Then, softly but with great urging, his grandfather spoke to him again: “You must away. She will fly, this is for sure, and when she does, you must be there to meet her. You must meet her in the air. Guide her to the bush where you were born. There you will be safe, for a while.”
Ysil took heed. He closed his eyes for but a moment more, then opened them with fresh resolve.
“Yes, Grandfather, I will,” he said, though there was not another living bird near. “Be with me.” And he took to flight, back toward the trail, back toward the killers. He did so on faith in his grandfather’s word, for he most certainly did not have faith in his own strength.
And as he breached the top of the trees, he heard Cotur Ada’s voice once again, as if he were at the tip of his wing. “As I said, I am always with you . . .”
TORTRIX STRUCK, HIS fangs forced outward, his eyes black with lust. But even as he did so, something forced itself beneath his throat. It was a wing, the wing of a small bird. The snake was knocked off his striking and missed his target.
“Cursssesss!” hissed the snake.
“Fly!” said a desperate voice. “Harlequin, fly!”
HARLEQUIN SENSED A quick movement and upon instinct pushed off to fly, but she was moving too slow. She saw the snake striking at her. When she looked at the attacking monster, she saw its mouth wide, its fangs rushing toward her face. Then, with a flurry, something flew in the very path of its bite. A flash of gray and a rush of wings, and the snake was forced off mark.
Then came a familiar voice, a voice she had known since she was a chick telling her to fly. So finally she flew, her wings pushing the cool dry air beneath them. It was then she realized whose voice had commanded her.
“Monroth!” she cried.
She looked back and saw him take to wing also, flying low at the edge of the trail. Too low. Just before she passed out of sight, she saw a red furry form burst from the bush upon Monroth, taking him back down to the cursed ground.
Suddenly there were two quail flying beside her, one young and one old. But when she looked again, there was only one remaining: Ysil.
“With me!” he cried. “With me to safety!”
She followed him as he flew back across the trail toward the place of their birth.
PUK HELD MONROTH in his mouth, the little bird fighting forcefully to free itself. The more it fought, the tighter Puk clenched his jaws. He looked triumphantly back down the trail, his head held high. The predators did not disguise their happy surprise. Even the wolf was staring with his mouth wide, his tongue dangling, and dark amusement in his eyes. But it was the copperhead who appeared to be enjoying this the most.
Drac stepped from the bush beside Puk. He smiled triumphantly to the snake and wolf.
“Not to worry,” said Drac. “My friend here has retrieved you a fine dinner, Sir Snake.”
Puk broke Monroth’s wings and took him to Tortrix, and after eating him, the snake was satisfied but not too full. The wolf watched all this and took the moment to rest and prepare for the battle that was sure to come. So it was that Drac and Puk came into the favor of the copperhead, and likewise into that of Asmod the Great.
YSIL AND HARLEQUIN flew down into the familiar protection of the bush they had always known as home. But when they grew still, they heard rustling and whispers. They were not alone. There were three other quail in the bush. One of them was Anur, Harlequin’s brother. When she saw him she flew down next to him and began to cry. Ysil came close.
“Monroth saved my life!” she cried. “Now he is surely dead.”
“He loved you dearly,” said Ysil, the tears coming to his eyes also. “Certainly he is redeemed. And there is the chance he escaped.” He said this in hope. But even as he said the words, he knew that certainly Monroth was dead. He, like Harlequin, had seen the treacherous fox take their friend from the same air on which they had flown only moments before.
“I pray so also,” said Harlequin, “but alas, I do not believe it. The fox has taken him, and he has delivered him to the snake in my place.”
Ysil did not answer. He only moved next to Harlequin and nestled. Quiet settled around the bush, but for the breeze rustling the foliage. The wind was subdued now, as if it was saving its strength for the coming hours. Harlequin nuzzled up beside Ysil and cried. She laid her head upon his wing and pressed it beneath his throat and rubbed her neck up to his.
