Chapter 13

Kirrick and Portia sat anxiously, watching the conflict from their vantage point in a nearby tree. Upon reaching the battle site, they had left the eagles and had alighted, knowing that their task was done and that others, more powerful, now held the hope and doom of Birddom. Things were not going well. In spite of the initial advantage of surprise and the fact that each of the attacking force was individually superior to their opponent, sheer weight of numbers was against them. Portia had to physically restrain Kirrick from joining the affray, knowing that he would stand little chance against the much larger foes. The owls, seeing the way that the battle was going, took to the air as a phalanx, and soon scored significant victories with their size and strength. Tomar and Isidris fought side by side, each protecting the other’s flank from attack. Elsewhere, Storne was in mighty form and reaped a savage harvest amongst the corvidae. Darreal and his falcons held their own, but it soon became apparent that each eagle and falcon was taking on two or three black and white defenders. Why wasn’t the poison working? Had Tomar’s plan failed?

Some of the falcons had fallen, dragged earthwards by mobs of magpies and crows. Whilst many corvidae lay dead or wounded, it was clear that the attackers’ numbers were slowly dwindling. For the corvidae had realised, at last, the desperateness of their plight. They had abandoned their orgy of self-gratification and had united in this fight for their very lives. Many among them were, by nature, cowardly and would have fled, had the opportunity arisen. But there was no escape and, now that they had no alternative but to fight to the death, most surprised even themselves by their fortitude, in the face of such fearsome opponents. They began to look around them, at the battles raging across the skies and see, here and there, signs of hope that they might yet be victorious. This bolstered their courage and they continued their fighting with renewed vigour. A huge cheer went up as the first of the eagles lost his fight, and plummeted to the ground. He was immediately set upon by a veritable swarm of magpies, who pecked the last vestiges of life out of his huge frame. Then, rejoicing, they took to the air once more, eager for another victory. Fearing that all would be lost, Kirrick turned on Portia.

“I can’t just sit by and do nothing!” he pleaded.

As he turned to look again, he gasped in horror. The magpies had managed to separate the two valiant owls and now Tomar was surrounded. The old owl fought on alone and not without effect, but the odds against him were beginning to be overwhelming. It had seemed that for a while Tomar held back his foes with some unseen power, which belied his physical frailty. The magpies seemed reluctant to strike a blow, as if he had some magic which would undo them. But their bravado increased as they saw the anxiety in Tomar’s eyes, and more and more they pressed forward, sporadically risking a direct strike and emboldened by their success. Kirrick could not let his mentor be brought down.

But, just as he took to the skies to race to the aid of his friend, two things happened simultaneously. The poison in the carrion began to take massive and deadly effect, with dozens of corvidae literally falling out of the sky, screaming in agony as they did so. And, in the same instant, a vast flock of screeching, cawing seabirds arrived from the east and joined the battle. The remaining magpies did not know which way to turn. The timely arrival of the gulls encouraged the falcons and eagles immeasurably and they rejoined battle with the corvidae, with hope refreshed and strength renewed. The magpies looked about them as bird after bird succumbed to the lethal fluid inside them, often dying before their bodies hit the ground. The tide of battle had turned irrevocably in favour of the attacking forces. The corvidae still fought savagely, but their superiority in numbers had already been wiped out by the poison. And the influx of fresh and fierce opponents left them overwhelmed. The combined effect of these two causes put the magpies to rout. Those that chose to stay and fight were no match for the sharp beaks of the gulls. The combination of their savagery, with the strength and power of the eagles and falcons, swung the battle in the attackers’ favour. Many of those who fled were either caught by their pursuer or tumbled earthwards, as the poison’s effect took hold from within.

