Swordbird

by Nancy Yi Fan

  “Go and find that slave, you crow!”

  Slime-beak dashed into the slave compound to find Miltin. The startled birds inside quickly stood at attention as the nervous captain paced from one wooden wall to the other, searching for the face of the robin slavebird who had asked him for the job of getting firewood. No, it can’t be! The bird was nowhere to be found.

  “What are you gaping at? Go back to what you were doing!” Slime-beak shouted as he dashed off. Tripping and yelling, he made toward the fortress’s gate.

  Miltin hopped rapidly toward the gate of the fortress. He ventured over rapid streams of muddy rainwater, slid over slippery, smooth rocks, and vaulted over large, moss-covered sticks as quickly as he could. Miltin squinted blurrily at the fortress gate before him as rain trickled down his neck and shoulders and onto his tail. Twice he slipped and fell, but that only made his pace quicker.

  He had reached the farthest his chains would allow him when Slime-beak almost ran into him.

  The captain glared. “What? Hide-and-seek? I gave you permission to gather wood, not to wander hither and thither. And why do you want to go out and get wood in this weather?”

  “Sir! Captain, sir! We’ve run out of wood, sir, and if I don’t gather any more, we’ll perish with cold and fever and be unable to work, sir!” Miltin answered.

  Slime-beak growled, “Fine, fine, as long as you don’t catch fever yourself and pass it on to the others.” The captain detached Miltin’s chain from the wall and secured it to his claw. He opened the gate with a key and pushed the slavebird out. “Now go! Get the firewood!”

  Miltin obediently started out into the rain, with Slime-beak trailing behind, muttering curses about the bad weather.

  Miltin and Slime-beak gradually reached the fringe of the forest and the shadows under the tall pines. Miltin felt a little troubled. How can anybird be out in the rain? And even if I find them, with that captain right behind me… He glanced back at Slime-beak’s tired, sour face. I have to try.

  With a cautious air the robin used his claws and beak to lash together the driest wood he could find with grass stalks. He pretended to be deeply absorbed in his task. Down came his head, his eyes glued on the wood. Up came his tail, twitching as he decided which piece was the driest. He peeked at his surroundings now and then and started, very slowly, to go farther and farther away from Slime-beak. Miltin carved every detail and landmark into his memory. Farther, farther away…The robin worked his way toward a small creek edged with clumps of tall grass… Farther, farther…

  “Robin slave! Where do you think you’re going?” came the angry rasp.

  Miltin thought fast. “Oh! I think I heard the hunting cry of a falcon! Help!”

  “What? From where?”

  Miltin put on a show with frantic hops and gestures. “There! There! It’s closer! Can’t you hear it?”

  When the confused captain turned around, Miltin dived into the tall grasses and crawled silently out of sight. His intention was to investigate something-something blue, barely visible between the stalks.

  “Hey! Hey, slave! Where are you lurking? Trying to escape?” The cry of Slime-beak was faint in the distance.

  The noise of rustling was surprising. Aska looked around. “W-w-who’s there?” she asked in a trembling voice. She saw a long, sharp stick lying on the damp ground below and quickly grabbed it and pointed it in the direction of the noise. “Who are you, and what are you doing there?” she demanded. The noise stopped.

  “Shhhhhh!” Out from the shadows a robin appeared. Judging from his expression, Aska knew that the bird was almost as surprised as she was. There was no greed or evil in his eyes, and he carried no weapons. He certainly bore no resemblance to the birds that had chased her. She decided this bird was friendly.

  Miltin lowered his voice. “I’m called Miltin, a slavebird from Fortress Glooming. You are native to here, I suppose?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then you’re the bird I’m looking for.”

  “Why?”

  “We slavebirds urgently need the local birds’ help to wipe out a hawk, Turnatt. The tyrant moved here a month ago and also wants your tribes to be slaves for him. He ordered his soldiers to cause trouble by stealing eggs and food from you and the cardinals.”

  “Slavebird wood gatherer! Come out!” Slime-beak’s voice could be heard in the distance.

