The old bird looked into Nascus’s eyes for some time. The field around was quiet and still, only a gentle breeze made the slightest sound as it moved through the surrounding trees.
The rook stepped back from the brothers and looked to the surrounding murder. He raised his beak up and called out loudly, the sound of his call piercing the autumnal sky with the certainty of a rattlesnake’s bite.
He spoke then to the murder. Jackdaw was fidgeting while the brothers were calling out their words, but now he was still and silent. Likewise, General Fragit was motionless but attentive. When Ophrei spoke, it was with a voice not his own, and Nascus had the abrupt thought the old bird had been taken over by his father, or his father’s father, so strong and authoritative was his tone. “You of the murder! Take heed. As it was when the crows gathered in Miscwa Tabik-kizi for the First Atonement, so it is for the Reckoning! This is the way of the order, and though none of you hold this memory beyond your own atonements, it is as deeply a part of you as your black feathers themselves! I will take these words to the wind, and the wind will tell them to my secret heart within.” The rook closed his eyes then, with every bird watching and awaiting his command. “You will all follow the order of the rule, and the order will fall from me to the General and then to all the murder. This is not the time for feeble hearts weedy of burdens! I will tell the General his rule and the murder will follow as one! There will be one of these brothers to give from the heart, the heart to be shared among the many.” The brothers all visibly shuddered at this. Sintus looked to his party, all of whom glanced expectantly back and forth from him to the rook.
“This is the spreading of the King’s blood within the prince’s veins to his murder. There will be another to offer his salt to the earth, so that the salt from the line of the King may go to enrich the soil of the field. These two will be sung of for years untold! Their sacrifice will be of equal gift for the strength of the field and the power of the murder. Their deaths will be only in body. The whole of the King will live on through the growing and the eating.” He looked around the field. “And in the body of the newly crowned!” With that the field erupted in chaotic cawing, heavy black wings flogging the air. “This is the order!” Ophrei screamed above the ruckus.
“Now,” spoke the rook, “the wind will tell the rule.” And with that he closed his eyes again and began to shake. The murder became quiet, all eyes on the magician. To the sky he opened his eyes—their night’s black was turned to a blood’s red. His feathers seemed to take on a movement of their own, as if the wind were moving through them fiercely, but a gentle breeze was all there was. Then it became as if the wind itself were wrapping in a tiny tornado of gusts around the rook. The old bird stood firm but appeared to be fighting against the wind to keep from blowing away. The rest of the field was still, but the rook was within a storm. Then, as quickly as it had arisen, the wind about Ophrei ceased, leaving the bird tousled but still standing.
Then Ophrei turned to the brothers and leveled his still-red eyes at them. “Now, in the order I command, you are each to tell the tale of the Day of Creation, then tell the tale of your father’s life.”
“The Day of Creation?” Sintus laughed at this. “We all know the Day of Creation! What does this have to do with the Reckoning?”
“You will not question the Reckoning,” answered the rook. “This is the way it has always been. Now I will distinguish the order in which you will tell. The wind has made it apparent to me.”
Around the field the crows glanced to one another in confusion, but none spoke. Fragit kept his eyes steadily on the rook, attentive to every word. The old General moved a bit closer to Ophrei and out of the main circle. The rook turned his way and motioned for him to come near.
Fragit moved to the rook’s side. “You will do precisely what the rook commands,” said the General to the brothers. The look he gave them said,
I don’t care that you are princes. You will follow the order.
“Now, I announce the sequence,” said Ophrei. “Milus will be first, followed by Sintus. The final will be Nascus.”
“What?” Sintus was outraged. “I am the firstborn of the princes, and the rightful in line! What is this treachery?” He looked to his supporters, many of which made calls of agreement.
“You will do as commanded,” said Fragit, stepping in close to the boastful bird. “You are under the rule of the Reckoning and will follow the order of the rook.”
