Swordbird

by Nancy Yi Fan

“Well said, lass. Well said,” declared Skylion. Cody and Brontë agreed.

  “Let’s go tomorrow!” A new voice pierced the air. Miltin had staggered into the room, shocking everyone into silence.

  Aska sent a questioning look to Skylion.

  There was a pause. “Yes, you can, Aska and Miltin. I give you that permission with pleasure,” Skylion said. “But not tomorrow. Miltin needs at least a day or two to recover his strength.”

  Aska felt her heart soar in the sky. I can do it! she thought.

  I’ve never seen any mountains quite like

  the White Cap Mountains. They are called so

  because the tops of them are covered by mists,

  mists so thick that from a distance you cannot see

  the tops. Though coniferous forests cover the visible

  part of the mountains, the tops are barren. What

  dwell in the mountains I cannot say. “Monsters,” was

  the reply of a bird living near them when I asked him.

  – FROM EWINGERALE’S DIARY IN THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  15 SURMOUNTING THE WHITE CAP MOUNTAINS

  The top of the White Cap Mountains was a ghastly place. Trees were scattered across the misty landscape like ghosts. Aska and Miltin had been confident when they started to fly up the slopes in the morning, but now they were not so sure.

  “Oh, you can hardly see anything from here.” Aska squinted at a shadow in the distance. “What is that? A tree, or a boulder maybe? Or something…else?”

  Miltin shrugged. “Who knows? Let’s avoid it.” So the two birds veered around the shadow. They had never before seen such a thick fog; everything around them seemed to be covered by a milk-white veil.

  The two soared in absolute silence. Miltin flew with steady, measured stokes, refusing to favor his aching wing, but his heart was beating furiously. Aska dared not talk; she focused on flying as fast and as deliberately as she could. A stretch of time followed, and though it was only minutes, it seemed to be hours until Miltin spoke.

  “I-I think our minds played a trick on us. I don’t see anything anywhere.” His words were half true. Of course they hadn’t seen anything suspicious, but how could they see anything clearly in the fog?

  Aska smiled nervously. “I hope you’re right, Miltin. I don’t like this place at all. Remember what Skylion told us? The Sklarkills could be sneaking right behind-”

  “Stop! Stop! Let’s not make the situation harder than it already is.”

  They fell silent again. Every so often a frightening shadow would appear in the distance, only to be revealed as a twisted dead tree or an uneven lump of rock deposited there by avalanches long ago.

  No wind blew on the very top of the mountains, and no trees rustled their leaves. In truth there were no leaves to rustle, for the only trees were stiff conifers and dead ones as dry and old as the mountains themselves. No grass grew, only thick carpets of moss covering the rocky ground. The moist air caressed the land with its icy fingers, leaving drops of water behind. There were waterlogged depressions in the earth, some as small as a plate and some as large as a basin, which were like countless still mirrors reflecting the fog. No ripple ever came to their surface; nobird disturbed them.

  Minutes went by, and Aska and Miltin soared over a ravine, a sight that was both horrifying and breathtaking. Though the mist did not allow them to see the entire chasm, the edges and the feeling of emptiness were enough.

  Aska suddenly tensed. Miltin glanced quickly around. “What is it?”

  “There’s…well, a rhythmic sound, coming closer…”

  “What? I didn’t hear a thing. Maybe it’s just your imagination-”

  Aska quickly cut the robin off. “No, stop beating your wings like a madbird. Fly slowly. Now can you hear it?” Aska’s face was strained with fear.

  Miltin’s eyes grew bigger. “Yes, quite clearly. Why, they’re saying…”

  There was chanting in the distance. It got louder and louder and soon surrounded the two travelers, echoing in the mist.

  “Sklarkills! Sklarkills! Kill, kill, kill! Give us your treasures or you’ll die!”

  Miltin beat his wings faster than ever. But there was no way out; the strange birds had encircled them thoroughly, unnoticed because of the fog. The bandits closed in on them.

  “We don’t have any treasures,” Aska shouted.

  “Sklarkills! Sklarkills! Kill, kill, kill! Give us whatever you have!” they yelled darkly. Now Aska could see that the Sklarkills were large jackdaws who had shimmering snakeskin vests with swirling green patterns on them. Some even wore headbands to match.

