Seven for a Secret

by Clive Woodall

  But Tomar’s guards reported back that he was refusing to eat the insects that they were providing. The obstinate old fool was unable to yield an iota of his principles, even if it meant starving to death. Traska’s fury at the old owl’s intransigence gnawed away at him, eroding the caution that Engar had counselled. He had to see for himself. So the magpie flew deeper into Tanglewood, fully prepared to confront his foe, to reveal himself to Tomar, as he had wished to so often, ever since this adventure had begun. But ill-fortune dictated otherwise. For his arrival at Tomar’s home coincided with that of Portia, in disguise, bringing her old friend another life-saving meal. The robin did not see her evil enemy approach, busy as she was gathering food for Tomar. And, initially, Traska did not recognise her. To his eyes, it was just another small bird going about her business. But, as he watched her, something about the small bird’s movements and manner jarred. The way that she carried herself. The distinctive bobbing of her head, as if nodding in acknowledgement of some universal truth, were unmistakably robin.

  Traska laughed mirthlessly to himself. It was cleverly done, he had to concede that. A trick of her own ingenuity, or born of Tomar’s intellect? It mattered not. He knew her now.

  ‘Well, well, Portia, my dear,’ he gloated, silently. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. We really must get together soon. To reminisce over old times. And absent friends!’

  It was a sight to strike terror into the hearts of the pair of robins, a nightmare recalled from their childhood. And it had only been the merest stroke of luck that had prevented total disaster. The cool, green shade offered by the solitary ash tree had proved irresistible to the tired birds, and they had gladly taken advantage of shelter from the hot sun. But barely an instant after they had alighted, Merion had frozen, motionless, on the well-camouflaged branch. Instinctively, Olivia had mirrored her brother’s actions.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘What do you see?’

  Merion gestured minutely with his beak, and Olivia’s gaze followed where he had indicated. The pretty robin’s heart constricted with shock and fear as she saw what had caused Merion such distress. Hopping across the field in front of them were two huge corvids. Many years earlier, their father, Kirrick, had hidden in an ash tree when being hunted by a pair of cruel magpies. Now his children faced a similar danger. But these birds were not magpies. They were huge and menacing spectres from Merion and Olivia’s past: a pair of giant hooded crows.

  And worse was to follow. For the two corvids were soon joined by four more of their own kind. The immediate reaction of the robins was to fear that a trap had been set for them. That somehow, Traska had sent word and arranged this deadly reception committee. But it seemed that there was no urgency in the actions of the hooded crows. They were merely foraging in a leisurely manner, and calling raucously to each other while they fed.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Olivia asked quietly.

  ‘What can we do?’ replied her brother, equally softly. ‘We’ll just have to stay where we are, and hope that they don’t spot us.’

  ‘Do you really think that they would harm us?’

  ‘That’s a stupid question. They would kill us in a moment, if they found us. You’ve seen them before. You know what they are capable of. Now no more words, I beg of you. Our safety lies in our silence.’

  Portia was in even greater danger than her two children, but unlike Merion and Olivia, she was unaware of the threat. It was not until she had almost bumped her beak into the huge black chest that she registered the presence of the massive crow towering over her. The robin’s eyes darted right and left, quickly confirming her worst fears. Two more of the black sentinels hemmed her in.

  And then a voice spoke from behind her, soft and coercive, but full of menace. ‘Portia, my dear. It’s been such a long time.’

  The robin whirled round to confront her tormentor, and looked into a face of pure evil.

  ‘I must say, you do seem to have let yourself go since I saw you last. You look as if you need a really good bath. I barely recognised you. Still, there must be red under there somewhere.’

  Portia’s reactions jerked her off her feet as she fell backwards to avoid the savage thrust from Traska’s sharp beak. The magpie laughed contemptuously, looking down at her on the ground.

  ‘Don’t you want to die like your mate? Such a noble death, I always thought. And one that gave me a great deal of satisfaction. But not for you, it seems. So, my dear. Just how do you want to die?’

  Portia’s desperation seemed to give the evil magpie an almost sensual satisfaction.

