Seven for a Secret

by Clive Woodall

  ‘But what else could we have done? We managed to find Septimus, and we asked him to help Birddom. And all we got in return was a lot of nonsense for our troubles.’

  ‘Did you understand any of what the old wolf said?’ Merion asked.

  ‘What was there to understand? It all seemed very vague to me. It was as if Septimus himself had no idea where Avia is. But that cannot be. Tomar was so certain that he would be able to provide us with the answer.’

  ‘Well, if he has, it is beyond my comprehension. His rhyme is a riddle that I can’t unlock. And, unlike the gateway to Avia, every bird doesn’t have the key to this mystery.’

  Merion paused, and his feathers drooped as the hopelessness of their situation overwhelmed him. Olivia realised that she would have to remain positive, even in the face of their failure.

  ‘Well, I suggest that we head home without delay. I am missing Mother very much, and old Tomar, too. And who knows? Maybe the wisest brain in Birddom will be able to solve the riddle that Septimus has set.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was no warning. Only a shockingly brief moment in time. The pulse lasted but a few seconds. There was no noise. No light. Just terrible and instantaneous death. Carnage in a quiet field, in a quiet corner of Birddom. Nothing escaped. Every creature who, seconds before, had buzzed, chirped and snuffled within the perimeter formed by the four strange metal objects now lay dead on the ground where they had fallen. There was no blood. No wounds or injuries. But there were no survivors. Not a single creature crawled away from the scene to warn the unsuspecting natural world of what was to come.

  The men entered the field from the gate at the far end, once the machines had been switched off. They each carried large black plastic sacks, and with gloved hands scooped the still-warm bodies from the ground and deposited them within. The men were meticulous in their work. No animal or bird was missed in their sweep across the field. Creatures such as badger and fox, too large to be placed in the sacks, were picked up by two of the men and carried away to the road, where they were unceremoniously thrown into the back of a van.

  As the men cleared the field of the corpses they kept a tally of all the animals and birds that they collected: mice and vole, starling and toad, weasel and rat. Hunters and hunted, instantly extinguished. One man bent down, and closed his huge gloved hand around the inert body of the male blackbird – no longer lord of all that he surveyed. A carcass only, to be added to those within the sack. Dismissed. Irrelevant, save for being one of a hundred such unfortunate creatures, collected and counted.

  The insects were too innumerable to be counted. And far too small to be collected. One man had fetched a spade from the back of a van, and had begun shovelling dead insects into his black bag. But it was a thankless task, and soon abandoned as a bad idea. ‘Let them rot’ was the general agreement. The animals and birds were to be examined and dissected back at the laboratory. Man needed to determine the extent of internal damage caused by the magnetic pulse. This would be crucial in determining the strength needed and the power required when the time came. But, for now, the men were ecstatic. Their contraptions had worked like a charm.

  Tomar felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal and self-loathing. He had been force-fed for more than a week, and still remained too weak to resist his captors when they held his beak apart and slid another fat slug down his throat. There was no doubt that the nourishment was doing him good physically, but it was torturing him mentally. He had broken his pact with the insects. The very pact that he held sacred, even in the face of personal defeat on the Council of the Owls.

  The old owl no longer felt able to wield any measure of moral authority. He was now like every other bird in Birddom. Eating insects, in breech of a solemn promise made in a time of direst need. And Tomar was fearful of the consequences that must surely result. If no bird kept the faith, what was to stop the insects rising up and cleansing the land of their false allies? Every bird would be devoured, defenceless against such an onslaught. Birddom was utterly doomed.

  With an enormous effort, Tomar dragged himself out of the shallow scoop in the earth, which had served as a makeshift nest since his fall from his perch in the crooked fir tree. His eyes looked up wistfully at his nest-hole, now high and unattainable above him. It had been his home and his haven for most of his adult life, and he longed for its cool shade and protection from the elements. Tomar straightened up, and took his full weight onto his haunches, as he tentatively flapped his great wings. But, within a few seconds, he sank to the ground once more, utterly exhausted. Laying his head upon the baking earth, he let his mind drift away from his present sorry predicament and concentrated instead upon his solitary glimmer of hope: Avia.

