‘Do not worry yourself about that,’ Pagen replied. ‘I stuffed my craw with sand-eels before we began our journey. I have more than enough to keep me satisfied for a good while yet.’
And, as if to demonstrate, the seagull opened his yellow beak wide, and regurgitated a small parcel of fish onto the ground in front of him. He began to peck at it, with deep satisfaction, saying, between mouthfuls, ‘If I run out, I am sure that I can find fine fishing in your beautiful forest, Tomar. And, if not, then we seagulls are nothing if not adaptable. I am sure that you would be quite shocked if you knew what has found its way into my belly in the past!’
The following morning saw the arrival of Meldra and Darreal. Again there was much hugging and exchanges of greeting. Merion had not seen Darreal since the time when, as a young fledgling, he had hidden behind his mother’s wing and had stared, open-beaked in awe, at the magnificent falcon who sat so proud and fierce in his place at the Council of the Owls. Time had done nothing to diminish the red kite’s glory. His curved beak and wickedly sharp talons proclaimed that here was a bird equipped to tackle the world. And yet the warmth and humour in his black and amber eyes told of a depth of character to match his physical splendour.
Once more, the necessity of finding food delayed serious discussion among the gathering, but it was not long before both owls, one robin, a black-backed gull and a kite were putting their heads together over the knotty problem of Avia.
‘From all of the rhyme, we have only managed to solve a solitary couplet, with any certainty, and that was entirely due to Merion here.’
Tomar patted the robin on the back with his wing.
‘“When all is lost and hope is gone, think back to former battles won.” I am confident that Septimus was telling us when we need to be ready for our entry into Avia. He was referring to the Great Battle, when he spoke of “former battles won”. That was a victory that saved Birddom, and its anniversary at the time of the harvest moon is very near. We have less than a single passage of the moon from dark to light in which to solve the remainder of Septimus’ puzzles, and to prepare every bird in the land for the journey into Avia, when the time comes.’
‘Merion seems to be by far the most productive among us,’ interrupted Pagen. ‘He seems to have some knowledge of the tunnel that Septimus spoke of.’
All heads turned to look at the little robin who bashfully demurred, and said that, while he had no definite answer to that part of the rhyme, he was sure that it had something to do with what he had felt in his dream. Tomar had heard of this before, of course, but Merion explained to the remainder of the gathering.
‘It is nothing definite,’ he said. ‘But I feel that the tunnel, referred to in the wolf’s rhyme, was the one that I dreamt about. He says not to “fear the tunnel, black as night”, and I certainly experienced no feeling of fear. It might be different in reality, of course.’
‘Fear of the unknown is a most natural reaction,’ Darreal replied. ‘But the very purpose of Septimus’ rhyme was to forewarn us, and to enable Birddom to prepare. When the time comes, every bird will know that the tunnel is not to be feared, and will undertake the journey with a glad heart, knowing it to be but a passage to a better place.’
‘To some that will be easier than to others,’ Pagen mumbled, shame-faced. ‘I just hope that the journey will be worth it, and that Avia’s seas are filled with the fattest fish that I can swallow!’
*
In the end, the Council of the Owls faced their deaths with honour, in a manner befitting the last of a long and proud lineage. Hopelessly outnumbered, the owls formed themselves into a defensive ring, and raised their beaks in defiance as the black hordes closed in. Hundreds of rooks and crows had taken to the air, forming as they did so an impenetrable dark barrier above and around. There would be no escaping their fate. Those corvids in the front ranks seemed intent on having the pleasure of the kill, while others had to content themselves with watching the slaughter.
Traska’s voice rang out urgently. ‘Remember what I said. I want Engar to witness the death of his friends. He must be the last to die, and anyone who disobeys me, and kills him before I am ready, will face my displeasure!’
