by Jill Harris
“I was in the kowhai with my mother and sister when the magpies attacked you,” explained Sil. “It was absolutely terrible and I’ve wondered ever since how you are.”
The dog’s tail wagged slightly. “I’m all right now,” he said. “I was awfully frightened at the time. The man saved me. My back was sore for ages and I didn’t want to go outside the house. I’m Tom, by the way. Why don’t you come down from the tree so we can see each other better.”
Sil hesitated. “Look, Tom, no hard feelings, but one of the reasons I have an idea of how you must have felt, is that I was attacked by a dog when I was just a fledgling. I was downed by a storm and I couldn’t get off the ground. Another tui drove the dog off, but not before I’d had a bit of a mauling. I’m told you’re friendly, but it’s hard for me to feel okay about dogs. So I’ll just stay where I am.”
“Yes,” said Tom slowly. “I can see it would be hard for you to have a dog for a friend. What a pity.”
“Have you seen the magpies again?” asked Sil.
“They’re around,” said Tom. “I can smell them even though I’ve only seen them once since the attack. They fly around at night a bit. At first I was scared but I’m bigger now and still growing, and my growl frightens them off. The dog next door calls them black-and-white trash. He says the only good magpie’s a dead magpie.”
“I hoped we’d seen the last of them,” said Sil. “Would it be okay if I check from time to time whether you’ve seen them?”
“Of course,” said the dog, “though you birds see much more of the world than we dogs do. I envy that freedom — I can only go where the humans take me.”
As if on cue, the door of the house opened and the woman came out.
“Come on, Tommikins,” she said, “time for walkies.”
Tom winced and shot an embarrassed look at Sil. But he wagged his tail, licked the woman’s hand and let her put on the leash.
Hmmm, thought Sil, I suppose there are worse things than being looked after by a human.
The blackbirds flew down to the lawn and hopped around with their heads cocked, listening for worms.
“I’m off,” Sil called to them. “I mightn’t be back again till our babies are learning to fly. My parents brought me to this kowhai for a short flight when I was a fledgling. I expect I’ll see you then. I’ve enjoyed our talks — all the best for the nesting season.”
8.
The Second Attack
SIL felt he’d earned a break from hard work. He flew over to Bron’s tree to suggest a game of floop, but Bron wasn’t there.
“She’s gone off for a game of floop,” said her mother.
“Where?” asked Sil. “I’ll join her.”
Bron’s mother looked uneasy. “Well, she was heading for the arena.”
“Thanks,” said Sil and flew off.
As he approached the arena he saw two tuis in the distance looping, swooping, diving and climbing in the sunshine. The bigger one climbed high and dived. A male, thought Sil, so the other must be Bron. He’d fly up and wait at the pohutukawa which was just coming into flower. There might be enough for a snack.
He landed on the tree and watched. The birds were pretty good. Their manoeuvres brought them closer and closer to the pohutukawa tree, and they were building up speed. Obviously they intended to finish with a speed landing. Sil moved in towards the trunk to keep out of their way. The last time he’d been here he’d nearly killed himself. Now Bron was taking the same kind of risk.
It was then that he realised the other bird was Tor.
Sil was stunned. He felt angry and miserable at the same time. Bron was his friend. He was the one Bron played floop with, not Tor. Tor was an enemy — Bron knew that! Suspicions flooded into his mind. Maybe Bron had told Tor about his new song. Maybe she’d taken Tor to their hideout, or gone kowhai-sipping with him. Sil felt hot all over. Deep down he knew he hadn’t been much of a friend over the past few weeks. He’d hardly seen Bron. But she should understand he had to get his new song right. What sort of friend was she to go off with another bird just because Sil was working so hard he couldn’t find the time to play?
Okay, then, he didn’t have a best friend any more. He could deal with that. He didn’t care that much, anyway. He hoped they hadn’t noticed him — he looked around for a way to slip off unseen.
