Swordbird

by Nancy Yi Fan

  Lorpil scanned the sky, trying to find a suitable place for a rest, a bath, and a meal. Because of his passion for acting, he had left his beloved seaside to join the Willowleaf Theater. Almost any chance he got, he would fly down to a nice, calm stream or pool to rest, swim, and eat some water greens and find some river snails.

  Gliding over with the updraft, he followed the course of the Peridot River. After the second curve he discovered it: a nice, sandy shore shaded by weeping willows. Lorpil greeted the sight with a pleased gannet cry. He flew in smaller circles now and dived down with a small splash. After snacking on different types of water plants and prying a few mussels off their rocks, the gannet came ashore and rested in the sunlight. There was a whisper of wings brushing against leaves.

  “Shadow…keep it down…the woodbirds are still unaware…what…”

  “Stop it, pumpkin brain…can’t you see…blue jays…cardinals…slavebirds…good idea, eh?”

  Lorpil spun around, his eyes darting this way and that, feathers bristling, wings ready for takeoff. There was nothing except a few dark shadows disappearing almost without noise. Lorpil blinked in surprise. What’s wrong? Why were those birds so secretive and talking about things like “slavebirds” and “unaware”?

  Lorpil tried to make sense of everything, but soon he gave up and resumed slurping on the mussels. There were so many things that the gannet didn’t understand; he didn’t bother to ponder them all. Still, he was glad that his feathers blended into the white sand so he hadn’t been seen. He took off as quietly as possible, heading toward the green and white hot-air balloon.

  O joy be on the day of the Bright Moon Festival!

  Holy day of Swordbird’s birth,

  a day when birds sing and dance,

  and when a round,

  bright moon shines onto the earth.

  – FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  8 THE BRIGHT MOON FESTIVAL

  The Bright Moon Festival, which was held under the first full moon of spring, was a day of celebration of the birth of Swordbird. The red and the blue had always celebrated this event on the tallest mount of the Appleby Hills, because the view of the moon from there was the best. No clouds dared to rest above it on the blessed night.

  The Willowleaf Theater troupe arrived just as the sky darkened. They were greeted with great applause and excited cries. The stage was soon set, the props were in place, and the show began.

  “Ladies and gentlebirds, introducing the flying Willowleaf Theater!” Dilby smiled broadly. “First, an acrobatic juggling show. The more hoops, the better, and more trouble if the hoops fall!” Dilby backed out from the stage.

  The curtains opened with a high-pitched squeak.

  “Need to oil those curtains again,” muttered Parrale under her breath. “And think of it, I oiled them just last week!”

  Alexandra the hummingbird darted onstage. Dilby appeared playfully twirling three red, yellow, and blue hoops.

  The hummingbird swung around in rhythmic circles, flying through the hoops with amazing poise and speed.

  “Faster, faster, faster we go!” chanted Dilby.

  Soon the fun made everybird chant, “Faster, faster, faster we go!” The blue jays and the cardinals in the crowd bobbed their heads to the rhythm, while Dilby, muttered, “Oh no…oh no…I’m going to drop them,” and juggled the colorful hoops without missing a beat. Alexandra kept up with the hoops, doing flips and twirls and flying upside down.

  The curtains creakily closed with a final note from the music. Deafening applause followed, along with the yells “Bravo!” “Go, Allie!” and “Magnificent juggling, Dilby!”

  Dilby returned to the stage for the second time. His feathers were damp with sweat, and his breath was a little heavy.

  “Next, a Swordbird play, to honor our guardian of peace!” He bowed and backed away.

  Parrale walked slowly to the stage, matching her steps to the sad music. When the wood duck reached the center, she stopped and slowly turned to the audience.

  Mournfully she sang in a deep voice:

  The sun’s rays have dried the earth;

  Every drop of water is gone.

  Dust and death are everywhere.

  No longer fair is the dawn!

  Kastin and Mayflower came from the right, singing softly in chorus, “Dust and death, destruction and doom, now is a time of darkness…”

  They bowed their heads, and the audience listened to the sorrowful melody in the background.