It was a relatively easy task to separate Engar from the rest of the owls, in spite of their valiant efforts to protect a leader who had proved so false and had done so little to deserve any show of loyalty. Engar sat abjectly, and only removed his wings from over his eyes when the mob pecked him repeatedly. His shame was now complete. A tiny part of him wished that he had the courage to fight his way back to the side of the other owls, so that he could die with them. But it was too late for that, and his monumental folly in trusting Traska denied him the right of a dignified death in their company.
He could only look on, in open-beaked admiration as the other owls fought for their lives with magnificent bravery. They endured far longer than their Great Owl would have thought possible, and even Traska was impressed enough for him to berate his fellow corvids, urging them on with withering contempt.
‘What are you waiting for, you miserable cowards! Tear them to pieces. There are only six of them! Kill them. Kill them!’
*
Traska couldn’t help but feel that he was acquiring a taste for owl. Even though he had not been particularly hungry, he had used his dominant position to purloin the tastiest morsels from Engar’s carcass, and was enjoying a fine feast. The tongue of the ex-Great Owl had been a delicacy, for Traska had ordered it to be removed while Engar was alive, and had consumed it with the nerve-ends still twitching. The magpie thought that it was most appropriate – the damned thing had never been still.
The tongue devoured, and washed down with a draught of owl’s blood, he turned his attention to the eye-balls, which still held the look of absolute agony, mixed with shame, and the horrific realisation of imminent death. Traska had ordered that they be torn out of the barn owl’s skull, and now he gazed at them almost lovingly for a few moments before swallowing them. As an appetiser for the main course, they were exquisite. The magpie looked down at Engar’s heart, clutched tightly in his talons, slick with gore, and then stared around for any challenge to his prize. But his authority, and his right to this meal, was unquestioned.
Two more days passed, and Tomar had begun to fret, when he heard an unmistakable sound.
‘Twee-oo, twee-oo,’ Storne called out in greeting, and his loud screech was complemented by Olivia’s more melodious warble.
‘Hello, Tomar. We made it, as you can see.’
‘Well done,’ the owl hooted back, and each bird there joined in with their own call of welcome.
When the golden eagle had settled himself on a sturdy bough near to ground level, and Olivia had flown to her brother’s side, nuzzling up to him in pure joy at their reunion, Tomar spoke.
‘Now we are complete. We have an onerous task ahead of us, my friends. But it is one that I believe we can accomplish. Indeed, nothing is beyond us, if we work together for the good of Birddom. I place that responsibility upon our backs and wings because I believe that, under the leadership of Engar and influenced by Traska, the present Council of the Owls is not at all concerned with the best interests of this land of ours. No, it will be up to us, as the new guardians, to put the needs of Birddom to the forefront. But I do not wish us to be called a council. We need no title, for we are a gathering of equals, large and small. We have no need for a leader either, for none outranks another in wisdom and goodness of heart.’
Storne cut in, voicing the unanimous feelings of the whole group. ‘Tomar, you do yourself an injustice. Remember that you were Great Owl, and so leader of us all. And if it were not for a trick you would be our leader still. We know that you have no vanity, but to me, and to everyone here, you remain our best hope of salvation.’
‘That was kindly said,’ Tomar replied, deeply touched. ‘I deem it an honour to count yo
u all as my friends. But such glad-winging will not find any solutions to our problems. Let us hear the rhyme in full, as Septimus told it to our colleagues here. Merion, please repeat the words for us, just as you heard them from the great wolf’s mouth. I think that it is best this way, as I would probably imbue the rhyme with inflections and accents, according to my own interpretation of its meaning. Speak up, my friend, so that everyone can hear you.’
Merion cleared his throat, and began, slowly at first and then with increasing confidence and reverence, to recite the poem.
‘Avia’s neither far nor near,
Not over there, but not quite here,
The path where you would choose to go
Is one that only a wolf might know.
Avia is a state of mind
Which few if any bird can find.
Avia lives within your heart,
You’ll find the end is but the start.
But peril lies at Avia’s doors
If you’re not true to Birddom’s cause.
