Seven for a Secret

by Clive Woodall

‘This is a great day for Birddom!’ he announced. ‘What we have done here today will have far-reaching consequences for every bird. We have made a momentous decision. Hunger will now be eradicated throughout the land. Every bird’s life will be immeasurably improved, and all will thank us for having the courage of our convictions. Our names will reverberate across Birddom. And do not fear that the insects will somehow rise up against us. Only cowards and the weak-minded would give credence to such nonsense. The insects’ enemy is Man. They are at war with him. They will not even notice our depredations. And if they do, we will surely defeat them in any ensuing battle. For they are tiny. And we are mighty. No, we have nothing to fear from the insects. Except, maybe, indigestion.’

  All of the owls, with the exception of Tomar, hooted with laughter. The old tawny owl was seething with anger. This was no joking matter. Couldn’t the fools see that? His worst nightmare was going to come true, and not a single bird would live to tell the tale. It was sheer folly to believe otherwise.

  Engar spoke again, enjoying the general approbation. ‘We have voted to restore our absolute right to eat whatsoever we choose. And we have voted for the future of this Council. A Council on which you no longer have a place, Tomar. I think that it is time that you left us to govern this land, and take it into a far brighter future.’

  At this direct provocation, Tomar finally broke his silence. ‘Yes. It is time. I cannot stay where I am not wanted. I cannot speak where I am not heard. So I will go, and trust to the hearts of those that I have long called my friends. Do not let yourselves become the mouth-piece through which one bird rules. Always I have led this Council by following its will. Be careful that the Council does not become a mere follower. Choose well, my friends. For the sake of Birddom, choose carefully.’

  ‘Thank you for your advice,’ Engar cut him off abruptly. ‘And now, we will detain you no longer. Go well into your retirement. We have business to attend to.’

  Tomar soon felt the full extent of Engar’s petty cruelty. Exiled from the Council, and unable to leave his home in Tanglewood because of his age and frailty, the old tawny owl was virtually a prisoner, at the mercy of his enemy. And Engar showed precious little mercy towards his erstwhile adversary. Within days, the Great Owl elect had deemed it necessary to despatch all of the other Council members, and several other owls who served under them, on a country-wide fact-finding mission. The stated aim was laudable – to find out the extent of the difficulties that every bird was facing, and to spread the word about the rescinding of Tomar’s law. But this was merely a pretext. Behind it lay Engar’s desire to inflict further hurt upon Tomar; in sending the owls to far-flung destinations, he was, in fact, withdrawing the vital support that the old owl needed to provide him with sufficient food and warmth.

  Alone, Tomar struggled to forage close to his nest-hole. But the pickings were meagre indeed. Catching fresh meat was beyond him, and an inadequate diet of seeds and berries soon saw his remaining flesh slough away to feather and bone. From time to time, Tomar was aware that Engar was watching him, and evidently enjoying the spectacle. The barn owl would alight in the upper branches of Tomar’s own crooked fir tree – an affront in itself – and would sit gloating while his adversary pecked and scratched in the undergrowth below. Tomar did his best to ignore his tormentor, but the humiliation stuck, like burrs in his primary feathers. His sole hope was that some of the other Council members would come to see the real wickedness behind the mask which Engar presented to them, and would reconsider their choice when the time came to vote for the new Great Owl. But it was a forlorn hope. More likely that the next meeting of the Council of the Owls would see Engar’s position ratified by unanimous approval. Engar would become Great Owl, and Tomar’s fate would be sealed.

  Merion could barely contain his excitement. At last he had something important to do. The young robin deemed it a great honour to have been personally chosen by Engar, and he knew that he would do everything within his power not to let his hero down. Merion’s task was, in reality, a fairly simple one. He was to fly east, replicating a journey made by both of his parents, and visit Kraken in his coastal home. Once there, he was to reassure and placate the great gull, lest any rumours might have reached him about Tomar’s having been overthrown.