There was a sudden flash of white and a magpie hurtled from the trees into the path of the two tuis. Sil saw the bird crash glancingly off Bron, recover his balance and swoop upwards. Bron was knocked sideways in a flurry of feathers and began to spiral downwards, making no effort to stop her fall. A feather floated after her. Sil sat frozen on the branch. Bron would break her neck if she hit the ground.
Then he saw Tor streaking down the glade. He flashed past Sil in a blur of speed until he was below Bron. He pulled out of his dive, spreading his tail and wings to slow himself, levelling out as he came up underneath her. He nudged her, breaking the spiral, but Bron made no response. Tor had slowed her fall but not stopped it.
Sil sat riveted to the branch, hardly breathing. He saw Tor repeat the manoeuvre and realised what he was trying to do. He was pushing Bron towards the manuka thicket, but Sil could see he didn’t have enough height or time. After each nudge, he had to swoop up to regain height. Bron fell ever closer to the ground.
Sil dived. As Tor swooped up a third time, Sil was ready below him to move in and bump Bron sideways. Tor immediately grasped what he was up to and they synchronised their efforts: bump, swoop up, dive, bump.
At the last moment they nudged Bron sharply into the thicket. She slid across the prickly leaves and lay on her back, unmoving, eyes closed.
They landed either side of her, frightened she would fall off.
“Thanks,” gasped Tor. “I couldn’t have pulled it off on my own.”
“You got on to it so fast. I couldn’t move at first. You saved her life.”
“We both did,” said Tor firmly.
They inspected Bron. Sil laid his head to her chest. “Her heart is beating and her neck seems okay.”
“Did you see the magpie attack?”
“Yes and it was no accident,” said Sil, “That bird flew straight at you.”
“He went for Bron because she was smaller,” said Tor, “I’m sure of that.”
“We have to get help. Do you want to stay with Bron or go?”
“I’ll go to the black-backs,” said Tor. “I’ve got some mates who’ll help us get Bron back to her tree. Can you stop her sliding off if she moves, or if the wind comes up?”
“I’ll pull twigs up around her,” said Sil. “I suppose a call for help might bring the magpie back.”
“It’s a worry,” said Tor. “He must have seen where we landed. He could easily come back for another go. I think silence would be better.” He hopped to the edge of the bush and looked up the arena. “There’s no sign of him now. I’ll be as quick as I can. Good luck!” And he was gone.
Sil turned back to Bron. She hadn’t moved. Her head lay to one side, her beak was slightly open and her tongue hung out. Her claws stuck up stiffly. Her wings were partly open, one at a strange angle. She was so still she could be dead, thought Sil. Perhaps she was! He searched again for a heart-beat. It was still there, strong and regular. She felt cold, though, and Sil got busy with his beak and claws, pulling twigs and leaves into a barrier around her. She wouldn’t roll out of it easily. He left room for himself next to her to warm her up.
How long would it take for help to arrive? he wondered. He was already hungry and thirsty and he knew Bron must be needing water. The pohutukawa wasn’t all that far above them, with its red flowers filled with nectar. Sil put the thought out of his head — he certainly couldn’t leave Bron alone. A cool breeze rippled through the bush. Clouds moved across the sun. A weather change was coming, Sil knew. Not before they got Bron home, please, he thought.
He ran back over events: the collision, the terrible sight of Bron falling then, as he, Sil, sat glued t
o the branch, Tor’s instant, fearless reaction. Those were the qualities for which Bron had chosen Tor as her new friend. And Tor would have enjoyed winning Bron from Sil, too. The resentment and hurt surged back. Sil felt ashamed of himself. What a time to be having feelings like this.
Why had the magpie attacked them? They weren’t carrying food it could steal. They weren’t flying into his territory. The attack had been violent, unpredictable and intentional — just as with the puppy. Sil was filled with dread. Where was the magpie living? If they didn’t know that, how could they avoid him?
There was a faint movement beside him and Bron’s inner eyelids flickered. “Bron,” Sil whispered, “lie still. You’re safe if you lie still. Help’s coming.” Bron groaned and her eyes closed again.
