Sil

by Jill Harris

  He was jerked out of his thoughts when Bek landed beside him with a whirring of wings.

  “So how’s my kid brother? What have you done to your face?”

  “I was born this way,” Sil quipped.

  “Have you been playing floop again?”

  “I often play floop,” said Sil.

  “Well don’t tackle more than you can cope with, specially when you’re playing with Bron. She doesn’t know when to stop.”

  “I don’t just automatically do whatever she suggests. And she’s not as wild as everyone seems to think.”

  Bek changed the subject. “How’s the preparation for the competitions?”

  “Okay,” said Sil. “I’m getting there.” He wanted to keep his plan a secret even though Bel, Old Sil and Bron already knew about it.

  “Everything okay here?” asked Bek.

  “Yep,” said Sil, “though there was a bird watching me I think. He didn’t answer my call. Could have been a magpie. I think I saw one on the way here from the pond.”

  “A magpie!” exclaimed Bek. “Are you sure? I’ve never seen one in the valley, and I hope I never do — they’ve got a bad reputation.”

  “Well I saw this big, black and white bird sitting on the fence at the brown house. And later, up here, I caught a flash of white over there. No other bird around here looks like that — too fast for a wood pigeon. Anyway, they would have answered my call.”

  Bek looked uneasy. “You should mention it to Pip.”

  “Tor’s been giving me a bit of bother,” said Sil. “He knocked me off my practice branch this morning and said some mean things later at the flax hedge.”

  “You should have a go right back at him,” said Bek, “otherwise he’ll keep on doing it. It’s pathetic though — he must still be sore about last year. I bet that brother of his is behind it, too. Sep seems to be angry all the time.”

  I like having an older brother, thought Sil. I can tell him things and he doesn’t fuss like Bel.

  Dark shadow fingers were probing the bush and the branch they were sitting on had cooled. They flew further up the tree to catch the late afternoon sunlight. Over the valley, Sil saw two distant tuis flying towards them. They turned into Mem and Bel who landed further down the tree. Sil listened to the comfortable sound of chatter below him and felt at peace with the world.

  II

  The big bird had sent scouts ahead to the coast. They reported back that they had found a large tree deep in the bush to roost in.

  The big bird called them all together. “The place I have chosen has fields and bush and a large pond where humans gather and leave their rubbish. There are many birds and small animals. It will meet our needs. We shall fly there tonight.

  “I expect little resistance from the local population once we have shown them what we are capable of doing.

  “Gulls, tuis and dogs will take longest to subdue. We shall therefore target them from the outset. I do not expect the organised opposition we experienced from humans in the last place. They had animals and plants to protect and they were not afraid to use their tools to frighten us off. Where many humans live close together, however, they become soft and weak. We are tough and strong. We shall have no trouble with them, though we will not provoke them unnecessarily.

  “You know what happens to those of you who do not prove their worth. We have left behind the bones and feathers of five such birds.”

  His eyes moved slowly over the group. Each bird shrank under his gaze.

  “I know which of you will weaken even before you do,” whispered the big bird. “Be on your guard.” He paused.

  “Are you staunch?”

  “Yes!”

  “Louder!” he whispered.

  “YES!” they screamed and the trees around them shivered in a sudden, cold wind.

  But the bird with the twisted claw trembled. He knew he was being watched. Could he possibly prove himself worthy?

  With the moon low over the sea, the birds flew silently around the coast. The small bird who flew always at the back caught up little by little with the bird with the twisted claw. When they reached their new home, the two perched side by side.

  5.

  Family Singer

  SIL hated getting up to practise. His mother made him do it just after the lightening every day. He had to fly up the tree to the branch that hung out into the glade. It was much colder out there and he felt conspicuous, specially as the grown-ups were still around after singing in the lightening. They could hear his mistakes.

  “Why does it have to be me?” he asked. “Why can’t Bek do it — or Bel? She wants to, and I don’t.”

