Swordbird

by Nancy Yi Fan

  “Glen! Are you all right?” the cardinal leader cried.

  “Oh…the song to call Swordbird…the Old Scripture…they’re burned!” croaked Glenagh in a raspy voice.

  Cody helped the old blue jay up. “Don’t worry, Glen. I can still remember the first verse of the song.”

  “Our camp has a copy of the Old Scripture too, Glenagh,” said Flame-back. “You’ll all have to come back with us. Bring the wounded. You’ll be safe there.”

  Shadow and his scouts and archers glided over the gate of Fortress Glooming and landed breathlessly on the steps of the main building. He dismissed his birds with a flick of a wing and dashed up the stairway to Turnatt’s private chamber.

  “Come in, scout,” grumbled Turnatt.

  Shadow respectfully bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. We’ve burned the blue jays’ camp and killed many blue jays with arrows. But when we returned to fetch some oil to burn the cardinals, it began to rain.”

  “Not bad,” growled the hawk lord. “Attack the cardinals tomorrow night if the rain stops. Beware, the woodbirds may have set up defenses.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Your Majesty. Good night, Your Majesty!” Shadow saluted the hawk and backed out of the room.

  When the woodbirds and the theater members arrived at the cardinals’ camp, the first thing they did was to clear out a nearby cave. This cave was a big one, with a small pond inside. The cardinals had often come here to drink the water because it was the sweetest for miles around. The birds piled some straw bedding around the pool and carried the wounded in. A medicine bird was called to tend them. The theater birds also escorted the hatchlings and the old, weak, sick, and disabled birds into the cave so that they could be sheltered if an attack came.

  Flame-back and Skylion led a group of birds to hang nets around the camp trees. Although it was still raining outside, lightning and thunder became less frequent.

  In the cardinals’ tribe there were several large nets made out of a kind of sturdy weed. They were used for capturing dangerous animals that came too near for the cardinals’ liking. Each was cone-shaped, with a thick rope tied at the end. The rope would be hung on a high branch, with the other end inside a room. As a beast came near, a bird would release the rope, and the nets would crash down.

  The rain stopped, and in the eastern sky the first rays of sunlight shone.

  After setting out sentries around the camp, Flame-back and Skylion went inside to discuss the next step.

  “The enemies attacked my tribe at night, so they’re likely to do the same again,” Skylion reasoned. “Judging from the flames last night, I think that they poured oil on the lower part of the trunks before they set them on fire. So we must stop the birds one way or another before they do it.”

  Flame-back nodded. “Right. We have some nets, but they may not be enough.”

  “We certainly can station some archers,” the blue jay leader said slowly. “But it would be even better if there were some gigantic spiderwebs-”

  “Why, Skylion, you remind me! Have you ever used sticky-grass to catch winged insects to eat?” Flame-back asked.

  “Do you mean the leafy grass with resinlike sap in the stems? Oh, yes, of course I have used it,” Skylion said with interest. “When you break the stem, the sticky, clear glue will flow out. If you smear a bit on one branch and move the stem, it will make a sticky string. Apply the glue on another branch, stretch it and stick it on another, and another… When finished, it will resemble a spiderweb. There always will be some mosquitoes and flies stuck in the web the next morning. Pick them out and you’ll have a wonderful breakfast.”

  “We have lots of sticky-grass growing behind our camp, Skylion. Let’s pick some and make webs all over the tribe-trees’ branches! It would be much safer with these sticky webs,” Flame-back suggested.

  “Good idea! Let’s get some birds to help us do that now!” Skylion couldn’t wait.

  Just as predicted, Shadow and his scouts showed up that night. They perched near the main tree, observing it through the leaves.

  Shadow turned to his scouts. “You two set fire to the main tree. Be careful: There are birds awake there. Pour oil onto the base of the tree too.”

  “Yes, sir!” The two scouts flew off with two large buckets in their claws.

  Shadow waited for quite a while, but there weren’t any flames. He ordered the rest of his band to pour oil and set fire to the camp trees and let the archers follow the scouts to protect them from behind. Again nothing happened. At last he could not wait any longer and flew to the main tree to see what had gone wrong.

