“This is Illanis,” said Oda. “He is the elder of the deer. I am first wife to him.”
“Greetings, little birds,” said Illanis, his eyes dark and certain. There was a small bird perched on his shoulder, a finch. “Your cousin here at my side is Flax. He has told me your tale. Not only such, but since you have spoken to Oda, Flax has flown over the wolf’s band and counted their number. This is a dire time, certainly.”
Ysil considered the small bird and nodded. The bird only chirped in response. Finches were fast on wing, surpassed by only the hummingbirds.
“The wolf’s return affects us all in this land,” said Illanis. “Long have I feared and foreboded this time. I have known since he fled to the dark land that someday he would come back.” The buck raised his chin. “And so, Pitrin the hawk, eh? I knew his mother, Elera. She died sadly.”
“We held counsel with King Crow,” said Oda, “the day after Elera died. The hawks and deer hold balance. Did you know that, little quail?”
“We know only what we are commanded and what we see,” said Ysil. “We are quiet and look only to the grain for our needs, and to the wind, I suppose. The workings of greater order have never been our concern. We have tended to our own.”
The old buck smiled. “As do we all, little bird. But alas, to understand, think on this: with no grain, there are no rabbits. With no rabbits, there are no hawks. And with no hawk over us, the wolf returns. And with nothing left but the wolf, soon he will starve also.” Illanis shook his great head. “This I have long known. We have been foolish not to prepare.
“Oda, we must gather our wise in number and hold counsel with the turkeys,” said the buck. At this all three quail gasped. The turkeys were no friend to the quail; they rooted out their nests and broke their eggs.
Oda’s smiling eyes gathered upon the small birds. “I see you are concerned about your rivals, the turkeys?” she said. “You need not be so. The turkeys have their place, as do the quail. Tend to your field as they will their wooded domain. This invasion will reach farther into the forest than the trees surrounding your field. It affects us all.”
“There is more to the contest between the turkeys and the quail than you know,” said Illanis. “There is a tale I will tell you. It is a story of the turkeys, and certainly not the quail. A tale of three quail and a turkey chick caught within a man’s net. But the man had died and the net was forgotten. The quail were small enough that they could break through the netting, but the turkey was larger and could not get free. When the quail freed themselves, they promised to tell the turkeys of the trapped one within. But instead they found a great stand of grain and forgot the turkey. And the quail grew fat, and the turkey died. And so any turkey to chance upon a quail’s nest will scratch it out. Assuredly the rivalry between the quail and turkeys is old, but it is one founded simply. The quail are of the field, and the turkeys are of the wood. Tread within each other’s regions and you are a challenger for the grain. It is that simple. But now we are to gather against a common foe, and the quail could never hope to hold ground against such an enemy. You need the turkeys to have a chance at survival. Find wisdom in this.”
The three quail looked at the deer in still wonder.
“Now,” said Oda, “eat. Night will be upon us soon. Come first light you must away. There is a path continues on from here that will lead to the Murder’s Field. You must go quickly, for time is short. I fear the wolf’s band will not stop for the night. We have no envoy to spare that could warn your kind of the coming attack. Surely the dove related the coming to the crows.”
“But what of our families and the others of our kind?” asked Ysil. “They were cast out with the other lesser animals during the Reckoning, but surely they are back by now, unless they were held up somehow.”
“We will be upon the field before you,” said Oda. “We will save what we can. But now we must go to the turkeys. We must beg their alliance before they take roost.”
The old buck whispered to the finch an unheard message and the tiny bird disappeared in a yellow flash. Quickly, the deer readied and gathered for command and all left the grove.
The quail broke apart some acorns and ate what they could stomach, being as sad as they were. Then they huddled together in the shade of the oak and watched the nightfall. The wind began whipping strong through the dried leaves, many of which broke free their clutch and blew to the ground. And dark settled and the three fell into a deep sleep, as only quail can do with such a storm coming.
