” agreed Bismark. The sugar glider scratched the bald spot on his head. “If anything, the kiwis should be banished first! Poor excuse for a bird, if you ask me. They can’t even glide!”

  Dawn’s face lit up. “That’s it,” she breathed. “She’s only banishing birds that can fly!”

  Tobin looked blankly at Dawn.

  “Don’t you remember what Otto told us?” she asked. “He said that the birds had been grounded—that Polyphema ordered them not to fly because they were in the beast’s territory.” The fox paused, lost in thought again.

  “Uno momento!” called Bismark. “What about me, Tutu? Can’t you see with those three eyes of yours? Does this not look like flying to you?” Bismark stretched out his flaps to catch a breeze and lifted from the ground. “Aren’t you forgetting to banish the sugar glider?”

  “Bismark!” yelped Tobin. Reaching up with his claw, the pangolin pulled his friend back down. “What are you doing? Don’t you know what that means?”

  The sugar glider’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course. Best to keep my brilliant flying abilities hidden for now, I suppose, oui?”

  Together, the Brigade looked out at the sorrowful sea of feathers. All they could do was watch as the hawks, owls, and falcons walked away, holding each other for strength, and dragging their feet through the ash.

  “Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Tobin whispered. “Is it really ending like this?”

  Dawn placed a paw on her friend’s scaly back. “Of course, we’ll do something,” she said. The fox narrowed her amber eyes and fixed them on Polyphema. “We just need a plan. This isn’t the end. Not at all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THREE GASHES

  “So long, sweet birdies.” Bismark gave them a quick wave. “I shall think of you as I command the cool, midnight skies.”

  Tobin stroked the smooth skin of his belly and watched, glassy-eyed, as the birds slunk away. “My tummy’s all tied up in knots,” he moaned.

  “Wait a tick, amigo. It’s fear—not grief—that sets off that stinker of yours, correctamundo?” Bismark’s eyes nervously traced their way from Tobin’s stomach to his rear. “Si? Oui? Right?”

  The pangolin nodded…but then his face suddenly crumpled and his eyes shone with alarm. “Look out!” he cried.

  The sugar glider’s eyes bulged and he plugged his nose with both paws. “Mon dieu!” he exclaimed. “I thought you said the coast was clear…not that your stench was near!”

  “No,” said the pangolin, “I mean, duck!”

  At once, the Brigade-mates dropped to the ground.

  Whoosh! Whee! Zoom!

  Dawn looked up, recognizing the uneven flight rhythm. “Otto!” she gasped. “He’s alive!”

  But the fox’s relief quickly turned to concern—something was off in the owl’s usual bumblings. This time, his looping and lurching was punctuated with sharp yelps and groans.

  “Mon dieu!” Bismark cried. “And we thought he was off-kilter before!”

  The animals eyes darted to and fro, tracking the owl’s irregular movements, until he plummeted down to the ground, landing in a puff of feathers and dust.

  “Oh goodness!” yelped Tobin. “Are you okay?”

  Panting and groaning, Otto staggered to his feet. His eyes were blurry, his feathers were messy and matted, and he swayed back and forth like a reed. Slowly, his beak fell open. “Golllllly geeeee…” he uttered. Then, suddenly, he collapsed, falling facedown to the earth.

  “Otto!” cried Tobin.

  A falcon at the rear of the departing birds spun around. “Did you say ‘Otto’?” he asked. The others quickly chimed in:

  “Otto?”

  “The owl?”

  “He’s back!”

  The rest of the flock came to a halt. Upon hearing of Otto’s return, they sprinted back to camp.

  “Move aside!” they cried out. “Let us through!”

  Anxiously, the birds pushed through the swarm of jerboas and past the Brigade. When they reached the owl, they erupted in horrified cries. Otto’s back was bloody and torn, and along his spine, where feathers had previously bloomed, was a long, violent gash.

  “The blood!”

  “The horror!”

  “The pain!”