  Miltin took a silent count. His eyes widened with worry. “Dozens of them at least. We’re hopelessly outnumbered, Aska! Our only way out is up.”

  “But the air is thin up there! We could suffocate!”

  “It’s all we can do.” Miltin’s face was grim. “Here. A saber to protect yourself with. I’ll be okay with a rapier. Don’t worry if we get separated. Just go!”

  The two birds armed themselves and darted up through layers of fog. Sklarkill jackdaws followed, bellowing in anger, trying to block their way. They thrust long spears at the two travelers. One of the spears tore Miltin’s carrying pack. Supplies spilled out, and Miltin was thrown off-balance. Down he spun, into the mob of the eager jackdaws. The Sklarkills stabbed and pierced him with their spears, threatening to close in. Miltin whirled his rapier furiously, blocking as many spears as possible. Yet he couldn’t hold out for long. Aska knocked a Sklarkill jackdaw back with her saber and came thundering down. She slashed with all her might, roaring into her enemies’ faces, using her small size to duck the wild stabs of the spears. Then Miltin regained his balance, and they struggled to fly upward.

  “Hold your breath and fly higher!” Miltin urged, wind whistling in his feathers. “Higher!” They flew up and up. The Sklarkills followed, still chanting their threatening song, “Kill, kill! Sklarkills, kill!” No matter how high they went, the Sklarkills always followed. When Aska gasped for breath, her lungs felt as though they were on fire.

  “Down. Now!” Miltin whispered dryly. The two plunged down, waving their weapons as they dived. Aska was not seriously wounded; she had only a small slash on her back and tiny nicks and sores. Miltin, on the other wing, was bleeding all over. With the speed of their dive, the two managed to evade the mob. Yet it was only a temporary escape. The Sklarkills quickly followed them.

  “Aska,” Miltin gasped, “follow me! Quick!”

  “What? Why are we-”

  “Don’t ask now. You’ll see later. Just follow!” The robin flew with a burst of speed back the way they had come. Aska zoomed closely behind, a little confused. Why were they heading back when they were almost on the other side of the mountains? The Sklarkill band was in hot pursuit.

  Miltin glanced back. “Take this, jackdaws!” he hollered, and snatched a large bag of grain out of his torn pack. He threw it as far as he could.

  Immediately, the jackdaws flew to the bag, fighting for it, yelling to one another in hoarse voices, “Mine! Mine!”

  Miltin kept flying. Suddenly the ravine again opened up beneath the robin and the blue jay. Rapidly Miltin and Aska turned and plunged into it. They disappeared in the mist. “Keep to the cliffs and sides!” Miltin whispered. “Quick! The Sklarkills will catch up soon!”

  Miltin’s eyes darted to and fro. He kept glancing at the jagged cliffs that were the borders of the ravine.

  “Here!” Miltin whispered urgently. He flew headlong into a small cranny in the cliff. It was just big enough for him and Aska. Inside it was dry and dusty. Dark too.

  Now the fog worked to Aska and Miltin’s advantage. The Sklarkills could not see where their victims had gone. The blue jay and the robin huddled together, listening intently, until the last of the threatening chants faded in the distance.

  Miltin breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s over,” he said.

  “Watch out!” Aska cried.

  A skinny yo
ung Sklarkill, more persistent than the rest of his band, had been hunting along the ravine for any place the two fugitives might have hidden. Now he poked his head and one foot into the cranny, snapping at Miltin’s tail. “Give me what you have!” he screeched.

  Miltin spun around, rapier in claw. The jackdaw let out a horrible shriek as the blade crashed down between his eyes. He slumped and started to slip backward out of the hole, the weight of his paralyzed body pulling him down.

  But as he fell, his claw hooked on to Miltin’s tunic. The jackdaw plummeted down through the swirling, misty air, dragging Miltin with him.

  “Aska!” The cry of the robin hung in the air. It was followed by a sickening thud.