  Engar had realised that he had been lucky in having visited Storne so close behind whomsoever Tomar must have sent. That stroke of good-fortune had enabled him to allay the eagle’s fears, and prevent a dissenting presence at the Council meeting. That achieved, the last thing that Engar wanted was interference from another of Tomar’s legendary triumvirate of supporters. So the robin was chosen to feed words of reassurance into Kraken’s ear, and to persuade him, if needed, to stay at home and tend to his own flock. A similar messenger would be sent to consult with Darreal, the kite. Engar would brook no obstacle in his path to power.

  Merion knew that he should leave without delay, but he felt unhappy about embarking upon such a long journey without saying goodbye to his mother, in spite of the rift between them. So he made a brief detour to her nest-site and, arriving and finding no one at home, called out, ‘Mother. Where are you?’

  Portia emerged from behind a nearby bramble, and smiled when she saw who her visitor was. ‘Merion, my son. How good to see you.’

  ‘I had to come, Mother. I wanted to see you and say goodbye before I set off.’

  ‘But where are you going?’

  A look of pride gleamed in the young robin’s eyes. ‘Engar has chosen me personally to journey to the east coast and visit Kraken. I am to tell him all about the exciting new era into which our Great Owl is leading us.’

  ‘Merion!’ Portia snapped, angrily. ‘What has got into you? I cannot believe that you have so little respect for the owl who saved your life. Tomar is Great Owl, until a successor is formally chosen by the Council. And in my eyes, he will always be the Great Owl.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, stop living in the past. Tomar’s day is done. Engar is the future for Birddom. And it will be a great future. Things have been stagnant for so long. But Engar will change all that. Birddom will become a place where every bird is equal. And where no bird is ever hungry again.’

  ‘I will be hungry, if I so choose. For I will never break Tomar’s stricture, even if my very life depends upon it. Insects are forbidden. That is the law.’

  ‘That law is history, Mother,’ Merion replied, angrily. ‘Why deny yourself any longer? Why abstain from something that isn’t deemed a sin any more? Let me fetch you something now. A worm? A caterpillar?’

  ‘Begone with you, if you have to make your journey. We have both chosen, you and I, for good or ill. But take care, my son. And thank you for coming to see me. I would have worried so to have heard no news from you.’

  ‘Goodbye then, Mother. Don’t fret about me. I know how to take care of myself. Look after yourself while I am gone. I love you.’ Suddenly embarrassed at his own words, Merion took wing, and flew off without looking back.

  Portia’s gaze followed him, until she could see him no longer. Then she sighed softly. ‘There is still hope,’ she said to herself. ‘Thank the Creator that there’s still hope.’

  Cian was exhausted when she arrived on the outskirts of Tanglewood. She had flown without rest, following Kopa’s instructions as to the route that she must take. But, now that she had made it to her destination, she was confused. Kopa had been very weak at the end, and the female chaffinch had been distressed by his imminent passing. Cian had stayed with him until the end, and had only left, tearful and grieving, when Kopa’s body had finally relaxed, and his head had slipped from its prison so that he had hung by his feet, upside down in the indignity of death.

  Cian had flown hard, repeating all the time the message that she had to carry. But the effort of memory had driven out vital information concerning the whereabouts of the Great Owl’s home. Cian realised that she would have to find someone who she could
ask. Plunging into the woodland without further delay, she soon spied an owl perched high in a crooked fir tree. At first, her heart leapt. This might be him. She had found the Great Owl. But, upon closer inspection, Cian’s spirits drooped. This owl was ancient. His feathers were bedraggled and unkempt. He was emaciated, and altogether as unimpressive an owl as Cian had ever seen. This could not be the leader of Birddom. Still, he might know where she could find the Great Owl. Approaching closer, Cian was about to speak when she realised that the old owl was fast asleep.

  ‘Poor old thing,’ she thought to herself. ‘He looks so poorly that he might never wake again. I must not disturb him. I’ll just have to find someone else to ask.’

  Tomar thought that he had heard the beating of a pair of wings close by, and struggled to rouse himself from the depths of sleep. On opening his huge eyes, he found that there was no one there. But he had heard something, he was sure of it.