  Suddenly a high, sweet voice sang out. “Yet there is Swordbird, there is Swordbird. He will help us all.” And Alexandra appeared from the left.

  Backstage, a violinist played a hopeful tune. All four birds brightened and sang in harmony:

  Swordbird! Swordbird!

  Please use your magic sword to make us rain!

  Swordbird, Swordbird, let our days

  be filled with joy again!

  Dilby laid down his violin. “It’s time, Lorpil,” he said. They both strapped belts (which were connected to a gigantic kite) around their waists and across their shoulders.

  “Ready?” Lorpil put on a backpack and picked up a long wooden pole that was fashioned into a large sword.

  Dilby intently listened for the signal notes. “Go!”

  The two took off, bursting from backstage and out into view of the audience. They flew high, flapping their wings hard. As they gained speed, the white kite unfurled into shape above them, becoming a giant white bird. The two birds became the claws of Swordbird, and Lorpil’s pole became his sword.

  The red and the blue gasped and applauded.

  “Swordbird!” Parrale, Mayflower, Kastin, and Alexandra all shouted.

  “Swordbird!” the audience echoed.

  Lorpil and Dilby hovered above the stage.

  “This is my favorite part,” said Lorpil, grinning and winking at Dilby. He shouted to the night sky, “Come, rain!” and waved his sword. Dilby tore open his backpack. A silvery shower of tiny objects fell out of the bag and onto the stage and audience below.

  “Rain at last! Rain at last! Thank Swordbird, there is rain at last!” the actors yelled, picking up the candied fruits and nuts in foil wrappers from the ground and tossing them up.

  The cardinals and the blue jays laughed as they collected the treats and joined in the shouting. “Rain! Rain!” The play ended with all of the birds, both actors and audience, eating the candied fruits and nuts.

  Dilby came up the stage again. “Now is the moment everybird is waiting for: good food between acts and a break for our tiring actors, eh?” Laughter echoed over the Appleby Hills.

  Soon the tables were buzzing with merry talk and filled with food of all kinds, the last of the winter store. There was not quite as much as there had been in other years; Turnatt’s thieving had taken its toll. Still, everybird found a favorite treat somewhere on the long wooden tables.

  “Pass the cream, please.”

  “Mmm…try this raspberry pie, Brontë. It’s great! I’ve missed it; we haven’t had enough berries to make any after the hawk’s thievery. Good thing your tribe did!”

  “Hey, little one, aren’t you going to try some Stone-Run stew?”

  “But I need to finish eating these grilled caterpillars first!”

  “Hey! Who ate all the potato salad?”

  “Don’t hog up the food, Lorpil!”

  “Best beetles I’ve tasted in quite a while…crunchy and delicious!”

  It had been many dawns and sunsets since the laughter of the red and the blue rang sweet and clear in Stone-Run Forest. Now the trees seemed to listen quietly to the birds and rejoice along with them.

  Back at Fortress Glooming, Turnatt had decided that it was time to attack the cardinals and the bluejays. The current slavebirds were like leaves trembling in the late-autumn wind, so weak that work on his magnificent fortress was going slower than a snail’s pace. He needed new slaves, and quickly, he thought as he sat alone in his chamber, clutching the Book of Heresy.<
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  Once Turnatt had been an ordinary red hawk, no more fearsome than most of his kind. He snorted in disgust to remember it. In those days he had dwelled in makeshift burrows and had had no ambitions beyond the next meal he could catch. All of that horror had changed one day when he had taken shelter from a rainstorm in a cave, a crack in the face of a tall cliff. There, tucked away in a niche in the wall, he had found an old leather-bound book, the Book of Heresy.

  From the first page, the first sentence, Turnatt had been bewitched. He thought about it in the daytime, dreamed about it at night, and even slept with his head resting on the musty, ancient pages of the dark tome. There was one passage in particular that he turned back to again and again. It told him that if a bird ate a woodbird egg every day, he would live for years and years-perhaps forever!

