Lupus Rex (8 page)

“Aye, Mother. It was before I was birthed, even. Was early in the winter of my father’s time. He did not speak much of it, only to say that he was excited to see the new young King. Did the animals come to this field with the Reckoning before?”

“Yes, yes they did, and they always have. Thinking of it now, your father was here, as was your mother. Of course they are here now.” Sulari gazed out upon the blanket of white bones covering the ground and fidgeted. “Now, each time the animals come to shelter here we ask the same question, and we will ask it of you now.” With that some of the vultures flew down and perched upon the branch with Ekbeth. Harlequin moved up into the forward group, closer to Cotur Mono. Ekbeth glanced at the young beautiful bird, and for a moment Sulari thought he saw something dark gather in the old vulture’s eye. Was it hunger?

Then she spoke, the vultures around her joined, whispering the same words in time through their haggard and stained beaks. As the chorus of voices sang the offer, Sulari chilled. It was a song, and though the words held rhythm, the melody was vague and sad, as if sung by a toad trapped beneath the sod during winter’s freeze.

Come, furry and feathered

Come, strong; and come, weak

Come; gather your forms

Near our guarding beaks.

As you live we will keep you

Protect from on high

And tend you and feed you

’Til you happily die.

And then we will bear you

Up to the clouds

Tight in our bellies

Our bodies your shrouds.

And offer your spirit

To the Great Field

Just rest with us now

’Til to death you shall yield.

The animals below stared up in dead silence. The mice were still (which was rare) and watched with anxious intent. The quail and rabbits were all huddled together in tight groups, their wide eyes turned up to the vultures and the great white tree in taut dread. Only the golden rat seemed uninterested. He sat gnawing on a gristly raccoon bone he had found. For the longest moment, there was only silent brooding, the animals entranced. It was that those on the ground were too shocked to respond and those on the tree too eager to ask again. The vultures likewise stared down at them, their mouths agape and their eyes keen.

Finally, Ekbeth spoke, this time alone. “I would offer you this as I did to your father and his before. They turned us down. You could be a King of your own right here, Sulari . . . a King for a while. Will you be so wise and brave as to take this offer?” She inspected the visitors, her big bald head jerking from one to another of them in a jagged rhythm. “Will any of you?”

The whole of the animals quivered and, as one, took a single step back.

His nose cold and beginning to run, Sulari turned to Cotur Mono, who in turn looked to Rompus. Rompus, who was just getting over his flogging from the day before, shook his head. He would not speak out this time, though surely they were safe from any attack from the vultures.

“Um, thank you, O great and wise Mother, for your offer,” responded the hare timidly. “We are here as a whole and must surely return to our home as that same whole when we can. We are blessed by your most gracious offer, but we truly miss our home. We must return to it. Surely you will not be offended by our leaving—”

“Oh, we do understand. None we have asked have joined us immediately. Some do come in time.” The bird motioned a black wing to a corner of the field where a huge old deer lay dazed and still. Sulari had not noticed the animal before. It could not be denied that the deer was very much alive. It scrutinized them, its antlers swaying as it turned in their direction. The deer was fat, and the hare thought it would not move if it could. Then Sulari caught movement just beside the deer and saw, with some shock, a grayed coyote basking lazily only a few feet from the antlered buck. The coyote was gnawing on the bone of some unidentified animal, and though the deer was easily within a jump’s distance, neither animal seemed interested in the least at the other’s presence. Sulari now understood. Some animals came here when they could no longer gather food or fend for themselves. They came here to let the vultures care for and feed them until they died. Care for them in exchange for . . . what?

“Oh, great Mother!” called Sulari. “We will keep your offer in our hearts, all of us, I am sure, but for now we beg you to allow our group temporary refuge here within the safety of your field.”

The old bird of carrion gapped her beak in her peculiar way of smiling. “Yes, you may stay. And you may leave at your own will. And whenever you do return, in whatever capacity that may be, you will be greeted with fervent stomach.”

“Thank you, O wise Mother,” said Sulari as he considered Rompus. The badger was quivering ever so slightly. His old friend looked back at him, trying to smile.

Chapter Five

The Grandfather’s Command

B
ANKA BORE DOWN
upon the old quail staring up at him in defiance. At the last moment before he crashed into Incanta, the crow seized up his wings and came to a furious stop. Planting his feet inches from the quail, the bigger bird pounded his wings.

“You are forbidden here in this time!” cried Banka. “For this you must die, bird! You are not allowed!”

Incanta rose to her tallest and glared into the eyes of the bloody crow. “You are a coward and a murderer, Banka, a bastard and a child of none! As I die within your beak, so will my bravery live on. As you kill these babes, so will your cowardice be forever consummated! You will kill us with no good gain.” She did not waver to either side at all, only glared up at the crow in insolence.

It was then that Anur hopped and awkwardly tried to make flight. He took off clumsily and was loud in his desperate departure. Banka took after him and in mere seconds had the small bird on the ground.

“No!” cried Incanta.

The chick cried out in fear and pain as the crow drove its claws into its soft, feathered flesh. Banka, perched above his catch, only glowered at the elder bird.

“Do not hurt the little one!” she cried.

Incanta, who could not fly at all, ran over to Banka with all the speed she could muster. She had momentarily forgotten Erdic, who, though he surely could have flown to safety in the bedlam, lay still as death upon a blanket of freshly fallen leaves.

Incanta attacked Banka with what fury she could muster, jumping at him, pecking and screeching. From within the brush, not far away, Ysil could hear the crow begin to laugh.

It was then that Cotur Ada made his decision. He turned to the younger quail.

