Swordbird

by Nancy Yi Fan

  The bird had flashing eyes and a light-built frame. He seemed like a gigantic dove at first sight, with dark orbs, a red bill, and scarlet feet. Yet he was different from a dove. He had the gentleness and grace of a swan, the nobility and speed of an eagle, though he was three times larger than the two added together. His wingspan resembled a pale spread of clouds, fanning above the forest.

  Swordbird’s dazzling sword looked like a sleek silver dragon, and the Leasorn embedded on the hilt was the dragon’s eye. The “dragon” sparkled with a myriad of rich, colorful ripples that intertwined with the red rays from the gem in Aska’s beak.

  Through the glare of the Leasorn light, Aska could see the guardian of peace, Swordbird. Her heart swelled with joy. Swordbird, she thought, you’re really here. Swordbird smiled at her, and she beamed back.

  Glenagh’s beak fell open in awe. He quickly adjusted his spectacles in order to have an even clearer look at the white bird. That lean, muscular figure, that magnificent sword, and those feathers of shimmering whiteness. Precisely like the descriptions in the Old Scripture, thought Glenagh, amazed.

  Skylion, Flame-back, and the rest of the woodbirds and the theater birds thought of all the Swordbird stories Glenagh had told them before. It was hard to believe that Swordbird-the wonderful, holy Swordbird from those tales-was truly here.

  After playing the interlude, Cody and the singers began the second verse of the song.

  Where there is peace there is love,

  Where there is peace there is friendship,

  Where there is freedom there is happiness,

  Where there is freedom there is joy.

  Peace and freedom! Peace and freedom!

  Oh, we shall ever rejoice,

  Oh, we shall ever be thankful

  When peace and freedom ring true.

  The freedom fighters shall not have died in vain,

  The evil shall be punished.

  Oh, Swordbird, please give us hope

  In the times of darkness.

  May Stone-Run be a wonderful forest again.

  Turnatt, crouching in the cave, almost fainted from fear. This was the second time in his life he had seen Swordbird. He tried to back away, but his legs didn’t work. So he leaned against the mouth of the cave, peering at the sky. Aha! He saw a blue jay on one of the camp trees, with a shining thing in her beak. It must be that thing that made Swordbird appear! If I wrest it away, Swordbird will vanish, Turnatt thought. He was just about to rush out to Aska but hesitated. Swordbird will probably kill me if I go out. I’d better remain hidden here.

  In the darkness Turnatt couldn’t see the other birds in the cave, but they could see him, silhouetted against the light from the entrance. They held their breath. Some of the birds who were able to walk carefully picked up some spears, waiting for an opportune moment to throw them at Turnatt.

  Swordbird spread his wings even wider and headed for the cave. Turnatt shrank back. Just at that moment he heard a whistling noise behind him, the sound of something being thrown. The next thing he knew, a sharp spear struck his rear end, and several others brushed by. Without thinking, he leaped forward, almost flying into Swordbird.

  Swordbird waved his sword and pointed it at Turnatt. Turnatt dipped his head to avoid its shiny beams. He heard Swordbird talking to him in his mind.

  You, hawk! The last time I saw you, you were enslaving birds at the Waterthorn. I blinded your left eye and gave you a chance to give up vice. But you threw it away. You came to Stone-Run, built Fortress Glooming, stole more eggs, and caught more woodbirds. Now your day of doom has come!

  “No! No! Mercy, Swordbird!” Turnatt begged, bowing down before the terrifying white bird. But his single yellow eye darted cunningly about. Swordbird frowned and shook his head but lowered his sword a little. Turnatt seized his chance. He leaped up from the ground and, flapping his wings furiously, rushed at Aska.

  Aska wasn’t afraid. She held the Leasorn higher as she took out her saber and pointed it at Turnatt. Cody leaped forward, ready to defend her.

  But before Turnatt got close, the sword of Swordbird sparkled with brilliance. Turnatt instantly burst into flame. A screech of horror came from the ball of fire as it dropped to the ground.

  “Turnatt’s dead! Turnatt’s dead!” the woodbirds cheered.

  Swordbird came low, hovering above their heads. He smiled and spoke to them in their minds.