  Turnatt had started to raid woodbirds’ nests, but it was hard work; the little birds fought furiously to defend their young, so every egg was bought with scars and bruises. Turnatt did not want to waste his time to battle woodbirds. He found himself a band of crows and ravens and ordered them to do his nest raiding for him.

  Then he’d needed servants to care for his army and somewhere for them to live. That was when he had decided to catch woodbirds as slaves and force them to build him a luxurious fortress.

  The Book of Heresy had been his cherished companion through it all. It had transformed him from an ordinary bird in rags who lived worse than tramps to a sly tyrant in silks who dwelled better than kings! Turnatt stroked the leather cover with a gentle claw. He had sent Slime-beak out to bring back cardinals and blue jays. They’d be strong, sturdy workers. Soon his fortress would be complete. And everything that the Book of Heresy had promised him would come true!

  Don’t forget unexpected

  dangers in times of peace.

  – FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  9 DANGER

  Slime-beak flew toward the camps of the cardinals and the blue jays, feeling quite puffed up and mighty. He, captain of Fortress Glooming, was leading a major attack. He followed the directions Shadow had given him and confidently led his band of fifty or so crows and ravens. According to Shadow, he should head for the Appleby Hills, the high spot at the center between the camps of the red and the blue. Slime-beak was enjoying himself greatly when he caught a glimpse of the hills in the distance and slowed his flight. On one of the hills were a tent, a stage, and a blur of birds fluttering about.

  “Ho, soldier, those are cardinals and blue jays over there?” Slime-beak jabbed a raven with a claw.

  “Aye, Captain, sir! Looks like they’re having a party of some sort, sir!”

  “Hmm…But how and why? Shadow assured me they were hopping mad with one another.” An idea popped into the captain’s head. “The plan has to change. Let’s really surprise them. Spread out over by the woodlands, east and north. Let’s not fail Lord Turnatt!” The shadowlike birds obeyed.

  During the feast Parrale and some other birds had gone to fetch the glossy black piano from the hot-air balloon’s basket. Though it was a miniature piano that was made especially for birds, it was still quite heavy. Many helped to move it. Tugging and pushing and pulling, they dragged it out. Finally, after great effort, the piano was in its proper place.

  Parrale, sweating and huffing, said with a smile, “Yes, this is the moment everybird has been expecting: song and dance!” The cardinals and the blue jays in the crowd swallowed their last beakfuls. They cheered with cries of approval. “You choose the song, the dance, the singer, and the dancers,” Parrale announced.

  With a nod Kastin and Mayflower flew with a single flap of their wings to their positions on the piano, Kastin on the high keys, Mayflower on the low. They waited.

  In the crowd Brontë nudged Cody. “Come on, Cody! Go up and sing! You have the best voice for miles around!” This attracted the attention of the birds nearby, who supported Brontë.

  “Listen to your friend!”

  “Don’t be shy!”

  “Let’s not delay the program!”

  Cody grumbled good-naturedly. “As long as I can get rid of all those chatterers. If I go off tune, it won’t be my fault.”

  As Cody made his way up to the stage, Flame-back came out of the audience and patted the blue jay’s shoulder.

  “I’ve missed your cheery little tunes, Cody. Sing for the Bluewingles. And for us.” Then the cardinal leader slipped back into the crowd, vanishing behind other birds.

  “We’ve got a singer!” called Lorpil. Then he turned his attention to Cody. “Just fly up to the lid of the piano, eh?”

  Cody hopped to the piano lid and surveyed the crowd below. Many were watching, and most were silent.

  “Shhhhhh!”

  Kastin perched on a piano key. “Choose a song, Cody.”

  “How about ‘Stone-Run and All’?”

  “Good choice.”

  Three cardinals flew up along with Aska and two other blue jays.

  “Can we dance?” Aska questioned. “It’s our favorite song.”

  Mayflower nodded.

  The six dancers took their positions: three red birds on one side, three blue on the other.

  “Ready? Sing on the high C, after we play the introduction.”