  It was the only possibility of any future for every bird, the only way to avoid the gathering storm. Tomar wondered how Merion and Olivia were faring in their quest. Had they managed to find Septimus? And would the old wolf help them? So much depended upon the two young robins. But history had taught the old tawny owl that no other bird was better-equipped, in heart and mind, to succeed at any task that they were set, however impossible it seemed.

  The robins were preoccupied during their travels back to Birddom. As they flew, they pondered individually on the mysterious rhyme that Septimus had sung to them. And at each rest stop they fell into eager discussion, but any meaning to his words evaded them, and they remained frustrated by the puzzle that the old wolf had set.

  ‘“Avia’s neither far nor near, not over there but not quite here.”’ What does it mean? Neither far nor near. It sounds as if the place doesn’t exist at all!’

  Merion looked at his sister with a rueful grin, but Olivia met his doubts with a confidence that she did not truly feel, but wore for Tomar’s sake. The old owl was no fool, she was certain of that. Avia must exist. And somewhere within the maze of the poem was the answer as to how to find it.

  ‘He tells us that Avia isn’t far. That must mean that it is at least attainable. That we can reach it if we persevere. If it was quite near it would be too easy, and wouldn’t have to be earned. That’s logical, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sis. But Septimus also said that “Avia is a state of mind, which few if any bird can find.” That seems to contradict the notion that Avia is real, doesn’t it?’

  ‘On the face of it, yes. But the words must mean something that we don’t yet grasp. Anyway, you missed a couple of lines.’

  ‘That’s because I thought that they at least were obvious. “The path where you would choose to go is one that only a wolf might know.” Septimus is telling us that he holds the key to the way into Avia, in spite of what Hobo said. But we knew that when we set out upon our journey. It seems pointless to taunt us in this way. And cruel, too.’

  Olivia looked quite shocked at such an accusation from her brother’s beak.

  ‘No, Merion. I did not detect any cruelty in Septimus. Only an immense wisdom that outmatches our efforts. We must just strive harder to unlock his mysteries. But for now, a good sleep will refresh our bodies and our brains. Both have a long journey ahead of them.’

  Lostri was weary after his travels into the far north of Birddom. His route had been dictated, as Engar had predicted, by constant news about the massive coven at Cra Wyd. Small birds from miles around spoke of it with fear and loathing. It was a dark and menacing place, from which a dark wing reached out on occasion to strike terror and mete out death.

  Lostri had heard a different tale when he had consulted magpies and crows from other lesser covens in the vicinity. These corvids spoke with reverential awe, ascribing Cra Wyd with attributes of power and honour. From their beaks, it became a place to be aspired to, if one proved oneself worthy. And, constant to the mission given to him, Lostri knew that he would have to visit that stronghold, and learn what he could of its secrets. The owl quailed at the thought of such an adventure. It would be like sticking his head into a c
at’s mouth. But Engar had left him no choice. He had to carry the message of the Council into that dark place. It was a matter of honour, no matter how afraid he might be.

  For now, though, he would rest and feed, and take comfort from friendly faces. There were still plenty of stories to be heard, and many a beak willing to impart them. Maybe he would wait for a couple of days before he visited Cra Wyd. It would still be there, and no less nor more of a threat than now.

  Traska was bored with waiting. Once the initial excitement of setting the trap has dissipated, he fretted away the days necessary for Lostri to journey to the north and fly into it. Initially the evil magpie contented himself with mocking Tomar at every opportunity. Now that the ancient owl had recovered consciousness, Traska would visit him daily, taunting him from the vantage point vacated and now unattainable to the unfortunate bird.

  ‘I hope that your new home is comfortable, Tomar,’ he called out, smiling wickedly. ‘It seems so much more fitting to your newly acquired status. Although I am sorry to see that you have fallen on hard times, as well as hard ground.’