  Miltin awoke, pain grasping every part of his body. Even opening his eyes was painful. He slowly craned his neck and looked around. He was in a cave! To his right was the cave entrance; to his left were a small fire and Aska.

  He groaned as the soreness stung again. “What happened, Aska? Where am I? I hardly remember anything except that I fell…”

  Aska nodded. “Yes, you fell, yelling my name. My heart was in my throat! I couldn’t possibly bear to fly down to see you smashed by the force of that fall.”

  Miltin smiled weakly. “Well, you did.”

  “I did. You were not smashed at all! How happy I was to find you alive, in one piece! You landed on that Sklarkill. I moved you to this cave, which is at the bottom of the ravine. Then it rained. Look, it’s only a small drizzle now.”

  “But…I’ll bet that our rations are gone too.”

  Aska sadly nodded.

  Silently, the two listened to the light, whispering rain.

  “It’s time for the colors of evilness,”

  he harshly whispered, eyes glinting with fire.

  “Red, of blood and flame;

  Black, of shadow and night.”

  – FROM A STORY IN THE BOOK OF HERESY

  16 A BALL OF FIRE

  Turnatt’s temper had gone from bad to worse. How could he not be angry when he saw Slime-beak returning battered and beaten? The captain looked as if he had swum in soup and jumped on pies.

  He begged for mercy as some pie filling dripped down his face. “Oh, Milord, there were a couple of tricksters among the woodbirds! Some horrible birds who attacked us with food! Though I was defeated by the woodbirds, I caught the escaping slaves as I came back. Oh, forgive me, milord!” Slime-beak knelt down low at Turnatt’s claws.

  Turnatt eyed his soup-covered captain. If I kill him or demote him, I can’t find another bird in my army capable of taking his place, he thought. Besides, I might need to use him later.

  Still, Turnatt was disgusted with the crow’s appearance and roared to his soldiers to take the whimpering Slime-beak away. He did not want the food-covered captain to make a mess on his fine polished marble floor.

  The stupidity of Bug-eye, nursing his injured claw in the infirmary while the slaves escaped, along with the defeat of Slime-beak at the Appleby Hills, infuriated the hawk lord. His angry thoughts whirled and churned like a hurricane. Turnatt was not the kind of bird who kept his anger to himself. His yellow eye became brighter and brighter, as though it were a ball of fire. Soon it grew so frightening that the soldiers on guard in his chamber looked away, shivering. All of the hawk lord’s feathers rose, making him twice his original size. His deadly talons flexed; his cruel beak sliced through the air.

  Just then an innocent soldier sneezed, and suddenly Turnatt could not bear it any longer. Faster than lightning, his claws stuck out and his beak dug into the bird’s flesh. The raven died instantly, but Turnatt kept ripping the body apart. His movements were so swift that the cringing soldiers could not see him clearly. But they could well hear the growls and bellows and the sound of flesh and bone being torn apart. They stood as far away as they could, frightened to silence.

  Turnatt brutally feasted on the raven’s flesh and drank his blood. He grinned at his soldiers as if they were friends.

  “Give each slavebird twenty lashes.” He tapped his covered eye slowly. His other eye narrowed into a slanted slit. “Get me Shadow now, and then you’re dismissed.”

  The soldiers went away. Turnatt heard the screams of the slavebirds being beaten outside when the raven scout slipped in. “Yes, Your Majesty?” Shadow played with the edge of his black cloak. His amber eyes glowed as he peered at the hawk.

  “Since I trust you, you’ll be put on the biggest job of your life. If you fail, you’ll die!” Turnatt began the conversation with a threat. “Now, how many good scouts are available?”

  “Ten counting myself, Your Majesty,” Shadow answered, closing one eye.

  “Good. You’ll lead an attack on those cardinals and blue jays. Get your scouts ready, and get a bottle of oil or two. Prepare to set fire to those filthy woodbirds’ camps! Do as much damage as you can. I’ll also give you some archerbirds to command. Do not be foolish, and don’t let me see you covered in beans like that scum Slime-beak when you come back!”

  “You have my word as a scout, Your Majesty. I will not fail you.”

  Turnatt quickly cut the raven short. “Good! Now start!”

