by Jill Harris
“We must get higher,” he yelled. “I’ll help you.”
Sil felt himself being nudged up as the other gull kept pace with him on his right. Tor was still flying on his left. Somehow the four birds battled upwards against the force of the gale. Glancing down, Sil saw that the hungry, white-flecked sea was further away.
“We have to reach the island or we’re done for,” gasped the gull beside him. “You must keep flying.”
The pain in Sil’s wings was becoming unbearable, even in the bitter, numbing cold. He forced them up and down but they moved ever more slowly. His breath came in desperate gasps. He could hear Tor labouring beside him.
The gull beneath them rose up. “Rest on my back!” he shouted. “Just for a moment.”
Tor and Sil clung to the black, wet, slippery feathers. Sil felt the huge relief of resting his wings. But the tuis’ weight drove the gull lower. His wings slowed.
“It’s no good,” gasped the gull, “I can’t keep it up.”
Tor slid off sideways. “We’ll take turns.”
The wind and rain drove them inexorably northwards and downwards. There was no sign of the island in the murk.
The two gulls changed places but the gull who had first carried them was barely flying. His dark wings laboured … up and down … up and … down. His beak was open, straining for air.
If he goes down, we’re all finished, thought Sil dully. He felt an overwhelming desire to close his eyes and let the wind carry him into nothingness.
“I can’t keep …” The rest was lost in the howling wind. The gull slipped sideways and disappeared. The full force of the gale struck. It whipped Sil off the gull’s back and the three birds tumbled downwards.
21.
Island Refuge
OUT of the thick mist loomed a cliff but they had no strength left to fly towards it. The sea rushed up at them and Sil thought briefly of Bel. At the last moment they forced their wings and tails open so that they hit the sea breast-first. Strangely, they found the water rough, but not violent. Sil looked up at the cliffs. They had landed in an inlet protected from the worst of the storm.
The gull paddled over. “Stay close and I’ll help you to the beach,” he gasped.
Waves slapped their faces and filled their beaks with salt water. It was numbingly cold. The gull pushed the tuis to the stony beach where Sil stumbled out of the water and collapsed. The light died around him.
When he opened his eyes he saw Tor lying on his side a short way up the beach. There was no sign of the gull. He tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t work. He closed his eyes again.
He awoke next time to find himself being dragged by a leg up the beach.
“You can’t stay there,” said the gull. “The tide’s coming in. We have to find shelter for the night.”
Sil slid over sharp stones and scratchy seaweed as the gull pulled him toward some bigger rocks. Tor was already lying there, eyes closed.
The gull dropped Sil beside a rock. “There’s rainwater in a hollow on this rock,” he said. “I can’t lift you up there but if you don’t drink, you won’t last long.”
I’m alive, thought Sil. Tor saved me. And the gulls.
One of Tor’s wings twitched. He was alive, too, but what about the other gull? Tears sprang to Sil’s eyes. This was all his doing. The others had flown into danger to find him.
“Tor,” he whispered, “are you awake?” But Tor lay still.
Daylight was fading. Sil thought about the night. Was it true that there were no enemies on the island? He remembered a gull once telling him that. He hoped it was true. The gull had disappeared again. They were on their own.
Sil tried out his legs again. One was stronger than the other. What about his wings? Near useless. He was desperately thirsty — all he could taste was salt. He struggled up and hopped a few paces towards a low rock. If he could get up on to that, he would be closer to the rock pool.
It took him a long time, hopping, clutching and resting, hopping, clutching and resting, to reach the water. He drank and drank. Nearby a small bush grew from a crevice. Could they shelter there for the night? He drank again, then filled his throat with water and half-hopped, half-fell back to the beach and Tor.
“Tor, wake up, please, wake up.” Tor lay motionless. Sil nudged his head. “Wake up, Tor,” he said more loudly, but Tor’s eyes remained shut. Sil forced his beak open and dripped in some water. Tor swallowed but didn’t wake.
Sil lay close beside him and fell asleep again. He was wakened by Tor struggling to stand. It was almost dark.
“Sil?” muttered Tor. “What happened? Where are we?” He was shivering.
A little later, the gull returned. “You can’t stay here for the night, you need shelter,” he said. Sil told him about the bush, and the gull hopped around to inspect it. “It’s better than nothing,” he said. “I’ll help you get there.”
Another gull landed beside them. “Open your beaks,” she said, “I’ve brought you food.” She coughed something into Sil’s beak. It smelt revolting and tasted worse. Sil gagged but swallowed. They were in no position to be fussy and he was grateful. She fed Tor as well.
“I’ll stay with you tonight,” she said. “Jo needs rest back with the others. Luckily there’ll be no unwelcome visitors in the night — the humans have got rid of them all. We’ll work out what to do for the best tomorrow. Sleep is what you need right now.”
Sil slept close to Tor. The warmth helped him to deal with the horror that filled his dreams. The wind still shrieked over their heads but they were sheltered on the beach and the rain had stopped. He woke several times to the roar of the sea and memories of the nightmare flight rushed into his mind, playing themselves over endlessly, until he sank into sleep again. Tor muttered and moved restlessly beside him.
