Return of the Evening Star

by Diane Rios

  Blackberry opened one eye and looked her balefully.

  Brisco said to him kindly, “Well now, friend crow. You’ve made it pretty obvious you’ve come to see us, now tell us what it is you want, and we will try our best to give it to you.”

  Blackberry shook his head, flapped his wings, and flew back to the counter. He looked out the window, and made a mournful sound, motioning with his beak toward the trees.

  Mrs. Goodweather opened the window again, and the crow hopped onto the sill. He looked back at Brisco and out to the forest again and began to caw.

  Caw! Caw! Caw! The sound carried out over the treetops. Caw! Caw! Caw! Blackberry called again. He jumped out of the window and flew to a branch high in the oak tree, continuing his raucous call.

  The four humans and Shakespeare the rat went out on the tree house porch. Above them Blackberry continued to call as loudly as he could, the sound carrying far out over the valley below.

  Then, from over the treetops and the surrounding hillside came an answer. Scattered at first, then gaining in number, distant caw caw caws came back to their ears on the wind. Blackberry continued his call, and more crows joined the cry, and soon the harsh cries of hundreds of crows drowned him out, as they began rising out of the trees and taking to the air.

  Soon there were thousands of crows joining the flock, creating a great black funnel over the hospital, and the sound of their calls was deafening. Everyone could hear it, all around the town. The people standing in line outside the hospital stood transfixed at the strange sight in the sky. They pointed to the funnel of crows and whispered in fear. Surely this was a bad omen. No one had ever seen the likes of this before.

  Brisco stood on the tree house porch with a strange expression on his face. He watched the huge cloud of crows gather in the sky, and when he turned to his friends, his eyes were shining.

  “I have to go,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. “What do you mean, you have to go?” cried Chloe, alarmed.

  “They are here to collect me. I’m needed,” said the carpenter.

  “But why? Why are you needed? Where are you going?” demanded Chloe, upset. He couldn’t leave them now, not when their plan was about to go into effect!

  “It’s something to do with . . . all of this.” Brisco’s face was serious as he waved down to the hospital. “It sounds like the crows might have a plan of their own. I think they could be a real help to us.”

  “But how long will you be gone?” asked Chloe sadly.

  “Not long,” said the carpenter kindly. “I’ll be back in plenty of time for our plan, I promise. Now I must be off—the sooner I go, the sooner I’ll return.”

  Mrs. Goodweather put an arm around Chloe’s shoulders and gave the girl a comforting squeeze. “I’m sure Brisco knows best,” she said cheerfully. “And don’t forget, we still have a lot to do here.”

  Brisco got to his feet and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll be back in time for the gala, I’ll make sure of it—don’t worry.” The carpenter looked directly at Celeste and touched his cap. “Don’t worry,” he said again.

  “Good luck, Brisco,” said Celeste softly.

  They all watched him climb down and cross quickly to where the ambulance was hidden. Brisco pulled the branches off the car and got in to the driver’s seat. He looked up at the ladies on the tree house porch and doffed his cap in farewell, then backed the car out into the clearing, and drove off down the little road.

  Chloe, Mrs. Goodweather, Celeste, and Shakespeare waved back as the ambulance drove away. Overhead the huge funnel cloud of birds whirled over the hospital, and then flew over the ambulance and to the east. Brisco’s car followed in the same direction and disappeared behind the hillside. The huge cloud of crows flew with him, thinning out into a long, black line, becoming smaller and smaller until it too, disappeared.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS TWILIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN. The air was uncharacteristically still—hardly a breath of wind stirred, and the trees around the meadow were quiet. Overhead the sky was a soft rainbow of purples, pinks, and golds as daylight disappeared. A few stars twinkled in the east, with more and more appearing as darkness fell. It seemed the entire world was waiting for the council to begin.

  The Artist and Lord Winchfillin gingerly took their seats at the edge of the clearing. Silas was the next to arrive, stepping silently out from the trees just before dark. His buckskin garment glowed pale in the dusk as he took a seat on a rock without speaking.

