One for Sorrow, page 24
‘The Creator help them, then,’ muttered Tomar, under his breath. But to the crows he replied, “I shall come with you now.”
Storne looked aghast at his ancient friend. “You cannot . . .” he started.
Tomar shook his head. “I must,” he stated, simply. “We have no other choice.”
Still unaware of the peril that her young children faced, Portia flew, nevertheless, with a desperate urgency and concentration of will. The miles bled by. Each rest was begrudged, a raw wound to her nerves.
“Can’t we go any faster?” she complained to her weary companion.
“Oh, sure. It’s not as if we’ve done anything like travelling halfway round the world and back, is it? I’m flesh and blood, you know. And both of them are knackered!”
Portia cast a frustrated glance at Mickey, which softened when she saw the extent of his distress. “You are right,” she said. “Another half an hour will make no difference either way. Rest on, my dear friend.”
Mickey needed no second invitation, but slumped back against the trunk of the tree into which they had alighted, as if unable to support his own weight. Almost immediately, he fell asleep. Portia watched the bullfinch for a while. What a special, treasured friend he had become to her. She had asked so much of him, and he had always given her more.
‘Let him sleep,’ she told herself. ‘We’ve still got such a long way to go, and who knows what we may face at the end of this particular journey? Oh, Tomar. Look after my children. I am so afraid for them.’
“Is this what you have come to? Mistreating children?” Tomar had never been face to face with Traska before and he was genuinely surprised at how ordinary the evil magpie looked. His deeds had magnified his physical persona in the mind of the Great Owl, but in the flesh he was unprepossessing. There was, however, no doubting the malevolence that flowed from the magpie. Tomar looked from Traska to his female companion. “May The Creator forgive you!” he whispered, holding her transfixed with his terrible stare.
Breaking free with an effort, she cast her eyes downward, away from his accusing gaze. Katya had never in her life felt such shame. Her glance fell upon the two young robins, cowering under the threat of Finbar’s raised claws.
“Let them go,” she begged. “You’ve got what you want. There’s no need to harm them further.”
“There’s every need, if I say so!” snapped Traska. “They are Kirrick’s brats, and I am of a mind to dispose of them as I did their father.”
“You cannot allow this!” Tomar’s tone caught Katya’s attention once more.
“I cannot prevent it,” she sobbed miserably.
“I know that you are not an evil bird,” the owl continued. “How can you stand by this monster, and allow his cruelty to continue, after all that he did to you?”
“You stupid, witless old fool!” laughed Traska. “That was all a fabrication. A device to lure you away, so that I could kidnap those pathetic little robins. To force you to come crawling to me!”
“No. Katya was not lying when she told me of your atrocities against her. No one is that good an actress.”
“My darling mate is the greatest pretender in the world!”
“How dare you! How dare you call me your mate!” Katya spat out the words with venom, as she glared at Traska. “You did rape me! You stole my life. My joy. You extinguished everything that was good and decent within me. You smeared my soul with your filth. Corrupter! Violator! I hate you! You disgust me. Don’t you dare call me your mate!”
The shock on Traska’s face was unbounded. At first caught, open-beaked, he shook his head in utter disbelief at what he had heard. “No. It’s not possible. What are you saying? Katya, my love. I would never hurt you.”
“There’s nothing left to hurt,” she replied. “You left nothing. You took it all.”
“But when?” he stuttered, still unable to take it all in.
“You don’t even remember!” she screamed at him. “But why should you? You’ve gone through your whole life raping the world, in one form or another. Why should you remember one single act of savagery in such a spree?”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t. I love you, Katya.”
“You are incapable of love. You need to have a heart to feel it!”
Traska felt as if he had been suddenly plunged into a void. Cast adrift in total darkness. His ears rang with the harshness of her accusations.
“Your soul is in hell, Traska,” intoned Tomar into the silence. “You are damned beyond redemption.”