  ‘Spare me your concern, Traska. I do not deserve it.’

  ‘Indeed you do. You and I are virtually alone in Birddom as sages who can see beyond the end of their beaks. I hate to admit it, but we are old, you and I. You more so, of course. But there is undoubtedly still life in us, or at least in one of us. Your life may soon be forfeit. But not until I have had my moment of glory. And you, your moment of ignominy.’

  With such sallies, Traska had toyed with his prisoner, hurting Tomar every bit as much as if his hench-crows had beaten the old owl. But inflicting wounds with his tongue soon lacked sufficient thrill for the evil magpie. His lust for physical violence could not be sated by these small mental pleasures. It was a pity that he had despatched Portia from this life so swiftly. How he would have enjoyed more time with her in his clutches. Alas, it was not to be. However, Portia and her accursed mate Kirrick were not the only robins with whom he was personally acquainted, were they? Traska thought back to a time when his plans were built around a younger pair altogether. Had he not been betrayed by Katya, the one magpie, other than his mother, that he had ever loved, and then distracted by his deadly duel with his own son, Venga, Traska would have torn those little brats wing from wing, and laughed doing it!

  These thoughts only fuelled his desire for brutality, and the magpie flew off in search of some small and defenceless prey. Initially he thought of Olivia. Merion, he knew, was away on an errand for Engar. Moreover, he was taking a devil of a long time about it. Kraken’s cliff-top home was a fair journey, but not far enough for an energetic young robin to have flown there and back less than three times in the time that Merion had so far taken. What could have delayed the young robin? Traska realised that he would be sorry if any harm had come to the little messenger. He treasured his right to be the instigator of any ill to befall each bird belonging to that family. And, for now, that meant the female offspring. But she could wait for just a little while. His desire for violence needed an immediate outlet at present, and he wanted to take his time when it came to dealing with Olivia. He would get his jailers to search her out, and invite her to join him later. There was little need to guard the old owl. He was in no state to be going anywhere.

  ‘Let’s consider the next lines,’ Olivia suggested.

  The pair of robins had decided to land on the blossom-laden bough of an apple tree, the fragrant blooms providing both shade and concealment on a cloudless afternoon.

  ‘“Avia lives within your heart, you’ll find the end is but the start.” It’s like us, sis. It is going round in circles. And, in doing so, it keeps coming back to my greatest fear: that there is no such place as Avia, that it is only an old fool’s dream.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Olivia screamed, cuffing her brother roughly with her wing. ‘Never talk that way about Tomar. We are the fools for not being able to unravel Septimus’ web of clues. Now, let’s start again. “Avia lives within your heart.” Well, what do we hold in our hearts? Love for one another. So it is love that keeps Avia alive. Or it is a place where only love exists. That would fit with Tomar’s description of it as a paradise.’

  ‘There are other feelings that can be held in the heart, besides love,’ Merion interrupted. ‘A heart can feel jealousy and even hate.’

  ‘They do not naturally reside there. No, there can be no negative answer to this particular riddle. Only love will do, in this instance. Not romantic love, though. But love of an ideal, belief in Avia as a final home for every bird.’

  ‘Faith. That’s what needs to live in our hearts. Faith in the very existence of Avia. I think that we may be approaching the answer, to that one line, at least. But what of the next? “You’ll find the end is but the start.” What end? The end of a journey? Well, I for one will be glad when this journey ends, and I certainly want a good rest and some home comforts before I start another. But a journey to where?’

  ‘It could be speaking about the greatest journey that any of us have to undertake,’ Olivia intoned solemnly. ‘The words make sense then. If death is the journey, then that is the “end” that Septimus speaks of. But what starts after death? It is all that there is. Can Avia really only be a place in which to have a second life?’

  ‘No. I cannot believe that Tomar would have envisaged the death of the whole of Birddom. Life itself is too precious to him. He has always done everything in his power to preserve it. And anyway, following your thoughts, if death is the end then the start must surely be birth. Do you expect each one of us to climb back into our eggs?’

