Lupus Rex (20 page)

The badger rose and moved to the edge of the thicket, looking carefully for more movement. He drew closer to the brush where he had seen the shape. The brush was blowing mightily in the wind, its branches thick and furious. Closer and closer he approached. Was it a skunk in the night, curious of the visitors? Could it be Roe returning? No, far too large. He peered far into the brush now; his face only inches from the green.

In a flash, a great form leaped out and was upon him. The last thing Rompus saw was a giant ring of teeth closing around his head. Then there was a great rush of crimson and the world was pain.

Chapter Fourteen

Reunions and Separations

“W
AKE UP
! W
AKE
up, foolish quail!”

Ysil jolted from his sleep. What was that voice? Was that his mother calling for him to rise? Was it Cotur Ada beckoning him? Then his mind came into awareness of dawn’s feeble light. He felt a cold wind blowing his feathers, then the form of another bird close to him. He opened his eyes. It was Harlequin, and though the chill of the night was still surrounding, he felt comfortable warmth rising from deep inside. She lay still beside him, fast asleep.

“Aha! I see your eyes are open, but certainly there is no waking mind behind them. Perhaps it is love keeps you dreamy?” The voice was small and shrill, more of a chirp than a voice. Ysil looked around but at first could not find its source.

“Where. . .” he stammered, “where are the deer?”

“Do you forget Illanis’s words?” said the small voice. “The deer have gone to the turkey roost, to ask the great birds to join them in battle. And no doubt through the night have been searching out the raccoons and skunks. Are you really as much a fool as I take you for?”

“Who is that talking?” asked Ysil.

Then with a slight flush the small finch landed right in front of him. “It’s me, you buffoon!”

Harlequin rustled beside Ysil and stood up. “Well, good morning to you, little finch,” she said with some irritation. “We have not overslept, certainly. The sun is not yet in the sky.”

“Of all days to rise early, this is the one,” said Flax.

Cormo was now also awake.

“What is all the yelling about?” he mumbled. “Do you want to attract the wolf?”

“There is no chance!” said the finch. “I have already been to the wolf’s camp, just at first twilight. Not far, but not so close as to hear your yapping. But you must up! I have hard news! Your band of family and kind was attacked in the night! Many have scattered.”

Ysil shook with shock. Cormo and Harlequin gasped.

“What of the quail?” asked Ysil. “Did you see any quail?”

“Nay, but I did see a lone gray hare moving down the trail at a slow pace. And also a small band of tiny mice, so I know not all were lost.” The finch flew in an arc up and over the three, then in a flash was back where she had been only a second before. “Now we must away! Do your best to keep up with me!”

With that the tiny bird disappeared. The quail jumped to the wind, their minds still thick with the fog of sleep, and took off after the racing blur that was Flax.

W
HERE WAS HIS
burrow? The old gray hare knew it could not be far away. But he could not remember why he had left. Was he looking for food? Had he been alone? His head hurt and he stumbled. His vision blurring, he sat down. Then a bright red filled his sight, and he thought,
Maybe I’ll take a little nap, and when I wake I will remember why I left my burrow. And what I was doing on the trail.

“Yes, yes,” he stammered. “That is what I will do. Sleep. And when I wake all will be back in order.”

And the hare went to sleep, in the very middle of the trail, with the blood drying on his head and his memory blissfully erased.

“S
ULARI
!” C
RIED CORMO
and swerved drastically to alter his flight.

Ysil saw the hare then, lying still on the trail. The quail landed beside him. Flax was already there.

“He is asleep,” said the little finch. “Wake up, old hare! You old overgrown rabbit! Wake up! Your den is on fire!” The little finch jumped around the hare quickly, crying out with excited purpose.

Sulari began to stir. “Hmmm? Fire? Where?”

Ysil moved in close to the hare, knowing that his eyesight was not that good. “It’s me, Grandfather Hare, Ysil.”

The old gray hare smiled, focusing in on the face he knew well. “Ysil, my boy, you are back. We were so worried about you! I am so relieved that you’re—” His face froze and the smile was replaced by a look of fear and horror.

“Oh, no!” cried Sulari. “Now I remember it all! The wolf! And his army! We were all attacked! I—I watched as—I watched as they died. I could not help. I watched as the wolf and coyotes and foxes and other monsters killed so many of the rabbits. And then an enormous fiend burst from the wood. I have never seen its kind before—not quite as big as the wolf, but oh, so horrible. And it killed Cotur Mono! I only ran!” Then he broke off in a fit of crying.

The birds’ eyes were open in frightful shock. Harlequin moved in close to the old hare and put her wing around his neck. She said nothing, and cried herself. They sat there for a while close to the gray hare and tried to comfort him. But the anguish the quail felt was just as strong as the hare’s.

Then a voice came from the wood. It was a voice all of them knew.

“I am glad I returned,” it said, and out stepped Roe. Behind him trod a small group of animals, some seven mice and, in their wake, four rabbits. Then out from the brush stepped eight quail, among them Erdic and Anur. Harlequin flew to them with tears gathering on her feathered face. Her two young brothers took to her sides, one beneath each wing. Ysil saw Sylvil in the group of quail; she moved away from the others and close to Cormo. She looked him in the eyes and some unspoken communication passed between them. She lay at his feet and he sat down beside her and patted her with his wing. There was blood on her shoulder and a cut in her neck. He moved close to her and nestled his head to her side. She smiled at him. “I am glad to see you, Cormo,” she said.

