Lupus Rex (18 page)

Pitrin went to his nest and settled. He tried to sleep, but though his stomach was full and his body satisfied, it was to no avail. For the quail’s words were locked within his mind, and the sound of the wolf’s howl rang in his ears.

Chapter Thirteen

What Cormo Heard

T
HE QUAIL FLEW
on through the falling afternoon sun. The wind had picked up and it made the flight hard, but they went for a long time without resting. When they did stop it was only out of exhaustion. They settled under the shade of a green willow near a stream and grouped close, weeping.

“What could we have done?” asked Harlequin, the first to speak since they had taken flight. “How could we have saved him?”

Silence answered. There was nothing they could have done.

Harlequin moved away from Ysil and Cormo and pushed her head beneath her wing, crying loudly now. Ysil moved closer to her and for a moment only looked on, his own tears still wet on the feathers of his cheeks. Then he moved in closer to her and settled down beside her and, with a tender purpose, settled his wing around her. He did what he could to quell her mounting heartbreak.

Her crying only grew stronger. “This is all I can take!” she said. “It was a fool’s errand we undertook! We have accomplished nothing!”

Ysil spoke no reply, considering her words. Then Cormo came close to them and settled his wing around her also. The three quail huddled together in their loss and sadness, their bodies and hearts sapped of the youthful strength they had been brimming with mere hours before.

Harlequin continued to cry, stronger, it seemed, with each moan. “I had considered Monroth as mate!” she wailed. “He did hold such a strong place in my heart. Now that can never be!” Ysil shifted uneasily. “And Gomor was my life’s best friend. This pain is unbearable!”

They continued to hold her, neither Ysil nor Cormo saying anything, just continuing to wrap their wings about her. Her cries kept on, but after a while they turned to a soft weeping, and finally she became quiet, breathing softly.

The wind whistled around them, its voice telling of the approaching storm. And its song pressed them to move on. Each of them heard it, though at first they did not grant it the attention it requested. They nestled until their misery somewhat subsided. Then the song of the wind became a flurrying rush as it grew in strength until it was forcing past them, now seemingly unconcerned of their directive. They tried to walk a ways. The leaves were blowing everywhere and the temperature continued to drop.

Cormo was fantastically angry and sad at the same time. He moved on ahead of Harlequin and Ysil and set off down the trail. The other two stayed close together, but he needed the space to think. The wind blew harder still. Far away a boom of thunder sounded.

The hawk was a murderer,
he cursed to himself, but as soon as the thought came to him he knew it was not true.
The hawk was not as the crows. He did not kill without reason. He killed for food.

He kept up a fast walk. There was a fork in the path, and he took to the right, almost without thinking. He kept on, his head down, his mind racing. It was a good time before he turned to look back down the path. When he did, Ysil and Harlequin were nowhere to be seen. Had they been out of view when he made the turn? Had they taken the other path? He had taken the right turn out of instinct, sure it was the way they had come. Had he been wrong?

He flew up to the top of a sugar maple, its branches gnarly and overgrown, and looked back the way he had come. He saw them nowhere. Then he heard it, even above the roar of the wind. It was like the sound of a moving river but rustling and patting. There were growls and laughs—and hissing. His whole body shaking with fear, he raised his head to look.

There, down in the dale at the base of the hollow, was a split in the path, and below the split was a great band of animals. He saw coyotes, foxes, and the forms of snakes slithering past. There passed two bobcats and two possums. And there at the lead was the colossal form of a gray wolf. He shook his head and closed his eyes, certain at first that he must be suffering an illusion. But when he opened them again, the swath of animals was just as real as it had been the moment before, far too real.

Cormo’s first instinct was to fly, but then he realized the animals’ route would bring them near him, though not so near as to see him. So Cormo resolved to stay in the tree, its leaves twirling and flapping. He felt camouflaged. He prayed his sense of security was not false.

A
SMOD HAD A
full belly. Still, when he was offered a rabbit or a raccoon pup or even a vole or sparrow chick, he would eat it. The animals were always hunting as they moved down the path, and the bounty was great. Asmod knew this was his destiny, to spend the rest of his days full and never hungry. He was content in this, but there was always more, and he would take everything he could.

“My fellow King!” came a call from above. It was that rotten brat crow, Sintus. He landed beside the wolf as Asmod tried to quell his disgust.
Fellow King!
The thought was not only offensive but also absurd. However, none of these thoughts did the wolf betray.

“We are but a half day’s journey to the field,” squawked the crow. “Shall we stop for the night so that we be ready for the attack tomorrow?”

“No,” said the wolf. “We move on. We will surround the field during the night. Then attack at first light.”

Sintus huffed. “And what of the crows, Asmod? The crows will not move at night.”

Asmod said nothing.

“Do not question—follow,” came the quiet and loathsome voice from the copperhead around the wolf’s neck.

“I’m not questioning anything,” said the crow. “It is a fact. Crows do not have the eyesight to fly at night.”

“Then you will walk,” said the wolf.

Sintus considered. Then, “Yes, all right, we will walk.” Sintus felt this would surely slow the army down, and that they would never reach the field before dawn.

They then passed a tall stand of trees at the top of a hollow. High within one of those trees, two unseen eyes watched and listened to what was said. The wind settled a bit in a lull.

“What of the quail, rabbits, moles, and mice?” asked Sintus. “They are certainly to be our subjects and, of course, your prey. But what of keeping their numbers? Shall we require them to pay tribute with eggs? This has been the way of the crow.”

“The quail will not stand,” said Asmod. “The quail will fatten our bellies and they will lose number. The rabbits will run and disperse, but the quail of the field will not relocate. We will take them all.”