Kirrick had not needed to strike a blow and yet, incredibly, it was suddenly all over. Only a very few of the magpies escaped, and fewer still without some wound, to always remind them of the battle. Storne and Darreal circled in triumph. The sky was theirs. Kirrick flew over to where Tomar had landed. The ground was strewn with dead or dying corvidae and the owl was hopping hither and thither, dispensing his own particular brand of mercy by despatching each agony-stricken magpie that he found still alive. Tomar smiled as he saw the little robin approaching.

Before they had a chance to speak, Kraken alighted and called out to Kirrick. “Better late than never, eh?” He was slightly breathless, and his beak was bright with blood.

“How can I ever thank you?” asked Kirrick. “I thought that I had failed in trying to persuade you to our cause.”

“You had, my young friend,” replied Kraken. “The cause was purely personal. When you lose a child, you tend to want to take revenge upon the perpetrators.”

The gull went on to explain how ill news had been brought to him by his distraught son, telling how Traska had senselessly murdered his younger sister, Kraken’s beloved daughter. That act of casual brutality had been paid in kind, ten times over. One evil bird’s need to assuage his own ire had had a profound effect on all of them.

As owl, seagull and robin talked, they were joined by Darreal, Storne and Isidris. This mighty gathering of heroes conversed at length, exchanging news and expounding deeds of valour by one or other of the victors. Kirrick was suitably impressed when told the reason for the magpies’ agony. Only Tomar could have had the vision to think of such a plan! Kirrick was honoured to be introduced to the Great Owl, Cerival, who had despatched the last of his opponents and had flown down to join them. The robin blushed more than once when Tomar sang his praises before such exalted company, but the owl’s words were roundly endorsed by all there, and indeed each of these great birds saw Kirrick as their equal in terms of valour and marvelled at what he had achieved. Everyone was eager to recount his own story, and so, at length, the whole was known to all.

Amidst the satisfaction and self-congratulations Tomar voiced a note of caution. He had listened to Kirrick’s tale, embellished by Darreal and Storne, and he felt decidedly uneasy. In spite of not wanting to spoil the mood of celebration, he could not help but voice his concern.

“What happened to Traska?”

Five mighty beaks turned in the old owl’s direction, as the heroes considered the implications of Tomar’s enquiry. In one smaller head, however, a different question was triggered. Where was Portia? Kirrick realised, guiltily, that he had forgotten all about his mate. Where could she have gone? He remembered with regret that his last words to his love had been spoken harshly. The robin excused himself, unheeded, from the company and went off in search of her.

Storne was the first to answer Tomar, but his tone was defensive and unsure.

“Traska was last seen in my land. He was trapped in the rabbit warrens. I had a watch set, and my eagles would have reported to me if he had escaped.”

“Escape he did, however,” Tomar replied gravely. “Kraken wouldn’t be here at all if it hadn’t been for Traska’s brutal slaying of his beloved daughter.”

“Yes,” the great gull said, a deep anger in his voice. “Would that your eagles’ watch had been more thorough.”

Tomar interceded quickly. “Let us not quarrel among ourselves. This is no time for recriminations. We have won a great victory. But my question remains unanswered. We must be sure that Traska is dead.”

“How could he have survived? We killed nearly every magpie here today,” squawked Storne, still bridling at Kraken’s accusation.

“Nearly is not enough with an evil bird like Traska,” Isidris intoned. “Of all birds here I have been the only one to come face to face with the magpie, and, in spite of our glorious triumph, I for one shall not rest easy until I am sure that Traska is no more.”

When Portia had been unable to pluck up the courage to fly into battle and fight beside her mate, she had turned away in despair. She simply could not bear to watch her brave love die. But the sounds of battle had carried to where she cowered and the portents had been unmistakable. Tomar’s plan was working. They were winning. But would Kirrick survive? The thought of losing him had overwhelmed her and she had fled. Seeking darkness to cover her misery, she had hidden in the mouth of a dark tunnel and had let the tears fall unchecked.

