The birds with smouldering sticks arrived, and each group set about lighting their pyres. One flared, kindling spitting. The other fire soon followed. Now the wood was catching. The crow raiders raised their beaks elated, craaawking at the night sky. Flames began to lick at the undersides of the machines. The birds stepped back forming a circle around each machine. They started gyrating in celebration. Several crows, neutral until now, were overcome with admiration, and gleefully fluttered down to join in.

  We’ve created fire! Another crow first! The hell with the Elders’ injunction.

  Of Erebus, there was no sign. Sard barked for attention. No reaction. She barked again and raised her voice.

  “You are disturbing a nest of wasps!” she shouted. As the flames subsided so did the excitement, and the crows, realising there was no fuel to add to the dying fires, turned sullenly to listen.

  “Do you think that you can damage them so badly that they cannot take revenge?”

  Nyx added his voice:

  “And if you can’t, what then? You know they will come for us,” Nyx continued. “Is this how we want to honour our dead – with more dead?” Oh, Sapph… he thought.

  At first the crows around the machines began to jeer, but the flames were flickering lower now, leaving only glowing wood, and they realised their celebrations were premature. They stared into the embers. Nyx’s words were sobering. The truth was mirrored back to them. Each in their own way could see the smouldering wood as their own anger, buried, yet still burning. We are deprived of our revenge, they admitted to themselves. Glancing around, they guessed this was true for all of them. It was a relief to name the word. But it wrestled with their loyalty to their dead. The faces of loved ones took shape in the pulsing glow of the dying fires; voices that would surely say this action was misconceived. Sard turned and began kicking earth onto the fires with her hind legs; her fellow roe joined in. Within moments both fires were extinguished. The rebellion was over.

  “Let’s return, and meet with your Elders,” said Sard. The birds, subdued, and with no other plan to offer, fell in with the deer. The caravan made its way back through the forest.

  *

  They arrived at the clearing as Erebus was speaking to a large crow flock. His back was to them.

  “…fellow Elders believe that we must now make an alliance with the deer, if the humans are to be stopped. I am fully with them.” He looked round at his fellow seniors.

  “But I also know there are many of you who feel we deserve payback for our terrible losses…”

  “We called it off,” interrupted one of the returning raiding party.

  “What?” Erebus swivelled round, recognising the voice.

  “Your plan, we called it off.” Gasps came from the assembled birds.

  “We made fire, but the deer stopped us. And we let them.” Erebus stared at them. The Eldest Crow stepped forward.

  “I am growing old, but I haven’t forgotten who we crows are,” she said. “We rule the forest because we are smart. Erebus, you would put us all in danger.” Erebus began to speak. The Eldest held up a wing.

  “No,” she said. “Your supporters picked a fight with those of us who feared more losses. Now more of us are dead. We will take a vote.”

  “A waste of time,” jeered Erebus. “What will we vote on – to give up? You are not too old to betray us,” he scorned. “You’ve been fooled by these half-wits” he added, jabbing a beak towards the roe herd. The assembled crows watched, hearts racing, aghast at seeing their elders divided. The Roe Elder took a few steps into the clearing. Sard was close behind.

  “The forest is full of strange alliances,” he began. “And yet without them we would have no forest. How does an oak or a pine tree spread its seed to make the forest grow? Through you of course. When you forget where you store an acorn, or a pine seed. That’s the beginning of a new tree. And if the boar were not to dig the clearings for their nuts, do you think there would be as many seeds that would flower, to bring you the insects that you eat?” Listening to the Roe Elder, Nyx remembered the strangeness of his own first encounter with these creatures. Perhaps, he thought, if we crows had had more success against the humans, we would dismiss any thought of alliances. But times had changed. Silently, he willed his fellow crows to be patient.

  The Roe Elder continued:

  “What if the forest were to be even more fruitful than when the humans arrived with their tools? What if there were more trees, bathing places, more meadows to forage in? More life! And what if this couldn’t happen without you?” He stopped. The crows would want evidence not dreams. And it wasn’t yet time for this. First things first, he thought. They need to experience this future in their own way. But how? And then the words came.

  “Listen to the forest and it will tell you,” urged the Elder. The crows were silent as they took this in. Was it the deer’s conviction that had wormed its way into their minds, or was there really some new quality to the way the sounds of springtime around them were fitting together? Something had changed. Whatever the cause, they noticed their minds were tranquil. They looked at each other with new eyes: no longer clearly divided into families – or for, or against, Erebus. But connected as cousins. And the image of a grander forest that was forming as they listened, seemed to offer an even bigger role for crows. Well, this called for a moderate puffing out of feathers. A moment to savour, they thought. Even a chance to attend to a little neglected grooming.

  Chapter 15

  Far from the forest, a flight of storm petrels twisted in the air over the warming ocean, dark shapes against the water. The island home they had left an hour since peered over the horizon, but there was still further to fly for a meal. They jolted and dipped, thrilling the breeze. The breeze took its time to reciprocate. But then, there it was: a faint, familiar odour calling from across the water. The birds raised their slender beaks to catch its direction.