  “We’ve been through all this before,” his father replied sharply. “You’re the one who’s got the voice, who’ll take over as the singer. And you know a girl can’t do it.”

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t sing just as well,” Bel chipped in. “I’d sooner sing than hatch babies.”

  “You’ll change your mind about that,” said Mem. “Anyway, you’ll get plenty of chances to sing and, yes, you do have a good voice, too. It runs in the family.”

  “More’s the pity,” muttered Sil, recalling all the times they’d had this conversation. He fluffed up his feathers and combed himself with his beak. It was too early and too cold. Most of his friends would still be huddled up warmly, beaks under wings. Except Tor — he had to practise, too.

  But when he got there, the branch was already touched by the sun. It shone into cracks in the bark, on a cluster of insects. Sil eased his beak in and snapped them up. He felt a bit more cheerful. The early bird sure catches the insect, he thought. He hopped out along the branch and gazed down into the glade. It looked damp and cold, though the sun was gleaming on cobwebs and beginning to green up the shadows.

  Concentrate on your glottal clicks and the high register, Old Sil had said at the last lesson. Sil braced himself, breathed in and out until his breast feathers were plumped right out, arched the back of his neck, bent his head down and opened his beak. The bubbles of sound fell out. A bit stiff, he thought, and did it more slowly. Never hurry, think about every sound you make, Old Sil said over and over.

  Once he got into it, it wasn’t so bad. The clicks started to come right about the tenth time. His neck was sore by then so he switched to stretching it out and up for the high sounds. It was hard to even hear such high notes in his head, let alone sing them! When Old Sil sang the highest ones — whispers of sound — they were barely audible. He closed his eyes now to concentrate.

  There was a sudden rush of wings and something knocked him off the branch. He fell down into the glade. It took a couple of seconds to open his wings and slow the tumbling, a couple more to level out and look around. Who had attacked him? He could hear his father saying, “Always fly up, make height, don’t dive unless you’re sure you’re faster,” so he beat his wings strongly until he felt himself pulling up. The sky was clear.

  Level with the family’s roost, Sil was tempted to land and tell Bek, but he wanted to find out who had attacked him. A falcon would have dived on him as he fell. He flew up to his practising branch. Sitting in his exact spot was the dark, hunched shape he knew so well. Tor again, a second morning!

  “What are you doing in our tree again?” Sil landed along the branch from Tor. “We don’t come into your tree. Get back to your own!” The shape barely moved — just the smallest lift of a wing feather. A dark brown eye looked at him sideways.

  “Why are you doing this?” demanded Sil.

  Tor turned his head slowly and stared at Sil for a long moment. He drawled, “Have to do something to shut you up. You call that singing? Every day you ruin first light for the rest of us with that caterwauling.”

  Sil felt hot anger surging in his head. He hated Tor. He wanted to rush along the branch and beak-stab him and knock him off. Except that Tor was stronger and would be ready for him. There was another way to get even. He moved away, filled his chest with air and started to sing — the song from
the competitions when he’d beaten Tor. Every chime, run, click, chuckle, guttural and whistle came back to him and floated out into the glade. He sang it through twice and somewhere along the way he forgot about getting even. Towards the end, Tor flew away, gliding back to his own family tree.

  Sil finished his practice, then branch-hopped down to find Bek to tell him about Tor, but Bek was already out looking for breakfast, probably in the kowhai tree near the brown house. They’d all be there — Mem, Pip and Bel as well. Should he leave the half-built nest and join them? Somebody might raid it and fly off with hours of work. He’d wait. He hopped across to the sun and preened himself. His combing beak made him shiver with pleasure. He finished oiling his feathers. Bel said it was to bring out the green but Pip laughed and said it kept the feathers in good shape for flying.

  With whirring wings, Pip swooped down. Despite his speed, he landed right next to Sil. Perfect control, thought Sil enviously. His father never misjudged and overbalanced. Bek said it was just practice and took a couple of years.

  “Have you eaten yet?” Pip asked.

  “I had a few insects when I was practising, but I’m starving now.”