  Kastin and Mayflower started to fly about, playing notes with their claws. The melody sounded like water, smooth and rippling.

  Mayflower nodded to Cody when the last few notes rang. The blue jay took a huge breath and puffed out his chest, and the high C trembled in the air.

  In the valley, there shines the sun,

  On the bright forest of Stone-Run,

  The rippling Peridot River,

  And the Silver Creek.

  This is the wonderful place that everybird seeks.

  I am one…of Stone-Run,

  Of the Bluewingle tribe, of the Sunrise.

  We are one…of Stone-Run,

  United forever.

  Cody sang the first verse with a voice so touching, rich, and powerful that some birds in the audience cried.

  The dancers each wore a silky scarf with the traditional Stone-Run mark-a pine tree with three birds singing in it. Graceful both in the air and on the ground, they flew in patterns, swirled and dipped their wings rhythmically, or swayed their heads to the music.

  The pianists, Kastin and Mayflower, quickened their pace and played a passage in which there was no singing. If a bird listened carefully, he might hear in the music the spattering of rain or the rippling and gurgling of streams, or he might “see” the sun slowly rising on a Stone-Run morning.

  The audience was so drawn into the dance and the song that they didn’t pay attention to anything else. In the surroundings Slime-beak and the soldiers prepared to attack.

  Surreptitious tactics are

  always the best way out.

  – FROM THE BOOK OF HERESY

  10 SURPRISE ATTACK

  Slime-beak surveyed the landscape where the cardinals and the blue jays were watching some kind of performance. He couldn’t help feeling a little interested in the show. But a sudden vision of Lord Turnatt’s angry face reminded him of his job. He glanced at the red and the blue, muttering calculations.

  He scowled and spat.

  “Blast my feathers! We can’t outnumber them. Well, looks like it will test our skills.” The black birds silently nodded.

  “Everybird, sneak up and attack them by surprise. Now.”

  The sky started to darken, and an owl hooted in the distance.

  The cardinals and the blue jays swayed to the beat of the music. Cody, perching on the highest point of the piano, focused on a shadow to help him keep his balance. It suddenly moved, and then some black feathers appeared. Startled, Cody thought his mind was playing a trick on him. Good thing I’m not in the middle of a verse, Cody thought. How embarrassing that would be!

  Shifting his focus to the dancers, he watched Aska and her friends, waiting for the high C again. After hearing it, Cody broke into song.

  If you came
to our tribal camps, oh, you’ll see,

  Many friendly birds just like me,

  The cardinals and the blue jays are friends forever!

  Forever…

  The Appleby Hills bloom with flowers so sweet.

  Every year at the festival, that’s where we meet,

  As friends, friends, friends…

  With the-

  Cody never got to finish the rest of the verse, for he spotted an army of coal-colored birds advancing. They pointed deadly, sharp arrows at the unsuspecting dancers.

  “Aska! All of you dancers, duck!” he cried with a note of despair in his voice. “Move!” An arrow headed for Aska, and Cody jumped and knocked the surprised dancer to the ground. The arrow, luckily, didn’t do severe damage. It just bruised Cody’s shoulder.

  Noise and confusion broke out in the crowd. Some tried to escape; others turned to fight the intruders. A few decided neither to fight nor to run away but to do tricks; those were the birds of the Willowleaf Theater.

  At the time Dilby was still backstage, preparing for his next act, juggling with lighted torches. The loon measured distances with a careful eye and threw his torches toward thick mobs of crows and ravens. He chuckled when he heard the screams and yells.

  When the arrows started to rain down, Lorpil, of course, was attacking several pies at the food table. Instantly an idea popped into his head.

  “Pie their smelly faces!” he cried to the birds nearby.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Pie them!” Lorpil threw a large raspberry pie with all his might at one of the ravens. The pastry hit the soldier’s face with a juicy squish, spattering gooey jam all over him and several nearby soldiers.

  Alexandra found spoons on one of the tables. She quickly taught nine birds how to sling nuts at the enemies. The soldiers howled and squawked in surprise as the nuts hit them.