The owl’s condemning words sparked one last demonstration of the magpie’s malevolence. “Well, at least I can take these two with me!” Traska screeched, moving rapidly and menacingly towards Merion and Olivia.
Before Tomar could react, the vile magpie slashed at the pair with his talons, missing Olivia’s head by the merest whisker. But it was Katya who responded. Inside her head, something snapped. All restraint was gone now, replaced by a primal savagery. With no thought for her own safety, no consciousness beyond an incoherent and terrible violence, Katya fell upon Traska in a killing rage. Her loathing gave her a strength well beyond her measure and the evil magpie fell back under her assault.
Traska was astonished and appalled. He loved her! Why was she doing this? He only wanted to hurt his enemies. But he had wounded the one who meant the most to him. The only one who meant anything in his life. And now she too hated him. Enough to want to kill him! It was too much to bear! Traska could not find the anger to fight back. He refused to use his superior strength and experience against her. Katya’s fury was uncoordinated, and he found that he could avoid the potentially lethal blows from her beak and claws. But his passivity led to him receiving grievous wounds. Traska’s head and neck dripped with blood as Katya relentlessly continued her attack. Her bitter anger was not assuaged by the sight of his blood. She wanted him dead. Wanted to rid the world of this disgusting creature.
Then, just when it seemed that she must succeed in her murderous attack, she suddenly found herself fighting for her life. It had finally dawned on Traska’s ponderous henchmen that their leader was in danger. Slow-witted they may have been, but they were also immensely strong. Katya was no match for the four hooded crows who pulled her away from Traska and set upon her. The beautiful magpie was slaughtered in seconds. Traska stood motionless as Katya’s body was torn apart in front of his eyes. Eyes that bled tears as she died. And, as he watched, every trace of cunning and malice disappeared from his stare, washed away by the horror of his love’s murder. It was over in an instant, but, to Traska, Katya’s death would play forever in his mind. Over and over. Blocking out all other thoughts. The violence. The rended flesh. The heart ripped from her beautiful body. And the pathetic remains, when the hooded crows had finished with her. She was gone! He had lost her. He had lost everything!
The four murdering crows looked to their leader for approbation. For thanks, even. After all, they had saved Traska’s life, hadn’t they? But the magpie remained totally still, rigid with shock. He was alone in the world once more and he did not know how he could bear it. Turning his back upon the appalling carnage that he had been forced to witness, Traska hopped slowly away.
While the hooded crows were squabbling over what little was left of Katya’s body, Tomar rushed over to the two young robins and ushered them quietly away from the scene of the bloodshed. He feared that, at any moment, Traska would rouse himself from his stupor and raise the alarm. “Are you all right, my dears? Can you fly?” Anxiety spread across the owl’s face, as he looked at Merion’s injured leg.
“I cannot walk, but I think that I can fly.”
“So like your father!” Tomar gasped at the sudden memory of Kirrick, attempting to suppress the laughter that threatened to sweep through his old frame. But he recovered himself quickly, aware of the inappropriateness of such a response in the face of ever-present danger. His eyes darted this way and that. “We must go now. The blood-lust will soon be off these crows. But what they will do without Traska to lead them, I am not sure.”
The owl and the two tiny robins took to the air, heading back to Storne’s mountain stronghold.
Traska watched them go. It did not matter any more. It was over. His life was over. Ashes, where once a bright fire burned. A fire
that had threatened to engulf the whole world.
“Are you Traska?”
It was more of a challenge than a question. The evil magpie looked up at the bird who had just alighted in the tree beside him. A magpie like himself, but one with fire still in his belly. Traska looked into an eye, full of blazing hatred. And he knew. He could not have said why. But he knew with absolute certainty. The tiniest flame in the depths of his soul guttered once more to life. There was something left. Some hope. Someone to live for.
“My son,” he said.
“Where is my mother?” Venga asked, in tones as cold as the grave itself.
“She is dead, my son,” Traska replied. “We are alone now. All that we have is each other.”
