Seven for a Secret

by Clive Woodall

  ‘I’m too old,’ he told himself. ‘I have no strength left for that fight, on top of everything that threatens us now. Dear Creator, let it only be a rumour.’

  But Kopa would not let it rest at that. He had been disappointed by Tomar’s response. The ancient owl was revered throughout the land as the wisest bird in Birddom, but Kopa thought sadly that he could detect the effects of age on that great mind. In fact, Tomar had taken his warning very seriously, but Kopa had the impatience of youth, and mistook Tomar’s external calmness for indifference. So the young chaffinch decided that he would collect more evidence about the activities of the corvidae, so that next time he would not be ignored.

  But where to begin? He could scarcely go gallivanting across the land in the present threatening climate. Traversing open stretches of land could prove swiftly fatal. However, Kopa could not just sit on his tail and do nothing. He decided to follow the only safe route. Along the spine of Birddom ran an almost unbroken covering of woodland, from south to north. He would take that direction and visit his northern cousins, using their nests as a base from which to explore that inhospitable part of Birddom. Tiny though he was by comparison, he would become the hunter, with the corvidae as his prey. He would verify the threat that they once again posed, and would return to Tomar, armed with knowledge to which the old owl would have to listen.

  In earlier and even darker times, Kirrick had followed a similar path north, in one of his three epic flights. On that occasion he had been doing Tomar’s bidding, seeking aid from the eagles. The old owl was in ignorance of Kopa’s own journey, but he would surely have approved. The chaffinch himself had heard of Kirrick’s exploits, of course. The robin remained one of Birddom’s greatest heroes. And so it was that, proud to be replicating one of Kirrick’s heroic journeys, Kopa flew north.

  With single-minded strength and unity of purpose, the Council of the Owls had striven mightily over the last few months to control and minimise the damage inflicted upon Birddom by Man’s backlash against the insects. Engar had forced himself very much to the fore in this. He had a flair for organisation, and was already seen as very much an owl of action. His self-confidence deceived many of his fellow Council members into believing that, in the face of this current crisis, Engar was the bird who was really in charge. He played his cards very cleverly, his own words during discussions often reflecting the generally-accepted wisdom of the moment. He was particularly adept at rewording Tomar’s ideas as his own, embellishing them with promises of valour and success, which were improbable at best, under the circumstances. But it was what the other owls wanted to hear, bravado in the face of an insurmountable enemy. And Tomar had to concede that Engar’s strategy was effective. He had galvanised Birddom into an effective machine for survival and self-preservation. Under his direction, every bird looked out for the needs of his neighbour, making personal sacrifices for the good of all. It was egalitarian and utopian, exactly as Engar had preached when he was trying to gain admittance to the Council. And it worked. But still Tomar held on to the mistrust that he felt towards the barn owl.

  His misgivings were given fresh substance when Engar spoke out against him at the next Council meeting.

  ‘I am tired of listening to an owl whose time has clearly been and gone,’ the barn owl cried. ‘Tomar has been a great servant of this Council for many years, but recent events have shown that there is a need for someone younger and stronger to bear the weight of the burdens of leadership. I issue a challenge to Tomar’s right to continue as Great Owl and leader of this Council. And I will tell you why.

  ‘Birddom has never been a more dangerous place in which to make a nest. For what does the future hold for our young? A choice – and what a choice! – of being torn apart by a roving pack of savage animals, or dying a slower, but equally excruciating death from an invisible and deadly enemy from above. And for those who survive? Food is scarcer than ever before, and every bird huddles hungry and dispirited in his home, often too weak to venture out and forage for what little there is. But there is food! In abundance, and there for the taking. We cannot challenge Man. But we can help him. By doing what comes naturally. By doing what birds are supposed to do: eat insects!