Choose any but the common good
And ever you’ll be bathed in blood.
When all is lost, and hope is gone,
Think back to former battles won.
Make ready all who chance the gate,
For courage will decide their fate.
Don’t fear the tunnel, black as night,
For darkness comes before the light.’
For several seconds afterwards no one spoke, each bird digesting the rhyme anew.
Finally, Tomar broke the silence. ‘Thank you, Merion,’ he said. ‘Well, my friends. You have all heard the words of Septimus. Within them lie the clues that will enable us to discover the key to Avia. Let us begin.’
Chapter Nineteen
The insects were angry. Theirs was a slow-burning fuse, but the time of detonation was fast approaching. Attacked on two fronts, by Man and birds, they had failed to maintain their discipline, and thereby their strength. That strength lay in the insects’ unity. But that had been fractured by the concentrated fury of Man’s onslaught against them. From day one, the insects had been under siege, and all thought of collective action was scattered to the four winds. And so they faced decimation at the hands of an infinitely numerically-inferior enemy.
Many insects had fled from Birddom, with great clouds of swarming creatures taking their chances with the sea crossing, and heading for Wingland. Billions stayed, of course, and lived their lives in constant fear of an agonising death. But as this became the norm, the feelings uppermost in their mind were not those of fear, but of frustration and increasing anger. The insects felt impotent, and they did not like it one bit.
And so, the collective psyche that was always the source of their power began slowly to reform. Unity gave the insects a strength that had been missing for so long. And it gave a focus to their anger. They had two enemies – birds and Man. Even amidst the terrible onslaught inflicted upon them by Man’s murderous rage, they had registered their betrayal by the birds. The pact that had so fundamentally changed their lives, and their very outlook on how life could be, had been broken in two, and insects were prey once more. But prey could become predator, if it were strong enough. And the insects were incredibly strong.
Somehow, they would rebuild their armies, and devour their enemies. Man and bird. But Man first. The sheer ferocity of his unprovoked aggression demanded revenge. Birds would not be forgotten or forgiven, but they would have to wait their turn. Man would be first. This message spread like brush-fire and, all over Birddom, a low hum of rage began to build and build. Insects that crawled; insects that slithered; insects that flew. Each began a gathering. And as they gathered, they talked of the coming war, and of total victory.
The clock had ticked inexorably onward. Everything was now ready. The evacuation was irreversible, now that the time had come for the lowering of the nets. Normal life ceased to exist across the country. Traffic came to a stand-still, as commuting no longer became necessary. Every hand was turned to the huge task of dismantling the huge structures that had provided protection from the insect enemy.
There was no great method involved. The nets would hopefully never be needed again. Discussions had been held, where some voices in government had been in favour of a structured and disciplined operation. But the consensus was that they would let the people enjoy themselves. Nothing is quite as satisfying as unfettered destruction. Across the country, men and women, boys and girls tore down the nets. Young and old stood side by side, a look of elation on their faces as they strove to outdo each other. The nets came down at an astonishing rate, and were largely left where they fell. Their removal and disposal had already been factored in as part of the clear-up, following the evacuation and the magnetic massacre. The nets might even be useful in collecting up all the bodies of insect, bird and animal dead.
So, working together to a common goal, the human population completed their task in a single day. That night, huge parties were held all over the land, and the evening sky was lit by fires of celebration.
Perhaps it was eating so much of the flesh of his fellow birds that triggered what others would certainly have seen as Traska’s apparent descent from reason. Or maybe they would have surmised that his belief in his own invincibility had triumphed over his usual cold and calculating logic. But Traska brimmed with self-confidence. After all, hadn’t everything gone exactly as he had planned from the beginning? This was merely the next step.
However, in choosing this course of action – whatever lay behind the decision – the evil magpie was seemingly taking a crazy risk. He had flown back from Cra Wyd, and had decided, after sufficient rest, that he needed another ace before he went ahead with his schemes. The killing of the Council had only been the beginning. Ultimately, he wanted absolute power for himself alone. This would take time, and compromises would have to be made in the short term. But he would only succeed by making use of those resources that could, with audacity, be at his disposal.