  “How did it go?”

  “I had my eyes closed concentrating on the high notes, and Tor knocked me off the branch. Again.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t provoke him? Maybe not this morning but another time?”

  “No! I jolly well did not!” Sil’s eyes glittered. “He’s always going out of his way to pick on me. And his rotten brothers, too. Well, Sep, anyway. He’s the really mean one. Wol and Mip aren’t so bad.”

  “Mmm,” said Pip. “That’s not on. Tor felt sore about you beating him last year, but he should’ve got over it by now. I wonder what else is bugging him? And it’s certainly not Sep’s fight. Mind you, those four brothers have a hard time getting by on their own. Tor was only just flying when his parents died. It’s not surprising that Sep’s a bit over-protective.”

  “Over-protective! I haven’t heard it called that before — feels like ordinary bullying to me!”

  “I’ll never forget how Mip pulled them together when their parents died,” Pip went on. “There they were, their tree so blown about the nest was on the ground, their mother and Tor’s twin sister dead, and along comes a black-backed gull to tell them their father’s been drowned trying to get back from the island. We were all affected by the storm, as you very well know, but that was a double tragedy. Mip gathered his brothers together in a puriri tree — the one they live in now — and went back and forth, back and forth, day and night, bringing them food. He knocked up a rough platform for Tor and they all watched over him till he was big enough to fend for himself.”

  Pip shook his head. “A very sad business, and they’re so independent it’s difficult to help them. Still, they’re not giving you a fair deal by the sound of things. Maybe I can have a word with Mip — he’s got the most sense.

  “Anyway,” he said briskly, “off you go — the others are down by the brown house. They’re waiting for you so nobody else gets your share.”

  Sil launched himself out of the tree and flew with the sun in his eyes, down the glade and over the treetops towards the sea. The wind riffled his feathers and pushed up under his wings. He caught an air current and glided on it. It felt effortless. Everyone was out and about and the air was full of song.

  He steered well clear of Tor’s tree. Even though Sil was too young to be looking for a girlfriend, he knew that Tor’s brothers would chase or even attack him, especially as he already sang far better than they ever would, and that’s what girls went for. At least Bek said they did, though he’d never put it to the test himself. Bron didn’t count. She was Sil’s friend and they didn’t get into that stuff.

  The sea filled more of the sky as he flew clear of the bush. The sun was making it sparkle-blue and Sil felt good. In a few moments he’d be sitting in a kowhai tree in the sunshine sucking up the nectar. It was his top favourite meal, a spring-time treat. He looked down at the houses and gardens. The kowhai trees stood out — patches of yellow among the other colours. Some were bigger and better than their tree, but they belonged to other families and he couldn’t land in them, let alone take any of the nectar. He flew over Bron’s parents and brothers sitting in their tree. The two families were close. Jeb had saved Sil’s life when the dog had got him after the storm. Their greeting floated after him as he flew on. He wondered where Bron was.

  He could see the big trees down by the pond. The brown house was nearby. Sil slowed down and glided into the magnolia tree, a good place to hide while you checked things out. No cats, no dogs — so far, so good. Their kowhai was just starting to flower but they could each have a small feed. He heard his mother talking to Bel and flew across to join them. Their heads were smeared with pollen and they looked pleased with themselves. Bek had left.

  “This stuff is simply wonderful,” said Mem. “We saved the lower branches for you — they’ll be in the sun in a moment.”

  “You never do that for me,” said Bel. “It’s not fair. You’re always doing special things for him because of his singing.”

  “Who had first pick today?” her mother answered. “Who gets to sleep in every morning? Maybe that’s not fair either.”

  Sil plunged his beak into the yellowy-green flowers and sucked out the nectar with his tongue. The first taste was always the best — fresh and sweet with a hint of sharpness. Later in the season it would be heavy and spicy. He wasn’t supposed to drink it then, but he’d sneaked a visit to the tree last year with Bron. He remembered how they couldn’t stop giggling.