  Following Silas came the same massive bull elk that they had seen on their way to the mountain. There was no mistaking him. His towering rack of antlers gleamed like a crown above his head, his huge eyes were black and fierce, and his wet muzzle steamed in the cold morning air as he greeted the Stargazer.

  This was none other than Rae, the king of the elks. Ten feet tall at his chin, King Rae was extremely powerful. His cloven hooves were razor sharp, and his sides were scarred from hundreds of fights won over the years. His magnificent ruff of dark hair on his neck was missing patches here and there, but far from making him look old and weak, these battle scars only made King Rae more fearsome. The old bull elk stepped proudly into the clearing, his head held high, his antlers flashing like knives, disdainfully eyeing the men. Taking his place to the left of Silas, Rae pawed the ground, and waited impatiently for the council to begin.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The next arrival caused the ground to tremble and small branches to fall from the trees. An intense smell wafted into the little clearing, and every nose wrinkled at the pungent mixture of odors. There was no mistaking this guest, even before he emerged from the trees. Thump. Thump. Thump!

  A huge, shaggy black shape walked heavily to the middle of the clearing, growling and huffing and looking about with angry red eyes. It was Auberon, the king of the bears. Older than anyone could guess, King Auberon had outlived every member of his family and now ruled supreme over his grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even great-great-grandchildren. The animals gasped as the bear king rose to his hind legs, reaching twenty feet into the sky. Small twigs and several dead bees fell out of his fur, and the smell of fish was stronger than ever. Though heavy enough to squash a log, and powerful enough to break boulders, Auberon could move almost silently when he wanted to, like a huge black shadow. His black fur virtually disappeared in the dark, making him almost invisible.

  With another earth-shaking thump, Auberon dropped back to all fours and chuffed a grumpy greeting to Silas and to King Rae. To the men sitting huddled on their log, Auberon gave a wrathful glare, and grunted his displeasure, making their blood run cold.

  A few moments passed with no other arrivals. The seconds ticked by uncomfortably, Silas remained silent on his rock, while Auberon became more agitated. The bear king was not used to being kept waiting, and the smell of the men so near was driving him mad.

  Then without any sound, smell, or other kind of warning, a beautiful white doe slipped into the clearing. Almost as if by magic, she suddenly appeared, moving as gracefully as a breath of wind. It was Afra, a great queen amongst the deer.

  Slender and pale, her large eyes dark and liquid, the white doe took in the scene. Stepping lightly and with a great dignity, Afra greeted Silas and the other leaders before she took her place in the circle. She had led her people for a very long time. Queen Afra was more than fifty years old, but she still looked like a young doe. Her ancestors descended from an ancient line of gazelle known as the Awinita who had special powers of insight. It was said that thousands of years ago the Awinita could see the future. Queen Afra had led her people well, using her insight to protect them and keep them hidden from man. But it was getting harder and harder to find a hiding place. The lands were crawling with men now. And even more disturbing, when Afra tried to see what the future held, she could only see darkness. This greatly troubled her. She was eager to see what wisdom she could glean from the others. The graceful queen stood next to Silas and waited quietly for the proc
eedings to begin.

  Next came the wolf who had howled so hauntingly earlier, known to all simply as Mai. Mai the wolf was not a king, or a ruler. The wolves had long since ceased to designate a leader, not because they had no qualified candidates, but because the leaders never lasted long enough to lead. Tempers flared amongst the fierce wolves so quickly that anyone unlucky enough to be elected leader of the pack was eventually torn to pieces. After enough courageous wolves had lost their lives in this way, the pack decided to dispense with the position all together. They did a fairly good job leading themselves and didn’t seem to need a higher command. For councils or any other meetings, they merely sent an emissary, a simple messenger, and one with no real power over the rest of them. Mai was a loyal wolf, and easygoing. He did not have great ambitions to rise to power within the pack, and so he was a very good choice as emissary. Mai nodded to the others and found a place along the side of the circle, sitting on his haunches and looking curiously about him.