It was then they all heard the sounds of crows approaching, cawing madly, immediately followed by the howling of coyotes and beasts. It was a chaos of sound that pierced their very hearts with all life’s history of fear and flight. Ysil could liken it only to that of the man’s machine, it was so deafening and maddening. All of them burst for cover and hid. And some flew farther but some found cover closer to the trail. Ysil flew away in a speedy fury and settled in the thorny branches of an Osage orange tree. He was alone, and the fear of the coming army pounded in his chest.

Flax flew straight up. He flew higher and higher until all below was small and quiet. And up in the heights, not far below the billowing, rolling clouds, he hovered in one place and watched. He saw the crows at the head of the army, flying in standard rank. Behind them were the forms of many vociferous animals, howling, yelping, seething, and noisome: the army of the wolf marching to war. And farther up the trail, past where the animals were hidden, he could see the Murder’s Field. Within the field there were many crows, the Murder’s Tree black with their number, their black bodies speckling the ground. Then it came clear to the finch, for he knew that there were far more crows in the field now than ever before. And also in the field and in the trees surrounding he could see the gray bodies of many smaller birds.

So that’s what they have been up to
, he thought.
The doves have rumored up an army of crows
.

O
PHREI WAS BUSY
within the nest of the King. He hopped and fluttered about, pulling out old snakes’ skins, many of which disintegrated into a pale powder. There also were not a few mouse skulls and the occasional mole corpse, which had gone rancid through the summer heat. In the last month of the King’s life he had not left his nest, and in his death spot there were still the stains of his bile and feces. Ophrei had waited too long to clean the nest, but now he must. The new King must have a fresh foundation on which to build. He picked through the parts that were of newer construction, this past spring’s willow boughs and oak branches. Beneath, some of the nest was exceedingly old. Upon these branches rested the nest of the murder’s King, as it had been and always would be. A lower portion was constructed from the limbs of an old chestnut tree, wormy and gnarled. Ophrei knew that there were no more chestnuts alive. The trees had been killed out by an angry wind long before his time. The nest was very old indeed.

But when the new King was crowned, he would put his own touches on it. So the old rook prepared the nesting area. This would be the day of the crowning. He knew it to be true. The wind had told him so.

And so Ophrei picked the white matter and black feathers from the nest and let them fall to the ground below. He was so consumed in his work that he had nearly forgotten that upon the field below was the greatest gathering of crows in this area in many years. Only in Miscwa Tabik-kizi were there such gatherings.

Two doves flew up beside the rook and watched him working in silence. After a few good minutes ignoring their presence, the rook settled his eyes on them.

“Well?” he said. “What news do you have for me today?”

But the doves did not answer, and he went back to his work.

After a few minutes of watching, the doves flew away.

But the rook knew what their news was, and likewise they knew they did not have to whisper it. The wolf was near. Dangerously near, now. And with him was the rogue prince.

Ophrei redoubled his efforts.
Not much time now to ready the nest for the new King.

N
ASCUS WATCHED THE
crows around the field with apprehension. The sound of their squawking and cawing was nearly deafening. The number was great now, and there were more arriving. Most of the birds he had never seen. The doves flew between the crows, whispering in the ears of many, relating things to them. There was a rogue prince en route to this field, and that alone was enough to gather a small army of one type or another. However, it was the return of the wolf that had built the legion before him. If a wolf were to take over this field, there might be one to take over their home fields. They were ready to fight, as most crows usually were at any given time.

The season of the raising of the Widjigo was approaching, and many crows were moving into the face of the cold wind already. None alive remembered the first calling, but the rooks told of its beginnings. The tale was passed down and down. Ophrei had told it to the princes when the three were but chicks.

The thought of the tale came to Nascus now and he shivered. As he remembered it:

Once, the birds and animals had been the only inhabitants of the land. There was stillness across the fields and waters, unbroken by the sound of man’s machines, their work sounds, and their strange words. The animals had lived in peace then, and all order was as one. But man had come and brought great change. He had taken over the fields and carried death in with him. He had killed off many animals and held no reverence for the order of the kinds. It was then that the crows had established their order. It was at this time that the First Atonement was held in far-off Miscwa Tabik-kizi, which was then only an open field with an oak grove in its middle. The crows had met to list their grievances with men, and many wished to find a way to get rid of them.

And so the crows had held council with the Wind, and the Wind had told them that man would never be driven out, that man was to stay. The Wind also told the council that should they ever hope to have influence in the world of men, they must continue to hold council every year.

But one crow would not hear the Wind and insisted that man could be driven out. So the crow, whose name was Widjigo, had begged the Wind to take him in and to feed him in breath to man. The Wind had finally allowed Widjigo in and had consumed him. But when the Wind had fed him to the men, the men had only blown him out. So Widjigo had become saddened and taken to the quiet places, where men never did go.

But then one man had taken his family to the wild parts, to where Widjigo was dwelling, and made his home there. And one night, while the family slept, Widjigo settled into the man’s chest. And in his dreams, Widjigo whispered to him, deep into his hunger. When the man woke, he was enormously hungry. Madness overtook him, as if starving, and he went into the room of his wife and two children and slaughtered them like animals and ate them. It was in this way Widjigo the crow turned its anger into man’s insanity and hunger for his own.

And Widjigo stayed in the wild places and spoke to the lonely and the lost, and some took on its anger and hungered for their own and ate.

But the council knew Widjigo would not drive man out. Though they meet still, every year, near a great burial site for men, which was once only the clearing with the oak grove. They hold a council with the Wind, so that men should be driven out of the world.