A perfume rose from the leaves and the tiny, white, starry manuka flowers. It was quite strong and Sil’s head swam. He knew that manuka was used for many medicines, like the poultice for his wound. He longed to lie down next to Bron and sleep. But he mustn’t. He closed his eyes. His head nodded.
A kereru flew past noisily followed by a black-back. Sil jerked his head up. He felt comforted to see the birds. He’d seen hardly any lately, now he came to think about it — perhaps the magpie had driven them off. The gull wheeled back. “Help iss comming,” he called in his strange accent. “You must make a landing platform for one of uss.” He flew back down the arena, his powerful, black wings beating the air.
Sil climbed out of the shallow nest and looked around. How could he make a landing platform? He started to tug and push the foliage. It kept springing back. He would have to snap the twigs underneath it, and that would take some doing. The kereru, who had landed in the pohutukawa tree, watched him with interest. “Need some help?” she finally called.
She flew ponderously down. Sil hopped back beside Bron and watched her apprehensively. She was even heavier than the black-back. Her landing alone could flatten the top of the manuka thicket. He was afraid she might dislodge Bron but, although the bush rocked under her weight, the tuis stayed put. The kereru peered at Bron and clicked her beak in concern. “I don’t like the look of her. Concussion and broken wing, I’d say. What happened?”
Sil told her. At the mention of the magpie, her blue-green head feathers puckered. “Now that’s a bad business,” she said slowly. “I thought they’d gone away. That needs to be watched.” She looked around and started to tear at the leaves and flowers with her powerful beak. She snapped the twigs with ease. “You don’t need to help me,” she said to Sil. “Stay where you are and keep her warm.”
She had soon created a platform and settled down into it. She took another look at Bron. “That bird needs fluid. You’ll never get her back to her tree without it. Go up to those pohutukawa flowers and bring some nectar back. I’ll watch her. Quick as you can, though, she needs your warmth.”
Sil looked around nervously. He could see no sign of the magpie. He flew up and fell hungrily on the red flowers, gulping down the nectar. He drank his fill and sighed deeply as the energy flowed through his body. He drank again but this time he held the fluid in his throat and flew back to Bron.
“She’s stirring,” said the wood pigeon. “You may get her to swallow.”
Sil put his head close. “Bron, try to swallow.” He eased his beak inside Bron’s and coughed up a small amount of the nectar. Bron’s tongue moved it to the back of her throat and she gulped. They repeated the process several times. Bron opened her eyes and looked puzzled.
“What am I doing here?” she whispered. “What’s she doing here?”
“Everything’s okay. You’ve had an accident but help’s coming. In fact, it’s here now,” he said as he saw several birds winging their way up the arena with two black-backs in the lead. They were followed by Bron’s father, Tor, and Bek. They circled the manuka bush.
“We’ll land in the pohutukawa,” called Jeb, “and work out what to do next.”
The wood pigeon lifted off, making the bush rock, leaving a wide, flat platform. She followed the others up to the pohutukawa tree.
Sil asked Bron, “Can you move at all?”
She straightened her head and moved her legs. One wing fluttered slightly. “I can’t move my wing,” she whispered. “I can’t feel it properly. What kind of accident?”
One of the black-backs glided in to land neatly and lightly on the platform. “You did a good job building thiss,” he said. “So, she iss awake. That will make it easier. You must join the others and make room for the father.”
“Your dad’s here, Bron,” said Sil. “I’m going to make room for him. We’ll get you back to your tree in no time.”
Jeb was already circling. “Well done, young Sil,” he called as Sil flew up to join the other birds.
Bek gave him an affectionate head-beaking when he arrived. “Looks as though you made yourself useful for a change,” he said. “What’s the story down there?”
Sil told him what had happened. “Tor was the one who saved Bron, not me.” He turned to Tor. “You were terrific.” Tor ducked his head and shuffled on the branch. This was a Tor Sil hadn’t seen before.
“How did you get the black-backs to help?” he asked, glancing at the gull balancing awkwardly along the branch.
