CHAPTER 14
RESCUE
Strike True flew back to his flock while Blue was carried south by Swift Wing, tethered by vines that the raptor held with her strong talons. Mate to Swift Wing similarly carried Brownie. The little bird seemed more relaxed today, perhaps it was getting used to mad adventures such as this.
They flew hour after hour, souring high above the forest and lesser birds, while the falcons chattered on and on about catching this updraft or that one, or about what sort of prey-bird tasted best. They seemed to prefer to eat fat doves and great water birds instead of smaller songbirds, Blue was relieved to learn.
Blue remained silent as he worried about his new quest. Eventually the talkative falcons noticed this, and as the day slipped away towards evening the worried jay received much unsought advice from the great raptors. “You should go into this with a better attitude, prey bird,” Swift Wing sang, “not all droopy feathered and sullen. Now, we raptors are always on a quest of sorts, flying flock-free. Perhaps as a jay you are not as accustomed to true Freedom of Flight, as you jays tend to flock and be plodding and controlled.”
“Not to mention slow of wing and thought,” added Mate to Swift Wing. “What fun would a quest be if you had every little thing about it planned out?”
“None at all, of course,” answered Swift Wing. “A quest must thoroughly challenge the bird, body and spirit, like flying through a rain storm. Life worth living is always an adventure.”
Blue wasn’t comforted. If he failed in his quest he wouldn’t simply be losing a meal or nesting place. The fate of all the songbirds of the World might depend on what he would accomplish over the next few days.
“Singing of rainstorms,” said Mate to Swift Wing, “a storm approaches rapidly from the south and west.
Sure enough, in the distance, Blue could indeed see that in the south-western sky, stretching high above the forest, was an advancing wall of black boiling clouds, flickering with great bolts of lightning.
“Too high to fly over, my love,” sang Mate to Swift Wing. “If we fly swiftly south yet east, we might yet both stay ahead of it and fly around it. If not, we will need land until it passes.”
“We fly south and east then,” decided Swift Wing, as the great bird changed course and beat its wings with new urgency. “More work this way, but much more interesting to try to out-fly it than to sit huddled wet in the rain like a helpless prey bird.” Blue bent his own tail feathers, so that his body turned with that of the falcon towards the setting suns, remaining forward facing and streamlined.
As they flew, Blue watched the advancing storm with interest. Many times he had witnessed such storms, but never from a vantage point such as this. Bolt after bolt of lightning danced along the raging cloud-front, each flash followed by a bellowing roll of thunder that shook the air. The interval between flash and sound became shorter and shorter as the storm came closer, he noticed. Song Flame had spent an evening singing to him about this once, early in his apprenticeship, and now the old bird’s explanation, which seemed incomprehensible at the time, seemed perfectly obvious to him. The sound of something moved fast, but slower than the sight of it. It was simple and obvious conclusion, once it was reasoned out, but he never would have thought of doing that before meeting the wise cardinal.
Now, when the old bird’s cleverness and wisdom was needed most, he was gone. If he were here, Song Flame would calmly think his way through this quest somehow, Blue knew. Also the red bird would have very much enjoyed flying high and swift, and observing the spectacular storm they were skirting, without giving a thought to danger or possible failure. Every day of his life the old bird had been on a great quest of sorts, Blue realized, even when he stayed home in his nest. Studying ancient song, singing with raptors, or flying to the distant Far South Forest to investigate reports of Old Ones, the old bird carried out his fearless, selfless pursuit of knowledge, even while many of his fellow songbirds laughed at him. That was true Freedom of Flight, he reasoned, and true courage. Now he, Blue, must find the same sort of courage.
Ahead of them and closer to the storm Blue noticed something strange. Far below them something bright orange and yellow flew, and was also racing to stay ahead of the storm. The colors caught his attention, as there were no birds of that color that he knew of, and few that would fly through the dangerous winds that preceded such a storm, rather than simply landing and taking shelter. As he watched the strange object, he saw that a dozen other birds were converging on it. Blackbirds. “Your eyes are better than mine, Swift Wing, what is happening ahead and below?”
“Crows converge on something very odd indeed,” replied Swift Wing. "It flies but is not shaped like a bird. I do not know what it is.”
“You don’t?”
“I believe that I heard raptors sing of seeing things such as this more than three years ago, love,” volunteered Mate to Swift Wing. “I suspect it is a creature of the Old Ones, one of their flying things, alive yet not alive, but a very small and slow one. I see what must be two Old Ones riding in it.”
“Old Ones here!” blurted Blue, astonished. They hadn’t even reached the cleared areas yet, yet they had already encountered the mysterious humans! He stared at the object but could see only a few tiny bits of orange and yellow, parts of a larger, indistinct shape, all moving together. It was as long as it was wide, with odd, swept-back wings. As he watched, a larger, black shape, one of the crows, approached it. Carried on the wind he could hear the cries of the big blackbirds, though not well enough to make out what they were singing, but he could also hear a very strange sound, something like the swiftly beating wings of a flying crawler or a hummingbird. It must be the song of the flying thing of the humans, Blue realized, fascinated. “We must get closer.”
Just then a sharp noise erupted from below, and the crow closest to the humans dropped away for a few moments, before launching itself at the flying thing with even greater vigor. “Bang, bang, bang,” the strange noise happened again, and the crow dropped away towards the ground, screaming as it died. The other crows screamed also, in anger, and dove towards the flying thing.
“That noise is the killing sticks of the Old Ones, young jay,” sang Swift Wing. “The Old Ones kill raptors on sight, and jays also. Now they kill attacking blackbirds. Let our enemies kill each other, if that is what they would do. We are close enough to see what happens, but should not interfere.”
“Yaw, yaw, yaw,” came the cry of attacking jays from far below, and Blue saw two tiny blue shapes rise from the forest, flying towards the crows, obviously intending to attack them.
From their cries, Blue immediately knew the identity of the attacking jays. Almost without thinking, he released his hold on the tethers held by the great raptor, and dropped swiftly towards the fray.
Blue Dawn Jay of Aves Page 17