Sintus did not respond to this in voice but strutted around angrily, cawing in disgust. All eyes watched him. His court and allies responded loudly to his canting. The General and the rook only watched him warily. After a short tirade, the eldest brother glared at his sibling foremost in line. “Well, then, brother. Go on with it.” Sintus turned to Ophrei. “What will he be giving? His salt or his heart, dear sage?”
The old rook did not respond, but directed his attention to the youngest. “Now, Milus, the hand of time is to you. Recount the Day of Creation. Then tell of your father’s life.”
Milus looked around the Murder’s Field for support, but none was found. It appeared as if he was sure this was some trick, and someone was going to offer him the special word that would prove he was the rightful King. In truth, he was not worried about the need to be King . . . except that the one chosen would be the only one of the three to live.
He sniffled then called around the field, “I will now tell the story of Creation!”
The bird cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “In the first night,” he recited, “the Wind and the Earth were as one, but still each was alone. And during the dark the Earth slept, but the Wind never slept. And the Wind counted all it held within and also below and considered what could be made. And the Wind thought alone and gathered above the Earth and within that night pondered. Then, looking down upon the Earth and seeing the cold rock, the Wind thought to make a companion. And the Wind carried dust, and within the dust were feathers, but upon the Earth only the still black stone. And the dust from within the air settled upon the rock. This is so, as it was and as it is.
“And come morning the Earth woke and the stones sought to shake the dust from themselves and to create companions of their own, but alone the stones could not move, and the Wind seized them and lifted them up into itself. And within the Wind there was blood, as if red rain, and it took form, and the feathers settled around the stone and the blood gathered beneath the feathers, so the stones became bones and took form to fill the shape. And this meshing of bones, feathers, and blood became a living thing, and the Wind desired to keep the thing as its own. The Earth was greatly angry, for the Wind had taken from the Earth its stones. So the Wind held the thing it had created and called it Crow. This was all upon the first day. And the Earth and Wind have not ceased their battle since. And at night the Wind tears at the Earth, and come light, the Earth stares angrily up to the Wind. And Crow holds allegiance to the Wind, and curses the Earth and steals from it.”
The field erupted in a chaos of shrieks and caws, the full murder in chorus, their tongues red and their eyes black. Edith, Milus’s mother, looked around at her son’s followers, smiling as best she could. “Eh, now that was quite well told,” she jittered. “What say all you?”
To that she received a less than enthusiastic response. Still, she kept her smile.
The rook stared at the youngest brother, cold and certain, giving nothing away. The wind shuffled through his feathers. “Now, Prince. The tale of your father’s life.”
W
ITHIN THE BRAMBLE
the three quail watched and listened. Ysil had heard the crow’s tale of Creation before. Just as the quail learned the Quailsong, the crows likewise had their educations. He felt a bit confused, although some of this he had seen before when the crows took to field. The tale of Creation was told frequently, passed down from generation to generation, and he had hidden and listened to their tale more than once. The quail, like the crows, held an allegiance to the wind, but the quail heard the songs on the wind—and heard its laughter. He felt that most crows heard nothing but the rake of leaf upon branch and the whipping of grapevine. And though Ysil did not necessarily disbelieve the crow’s tale of Creation, he certainly did not like the idea of a crow being the first creature. Why would the wind have created such an animal as crow before quail, or rabbit, or even hawk for that matter? Crows were annoying and loud.
Ysil knew the next part of the tale, when the wind made more crows to keep itself moving should it begin to die, in doing so ensuring it never would cease. He had heard the tale of how the earth made the mice and the rabbits next, for it was jealous of the wind and the crows only took from the earth and never gave back. He knew the tale of the first hawk, Gritnim, whom the wind created to take from the earth’s creations, and how the crows had established the order. It was long down the line in the story when the quail were created. Only an afterthought for the wind, really; creatures of its own to gather over the earth and to live upon it. The wind sought to make them allies to the earth, yet obligated to the wind, doubly bound. There was little else about the quail in the crows’ Creation story. Ysil was always let down that there wasn’t more concerning his own kind. Crows were such a self-centered bunch, and arrogant.
