Lupus Rex (3 page)

“Wait, O great and respected General,” called Rompus, finding sudden courage and stepping out from behind Sulari’s back. Fragit stopped and looked back in annoyance. “If we are to go, it may come rain. Pickings of the best grain we must store this morning, and then the spoils taken later after the man has threshed. If we must leave tomorrow, we will not be able to gather those spoils. The rest could go bad . . . and with all gone, your kind, O mighty General, will be the only to seek the har—”

A quickened pounding of black feathers cut off the badger’s voice. In a fury, Fragit was on the badger, pecking at his head and shoulders. Rompus succumbed and lay still. Even though he was a good bit larger than the General and could surely manage to free himself from Fragit’s grasp, he would then face the whole of the murder. Against such great number he stood no chance. So he lay prone while the General flogged and pecked, the blood flowing from his brow and into his eyes. The violent assault passed, and General Fragit hopped away. All around them the murder cawed in boisterous approval.

“Do not question! It is not for the lesser animals to question!” He raged thus and pounded his wings. “You will gather for the stores today, all that you can! The Reckoning must commence tomorrow!” He took to wing, and the rest of the crows rose with him as of one mind. “It is the order!” he cried out as they flew up and into the Murder’s Tree.

Rompus lay in a frazzled heap in the middle of the field; undeniably the crows’ field. Sulari moved to his side and laid his warm form next to the badger, offering solace and comfort. The badger looked to his friend. “I never know when to be quiet, do I?” he asked feebly. Ysil could see that there were a number of cuts on Rompus’s head and not a few on his shoulders, but that he was not greatly harmed, only bruised and humiliated.

“We must speak when our hearts command,” said Cotur Mono, stepping to the hare and badger. “You are guilty only of that. Now, we must gather grain while there is time. The hour is near when the man will come.”

With a somewhat difficult effort, Rompus rose to his feet and waddled away. At the edges of the field, the squirrels, chipmunks, mice, and a few rats were scampering about eagerly, gathering grain in their mouths and running back into the brush. Within seconds they would return, gather more, and rush back into the bushes.

“My dear friends,” called the old gray hare, “make great haste! The gathering time is here. Make great haste!” He hopped away to join the effort with the rest of the gatherers.

With that the quail and the doves flew into the brush. All was in chaos within the nesting bush. Harlequin was beside her brothers, helping to feed Incanta, her old feeble form bent low. Monroth was close to the old one. As he passed, Ysil heard Monroth say, “Don’t worry, Grandmother. I will protect Harlequin and the little ones. The journey will not be hard.” Incanta looked up to the young quail with a minor curiosity.

Ysil was disgusted. “Let’s go, Cormo,” he said.

As they passed, Ysil heard the old quail answer Monroth. “You will, will you? I am sure there are many who will be looking after you, young one.”

They walked through the bustle of the nest and past its border into the open woods beyond. There was a small clearing behind the first row of bramble bush, and Ysil made his way to that more private spot. Gomor was there, as was Sylvil.

“Look what I found!” said Gomor, and there beneath him was a small pile of blackberries, ripe and tasty. The four of them sat in the clearing and ate, talking of the morning and what was to come the next day. Gomor would soon have to go back to help gather and fill the burrow, but seemed to have slipped the duty for now. Sylvil was quiet as usual, but naturally gravitated to Cormo.

Cormo looked to Ysil. “What is the Reckoning?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” answered Ysil. “But within the whispering of the elders this morning I heard Cotur Mono speaking to Monroth. He asked Mono if he knew when there would be a new King Crow. Cotur Mono said ‘After the Reckoning.’ Exactly what this ceremony is, none of us know for sure— certainly a fearful thing!”

Gomor looked confused. “But why wouldn’t Sintus be the new King? He’s the oldest.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t think any of us ever will. We won’t be here.”

“Oh! Yes and hurray!” said Gomor with newfound enthusiasm. “Just what I always wanted to do—take a journey with my best friends! A high adventure is upon us!”

“A dangerous adventure, certainly,” said Cormo.

The rabbit’s face dropped. “Oh, yes, I do suppose so,” Gomor said, his sudden excitement abated.

Then they heard the man’s machine come to life far away and to the west. It would not be long now until his thrashing began. Ysil prayed the animals had enough time to gather before the man’s arrival. So Gomor left to return to his burrow, and the three quail returned to their bramble.

When they entered the nest it seemed the commotion had not settled in the least; rather, it had most certainly grown.

“I will not go,” spoke Incanta defiantly but softly. “I am old and there is no need. The crows will not even know I am here. What’s one old quail to them? I am simply not up to making such a trip. And besides, when we are all walking and a couple of coyotes jump us, everyone will fly, everyone except me, that is, as I cannot. I will be their dinner then, and a meager one at that!”

Cotur Ada had returned by then, with no word of where he had been. “You must succumb to the crows’ order, Incanta,” he said gently. “It is within their specific order that we all depart here together.”

“Well, it is my specific order that I stay,” she answered, a spry light in her wrinkled eyes.

There was much consideration and argument, but finally the covey allowed that she would remain behind. Ysil heard the sound of the man’s machine getting closer now. The man would work all day, gathering the grain. The old bird sat back down in her nest and closed her eyes. As Ysil passed her she mumbled under her breath: “Damned crows . . .”

Chapter Two

Travels and Hastened Returns

T
HE MORNING WAS
hot as the band of animals set out for the Vulture Field, also known as “Olffey Field.” Just the thought of the terrible place cast a pall over Ysil.

Ysil and Cormo moved past Sulari in a single-file line as the old hare counted each and every animal under his care.

When the count was done, the group separated into smaller groups of their own kind. Sulari hopped up to Cotur Mono and gave his count: “There are twenty-nine quail, fifty-five mice, twenty-two rabbits, fourteen squirrels, five badgers, and one slow, grumbling golden rat,” he said. “And I the only hare.”

