Lupus Rex (21 page)

It was only there, at Miscwa Tabik-kizi for the Atonement, that so many crows gathered in one place at the same time. Now the gathering in the field below was rivaling that number.

And Nascus knew that the birds gathered here looked to him to lead them, that they were all here to strengthen the field’s army and to fight the approaching danger. They were also here to further ensure that the King would be chosen today, that the darkness would be overcome and the new leader crowned. The army around him was gathered to help him fight this evil. He felt a brave pride rise inside. At the same time, he felt the coldest fear he had ever felt, for he knew that the number of crows and doves, though many, would never equal the strength of the wolf’s army.

Ophrei flew down to him and settled at his side.

“The new King will be crowned today,” he said. “This I know to be the truth.” The old rook seemed at ease. Certainly, this somewhat calmed Nascus’s heart.

“Rook,” asked Nascus, “is this King to be me?”

The rook jumped. “Certainly it will be you,” he exclaimed. “Of who else could the wind be speaking?”

“My brother, perhaps. Or . . .”

The rook wobbled and a wind shifted his feathers. “The wind would not tell me such a thing if it were not to be you,” said the old rook. “This is surely true.” He seemed resolved.

But Nascus was uneasy, and for some reason he could not get Widjigo’s hatred of men out of his head. He feared that the army coming now was in many ways like man—certain, prideful, and purposeful to its own cause. He wondered if the wind had always known Widjigo’s cause to be futile, and if, when it had taken the crow into itself, it knew of the madness it would bring. As the thought came to him, it tugged at his insides, conceiving another question: Was the wind to be trusted?

T
ORTRIX PEERED AROUND
Asmod’s great bulk of a head with the cooling breeze in his face. It would not be long until he took his winter’s sleep. He must eat again soon. He was losing energy. Although copperheads needn’t eat often, he had not fed since they left their home cave. In fact, he had scarcely left Asmod’s neck. He watched the other animals and snakes feast on all they chanced upon, from the voles to the fully grown squirrels; the food was everywhere. A few had gorged and were paying dearly, their bodies swollen and cumbersome; they had been left behind. Tortrix had not wanted to be in the least bit encumbered by having his belly full, for a full snake was a lazy snake, and he must be forever watchful of the predators around him. Though they all were professing their loyalty to Asmod, Tortrix knew that they would, any of them, turn on the great wolf if they felt they would gain for themselves. He watched them always, forever on guard. But he could not go into the battle without something to eat. He had just not chanced upon the right-size meal. Too big and he would be slowed down, too little and he would not get enough energy from the food to ensure his readiness for battle.

Asmod whispered under his breath to the snake. His loyal friend did so only occasionally, as it was scarcely needed for them to talk at all. They communicated without speaking.

“There are more than a few quail and mice in the bush ahead,” whispered Asmod. “I can smell them. I need not eat again before battle. I know you are hungry. I will stop and let you go on ahead. Go to the brush on the trail’s edge and take the small bird within.”

Tortrix’s tongue slithered out of his mouth and took the wind in, and yes, he did smell the animals ahead. A good few of them. “Thank you, my friend,” he said to Asmod and dropped his slithery body to the ground.

When Asmod stopped, the animals behind him halted also, each of them watching his every move. The crows above flew back a bit and landed behind the wolf. Sintus approached him.

“The snake will feed now. When he finishes, we move on,” said Asmod.

“We are nearly at the field,” complained Sintus. “We are within earshot. We dare not pause for long. The birds are quiet. Surely they know we are about to attack. They will be perched all about the field. Perhaps they will give it up without a fight. They could never hope to stand against such an army.”

Asmod smiled. “Alas, I do feel we will have something of a fight in taking it over. I can feel the rise of hot blood in my ears. Always does my blood heat before combat.”

Sintus huffed. “Yes, I admit you are correct. But any war is acceptable to take the field as our own. As long as it is my brother’s blood you smell.”

“Certainly it is,” said Asmod. And the great wolf did not speak another word, just turned and sat down upon his haunches. The birds and animals watched the two prospective Kings, each one with their own questions, but none spoke.

Tortrix slithered on. He smelled bird, certainly a nice, plump quail. A fine meal. He moved silently through the foliage along the edge of the trail. As he neared the brush, he saw the shade of the bird’s feathers almost perfectly blended with the browns, reds, and yellows of the brush and leaves. Tortrix tasted fear on his tongue. It was its fear that gave the prey away—it was always that way. The delicious little thing trembled, its meager breath raising and lowering its form spastically.

The snake crept close. His hunger grew as he prepared to strike. Within his head, the poison pressed down from overfilling sacs into his fangs, which began to seep with anticipation.

H
ARLEQUIN HAD JUMPED
when the other quail did but had not flown far. She had been so startled that she had made it only to the edge of the trail. There was a thick brush there that looked concealing at the time. It was only when she had settled into the thick leaves that she had realized her mistake. She was too close to the trail. But as soon as she perceived her error, she heard the footsteps of the approaching army. If she flushed now, she would undoubtedly be seen. And if she flew, perhaps the other quail and mice would run or fly. They might all be killed.

And so she did not move, her head beneath her wing.

And then the approaching animals stopped. She heard the sound of their paws cease and the settling of the crows. She had not chanced a look. There was the din of a deep voice, dark and certain, followed by another, whispering slight and breathy. Then the sound of a crow, a voice she had heard before, that of one of the princes. The rest of the animals were quiet. But for her fearful breathing, she sat still as death.

Then things happened very quickly.