No other quail had ever done this to Ysil, and he felt a flush of warmth within. It was then she came full into his heart. He nuzzled comfortably back. And still she cried. And behind her Ysil saw that Anur had gone to sleep. And so he and Harlequin moved together in the way of the quail, and comforted each other gently. Ysil cried along with Harlequin, and within a few minutes she fell asleep, their heads resting on each other’s wings. It was mid-morning, and as Ysil likewise passed through the veil of consciousness and joined her in a brief exhausted sleep, he saw his grandfather’s face. And his grandfather was crying also.
YSIL AWOKE WITH the sound of crows’ screams beating his ears. Harlequin remained sleeping, her brother near. The battle! It has begun! But no sooner had this thought crossed his mind than he realized his error. This was not the sound of battle. This was the screaming of anger, but no battle, not yet. He was confused.
Ysil whispered softly to Harlequin until she awoke. Her red and worn eyes opened feebly and stared directly into his.
“What is that screaming?” she asked.
“I have the feeling that the wolf has made it to the field,” said Ysil.
“Ysil, let’s just go,” she said. “Let’s leave here and never return. You and I—right now.” The skin around her beak was puffy and her voice was haggard.
“I know,” he answered. “I want to leave here also.” Ysil looked off, seeming to see through the brush to the field beyond.
“But we can’t, can we?” asked Harlequin. “I mean, there have been too many die for us to leave here and give up. We must go to the edge of the field, mustn’t we? We must bear witness.” She breathed in deeply, summoning all the strength and courage she could find. “And we must hope for a way to help free the field from the rule of the wolf.”
Ysil was quiet for a moment, still looking through the thicket and toward the pandemonium beyond. “Yes, we must watch. And though I cannot fathom what it may be, we must hope for a way to help,” he finally said.
She rose and moved with him out of the nest and through the copse, as silently as they could, until they came to the edge of the field. And there within the boscage, still and quiet, they saw the hidden form of another quail. As they neared they realized it was Cormo, who looked up at them with wide, fearful eyes. They settled down next to him.
In the field there were the shapes of many animals, and at their center stood a great wolf. Tightly wrapped around his neck was a bright copper-colored snake, content and bloated. All around the wolf and snake were coyotes, foxes, weasels, minks, and not a few black rats. About their feet moved the slithering forms of snakes, along with quick skinks and other lizards. Within this number, close to Asmod at that, were the treacherous Drac and Puk. Ysil trembled in anger. There were other animals, some that Ysil could not identify. Scattered among them were the rogue crows: Sintus and his flock. Most of these animals were quiet, though some called defiantly upward.
The chaotic din that had woken Ysil did not come from the intruders, who seemed completely surrounded, though confident. They had moved into the field unchallenged by action. Instead, a vocal challenge was issuing from the trees around the field and also from the Murder’s Tree, which were all covered with more crows than Ysil had ever seen in one place. The golden and red leafed trees were nearly black with the forms of the birds. And among them were an abundance of doves.
Out of the Murder’s Tree flew a lone crow, screeching and crying. It was Jackdaw. Jackdaw the messenger, Jackdaw the jester, and on at least this one occasion, Jackdaw the brave.
“Woe to you!” cried Jackdaw. “Woe to y
ou all, intruders!”
He settled into the midst of the predators. “I am come under command of the great and wise General Fragit, who speaks for the heir to the throne! You are all to leave now! Leave this field at once or be killed, every one of you! Except Sintus—you are commanded to stay and continue process in the Reckoning!”
The wolf laughed. “And it would be this army of birds that will stop us? We are here to take this field and today will do so. We are also here to supplant your chosen king. We do not recognize your Reckoning. You would be wise to join our number now, messenger.”
Sintus was at Asmod’s side. “Jackdaw, you may fly back to the Murder’s Tree and tell the General that his challenge has been answered, that he may flee and perhaps bargain should he wish, but that we are taking the field.”