“Ahem,” said Cotur Mono. “My count is also the same.”

“Now, on!” said the hare, rising up to his tallest. “On with you all! We must away.” And with his word the group departed the wooded vale next to the field.

“The vultures,” said Cormo, keeping in pace with his friend. “Why are we going to the vultures?”

“The elders say there is safety there,” said Ysil.

“Safety,” snorted Cormo. “As safe as death, I suppose.”

The vultures were peaceful by nature. They just waited patiently for the food that would surely come. Ysil had heard tales of young rogue vultures who were liable to kill small animals, but the mother vulture, Ekbeth, in her field at least, demanded control. A slow-moving group of rabbits, mice, and quail could reach Olffey Field in a full day’s walk.

Ysil strode along thoughtfully and watchfully between the trunks of the yellow birches and mossy-cup oaks. The group passed scattered piles of bottlebrush buckeyes, which they left alone. Buckeyes were far too tough-skinned for a quail to break open, and even if they could, the bitter meat therein would cause pain in the stomach. He stayed as close as he could to the middle of the covey, feeling safest there.

The animals formed a rough symmetry. On the outside of the circle were the stronger quail, while within the circle were the younger quail and the elder. Sylvil was in the exact center, quiet and nervous. Ysil walked close to Cotur Ada, watching his grandfather’s every move. Ysil truly enjoyed being close to Cotur Ada, and though the young bird loved to hear his grandfather speak, the elder was often with little to say.

Ysil was fascinated with his grandfather. He thought of the scar on Cotur Ada’s side, the missing toe on his right foot. How had these things happened? Ysil had not yet summoned the nerve to ask these questions. Would he ever?

“You know, when I was a young bird, we would not venture far unless there were many birds in distinct form. Now, I am sure you and your friends walk fearlessly, even far into the woods. But you should be wary, ever cautious. Everything that eats meat eats quail, and man certainly hunts with his booming stick.” The elder quail submitted these careful suggestions often. Ysil took heed, certainly, but he had heard this same speech the week before, when he and Gomor had gone to see the mice in their harvest dance. The crazy little things still danced every year, though it had been rumored that Strix—with his sharp talons and giant eyes—had been ranging near again. But it was hard to tell whether the field mice were losing numbers as their memories were so short. It seemed they remembered only the good things—where the food was, for instance, and, of course, when the summer moon’s dance should occur.

“Grandfather, tell me of when the hawk still nested in the great fir.” This was, in fact, one of the questions Ysil had wished to ask Cotur Ada for a long time, and his sudden audacity had come with the ensuing excitement of travel. Had the circumstance not been as it was, and he was simply living another day in search of food and milling about the nest, he most certainly would have never asked this. But there it was: the question. He always felt it strange that the quail had nested so near the hawk, but he knew it was because of the ‘order’ and the rule of crows. He also knew that the rule of crows would not govern the hawk, nor the vulture for that matter, but still neither birds of prey nor carrion ruled the crows. No one did; only their order governed. Even King Crow succumbed to it.

The old bird looked at him with trepidation and a barely disguised annoyance. But then Cotur Ada smiled and touched his wing to Ysil’s. “The hawk was vicious and proud. She was strong, but in the end, foolish. We all feared her, and many, old and young, were lost. Few mourned her passing.” The old quail looked forward, and Ysil could tell he did not intend to go any further with his recollection.

But the young bird would not be put off. “But she was a mother hawk. I heard Incanta say that once. Not just female, but a mother. What happened to her young? Where are they? The young vultures stay with their family, as do the crows and robins. Don’t hawks?”

“No, they do not,” said Ada. “Once the hawks learn to fly, they are gone. They range until they claim a territory, then they nest for life.”

“Did Elera have chicks that flew before she died?” Ysil was getting brave in his questioning. He noticed that Cormo was staying close and listening. Monroth was staying to the outside of the circle, but he looked at them occasionally. He seemed to be listening also.

Cotur Ada thought for a moment then, smiling, he responded. “No,” he said and was quiet for a brief moment. “None flew before she died. Now, I would rather you not mention her name, if you wish to please me.”

Ysil walked along, his mind racing. He held his tongue as long as he could. Finally he had to ask. “Well, where is the nearest occupied hawk’s nest?”

Ada looked down at Ysil. He was quiet for a bit, and Ysil thought he might not respond. “Toward the rising sun, past the lines and through the forest, past the Belasyvis Hills and dangerously near the Sugar Valley of men, beyond shadowy stands of hemlocks where the toothworts and rock brakes grow thick. Then down a steep trail. The journey is less than two days walking, and perhaps less than a day if you fly. At the end of the trail there is a wide river. On the far side of that river is the territory of the hawk Pitrin. It is a journey you never need make, and really, I do not know why I tell you the path. Pitrin is the child of Elera.”

Ysil was confused. “But you said she didn’t have fledglings that flew before she died.” He looked to his grandfather but could not read his expression.

“The chick did not learn to fly until after she died,” said Cotur Ada.

Ysil said, “But how could it have survived, in the nest not flying and with its mother dead? How did it eat?”

Ada laughed a little and brushed Ysil on the brow feathers. “We have talked enough about hawks now. You need not worry about them at all. Pitrin has vowed to never return here. And should he make an attempt after such a long absence, the crows would drive him out, as they would any hawk. Of course, they hold no power over the larger bird, but the hawk does follow an order: its own. Now, this talking has worn a poor old bird out greater than this forced trudge we are set upon. Quiet, young one.”

In frustration Ysil snapped closed his gaping beak. He looked to Cormo, who, having heard every word, walked along dazed. The other birds’ eyes were full of wonder.