Chapter 12

It had taken more than a week for the insects to transport the phial of poison to the vicinity of Slyekin’s lair. Thousands of the tiny creatures had marched ceaselessly and uncomplaining, with their enormous burden on their backs. When they had arrived at their chosen site, it had taken a further two days for them to eat through the cork stopper, with hundreds of pairs of mandibles chewing voraciously. Finally, however, the seal was breached and the virulent liquid seeped out on to the grass. Some of the insects rolled in the pool of poison. Others ventured into the bottle itself, coating their bodies with the viscous fluid. Every insect was meticulous in charging himself with a dose of the poison and it was several hours before the phial was drained of its lethal load. Then the bottle was dragged and pushed into a dense patch of undergrowth, and the legions of insects formed ranks once more.

Any onlooker would have been utterly amazed to see a glistening river of myriad varieties of insects, marching side by side, as, loaded with their deadly cargo, they set off into the surrounding countryside, to impregnate the carrion for miles around.

Tomar’s instinct for the corvidaes’ laziness had been unerring. Slyekin had sent out foraging parties to collect a veritable banquet of decaying carcasses for the Great Feast. But no corvidae ventured further than a few wing-flaps’ distance from Slyekin’s lair. Food was abundant in the locality and no magpie chose to travel further than necessary, or to waste energy in strenuous transportation of finer carcasses, to be gleaned from greater distances. The remains of hedgehogs, rabbits, squirrels, mice and even an unfortunate fox, butchered at the hands of sadistic humans on horseback, were piled high in the arena. This putrefying mound was already several feet in height, and more was being collected by the hour. No one would go hungry at this feast!

Tomar had been dragged from his dungeon and brought before Slyekin at first light on the eve of the Feast.

“Well, old one,” squawked the magpie. “Tomorrow will be my crowning glory. The greatest feast ever known in the history of Birddom. It’s only a pity that you probably won’t enjoy it.”

‘A day is a long time in a tyrant’s life,’ Tomar said to himself. ‘Many things can happen between dawn and dusk.’

“This has been my destiny since birth,” continued Slyekin. “It is my right. You can do nothing to prevent it, Tomar. You are completely in my power. Nothing can happen to interfere with my plans. I am invincible!”

“What part do you have for me in your plans?” asked the owl.

“You will be the instrument of my coronation. The Council of the Owls will meet again, and will choose me as its leader, and king of all Birddom. You will personally herald the news to all assembled.”

“An honour indeed!” muttered Tomar wryly.

“Once the announcement of my total authority has been made, the Great Owl will officially disband the Council. There will be no further meetings.” Slyekin strode back and forth as he spoke, gesturing wildly with his wings.

“What if the Great Owl refuses to do as you say?” queried Tomar.

“You must see to it that he does not refuse,” answered Slyekin, sternly. “You must speak to him. He must be made to see that the power of life and death is in my wingtips.”

“I see that I have no choice but to do as you ask,” said Tomar, sounding weary. “What will happen to us, once your rightful coronation has taken place?”

“I will have no further use for you,” Slyekin replied. “You will be free to leave.”

“We are all old and I can see now that our time is past. All that we seek is to return to our homes and live out our lives in peace and quiet.”

Tomar spoke submissively, biting back the anger that seethed inside him. Slyekin laughed, and spat in his face.

“To think I used to be afraid of you. You are nothing. Go now, and prepare a pretty speech for my coronation.”

When Cerival was brought to him, Tomar was shocked to see how frail and defeated he looked. His eyes were bruised through lack of sleep, and his feathers, once so fine, were dishevelled and dirty. The claws on his left foot were hideously bent and twisted, courtesy of some playful torture by his captors. His head was bowed as he faced Tomar, and he could not meet his friend’s eye. The weight of his failure, and personal guilt in forwarding Slyekin’s ambitions by his patronage, was crushing him visibly.

Tomar greeted the Great Owl formally and in an ancient tongue, little used in the latter days of the Council, but well-known to them since childhood as the language of the Council of the Owls in olden times. Cerival’s head came up when he heard this and there was a certain straightening of his posture. But he made no reply. Tomar then spoke to the Great Owl, giving such a message of hope that years seemed to fall from him and the light, that had been missing for so long, returned to his eyes. Tomar told Cerival all about Kirrick and of the plan that they had formulated together. He explained to the Great Owl about Kirrick’s missions, to seek the aid of the falcons, eagles and gulls. Tomar was fulsome in his praise for the little robin’s courage and expressed his absolute conviction that Kirrick would succeed in his quests.