  The falcons squawked, aghast. The owls spun their heads backward, unable to bear the sight. Others, however, drew closer to tend to the injured bird. A hawk cradled Otto’s head in his wings while a falcon clasped the owl’s long, orange talon in his own. And yet another bird, using the tip of his wing, began to wipe away streaks of blood so the group could inspect the wound. But he froze at the sound of a loud, gritty call:

  “Everyone! Step aside!”

  The group turned abruptly, stirring the dust on the ground. As it settled, Polyphema came into view. Slowly, with measured strides, she made her way toward the owl and examined his torn back.

  The tuatara turned toward her audience and dramatically lifted her chin. “It’s the mark of the beast!” she announced.

  The crowd released a chorus of terrified yelps.

  “I warned you,” she said. “I told you the beast would attack!”

  “What did he do to Otto?” shrieked a hawk.

  Polyphema took a step backward, leaving Otto alone, front and center. He had begun to stir. “Ask Otto,” she urged. “He has witnessed the beast’s wrath himself.”

  Immediately, the animals closed in around the injured owl.

  “Careful!” said Dawn. “Give him space!”

  But the animals didn’t listen; the frenzy could not be stopped, and they continued to move in closer, until Otto was completely surrounded.

  “What did he look like?” they demanded.

  “Did he speak?”

  “How’d you escape?”

  Otto blinked, alarmed at all of the questions, and struggled to get his bearings. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. His body was trembling—and despite the dryness and heat, his feathers were cold and damp. “G-goll… golly gee! I don’t know! Hard to see or hear much of anything with my, well, you know…situation.” The owl gestured toward his crooked neck. “Can’t really swivel to see what’s behind me. But I do know this,” he continued. “Something—someone—wanted me dead. I was attacked!”

  At this, the jerboas erupted in ear-splitting squeals. The birds frantically flapped in place. Otto shuddered and hugged himself with his wings.

  “You heard him,” Polyphema warned the terrified birds. “The beast is still out there. Out there and angry! You all need to leave—now.”

  Otto looked down and plucked a loose, bloody feather from his side. “Silly Otto,” he muttered. “Clumsy, dotty, featherbrained fool. If not for this kooky neck of mine….” He sighed. “I’m an easy target. What was I thinking, flying at a time like this?”

  “Yes, si, it’s true.” Bismark nodded. Then he smoothed his fur and stood tall. “A physically perfect specimen such as myself would never have this sort of trouble. No bulls-eye on my beautiful back.”

  “This could have happened to anyone.” Dawn shook her head in dismay.

  “That’s right!” yelled a falcon. “It could’ve been one of us!”

  “It will be one of us!” screeched a hawk.

  “Yes, it will,” confirmed Polyphema. She bowed her spiked head toward Otto. “Your friend here was spared. He’s lucky to be alive. But—” she paused dramatically, “there’s no telling what the beast will do nex
t.”

  “She’s right,” said a hawk.

  The owls swiveled their heads in a panic. “Hurry!” they yelled. “Let’s go!”

  In a frenzied rush, the animals began to scatter.

  “Wait!” yelled the fox.

  But no one heeded Dawn’s call. Instead, consumed by their fear, the birds tugged their friends by the feathers, urging them to move faster, and stumbled off toward the trees.

  “Poor birds,” lamented the pangolin. “Poor Otto!”

  The fox shook her head at the departing birds. Then, she shifted her gaze to Otto. With a path finally clear, Dawn made her way to the injured owl’s side and leaned over his ragged back. Gently, using her paws, she peeled back his blood-soaked feathers and examined the gash. The fox’s almond eyes narrowed to slivers.

  “Wait a moment,” Dawn said.

  “What is it, my sweet?” Bismark asked. “Is it the blood? Are you feeling faint? Shall I hold you?” Without waiting for a reply, the sugar glider ran to the fox and embraced her rear leg.

  “Golly gee.” Otto winced. “Is it that bad?”

  “Not bad…” replied Dawn, though the wound was, indeed, deep. “It’s just…strange…curious. Look,” she said, summoning Tobin. “Do you see? Look at the mark the beast left.”

  The pangolin stepped next to the fox and bent over Otto. “Oh goodness,” he gasped. “There are three gashes!” With his snout, he gestured toward the trio of vertical slashes.