  They alerted others, and soon a large flock was darting ahead, each slaloming its run through the waves towards a distant feast. Their table was waiting, laid with a cloth of trillions: tiny algae, rolling and swarming in the swell, feeding on sunlight. These plankton would be drawing the petrels’ main course of small fish. But as the birds approached, on the horizon, rising to thousands of feet and still spreading, was the result of the algae’s work. The algae’s sulphurous breath had condensed water saturating the warm spring air over the ocean to create billowing giants of clouds. The petrels, veterans of all foul weathers, called to each other in alarm. A storm was brewing of a size that shuddered the sea.

  The following day, on land, the deer browsing in the late afternoon felt a shift in the wind. And moments later, another. They lifted their muzzles. Yes, the temperature was dropping too. They looked to each other, agreeing they needed to act quickly. Within minutes they would be on the move. Nesting for the night would have to wait till they found safer ground.

  Nyx was perching with Sard and the herd in companionable silence. He had not known such calm in weeks. He understood the message of the wind immediately and cawed his support after the retreating deer. He lifted himself promptly, to flap homewards to alert the Elders. But Sard was turning back and leaping after the crow.

  “Stop,” she barked. “Stop!” Nyx looped back.

  “What is it?”

  “We must think of the whole forest now. You watch where all the smallest things live, you have your maps. Can you warn them?” Nyx paused. Both realised this was an enormous task.

  “Do we have time?”

  “Look at the sky.”

  Nyx looked as directed. A towering cloud was silhouetted against the afternoon sun, its flat top spread across the horizon.

  “I see,” he said. A new storm would be here, even before morning. And the earth was already a soaked sponge. Within the hour the Crow Elders had asked volunteers to spread across the forest and gather family representatives. This would need to be organised with precision. Shadows were lengthening towards night. After sunset, communication would be impossible. Drops of rain spotted the leaves around them.

  While they waited, a group of crows drew out a detailed map of the forest on the ground, dividing it into quadrants. Each crow family was assigned one, so that every warren, lodge, set and den could be warned of the storm. Ravens were again on standby again, for necessary counting. The crows exchanged proud winks as they worked. Their planners strutted about on the map, as they placed their markers.

  Gobbets of rain began falling before dawn. A brightening sky revealed a vast cloud black as deepest night. Animals, ushered from every corner of the forest cowered, and looked out for their young. There was nowhere else to flee. The trees were thick with jays, finches, thrushes and robins. The crows were dishevelled, wide-eyed, adrenaline still pumping. Deer caught the eyes of crows and nodded their respect pausing to hold their gaze. What had been achieved, brought both creatures awe. This is the forest’s promise, they thought quietly. As though in agreement, the morning’s disc, richly coloured, rose from the horizon. It appeared briefly, spreading light all along the underside of the storm accenting its size, and was cloaked again. Then, one last warning flash as the cloud shifted, and the sun was gone, swallowed by the advancing colossus.

  The deer had been doing their best through the night to create shelters across the high places, propping fallen branches against trees and over large logs – and not before time. Owls, watching all this peering down their beaks, had decided to join the effort and guide birds and small mammals to all their favourite tree crevices. They nursed a hope that by nightfall normal rhythms would be resumed. Crows watched them with a beady eye. Then the light show began. Lilac streaks arced and stabbed through the cloud setting trees alight, cracking skies open. Lusty thunderclaps burst in with towering drum rolls, one wave after another.

  Ah, this is but the prelude, dreamed the Storm.

  Ears were ringing, the young trembling. The black, black sky was now earnestly tipping an entire ocean over the forest. As torrents raged down through the trees, the deer sought their calm amidst the turmoil and waited for the meaning of this cataclysm to show itself. They watched the storm raging, their breasts tightening, eyes watering.

  This was foretold, this is our fate, they realised at last. And, as they watched with growing acceptance, they agreed to it. This is how it must be.

  And so their strength and will returned, their hearts lifted, and they moved to attend to those who most needed comfort.

  The valley’s River found itself quickly engorged: it charged forward, delirious, revelling in crazed power, drowning meadows and fields, carrying animals, bridges and trees, sprinting through human settlements turning life upon itself, leaving barely the tops of dwellings visible as it raced on, greedy for more to swallow of the world. It had rediscovered its birthright, its age-old purpose to shape the land; for after all, it thought, is it not I who has the licence? Is it not I who carries the stuff of life?!

  Engorged, the Storm dreamed grand dreams of water too.

  Watch me! I am a grey-green ocean wave swelling and rising, reaching the skies, tossing up seabirds in my spray. My power could carry me over all the Earth. Look at what I can do! But wait, whose power is this; it surges through me… Is it really me? No! I am only its messenger. Its servant. Wait, something is calling. From the dark depths a voice is rising: ‘Finish it, finish it!’ it urges, ‘for only at the end, can there be a beginning…’

  The storm left the forest to roll its tumult onwards. Behind it, frantic waters boiled and churned, and a question for all survivors clinging to each other: if this is what can happen, then how are we to live?