  After Mai came the legendary King Cornix, of the Rooks and Ravens. With him was Fay, Queen of the Crows. More than half a million crows, rooks, and huge mountain ravens made up their vast kingdom. The two great black birds circled the clearing, looking for a place to land.

  As Cornix and Fay perched in the trees above the clearing, a broad black and white head emerged below them from the bushes. The Badger, who had no other name, was the representative of the burrowing animals. He was cranky as he took his place; he wasn’t as young as he used to be, and his paws were sore after his long journey.

  Finally, a small form loped up to the edge of the circle and sat nervously eyeing the wolf and the bear. It was Remington, a venerable old rabbit who had lived through twenty winters and never lost a fight. In his youth Remington had been the fleetest rabbit in the land. His speed was legendary, even outside of the rabbits’ warrens. One story told of how he outran a pack of race horses, right in front of thousands of humans. Remington had been a young rabbit then, in his athletic prime, and one day he had not been able to help himself, but had joined a horse race at a country fair, leaping into the racing pack and burning down the track. Remington left the pounding horses in the dust, easily outrunning them and crossing the finish line far ahead of the leader. (The humans present that day had been completely disbelieving. Had they just seen what they thought they had seen? A rabbit had won the race? No, not possible! Ridiculous! Or so they had told each other. It must be the heat playing tricks.)

  Not so fleet anymore, Remington was still a presence to be admired and feared, at least among the smaller animals. His ears were ragged and torn in places, and his long teeth were yellow and still very sharp. Remington looked at Silas, waiting for the meeting to begin.

  The last animal leaders to join the council were Felix and Puma, the cougar siblings who ruled the mountain lions, and finally a small burst of color as Columbia the blue jay—and representative of the winged creatures other than the ravens and crows—took her place on a nearby branch. She cheerfully greeted her old friends King Cornix and Queen Fay.

  Finally, it seemed that everyone was assembled, and Silas got to his feet.

  “Welcome, my friends,” he said to the circle, holding out his hands. All the animals became quiet.

  “We are here to decide how best to defend our people.”

  The animals waited for his next words.

  Silas took a deep breath and said, “Today, we have heard the call for war.”

  The old man’s face was grave as he looked around the circle. The animal leaders shifted uneasily and murmured to themselves, waiting to see what he would say next.

  “But we know that in a war there is no clear winner, and many terrible losses.” Silas looked around earnestly, “First and foremost I believe that we must avoid a war, if possible.”

  At this, some leaders nodded their heads in agreement, but others protested. The predators wanted to avoid nothing—they were here for some satisfaction, surely? The cougars Puma and Felix growled and scratched the earth.

  “We have to do something!” King Auberon roared, shaking his heavy shoulders in irritation and pounding his front feet against the ground. Bits of bracken and brambles and several more dead bees tumbled out of his fur. The other animals were frightened by the huge bear’s angry display, but many agreed with him.

  King Rae the elk angrily pawed the earth with his hoof and burst out, “We may not be predators, but even my people want revenge, Silas. And I know they aren’t the only ones.” He looked around at the other leaders. “You know it’s true! You hear them talking in the meadow, they all want war, and I don’t think I could stop them from going, even if I wanted to.” The other animals murmured their agreement.

  Silas spread his hands out entreatingly. “But consider this, what if by declaring war against the humans we start something so dangerous, so much bigger than we thought, that we can’t control it and in the end . . . we ourselves are destroyed?”

  A tense silence hung over the circle as the animals considered his words.

  Silas went on more softly, “We love our babies, do we not? Our little kits”—he looked at the rabbit—“our cubs”—the bear—“our fawns”—the elk and the doe—“and our chicks and fledglings”—the raven, crow and jay. “We want to preserve the land that feeds them, and protects them, and teaches them the way of survival, now don’t we? We can’t start a war that would destroy the land and possibly our own babes in their beds, can we? At least without some discussion?”