  Dawn leaned closer. “Yes. But what’s really odd is that they’re not solid lines.”

  Tobin cocked his head and squinted his beady eyes. Dawn was right: each scratch was actually made of several smaller marks. The two outer lines were fairly faint, and the wounds were relatively shallow. The source of most of the blood was the bigger, deeper punctures that made up the center line.

  “These marks weren’t made by a claw,” Dawn concluded.

  “Well done, my sleuthy sugar plum ! Well done. Well observed.” Bismark eyed the gashes and shuddered. “Mon dieu! Whoever did this was really out for blood.” He choked back a retch and turned away before Dawn could notice his nerves. Then he looked up at the orange disk of the sun perched high in the blue sky above. “Say… it’s getting late in the day, amigos, and we’ve been awake far too long! How about we take a small snooze before we continue this nauseating—I mean, noble—journey? It might be too late for our beat up, broke-neck owl friend here, but I still need my beauty sleep. We are nocturnals, after all.”

  “This pattern…” Dawn mused, still fixed on Otto’s wounds. “It’s so…familiar.” The fox furrowed her brow and bent closer. “Where have I seen it before?”

  “Come along now, my smart señorita. Look at something more pleasant.” The sugar glider framed himself with his paws. “My handsome face, for example? Or perhaps my terrifico tail?” He winked.

  The fox looked up with a start. “That’s it!” she gasped.

  Bismark beamed. “My tail? Fine choice, mon amour!”

  “Polyphema—”started Dawn. “Where is she?”

  The pangolin searched the area. To his left were the departing birds, slumping away toward the sun. To his right were the jerboas and kiwis, buzzing and bumbling with fear. But Polyphema was nowhere in sight. “She—she was just here…” stammered Tobin, bewildered.

  The sugar glider stood on tiptoe. “Poly-pee?” he called. “Poly-poo?”

  “There!” said the fox. Dawn narrowed her eyes. Polyphema was bolting toward the mountain, full-speed. And in the light of the rising sun, the tips of the spikes on her tail were shining—gleaming—in a deep, dark shade of red.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  GOLLY GEE!

  “Stop!” Dawn’s voice rang out to the birds who were marching off toward the trees. “Everyone—come back!”

  The owls, falcons, and hawks spun around with a start, jarred by their leader’s forceful cry.

  “What about the beast?” screeched a hawk. “Don’t we need to leave?”

  Dawn shook her head. “There is no beast! Polyphema’s been lying to all of us…and now there’s finally proof.” The fox’s eyes darted after the tuatara just in time to see her long, spiky body slip past the dark, jagged edge of the mountain. “I can’t explain now, but she’s behind all of this. We have to go! Follow me!”

  Without another word, Dawn dashed forward full-speed, urging her friends to follow.

  At first, the birds hesitated, but then they started to stir. “We’ve got nothing left to lose,” reasoned a falcon.

  “Where else were we going to go anyway?” asked a hawk.

  “That’s right, birdbrain!” called Bismark, cupping his paws to his mouth. “If any of you featherweights want to stay in the valley, you’ll follow that fox!”

  Bismark’s words kicked the crowd into action. But while the jerboas formed a quick-moving pack behind the sprinting glider and the pangolin, the birds of prey lagged in the dust, tripping over their talons.

  “Oh goodness!” cried Tobin. “The birds can’t keep up! Dawn, slow down!”

  “There’s no time to spare!” Dawn shouted, running, her legs churning up the dirt. She had to keep track of the slinky tuatara. “You have to fly!”

  The birds nervously glanced toward the skies.

  “Fly!” Dawn repeated. “Trust me!”

  “I’m trying, my love!” Bismark sputtered, his flaps waggling pathetically in the ash. At last, his small body rose a paw’s length off the earth. “There! I’ve done it! Tell me you saw that, si?”

  “Oh Bismark, she means the birds, not you!” Tobin cried. “Come on, birds! We need to stick together. You have to trust us!”

  “But flying is dangerous!”

  “That’s what got Otto attacked!”