  ‘Kirrick. Kirrick,’ he called, into the silence. ‘Is that you?’ Then he shook his aged head sadly. ‘You old dotard,’ he chided himself. ‘You were dreaming, that was all. Kirrick is dead, as well you know. And by the state of you, you’ll not be far behind him. It was probably that blasted Engar. Sometimes I wish he’d just finish me off, and get it over with.’

  Merion had flown for many hours, but darkness had descended swiftly and early due to the inclemency of the weather. The robin sought a place to shelter and rest. Visibility was poor in the heavy downpour, and Merion could barely make out the vague outline of a copse of trees below and to his right. He swooped down, and flew a short way into the copse, where the leaves were more dense and provided better protection from the rain. But no sooner had he alighted than a change in the direction of the wind was driving stinging droplets into his face.

  ‘This is no good,’ he decided quickly, and looked around for a more suitable place to shelter. The tree opposite had a knot-hole, which, although a tight squeeze for the young robin, provided enough cover to keep off the worst of the rain. Merion forced his body as far back as possible into the hole, and there, in spite of the discomfort and cramped conditions, fell into a heavy sleep.

  Harsh voices woke him. The rain had long since ceased, and the air was clean and fresh. Sounds carried clearly to where he lay, hidden in his small hole. Sounds of caws and crowing. Not from one bird, but from many. Merion was terrified. Childhood memories crowded in on him, of his capture by Traska. Of the brutality, and the fear of being so close to one so evil. From his limited vantage point, Merion could make out the shapes of a few of the large black birds on adjacent branches. They were rooks, so far as he could make out, and they were much easier to hear than to see. They were chattering incessantly among themselves, and the more Merion heard the more a sense of dread filled his heart.

  It was not possible. It couldn’t be happening all over again. Surely the corvidae had been defeated, once and for all, in the Great Battle? But Merion could not discount the evidence of his own ears. The rooks were talking about insurgence and killing. Nothing had changed. They still wanted power for themselves alone. And then he heard the name, and his blood froze in his veins.

  ‘That old Traska will sort them out. He’s waited a long time for his vengeance, he has. But he won’t have to wait very much longer.’

  ‘Shut up, you. Enough of your disrespect. You call him by his proper title, if you speak of him at all, which you shouldn’t. The Master is our leader, and commands the respect of us all. He’s given us back our pride. And because of him, we have a great future.’

  ‘Which is more than I can say for the rest of bloody Birddom!’ the first bird answered, with harsh laughter.

  ‘What shall I do?’ Merion asked himself, fretfully. ‘I daren’t move or I might be discovered. And that would be the end of me. But I must get away. I have to warn them. This is far more important to Birddom than my mission to Kraken. I have to go back. Engar has to be told that Traska is still alive, and up to his old mischief.’

  Chapter Eight

  Engar felt in a decidedly mischievous mood. He knew that there were places to go and birds to see. He knew also that it would not be long before the first of his fellow Council members returned from the mission on which he had sent them. Engar was glad of this. He was impatient to receive the title of Great Owl. His vanity required it. He deserved it. But, for now, he felt that he also deserved a little treat. After all, it might be the final time that he would get the opportunity. And humiliating Tomar gave him such pleasure.

  Engar had decided that he would pay one final visit to Tanglewood. The old owl must be lonely. He’d surely be glad of some company. Grinning wickedly to himself, Engar set off at once. He flew in haste, eager to pile more indignity upon his adversary. But, when he reached the centre of the forest, a thought struck him, and he alighted briefly while he pondered the joke.

  ‘Maybe Tomar would like some food,’ Engar mused, cruelly. ‘I’m sure that I could find a suitable repast for an ex-Great Owl. Some rotting, putrid carcass that even the flies wouldn’t touch. Mind, I’d have to wash my talons in the brook afterwards. But it would be worth it. Just to see his face.’

  ‘Excuse me. Can you help me?’ The small voice of a chaffinch called to him from a branch some feet up, and to the left of where he perched.

  Engar’s huge black eyes fixed upon the little bird. ‘That is just what I can do. Indeed, it is my duty to help any bird who is in need of my aid. Now, what can I do for you?’