Venga’s stare chilled him to the very core.
“I am your appointed executioner. My mother’s death will not have been in vain if I fulfil my destiny. Katya will not be alone in death this day.”
Chapter 14
As the young magpie flew down to face him, Traska assessed his opponent. He certainly approved of what he saw.
‘What a fine strong son I have,’ he thought. ‘Well built and muscular, yet agile too. From here, his beak looks razor-sharp. All in all, I’d prefer not to take a closer inspection, but it would seem that I have no choice.”
In the tree, and in flying to the ground, Venga had presented only his profile to his enemy. Now, as he turned to face Traska fully, the older magpie felt a mixture of emotions on seeing Venga’s damaged eye. Sadness, that such a fine specimen should, after all, be flawed. Triumph, for now he knew, beyond doubt, that he could defeat the younger bird. And anger. Anger against the world. This feeling, above all, surged through his veins. Anger. For taking away Katya, whom he had loved. For forcing him to fight. To kill his son.
For a brief moment, Traska considered refusing to fight, allowing, instead, his son to dispatch him without opposition. But it went against the very grain of his existence. Traska’s instinct for survival had been paramount since birth. His eyes flitted quickly around, assessing the lay of the land in the fighting zone. There was a large-enough area of open ground, sparse of vegetation and fairly even underfoot. He would keep the fight grounded. In the air, Venga would have superior agility and speed. On the ground, Traska could manoeuvre his foe into positions of disadvantage, because of the younger bird’s visual impairment.
“Are you ready?” asked Venga, in a stern tone.
Hopping slightly sideways to maximise his opponent’s disability, Traska rushed forward, lunging at Venga’s shoulder and striking a telling blow. Retreating just as swiftly, he called out, “Never do that again. If you live to fight another time, strike first, then talk!”
Traska nearly tripped over his own tail as Venga came at him, with startling speed and ferocity. The beak was every bit as sharp and deadly as the older magpie had feared and only desperate evasion allowed Traska to avoid its thrust to his heart. Side-stepping once again, the evil magpie sliced open a gash in Venga’s cheek, drawing blood for the second time, without reply. But, if he had expected his son to become enraged at his initial failure, Traska was to be disappointed. Actually, what he felt was considerable pride, as he watched Venga gather his wits, regroup and begin to probe for weaknesses in the older bird’s defences.
The battle raged back and forth, as beaks flashed and talons ripped. Venga was suddenly aware of an audience. He quailed a little to see the massive hunched backs of the hooded crows, as they crowded around the arena to watch the fight.
“One against one,” he cawed out to Traska.
“Of course, my son. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The older magpie danced on his toes, never taking his eyes off his opponent, but calling out for all to hear, “He’s mine. No one is to kill him but me! I don’t need any help with this young whelp!”
The crows laughed and jeered in a ragged and raucous chorus of malice. But Venga ignored them all, focusing on the job in hand. Seeing this, Traska felt a frisson of fear. Perhaps he had underestimated his foe. The boy certainly seemed determined enough. But that eye! ‘That’s it,’ he counselled himself. ‘Concentrate on that eye. That weakness will be his downfall. He cannot defeat you with one eye missing.’
Traska’s reverie was savagely interrupted. Once again, he had misjudged the younger magpie’s speed and, this time, a talon tore into his flank. An inch lower and his leg would have been maimed. As it was, the wound merely served to remind Traska of the size of the task that he faced. He began a strategy of constant movement, always in one direction, keeping the battle in circular motion and only changing direction when precipitating a sudden, brutal attack. In and out. Drawing blood. Weakening his enemy by degrees. Never getting close for too long. Blood now covered Venga from head to foot, and Traska marvelled at the strength of his son. “Hell, but the boy has got courage!” he smiled.
But it was the sight of that smile, which Venga misconstrued as mockery, which finally caused that courage to fail. Tears flowed as despair took hold at last, and he rushed clumsily at the evil magpie. “Die!” he screamed, as he put his remaining strength into that last, desperate charge.