Kirrick was becoming frantic with worry. On leaving the company, he had returned at once to the place where he had left Portia, and had then searched the open ground for some sign of her, but she was nowhere to be found. Calling her name, he had flown out over the battle ground, terrified that he might find her tiny body dead and cold among the fallen. She couldn’t be dead, could she? After all that they had been through together? Unsuccessful, he had returned to the treetop where, together, they had watched the eagles fly into battle. Where could Portia be? He couldn’t lose her now! He wouldn’t want to live without her! In great distress, Kirrick abandoned his search, and flew back to his companions.

Emerging from her hiding place, Portia saw the circle of great birds with Kirrick at its centre. A conflicting mix of emotions coursed through her veins. Pride in her mate. Shame in herself. She hesitated to join them, so she hopped out of the tunnel and into the undergrowth to compose herself and to find food for her conquering hero.

“Calm yourself, my young friend,” Tomar said kindly. “What distresses you so?”

“I can’t find her. I’ve looked everywhere for Portia, but I can’t find her!”

A sense of foreboding prevented Tomar from offering the usual assurances. If only they had some word about the magpie. The old owl regretted his earlier compassion towards the injured corvidae. He could have interrogated one of them for news of Traska. But it was too late for that now. His thoughts returned to the distress of his friend.

“Where have you looked?” he asked.

“Everywhere!” cheeped Kirrick miserably.

“Then let us all help you. Seven pairs of eyes are better than one.”

The great birds each flapped off in search for Kirrick’s mate and the robin was left alone, at a loss what to do next. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the entrance to a dark tunnel. Kirrick had no idea that this was the lair of the despot, Slyekin, and what would it have mattered? Slyekin was dead and his stain had been expunged from the world. Yet Kirrick felt a dread. There was evil in that place, he was sure of it. But he had to find his love!

On returning, she saw, ahead of her, Kirrick going in to the tunnel in search of her. She tried to call out, but her beak was full and he disappeared without hearing her. A chill fear clutched at her heart. Portia knew, with an illogical certainty, that her love was in terrible danger. Dropping her carefully selected provisions, she raced to the spot where she had seen him disappear.

Kirrick was deep inside Slyekin’s lair when he heard Portia calling. He turned around and began to retrace his steps. The distress in her voice spurred him to haste and he quickened his pace as he rounded a corner, heading towards the entrance.

Traska’s black and white body towered over him. Kirrick had no chance to react, and the confined space gave him no room to manoeuvre. Traska had chosen his ambush well. His head lunged forward and his beak penetrated Kirrick’s chest. A plume of bright scarlet fountained out of the wound and soaked his feathers an even deeper red. Kirrick fell back, mortally stricken. Traska wiped his bloody beak with one wing.

“That is for all the trouble you have caused me and mine, Kirrick. Never have I felt such pleasure in finishing off an adversary.”

And, with these words, Traska turned and disappeared into the dark.

When Portia found him, Kirrick was still breathing. But one look at the damage wrought to his body told her the worst. She went to him and, cradling his head gently in her wings, spoke softly to him. She told him of the depth of her love and she talked about their hopes and dreams for the future. She did not let him go, even when she felt his life slip away. His body lay still and cold, his heart beating no more and his eyes closed. Portia kissed him, over and over again, and then she wept, the pain of her tears racking her entire body with sobbing. Finally a shadow fell over her and, looking up, she saw Tomar’s kindly face. His look of loss reflected her own, as he gently took her by the wing and led her away.

“Kirrick was the bravest bird that I have ever known. You must be proud to have been loved by him.”

The owl spoke gravely, and Portia replied in kind.

“Proud, yes, and honoured. Our love will never die, even though he is dead. Kirrick will always be with me, though his body becomes food for the worms which he once fed upon. He will live on in my heart, to the end of my days. Promise me one thing, Tomar. Let such a tale be made of this that Kirrick will be remembered forever. He deserves no less.”

“I promise you this,” answered Tomar, “that while any bird still lives, Kirrick will be remembered!”