  Olivia rubbed her head to relieve some of the pain that these mental contortions were causing, and Merion laughed, unsympathetically.

  ‘It should be me with the headache after that great cuff you gave me!’

  Lostri’s best-laid plans of delaying his necessary visit to Cra Wyd were thrown into utter confusion by the abrupt appearance, at his temporary nest-site, of Calipha’s younger sister, Claudia. She came to him in a state of great distress, gabbling incoherently, so that the tawny owl had to place his wings firmly on her back to calm her down. Looking deeply into the eyes of the young short-eared owl, he hooted softly.

  ‘What is the matter, Claudia? How can I help you?’

  ‘They’ve got her!’ she cried, in anguish. ‘I managed to escape. It’s been so horrible. They’ve done such terrible things to us. You can’t imagine what we’ve been through!’

  ‘Slow down, my dear, and tell me all about it from the beginning. Who has got who?’

  ‘Calipha, of course. They’ve got her, and they will kill her for sure if we don’t get her out of there.’

  ‘Try to compose yourself, Claudia. I know that you are upset, but I need to know who has your sister in their clutches.’

  ‘I am sorry, Lostri. I know that I am not making much sense, but it is just that I am terrified for Calipha’s sake. They will punish her for helping me to escape. But I will try to tell you everything.

  ‘Calipha and I have been prisoners for a number of weeks now. They took us shortly after the vote on the Council that tried to oust Tomar from his position as Great Owl. I think that their original intention was to capture only me, and to use my imprisonment as a means to coerce my sister into changing her vote at the next Council meeting. But, as ill-fortune would have it, Calipha chanced to arrive at my home at the very moment of my abduction. Of course, she fought to save me, but was soon overwhelmed and forced to come along. Since that horrible day, it has only been her great strength and dignity that have enabled me to survive. I lack her courage.’ The short-eared owl’s head drooped in shame.

  Lostri lifted her beak tenderly with his primaries, looking at her compassionately. ‘Claudia, my dear. Who were your abductors?’

  The female owl could not help but notice the exaggerated patience smothering the frustration in Lostri’s tone, and
tried to pull herself together. ‘Forgive me, Lostri. We were taken by a large band of magpies and crows, but the abduction was organised by a vile creature called Traska.’

  Lostri gasped involuntarily at the mention of that heinous name, but Claudia shook her head, silencing him. ‘That is not the worst of it. For Traska has an ally, and this act was undertaken for his benefit. Engar is the traitor who has undoubtedly gained from my sister’s absence, as he would have done from her enforced silence or change of heart. We never saw him, so we cannot be absolutely certain. But Calipha is convinced. Engar and Traska have formed an unholy alliance that threatens the very future of Birddom!’

  The announcement caused a huge public outcry, but it was largely noise without substance. The proposals were put across in such a stark way that even the most ardent nature-lover realised that the bottom line was a choice, between a drastic but short-lived upheaval or an agonisingly slow but inexorable deterioration of the quality of life for everyone in the country. After the initial trials, experiments had been carried out in laboratory conditions to see if the required dosage could be lessened so that only certain species would be killed by the pulses. After all, the war was against the insects. Birds and animals were innocent bystanders, caught in the magnetic cross-fire, so to speak. But it simply could not be done. To achieve the government’s stated aim of total eradication of the insect population, it was inevitable and unavoidable that the pulse would have to be of such a magnitude that no living creature would survive.

  Fortunately, Man would still be able to consume the bodies of any livestock. The dissections had shown that no mutation or spoilage to the quality of meat would result from the power surge. The volume of carcasses would be overwhelming, and plans were already afoot to convert hundreds of stables and farm out-houses into refrigerated warehouses for the safe storage of the dead animals, or at least those considered edible. It was this aspect that triggered an initial emotional reaction from certain more-liberal sections of the media, who touted their ecological headlines for a few days, adorning their front pages and their television screens with cute pictures of robins and rabbits.