  “Turnatt has more than a hundred soldiers. Please ask your tribe to help us, for our sake and your own. Remember what I said. And your name?”

  “Aska, of the Bluewingle tribe. Which way’s north?”

  Miltin quickly nodded and pointed to the right direction.

  Aska darted away in a flash, hardly making any noise. Miltin heard the faint sound of “good-bye,” all that was left of the blue jay.

  Miltin no longer feared the captain who wielded whips or the tyrant whose yell seemed like thunder. He’d done what he had planned to do. After speedily gathering chunks of wood and lashing them together with grass stalks, he stepped out of the grass.

  “Well!” Slime-beak demanded. “What were you doing? There was no falcon you needed to hide from, so why did you go disappearing?”

  “Sir! I thought the falcon had landed, and I was afraid, sir.”

  “Oh! Never mind. Go back to the compound right away!” ordered the captain.

  “Yes, sir!”

  Slime-beak followed the slavebird, with a sigh of relief.

  When we are in the dark,

  a shout may make us alert.

  – FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  6 ASKA'S WORDS

  The rain drenched the red and the blue. Despite that, they still fought, wing against wing, claw against claw, sword against sword. They mingled and then separated. They all fought for one thing: to stop the thieving. They fought yelling; they fought crying. They were desperate.

  Aska passed the Line. She saw her tribe’s fighters and the cardinals battling one another. She closed her eyes and breathed in heavily as feelings of anger, despair, sadness, and eagerness exploded from her heart. I must stop them and let them know the truth! she thought, claws clenched tight. Rainwater rushed down, hard and fast. Aska did not mind. She tipped her head back as she let the words thunder from her throat. “Why do you fight? Stop! We have been fooled by a ruthless hawk who entered Stone-Run not long ago. It is the hawk who stole our eggs and food. His fortress is not far away; realize the danger. We shouldn’t be fighting; be friends. Let peace and friendship be among us again. Stop!”

  The call from Aska echoed in the forest. The rain roared in reply, the wind howled, and the trees shook.

  The birds stopped battling. Aska panted as she looked from tribe to tribe. Her eyes begged them to believe her.

  “Do you think she is telling the truth?”

  “What if she is?”

  “How can we know?”

  Birds whispered among themselves. Skylion and Flame-back signaled to their warriors. They backed off.

  The fighters from both tribes still gripped their weapons tightly in case the signal for attack came again. Each eyed the other side warily.

  “Get the wounded back to our camp,” Skylion said all of a sudden. “Then we’ll hear what Aska has to say.”

  Seeing the blue jays retreat from the Line, the cardinals did the same. Able-bodied birds helped their wounded comrades to fly.

  It was raining harder. Water and blood-the Line’s ground was soaked with them. A raven flew above: an amber-eyed raven. He cawed with displeasure as he passed, disappearing into the distance.

  “Oh, Skylion!” Glenagh exclaimed when he heard what had happened at the Line. He shook his head sadly and was silent. Skylion sighed deeply.

  “I know. But at that moment it just seemed so…well, the right thing to do. I shouldn’t have done it. Then things would be different-” The blue jay leader preened his blue wing. He looked up. “Oh…it’s just…” He looked down again.

  “Here. Have a tea cake, Skylion. Regretting things t
hat have already happened doesn’t help. Everybird makes mistakes. Though this is a big one, I think you did what you thought was right and good for your tribe, and that’s what really matters. You cared about your tribe.”

  Skylion accepted the pastry. “Aska told us that it’s a hawk who caused this rift between the cardinals and us. Now the hawk wants to catch us as slaves to build his fortress.”

  “So to unite with the cardinals is at the top of our list now, thank Swordbird,” Glenagh said a bit more cheerfully, and poured himself a cup of tea.

  Skylion nodded. “If they believe us,” he said. “If they’re willing to forgive what we’ve done.”

  Glenagh took a sip out of his teacup before replying. “I’m sure they will, somehow. I do hope I’ll see that Flame-back again, and Fleet-tail. Smart birds, you know.” He paused a moment. “Shall we talk to Aska now, Skylion? I would certainly like to hear her full story.”