When they woke, the sun was shining and the gull had gone. Food, drink and sleep had done their work and they found they could stand and use their wings again. They clambered up to the pool and drank their fill. Tor found a patch of sand under some driftwood and they feasted on sand hoppers.
Sil was too tired to talk. The terror of the flight was too close for words. The tuis sat side by side in silence.
Jo and the other gull landed beside them. “I know the weather’s improved,” he said, “but the wind’s still strong and you’re not ready yet to tackle the rest of the trip.”
“How will they know we’re all right?” said Tor. “We really should get back today.”
“We can let them know you’re safe. But we wouldn’t be prepared to accompany you before tomorrow at the earliest — you’d be too much of a risk.”
Silence fell. Sil knew they were all thinking of the gull who hadn’t made it, who’d died because of him. He couldn’t think how to express his shame and regret. Words were too easy. He turned away and stared out at the sea.
“Well,” said the gull after a bit, “if you two are up to it, we’ll take you to a puriri tree where you can fill yourselves up — though goodness knows how you can drink that stuff. Your job today is to eat and drink as much as you can pack in. You might like to find a better roost for tonight, too.”
Jo stayed with them most of the day. Tor and Sil flew from tree to tree feeding on berries, nectar and insects. Jo searched the rocks for shellfish. Each bird kept largely to himself. None of them could bring themselves to talk about what had happened — it was still too close. Sil felt caged, cut off from the others. His guilt was like a stone in his throat. How could he begin to apologise, let alone pay for the death of the gull? He was the one who should have died.
“What made you do such a dumb thing?” Jo finally asked when Tor was in another tree.
Sil tried to explain about how important it had been to win the competitions and beat Tor, and how dreadful he’d felt when he lost. He told him about his song, and what he’d felt about the judges’ comments and the audience’s reaction.
“And this is why you flew off into the storm, without a thought for an
yone else?” asked Jo incredulously.
Sil felt he would die of shame. “I just had to get away from all the birds looking at me and talking about me,” he mumbled miserably. “All I wanted was to get home.”
“But you knew there was a storm warning.”
“Yes,” admitted Sil, “but I had no idea what the sea would be like. You can always find shelter on the land.”
“You owe your life to Tor,” said Jo. “He saw you flying off and followed you. When he realised where you were heading, he came to us for help. Most of the others wouldn’t take the risk, but a couple of us volunteered — me and Mac. A pretty good sort, Mac. Be a real loss to the community.”
He went on: “Beyond the shelter of the inner harbour, we realised what we’d got ourselves into. I tried to persuade Tor to turn round but he was determined to find you. Almost impossible to see anything in those conditions — sheer luck we saw you. That Tor’s got real guts. But you’re only small, you tuis, you just haven’t got the wing power for sea flights, let alone in a southerly gale. We had no choice but to carry you. Mac was weaker than me and it took too much out of him.”
“Could he possibly have survived?” asked Sil in a small voice. “Could he be sheltering somewhere on the island?”
“Not a chance,” replied Jo. “We searched last night.” He stared down at the ground for a while.
Sil said miserably, “I don’t know what to do or say to put right what I did.”
Jo didn’t answer.
22.
Sil Alone
THEY had to spend another day on the island waiting for the wind to drop. After their second night in the puriri tree they woke shortly before the lightening. Two new gulls swooped down to join them.
“No wind this morning,” said one. “We’ll make the crossing straight away. Eat something as quickly as you can.”
“We’ll escort you,” said the other. “Jo has to get back to his own folks in the city.”
I have to fly out over the sea again, thought Sil, panicking. I can’t do it!
But he followed the gulls to the cliff edge where, without hesitating, they launched out into the blue haze. Sil and Tor looked at one another and thrust themselves out.
The flight went without incident, and the black-backs led them to the puriri tree they’d left from five days earlier for the competitions.
“No more jaunts at sea,” they admonished Sil. “You’re not a gull, y’know,” and off they flew. Sil and Tor looked at each other uneasily.
“Tor,” Sil began, but Tor shook his head.
“Not now,” he said. “Our families need to see us,” and he flew away.
This was the moment Sil was dreading — but it was no good delaying it. He flew slowly up the valley, still feeling the effects of his two flights across the sea. Birds looked at him curiously but didn’t greet him. He went the long way round to avoid Bron’s tree. He saw Pip and Mem looking out for him but there was no sign of Bek, Bel or Roz.
He glided down to the tree and sat along from his parents. “Is Bel all right?” he blurted.
“She’s still recovering, but she’ll come right,” Mem replied.
Where do I start, thought Sil, but Pip spoke first.
“We are very thankful to have you back,” he said quietly, “but I can hardly believe what I’ve heard. You have acted with the utmost selfishness. You placed yourself and three other birds in mortal danger and one died as a result. You have caused terrible anguish to that bird’s family, and to us. You have disgraced the family. I am ashamed of you.”
His words fell like blows. Sil shrank down on the branch.
Mem spoke. “How could you possibly think losing a song competition justified such behaviour? I blame myself for encouraging you to place so much importance on your singing.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” said Pip. “We all had high expectations.”
