‘No, what news?’ Tomar enquired, and was quite taken aback when she burst out with her tale about Man’s evacuation from Birddom.
‘Well, can you believe it? Have you ever heard of anything so marvellous?’
Tomar chuckled at her excitement. ‘It seems very good news indeed, on the face of it, and I thank you for bringing it to me. But I need to think this through. There may be implications that we do not yet realise.’
Seeing a cloud of uncertainty cross his companion’s beak, Tomar laughed and patted her softly with his wing. ‘Forgive an old fool. It is wonderful, wonderful news, and you must tell it to the world. Go now, and spread the word. What a great day for Birddom! What a future now lies ahead of us!’
And, when the thrush had gone, Tomar added, though only the trees could hear, ‘If you only knew. Our future will be very different from anything that you could possibly envisage in this moment of triumph. Nothing has been changed by this. I am certain that these events, staggering though they seem to me now, are but part of our pre-planned destiny. It is ironic. When we are finally set on our course, with no alternative but to depart from Birddom, Man leaves before us!’
The old owl sat in quiet meditation for a long time. As he had said to the thrush, he needed to think things through. His failure to unravel fully the mysteries of Septimus’ rhyme had left him a little unsure of what he personally could do in these last hours before the answer was revealed to him. The others all had a vital task to perform, but age and infirmity had given him no choice but to remain behind, alone. Surely it shouldn’t be this way? His mind – for so long his strength and the strength of Birddom – was now virtually useless in his current situation. Action was needed. But what action was he even capable of? Age and infirmity had robbed him of so much. But he knew that he must do something to feel worthy of his place in Avia.
Chapter Twenty
The news that the rook brought to Traska cheered him up immensely. He had been feeling rather deflated, and, although he would never admit it to anyone else, not a little foolish. For previously, he had been told of the fate of his magpie lieutenants. Faithful to his vision, they had sought out the roving bands of semi-wild cats and dogs, and had asked for their aid in the battle against Man. The response was unanimous and unequivocal. To a bird, they were eaten. Traska’s folly had cost him eleven of his best cohorts, and, as the word had spread, the corvidae began to seriously question whether this really was the best bird to lead them, and Birddom as a whole.
But now, the more that he thought about it, the more Traska realised that the outcome wasn’t so bad, after all. He hadn’t intended for his councillors to meet such a grisly fate, and the response of the cats and dogs should have been a setback to his plans. However, the Council was really a bit of an impediment to his own desire for ultimate power. So maybe their deaths had just killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.
For the rook’s news had changed everything. The unbelievable message about Man’s evacuation of the country was a godsend to the evil magpie, and the need for the cats and dogs was suddenly irrelevant. He could brag that Man was fleeing before his majesty, not from fear of attack by their erstwhile pets. He could announce to the world that, somehow, humans had got wind of his plan for a magpie-led attack against them, and had crept cravenly away rather than be destroyed by the corvid armies.
Traska roved around the country, preaching this new gospel to the covens and shoring up support. Maybe, in the privacy of their own nests, an occasional crow or jackdaw might question the sanity of their leader. But, in his presence, none dared to let any doubt show. Indeed, the sheer magnetism of the bird’s personality was compelling evidence that what he said must be true. So, they cheered him, and acclaimed him a genius. Traska lapped it up, of course, as his due, and it fed his delusions until he believed himself both infallible and immortal.
‘We need no Council to rule this land of ours!’ he trumpeted to a large gathering of supporters. ‘That has always been Birddom’s mistake. Government by consensus? By committee? It is transparent nonsense. You only need to find the right bird, and then one is enough. A ruler with real power. One you can trust to lead you wisely. One who you can leave to take all of the decisions that will help to make your lives easier. Birddom needs a king, not a Council.’
Traska paused at this point, and looked around the crowd for the plant. Catching the young magpie’s eye, he nodded once.
‘We want you to be our king!’
The call rang out above the heads of the gathering, and was immediately taken up by a rising crescendo of voices.
‘Yes, yes. Lead us, Traska. Be our king!’
The pair of robins, the two mighty raptors, the youthful leader of the seagulls, and the last remaining member of the final Council of the Owls flew out of Tanglewood with a common purpose, but with heavy hearts. Failure sat on their wings and backs. But it was matched by a determination to carry out Tomar’s instructions.
‘Take the message to the populus,’ he had instructed. ‘Prepare every bird for our day of reckoning. The most difficult part of your task will be convincing your audience of the seriousness of your message. It will be hard for them to believe that Birddom is finished. But you must succeed in persuading them to believe you. We have to try for Avia, even if we do not know the way.
‘The seven of us must act as the catalyst for spreading the word across the land. I am sure that you have all realised that we cannot accomplish this alone, in the time available to us. It will be up to each of you to organise every grouping that you talk to. Normal life in Birddom must cease to exist. Nothing matters but the message. Every bird must journey, as you are doing, and take the news to his or her neighbour. We have only a few days to prepare, and, although it is inadequate in the extreme, if you can succeed in the task that I set you, at least all of Birddom will know that there is an opportunity – to be saved, and to attain a higher place.’
