Chapter 2

Kirrick’s first, overriding impression of Tomar was one of great size and age. With that age had come a certain infirmity. Owls were renowned for silent flight, and Kirrick would certainly never have heard any sound of approach from Tomar in his youth. If he had been a mouse, that may have made the difference between silent death and an empty stomach for the owl. Indeed, as Kirrick looked more closely at the great bird, he could see that Tomar was thin and scrawny. He had not been successful in the hunt that evening. His vast experience, and the quickness of his mind, ensured that he did not starve. But now the hunt seemed longer and the catches fewer. His best days were behind him in that respect. But it was his mind that was needed, not the strength of his body, and intelligence gleamed in Tomar’s eyes. So Tomar and Kirrick settled down to talk.

“These are troublesome times, terrible times, Kirrick. Birddom’s very existence is threatened, and it occurs to me that you may have a part to play. But first, I want to know everything about this bird who has so presumptuously perched himself on my nest-step.”

Tomar’s eyes twinkled with merriment, and Kirrick could see that the old owl was teasing him. But the enquiry was a genuine one. Kirrick knew that he would have to win the old owl’s trust before he could get the answers that he sought.

“You want to know my life’s story? Are you prepared for a long evening?”

“Owls are known to be patient,” Tomar responded.

“Well then, I shall tell it, though maybe there is not too much worth the telling. I was hatched five summers ago, in June. I was one of three chicks in the second brood, but my brother died after only a few weeks. My mother’s name was Elanor, and she was a truly beautiful bird. My father Halen loved her, and us, very much. And he was not afraid to show his affection. My time of fledging was very happy and secure, and I learned much from both my parents that has stood me in good stead in these less-than-happy times. My juvenile time was very much as for any other young robin. We fought and played, pretending to establish our territories. We flew without a care in the world, and our curiosity was limitless. I would often fly off alone and visit the human habitats, even though I had been warned to be wary of Man. But I never faced any dangers there, and the humans seemed to like my company. It was in one of their gardens that I met Celine, my mate.

She was a bright, vivacious young female, and I loved her first for her adventurousness and spirit. She was often much bolder than I and would even take food from the hand of one of the younger humans. We were blissfully happy for a while. But then the murder started, and we knew real fear for the first time in our lives. Before the coming of the magpies, I must have known fifty robins in our area, outside of my own family. When Celine and I were finally forced to flee our home, we never encountered a single one.”

Tomar’s eyes held true sadness in their gaze, as he listened to Kirrick’s tale. Even with all that he had heard and seen, he was moved by the tragedy of the robin’s story.

“My parents were among the last to be caught.” Kirrick continued. “Their courage and resourcefulness had managed to protect us all for many months, whilst the holocaust was happening all around us. But finally they were trapped and killed by a large band of magpies. They fought magnificently, but had no chance against so many. We had been with them, but had departed just before the attack. We had flown only a short distance, and we could clearly hear the awful commotion. Celine and I both knew instantly what had happened, and we both realised that there was nothing that we could do to save them. It was the blackest day of my life. We flew on until we found a safe place to hide. There we let our grief overwhelm us. But we only had a short time of private sorrow before the pursuit became focused on us.

The following six weeks were the most terrifying that I have ever known. The days and nights blurred into one long and continuous nightmare. We rested little and slept even less. Our one hope was that the magpies who were hunting us would get bored or frustrated, and call off their pursuit. But they were relentless, and seemed driven to chase us, even to the ends of the world.”

As he relived the terror of those dark days, Kirrick found his heart racing. He opened and closed his beak several times, gulping in air to calm himself. Finally, he was able to speak again.

“Fatigue and hunger weakened us both, but it was the mental strain that took the greatest toll. Finally, it became too much for Celine. Her death was even worse than those of my parents. For I was witness to her end, and the feeling of utter helplessness was something that I have never been able to erase from my memory, nor ever will. I felt something else too. I felt ashamed. I thought of myself as a coward for not saving my Celine, although, once she had broken cover there was nothing that I could have done to help her. Part of me still feels that I should have sacrificed myself and died alongside my mate. But the other part of me believes that there is a reason for every action we take. That is why I am here.”