Traska headed towards one of the urban waste-dumps, that was situated a couple of miles from the town whose rubbish it took in and accommodated. The dump stood outside the perimeter netting, and had become a habitat for scavenging cats and dogs – so much so that sanitary workers carried guns when they drove through the gates to dispose of their noxious loads. The magpie kept a careful eye on the proximity of the netting and supporting wires. He had no intention of falling foul of them and sharing Kopa’s fate. But he needed a high, safe place to alight. He chose a stanchion pole, and flew down to land on the top of it. As he did so, several pairs of eyes watched his approach, and several tongues licked their lips in anticipation of a meal, then snarled and spat in frustration on seeing the magpie well out of the reach of their claws.
‘Greetings. My name is Traska. I am the leader of all of the birds in this land. Is there any among you who can understand what I am saying?’
A large ginger tom-cat hissed in reply, ‘We can understand you well enough. Now what do you want? Come down and talk to us.’
‘I don’t want to feed your bellies, so I’ll stay where I am, if it’s all the same to you. I need to talk to your leader. I have an important proposition to put to him.’
‘Her, actually. Queenie is the chief around here, but I doubt whether she will waste her time over the likes of you.’
‘You might be wise to let her decide that for herself,’ Traska snapped back, angrily. ‘Now bring her to me!’
The ginger cat was shaken by Traska’s imperious commands, but did as he was bid, and soon the magpie watched the slinky approach of the cat called Queenie. She looked sleek and well-fed, and her coat was very clean, considering the environment in which she had made her home. Queenie gazed up at Traska with amber eyes, and spoke with a seductive purr.
‘Welcome to my domain. Chester here tells me that you are a bird of some importance
. We tend not to get too many avian guests dropping in for a chat. Won’t you come a little closer? I’ll get a crick in my neck looking at you way up there.’
‘I am quite comfortable where I am, thank you. And I hope that you will consider it worth a little discomfort when you have heard what I have in mind!’
*
Although their infrastructure was not yet rebuilt, the speed with which the insects reacted to Man’s decision to remove the nets was as astonishing as it was ill-advised. Now, finally able to get at their enemy, their frustrations spilled over before they had the time to prepare a proper and co-ordinated attack. Clouds of insects swarmed and boiled, then fell upon their unprotected victims. Man was taken aback by the suddenness and savagery of the assault. But some thought had been given as to this possibility. Although inadequate to the eventual needs of the population, handouts of protective clothing had been organised. Beyond that, Man improvised, even to the extent of cutting the fallen nets and turning them into cumbersome but effective body-suits.
Man did not strike back, however. The discipline imposed by the tight time-scales allowed no freedom to retaliate. There was still much to be done, to prepare for the total evacuation of the country, now less than two weeks away. The insects might bite and sting, but they wouldn’t undermine Man’s single-mindedness and determination. Anyway, their life-spans, naturally brief, would be cut short, irrevocably and en-masse, in a fortnight. That was consolation enough for the need to endure without response.
However, it was a massive surprise and relief when the insects withdrew. The angry buzz of noise, which had risen to a crescendo in the days following the downing of the nets, had disappeared overnight, as had the insects themselves. The collective will had finally prevailed, and a message went among the multitude – a hum of promise, soft and low, but with a singular menace. ‘We will kill them. We will kill them all,’ it said. ‘But we cannot do it this way. We are many, and they are few. We have them at our mercy. Let us gather, and build our strength. Let us construct a huge mandible to encircle and crush them. If we are patient, nothing can stand in our way. It will take but a few days to unite our battalions, to consolidate our armies. And then we will strike with an irresistible force, and destroy our enemy utterly. We will feast on man-flesh, my brothers!’
Seven for a Secret Page 20