  ‘If we can lessen their vast numbers we can guarantee our own survival. For not only will we have access to a food source that has for so long been stupidly denied to us, but also Man will surely scale down his atrocities against us, once the insect population is reduced to a more natural level. We can all benefit, by changing one simple law. It was necessary once, but now it is outdated and threatens our very survival. This is why I am challenging Tomar. Because he made the deal with the insects that means that our young now go hungry. If Tomar is allowed to remain as Great Owl – if we persist in this foolhardy pact – then Birddom dies!’

  Pandemonium reigned for several minutes, as every voice was raised at the same time. All of the owls were eager to voice their opinions. Most wanted to be heard supporting Engar. They could feel his power growing, and wanted to be a part of his rise to glory. One or two owls spoke out in support of Tomar, concerned that events might swiftly spiral out of control without the Great Owl’s ability to rationalise and reflect calmly on any issue. Only a solitary owl remained silent throughout the uproar. Tomar blinked unhappily at the sight before him. Owls at each others’ throats, verbally if not physically. What good were they, as leaders of the land, if they wasted their efforts squabbling and fighting amongst themselves? Tomar despaired for the future of the Council.

  It was left to Engar to bring order back to the proceedings. In a loud, clear voice he called for silence, and was rewarded by a gradual reduction of the hubbub.

  ‘Thank you, my friends. I see that there is still a passion within the Council. A passion to do the right thing for the whole of Birddom. But we need to decide. Right here and now. Vacillation is for the weak. And the Council needs to be strong today. Strong enough to overcome sentiment. Strong enough to make the difficult choices. But they are the right choices, my friends. The ones that need to be made. Let us vote now.’

  ‘I think that it is still my privilege to lead the Council of the Owls,’ Tomar interjected firmly. ‘And my privilege also to call for any vote. I shall do so. But first I should like to counsel this gathering, maybe for the last time, against a hasty decision that might bring long years of regret. Engar believes that Man will be influenced by our actions if we break our sacred pact with the insects, and take them once more for food. He will not. Man does not think about us at all. His hatred, overwhelming as it is, is directed elsewhere. He will seek nothing less than the total eradication of all insect life, irrespective of the catastrophe that will befall his world as a result.

  ‘How many insects can we eat? Even if we gorge our bellies daily for a hundred years, we can only make a pinprick in their vast numbers. Their multitudinousness is their great strength, and our great peril. For, if we break our pact, they will turn against us. Then we will face two terrible enemies: Man and insects. And then Birddom will indeed die!’

  ‘The insects will not attack us. Have they attacked Man, in the face of his murderous actions against them?’

  ‘They have no pact with Man,’ replied Tomar, simply. ‘They do not trust Man. But they trust us, and I for one am loath to break that trust.’

  Three or four owls murmured an uneasy agreement with Tomar’s point of view, but were swiftly silenced in the face of Engar’s glare.

  ‘You said that you would call for a vote. Do so now, old bird!’

  Eleven pairs of huge eyes fixed upon Tomar’s face. The old tawny owl gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and then began the formal process of decision-making by vote – the age-old method by which the Council of the Owls held sway as rulers and law-makers in Birddom. He called for each owl to take his or her place in the Council ring. But before he could proceed any further, Engar interrupted him once more.

  ‘We mu
st vote on the Great Owl’s position first,’ he shouted across the clearing.

  ‘It is against precedent. The usual process is to deal with the order of business, ahead of personal vendettas.’

  ‘What could be more important to the business of this Council than its faith in its own leader? How can any other business be conducted by someone in whom the majority has no confidence?’

  Tomar felt a tiny thrill of hope spark within his chest. Engar might just be over-reaching, in his desire for absolute power.

  ‘So be it,’ he answered stoically. ‘Let the first vote be taken. The choice before the Council is a simple one. Do I, your Great Owl, retain your confidence as an owl capable of leading this Council, and Birddom as a whole? Or do you wish to choose another? I will ask each of you in turn, beak to beak and eye to eye, as is our tradition. And I will not hold it against any owl here if he votes against me with a clear conscience.’

  Tomar flew down to the ground in the centre of the clearing, and spoke with authority, for all to hear.