Cerival questioned Tomar at length, seeking to reassure himself that every eventuality had been covered. But he could find no fault in his friend’s plan. He began to thank Tomar, expressing his gratitude that one owl at least had retained the strength and moral courage to continue the fight for Birddom. But Tomar stilled him, telling him that every owl now had a role to play, and that Birddom needed his wisdom and leadership now, like never before. Cerival demurred, saying that the right of leadership had passed from him to another, but passion showed briefly in his face, as he vowed to support his dearest friend in whatever way he could. So Tomar then outlined his ideas to Cerival and the Great Owl nodded thoughtfully, in approval of the other’s plan.

And all the while, the corvidae guards sat uncomprehending, amused by this ancient prattle between the two old fools. When, at last, a silence fell upon the pair of owls, one of the guards spoke to Tomar.

“Have you told him what the Boss wants? Does he know what to do?”

“Oh, yes!” replied the Great Owl in sonorous tones. “I know what to do.”

The fledgling magpie looked up at his mother as she spoke. He was already surprisingly large for his age – Katya had worked tirelessly since his hatching to provide food for her offspring. He had not yet ventured out of the nest and his whole world was one of satiation and indoctrination. For, as she fed him, Katya spoke to her son, filling his mind with hatred for the magpie who had so savagely sired him. From the day of his birth, he had known only this: that he had been born to exact retribution upon that evil bird. As he opened his beak to receive more food, his mother spoke again.

“Venga, my son. Your life at this moment is simple. Your one aim for now is to grow big and strong. Take all the food that I provide. But, take also into your heart the words that I speak. For your life has been given to you by me and your purpose in life is clear. You will be my sword, Venga. You will seek out the magpie who took away my joy, and you will take away his life. For no one bird is less deserving of life than he. This evil magpie who knows no pity must be shown none in return. You must kill him. Kill him for me. So, remember this, little one. Your mother loves you. But she will love you even more when you have killed him and brought me back his head to decorate our nest!”

Two guards had been posted to watch over the huge mound of carrion, gathered in readiness for the feast. As evening drew on, the pair of magpies eyed the food with ever-increasing hunger. They knew that it was a huge risk. They themselves had been instructed to kill, without impunction, anyone who dared to raid the store of meat, before the day itself. But who was to know if they had a few choice morsels themselves? There had been far too much to count. No one would miss a small rabbit or two, from amidst this bountiful larder.

One of the guards kept watch whilst the second chose a carcass, whose gamey smell announced its advancing state of putrefaction. Pulling it from the pile, he set about it with avaricious relish. The second guard grumbled on seeing the other magpie already beginning his meal, but he, too, was soon devouring a rank carcass of his own choosing. Hunger, and fear of being found out, made the magpies feed fast, and, having stripped the bones clean of flesh, they carefully carried the pitiful skeletons some distance away, hiding them in the undergrowth. Then both guards returned to their posts.

The poison took about thirty minutes to take effect and the magpies took a further half an hour to die. A thousand pairs of eyes had watched this unfolding drama and, when the magpies finally lay still, and cold on the ground, a legion of insects marched into the clearing and carried the bodies, in solemn procession, into the undergrowth and away.

Most of the magpies would begin arriving shortly after dawn on the morrow, but hundreds had travelled from far and wide and were roosting in every available branch. There were so many corvidae about. Often the trees were blackened by their sheer numbers – a spectacular negation of Nature’s spectrum of colour. Everywhere, there was black and white. The noise of their greetings to each new arrival, and their chatter about the upcoming feast, as they settled down on their perches, was deafening and unceasing. For excitement was in the air. This celebration was the culmination of their year’s work, and every bird strove to outdo the others in their tales of the murder and mayhem, which they had carried out for the furtherance of their leader’s ambitions.

For about half the assembled throng, this was their first Great Feast, but they gossiped eagerly about past events as if they had themselves participated in the debauches that they had only heard about. Many there had never met Slyekin, and those that had looked upon the others with disdainful reproach when they bragged about what they would do and say when they came into his presence. They would learn!

Discussion then moved on to how many species had been eradicated in Slyekin’s drive for supremacy in Birddom. Estimates varied, but the general consensus finally set the figure at around eighty. And, truth to tell, this was not far from being accurate. It would have been considerably simpler to list the small birds still surviving, by name of individual, than to catalogue the species butchered to extinction by the corvidae hordes.

But two small birds, at least, had survived to survey this scene. Kirrick and Portia had finally arrived, and had taken refuge in a small knot hole, in a decaying old tree. It had no branches and was little more than a rotting stump, but it gave them cover and shelter, and it was a safe haven from which to watch the gathering of the massed ranks of their enemies.