Then came rushing in on quiet wings the great horned owl. He landed in the lower branches of the tree and gazed down upon the sleeping quail. He watched them sleep for a long time and considered many things, all he knew and what he guessed. Hidden in a perch high above, tiny Flax watched the owl, and wondered why he did not kill the quail. Then, just before the early light of dawn crept into the shadowed grove, the owl spread its wings and soared away as silently as he had entered.
Flax never slept.
I
N THE FADING
light, with the wind whipping mightily through the chaos of branches above, Monroth and the foxes waited by the path. Then, rippling across the land came the steady rumble of what Monroth could not fathom. The wind’s strength was growing steadily more uncomfortable, leaving Monroth feeling the need to take shelter. But the foxes had urged him to stay close and to keep watch from the lower branches of a tree.
“I hear something!” called down the quail. “I think it’s animals moving down the trail, many kinds of animals. Sounds like many paws!”
Drac looked at Puk and grinned. “The time is here, I see. Just as the elder promised. So, they have come,” said Puk.
Monroth heard the words but did not understand. “The time? What do you mean? Who is it coming?”
“It’s the sound of our future you hear,” said Drac. Puk was grinning ear to ear, and there was foamy spittle in the corners of his black mouth. “That noise you hear is like a spring’s thunder announcing the approach of a new order, quailsie. What comes are the armies of our kind. And we must join. And unless you would choose to join us”—and with that Drac smiled at Puk, a dark and meaningful smile—“you may flee.”
“What?” called Monroth. “Flee? Flee what?”
“Why, the wolf, of course,” said Puk, who broke into a fitful laughter.
“W-w-wolf? What do you mean, wolf? There are no wolves left.”
“Why, there is one, certainly,” said Drac. “And he is returned. My father is Preto, and he remembers the time of the wolf. The elder Puk spoke of was he. Two days ago my father went into a trance. We brought him half a litter of mink pups, but alas, he would not eat. When he finally awoke, his eyes had gone blind. And he told us of the coming of the wolf and commanded that we seek out his army and join with them. You see, Monroth, when we found you birdsies and that fat rabbit, we saw the chance to bring the wolf a gift.”
“A gift?” said Monroth. “What do you mean?”
Drac and Puk both smiled a vicious grin, all teeth.
Then the full weight of all Monroth had done fell upon him, and with fear cutting through him like an eagle talon, he took to furious wing, flying with all the strength he had from the approaching army and the sound of the foxes’ laughter.
He flew on and on, up the trail, praying that he might find the path back to the field. But as he flew, darkness descended and he nested within a thick stand of moss thistle. And when he closed his eyes, he instantly fell into a fitful and dreamless sleep.
C
OTUR
M
ONO WAS
worried. He hoped they had left the vultures with plenty of time to make it back to the Murder’s Field before dark. He and Sulari had not led the animals on the route passing the man’s house, deciding that going near the dogs with this number of prey would not be advisable. When Sulari had made the journey before, he had done so in one day, dawn to dusk. And though they had left during the middle of the morning, he felt they would make it to the field before night fell. When they had made the journey the day before, they had reached Olffey Field with daylight to spare.
But halfway through the return journey, he began to suspect they would not make it home before dark. The old golden rat, Roe, had fallen behind, and though Cotur Mono wanted to let the confounded creature stay behind—maybe he would get lost!—he could not do so. He and Sulari had left the field with all the animals under their watch and there were too many missing now; he could not afford to lose another. So he stopped their forward progress and went back to speak to the old rat. He found Roe sitting by the side of the path, chewing something, as it always seemed he was, and looking up at the sky.
When he approached, the rat looked up at him with yellowed, sleepy eyes. “When were you born, bird?” asked Roe.
“’Twas seven seasons since my first memory,” answered Cotur Mono. “But that is of little consequence now, rat. We must away. The band is waiting ahead, and you are slowing us down.”
“I have heard a whisper, Mono,” said the rat. “It is spoken softly on the wind. A call of the hungry. I do not know what it is, but there are many hungry close. There are also many feasting. I can hear the very chewing of their jaws.”