  Fleet-tail tested his injured wing. It hurt only a little bit now, but he was still unable to fly. He looked up from the soft grass bedding he was resting on. “Flame-back, it’s not your fault, you know.”

  The cardinal leader was in a somber state of mind. “Oh, Fleet-tail, you just said that for the millionth time to make me feel better. But it is! The whole thing is! I started to steal from the blue jays after I saw them taking our food and flying away.”

  Fleet-tail shook his head. His eyes glittered. “You know, if Aska was telling the truth, then it wasn’t the blue jays after all.”

  Flame-back thought about what his friend had said as he nibbled on a piece of dried fruit. “You might be right. I wish things were like the past. But how do we know Aska was telling the truth?” He paused. “Not to change the subject, but are the other injured all right?”

  Fleet-tail scoffed. “Better off than I am, certainly. They healed quickly. All of them can fly now except me…poor me, you know.”

  Flame-back managed a smile. “But your wounds will heal soon, my friend, and then there might-just might-be peace.”

  Later that night Flame-back perched on his resting branch, wondering. Maybe Aska was speaking the truth; maybe she was telling a lie. How could he be sure? What should he do? Flame-back sighed and tucked his head under his wing. He drifted to sleep in a troubled state of mind.

  In his dream the cardinal leader saw a huge fortress-with slavebirds, soldiers, and all. A large brownish red hawk strutted around, barking orders. Suddenly Flame-back was in the air, overlooking the half-finished building. Much to his surprise, the place was not far from his home. A fortress in the Stone-Run Forest?

  Yes, a voice said. A fortress right in the Stone-Run Forest, not far from your camp and the blue jays’.

  Flame-back’s heart skipped a beat.

  Yes, Aska was telling the truth, the loud, magnificent voice repeated.

  “Wh-who are you?” the cardinal leader asked in a shaking voice. The clouds shimmered with a silver radiance, making the cardinal squint. Inside Flame-back could make out the shape of an awe-inspiring white bird. His wingspan was many times the cardinal leader’s, stretching for yards.

  The glorious bird spoke. Ahhh, Flame-back…my given name is Wind-voice. The bird smiled.

  “Swordbird!” gasped the cardinal leader. He immediately bowed his head.

  No need for that, red one.

  Flame-back looked up. He could now see the sword of the bird glistening and the Leasorn gem reflecting the sliver of light. He shook his crested head slightly. “Swordbird, if Aska’s words are true, what should I do?”

  Peace, said the voice. Now back to your dwelling, Flame-back. I have shown you what was to be shown.

  The next thing Flame-back knew, he was back home.

  That was a strange dream, he thought. But I think it’s true…

  You are right, it is. Remember, Flame-back, peace. The magnificent voice echoed in the cardinal’s head.

  Flame-back smiled faintly. “Thanks, Swordbird,” he whispered as he nestled his head into his feathers again.

  The blue jays perched in a circle, listening to Aska’s tale.

  “And that’s why we fought, I think. It seems only logical,” said Aska with a sigh.

  “This is outrageous,” fumed Cody, one of the blue jay warriors. “A fortress governed by a rotten hawk right here in Stone-Run without our knowing it?”

  Aska nodded. “He turned us against the cardinals, but we had no idea.”

  “Aska said Turnatt has a hundred-odd soldiers,” Skylion said. “We are greatly outnumbered. We couldn’t force them out of here, even if each and every one of us were brave and skillful in battle.” The blue jays remained quiet for a while.

  “We need to prepare in case the hawk Turnatt ever comes to attack and capture us,” said Glenagh. “Looks like we’ll have to team up with the cardinals.”

  “And be friends with them again,” added Brontë, another warrior.

  Cody tensed. “But what if they think we are attacking them? They may not trust us after all that’s happened…” There were murmurs in the crowd as each bird expressed his own opinion.

  “We’ll have to take the risk,” said Aska with a determined tone in her voice. “We need to.” Other voices agreed.

  “It’s worth a try,” Skylion said.