  Turnatt is no more. Enjoy freedom and peace again. Peace is wonderful; freedom is sacred. As long as there is peace and freedom, there is tomorrow. Farewell, friends.

  I will always watch over you.

  Swordbird beat his immense wings, flying higher and higher until he was no more than a white spot in the gray sky. The woodbirds and theater birds flew after him for a while, waving and calling good-bye.

  Gradually the sky turned blue, and a rainbow hung in the air, a rainbow that promised peace.

  No joy can be compared to that of being free.

  – FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE

  22 FREEING THE SLAVEBIRDS

  When evening came, a party of birds-robins, blue jays, cardinals, and theater members-appeared in the sky above Fortress Glooming.

  “Free the slavebirds! Free the slavebirds!” they chanted, waving their weapons in rhythm.

  Hearing this, the soldiers who had been left in Fortress Glooming became frightened and uncertain. Turnatt must’ve lost the battle, they reasoned, or else how can the woodbirds come here?

  “If Lord Turnatt is dead, then what’s the purpose of staying here? Waiting for death? I’d rather flee!” one of the soldiers cried.

  Still uncertain of Turnatt’s fate, the remaining crows and ravens flew over the fortress walls and toward the mountains.

  When the woodbirds landed on the fortress’s ground, they heard voices. “Over here! Over here!” the slavebirds yelled from the compound.

  The woodbirds pried open the compound door and rushed inside. There was much hugging and crying. When Reymarsh saw the slavebirds he called to his tribesbirds, “Quick, remove their chains!”

  While their bonds were being cut off, the slavebirds couldn’t help wincing and crying out in pain. The pieces of metal had worn into their flesh, almost embedded in their skin. But they were so glad.

  The slavebirds were free; they were slavebirds no longer. During their celebration they seemed to remember something. “Come with us!” they said, and led the woodbirds to a hut outside. The woodbirds broke into the hut and went inside to inspect. The food before their eyes shocked them.

  “Aren’t these apples, pine seeds, raisins, and roots ours?” Fleet-tail gasped.

  “These walnuts, honey, mushrooms, and raspberries are from my tribe!” said Brontë in anger.

  “These are the eggs stolen from the blue jays!” Cody exclaimed.

  “Look, those are our cardinals’ eggs! We should carry them back. Maybe they’ll still hatch,” said a cardinal.

  All the birds moved the food to the fortress meeting hall, preparing for a feast.

  The crystal chandelier in the hall was beautiful when they lit the candles on it. When the birds of the Willowleaf Theater began to play music, everybird started to dance and sway. Their hearts fluttered with the notes. In the air and on the ground the birds danced gracefully, finally at peace.

  On one side of the dance floor, Skylion, Flame-back, Glenagh, Reymarsh, Dilby, and Tilosses stood together, talking.

  “My tribesbirds and I are leaving tomorrow,” Reymarsh said.

  “So soon?” Flame-back was surprised. “Why, you can rest a day or two in Stone-Run.”

  “No, when I left, I was in a hurry. There are still many things that need to be settled,” Reymarsh replied firmly.

  “We are traveling south too,” Dilby cut in. “Our theater balloon has just been fixed, so we can journey together.”

  Glenagh looked worried. “What about the freed slavebirds? They can’t fly so soon.”

  Dilby smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “S
ome of them can travel in our hot-air balloon.”

  “Besides, the slavebirds who are unable to fly can stay in Stone-Run to rest and heal their wounds,” Flame-back offered. “They can leave whenever they want to, or they can settle here.”

  Skylion nodded in agreement. “Right. Stone-Run’s a big place; there’s room for everybird.”

  “Thank you all for your help and generosity. Our debt for your saving our lives can never be paid,” Tilosses exclaimed.

  The other five smiled at him. “Let’s thank Swordbird,” Glenagh said, gesturing with both wings to the sky.

  Early the next dawn, when the morning glow dyed Stone-Run Forest red, the theater balloon had already started to rise up into the air. In the basket there were also freed slavebirds beside the theater members. Reymarsh and his robins flew on either side of the balloon.

  There were calls of good-bye both from above and below.

  A new day began in Stone-Run.