“Go on my friend,” Tomar urged gently, nodding as Kirrick’s story confirmed his judgement about the robin.

“I was chased and harried constantly, even after Celine was killed. It seems that the magpies’ appetite for death is insatiable. Finally, I escaped by a stroke of sheer good fortune, when my hunters found another kill. I put as much distance as possible between us. I had no clear intentions – no idea, honestly, of what to do, beyond fleeing for my life. But then I met Anisse, the grebe, and it was she who suggested that I come to see you.”

“You were fortunate to have found Anisse to help you,” said Tomar, thoughtfully. “But perhaps fortunate is not the right word, Kirrick. I believe that a far higher power than any of us understand controls our destiny. You were meant to find Anisse, just as she was meant to send you to me.”

Kirrick nodded his head in agreement.

“Yes. I’ve felt from the beginning that there had to be a purpose to it all. But there is just so much that I don’t understand.”

Tomar hesitated initially about telling Kirrick everything, for fear of frightening the robin whose aid he needed so much. But the owl looked once more into Kirrick’s eyes, and saw again the strength and resolve within the tiny frame. Tomar felt then that Kirrick had somehow been appointed for his quest, and sensed that the little robin would be equal to the challenges that lay ahead.

“Kirrick. There is much that you need to know. Time presses upon us, and our need is urgent. But you must understand fully the history behind our present troubles. Your courage will be tested to its very limits. You will face many dangers, and only the full knowledge of the importance of the quest that I will ask you to undertake will enable you to complete your tasks. It is a long story and, before we begin, I need to take you somewhere.”

With that, the old owl flapped his great wings, and took to the air, Kirrick following with a mounting curiosity. They breached the tree-tops, and headed north. The ground rose steadily beneath them and they used the thermal currents to rise higher with the land. After some time Kirrick spotted a copse of trees atop a rocky promentory.

Tomar dipped one wing and glided down, alighting on the tallest of a ring of massive oaks which encircled a lushly carpeted clearing. Even in the gloom of dusk, Kirrick could see many kinds of flowers, their soft petals closing as the light failed, and a profusion of vegetation. It was indeed a very beautiful place. But it was the feeling of utter serenity that was almost overwhelming.

“What is this place, Tomar?” Kirrick questioned, in hushed tones.

“Why do you ask? What do you feel?” Tomar’s eyes shone as he looked at his small companion.

“That this is a holy place. There is such calm, and yet such power here.”

“You were well chosen, Kirrick. This was the site of the first Council of the Owls, many years ago. Birddom was in its infancy then, and all species lived together in harmony. The world was plentiful, and those enemies that we had were part of the natural order. Life was rich and good. It is hard to imagine such peace and happiness in these dark times. But then a danger appeared which threatened the innocence and beauty of that world. Man. This was the evil that first wrought chaos and disorder in the land. Man was the reason that the Council of the Owls was formed. A great unhappiness had descended upon the land. The peace and tranquillity of our world had been shattered by the intrusion of this new enemy. Habitats were destroyed and many individuals were killed. Fear of Man extinguished the joy in Birddom, and each species became insular, because of the threat to their survival. But one bird had the vision to see beyond petty interests. The birds needed to unite, if they were to survive in the face of such an enemy.

A barn owl, already advanced in years when the threat of man first arrived, was to become the first Great Owl. Her name was Praeda, and she was revered among her own kind for her compassion, strength and wisdom. She had voiced her concerns to her brethren, in an informal precursor to the official council, and had sent them out on a mission. A gathering was to be called and one representative of each species of bird was to attend. There had been some resistance initially, from birds concerned only with their own troubles. But the owls were held in high esteem throughout the land and the force of their argument prevailed. Every bird realised the threat that their enemy posed and all knew that they could not stand alone.”

Tomar’s eyes glittered with pride in his ancestors and the years seemed to fall away from him as he continued.

