by Jill Harris
He asked again. “Are we succeeding?”
The birds shuffled uneasily. None dared to speak.
“We are only at the beginning,” whispered the big bird. “We have a long way to go.” He paused briefly, then asked, “How far do we have to go?”
“A long way!” cried the birds.
“Louder!”
“A LONG WAY!”
In the distance the sea muttered and moved like an animal stirring from sleep.
“Tomorrow night we shall discuss why the female tui playing the game did not die,” the big bird promised, flexing his wings and stretching out his head.
The bird with the twisted claw watched the blood dripping from the wounded bird and shivered. Eventually, he knew, it would be his turn. His and the small bird’s, because they would never be fierce enough.
9.
Planning for Trouble
FORAGING late in the afternoon, everyone was talking about the magpie attack, visiting one another’s food trees freely. A number of birds had their own stories to add. It wasn’t clear whether they were talking about the same magpie or several. “They all look the same to me,” said a blackbird.
The older birds were anxious. It was a long time since they’d had magpies in the neighbourhood but nobody had forgotten the trouble they’d caused. “Hardly a nest was left untouched, my father told me,” said a thrush. “They were utterly ruthless. Eggs, nestlings or fledglings, even small birds like sparrows, all taken. A whole generation of birds was affected — hardly any survived. They scavenged food the gulls normally ate — and it was the gulls who drove them out in the end.”
“Our cousins over the range have a constant battle to find secure nesting places,” added a sparrow. “There are more magpies every year and they take no notice of family food sources. They go where they please. They don’t join in the singing-in and they refuse to follow the rules. These cousins had a terrible winter this year, they said.”
Sil’s family flew soberly back to its tree.
Normally this was the best time of the day, Sil thought. The wind had usually dropped and the sun had left its colours in the sky as it sank behind the hills. No one was rushing off anywhere. Everybody had eaten, and the family sat together companionably. It was the time for catching up.
But not tonight. Tonight they were all too upset about the events of the day to take any pleasure from the evening calm.
There were serious things to discuss. Sil had told his parents and Bel about what had happened in the arena. Bek had chipped in with his part of the story. Now they waited for Jeb to come with news about Bron.
“They say the young male adults flock together in gangs looking for new territory because the older adults drive them out,” said Pip. “But why would they want to come here? Don’t they eat grain from the fields? We haven’t got any of that round these parts.”
“They eat anything,” said Mem. “They attack small birds and I’ve heard they even attack baby animals like lambs, and they’ll have a go at humans, too. They eat creatures run over on the road — disgusting. They’re real scavengers. That’s why the gulls don’t like them — they’re after the same food.”
“Well, we’ve seen only two so far,” said Bek, “Maybe they’re just adventurous birds.”
“Or scouts,” said Sil.
They all moved uneasily on the branch.
“I wonder if I should look for a more secure place for the nest,” said Mem, “or use the back-up nest. I really don’t want to nest away from the family tree, though.”
“But the nest here’s nearly finished,” said Bel. “You’d have to start again! You’re ready to lay!”
“And how do you know that, young lady?” asked Pip tartly.
Bel tossed her head. “I’m not blind. It’s that time of the year. I’ve lost count of the number of couples I’ve seen singing duets and doing aerobatics in the glade. Bek and his friends have been showing off their flying and singing.”
“Getting back to the magpies,” said Bek hastily. “What can we do about them?”
At that moment Bron’s father glided down into the tree. They shifted along the branch to make room for him.
“What’s the news?” asked Pip.
Jeb looked tired and his feathers needed a good grooming. “We think Bron’s going to pull through. Her left wing is broken and she’s lost a number of feathers but her head seems to be all right — nothing that rest won’t fix. She’s in some pain but the kereru brought us a poultice of manuka bark to pack on her wing and it’s keeping her sleepy. The wing will heal itself, but she’ll have to stay in the tree for several weeks and we’ll have to feed her.”