Chapter Fifteen

Ysil’s Flight

W
HEN THE QUAIL
and the rabbits and the rest of the band heard the coming of the predators, Ysil reacted on instinct. He had taken to the air first, his wings aflutter. All around him animals had run and the quail had scattered. He had been beside Harlequin when they were standing on the ground, but now she was not with him. Within the shelter of the Osage orange, Ysil quavered in anticipation. Where had she flown? He tried to remember. Had she taken refuge in another bush? He did not think so. Someone had flown near him, but he was certain it was Erdic, her brother. He struggled to remember. Then he closed his eyes and focused on the moment of chaos. Some of the birds had merely flown a short distance, and he prayed she had not been one of them.

But she had not flown far. He was sure.

He must go to her! He must find her. But how? There were so many predators around, and with the first flight of a quail, all might fly. It was their way. He closed his eyes tighter and listened to the wind. It blew its whistling tones, a chaos of many melodies. It offered no suggestions.

“Oh, Cotur Ada,” he said out loud. “But that you were here to guide me!”

“I am always with you,” came the voice of his grandfather from just next to him.

Startled, Ysil opened his eyes to look. There was no one there. He chilled. It was his grandfather’s voice, certainly. But he was alone in the bush. Then he felt the brush of wings next to his and the flush of a movement. He looked, but there was still no one there.

Then, softly but with great urging, his grandfather spoke to him again: “You must away. She will fly, this is for sure, and when she does, you must be there to meet her. You must meet her in the air. Guide her to the bush where you were born. There you will be safe, for a while.”

Ysil took heed. He closed his eyes for but a moment more, then opened them with fresh resolve.

“Yes, Grandfather, I will,” he said, though there was not another living bird near. “Be with me.” And he took to flight, back toward the trail, back toward the killers. He did so on faith in his grandfather’s word, for he most certainly did not have faith in his own strength.

And as he breached the top of the trees, he heard Cotur Ada’s voice once again, as if he were at the tip of his wing. “As I said, I am always with you . . .”

T
ORTRIX STRUCK, HIS
fangs forced outward, his eyes black with lust. But even as he did so, something forced itself beneath his throat. It was a wing, the wing of a small bird. The snake was knocked off his striking and missed his target.

“Cursssesss!” hissed the snake.

“Fly!” said a desperate voice. “Harlequin, fly!”

H
ARLEQUIN SENSED A
quick movement and upon instinct pushed off to fly, but she was moving too slow. She saw the snake striking at her. When she looked at the attacking monster, she saw its mouth wide, its fangs rushing toward her face. Then, with a flurry, something flew in the very path of its bite. A flash of gray and a rush of wings, and the snake was forced off mark.

Then came a familiar voice, a voice she had known since she was a chick telling her to fly. So finally she flew, her wings pushing the cool dry air beneath them. It was then she realized whose voice had commanded her.

“Monroth!” she cried.

She looked back and saw him take to wing also, flying low at the edge of the trail. Too low. Just before she passed out of sight, she saw a red furry form burst from the bush upon Monroth, taking him back down to the cursed ground.

Suddenly there were two quail flying beside her, one young and one old. But when she looked again, there was only one remaining: Ysil.

“With me!” he cried. “With me to safety!”

She followed him as he flew back across the trail toward the place of their birth.

P
UK HELD
M
ONROTH
in his mouth, the little bird fighting forcefully to free itself. The more it fought, the tighter Puk clenched his jaws. He looked triumphantly back down the trail, his head held high. The predators did not disguise their happy surprise. Even the wolf was staring with his mouth wide, his tongue dangling, and dark amusement in his eyes. But it was the copperhead who appeared to be enjoying this the most.

Drac stepped from the bush beside Puk. He smiled triumphantly to the snake and wolf.

“Not to worry,” said Drac. “My friend here has retrieved you a fine dinner, Sir Snake.”

Puk broke Monroth’s wings and took him to Tortrix, and after eating him, the snake was satisfied but not too full. The wolf watched all this and took the moment to rest and prepare for the battle that was sure to come. So it was that Drac and Puk came into the favor of the copperhead, and likewise into that of Asmod the Great.

Y
SIL AND
H
ARLEQUIN
flew down into the familiar protection of the bush they had always known as home. But when they grew still, they heard rustling and whispers. They were not alone. There were three other quail in the bush. One of them was Anur, Harlequin’s brother. When she saw him she flew down next to him and began to cry. Ysil came close.

“Monroth saved my life!” she cried. “Now he is surely dead.”

“He loved you dearly,” said Ysil, the tears coming to his eyes also. “Certainly he is redeemed. And there is the chance he escaped.” He said this in hope. But even as he said the words, he knew that certainly Monroth was dead. He, like Harlequin, had seen the treacherous fox take their friend from the same air on which they had flown only moments before.

“I pray so also,” said Harlequin, “but alas, I do not believe it. The fox has taken him, and he has delivered him to the snake in my place.”

Ysil did not answer. He only moved next to Harlequin and nestled. Quiet settled around the bush, but for the breeze rustling the foliage. The wind was subdued now, as if it was saving its strength for the coming hours. Harlequin nuzzled up beside Ysil and cried. She laid her head upon his wing and pressed it beneath his throat and rubbed her neck up to his.

No other quail had ever done this to Ysil, and he felt a flush of warmth within. It was then she came full into his heart. He nuzzled comfortably back. And still she cried. And behind her Ysil saw that Anur had gone to sleep. And so he and Harlequin moved together in the way of the quail, and comforted each other gently. Ysil cried along with Harlequin, and within a few minutes she fell asleep, their heads resting on each other’s wings. It was mid-morning, and as Ysil likewise passed through the veil of consciousness and joined her in a brief exhausted sleep, he saw his grandfather’s face. And his grandfather was crying also.