  Over the next few days Shadow and his scouts observed the red and the blue, watching for their weaknesses. They gathered enough oil and other necessary supplies. They were the strong right wing of Turnatt’s army, and they seldom failed to accomplish their tasks.

  The day after Aska and Miltin’s departure, Glenagh found what he was looking for, the “Song of Swordbird” in the fifth volume of the Old Scripture. But it was in the old language, which none of the birds could speak anymore. Glenagh painstakingly set about translating it.

  “Sing it, Cody.” Glenagh handed the paper to him. “Do you think we got it right this time?”

  Cody started to sing.

  There’s a place we know that holds peace.

  There’s a time we know that treasures peace.

  There’s a reason we know why we want peace.

  There’s a bird we know who can create peace.

  Swordbird, Swordbird!

  Oh, let us have peace,

  Oh, let us have freedom once more.

  Let the evil be driven away.

  Let the forest be filled with sunshine.

  Make the land a peaceful place once more.

  May peace and freedom be with birds forever.

  Cody paused to catch his breath. “Is that all? I like the tune.”

  Glenagh shook his head as he adjusted his spectacles. “Only the first verse. I haven’t got the second verse yet, but I’ll bet we can find it.”

  “In time for Aska and Miltin’s return, of course,” said Cody.

  “Yes, and I hope no serious trouble will come from Turnatt before that.”

  Shadow was hiding close to Glenagh’s study. He noted the happenings with satisfaction. “You are looking for Swordbird’s help now? Well, I’ll see about that when flames devour your home and singe your song sheets! Will you be happy and sing then?” He vanished with the other scouts.

  Cody rubbed his eyes. Things were strange lately. He had heard whispers that slowly faded into the sounds of the creek. He knew these might be coming from his imagination, but he had just now seen two amber eyes staring out of the darkness. As he looked harder, they vanished. He didn’t think that his senses had played a trick on him. He was sure that somebird was watching silently. Deep down Cody knew something terrible was about to happen.

  That evening, Shadow gave his last instructions to his band of scouts and archers. “Listen, my friends. Together, we are strong, but apart, we shall be defeated. The red and the blue can be powerful together, as Slime-beak discovered. But tonight the blue shall be alone and at our mercy. Burn, scouts! Destroy! As for the archers, stay in the shadows and make no moves till I say so!” He turned to a few of his scouts. “You three, pour oil on the exposed roots of the trees, and then set them aflame! Let the evening come, for it is our friend!” All the silent birds nodded and went to their wo
rk. They were so well camouflaged that nobird saw them as they prepared to kill.

  Everything was calm in the Bluewingle camp until flames erupted. Cries of alarm came from the birds as they fled their nest rooms and trees, but some didn’t get out in time. Yells shook the night as arrows sprang from the surrounding undergrowth. Since it was dark, nobird knew where the archers were. The fire grew more intense, until the camp trees looked as if they were made of burning gold. Branches crackled with tremendous noise, burned off, and crashed down, trapping some fleeing birds underneath. Cries hung in the air as arrows pierced throats and hearts. The night air was thick with screams and smoke.

  Cody dashed out from his flaming home. He flew as fast as he could toward the Sunrise camp, knowing that their friends were their only hope.

  Soon a band of cardinals, joined by the theater group and Cody, rushed to the scene, armed and ready to defend the blue jays against anything. But it was too late. The scouts and archers were gone like a gust of wind.

  Bodies lay piled together. Some were killed, but most were just wounded. The ones who were alive were crying silently next to those who had fallen. Scorched feathers floated in the air. The whole tribe became a sea of flames.

  Play the same old tricks whenever possible.

  – FROM THE BOOK OF HERESY

  17 SECOND RAID

  As the cardinals and the theater birds watched helplessly, flames swallowed up the Bluewingle camp. But then a flash of lightning lit all the faces of the birds, followed by a deafening roll of thunder. Rain started to pour down and extinguished the fire within minutes.

  Flame-back, Cody, and a few strong cardinals went into the remains of the camps to look for survivors. They found Glenagh trapped in a corner of his study, lying on a pile of charred books and documents, with his wings open to cover them. A deep cut over one eye was bleeding freely.