Poor old Bron, thought Sil. What rotten luck.
“How ever will you manage nesting?” asked Mem.
“We’ve decided not to hatch any eggs this year. We’re going to be too busy looking after Bron. We’ll adapt the nest, too, so she’ll have somewhere safe and soft to lie.”
“We’re so sorry all this has happened,” said Mem. “What a shame about the eggs.”
“Tor has told us what happened,” said Jeb. “What can you tell us, Sil?”
Sil told his story again. “Tor saved Bron’s life,” he finally said. “He acted very fast, and it was amazing how he managed to lift Bron into the manuka thicket. I was just frozen to the branch.”
“Not for long, according to Tor,” said Jeb. “You were down there helping him pretty quickly. He says he couldn’t have done it alone. And Tor was able to fly for help because, although you could have been attacked again by the magpie, you stayed with Bron. You kept her warm and safe and you fed her nectar. Her mother and I will always remember what you and the others did today.”
“Yes, you did very well,” said Pip quietly.
“I was impressed that Tor knew the black-backs well enough to ask them for help,” said Bek.
“We do manage to pull together when there’s a crisis,” said Pip, “and we rely on birds like Tor, who have developed the contacts, to do that. He’s a tui to keep an eye on. He’s showing real leadership qualities.”
Sil wanted to remind Pip of all the times Tor had been mean, but he kept quiet. He caught Bel’s eye and looked away quickly. She knew what he was thinking.
“So there’ll be no more floop for a while,” said Jeb. “Perhaps this will quieten Bron down in general.”
“What about the magpies?” said Pip.
“We keep our eyes open,” said Jeb. “We share anything we notice at the lightening each morning.”
“How about chasing them off if we see them again? Give them a bit of a fright,” said Bek.
“You might come off second-best,” said Pip. “They’re bigger than we are and just as good at fighting. If you do that, you’d be wise to have some of your mates on hand for back-up.”
“Can we afford to wait and see,” said Mem, “right at the start of the nesting season? If magpies are moving into the neighbourhood, they know we’ll have our claws full hatching, then feeding, then helping the babies to leave the nest. The trees and the air will be full of easy targets, especially the little ones like silver-eyes and fantails.”
“We’ll raise it at the lightening tomorrow,” said Jeb. “I agree we need to have plans under our wings just in case.”
“Well I’m going to get some of us together to give the magpies one big fright,” said Bek. “We’ll send them home with fleas in their ears!”
“The dog at the brown house is an ally,” said Sil, and he told them about his conversation that morning.
“No dog is an ally to birds,” said Pip firmly. “You of all birds should know that.”
The light was fading fast, and sleepy twitters came from the trees around them. Jeb flew home. Mem and Pip sat side by side, wings touching. In the next day or two, Mem would lay her eggs in the nest above and withdraw from family life for a couple of weeks to incubate them. Pip would be kept busy bringing her food and giving her a break from time to time. It would be everyone
’s job to keep a constant watch for anything which could threaten the nest. They were too high up for cats and stoats, but falcons and possums could raid — and now there were magpies to think about. The whole neighbourhood would be on high alert, scanning the air and the undergrowth and sending out warning cries to all birds, not just their own kind.
When the eggs hatched into ravenously hungry nestlings, it would be full-on, all of them flying far and wide in search of food. Sometimes you had to frighten other birds away from your finds by diving and pecking if necessary. Sil hoped he wouldn’t have to do that. When the nestlings became fledglings, everyone would be involved in teaching them to fly and to find their own food, and in making sure they didn’t fall to the ground or get stranded in a tree too far from home. That was the most dangerous stage in a bird’s life, when every cat, stoat, rat, dog, possum, weasel and falcon was on the prowl. That was the time of sudden, terrified squeaks in the night, flurries and grunting in the dry leaves beneath trees, and the desolate sound of weeping.