  ‘Take your time. I’m in no great hurry. We can take as long as you like. In fact, I think that I’d like that best of all. A nice, slow, painful death. Wouldn’t that be the perfect end to such a lovely day?’

  Tomar was getting worried. Portia had promised the old owl that she would come this evening, and she had never yet let him down. It wasn’t the hunger that troubled him. That was a fact of life. Even the rations that Portia so diligently provided for him made barely a dent on his constant hunger. But he was used to the gnawing pains in his stomach, and had conditioned himself to ignore them. The robin gave him enough food to keep him alive, and it was sufficient for his needs. But Portia gave Tomar something else also: company. Another thing that Engar and Traska strove to starve him of. To have someone to talk to was as important as a partly-filled stomach. Portia kept him in touch with reality and provided reassurance when Tomar began to doubt the wisdom of his plans.

  The old owl glanced up at the skies, noting, with despondency, the fast-approaching onset of evening. Where could she have got to? He shuffled painfully along the bough of the crooked fir, peering out into the gloom for a sight of his friend. But the robin was nowhere to be seen. Tomar’s head lowered miserably onto his chest, as loneliness overwhelmed him. It was an act of great cruelty on Traska’s part to keep the old owl in such solitary confinement. And it added greatly to his sadness that none of his old friends on the Council had, to his knowledge, made any concerted effort to visit him. Although they had rejected him and ousted him from his position as Great Owl, Tomar held on to the belief that one or two of the Council members still felt fondness and respect for him personally. But it seemed that none had demonstrated the courage to defy the new regime. Portia, alone, had kept the old owl in contact with the outside world, and Tomar felt a renewed surge of fear for his friend’s safety, as the hour got late and still no one came.

  The pair of robins felt a huge sense of relief when the six hooded crows finally finished feeding in the field, and flapped off in unison to the south. Merion and Olivia relaxed the tense muscles that had held them inert for over an hour, and flapped their wings to circulate the blood once more.

  ‘Let’s move,’ Olivia cheeped to her brother. ‘I don’t want to be here if they come back.’

  ‘No. One close encounter with that lot is more than enough. Aren’t they terrifying?’

  Olivia let out a nervous laugh. ‘Not to their mothers, perhaps. But seeing them brought it all back so clearly. Being held prisoner. Thinking all the time that we were certain to be killed, when we had barely begun to have a life at all.’

  ‘I remember, sis. Indeed, it is something that I will never forget. But can you imagine how I felt, when I went back looking for Engar, and heard Traska’s evil voice?’

  ‘I think that I would have dropped dead on the spot,’ Olivia replied. ‘But we’re still very much alive, Merion. And if we want to remain so, I suggest that we get on our way without further delay.’

  So saying, Olivia took wing and, followed by her brother, sped westwards once more, towards the distant mountains where, if their luck held, they would finally meet the ancient wolf, Septimus, and would learn the secret of the gateway into Avia.

  The magpie flew in slow, processional circles around the crooked fir, giving Tomar every opportunity to see the troph
y that he carried between his talons. Then he flew down, landing awkwardly because of his burden, and hopped imperiously over towards the old owl.

  ‘Greetings Tomar, my oldest friend. I expect that I’m the very last bird that you thought you’d ever see again. But here I am, alive and well. And I’ve brought you a present.’ Receiving no reply, Traska continued, in taunting tones. ‘I thought that you might be hungry. I had heard that you had been a bit fussy over what you would and would not eat. I cannot blame you. Insects aren’t very appetising, are they? Although beggars really shouldn’t be choosers. But I’m sure, like me, that you much prefer to feast on fresh meat, don’t you? There’s nothing quite like the taste of still-warm flesh, is there? So, as I said, I’ve brought you a little present. Not more than a mouthful for a hungry owl, I’d guess. But enjoy it anyway.’

  Tears welled up in Tomar’s old eyes as he looked down upon the limp little body of his friend.

