Lupus Rex (14 page)

“I am coming home!” the wolf cried upon the wind.

Chapter Nine

An Invitation and

the Journey to the River

M
ORNING CAME TO
the vultures’ field. The stillness was not broken by the sound of birds or even by the squawks of the vultures. All was quiet. Cotur Mono found it unnerving that the field was so still, as if it were a great dead thing itself. Why was the early morning not filled with the sound of the waking townhees and warblers that inhabited the woods surrounding? He sat for a long time beneath the lengthy shadow of a fallen sycamore branch, considering the course his kind should take. With each passing moment, there was more of the morning lost. If he were to return on the same route they had taken to this field, it would take all day, an exhausting trip. He did know of a second route, but it would bring the group dangerously close to the man’s farm. The man had dogs and the dogs would most certainly smell them. This could be fatally perilous. Still, they could move through in small groups, all staying within a call’s distance, and the birds could go first, before the rabbits and mice. That way, if the dogs came, they could take to the air and warn the others of the attack. Cotur Mono sat in the utter silence of the morning considering this, lost in his thoughts.

“Good morning, cousin bird,” said a voice right in his ear, and the quail jumped in such a panic he was taken to wing before he realized who it was that had spoken. The leader quail settled back down beside the great vulture with a
hhmmff
and a slight whistle.

“Why are you vultures always so quiet?” asked Cotur Mono. “You scared me to still my heart.”

“I am sorry, cousin bird,” said the great vulture mother Ekbeth. “I will try to be louder in my approach next time.” She smiled and breathed out a sigh. The leader quail could smell death on her breath, could see its black decay smeared throughout her feathers. He quivered.

“Mother!” cried the vulture perched at the highest top of the great dead sycamore. “There comes on approach a woodchuck! And on its back are three small birds!”

“Oh, please,” said Cotur Mono. “Let it be some of the misplaced!”

“Certainly it is,” said Ekbeth.

The old gray hare Sulari hopped out from beneath the stump where he had slept. “What’s that?” he said. “The approach of birds? What type?” He called this to the vulture perched on high.

“Appear to be two tiny quail and one larger, frail and thin—very old. They are climbing down off the woodchuck’s back.”

By this time the animals were coming out from their sleeping places in curiosity. “Three of the lost ones!” called one voice. “Who is it coming?” called another.

Cotur Mono, Ekbeth, Sulari, and the rest of those awakened by the arrival hurried to the edge of the field to see three quail perched upon the back of a sleek woodchuck. Two were the young lost chicks. The third bird was Incanta.

Sulari and Cotur Mono went straightaway to the old quail, but the young ones flew immediately to their mother, who took them under her wings, crying and preening them. Then she began to peck and scold them for running away. That did not last long, and soon she was preening them and crying again.

Incanta, in exhaustion, sat down. “I may never rise again,” she said.

“Mother, I must away,” said the woodchuck.

“Thank you, Risa,” said Incanta. “If it were not for the dove sending you to us, we would still be on our journey next moon. Bless your swift feet.”

“I am honored to carry you. Though the burden of the news you bear is greater in weight than your small bodies.” Sulari raised his ears to this. “May peace stay with you, Mother. May your worst days be behind you,” said the woodchuck, whose eyes darted nervously about the field, from vulture to quail and back again. He made a sort of deliberate curtsy then, in a flash of brown fur, was gone.

Cotur Mono came close to her. “Incanta, wise hen, I beseech you, why are you the one to return with these young ones?” he asked. “What danger has come to the others?”

“Cotur Ada is dead,” she said. Then she went on to tell how he had sacrificed himself, and how she had fled with the chicks as Banka took Cotur Ada into the field. She explained how Risa the woodchuck had come to them not long after they fled, how he had sheltered them throughout the night and delivered them swiftly to Olffey Field come morning.

Cotur Mono cried when he heard of the death of Cotur Ada, and he pulled a footful of feathers from his breast, casting them on the wind.

“What of the others?” queried Sulari, likewise distraught. “What of Harlequin, Gomor, and Cormo? What of Ysil and Monroth?”

“I saw nothing of them,” she said.

Cotur Mono opened his beak and, looking to Sulari for support, said, “I can only hope they escaped before they were found by the crows, but I fear they may not have been so fortunate.”

Cotur Mono fell into a thoughtful silence as all around the animals chattered excitedly. Anur was telling of how Banka had held him and his small brother down, and that he was certain he would die; that they both would be dead if it weren’t for Cotur Ada and Incanta.

The vultures’ field was filled with chatter and excited talk. Some wanted to flee the area, to not return to the field. All were extremely angry at the crows for the murder. Some questioned if Cotur Ada had really been murdered at all. Sulari assured them that he had. “The little ones saw the crows kill a prince within the order of their Reckoning,” said the old gray hare. “Why would they likewise not slaughter a mere quail?” None dared speak of revenge. The dark happenings of the Reckoning were beyond the understanding of the lesser animals, but from what they had heard, it was an evil thing. Incanta told Sulari of the flight of the prince and his followers. Sulari asked many questions, but through this Cotur Mono spoke not a word.

Then the leader of the quail flew up to a low branch on the sycamore where all could see him and, gathering up his spirit, said, “The crows have murdered one of our own; yes, it is devastating. I, as much as any of you, am greatly angered upon hearing this. But know that Cotur Ada knew his path when he made his choice. He gave his life for these young ones and for Incanta. This is the greatest love.” All were quiet.

He continued. “We should all hold what he did as the highest of acts. Let us not focus on his murder, for the crows are only following the ancient laws laid down within their order. They are no more to blame for his death than the rain drowning newborn mice within the den.” At this there was a consenting murmur through the group.