  *

  Nyx came across Sard foraging. The deer was finding it difficult to move on the soggy ground.

  “Do you think the humans will return here?” asked Nyx.

  “Yes. Sadly.”

  “Do you deer think this is all their fault?” He swept a wing over the drowned landscape.

  “The dream showed us this would happen.”

  “Yes, but is it their fault,” Nyx persisted. Sard brought to mind the gash through the trees.

  “They have trampled the forest. It has driven the sky and the river mad,” she said.

  Nyx sighed. What could anyone do about that?

  “But they have done it because they are broken inside,” ventured Sard.

  Ah, that’s me, thought Nyx. Unbidden, his attack on the young humans came suddenly to mind.

  “Can we do anything at all?” he asked.

  “I think we are the answer. We two,” replied the deer.

  Chapter 16

  For days afterwards the world was hushed. Even the air dared barely breathe, so still stood all life, alert for a sequel even more calamitous. For now, there was no sign. The skies stood steady, tall, in bright cobalt. It took some while for the first clouds to appear over the horizon, shyly, one small squadron at a time. And soon gone. A seed of a thought began to grow once more in human minds, slowly at first, and then with vigour, that chaos was indeed the embittered sibling of the blessed world, and what its rage destroyed could surely be made again.

  As Sard had foreseen, humans did indeed return to the forest, but in those first days only to look over their machines. Most had been buried in the mud. In contrast, it was the busy roadway nearby, from which the waters had slowly begun to drain away, that had restarted its familiar rhythms. It had been built on higher ground, along the line of an ancient causeway, raised by the labours of ancestors millennia ago, they too, helpless before the natural convulsions that the old, old planet was heir to. But those ancient eyes could not have foreseen the swelling of hubris that had snared the human mind into believing it could face down this raw power. Perhaps it was only Nature that understood that a new order of calamity was now poised over every turn of the Earth.

  Along the length of the roadway workers were building barriers to protect it should the waters rise again. Most users of the road speeding to and fro, carried vivid memories of their deluged communities, rescuing family and neighbours from the waters in the dark, the clatter of helicopters overhead in fruitless searches for the missing, most of whom were found days later many miles downstream. Some were dealing with its aftermath. There were now hospitals to visit, relatives to resettle, longer commutes to reach workplaces. Funerals to prepare for.

  Nevertheless, travelling through the afternoon with sunshine glinting on flooded meadows, the drivers in their warm cocoons soothed by music or talk radio or conversation, were strengthened by feeling some sort of normality return.

  But wait… cars were slowing down up ahead which brought attention back to the road. As the queue filtered into the outside lane there were what appeared to be animals wandering in the road. Odd, thought the occupants of each passing vehicle. Moments later they were back to clear lanes again, and no-one thought much of it. Meanwhile the queue behind them was beginning to slow to a halt. Some impatient drivers simply drove towards the animals, who parted gracefully, letting them through. Those witnessing were struck by the choreography of this obliging move. The animals were clearly in communication with each other, and completely unafraid. Now all vehicles were rolling slowly to a standstill. Not just because the number of animals on the road was growing by the minute. Cows and horses were now breaching fences, more deer were leaping over barriers onto the roadway and other smaller creatures were streaming up the embankments to join them: foxes, badgers, moles… and were those rabbits? And birds too, flocking and settling easily amongst the animals. The road surface was crowded with forest creatures. Was this some sort of mass hallucination? The animals were still, looking steadily towards them. Even the trees along the road seemed to be joining in. At the very head of the throng, a striking Roe deer, on its head perched a crow, its beak jutted upwards in obvious pride.

  The deer’s gaze seemed to encompass all those now stopped and staring from their vehicles. Slowly the passengers began getting out, doors left hanging open as they walked slowly towards the animals. As they reached them, many found their knees giving way. Some spread their hands out wide; others found their hands clasped to their hearts. The crowd grew as those at the front were joined by more and more human beings walking forward. A hush descended on the gathering. The world seemed suddenly to have expanded its promise: that life’s riches, its meaning, could be found even in its most ordinary moments. That in fact, not taking heed of this, could rob them of the gift of this ultimate of encounters. And, as the mystery of the moment seeped into hearts and minds, much like water into a seed ready to germinate, awakening life there lying dormant, the intricate loops and patterns of possibility in each human soul stirred, ready to unfold for each of those observing a unique new beauty. They looked on in silence. Human eyes met those of the animals. The youngest were the closest observers. They looked from animal to human, human to animal and back again. How similar we are, they thought, in all the ways that we are different. And isn’t this so awesome. It would only be later, that people would recall the image of the crow sitting atop the deer, a symbol that would soon circle the globe. The symbol, like a new star, calling them home.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9