  A movement caught his eye. The door of the brown house opened and the woman came out carrying the puppy. “Look,” Sil called up softly to the others.

  The woman put the puppy on the grass. “This is where you do it,” she said in a firm voice. The puppy waddled across the grass and sniffed at the pot plants. Sil watched intently. He imagined the claws and the teeth. He knew all too well what they could do. He felt his heart fluttering — the dizziness would come next. He closed his eyes and felt Mem hop down beside him. “It’s okay, Sil,” she said. “It’s much too small, it wouldn’t know what to do.” Just the same, she let out a warning call and repeated it several times. Sil felt his skin pricking at the familiar sound — one of his earliest memories.

  The puppy was snuffling in the grass when all of a sudden the air above it was filled with wildly beating black and white wings and harsh shrieks.

  “What on earth!” exclaimed Mem. “Oh, no, oh my goodness me! Magpies!”

  Two large birds dived on the puppy. One gripped its back with its claws, pinning the wriggling pup to the ground while the other stabbed at him viciously. The puppy yelped and struggled to free himself, but he was powerless in the bird’s grip.

  Sil stared in horror. The three tuis sent out desperate warning calls but they could hardly make themselves heard above the screams of birds and puppy.

  Suddenly the man burst from the house, waving his arms. He tried to knock the bird off the puppy and pick him up. The other bird rose up and dived on the man. He dropped the puppy and beat at the bird which stabbed at his hands. One arm up to protect his face, he ran to the side of the house and picked up a hose. Suddenly water spurted from it and drenched the swooping bird. It was knocked sideways by the force, and tumbled to the ground. The man hosed it again and it skidded across the grass. He pointed the hose at the other bird, which let the puppy go as the torrent knocked him sideways. The man dropped the hose. It whipped in a circle sending a gush of water up into the kowhai tree. The man snatched up the puppy and ran into the house, slamming the door.

  On the grass, the magpies picked themselves up and shook their feathers. They looked around them and caught sight of the tuis. Sil gasped as the malevolent gaze swept over him.

  “Quick,” shouted Mem, “into the bush!” She wheeled sideways, tree-hopping, followed by Bel and Sil, until they reached the karaka tree.

>   “Into the centre,” she cried, “up as far as you can.”

  They perched high up in the dense, dark foliage, hardly daring to breathe. The bush was utterly still and silent. Other birds who had witnessed the attack perched motionless, hidden away.

  Sil strained to see any movement through the leaves. The terrifying scene flooded his mind. The puppy’s cries kept sounding in his ears. Worst were the glittering, black eyes that so filled him with dread. He’d seen eyes like that somewhere before. Magpies! Where had they come from? He’d never seen such vicious birds before. He’d seen plenty of fights. He’d chased other birds out of the family’s food trees — quite fiercely, in fact. But attacking a puppy was something else. What kind of a bird took on a dog, even a small one!

  Sil heard a low, cautious call. All clear, it said. Small movements and sounds slowly returned to the patch of bush. Mem darted across to the magnolia tree.

  “They’re gone,” she said when she came back. “We’ll make for home now but we’ll fly high. They’re not high flyers, those magpies, we’ll be safe up there. Keep close to me.”

  6.

  A Conversation with Bel

  “THAT’S very bad news indeed,” said Pip sombrely. The whole family was discussing what had happened. Mem and Pip looked worried, Bek was cross at missing out on the action, and Bel sat close to Mem looking thoroughly frightened.

  “I wonder if they’re the only ones,” said Mem. “We can probably deal with two and send them packing, but more than that’s a different matter.”

  “I’m not scared of them,” said Bek, tossing his head.

  “Well you should be,” replied Pip. “Don’t even think of taking them on unless there are several of you, and only if you’re forced to. You have no experience of what you’re up against. These birds are vicious and ruthless. They fight to kill. The last time they invaded the valley they killed dozens of birds. Whole families were wiped out — and not just the smaller birds, either. It took the gulls to drive them out in the end.”