But the bird did not carry on the Creation tale. Milus went into the tale of his father’s life as commanded. This was something Ysil had never heard told, and he had a feeling something significant was about to occur, but what that might be, he had no idea.
M
ILUS WAS STAMMERING
. He did not know what was expected of him, and he did not like the looks of the birds around him. They were all staring at him with expectation, and not a few of them were openly glaring at him with contempt. Even his few followers were looking at him questioningly and with suspicion.
“Come, brother,” called Sintus. “It’s a bit late in season for a locust to be caught in your throat!” There was a hesitant murmur of laughter through the murder.
Milus cleared his throat again, this time more of a frightened growl. “My father was born to be King! He was the son of a King as was his father before him.” Milus was searching. “My father was the best King in the history of crows! He was raised by his father’s second she-bird. His mother was born of royal blood, but was murdered in the great stone garden for the Atonement. It was a rook that took her life.” He darted his eyes to Ophrei, who stared back, unmoving and without response or change. “She was offered as a curse to man for the good of all crows. My father spent his life as a good King—”
“Stop!” screamed the old rook without warning. “Silence,” he said, and the youngest prince froze.
Then the old rook closed his eyes and began to shiver. He spoke first with a quiet tumble of words. Then, as he continued, his voice grew in intensity and volume.
“The day your father was born has been forgotten by your heart, bird. The day your father died lives stronger within your memory. You are of soundless gizzard, and in your passing your frailties will be totally consumed. Only your strengths will remain. In this you may celebrate.”
Milus began to step back toward the outer ring. He glanced around in fear and desperation. His few supporters watched him uneasily. The rest of the murder began to caw softly and restlessly. The rook continued.
“The wind will consume and carry away what is given in dust. You are made of this: forged of dust and now a dispersion of it. You are the fodder for the worm, naught but a scattering of black feathers. You are the flavor for the murder! You will give from the heart!” This last Ophrei cawed in tremendous crescendo.
Milus hopped suddenly and in fearful tumble jumped to the sky, but Fragit was on him, dragging him down with greater weight.
“No!” screamed Edith. “No! Do not kill my son!”
But the rook’s command had created a frenzy, and none heeded her pleas. Every crow took to wing and together formed a circle, its center over Milus and tightening like a whirlpool or tornado. With them came a great gust of wind from all four directions, driving the circling birds, Milus’s band included. The whole of the winged group plummeted in upon the youngest brother, driving down fast and hard as a single great black beast. Even Edith, still bellowing her screams of defiance, was swept in with the rest. With the force of a terrible black storm, the full lot of them became one writhing mass of screaming, cawing fury.
To Ysil, watching in awe from the brush, it seemed as if each crow had gone insane at precisely the same time, controlled by a greater mind. No matter the cause of the insanity and bloodlust, and one for a child of the King at that, the reason for the naming was evident. Ysil would forevermore understand precisely why the great family of crows was known as a murder.
I
T WAS NOT
long until the writhing mass of birds dissolved then formed back into the circle. On each and every beak were streaks of the prince’s blood. Milus was gone, shredded. In his place was a distribution of black feathers and swaths of red across the freshly cut silage. Edith lay amid this gruesome scattering, her feathers soaked with the blood of her son. Then she began to thrash about, wailing in the greatest sadness ever known. The crows cawed loudly even after they moved away from the center and resumed form.
Ophrei stayed within the circle, a lone bird, specks of blood brightening his ebony feathers. The wind had expired, as still as if it had never blown.
When the birds quieted, Ophrei’s gaze settled upon the eldest. “The time has come for your Reckoning, Sintus. You are to offer your version of the tales. You are to offer them to the wind, and the wind will be the judge.”
Sintus shook in righteous anger, his own brother’s blood dripping from his sharp beak. “Why should I not merely state the truth of my birthright? I should not be forced to honor this Reckoning. This is old and dying magic. The time for a new King has come, and most know I should be the one. Those who do not will soon be convinced.” There was a nervous murmur of agreement from his devotees. Nascus remained calm. The General, inscrutable, eyed the eldest. The twelve sentinels watched Fragit for any sign of charge.