Lupus Rex (22 page)

Y
SIL AWOKE WITH
the sound of crows’ screams beating his ears. Harlequin remained sleeping, her brother near.
The battle!
It has begun!
But no sooner had this thought crossed his mind than he realized his error. This was not the sound of battle. This was the screaming of anger, but no battle, not yet. He was confused.

Ysil whispered softly to Harlequin until she awoke. Her red and worn eyes opened feebly and stared directly into his.

“What is that screaming?” she asked.

“I have the feeling that the wolf has made it to the field,” said Ysil.

“Ysil, let’s just go,” she said. “Let’s leave here and never return. You and I—right now.” The skin around her beak was puffy and her voice was haggard.

“I know,” he answered. “I want to leave here also.” Ysil looked off, seeming to see through the brush to the field beyond.

“But we can’t, can we?” asked Harlequin. “I mean, there have been too many die for us to leave here and give up. We must go to the edge of the field, mustn’t we? We must bear witness.” She breathed in deeply, summoning all the strength and courage she could find. “And we must hope for a way to help free the field from the rule of the wolf.”

Ysil was quiet for a moment, still looking through the thicket and toward the pandemonium beyond. “Yes, we must watch. And though I cannot fathom what it may be, we must hope for a way to help,” he finally said.

She rose and moved with him out of the nest and through the copse, as silently as they could, until they came to the edge of the field. And there within the boscage, still and quiet, they saw the hidden form of another quail. As they neared they realized it was Cormo, who looked up at them with wide, fearful eyes. They settled down next to him.

In the field there were the shapes of many animals, and at their center stood a great wolf. Tightly wrapped around his neck was a bright copper-colored snake, content and bloated. All around the wolf and snake were coyotes, foxes, weasels, minks, and not a few black rats. About their feet moved the slithering forms of snakes, along with quick skinks and other lizards. Within this number, close to Asmod at that, were the treacherous Drac and Puk. Ysil trembled in anger. There were other animals, some that Ysil could not identify. Scattered among them were the rogue crows: Sintus and his flock. Most of these animals were quiet, though some called defiantly upward.

The chaotic din that had woken Ysil did not come from the intruders, who seemed completely surrounded, though confident. They had moved into the field unchallenged by action. Instead, a vocal challenge was issuing from the trees around the field and also from the Murder’s Tree, which were all covered with more crows than Ysil had ever seen in one place. The golden and red leafed trees were nearly black with the forms of the birds. And among them were an abundance of doves.

Out of the Murder’s Tree flew a lone crow, screeching and crying. It was Jackdaw. Jackdaw the messenger, Jackdaw the jester, and on at least this one occasion, Jackdaw the brave.

“Woe to you!” cried Jackdaw. “Woe to you all, intruders!”

He settled into the midst of the predators. “I am come under command of the great and wise General Fragit, who speaks for the heir to the throne! You are all to leave now! Leave this field at once or be killed, every one of you! Except Sintus—you are commanded to stay and continue process in the Reckoning!”

The wolf laughed. “And it would be this army of birds that will stop us? We are here to take this field and today will do so. We are also here to supplant your chosen king. We do not recognize your Reckoning. You would be wise to join our number now, messenger.”

Sintus was at Asmod’s side. “Jackdaw, you may fly back to the Murder’s Tree and tell the General that his challenge has been answered, that he may flee and perhaps bargain should he wish, but that we are taking the field.”

Jackdaw fluttered into the air and back down again, shaking his head and cawing. “I will tell him you are a fool,” he said and turned to take wing. The copperhead came down off Asmod’s neck and, just as Jackdaw flew, the wolf leaped upon him and took him from the air with his teeth. He brought the screaming crow to the ground.

“I am the messenger!” said Jackdaw in great pain, the wolf pushing him down with mighty paws. “You cannot kill me.”

“Well,” snarled Asmod, “let your death be my answer!” And he brought his teeth together around the bird’s body, tearing him in two with one great bite.

It was with this action that the war of the Murder’s Field began. As the wolf bit down, a great cry came up from the trees surrounding and an even greater one from the Murder’s Tree itself. And all at once the crows burst upon wing. They descended in cawing fury, their beaks and talons sharp. Below, every animal and reptile raised its head and opened its mouth in an eager, rapturous scream. And the teeth, claws, and fangs were the greater number.

Chapter Sixteen

The War for the Field

F
LAX WATCHED.
T
HIS
was always what he did; he never acted unless he first considered every possible happening, and only then if he felt certain of the outcome. When the wolf leaped upon the messenger crow, he knew he had seen enough. Fast he flew, as fast as his wings could carry him. He was a flash of yellow through the high sky, and no one saw him. He flew fast and with an understood purpose. The battle had begun. He flew with the speed of a great wind to the turkeys’ roost. As he descended, he saw that the deer were still holding council with the turkeys. He landed upon Oda’s upper neck, just behind her ear. She did not react as he landed, not even as much as to turn an ear in the tiny bird’s direction.

She was speaking. “But you must know,” she went on, “even if it were an army of weasels, your future would be in danger. They would search out your eggs and eat them all, every last one. But this is not only weasels, this is coyotes and foxes. And a great wolf at their lead. You must join in our battle.”