It was Traska’s change of direction that undid him. Venga had expected his opponent to dodge once more to the right, keeping him on the younger bird’s vulnerable left flank. But, too late, he realised Traska’s intention. Propelled unstoppably by the force of his headlong charge, Venga was unable to turn away, as the older magpie sidestepped in the opposite direction and lunged with his own, cruelly-sharp beak.
Venga screamed in terrible agony, as total darkness closed in upon him. Blinded, he stumbled around the clearing, groping pathetically for his enemy. Traska stepped back and watched his son’s torment, sickened to the very pit of his stomach. He knew that it would be a kindness to his son to end it there. One blow would be enough, now that Venga was defenceless. He should give him an honourable death. The boy had earned that, at the very least.
Traska turned his back upon the sight of Venga’s stumbling, shambling agony. “Finish it!” he called to his assembled cohorts. Then he took to the air and flapped exhaustedly away.
The reunion between mother and children was a heart-warming sight for the old owl. He had made so many misjudgements and thanked the Creator that no one else had been made to pay too dearly for his mistakes. Merion’s leg would mend quickly enough and neither young robin seemed to be at all traumatised by their experiences. Indeed, like all young children, they competed with each other in the telling of their adventures, their eyes gleaming with excitement as the words flooded out. Portia hugged the pair of them to her breast. Tomar smiled with satisfaction, before withdrawing to allow the family some privacy.
Thus it was from Mickey, the bullfinch, that Tomar learned about his emissaries’ adventures in Wingland, and of the obstinate refusal of the small bird population there to uproot and fly to a new home in Birddom.
“I am saddened by the outcome. But it should not have been wholly unexpected. The attempt had to be made and no two birds could have tried harder than yourselves to make a success of your mission. The sacrifices that you made will not be forgotten, and the whole of Birddom is grateful to you for your unstinting efforts. I will tell Portia so later. For now, she has her children to comfort her and I would not intrude upon their reunion.
But we will wish to honour you both. You are a pair of fine, brave birds, and a credit to your homeland. You are living proof that it is not necessary to be big in size, as long as your heart is large enough. But it must be said that the future is very bleak for Birddom. We needed a massive influx of small birds to redress the natural balance that Slyekin tried, so terribly, to destroy. And it galls me to think that he may, after all, have succeeded in at least one part of his evil plan.” Worry furrowed the owl’s brow, and he looked very old indeed.
Mickey was extremely concerned for his companion. “Tomar, my friend. You must rest. You look absolutely done in! Have you eaten?”
“There’s been too much of importance to be done for me to worry about my stomach!” the old owl laughed.
“Well. It’d be a fine thing for Birddom if it lost its leader, the finest mind in all the land, because he forgot to feed himself!”
“You are right once again, Mickey, and your wisdom shames me.
I will eat, then rest. Tomorrow is soon enough to begin the future of Birddom.”
The venerable members of the Council of the Owls sat once more in the sacred oak trees ringing the clearing of the council chamber. The original eight, who had presided over the proceedings at the inaugural meeting after the troubles, were supplemented by four eager young owls. They had each been inducted with solemnity into the Council of the Owls and had taken their places alongside their elders. The strength of the Council was now complete once more and, judging by the brightness of eye and quickness of mind of this younger generation, its future seemed assured.
Tomar, the Great Owl, looked around the circle, with pride and pleasure. ‘If only the future of Birddom looked so healthy,’ he mused. Then, casting aside these doubts, he began to speak.
“My friends and fellow members of the Council of the Owls. We are met here today with two purposes. The first is to honour the very brave and resolute pair that stand before you.”
Twelve pairs of unblinking eyes focused on the robin and bullfinch in the centre of the ring.
“Portia and Mickey were unable to accomplish the task that we, the Council, set for them. But then we all knew just how difficult to achieve that task would be. Birddom could not have made a better choice for its emissaries, and I am proud of their efforts.”