“It’s terribly unfortunate you had nobody with you from the family,” said Mem. “You were evidently too young to be there without our support.”
Sil raised his head and looked at them with tears. He could never put this mistake right. He would always be an outcast in the valley and he had failed as a singer. He slipped off the branch and flew away. They made no effort to stop him. They didn’t want him.
Sil flew to the hideout. He would stay here until he worked out what to do next. Obviously, he would have to leave the valley. But where else could he live? News of his misdeeds would spread. Who would want him?
The day was long and dismal. There was plenty to eat in the tree but he grew thirstier with each hour. At dusk he slipped out to the pond. He decided to risk crossing the park to the bottlebrush tree which was thick enough to hide him as he drank nectar.
Sil returned to the hideout, making his way through the dense network of branches to the centre. He was shocked to see a dark shape perching there. He froze.
“It’s me, Sil, don’t leave.”
Peering through the gloom, Sil saw that it was Bron.
“Go away,” he said. “Leave me alone.”
“It’s my hideout, too. I knew you’d be here.”
“So you can fly again?” said Sil.
“Not very far or fast, but yes, I can.”
They sat in awkward silence as the dusk deepened.
“You need to be getting back,” said Sil at last. “You shouldn’t be flying in the dark. Are the magpies still around?”
“Yes,” said Bron, “but I’m staying here for the night.”
“I don’t want you here,” said Sil, but he knew that wasn’t true. He had wondered how he would get through the night alone.
“Look, Sil,” said Bron, “I know you’ve done something dreadful, but I thought we were friends and we shared stuff.”
“You don’t want me for a friend,” said Sil. “I’m out of here as soon as I work out where to go.”
“You’d be making a big mistake to leave home,” said Bron. “You can’t survive on your own. Soon everyone will have heard about you and they won’t take you in. For a start, you’d have no rights to any food.”
“I’ll fly back to the island,” Sil replied defiantly. “No other tuis live over there.”
“I shouldn’t think the black-backs would be very happy about that,” said Bron. “They won’t forget in a hurry that one of them died rescuing you.”
Sil flinched at her words. His wings drooped miserably.
“I don’t want you to go away,” continued Bron. “What will I do without you?”
“You’ve got Tor. And he’s the top bird — top singer, top flyer, top rescuer — you and I both owe our lives to him.”
“You helped to save me, too,” said Bron, “but that’s not why you and I are friends. We’ve been friends for ages and we know things about each other. I mean, I know how rotten you’re feeling right now — I can tell from looking at you. You don’t really want to run away. You want to put things right again, but you don’t know how.”
The tears flowed then. Sil put his head down and cried. He cried about losing the competitions and about his new song that nobody liked. He cried about his stupid, dangerous actions and about the terror of the flight through the storm. He cried about the comforting, strong bird who had slipped away into the howling wind and disappeared forever. He cried for Mem and Pip. And he cried because there was one bird who understood how he felt.
Bron sat quietly beside him until the tears stopped. They could hear the waves breaking. The ducks on the pond quacked sleepily. The big trees around them trapped the breezes and sent them more gently on their way. As the night deepened, the two friends put their beaks under their wings and slept side by side.
Some time during the night, Sil woke and knew he would not run away from the valley. He would stay and put things right no matter how hard it was.
. . .
Next morning, Bron brought him up to date. Tuis from several bays away had brought news of the wasp attack, and Bel’s slow, painful ret
urn with Jeb and Wol. Bek had flown to meet them and it had been another day before they reached home. Bel was very weak and had to be fed for a couple of days. The wood pigeons said the poison would take a week to work itself out of her system. Bek went with her at feeding times to protect her from magpie attack.
Then two days ago a tui from the big river valley had arrived from the bird sanctuary to tell them Sil and Tor had disappeared. Later that day a black-back had flown across from the island to say that Sil and Tor were safe on the island after a terrible flight.
The magpies were still around, she said. Several attacks a day were being reported at the singing-in and the patrol birds were having little success in preventing them. The valley was filled with fear and anger. Things were coming to a head.
Old Sil and Mip had arrived home late yesterday while Sil was in the hideout. Everyone had gathered in their tree, said Bron, to piece together what had happened. There was great relief in hearing that Tor and Sil had got home safely, and just as much anger that Sil had behaved so irresponsibly. Old Sil had tried to explain what it meant to Sil to lose the competitions, but most birds were impatient with the explanation. They were much more worried about the damage Sil had done to the friendship between gulls and tuis. Pip didn’t say a word the whole meeting, said Bron.
Tor was being treated as a hero. He had been asked to tell his story at the lightening this morning.
“He deserves the attention and the praise,” said Sil bleakly. “He has really proved himself. Not like me.”
“Old Sil spoke highly of your performance,” said Bron. He congratulated Tor on his win but said that you were breaking new ground with your singing and it would take a while for tuis to recognise that. He said that you should be supported in what you were trying to do, even though he acknowledged how foolish you had been to fly off afterwards.”
If only Old Sil had said that to him after the competitions, thought Sil, but he had to admit that he hadn’t given him much of a chance before he’d flown off into the storm.