And so, the messengers took Tomar’s word to the wider world. But they were immediately met by almost universal disbelief and scorn. It did not help that, even as they had begun their journey, the news of Man’s exodus from Birddom had created such an atmosphere of joy and celebration. The whole of Birddom was in festival mood, and Merion, Olivia, Storne, Darreal, Pagen and Meldra were spoiling the party.
Lesser birds would have given up in the face of such a rebuff. But the messengers stuck to their task, and the sheer force of their will convinced one or two birds to take them seriously. Those birds went back to their nests, impressed, and discussed it with their mates. And like a ripple spreading out from a pebble thrown into a pool, the truth began to take hold.
‘After all,’ they started to ask. ‘Why would Man leave, if Birddom itself were not doomed? He has abandoned the land because he knows that there is no future here. Tomar must be right. He was ever the wisest of birds, and led us in peace and happiness for many years – something that we certainly do not enjoy now. Avia is our only chance, and every bird must know about it.’
It was as if he were an infant once again, and another, bigger bird had snatched a juicy worm from out of his beak. Traska had revelled in his triumph. He had become what he had dreamed of so long ago, when Slyekin had imprisoned him in his dungeons: king of the world! The ultimate ruler of Birddom. Nothing could now stand in his way. All birds would kow-tow to his every edict. More – they would worship him. Adore him, and bow down in obeisance wherever he went. Traska let his mind wander luxuriously over mental pictures of subservience and obsequiousness towards him.
But then his reverie was broken by the word that reached his ear. What was this about Avia? He had never even heard of the place. But, suddenly, every bird was talking about going there. They couldn’t do that! They were his subjects, only there to do his bidding. What was the point of being king of the world if there was no one left to rule? Traska’s reactions moved swiftly from bemusement to annoya
nce, then anger and, finally, to an overwhelming rage when he heard who was behind it all.
‘Damn that bloody owl!’ he stormed. ‘I will not let him get the better of me again!’
But, all around him, his support melted away, as even the corvidae realised their desperate plight if they continued to follow the path of evil. They would surely “bathe in blood”, as the now-famous rhyme foretold. But it wasn’t too late, was it? What could they do to attain salvation? Turn their backs upon that bastard Traska, for one thing. It was all his fault that they were now in such a perilous position. There was a little time left for repentance. They would go to their neighbours, and beg for forgiveness. Wouldn’t the Creator recognise a contrite heart, and spare them from the peril to come?
Traska exhausted himself, flying here and there, ranting and railing in a desperate attempt to contradict the growing belief that there was salvation to be found in Avia.
‘We have a paradise right here. I have given you everything that you could possibly need. I have made Man’s nets disappear so that it is safe for you to fly unhindered across the land. I have even driven Man from Birddom. A tyrant, who has oppressed our kind for generations, is now gone, and we have no more enemies. No crow will ever be shot again, thanks to my selfless and unstinting efforts. Everything that I have done has been for you. How can you think of abandoning me? Now, in the hour of our greatest glory?’
The many enclaves of the insect hordes were buzzing with the news. But the withdrawal of Man was met with mixed feelings. Mingled with the joy and sheer relief, after such a prolonged and persistent assault against them, was an under-current of annoyance. Having finally regrouped to gather their strength for a war with the humans, the insects felt thwarted by their enemy’s disappearance. Man had no stomach for a fight. He could dish it out, but he could not take it.
‘But we want revenge,’ was the word in every insect community. ‘We want to kill!’
A large consensus was in favour of following Man and driving him before them, never allowing him to find a place to settle, never giving him a moment of peace. But this was met with opposition from the majority who felt that it was illogical to pursue Man, if it meant abandoning the very land that they had won by dint of his disappearance.
‘We have a victory without the losses that we would have incurred in battle. Moreover, we will suffer no more depletion of our numbers from Man’s attacks upon us. We are free, brothers and sisters, from his webs of oppression. The nets are down, and we can feed on pollen once more. Nectar will again be our drink, and the rain that falls upon us will be clean and free of poisons. Never again will Man pour death upon our heads. Never will he deny our mandibles the right to feed where they choose. Our antennae will no longer quiver in fear. We can walk where we wish, fly where the fancy takes us. We are free, and the land is ours.’
‘But what of the birds?’ The question raised its head, and a bright flame of anger blazed once more through the multitude. ‘The birds! They are our enemy now. An enemy who we thought of as our friend. We trusted them, even helped them in their hour of need. But they betrayed us, and now eat us in our thousands every day. We insects are proud, controllers of our own destiny, not fodder for our avian enemies. We have been thwarted in our revenge against Man. We will have that revenge, however – against the birds! We will kill them instead. We will kill them all!’
The realisation came slowly to Tomar. He had not understood the implications immediately, on hearing the news of Man’s departure. And then, the turmoil generated in his brain by the enormity of it all had precluded serious consideration as to the impact that Man’s evacuation process itself might have. Man was leaving Birddom, that much was obvious. But how was he doing it? He was heading en masse for the coasts of Birddom. All of his number would be concentrated in a thin band encircling the land, while the embarkation took place.