  The animals’ eyes softened at the thought of their young. They did not want to start a war that might kill their own children. But . . . the men were doing that already, and it was only getting worse. King Auberon was right, they had to do something!

  “We need to move forward as peacefully as possible,” advised Silas.

  “Peace won’t stop those men!” called out Rae, his hooves tearing at the earth as he pranced defiantly in place.

  “Peace might be the desired result, but it’s no starting point in this case,” agreed Mai the wolf, his voice soft but nevertheless cutting through the murmuring of the others. The shy wolf spoke so seldom that when he did, the animals listened.

  “The men forfeited their right to peace when they first attacked us. We will have to stop them, somehow,” the wolf reasoned.

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Queen Afra quietly. She rested her gentle brown eyes on Mai, who shrugged, not having a ready answer.

  “Mai is right, we need to stop those cars,” Silas said. “If we can stop the cars, then we can stop the attacks. That is the first priority. From there perhaps we may find where they are coming from. How, exactly I am not sure yet. But we must try. I’m convinced that we can stop these attacks, my dear brothers and sisters—if only to create a more compassionate world.” The old man looked sad.

  “Compassionate? Humans? They don’t exist!” King Auberon roared in the direction of the Artist and Lord Winchfillin, who shrank closer to Greybelle and Raja.

  “That is too bad that you feel that way,” said Silas sadly. “For in truth, there are many kind and compassionate humans in the world. It is just the bad ones that we usually encounter, and they make us think all men are alike. But they are not. And to prove it, we have these three examples with us today.” All eyes swung toward the men.

  Silas smiled at the Artist and Lord Winchfillin, but he was the only one smiling. None of the animals looked friendly, or even convinced they could be trusted. King Auberon sent a soft but menacing growl in their direction.

  Before the atmosphere could once again become heated, Silas said calmly, “Come now, my friends. They have been vouched for. Let us make the proper introductions and be friends. Come here, dear Artist and Lord Winchfillin.” Silas motioned to the men. “I think there is more to know about you.”

  The Artist took Lord Winchfillin’s hand. “Come on, don’t be scared.”

  The little earl moved forward, mumbling a prayer.

  Silas said in a conversatio
nal tone, “Tell us first how you came to know of the meeting.”

  The Artist cleared his dry throat and said, “Well, sir, I guess it was the squirrel that first found us in the forest. His name was Nettle, as I understand it. He took us to a house where a kind woman had been helping our Chloe, but they had already left to escape the ambulances. Then later on another squirrel found us, and he told us about the meeting. Since we couldn’t find Chloe, we thought we’d better come and see if we could get help . . . er . . . see if we could help each other that is, in our common fight against the ambulances. The country isn’t safe, and the animals are right—something has to be done!”

  “Tell us please, what is your name?” asked Silas.

  “I am called the Artist,” said the Artist.

  “Ah, of course you are!” Silas beamed. “I am not surprised in the least. You have a sensitive soul, that much is obvious.” Silas glanced speculatively at Greybelle.

  “And I suspect you may have some hidden talents, as well,” he said shrewdly. “Tell me also, Artist, how did you know that the squirrel wanted to bring you here? Did you understand him? Do you understand animals in general, dear Artist?”

  The Artist answered carefully, “Well, sir . . . truth be told, I do understand some natural things, you know. My father taught me to listen to the plants and the animals and trees . . . but . . . well . . . that’s not how I knew what the squirrel, what Whitestone wanted. I knew what he wanted because . . .” He looked questioningly at Greybelle.

  The mare tossed her mane and said aloud, “Because I told him.”

  A gasp went up from the animals. The mare could talk like men! She could speak the man’s language! What did this mean?”

  Silas himself looked shocked. He jumped down from the rock he had been sitting on and approached the mare. He came close to Greybelle and reached out his wrinkled hand to stroke her mane.