“Oh, I’ve got mates,” Tor replied. “I hang out with them quite often. They talk in a funny way and they can’t sing but, boy, can they fly! They’ve taught me quite a lot. I couldn’t think how else to get Bron back to her tree. Not that we’ve done it yet.”
“We’ve done thiss kind of thing before,” said the gull, “though with smaller birdss. We have a few trickss under our wingss. Anyway, it’ss time I gave them a hand down there. And by the way, you’re the oness who speak with the funny accent.” He glided down to the manuka thicket and circled, watching the rescue attempt.
They could see that Jeb was trying to nudge Bron up on to the first gull’s back. Although the gull lay on the platform, he couldn’t push her high enough and Bron, in obvious pain whenever she moved, couldn’t help. Finally, the second black-back hovered over the bush, and without warning seized Bron’s legs in his beak and lifted her on. Bron’s wings fell back and she let out a cry of pain. Jeb hopped up beside her and tried to move her to her front, helped by the gull. Finally, Bron lay face down on the gull’s back. The second gull hovered over the platform, dipping down two or three times to manoeuvre her into a more secure position.
“Look at that,” said Bek. “What terrific control!”
“Told you they were smart,” said Tor. “Now they’ll fly gently across the valley to Bron’s tree. The second black-back will reposition Bron during flight if necessary. We need to fly in front and behind to warn other birds what’s happening.”
“Right,” said Bek. “You take the lead and Sil and I will bring up the rear.”
The convoy made its careful way across the valley. News of the accident had already spread and the skies were clear. Birds perched all along the way and called out encouraging comments, the usual rivalries put to one side. At home Bron was transferred safely from the gull’s back to a thick clump of foliage, and into her mother’s care.
“We don’t know how to thank you all enough,” said Jeb.
“You were mighty!” said Tor to the gulls.
“You two fellass did good work up there yourselvess,” they replied before flying away.
“See you round, Sil,” said Tor. “Competitions coming up — you won’t beat me this time!” He grinned and flew away.
“I’ll be over tonight, tell Pip,” said Jeb to Bek and Sil.
“Come on, young Sil,” said Bek. “I’ll take you to the best bush for stick insects in the whole valley. You could do with some feeding up. Then we’ll go home and tell the olds all about it.”
Have I been wrong about Tor? thought Sil. I’ve seen a different side of him today. Fancy having friends among the gulls. He didn’t know of any other tui who had done that. The gulls were a law unto themselves. They must see something
in Tor, to give him the time of day. But the memory of all the times Tor and Sep had gone for him was still uppermost in his mind. And Tor was obviously trying to win Bron away from him. Sil resented that strongly.
But he didn’t want to think about Tor and Bron now. He turned his full attention to snapping up stick insects. How he loved the crunchiness!
III
Although they never talked to each other — the big bird forbade it — they were feeling pleased with themselves, and one another. There had been no punishments since they crossed the range. The campaign was going well. So stealthy were their departures and returns each day that no one knew where they roosted. They delivered their attacks out of the blue. They ate well, slept easy and felt invincible.
The big bird observed their growing complacency.
Soon after they had settled for the night, beaks cosy under wings, he sent his lieutenants to wake them. Startled and puzzled the group came together by the big fork in the tree, fluffing their feathers and waking themselves up.
“Are we succeeding?” the big bird whispered at them.
“Yes, yes!” they all cried.
“You fools!” the big bird hissed back. “Let the birds who attacked the small dog stand before me.”
Two birds hopped down to his branch and stood blinking sleepily.
“Did you kill the small dog?”
“No,” said one, “but …”
The big bird hissed again and jumped along the branch. He rammed his beak into the bird. “Never say ‘but’ to me. You did not complete your mission. That is why I have punished you.”
The injured bird huddled against the branch, head hanging to one side.
“Stand up properly! What will you do about your failure?”
The other bird spoke up. “We shall return to finish the job.”
The big bird looked at him with cold, black eyes. “Was I speaking to you?” He looked around at the other birds. “I shall be merciful and give them one more chance. By this time tomorrow, either the small dog will be dead, or they will be dead.”