“What do we gain from such?” asked Butry, the leader of the turkeys, the King Tom. When the deer arrived the night before, the turkeys had made an early roost and would not come down. So the deer had searched the nearby forest and warned any possums and raccoons not already aware of the danger of the wolf and his army. Then they had bedded down beneath the turkey roost and sheltered from the storm, preparing for the possible battle to come. It was not until just lately that the birds had descended and heard the deer’s plea. “We will not fight. We will wait. Should the predators take over, we will leave this area. We hold no heart to this roost.”

“But how can you not see?” asked Illanis. “You may sit here and wait, but if you do, they will come upon you in the night, as you sleep. No matter where you may roost on high, they will come upon your young who do not yet fly and take them from these ground nests you guard. Should you try to defend against their midnight attack, you will all die.”

“We will not fight. We will wait.” Butry was resolved.

Oda sighed. It was then that Flax whispered into her ear the news he had.

“The war has begun,” said the finch.

“Damn you, you stinky, foul turkeys!” she said. She looked at Illanis and a silent communication passed between them. He snorted in agitation. And the deer took to hoof, the small finch flying with them, and they raced through the woods as fast as the finch had moved through the high sky. As they went, there were shadows that joined them and instantly sped to their pace. Flax heard the beat of hooves and the rhythm of many breaths around and knew that with each step more deer joined the charge. And as he flew with the deer, there joined them small scurrying shapes from the trees, all running and jumping from one tree to another. Squirrels. The deer ran on, their great legs driving their purpose.

N
ASCUS FLEW CLOSE
behind the General. When the wolf had attacked Jackdaw, the General screamed, “Into battle!” and flew with a raging fury straight toward the wolf. His battle cry was not needed to move Nascus, or the rest of the crows for that matter. They took to air as one.

Nascus’s wings beat double his heart’s time. He felt the heat of fear and of certain bloodshed. Then he saw his brother take wing and fly straight toward him. Sintus was always the greater of the two, older and stronger, and more headstrong and prideful. Already there were crows upon the coyotes and foxes, which were jumping up with raised fang and tooth to meet the birds’ descent. One crow jabbed its beak into a gray fox’s eye, and the beast howled in agony. It thrashed upon the field. Then the same crow that had taken the fox’s eye was bitten from behind at the nape of the neck by a coyote. The bird struggled to free itself from the animal’s bite, but the coyote only shook its head in fury, the crow’s feathers flying into the wind. Crows were taking the smaller lizards and snakes in their feet and flying them high into the sky and dropping them, so there was a rain of reptiles falling all around. Some would die upon impact; others, only stunned, would either be picked up for a second dropping or return to the fray. Snakes were springing their bodies into the air and biting at the descending crows in wrath.

The General was barely before Nascus now, bearing down on the wolf, who already had two crows lying dead at his feet. There was a third in his jaws now, bleeding and screaming. The crow did not have a chance, but still it thrashed about and pecked at the wolf’s cheek and neck. The wolf seemed not to notice the large crow, almost to his left side. He remembered the wolf’s missing eye, the one taken by Elera, and Nascus had a flash of realization. Fragit was attacking from the wolf’s blind side. The prince felt a brief charge of hope.
Could it all really end this quickly?
If the General blinded the wolf, the others would fall away, or at least be dispersed with no leader to fear or command. He also knew just as well that if he or the General or both were killed, this murder gathered here to protect the field would likewise scatter—or join with the victor. The wolf shook his head, and the feathers from the crow in its mouth flew, blood showering through the air.

Fragit was upon him now, his beak readied for strike. Then through the air like a straight red stick came the bolting form of a great snake. The General was quick, but the snake was much quicker. Tortrix bit Fragit in the neck and brought him to the ground, the two thrashing in a vicious struggle.

Then Banka was at the wolf’s ears, pecking and aiming for the wolf’s lone eye. Asmod made one quick snap with his horrible jaws and grabbed the General’s first in command. Banka’s head went flying through the air and landed with a smack on the already bloody field.

Now Nascus himself was upon the wolf, his heart resolved to fight to the death. Then without warning something crashed down upon him from above. His brother Sintus! He had been occupied with Fragit’s attack and had lost track of his brother. The other prince had taken to the heights and attacked from above. And as Sintus wrestled Nascus to the ground, the younger prince realized his mistake, perhaps the last one he would ever make.

Sintus pecked at his brother’s eyes and neck, drawing blood. “You fool!” cried the crazed rogue crow. “You will die today! Die knowing I am to be King!”

Nascus kicked with what strength he could summon and looked in desperation to the General for aid. But Fragit’s struggle had ceased. He was tightly wound in the snake’s coil, its cruel fangs sunk deep into his neck.

Sintus brought his beak down in a rush, and, pecking into Nascus’s eye, ripped it from the socket in victory. Nascus screamed in agony beneath him.

F
ROM WITHIN THE
trees around and the lines above the doves watched, but they did not fight. They only whispered to one another. And every few moments one whispered into another’s ear and took off in what seemed some random direction, then another would land in its place and listen to the whispers of the others.

Chapter Seventeen