  When he got close, he heard the halting cries of crows from sticky webs in the trees, and nets. He cursed and drew out an arrow, taking careful aim at a cardinal sentry. But just before he let the bowstring go, somebird else’s arrow flew out of the darkness, brushing the feathers on his head. His shot went wild as he turned to face a large cardinal who swooped down from a branch. He had a bow in his claw and a quiver on his back, with knives and darts in his belt.

  “I am Flame-back, leader of the Sunrise tribe,” the cardinal said in a threatening voice. “Leave now and I will let you go with your life.”

  “Never, fool! Death to you!” Shadow hissed, and lunged at him, saber flashing. Flame-back nimbly skipped away and with a twang shot another arrow at the scout. Shadow ducked, the shaft whistling by his ear. “Fight with me if you dare!” he growled. But Flame-back turned and flew out of his sight.

  Furious, the scout dived after him. He came to another camp tree but didn’t see the cardinal. He listened intently. Suddenly he snatched out a knife and threw it. The long knife first split an arrow that came from that direction and then landed with a muffled thud somewhere out of Shadow’s sight. There was a soft moan. Shadow, his eyes shining with malice, eagerly rushed toward the sound. His black cape billowed behind him like a ghost.

  The wounded Flame-back didn’t give up. He yanked the knife out of his side and with a grunt used it to block a deathblow aimed at him from Shadow’s saber. He scrambled up, and the two birds clashed in a blur of blades. Crows are naturally larger than cardinals, so Flame-back’s chance of winning the battle was slim. But his angry face and the unusual amount of weaponry on him made Shadow a little uncertain. And Flame-back was extremely quick-clawed and agile, so before long the scout was breathing hard.

  Neither seemed to gain an advantage as they parried and thrust around the camp trees. The air filled with the clangs of metal.

  Shadow laughed and managed to quickly wrench Flame-back’s knife out of his claws, but just as fast Flame-back pulled out a scimitar and lunged at Shadow. The sudden movement caught Shadow off guard. The scout immediately lost his smile as a good number of feathers were chopped off, leaving a patch of skin bare.

  Shadow was infuriated. “You’ll pay for that, scalawag!” He charged at the cardinal again. The scout’s saber sliced a piece of flesh from Flame-back’s claw, and the cardinal dropped his scimitar in pain. Seeing his chance, Shadow aimed blow after blow at Flame-back, and the cardinal could only duck and retreat.

  “Hold on! I’m coming, Flame-back!” Skylion rushed to join the battle. He tossed a sword to the cardinal leader, and together they battled with the scout. Two were too many for Shadow; he turned and fled. Flame-back and Skylion tailed behind.

  “Here, raven!” Flame-back roared angrily, and shot dart after dart at him. One struck Shadow’s behind, and the scout yelped, almost falling to the ground. But the dart hadn’t gone deep, and Shadow flew even faster.

  Flame-back gathered all the strength he had to rush after the scout. He seized the raven’s cape and pulled with all his might. Skylion joined him, and together they tried to yank Shadow back to the camp. They almost succeeded, but then the crafty scout cut his cape off with his saber.

  After he had freed himself, Shadow spun around and aimed his saber at Flame-back. The cardinal leader ducked, but he was a little slow. The blade bit deep into his shoulder. Thrown off-balance, the cardi
nal fell to the ground.

  Roaring, Skylion gave the scout a solid wing clout, battering his head.

  Flame-back regained his balance and yelled, “Archers, fire!”

  From the treetops nearby, heads of cardinals and blue jays popped out in neat rows, bowstrings drawn back. Shadow dropped his saber and tried to flee. Too late.

  Bows went singing. Arrows whistled from all directions, piercing the scout’s skin. With a horrendous shriek Shadow rose into the air. He disappeared into the night, followed by another volley of arrows and angry shouts.

  Skylion flew to Flame-beak. “I’m all right,” the cardinal leader said. “My side is cut, and so is my shoulder. But they’ll heal.”

  “I gave that raven a wing clout he won’t soon forget,” Skylion added. “Our archers did a wonderful job. He won’t be around for a while.”