But what would it be like for those who lived in such places? Birds whose natural habitat was that same coastline. Wouldn’t it be terrifying? Devastating for the environment in their home region? And what would those birds do, when faced with such a huge threat? Fly away, of course. They would have no alternative, once the invasion began. But Tomar knew of one who would not be able to fly away, who would inevitably be abandoned by those whose support he needed to stay alive. Kraken would be helpless and vulnerable, and Tomar had sent his son, Pagen, out on a mission, and could not recall him.
At last the Creator had given him something that he could do. He remembered his first meeting with Pagen. At the time he had known, somehow, that Kraken might have some part to play, and now only he could help the seagull play that part. Tomar realised that he alone could and should save his friend. But how could he possibly make such a journey?
‘Easier for me than for Kraken,’ he told himself. ‘I still have both my wings attached, don’t I? Even if they have been under-used of late. At least I can see the way I have to go, and, in this way, I will be able to play my part, rather than sitting here helplessly, waiting for judgement day.’
Having made the decision, Tomar allowed himself no time to change his mind, or to make excuses about his age and infirmity. Flapping his great wings, slowly at first, to get them used to the idea of once more carrying his body where it wanted to go, he began a slow and lumbering run across the ground, and increased the speed of his wing-beats. He gained an inch or two of height, but then collapsed, exhausted, in a heap of tangled feathers.
‘It’s no use. I am too old!’ he cried in his pain, but then rallied his spirits for a second try. And, when the outcome was the same, he summoned every reserve of his strength and sheer bloody-mindedness to launch himself into the air once more.
But gravity prevailed over lift, and he sank back to earth, having accomplished only a few feet of flight.
‘I might not make it there in time to warn him!’ Tomar thought, laughing at his own absurd efforts. The old owl lifted his head to the sky, as if exhorting his Creator for help. And, in a strange way, his prayers were heard. Heard, and answered. For Tomar’s gaze fixed upon the bough of the crooked fir adjacent to his nest-hole. The very bough that had been his launch pad for every morning and evening flight, when he had hunted for food. From where he had flown to the sacred site, to fulfil his role as Birddom’s leader.
‘If only I can climb up there,’ he thought. ‘I could use the height to get my wings going before I crashed to the ground. I can feel that they will carry me. They just need enough air beneath them.’
So saying, Tomar struggled to his feet, and hopped slowly over to the base of the fir tree. Then, summoning every ounce of inner reserve, he reached up with his powerful beak and took a grip of one of the lower branches that swept the floor of the forest with its needles. Digging his massive talons into the trunk, he hauled his body away from the ground. Supporting himself on his toes, he reached higher with his beak and gained another purchase. And so, slowly and painfully, he began to climb.
He could not believe how high the bough was, now that he had set himself the task of reaching it. Inch by inch, Tomar hauled himself up the crooked fir. Eventually he came to the point where he dared not look down. Now there was no going back. If his strength failed him, or his grip could not support his weight, he would tumble and crack his skull like an egg on the hard ground and tree roots below. He would die, for sure. He could feel gravity wrapping its fingers around him, pulling him down. But he persevered and climbed ever higher, and now his bough was within reach. He could make it! Tomar’s strength was leeching away fast. But he was so close! He had to do it. He couldn’t fail now.
‘One more inch,’ he repeated, encouraging himself onward and upward. All he had to do was stretch his neck a bit further – and bite. Bite hard, and hold on for dear life, while his feet scrabbled against the trunk of the crooked fir tree, anxious for purchase. And then he felt the ridge of bark, and clutched at it with his toes. This gave him a brief res
pite, while his chest heaved and he gulped in great breaths past the wood clamped between his jaws.
‘One last effort, you old fool, and you need never do this again!’ Tomar almost laughed, but resisted the urge for fear that his grip would slacken, and all of his efforts would have been for nothing. ‘Either way,’ he told himself. ‘Either way, I need never do this again!’
Traska was filled with an impotent fury. Tomar had done this to him. It seemed that the whole of his life was one continuous showdown with that dratted owl, and that he had been bested time and again. No, Tomar had been lucky, that was all, ever since his first attempted confrontation with the old owl, once he had worked out Tomar’s plan for combating Slyekin’s schemes. Hadn’t he flown to Tanglewood, ready to do battle with the owl, only to find that Tomar had already been captured by Slyekin’s hench-birds? And then, when he, Traska – the most brilliant bird who had ever drawn breath – had devised his cunning plan to lure that damned owl into his clutches by kidnapping Kirrick’s two offspring, it had only been Katya’s astonishing revelation that he had been guilty of raping her, which had distracted the evil magpie from his purpose in finishing Tomar, once and for all. Perhaps the fates were against him? Traska shook his head in self-disgust, at even thinking such things.
‘I have no time for this!’ he admonished himself. ‘I will finally have my revenge on Tomar. He is at my mercy now. I have broken his spirit, and stolen from him that which he deemed most precious. He is humiliated, feeble and alone. He will not get lucky again. This time I will take his life – and nothing will stop me!’
Tomar had never been happier to crawl inside his comfortable and familiar nest-hole. It was cool from lack of use, but that itself was welcome after the old owl’s massive exertions in reaching it.
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