  23 EXCERPT FROM THE STONE-RUN CHRONICLES

  – EXCERPT FROM PAGE 312, VOLUME XVIII, OF THE STONE-RUN CHRONICLES

  It has been about eight seasons since Swordbird came and removed Turnatt from Stone-Run. Whenever our youngsters see a rainbow, they run up to me and take me outside to see it. They ask me whether it is the same as the Swordbird Rainbow and beg me to tell them the stories about Swordbird. Of course the Swordbird Rainbow is different from any others: You can see it move from one end of the sky to the other, like a shooting star.

  The freed slavebirds are happy again. Most of them have returned home, but some have stayed with us. Fortress Glooming has been made into the Stone-Run Library. Now Stone-Run is indeed a wonderful place.

  The wedding of Cody and Aska is soon to be held. Of course, as one can expect, most of our youngsters during the days of Turnatt have already had children. It shocks me to think how old I am.

  In two days we are going to celebrate the Feast of Peace and Friendship at our camp (south of Fortress Glooming). Everybird is busy preparing for it. The cardinals and we have joined together, and we call ourselves the Stone-Run Forest tribe. The Waterthorn birds and many friends from far away are invited to celebrate the festival. It just warms one’s thoughts to think of all the delicious food that will be prepared.

  This is a short summary of what has happened since Turnatt perished. The temptation of a freshly brewed cup of acorn tea is too great for me to resist; I will put an end to this entry.

  To conclude, I would like to quote Swordbird’s words: “Peace is wonderful; freedom is sacred.”

  Glenagh, Head of the Stone-Run Library

  EPILOGUE. A POOL OF LIQUID GOLD

  Aska and Cody landed halfway up the hill. “There. There it is,” Aska whispered softly, pointing.

  Cody nodded, looking at the top of the hill. “Yes, it’s just like what you told me, Aska. A dot of white in the midst of the blue sky and the blue flowers. I can even see the bluets, forget-me-nots, and gentians around it.”

  Aska tried to smile through her tears. “Yes. It hasn’t changed for seasons; it’s just the way it was then.” She sniffed as memories flooded her head. “I remember that day as if it were yesterday…” She started to cry.

  Cody put a wing around her shoulders. “Now, now, Aska. You know we shouldn’t stop when we’re halfway there. Come on!”

  The two blue jays once again flew. They fluttered a short distance and landed on the hilltop. The late-afternoon wind’s breath stirred the flowers and grass by the grave, making small rustling noises. The two birds let their eyes slowly sweep over the inscription on the headstone.

  MILTIN SILQUORE

  A loving son, an honest friend,

  and a true warrior who came home

  despite troubles and hardships.

  He sacrificed his life to help others

  and will be remembered forever.

  The words were slightly worn from rain and wind, but they were still distinct. The marble headstone glistened in the fading light. Aska stood there motionless. Tears blurred her vision as she remembered the cheerful, smiling robin.

  Aska sniffed. “Miltin,” she whispered, “I am back. I have seen Swordbird; I have seen the tyrant Turnatt die; I have seen the slavebirds happy and free. I hope, through my eyes, you saw them too.” She brushed away a tear and smoothed her feathers as the wind changed direction. “Miltin, I’ve brought you a gift, a gift that can only mean peace.” Aska took a package out of her pack. She carefully unwrapped the cloth. “A feather, Miltin. It is not any ordinary feather. It is Swordbird’s. This I give you, Miltin. Rest in peace.” She inserted the beautiful feather into the ground among the blue flowers.

  Aska stepped back to look. The snow white feather seemed to make the blue of the flowers even brighter. It brought an almost lively look to the tombstone. Miltin would like that, Aska thought.

  Cody stood at the gravestone. He wanted to say many things but could only utter a few. “Brother Miltin, I represent Stone-Run to thank you. We will never forget that you saved our lives. Rest in peace.”

  The two blue jays remained at the grave for a long time before they took off. After flying for a few seconds, Aska looked back. Her sadness changed into joy, for she saw that the feather of Swordbird made the tombstone sparkle. She had never seen such a beautiful scene. The setting sun’s rays shimmered on the flowers and the tombstone, gilding the blue and white colors until they seemed like a pool of liquid gold.

  MAJOR CHARACTERS

  ALEXANDRA-hummingbird, a member of the flying Willowleaf Theater, harpist.

  ASKA-blue jay, a member of the Bluewingle tribe, cousin of Brontë, and, later, the wife of Cody.