  Skylion and Flame-back were immediately surrounded by the Sunrise and Bluewingle warriors. When the red and the blue shifted their gaze to the crows and ravens trapped in the nets and webs, anger and hate boiled in their chests.

  “Throw stones at them!” a blue jay roared. Many voices agreed.

  “Don’t, my friends,” Skylion said gently. “They are now helpless and can’t harm us. We will take them prisoner and release them one day, far from Stone-Run. But we cannot be murderers. They have a right to live, as do all creatures that fly, swim, or run on this beautiful earth. Swordbird would not wish us to wrench their lives away.”

  The place is full of sorrow;

  There is no joy, no song.

  There is a valley without a flower,

  Feeling the wind go by.

  There’s a riverbed without water,

  Forever and ever dry.

  Everything seems so dreary; it feels just too airy,

  But on the hill, there’s a small wildflower that never cries.

  Because hope is what it lives on.

  – FROM A SONG IN THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  18 LIVING ON HOPE

  In the cave Aska bathed Miltin’s wounds with springwater, spread a mountain herb poultice on them, and bandaged them gently. Miltin smiled his thanks, and then his eyes drifted shut.

  Realizing that Miltin urgently needed something to eat, Aska went outside to seek food. Crawling among the boggy puddles, the blue jay cropped the soft tips of new moss and put them in her bag. But then Asa spied a small golden blossom amidst the dull green, its petals fluttering in the light breeze. The blue jay stood there motionless, watching the flower bloom in the misty coldness. She knew every plant of the woodlands by heart, but she had never seen such a flower before.

  “Oh, how could something so beautiful live here? Is it a magic plant sent by Swordbird?” Aska whispered. “Thank you, Swordbird! Miltin can be saved!” Aska dug out every bit of the flower with care and rushed back to the cave.

  Aska put the golden flower and the moss into a pot of springwater over the fire and stirred them with a spoon. The pot boiled, giving off a delightful smell.

  The roots, leaves, and petals bobbed in the soup as if they were saying temptingly, “Eat, eat…”

  Oh, how Aska wanted to taste it! “No! Miltin needs every drop of it to survive!” she told herself firmly.

  She poured the soup into a bowl and gently woke the robin. Miltin attempted to hold the spoon, but he was too weak to do so. She fed him sip by sip. But after a spell Miltin refused to eat any more. “You need it to keep up your strength too!” he said.

  “But you’re injured! You need it more than I do.”

  “But who will gather food if you fall sick from starvation?” Miltin returned.

  Aska laughed and agreed to sip a few spoonfuls yet left most of the soup for Miltin. Aska started to feed the robin again, and he meekly opened his beak to the soup spoon like a hatchling.

  “It tastes…like spring…” Miltin whispered. He swallowed another beakful. “Like…like…”

  “It’s the taste of a golden flower, the taste of hope,” the blue jay finished.

  Miltin woke up early the next morning. To his surprise, the pain in his shoulder from the arrow wound had lessened, and the cuts and slashes from the Sklarkills’ spears no longer burned and ached. He tried a practice flight and found that his wings worked nearly as well as before.

  Miltin rushed back to the cave to tell Aska the good news. “Don’t you think it’s strange that I can fly again?” Miltin grinned. “Let’s go out of the ravine and fly down the mountains now!”

  I was right! Aska thought with wonder. That golden flower must be a magical herb sent by Swordbird! Thank you again, Swordbird!

  Still, she was worried. Miltin seemed better and stronger, but his wounds were not completely healed. Aska forced him to wait until she finished checking and changing his bandages. The wound in his shoulder was the worst, deep and only half healed, and a long day of flying yesterday had already strained it.

  The two set off.

  The mist, as they went down the mountains, faded into a clear blue sky, so welcoming that it made Aska’s heart sing and Miltin’s heart soar.

  “The Waterthorn tribe! Mother, Father, here I come!” Miltin yelled to the sunny forest below.

  Those who died shall not have died in vain,

  for they are brave souls fighting for rightness,

  and he who guards peace and brings justice to the

  world shall give them a rest they deserve.

  – FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  19 MILTIN’S WISH

  It was nearly noon when Aska and Miltin flew over a river.

  “Look! That’s the Rockwell River, which leads to my home!” Miltin called excitedly.

  “We must be near then!” Aska cried. “When do you think we should reach there?”

  Miltin did a loop in the air. “In a couple of hours at the latest,” he whooped. But as he flipped upright again, a sudden pain seized him, causing his left wing to buckle. He dropped down.

  “Miltin!” Aska gasped. She dived after him. Fortunately the robin landed safely on the deck of a boat, the Rippledew, which was passing by. Aska came down beside him, steadying him with a wing.

  The skipper of the boat came behind them. “Ahoy there, Miltin!” he called merrily. “Looks like you need a ride to the Waterthorn, eh? I hope you haven’t forgotten me.”

  Miltin turned around. “Why, can it be…” His eyes widened in surprise. “Quaykkel Lekkyauq!”

  “You got that right!” exclaimed the gray duck. He noticed Miltin’s bandages and asked, “Are you wounded, Miltin?”

  “Nothing serious, thanks,” he murmured.

  The duck looked skeptical. “You’ve had some adventures; that’s clear,” he said. “Well…it’s noontime, so why don’t you have lunch with me and tell me what’s been happening to you?”

  “Oh, wonderful!” Miltin perked up. He felt as if he hadn’t eaten a meal for ages.

  They went to the galley and ate plum puddings and spicy salmon stew. Over the meal Miltin told the skipper about Turnatt, his escape, and the need for a Leasorn gem.

  As he spoke, a sudden shiver rippled through Miltin. He winced as the movement triggered pains all over his body. The aid from Swordbird’s magical flower was waning. He coughed and pretended to choke on the stew. It didn’t fool Aska. She shot him a look, but Miltin turned his head away.

  After lunch Aska and Miltin went back outside to the deck. She peered closely at his bandages and gasped as she saw a new patch of red soaking through the white linen around the robin’s shoulder. “Miltin, are your wounds worse?” she demanded.

  “No. I’m-I’m fine.”

  “I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” Aska said quietly.

  Miltin gazed into the distance. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I’m not. If I had let you know the truth, you’d have insisted on stopping to nurse me. But it won’t matter if I let you know now, since we’re so close to my home.”

  He paused and sighed. “My wounds can’t be healed. All those days of b
eing a slavebird have worn my body down.” His head shot up; his eyes filled with anger. “Aska, you can’t possibly imagine how I was tortured at Fortress Glooming, for you’ve never experienced the cruel whip lashings, the painful beatings.”

  “I know, Miltin. I can’t imagine how it must have been,” Aska whispered.

  Miltin lowered his gaze. “You see, Aska…whenever I think of saving Stone-Run and my fellow slavebirds, I forget all my pain.”

  Just at that moment Quaykkel came over. “Ho, Miltin, I’ve dropped by to tell you we’re at the Waterthorn!” he called. Miltin’s face lit up when he turned his head and saw the familiar, beautiful woods not far ashore.

  He and Aska thanked Quaykkel and bade him farewell. They headed toward Miltin’s home.

  Miltin flew over the shore that he knew so well, his heart pounding. Mother! Father! Where are you? he called in his heart. Aska followed, trying to catch up. She thought it strange that Miltin was able to fly so fast all of a sudden. The joy of seeing his home must have given him new strength.

  Miltin turned back to point out a place to Aska. “See that, Aska? It’s my home!” he called eagerly. Aska looked ahead. At the end of the meadow of red blossoms was a verdant grove of maples, flashing all shades of green. Silhouettes of birds were visible among the trees; songs could be heard faintly.

  Just as they landed at the edge of the grove, a few robins hurried out. “Look, it’s Miltin! Miltin!” They clustered around him, chattering with excitement. Two of them dashed back to the trees to tell Miltin’s parents, all the while shouting to every other bird, “Miltin’s back! Miltin’s back!”

  The whole Waterthorn tribe gathered around Miltin at his parents’ nest house. Before he got to the door, his parents were already there, greeting him with tears in their eyes.

  Miltin dipped his head. “I’m back, Mother, Father,” he said.