Sil wondered how on earth he’d find the time to keep up his practice. The competitions were held in mid-summer, once the fledglings had started to find their own food but before they’d left the nest. It meant the whole family could never go to the competitions — some had to stay behind to protect the newest members. If magpies moved in, perhaps no one could go, not even Sil. It made him realise how badly he wanted to perform his new song and beat Tor. Leadership qualities, he thought sourly. Well, he might not be a leader in waiting, but he sure could sing better than Tor.
“Time to go to sleep,” said Mem. “You’ve had a big day. We’re all very proud of you.” She stroked Sil’s back with her beak and gradually he began to relax. It was dark now. The moon was still resting behind the ridge before it started its long journey across the sky. He heard the sea breathing, and his own breathing slowed to match its rhythm. The moreporks further up in the bush began their conversations. He slid into sleep.
10.
Sil Sings in the Lightening
IT was still dark when Pip woke Sil.
“I want you to join us singing in the lightening this morning so you can answer any questions about the magpie’s attack. Tor will be there, too. Give yourself a good grooming. You’re representing the family.”
Perched in the cool darkness, Sil sensed that the valley was holding its breath, waiting for the first light. The air around him was disturbed as birds woke and groomed themselves, and leaves brushed against leaves. The moon was casting a last, silvery glance over the sea before it dipped beneath the horizon. Squares of yellow light appeared in a few houses.
One by one, birds hopped or flew up to their customary perches. There was a growing air of expectancy.
“Are you ready?” asked Pip.
Sil nodded.
“I want you to sing for the family this morning.
Sil felt a lurch in his chest. “I c-can’t possibly,” he stammered. “I d-don’t know what to sing.”
“Now Sil.” Pip was patient. “I won’t be around for ever and you’ll take over from me in due course. You need to start getting used to it before that happens, and this morning is an obvious opportunity. Anything you sing will be more than adequate — what about your winning song from last year?”
“But I don’t know when to come in. Or when to stop.”
Pip explained. “The starling is leading us these mornings so you have to wait for him to start. The bellbird usually comes in when the starling has sung his first three notes. Then it’s open to everyone. The birds who sing well try not to drown out the birds who don’t, so keep an ear open for shorter, softer songs, or calls which are not particularly tuneful, and make sure they get a hearing. You don’t need to sing without pausing — in fact, that’s considered boastful — so take some breaks. And as a junior bird, you shouldn’t be the last heard.”
Sil felt alarmed. What if he made a mistake and disgraced the family, to say nothing of making a fool of himself in front of Tor?
“Everyone’s perfectly understanding when it’s a bird’s first singing-in. There are plenty of mistakes made. Come on, we need to get up there, I can sense the light coming.”
Indeed, the dark mass of the bush was separating out into trees. They hopped up to the top of theirs, well above Sil’s practice branch, and waited for the starling’s first notes. Sil’s legs were trembling and he went through his singing drill: grip firmly with your claws, brace your legs, breathe deeply and steadily until your air sacs are full, extend your wings and tail two or three times, stretch your head and neck out and up, let out a little of the air, listen in your head for the first note of your song. He could hear Old Sil’s voice instructing him, and he felt steadied, so that when the tuneful notes of the starling sounded and the bellbird chimed in straight afterwards, he began to sing without hesitation.
One after another, different birds joined in. Sil listened to the rich chorus of song floating into the glade and his chest swelled with happiness and pride. He was a bird and birds made the most beautiful sounds in the world. Even the short, harsh calls fitted in and added variety. He found himself selecting sounds which complemented the songs around him. For a few moments he and a bellbird improvised a duet. Then, he found himself accompanying another tui’s song. He wondered briefly if it could be Tor, but it didn’t seem to matter who it was.
The outline of the hills across the harbour slowly emerged, black against the pale lime-green of the sky. The light strengthened and the sea turned blue. Yellow pinheads of light studded the hills as the human world awoke. As the last notes of the chorus died away, the sky took on a faint pink flush and the sun’s rays touched the hilltops.