And then from the back came a voice seldom heard, that of Roe the golden rat. “Well, their order is not ours. Should we not consider this?”

“Cotur Mono speaks with wisdom,” said Sulari. “We cannot challenge their order. We need only tend to our own.”

“Eh?” spoke Incanta, resting on the barren earth, belabored with heavy breath. “I challenged only to try to save the hatchlings. And I am old, as was Cotur Ada. But I feel he was bound by a decision beyond his personal sacrifice. I feel he had something to say. I pray he had the chance to say it before his life was taken.”

“What was he to say?” asked Cotur Mono. “What message would he have for the crows?”

“Cotur Ada knew of the unbalance in the field,” she said. “He knew that there are missing pieces to the life therein. He knew that he would have their ear. There could never be another time when he would.”

Sulari and Cotur Mono pondered this for a moment. Then Cotur Mono raised his voice to the group. “We are going home today.” There was an unsettled murmur. Ekbeth nodded her head.

“We will help you prepare passage to the field, animals. And we will gather acorns for you this morning so that you are fed before your journey.” Her massive beak wide open, she made her last offer: “And remember, our offer is always open. Any of you are welcome to remain here.”

“I am staying,” said Incanta.

“What?” cried Sulari and Cotur Mono at once.

“I swore not to make the journey, but since I had no choice and I am here anyway, I am staying. I knew that if I came I could never leave.” She smiled at Ekbeth. “You have a place for an old, flightless quail here, Mother Vulture?”

“Certainly we do, wise one!” Ekbeth was honored and excited. “You may share the north end of the field with the elder deer and the coyote. Certainly you will have much to talk about. Where else can you glean such wisdom but here?”

“I am awfully eager,” said Incanta. “I have much to ask them, most certainly the coyote.”

As they saw her resolve, Sulari and Cotur Mono did not argue with her. They gathered around Incanta and pressed in close to her. Cotur Mono laid his wings on her and Sulari, his arms. The leader quail prayed for her there, prayed to the wind, and the hare even said a prayer to the earth. They prayed she would continue to learn and find wisdom even in that place of dying. Then she walked silently to the far end of the field, where the coyote and deer watched her approach with interest. She sat down between them.

The animals began to prepare for the journey back. And the vultures came with branches filled with acorns, and they all ate well. Before the morning sun had reached one quarter, the group took to the trail, heading home.

From the north end of the field, Incanta watched the others leave. She nuzzled her head into the soft fur of the coyote and closed her eyes. With great care the coyote whispered softly into her ear. “Sleep, Mother,” he said.

W
ITH EVERY STEP
Ysil took, his mistrust for the honesty and forthrightness of their ‘guardians’ grew. He watched their every move and was forever reminding himself to be ready to take flight should they turn from protectors to attackers.

Drac had insisted that he be at the front of the group, to lead and to confront anyone they might encounter. If a foe were to be moving down the trail during the light of day, surely a fox was a better initial encounter than a quail or a rabbit. But if another quail were moving down the trail, or a rabbit or a raccoon even, they would see the approach of a fox. The word of a group of prey moving with predators would spread quickly if a dove were to see them. If he encountered a dove, what would he say?
The foxes are here to take us to the river where we intend on asking the hawk to return to the field
? Any dove would think them crazed.
Will this be before or after they eat you?
the dove might ask.

Puk was at the rear of the group to fend off any danger from behind. Ysil hated the thought of their flanks being exposed to the fox. He felt the fox’s eyes on him and kept glancing back, imagining hunger within them.

“You need not get too far from the others now,” Ysil heard Puk say to Gomor, who had fallen behind. “Someone may eat you.”

Ysil shivered. Gomor laughed uneasily. “Thanks for your consideration,” he said.

Monroth had taken to walking beside Drac, and though the fox had cautioned him against it, he had continued to do so. “I want to be close should we need to protect Harlequin,” he said, looking back to see if she heard.

Ysil glanced at Harlequin. Her feathers ruffled slightly and a light came to her eyes. Ysil grimaced.

They had been moving all day and decided to stop in a small clearing, hoping to find some food. The foxes took to tearing apart an old dead tree stump, looking for grubs and ants. The rest pecked and foraged around the field for what greenery and seed they could find.

Harlequin moved close to Ysil. He trembled.

“What do you think, Ysil?” she asked. “Do you think we can trust them? Any at all?”

“I think we can trust them to look out for their own needs,” said Ysil. “They must think there is something important in it for them to be with us. I don’t think it’s to put us in their bellies. Not right away, at least. If they just wanted to eat us, they would have tried by now.”

“You’re right, and there are certainly dangers always about,” she said. “Have you ever been this far in the direction the sun rises before?”

Ysil shook his head. “No, and neither have Cormo nor Gomor. I don’t know about Monroth—he has made a few journeys. For all I know, he may have been down this very trail with the foxes themselves.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked with sudden interest. “Has he really taken such journeys?”

“Oh, I don’t know, probably not this far,” said Ysil.

Then the laughter started. It was all around the clearing.

The laughter was familiar, and even before the furry masks appeared out of the bush Ysil knew who it was that was raising the ruckus: raccoons, pesky and noisome raccoons. Ysil, Cormo, and Harlequin moved together. Monroth immediately gathered in with them. He pushed into the middle. Ysil saw him shudder, and he pressed himself up beside Harlequin.

“Ho! What is this?” called the one first into the clearing. Drac moved to face it straight on. “Are you foxes feeding your dinner to fatten it up before you feast? These are such tasty morsels, certainly!” Raccoon were hunters, for sure, but they ate mostly eggs, crawfish, and the occasional shrew. Ysil had never heard of a raccoon killing a live quail or a rabbit. Still, he didn’t like the sound of this coon’s voice.