“What do you plan to do, my love?” asked Portia.

“That’s just it. I have no plan,” replied Kirrick. “We’ve come all this way, and now I have no idea how to proceed.”

“Remember, darling. Trust in Tomar. You have done your part, as well as you, or anyone else, possibly could. I think that our best course of action is to wait for the eagles. We can fly into battle with them, if you wish.”

Portia’s words made sense to Kirrick. Yes, they would wait for Storne and his company. But, as they settled down to rest, Kirrick realised that there would be very little sleep for him tonight. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. It would be the most important day of all their lives.

Slyekin woke early and was soon strutting around, posing and preening, practising his speech. This was his day, his destiny. To finally destroy the powerful Council of the Owls filled Slyekin with a delicious anticipation. He would eat their brains out of their skulls! The savage magpie clapped his wings as he thought of that. Maybe that way he would inherit their oh-so-renowned wisdom.

“Ha!” he laughed, spitefully, planning each moment of the pageant to come. “To be king of all Birddom! To be recognised as such!” A frisson of pure pleasure tingled through his body.

Later, they gathered before him in their multitudes. A sea of faces, bright eyes, shiny beaks. Hundreds of magpies, crows, rook and other corvidae filled the arena and waited, in total silence, for their leader to speak. Slyekin’s henchmen came up to him, and asked when everyone was going to eat.

“The feasting will start after my coronation. Everyone can eat as they watch the owls die. You’d better take some food now, for Traska. He’s going to need his strength for later. But don’t bother feeding the other prisoners. It would be rather a waste, don’t you think?”

Slyekin and the huge crows cackled cruelly at this. Then, as his henchmen departed on their errand, Slyekin stepped forward, to address his audience.

“My followers. My subjects,” he began, grandly. “This year’s annual feast will, I hope, be a rather special one for us all. I know you will all, one day, tell your children about it. We have waited so long, and worked so hard to get where we are today. My genius has brought us this far, and will carry us on to ever greater glory. We have eradicated all but a paltry few of the lesser species of bird, and enjoyed doing it too, I dare say! We have defeated the old order. The Council of the Owls no longer dictates the law of Birddom, and today you will witness their utter destruction. Nothing can stand in our way, as we march forward together. No enemy will be strong enough to gainsay us. We are an invincible army, and whoever we chose to take on in the future, will fall before us.”

Slyekin paused for the waves of inevitable adulation that poured forth from the throats of the assembled congregation, noticing, however, the sections where the cheering was less enthusiastic than the others. His beady gaze focused on them, as he continued,

“I demand nothing less than total loyalty. But I promise you nothing less than total victory! Today, for your entertainment, you will witness the very last Council of the Owls. They have, in their wisdom, decided to retire. For centuries, they have been the Law Makers, the Law Givers. Now they are redundant. They have recognised that a superior intelligence to their own now makes the rules. Today, they will crown me as rightful king of you all, indeed of all Birddom. Then they will disband and abdicate. I assure you, their retirement will be short-lived. After that, we will feast from our not inconsiderable store, and, thereafter, you will have to make your own entertainment!”

A further raucous wave of cheering went up from the arena. Each owl took his appointed place in the Council, but Slyekin usurped the Great Owl’s position in the centre of the Council, and he was forced to fill the lesser position, vacated by the Council member who had died en route to the festivities.

While this preparation was going on, Slyekin summoned one of his henchmen to his side.

“You’d better eat something now, while the pageant is going on. You’ll have work to do when everyone else is eating. Choose a dozen of their guards to take with you. I’m sure they’ll enjoy the exercise after a good meal!”

With that, he dismissed the giant crow and stood once again before his audience.

“And now,” Slyekin proclaimed, “let the Council begin.”

Traska waited in his cell. He knew that it was the day of the Great Feast, and he was fearful now of the part that he had been chosen to play. Obviously, Slyekin had little use for him, or the knowledge that he had so dearly wished to impart. Well, it was too late now. Traska’s sole thoughts at this moment were for his own survival. For he was sure that, whatever the purpose of Kirrick’s missions, today would see their outcome. And he had no intention of being caught in the conflict, which he knew would ensue.

So it was that, at this stage, Fate lent a hand, in the shape of his guard. One of the magpies had brought some food and Traska was grateful, as he was starving. But his guard took the proffered carcass, and kept it for his own.

“I’ve earned this, guarding a miserable bird like you,” cackled the massive sentinel.