  Cian’s relief was all too obvious. She was afraid of this place, but at least this owl seemed kind, and willing to help. ‘I am looking for the Great Owl. Do you know where I might find him?’

  ‘Your search is at an end, my dear. You need look no further. For I am the Great Owl.’

  Engar saw a look of uncertainty flit briefly across her face. ‘Does something trouble you, my dear?’ he probed, gently. ‘You look confused.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Cian replied. ‘It is just that I understood the Great Owl to be a tawny owl, and yet...’

  ‘I am a barn owl through and through, and proud of it. But the fact remains that you have found the one for whom you were searching. Now, how can I help you?’

  As he spoke, Engar hopped up and across to a perch much closer to the young chaffinch. If something were awry, he would need to have her within his reach. She seemed, however, unconcerned by his move, and he could see that she had accepted what he had told her. He might not have to kill her, after all.

  Had Cian been in possession of the full facts, doubtless she would have fled in terror from the owl that now sat so close. But Kopa’s message had been for Tomar’s ears, and he had not thought it necessary to give a description of the birds of whom he was speaking. Tomar would know well enough from their names alone. So, while Cian knew that she had to tell the Great Owl all about Traska and Engar, she could have no idea that she might be addressing the latter. Kopa hadn’t even told her that Engar was an owl. He had called him wicked and evil. A traitor in their midst. It had been terribly distressing, watching, helpless, while Kopa struggled to finish his tale before it was too late. And when he was done, his voice was weak with the exertion, as he told her, over and over, to take his message to the Great Owl in Tanglewood.

  And here he was. She had found him. Looking at the magnificent barn owl, she told herself that it was obvious. He had such a presence. She must have been mistaken, that was all. She certainly couldn’t be sure that Kopa had told her that he was a tawny owl. She was concentrating so hard, at the time, on keeping the message in her mind. No. She had got it wrong. But it was of no importance. The Great Owl didn’t seem to have taken offence, and Cian was glad of that.

  She began to recount all that she had been told by Kopa, and Engar’s face became a mask of solemn concern and gravity. But, behind it, his brain was racing. It was only an incredible stroke of good fortune that had averted an absolute disaster. It se
emed that she knew it all. His complicity with Traska. Their plans for defeating Tomar, and the eventual rise to power of the corvidae. Damn her. They thought that they had been so careful. But here she was, this little chaffinch, blurting out all of their secrets, pouring her heart out, in the deluded belief that she was helping to save Birddom. Well, she’d find out soon enough. He would tell her, of course, before he killed her. Just to see her face. But, for now, he nodded with sagacity as Cian told her story, and gradually edged even closer.

  ‘Hunger has its compensations,’ Tomar muttered to himself. ‘It gives you more time to think.’

  Indeed the old owl was in such a weakened state that little other activity was possible. But thinking was what Tomar did best. Since his defeat at the Council, he had despaired for the future of his beloved Birddom. But despairing wouldn’t solve anything. In his lowest moments, he had wished for his own death. But Birddom still needed him. It needed him alive. Even in his present emaciated state, he could still serve. By thinking.

  Birddom was in a parlous position and under threat on several fronts: led by an owl whose intentions Tomar instinctively had not trusted from the beginning, beset by a powerful enemy – Man, and soon to provoke a conflict with another, even more deadly foe – the insects. Tomar could not remember a time when Birddom was in such peril. Not even when Slyekin had dreamed his crazy dreams, and had unleashed murder and mayhem across the land. But at least that was bird against bird. Tomar had been able to think like his opponents. He had understood their desires. Had been able to guess at their plans, and so formulate his own, in order to defeat them. But to out-think Man? To out-guess the insects? It was simply not possible. There would have to be another way.

  Tomar tossed the options endlessly inside his ancient brain, searching for inspiration. The sun climbed across the sky above the canopy of the treetops while the old owl sat there, still as a statue. But his mind was never still. Nor, for that matter, was his stomach. It growled and complained, paining the tawny owl with its urgent demands for food. Tomar did his best to ignore the hunger pangs, and struggled once more to regain his train of thought.