Jeb broke the hush which followed. “Friends,” he called, “all of you will have heard by now about the magpie attack on Bron yesterday in the arena.
“I’m glad to be able to tell you she had a good night and we are confident she’ll recover fully.
“I want to publicly acknowledge the courage and quick thinking of Tor and Sil, who undoubtedly saved Bron’s life. And they couldn’t have done it without the help of the black-backs.”
He paused as the birds clacked their beaks in muted applause. Sil ducked his head in embarrassed pleasure.
Jeb continued, “You will recall hearing about the magpie attack on a puppy some time ago. There have been a number of other sightings of magpies in the valley since then and, now, yesterday’s attack. What we don’t know is where the magpies come from and how many there are.
“Last time magpies invaded the valley, they were ruthless and cruel and observed no rules. Many eggs and young birds were destroyed.
“Just now we are at our busiest and most vulnerable. We don’t know whether we are dealing with a few lone adventurers or the start of an invasion. We can watch and wait, or we can develop a plan of resistance and hope we won’t need it.
“I think we should make that decision this morning before we disperse. What do you all think?”
A fantail spoke up immediately. “We small birds have most to fear. Our only defence is in banding together with bigger birds. We think advance planning is essential.”
“But how do you plan for the unknown?” asked a thrush.
“Aren’t we getting this out of proportion?” called a tui from across the valley. “How do you know the so-called attack wasn’t an accident?”
“Let’s ask the birds who were there,” said Jeb. “Tor and Sil, how do you respond to that?”
Sil’s heart beat quicker. “I was watching Tor and Bron playing floop in the arena,” he began.
“Speak up, young fella,” called a thrush. “Can’t hear you.”
Sil repeated himself more loudly, and went on to describe what had happened.
“It doesn’t mean he hit her on purpose. It can be tricky estimating distances when you’re flying fast,” said the tui. “The magpie could have miscalculated.”
“Then why didn’t he stick around to help?” called Tor.
“Perhaps he was hurt, too, and flew away to recover.”
Sil replied: “I don’t think so. He flew away very fast — he wasn’t injured.”
“He attacked us,” said Tor. “You could tell by the way he flew.”
Jeb interrupted. “How many birds think it may have been an accident?” he asked.
No one responded.
“You’re a flock of alarmists,” said the tui. “Count me in when there’s a real threat,” and he flew off noisily.
A kereru spoke up. “I agree it’s hard to plan for the unknown. I’m not sure we can do any more right now than keep our eyes open and report each morning at the singing-in. Can I just ask: how many of you have seen a magpie in the past week?”
About a dozen birds raised their wings.
“How many of you saw the magpie — or magpies — behaving aggressively?”
Fewer than half raised their wings.
“What exactly did you see?”
“I saw a magpie attack a small human by the duck pond,” said a thrush. “It was trying to seize the small human’s bread. A big human chased the magpie away and they climbed into a car.”
A grey warbler spoke up. “I watched a stand-off between a gull and a magpie on the road — over a dead possum. They attacked each other but the black-back drove the magpie off.”
“A magpie tried to seize a worm from my beak,” said a blackbird, “but a dog chased it away.”
“I watched a human shake a large tool at a magpie after it swooped too close to him,” called out a kereru.
“So the humans are troubled by the magpies, too,” said Jeb.
The kereru spoke again: “These incidents have happened all over the valley — there’s no pattern. Do we have any idea where the magpies are roosting? Are there areas we should avoid?”
But no one knew. The birds seemed to appear out of nowhere and disappear equally mysteriously. It meant there was nowhere you could count on being safe, thought Sil.
Jeb summed up. “Why don’t we see what happens during the next few days? We’ll report each morning. Meanwhile, our family won’t be hatching eggs this year — looking after Bron is our priority. That means I’ll have some spare time to gather ideas for dealing with the magpies — if you’re agreeable, of course. Also, if anything serious happens between singing-ins, I’d be happy to coordinate some action.”