“You must flee, young ones,” he said firmly. “You must away to beyond the river. I must try what I can to save the babes and the elder.”

Ysil was confused and scared. “Beyond the river? What do you mean, Grandfather?”

“You must carry a plea to the hawk Pitrin. Take the path of which I told you. Speak my name to him. I pray it saves you from his claws. Tell him his father begs him return to the field to bring order.” Ysil’s confusion grew.
Father?
“I fear a great war is upon us, children. I feel there are far darker things at work here than just a rascal prince, a thing far more dangerous. You must convince him not to harm you. Bring with you this.” And with that Cotur turned back his head and pulled out a long tail feather with his beak, then laid it down before Ysil.

“Beg him come, Ysil, Monroth. Ysil, you must carry the feather. Tuck it within your breast to keep it safe. Be vigilantly watchful after you cross the river. He could take you easily, and I pray he does not before he sees the feather. This token will be your only safeguard. You must trust me when I tell you he will not harm you when you show him my feather. I regret it is to the two of you that I must pass this order, but, alas, fate has handed this to you. Hear your command. You must follow.” With that Cotur Ada slowly and carefully moved away from the two.

“Of course, I can handle anything, Cotur Ada,” said Monroth with a burst of sudden pride, “but you speak nonsense. You are no father to any hawk.” Ysil felt Monroth’s former statement to be only more boasting, but he kept this to himself. Monroth’s latter statement he was in agreement with. He knew his cousin bird was as frightened by the notion of actually seeking out a hawk as he was, maybe even more so. What could Cotur Ada mean saying such a thing: a quail the father of a hawk?

“There is no time for your questions. Follow my order.” Then he rustled even farther away. He looked back only once more. “Be still, my children. Be still until the dark has fallen. You may find friends in unexpected places and with unexpected faces . . . so take care whom you trust . . . and whom you do not!” And Cotur Ada, the eldest of the quail, took to the air and straight toward the laughter of Banka and the screaming of Incanta and the chick.

W
HEN HE HAD
been very young Cotur Ada had gotten into a fight with a certain young crow. He had been at the field’s edge with his father, Vanda, and his brothers eating the grain of the season’s harvest. The man had raked the field two days previous, and the moon was waning toward dark. The animals had already stored away, but the field still held great bounty. Ada knew that this was the time of best gathering, and his father made sure the chicks did not miss a bite that was available. The winter months were hard, and they needed to fatten up in preparation. Young Ada was contentedly busy with his eating. He did not notice that around him all had grown quiet, nor did he see the reason for their silence. It was Banka’s presence that had silenced the group.

Ada was bashed upon the head and knocked to the ground. He tumbled in pain. “You are all to leave the field now!” commanded Banka. When he had approached, Ada’s father evidently had been too far away to notice the intrusion of the crow. The rest had watched in fearful silence as the much larger crow had approached the unknowing Ada.

“Why did you do that?” Ada had cried.

“You quail are always sneaky!” young Banka had called. “You think this field is yours, but you’re wrong! This is the crows’ field! And we answer to no one!”

“Ada is my son,” Cotur Vanda had said, moving in swiftly beside the wounded chick. “He is too young for your thrashing. Take this up with me instead.” The brave quail had stepped straight up and faced Banka, their beaks nearly touching.

Sadly, Banka
had
taken it up with Vanda. He flogged Ada’s father with his wings and screamed malicious caws until the blood turned Vanda’s gray feathers to a dusty red.

Looking back through the seasons, Cotur Ada knew that his father had never really recovered from that beating. The young and angry crow had broken two of Vanda’s toes and they had healed badly. One day Vanda had been gathering blueberries with two of Ada’s brothers. An old and desperately hungry fox had attacked. Vanda had flushed up with the younger quail but had taken off badly. The fox took him down, its eyes gone a dull gray with age and the lust for blood. Cotur Ada always wondered if his father had been just a little slower because of his broken toes.

He was careful not to fly too high, hoping not to be seen by the other crows, whose desperate fray was only beginning to abate. He had an idea, and though it was a dire measure, certainly for him and perhaps for all, he felt it the only chance to save the chicks. It was a measure that would work only if Banka proved to be the fool he thought him to be. He flew in and landed close to Banka and the quail, who were locked in a sort of one-sided tussle, with the large crow holding down the chick while the elder tried her best to get him off. “Stand down, Grandmother!” Cotur Ada cried when he landed.

Banka stared back in surprise, as did Incanta. She fell back from the crow, exhausted and bleeding from the beak, the injury likely from her own efforts. There was no sign the crow had attacked her, nor for that matter was there a mark on his black body either.

“Ah!” roared Banka. “So there are to be four to die! How many more quail are hidden in the brush? This is an insult from quail to the order of crows! Your blood will be shared by many today!”

“You have found a treasure here, O wise crow,” said Cotur Ada, “and you don’t even know it yet. Our placement here may be an offense to the crows, but on consideration you may find a benefit. You may suffer a boon for your own rite. You have the mother of many and the grandmother of innumerable at your hand. And I will speak for her. She will make you an offer.” Incanta glared at Cotur Ada. Uncertainty was upon her face, but she said nothing. She lay prone, the rage still dancing in her eyes.

“What nonsense is this you are speaking, little bird?” Banka questioned.

“Ah, it is not nonsense in the least. You must know that to a quail the life of the chick is much more valuable than the life of the egg—the delicious egg.” Cotur Ada said this last thing with a raised emphasis. “Between myself and the grandmother here, we know the whereabouts of at least two dozen hidden nests. These are secrets kept from the mink, the muskrats, the rats, and, of course, the crows.”