  The next day a party of blue jays, bearing no weapons, flew toward the Line with light hearts. They all hoped that soon the Line wouldn’t exist anymore. Memories of the past filled them. Happy for the first time in weeks, they veered into cardinal territory. Even the sun seemed to be shining brighter. They soared through the air, over the Silver Creek and the Appleby Hills. But they still felt a bit nervous when they saw the Cardinals’ camp. There they perched on various trees but did not surround the camp.

  “Flame-back, my friend!” Skylion called in a voice full of kindness, the voice he had used before the conflict between the two tribes. “It is I, Skylion, and the Bluewingles.”

  Soon Flame-back appeared, calm and solemn. A slight hint of surprise flickered in the cardinal leader’s eyes.

  “Skylion?” he said. “Skylion?” There was a long pause.

  Then all of the Sunrise army appeared. They didn’t have any weapons either. The two tribes just stood, facing each other in silence.

  “Come inside, my friends,” Flame-back whispered. “Come inside.”

  “Theater? What’s a theater?” I felt silly asking such a

  question. The old bird winked at me cheerfully.

  “Oh…a delightful package of music and fun,

  wrapped in all sorts of colors, if you know

  what I mean.” Unfortunately, I did not.

  – FROM EWINGERALE’S DIARY IN THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  7 THE FLYING WILLOWLEAF THEATER

  We are the flying Willowleaf Theater.

  We come every September and May.

  We’re the best on land, water, and air;

  We dance and sing every day.

  We can make you wither with sorrow

  And bring a tear to your eye,

  Or make you laugh and smile.

  It’s really as easy as pie…

  The carefree song rang in the marshes of the Peridot River, along with laughter and the silky notes of the harmonica. The Willowleaf Theater birds perched in the basket of their hot-air balloon, singing and playing with all their might.

  “Well, here we are, on to Stone-Run again,” said Kastin, a titmouse, as the last notes faded away into the marshes and forests below.

  Parrale, the wood duck, nodded slowly as she unpacked a map. “I wonder what the blue jays and the cardinals are up to this year. They always have surprises.”

  “Where shall we perform this year? I like the Appleby Hills. There’s nothing like them!” Mayflower, the junco, exclaimed. She peered over the basket and looked longingly in the direction of Stone-Run. The snakelike Peridot River led to the flying theater’s destination.

  “Don’t forget the food-chestnut and watercress stews, mushroom and onion patties f
ried with cinnamon, beetle salads, raspberry pies, strawberry shortcakes, fresh honey atop soft nut bread…oh…and there are drinks of all kinds, all delicious!” the gannet Lorpil added cheerfully, his button eyes glittering at the thought. Parrale shot him a look. Dilby, the loon, tittered and shook his head.

  “Food is all you think about,” the loon teased. He added more coal to the burner. The hot-air balloon rose higher into the sky. “I personally like how eager they are to hear the stories of Swordbird. They love our plays about when he appeared and helped the desperate, about his courageous battles for peace, and about his sword, with its Leasorn gem. You know, on the earth there are only seven other Leasorn gems.”

  Lorpil tried to stifle a yawn as he steadied himself against the edge of the basket. “Mm-hmm…History, history, history…very interesting.”

  Mayflower took a small picture of Swordbird from her pocket. “Lorpil! How dare you! Swordbird’s stories are my favorite too.”

  “Well, I know my role well enough in our Swordbird play,” Lorpil said. “So I’m flying ahead a bit.” He took off from the edge of the basket, which tipped and swayed dangerously. Parrale looked cross.

  “In the name of Swordbird, Lorpil! For the twentieth time, be careful with the takeoff!”

  “What a wacko, that gannet,” said Kastin. Alexandra, the hummingbird, agreed.

  “He drives me bananas,” complained Dilby.

  Lorpil’s voice was heard in the distance. “Bananas? Did somebird say bananas? Save one for me. I love them, especially sliced ones fried in olive oil, but plain ones are yummy too…”

  Parrale let out a sigh. “Oh well. Let’s practice one more song.”