Traska was weak from hunger, having been given only the barest rations since his arrival. So he had had no chance to recover his energies after his exhausting flight south, and was in no fit state to tackle this adversary. He could only look on, in abject misery, as the guard wolfed down his meal, laughing as he did so. Traska settled down in the corner, and closed his eyes, brooding malevolently. It was some time later when he heard the guard gasp, and he looked up to see the large bird contorted in agony on the floor. He was immediately puzzled. What could be wrong? Was this something to do with ...? A smile of satisfaction played across Traska’s beak as he relaxed, watching with interest the death throes of his captor. So! He wasn’t missing out on all the entertainment, after all!

The coronation ceremony had managed to exceed even Slyekin’s expectations. Every owl had played their part, following the lead given by the Great Owl and Tomar. Many of them seethed in resentment at the apparent complicity and surrender of their most respected leaders. But something inside them stayed their anger. It was all too unbelievable. Slyekin, in his vanity, noticed none of this. He had just been declared king and ruler of all Birddom. He had realised his greatest ambition and was revelling in the moment. But, even in his moment of glory, he recognised that the crowd wanted something more. The pageant and his coronation had been well received, but baser desires now needed satisfying.

Slyekin called for silence and announced that the feasting should begin. The assembled masses did not need to be told twice and fell upon the food store in their hundreds, tearing and ripping at the multitude of carcasses, in their frenzy of feeding. Hundreds more hovered impatiently nearby, unable to reach the feast for the throng surrounding it. Turning away from this spectacular orgy, Slyekin called for his guards. The time had come for the second part of his entertainment.

He explained to Tomar that it would be safer if the owls were escorted until they were a safe distance from his home, because of the vast crowds and their present temperament. Slyekin looked up in annoyance when he noticed that his summons had not been answered. He shouted once again for his henchman and their cohorts. To a bird, they were in no position to hear him, or ever would be again. Unscripted, but with perfect timing, Isidris chose this moment to vent his feelings over the charade, in which he had been so unwilling to play a part. He railed in anger at Tomar and the Great Owl, and was astonished to see them arrange the remainder of the Council in a protective ring around their newly-crowned king. Slyekin felt suddenly grateful for the barrier that they presented, for Isidris was a powerful bird, and Slyekin felt horribly vulnerable without his own guards. Isidris was incredulous, speechless with rage at the duplicity of his fellows, but, as he looked into Tomar’s face, comprehension dawned on him, and he laughed.

Isidris looked out over the massed assembly – gorging themselves, and oblivious to all but their own gratification. Then he looked back at Slyekin, encircled by the members of the Owls’ Council. Finally, he looked back into Tomar’s eyes and, following his old friend’s gaze, looked skywards. Two darkening clouds appeared to the north and to the west, moving too swiftly for the elements themselves. Tomar offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

“Look well, Slyekin,” commanded the old owl. “Look and see the coming of your doom!” The magpie stared in terror and disbelief at the fast approaching squadrons of eagles and falcons, as they closed to the battle site.

An alarm went up among the corvidae on the ground, but was unheeded by many, who were too busy fighting each other for scraps of food to realise the imminent danger that faced them. However, hundreds of magpies, rooks and crows took wing and climbed to meet the incoming attackers. Battle was joined in a countless number of aerial duels. The screeching and screaming in the air above their heads alerted more of the corvidae to their peril, and many abandoned their squabbles for food to join their comrades in the skies in repelling the ranks of birds of prey.

Tomar had to shout to make himself heard above the noise of battle.

“You had planned a spectacle of death for the amusement of your followers. We must not disappoint them, though I suspect none will witness it. Let it now be done!”

And, at his command, the owls fell upon Slyekin and tore him to pieces. His reign as king of all Birddom came to an end almost before it had begun. Soon Tomar was left looking down at Slyekin’s head on the ground, the eyes staring, unseeing, at the mayhem in the skies overhead.

“Aye, look well,” repeated the old owl. “Look for all eternity upon your doom.”

Traska had waited until he was certain that his guard was dead. Then he had stealthily made his way out of his place of confinement, and into the open air. He was free! At that very moment, Traska had looked up and witnessed the arrival of the attacking forces. He had the wit to quickly duck back under cover as the mighty birds swept overhead. He had no intention of enjoining battle with this enemy. Let other fools fight, and expend their energy, and their lives. Traska looked on from the safety of his cover and snarled in his anger as he saw Kirrick flying in the midst of the incoming legions. Curse that infernal robin! He’d brought all this about. The robin – and that meddlesome old owl! Traska abandoned his temporary place of cover and retreated back into Slyekin’s lair to find a better place to hide. And wait.