  ‘I would like to comfort you by telling you that she didn’t suffer. But that really wouldn’t be true, as you can imagine. In fact, she suffered a great deal. But she was a brave little bird, I’ll give her that. Right up until I broke her back. She screamed then, and it was the sweetest sound that I have ever heard. But it didn’t last, of course. No stamina, these small birds. No threshold for pain.’

  A murderous anger filled Tomar’s throat, and he roared with violent outrage as he lunged towards the magpie. But his aged body denied him just revenge, and he overbalanced, toppling from his perch and landing, winded, on the leaf-strewn ground below.

  Traska looked down at the prostrate owl, and sneered venomously. ‘Now that wasn’t very sensible, was it? And you are the one who is supposed to be so wise. You’re a bit long-in-the-beak for such melodramatic heroics. You ought to be careful, you know, you might hurt yourself. And hurting you is my prerogative, I’m afraid. Actually, I’m not at all afraid. But you, dear Tomar, you should be very afraid indeed!’

  Chapter Twelve

  Up close, the great black bulk of the mountain was a daunting sight for the pair of tiny birds. It towered above them, seeming to block out what little light remained in the evening sky. They had exercised extreme caution during their travels across the Isle of Storms, after their chance encounter with the hooded crows. Both Merion and Olivia realised that they had been extremely fortunate to have avoided contact with that particular troop of corvidae. They had witnessed first-hand, in their infancy, the casual brutality of which those huge birds were capable.

  However, in the days of their subsequent travels, neither robin had dared to risk even the briefest contact with any of the local small bird population, though their journey did not pass unnoticed. Several birds called out to them in their passing, either in greeting or as a challenge in response to territory invaded. But the robins maintained their silence and flew on, even though avoidance of such contact hampered them greatly in their search for the home of Septimus. For surely they would have been able to receive word of the great wolf from the indigenous populace. His legend would have loomed large indeed in these parts. But caution reigned supreme, so the robins trusted to luck. And fortune did not desert them.

  Merion and Olivia had chosen a gorse bush, smothered in glowing yellow petals, as a suitable place to rest, while they considered what they should do next. They were not even sure if the mountain that stood so imposingly before them was the one that Tomar had told them about. Several other smaller mountains were dotted about the region, but instinct told them that this was the most likely home for so great a creature as Septimus.

  So engrossed were the two robins in discussing their immediate plans that they were completely unaware of the pair of eyes that watched their every movement and the pair of ears that heard their every word. The eyes twinkled with barely-contained merriment; the ears twitched with ill-concealed curiosity.

  ‘So old Septimus is going to get a run-out after all this time, is he? And not before time. He has been dormant for far too long. But now it seems that Birddom needs the old wolf’s help.’

  Ears twitched once more with excitement, and muscles bunched in eager anticipation. Then, with effortless grace and athleticism, the watcher launched himself into the air. His bound carried him easily over the bush where the startled birds squatted. Landing with equal ease, he turned quickly to face Merion and Olivia.

  ‘Welcome!’ the rabbit said, mirth crinkling his nose and shining from his huge eyes, ringed in black fur in an otherwise white face. His body fur was white, too, save for a ridge of black along his spine, and a dark tip to one of his ears.

  ‘My name is Hobo,’ he continued. ‘And this is my mountain.’

  ‘Your mountain?’ Merion queried, in an incredulous voice.

  ‘Indeed,’ Hobo replied, with frosty dignity. ‘And why would it not be so?’

  The robin was immediately contrite. ‘Forgive me, Hobo. I did not mean to give any offence. We are strangers here, my sister and I, and we do not know the locality. We had been told to seek out a venerable wolf called Septimus, and had thought this to be his mountain.’

  ‘Old Septimus lives here, all right. He lives with me, in fact. But it is my mountain, all the same.’

  Sensing that her brother might make another clumsy remark, Olivia interceded. ‘It is a beautiful place, and we thank you for your welcome. I am Olivia, and this is Merion, my brother, as he has already said. We have come a long way, having journeyed from Birddom in the hope of seeing Septimus and asking for his help.’