  BONE-SQUAWK-crow, cook of Fortress Glooming.

  BRONTË-blue jay, a member of the Bluewingle tribe.

  BUG-EYE-crow, slave driver of Fortress Glooming.

  CODY-blue jay, a member of the Bluewingle tribe, and, later, the husband of Aska.

  CROOKED-SHOULDER-crow, a gate guard of Fortress Glooming.

  DILBY-loon, a member of the flying Willowleaf Theater, plays harmonica and violin.

  FLAME-BACK-cardinal, leader of the Sunrise tribe.

  FLEA-SCREECH-crow, a soldier of Fortress Glooming, slave catcher.

  FLEET-TAIL-cardinal, a member of the Sunrise tribe.

  GLENAGH-blue jay, a member of the Bluewingle tribe, a respected elder, bookkeeper, expert in the ancient language, and, later, head librarian of the Stone-Run Library.

  GLIPPER-flycatcher, a slavebird of Fortress Glooming.

  KASTIN-tufted titmouse, a member of the flying Willowleaf Theater, flutist and pianist.

  LARGE-CAP-crow, a gate guard of Fortress Glooming.

  LORPIL-gannet, a member of the flying Willowleaf Theater, comedian, plays the maracas.

  MAYFLOWER-junco, a member of the flying Willowleaf Theater, clarinetist and pianist.

  MILTIN SILQUORE-robin, a slavebird of Fortress Glooming, a member of the Waterthorn tribe, son of Reymarsh.

  PARRALE-wood duck, a member of the flying Willowleaf Theater, drummer.

  QUAYKKEL LEKKYAUQ-duck, skipper of the Rippledew.

  REYMARSH-robin, leader of the Waterthorn tribe, father of Miltin.

  SHADOW-raven, scout of Fortress Glooming.

  SKYLION-blue jay, leader of the Bluewingle tribe.

  SLIME-BEAK-crow, captain of Fortress Glooming.

  SWORDBIRD (WIND-VOICE)-white bird, guardian of peace, son of the Great Spirit.

  TILOSSES-sparrow, an old slavebird of Fortress Glooming.

  TURNATT-hawk, lord of Fortress Glooming.

  WIND-VOICE-the same as Swordbird.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I feel very fortunate that Mother Nature bestowed me a gift, the inspiration for Swordbird, when I was a child of ten romping in the deep forests on the hills of Hamilton, New York. With that in mind, along with my deep love for birds and my heart’s wish for peace, I sat down in front of the computer and began writing my first novel.

  There are many peopl
e who helped breathe Swordbird into life.

  First, I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to Ms. Phoebe Yeh, editorial director of HarperCollins Children’s Books, for spending time on Swordbird beyond work hours, magically and painstakingly transforming Swordbird into a much better book than its first draft; Ms. Kate Jackson, senior vice president of HarperCollins Children’s Books, for taking time to read Swordbird and giving me encouragement; Ms. Jane Friedman, president of HarperCollins, for bringing me-a twelve-year-old writer-a ray of hope; Ms. Whitney Manger, editor; Ms. Amy Ryan, art supervisor; Mr. Mark Zug, illustrator; and the rest of the wonderful team at HarperCollins for making Swordbird possible.

  I also owe many thanks to Mrs. Melissa Barnello, my fantastic fifth-grade teacher; Ms. Judy Wood, my teacher in the Gifted and Talented program; Mr. Barry Guinn, a very kind principal; Ms. Patricia Brigati and the rest of my caring church friends; Ms. Betty Barr, MBE; and Ms. Victoria Theisen, my terrific sidekick. All of them read my first draft of Swordbird in whole or in part, and their suggestions and support encouraged me to go further.

  Special thanks must be said to Ms. Diane Goodwin, my ESL teacher when I first came to the United States, who lit the spark of literature in my heart; Mr. Timothy Simmons, my third-grade teacher, and Mr. Ben Farstad, my reading-group teacher, for encouraging me to write; Mr. and Mrs. Cleo and Char Kelly, my neighbors and friends, who lent me many classic and award-winning books.

  I must thank my parents for their encouragement all the way. And my pet birds, Captain Crackleclaw, Kibbles, and Plap, who cheered me on with their delightful songs.