Sintus sighed. “Yes . . . Yes, I suppose you are right. Your kind will grow fat, then, for sure.” He laughed. “And there will be much more for the crows to reap, with the lesser gone.”

The wolf’s band moved on, and high in the tree Cormo was frozen in horror. He had not heard everything that was said as the wolf and crow passed below, but he had heard enough. The strength of the wind grew again.

A
S THE SUN
continued its descent, Ysil and Harlequin walked on in silence. When Cormo gained speed and moved on neither of them really noticed, so lost in their thoughts were they. It was not until they reached the fork in the path that they realized their debacle. Which way had he gone?

“I feel certain that the way we came was the path on the left,” said Harlequin.

“Yes,” answered Ysil, “that is the way we came. But how can we be sure that Cormo remembered? He has never had to remember directions before. Should we wait here for a bit and see if he returns, looking for us? He can’t be far down the path.”

“We are lost now,” said Harlequin. “Though we may be correct about the path to follow, we are all lost.”

He did not answer, but he knew what she meant.

They waited there by the path as the sun inched across the sky with no further debate. Either Cormo would return, or they would nest in that spot for the night. Then they heard a rustle down the path and knew it to be an approaching quail. They watched expectantly as Cormo came into view. They saw the fear and shock on his face.

“A great wolf!” he said, catching back up to them. “Oh, for the love of my nest, Cotur Ada was right! The wolf is come! I saw he and his band just over the rise there. They are moving to the field.” And he told them all he had seen and heard. They shivered at the thought of being so close to that many predators. Within Ysil an immense fear grew, a fear not only for the safety of their own lives but for the lives of their kind and their order.

“What do we do?” asked Cormo. “Do we go down the path and chance meeting them along it? Certainly this path we stand on intersects with the same on which they travel. We must try to make it to the field before they do. We must warn the crows of the wolf’s alliance with Sintus.”

Ysil cringed at the thought of the crows of the field. He had just seen them kill his grandfather. But he knew Cormo was right. If the order of the field was broken, all animals would suffer, perhaps numerous would perish. “Yes, to make it home before dark we must find another way,” replied Ysil. He looked intently into the sky, then back the way they had been heading. “Let’s go carefully beside the brush at the side of the trail. Perhaps we will find a hidden path. I need to get bearings on the field.”

And so they went on quietly for a distance, and the wind was at their backs, for which they were grateful. They were afraid to take to the trees in fear the wolf’s army would hear their flushing.

It was Harlequin that saw it, a small and nearly hidden path that shot off to the south. “This looks to be a path toward the field, I think,” said Ysil. So they ducked through the small opening and followed the trail. As they went along, the grade grew steep and they climbed a hill. As they neared the top, they saw below them a stand of cedars. Then they heard the singing in the air, a whispered but joyful song. The voices, though soft, were large and deep. “The deer,” breathed Cormo under his breath.

Foolish, foolish young and bold!

Careless, prancing fools . . .

Careful, careful, when we’re old.

Now our numbers few!

Faster, faster, jump up quick!

Only feed at night.

Hope the boom of hunter’s stick,

You elude in flight.

Antlers branched like sycamore,

And lover doe gives favor.

Crash and wrestle—rivals war,

Her bounty for our labors.

And if we were to gain a boon,

With winter drawing near,

’Twould be to die a friend to moon,

For God will shed no tear.

A careful laughter echoed from the cedar grove after the song ended. Then all at once the laughter died. The quail heard a few hushed whispers and then silence. Deer had the greatest sense of smell of any animal. Certainly, they had smelled the quail, but what if they had smelled something else? Why would the mighty deer have been startled by the mere scent of quail?

Then a young buck burst out of the grove and ran fast toward them. They scarcely had time to react before he was on them. “Quail!” he exclaimed. “Quail, why do you hold the scent of the hawk?”

In shock, it was Harlequin who spoke: “We have been to the land of Pitrin the hawk. It is certainly the mud from beneath his nest you smell.”

“And the smell of rabbit’s blood?” asked the deer.

“The blood is that of our friend,” said Ysil. “The hawk slew him.”

A flash of yellow crossed before Ysil’s eyes. What could it have been?
Much too fast to be a leaf blowing in the wind.
Perhaps only an illusion
, thought Ysil.

“What reason would you have to go to such a place, eh?”

Then Ysil told him of the death of the King and the Reckoning of the crows. The deer was of late informed; the dove had already carried this word to him, he explained. He showed little interest in their story.

“The last thing my grandfather commanded was that we go to Pitrin the hawk and beg his return to the field,” said Ysil.

“Why would your grandfather command such a thing?” asked the deer.

“He knew that the wolf was to return,” said Ysil.

“I have seen it with my own eyes!” said Cormo. “Not an hour’s walk from here, where the path breaks. The wolf and his band are but a quail’s flight away.”

Immediately a doe burst from the nearby grove. She was enormous, her body toned and strong. She was a good deal larger than the young buck, the biggest living thing Ysil had ever seen.

“I am Oda,” she said. “I am mother of this band. Now, birds, come to the grove and tell us the rest of your tale. I can hear in your voices you are tired and in need of rest. We also have food.”

They followed her into the grove. It was thick and dark inside, and Ysil counted nineteen deer within. There were six large bucks, gray around the mouths and still, staring at the small birds. Oda led them through the thick trees to a small clearing concealed therein. In the very middle of the clearing was a giant white oak, laden with acorns. Beneath the tree sat a massive buck, bigger and with mightier antlers than any of the others within the grove.