  ‘I do not feel that it is yet time for me to relinquish my position as Great Owl. I believe that I can still be of service to this land of ours. As such, and as is my right, I cast my vote in my own favour. So now it is up to you. Remember the rules of our Council in such circumstances. We have always abided by the rule of eleven against one when voting to change a leader. Remember also that the time for speeches and grand-standing are over. I call first upon Engar.’

  The barn owl’s face was a mask of fury as he flapped down and alighted, facing his adversary.

  ‘Engar. Newest of our Council. How do you vote?’

  ‘I vote to replace Tomar as our Great Owl with someone younger and more able to lead Birddom into the future.’

  It was as Tomar had hoped. Engar had taken the bait. He simply hadn’t been able to resist sniping at his opponent, when face-to-face. Tomar cut him short, reminding him that the election of a successor was a separate issue, and not one usually undertaken before the whole Council had decided upon the incumbent’s removal. Engar was forced to swallow the rebuke in silence. He returned swiftly to his place in the circle.

  Tomar called upon Creer next, and the long-eared owl dutifully left his perch and joined Tomar in the centre of the ring. Next to Engar, Creer was the most recent addition to the Council, and Tomar had little doubt as to where his loyalties lay. He had been among the most vociferous in support of Engar.

  Creer looked around the circle slowly, and announced clearly to his audience of peers, ‘I too vote to replace Tomar as Great Owl!’

  ‘Thank you,’ the old owl muttered, too quietly for the rest of the gathering to hear, and Creer looked suitably abashed in the face of such dignity.

  Pellar followed, then Steele and Cerca. They all voted against the Great Owl. The flame of hope inside Tomar’s frail frame flickered with each body blow to his pride. And so it went on. Meldra came next, unable to look Tomar in the eye. She had served on the Council for all but one of the post-war years, having been chosen as replacement for Caitlin, who had chosen retirement and the quiet life, once law and order had been fully restored and Birddom, with its influx of new life, was whole once more. She, more than any other owl there, had seen Tomar at work, striving with all of his might for the good of Birddom.

  ‘I am sorry, Tomar,’ she muttered, shame-facedly, and then said, more clearly,

  ‘I cast my vote against the Great Owl.’

  The next two owls, Wensus and Janvar, barn owls both, voted with their own kind.

  Engar looked triumphant, sure now that Tomar stood alone. ‘Eight against one!’ he said in his head, over and over again. ‘Tomar is finished, and I will be Great Owl!’

  ‘I call upon Lostri,’ Tomar intoned, matter-of-factly, trying not to betray his interior turmoil. His stomach churned with nerves, and he felt sick. But he lifted his eyes to meet those of his friend, as the only other tawny owl on the Council landed on the springy grass in front of him.

  Unlike so many of the others, Lostri met Tomar’s gaze with an even appraisal of his own. He essayed a sketch of a smile, but his words, when they came, dashed the last of Tomar’s hopes.

  ‘I greet you, Tomar. I love you, my dear friend. But I believe that Engar’s way is the right one. The Council is more important than any individual. I vote against you as Great Owl.’

  Tomar matched Lostri’s brief smile with one of his own. ‘You have not voted with your heart, my friend, but with your mind. And I respect your decision.’

  Lostri lingered for a moment, on the point of embracing the old, defeated owl who still stood so resolute in the face of such indignity. Then he too turned from Tomar, and flapped away back to his branch. Engar could not resist clapping his wing-tips together in delight.

  ‘Nine against one. Nine against one!’ he repeated silently.

  Only two owls, Faron and Calipha, remained to save Tomar from ignominious defeat, and Birddom from catastrophe. But the old owl now held out little hope. He had pinned his faith on Lostri, of all the Council members. But he could not blame his friend. Alone among the owls, Lostri had weighed the pros and cons of the argument rationally, and had made his choice in what he believed were the best interests of Birddom. The best that Tomar could now hope for was that one of the two remaining owls would do the same, but do so in his favour.