“Certainly, it is the grinding of your own teeth. And if there is such a group, none else have had this intuition. I have not seen a dove since we left the vultures’ field,” said the old quail. “Surely if so many predators are near, one would have warned us.”
“Maybe the doves are not here anymore,” said the rat. “Maybe they have gone south. Perhaps they have more important tasks than carrying the news to us. Or it may be our messengers are dead, their messages dead with them.”
Roe shuffled his feet and stood. “You know, I have come to a decision. I am old, as are you, and I am tired of never being heard and always being hungry. I am tired of always searching and never being full.” He snorted and blew a wad of mucus from his furry nostrils. “I am going to turn around and head back the way we came. I am going back to Vulture Field. Keep Incanta company.”
Cotur Mono raised his brow feathers. “Are you really considering it?” he asked. “I mean, you are not that old; what, six seasons?”
“A bit older. Alas, if truth be told, I am wondering what it is we are going back to,” said Roe. “As I said: I have heard a whisper.”
“I know nothing of this whisper of yours,” said the quail. “Just the ramblings of an old rat who, like always, is thinking with his belly. Now set your head to logic. For a rat you are not that old, too young to give up and go to the vultures’ field.”
“Oh, I am not giving up. Just choosing what I feel is the better option.” The rat spat.
“Well . . .” Cotur Mono began and then thought to himself:
This is not really losing one of the number. I know precisely where the rat is going.
“We will miss you,” said the quail.
The old rat laughed, the golden fur of his belly trembling. “Oh, dear bird! Do not take me as a fool! No one will miss me.” And he turned and waddled off.
So Cotur Mono went back to the band and told the hare of the rat’s decision.
“Well, so be it,” said Sulari. “I feel the company of the vultures will suit him.”
And the group continued. Even then he hoped they would have time to reach the field before nightfall, if they hurried, but some of the mice got lost in a blackberry thicket. There were six little mice trapped, entangled in the twined branches. The mother had called out to the little ones as they had crawled within, searching out fruit, but young mice listen to nothing. She had cried and cried their names the entire time Rompus chewed them out of the bramble. When they were finally liberated from the thorns, they set off again. By now Sulari and Cotur Mono were resigned to the fact that they would have to spend the night in the woods. It was much too late now to reach the field and the safety of their home nests and dens before dark. This frightened the leader quail. The reason they had gone to Olffey Field in the first place was so the band would not have to spend the night in the forest unprotected.
Cotur Mono spoke to the badger and asked him to go on ahead, to find a place to camp. Rompus darted off down the trail, the rest of the animals trudging on.
The badger returned in no time with news of a tight stand of sassafras trees ahead. This was a blessing in various ways. It provided places to hide and food also. So the group went on to the coppice and fed. The chicks, pups, and mice all played about the brush; the old ones gathered and watched. As darkness fell, the birds bedded down and the mice made dens. The badger kept guard.
Quite unlike a quail, Cotur Mono could not sleep. So he sat up and talked to the badger. As night continued, the wind rose to a gale and rain pelted down. The two animals grew quiet and listened to the sounds of the storm, huddled within the relative safety of a wild rosemary bush. And there, behind the sound of the pattering of the raindrops and the rustle of the gold and red leaves, Cotur Mono did think he heard a whisper of words in the night’s windsong. He looked at the badger in surprise. Had Rompus heard it, too? But the badger only glared off into the dark, certainly seeing much more than the bird. And after a while the rain stopped, though the wind continued. The sounds melted with the whisper, and the old quail finally closed his eyes and slept.
R
OMPUS THE BADGER
watched the shapes move in the trees, the shapes of the bushes blowing and the leaves flying. And he saw quite well, even with the moon behind the clouds, and often the clouds would clear briefly and the light was vastly brilliant, for the moon was a full round ball at this time, and it glowed brightly.
It was then that the moon moved out from behind a cloud and its light shone down upon the thicket. With the moon this intense he could see clearly as in day. Rompus noticed something moving from behind the brush, and this shape confused him. Perhaps it was a rabbit about its midnight feedings? But then he realized it was too large. And then with the shifting shadows, the vague form was gone.