  Without warning, the rabbit leapt clean over their heads, turning in mid-air and continuing the conversation, without pause, upon landing. ‘And what help could a wolf be giving to a pair of robins?’

  Merion’s head swivelled round, body following until he once again faced the right way. Olivia followed suit, and answered Hobo’s question. ‘We have been sent on a mission by Tomar, the tawny owl who until recently was leader of Birddom.’

  A glint of recognition showed in Hobo’s eyes at the mention of that name, and Olivia continued with renewed hope. ‘I see that you have heard of him. He is a great and wise owl who has nurtured the land that we live in, and ourselves personally, for all of our lives. We owe him everything, and now seek to help him triumph over evil by succeeding in our mission. Can you help us?’

  The female robin’s eyes looked beseechingly into those of the rabbit, and Hobo smiled reassuringly. ‘I can, and I will. But all in good time. It is not often that strangers visit my mountain. I am eager for news of the wider world. You spoke of evil in Birddom. We had heard tales about the rise of a dark wing over the land some years ago, when the corvidae strove for power. But surely they were defeated, and their threat broken in two?’

  ‘They were defeated, yes. Thanks to the genius of Tomar, and the bravery of many, including our father, Kirrick, and our mother, Portia.’

  It seemed, from Hobo’s reaction, that he had heard of these names also, and the rabbit confirmed this immediately. ‘Honoured guests indeed, of such parentage. But accept my apologies. I interrupted you. Go on with your story, please.’

  ‘The corvidae rebellion was crushed, and their covens scattered. Slyekin was killed, but his lieutenant, Traska, disappeared. He returned, however, to make mischief in Birddom once more, and it is only thanks to Tomar that the evil magpie did not murder us, as he has so many before. He fled Birddom again, and we thought that the threat was ended once and for all. But Traska has returned, as wily as ever and more powerful than before. For now he has made an alliance with Engar, the new Great Owl and leader of Birddom. The corvidae are on the rise once more, and our land is in great peril.’

  The rabbit looked distressed, but not surprised. ‘That is sore news indeed. That an owl should so betray the trust of Birddom! Grave tidings, my little friends. But set aside your worries for a while. I am sure that a way can be found to help you in your hour of need. For now, come with me. Th
ere is someone whom I think you may be eager to meet.’

  Engar was facing something of a revolt from a faction of the Council of the Owls. This was the first challenge to his authority, and the barn owl was determined to deal with it swiftly and decisively. There were three owls opposing him, but only one provided Engar with any misgivings. Wensus and Janvar were vacillators, easily swayed by whichever owl was speaking to them at the time. He could bring them back into line. No, it was Lostri who was the obvious ring-leader in this conspiracy. What was it with these damned tawny owls? It was almost as if they had been sent to plague him. Somehow, Lostri had gotten wind of disturbances in the wider world of Birddom that were being attributed to corvids. The events in themselves were relatively minor, isolated breakdowns in the iron band of discipline forged by the will of Traska. Indeed, that magpie had ensured that swift retribution had been carried out against the perpetrators, angry that their actions might jeopardise his plans. But, limited though they may have been, small birds had been killed, and the spectre of Slyekin loomed large still in Birddom. Every bird’s fear was for the rise of the corvidae, and a return to darkness and despair.

  Engar knew that he had to be careful. He could not simply dismiss Lostri’s information out-of-wing. But he had no intention of acceding even an iota of his authority. In the last Council meeting he had broached, without opposition, the notion that, for the sake of Birddom’s harmonious future, the ostracised brotherhood of the corvidae be brought back into the fold as full and equal members. They had committed their crime and served their time. It was appropriate that the new Council should begin to heal the rift, he had argued persuasively. And the Council had fallen in line behind him.

  It had been decided that a delegation would soon be sent to several of the known strongholds, where the corvidae had regained a small measure of their former power. Engar had chosen three owls for the job – to a bird his staunchest supporters, and owls least likely to question his decision. But it now seemed that Lostri had taken it upon himself to do some investigating of his own. Well, Engar would have to keep an eye on that owl in the future. But, for now, he had to act.