  Chapter Four

  Kopa was taking a considerable risk travelling alone over such a long distance. But he felt driven by the need to prove himself, and his own kind, worthy of a place in Birddom. As an incomer, he was keenly aware that, although their influx had been been desirable in helping to repopulate the land, they owed a debt of gratitude to Tomar and the Council of the Owls. Kopa was eager to repay at least part of that debt, by helping to ensure the future of the land that he had grown to love as his own. Birddom was a beautiful place, and the little chaffinch knew that he would even give his life in its service, if need be.

  Kopa travelled cautiously and, of necessity, slowly. He could not risk long periods of open flight, which would have hastened his journey considerably. The skies were not safe, thanks to Man’s blazing anger. The cover provided by the tree-tops offered the chaffinch adequate protection from the deadly ‘rain’ of insecticide. But he had little chance to stretch his wings, flitting from tree to tree, and branch to branch. These constant short bursts of flight were exhausting, and used up a great deal of the little bird’s energy. As he travelled north, Kopa took what meals he could, mindful all the while of the food shortages everywhere. He also took shelter, and gathered news, from all manner of small birds along the route.

  It was fortunate that the young chaffinch was skilled in language, as he shared nests and perches with wren and blue tit, linnet and nuthatch, as well as every variety of finch. It was as well also that Kopa was a skilled interrogator. For he was able to gain information about the pockets of corvidae scattered across the land, without attracting too much attention, or raising too many fears. He would often spend the best part of a day chatting amiably to a willing, friendly goldfinch, hearing his and his entire family’s whole life story, but, at the same time, picking up a nugget or two of precious news about goings-on at the local rookery. Few birds now lived in fear of the corvids, although everyone was cautious, and avoided them as much as they could. But, as outcasts, they inevitably attracted attention and curiosity, especially as time lessened the memory of their atrocities.

  Kopa learnt that the rooks and crows were becoming more organised, coming together as large resident groupings, where before they had been utterly scattered in the aftermath of the Great Battle, living isolated and in hiding. Now they formed large social groups, their numbers increasing at a rapid rate since the winter.

  More worryingly, they would hold gatherings, when several rookeries would meet and talk long into the night. Few small birds had the courage to eavesdrop on such larg
e and threatening flocks of their erstwhile enemies. So most of what Kopa was told was based upon speculation and rumour. But it disturbed him greatly nonetheless. He heard stories of raucous celebrations, with dark recitations of evil deeds, glorying once again in former acts of violence and mayhem. It seemed to Kopa, as he travelled and learnt more, that there was an emerging pattern to what he was being told. Everywhere he went, and doubtless all across the length and breadth of Birddom, if stories were to be believed, the corvidae were on the rise. Growing stronger. And more dangerous.

  Engar had never seen Traska so angry, and he quailed before the wrath of his mentor.

  ‘You fool! Your arrogance has been your undoing. I told you to wait. I told you that the time wasn’t right for you to challenge Tomar. But would you listen? Oh no, you knew better, didn’t you? You’ve put our cause back by months, you idiot!’

  Engar bridled at the scorn in Traska’s words. ‘But we won, Traska. Tomar is finished.’

  ‘Oh, finished is he? Tell me, Engar. Who is Great Owl and leader of the Council?’

  ‘It’s just a matter of time,’ Engar replied, defensively. ‘He was only saved by a single vote. The entire Council are with me, not him. He is crippled and powerless now.’

  ‘Your head for counting is a little suspect. The entire Council was not with you, Engar. You lost the vote. A vote it was crucial that we won.’

  ‘It was only one owl. One stupid owl. Calipha can be persuaded to see the error of her ways. She will vote with us next time.’

  ‘Next time. Next time,’ Traska repeated, mocking his protégé. ‘You’ve given Tomar breathing space. And, more dangerously, thinking space. The next Council meeting won’t be held any time soon, you can be sure of that. Tomar will spend his time trying to shore up his power base. He still has friends and admirers on the Council, and don’t you forget it. No. We will have to force his wing, and much earlier than I had intended, thanks to your vanity.’