Jackdaw fluttered into the air and back down again, shaking his head and cawing. “I will tell him you are a fool,” he said and turned to take wing. The copperhead came down off Asmod’s neck and, just as Jackdaw flew, the wolf leaped upon him and took him from the air with his teeth. He brought the screaming crow to the ground.
“I am the messenger!” said Jackdaw in great pain, the wolf pushing him down with mighty paws. “You cannot kill me.”
“Well,” snarled Asmod, “let your death be my answer!” And he brought his teeth together around the bird’s body, tearing him in two with one great bite.
It was with this action that the war of the Murder’s Field began. As the wolf bit down, a great cry came up from the trees surrounding and an even greater one from the Murder’s Tree itself. And all at once the crows burst upon wing. They descended in cawing fury, their beaks and talons sharp. Below, every animal and reptile raised its head and opened its mouth in an eager, rapturous scream. And the teeth, claws, and fangs were the greater number.
Chapter Sixteen
The War for the Field
FLAX WATCHED. THIS was always what he did; he never acted unless he first considered every possible happening, and only then if he felt certain of the outcome. When the wolf leaped upon the messenger crow, he knew he had seen enough. Fast he flew, as fast as his wings could carry him. He was a flash of yellow through the high sky, and no one saw him. He flew fast and with an understood purpose. The battle had begun. He flew with the speed of a great wind to the turkeys’ roost. As he descended, he saw that the deer were still holding council with the turkeys. He landed upon Oda’s upper neck, just behind her ear. She did not react as he landed, not even as much as to turn an ear in the tiny bird’s direction.
She was speaking. “But you must know,” she went on, “even if it were an army of weasels, your future would be in danger. They would search out your eggs and eat them all, every last one. But this is not only weasels, this is coyotes and foxes. And a great wolf at their lead. You must join in our battle.”
“What do we gain from such?” asked Butry, the leader of the turkeys, the King Tom. When the deer arrived the night before, the turkeys had made an early roost and would not come down. So the deer had searched the nearby forest and warned any possums and raccoons not already aware of the danger of the wolf and his army. Then they had bedded down beneath the turkey roost and sheltered from the storm, preparing for the possible battle to come. It was not until just lately that the birds had descended and heard the deer’s plea. “We will not fight. We will wait. Should the predators take over, we will leave this area. We hold no heart to this roost.”
“But how can you not see?” asked Illanis. “You may sit here and wait, but if you do, they will come upon you in the night, as you sleep. No matter where you may roost on high, they will come upon your young who do not yet fly and take them from these ground nests you guard. Should you try to defend against their midnight attack, you will all die.”
“We will not fight. We will wait.” Butry was resolved.
Oda sighed. It was then that Flax whispered into her ear the news he had.
“The war has begun,” said the finch.
“Damn you, you stinky, foul turkeys!” she said. She looked at Illanis and a silent communication passed between them. He snorted in agitation. And the deer took to hoof, the small finch flying with them, and they raced through the woods as fast as the finch had moved through the high sky. As they went, there were shadows that joined them and instantly sped to their pace. Flax heard the beat of hooves and the rhythm of many breaths around and knew that with each step more deer joined the charge. And as he flew with the deer, there joined them small scurrying shapes from the trees, all running and jumping from one tree to another. Squirrels. The deer ran on, their great legs driving their purpose.
NASCUS FLEW CLOSE behind the General. When the wolf had attacked Jackdaw, the General screamed, “Into battle!” and flew with a raging fury straight toward the wolf. His battle cry was not needed to move Nascus, or the rest of the crows for that matter. They took to air as one.