  “GOLLLYY GEEEE!” Otto interrupted with a sudden squawk and a burst of wings. “There’s no time for this. Let’s follow the fox!”

  Encouraged by Otto’s brave battle cry, the flock of birds rose in a magnificent wave of brown, gray, and gold. Together, they flew closely behind the land animals, their feathers aglow with the afternoon light.

  Tobin hurried to catch up. His eyes widened as he realized they were going around the mountain—to the fortress.

  Dawn stopped when the tower of rocks was in sight. “Everyone, hush,” she whispered, placing a paw to her lips.

  “What’s that mon amour? Hush?” Bismark asked, half-flapping, half-running to catch up to the tuatara. “Don’t you mean rush? Forward? Charge? Why the hold up?” he huffed. “If there is no beast, as you say—if Tutu-tata is behind all of this—then I say it’s go time!”

  But despite Bismark’s furious flapping, he remained grounded; Dawn was holding him back with her paw.

  “We will talk to Polyphema later,” she said. The fox fixed her eyes on the fortress. She had a strong hunch that it held the answers to all of their questions. “For now, the best thing to do is just watch.”

  Silently, the jerboas and kiwis huddled in the shade of a boulder, while the birds of prey—their feathers silent and still—perched overhead on the narrow, raised ledge of the mountain.

  “Oh goodness, there she is!” whispered Tobin. With his snout, he gestured toward the fort’s outer edge, where Polyphema stood pressed against the stone wall.

  The Brigade crept forward. The tuatara was speaking. They could hear her low rasp, but could not make out her words.

  Carefully, the fox stepped closer, emerging into the light. Tobin and Bismark tiptoed behind her.

  “Shhhh,” Dawn whispered. It was risky to be this close. If Polyphema turned, the Brigade would be in plain view and her entire plan would be ruined. But the determined fox crept even closer to the tuatara. Finally, at just a tree’s length away, she stopped. Dawn craned her neck and her ears pricked up.

  At last, the reptile’s words became clear. “I will protect you.”

  “Who is she protecting?” asked Tobin.

  Bismark leaped in front of his friends. “Um, excusez-mo
i, mis amigos, but the real question is what is Tutu doing talking to a rock?” The sugar glider scoffed. “This explains everything. This whole time, Poly-poo-poo has been Poly-cuckoo. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” Bismark began to spring up and down in the ash, waving his flaps like a fiend. “Crazy! Crazy! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!”

  Then, abruptly, he stopped as the fox glared at him with a searing mixture of anger and disbelief.

  “Cuck…oops?” Bismark sheepishly covered his mouth.

  But it was too late. The sugar glider had revealed their position and, at once, the tuatara spun to face the Brigade. “What are you doing here!” she hissed. But before anyone could reply, she began to look around in a frenzy. “Where is everyone?” she demanded. “Did the birds leave?”

  Bismark scrunched his tiny face. “What’s going on here, Poly? Hmm? You’re all loopty loo.”

  “I asked you a question!” The tuatara’s voice was uncharacteristically loud, high-pitched, and panicked. “Where are they? Where are the birds?”

  “Oh goodness,” said Tobin, confused. “Can’t you see? They’re right above your third eye!”

  For a moment, Polyphema froze. Her jaw tightened; the scales on her face turned pale. Then, slowly, she tilted her head to look up… with her two front eyes.

  The tuatara gasped. So did the Brigade.

  “Mon dieu!” Bismark shook his head side to side. “That three-eyed Tutu is a two-faced fraud!”

  Dawn approached the reptile, exposing a gleaming, white fang. “You don’t see anything out of that eye,” she snarled, peering into the dull, milky orb. “Not the birds, not the beast, not anything! There is no special ‘sight.’ There is no sight at all. There is no beast!”

  The birds above let out a gasp.

  “Look!” Dawn continued, beckoning Otto. The fox led the injured owl toward the dumbstruck tuatara, then she positioned them back-to-back. His three, dotted wounds perfectly matched the three ridges of spikes on the reptile’s tail.

  “She is the one who attacked Otto!” Dawn blared. She pointed to the dark, caked blood that stained Polyphema’s scales. “She is the real beast!”