Nascus’s wings beat double his heart’s time. He felt the heat of fear and of certain bloodshed. Then he saw his brother take wing and fly straight toward him. Sintus was always the greater of the two, older and stronger, and more headstrong and prideful. Already there were crows upon the coyotes and foxes, which were jumping up with raised fang and tooth to meet the birds’ descent. One crow jabbed its beak into a gray fox’s eye, and the beast howled in agony. It thrashed upon the field. Then the same crow that had taken the fox’s eye was bitten from behind at the nape of the neck by a coyote. The bird struggled to free itself from the animal’s bite, but the coyote only shook its head in fury, the crow’s feathers flying into the wind. Crows were taking the smaller lizards and snakes in their feet and flying them high into the sky and dropping them, so there was a rain of reptiles falling all around. Some would die upon impact; others, only stunned, would either be picked up for a second dropping or return to the fray. Snakes were springing their bodies into the air and biting at the descending crows in wrath.
The General was barely before Nascus now, bearing down on the wolf, who already had two crows lying dead at his feet. There was a third in his jaws now, bleeding and screaming. The crow did not have a chance, but still it thrashed about and pecked at the wolf’s cheek and neck. The wolf seemed not to notice the large crow, almost to his left side. He remembered the wolf’s missing eye, the one taken by Elera, and Nascus had a flash of realization. Fragit was attacking from the wolf’s blind side. The prince felt a brief charge of hope. Could it all really end this quickly? If the General blinded the wolf, the others would fall away, or at least be dispersed with no leader to fear or command. He also knew just as well that if he or the General or both were killed, this murder gathered here to protect the field would likewise scatter—or join with the victor. The wolf shook his head, and the feathers from the crow in its mouth flew, blood showering through the air.
Fragit was upon him now, his beak readied for strike. Then through the air like a straight red stick came the bolting form of a great snake. The General was quick, but the snake was much quicker. Tortrix bit Fragit in the neck and brought him to the ground, the two thrashing in a vicious struggle.
Then Banka was at the wolf’s ears, pecking and aiming for the wolf’s lone eye. Asmod made one quick snap with his horrible jaws and grabbed the General’s first in command. Banka’s head went flying through the air and landed with a smack on the already bloody field.
Now Nascus himself was upon the wolf, his heart resolved to fight to the death. Then without warning something crashed down upon him from above. His brother Sintus! He had been occupied with Fragit’s attack and had lost track of his brother. The other prince had taken to the heights and attacked from above. And as Sintus wrestled Nascus to the ground, the younger prince realized his mistake, perhaps the last one he would ever make.
Sintus pecked at his brother’s eyes and neck, drawing blood. “You fool!” cried the crazed rogue crow. “You will die today! Die knowing I am to be King!”
Nascus kicked with what strength he could summon and look
ed in desperation to the General for aid. But Fragit’s struggle had ceased. He was tightly wound in the snake’s coil, its cruel fangs sunk deep into his neck.
Sintus brought his beak down in a rush, and, pecking into Nascus’s eye, ripped it from the socket in victory. Nascus screamed in agony beneath him.
FROM WITHIN THE trees around and the lines above the doves watched, but they did not fight. They only whispered to one another. And every few moments one whispered into another’s ear and took off in what seemed some random direction, then another would land in its place and listen to the whispers of the others.
Chapter Seventeen
Unrightful Heirs
WHEN YSIL HAD been a tiny chick, he had seen three ducks descend into the field to feed. Ducks seldom stopped here, as there was only a small stream nearby and no sufficient shelter. But they did sometimes visit when there was plentiful food. The crows were not fond of ducks but tolerated them on the seldom occasion they would visit. The two bird kinds were of near the same size, and their diets varied enough that the crows did not feel threatened. When his grandfather had seen them, he had gone to them and talked, making friendly acquaintance.
Likewise, General Fragit had come into the field and, with respect, asked the ducks to leave. Cotur Ada had a brief argument with the General. Ysil had watched from the brush, the same spot, in fact, from which he now watched the war before him. That had been the first time he had ever seen Fragit. Now he witnessed the General’s death. From the first moment he had seen the General, he had disliked him intensely. Now Ysil felt a great sadness to see him dead on the ground, even though just two days prior he had watched Fragit kill his grandfather. With the General’s death, Ysil knew hope was fading.
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