“The gathering took place on Midsummer’s Day, and to any eye it must have been an awesome and wondrous spectacle. Birds of all shapes and sizes filled the tree ring, or settled on the verdant grass beneath. No one species took pride of place. Chaffinch sat next to goshawk, and crossbill perched beside wood pigeon. On the ground, merganser grazed contentedly a few feet away from the raucous herring-gull. I can imagine that, to a bird, everyone would have been excited and full of expectancy. Every eye would have turned towards Praeda, as she flapped her wings, to quell her nerves, and cleared her throat before speaking.”

Kirrick was listening intently to every word of the old owl’s story. “What did she say? What did she say?” he cheeped, impatiently.

“Her words have gone down in history, my friend. Owls still remember everything that she said that day. The story has been passed down, unaltered, through the generations. Praeda spoke thus.

‘ Friends. Thank you all for coming here today. We have known times of great joy together, and we will know such times again! But be under no illusions. We face a terrible foe, at this moment in our lives and history. Future generations will judge us by what we decide today. We must not fail them! Man is, without doubt, the direst foe that we have ever had to face. Every bird here has lost loved ones to a predator. But always we knew that he killed to live, and that our loss was part of the law of survival. Man, however, kills carelessly and to excess. He seems to take pleasure in the act alone. We must face the reality that Man will not go away. Nor will he change. So we must change.

We must plan our very existence – the way we live out our lives

– to minimise the threat that he poses. Gone are the days when the whole world was ours. We must create a secret world, away from Man. To him, we must become as shadows, merest glimpses, seen and wondered at, but gone too soon for him to work his evil. For us to do this, we must have order. Every bird must think as much for the welfare of all birds as for that of his or her own family. And any threat to one, must be communicated to all. This is the only way that we can survive.’

It is a fine speech, is it not? And one which gave every bird there pause for thought. In the ensuing silence that followed her words, one bird spoke up. The goldcrest was the smallest bird among them, and many ears would have strained to hear his trembling voice.

‘Praeda. Your words are very wise. We all know and fear Man. None among us is safe from his evil. We need to unite if we are to survive. But above all we need wisdom. Every bird in the land knows of the deep knowledge and sagacity of the owls. Your kind are respected and revered. We will put our trust in you to find a way to save us all.’

They say that the very ground shook with the noisy affirmation that emanated from the throat of every bird there that day, and that many an animal stirred in their burrow, frightened suddenly by the commotion.

So it was that the Council of the Owls came into being, and, for many years, Praeda led the Council, with wisdom and understanding. Birddom became unified under her beneficent leadership, and the Council drew up the rules, by which and through which all birds lived in relative safety. Man still made his malice, and many birds died as a result. But the flood had lessened to a trickle, and the crisis passed. Down the years, successive generations of Great Owls have protected Birddom from other dangers, natural and man-made. Their wisdom and common-sense have helped to overcome flood, famine, pollution and the remorseless destruction of our habitats. And each Great Owl took his or her office with gratitude, but also with solemnity, recognising the heritage that had been passed down from Praeda. The Council of the Owls was her legacy to the world and, throughout the ages, it was said that at Council meetings every member there could feel her presence. Our own Great Owl, Cerival, is a direct descendant from her line.”

Tomar was quiet for a long time, lost in memories that seemed to pain him deeply. Kirrick understood instinctively that there was sorrow aplenty in the tale still to come. But for now, he mirrored the owl’s silence and breathed deep the soft, fragrant evening air. Eventually, however, the questions that were tearing at his insides would not be denied. He cleared his beak, to gain Tomar’s attention, and spoke.

“Great must Praeda have been to unite the whole of Birddom, and to guide it on a safe course. But surely the present Great Owl and the Council can do something about the terror that we face now. The magpies are killing my species!”

The face of the old owl turned towards him, showing not only his sorrow but concern at Kirrick’s distress.

“The magpies are killing every species,” Tomar replied, gravely, and then told him of the wider picture, of the destruction that was happening the length and breadth of the country. He told him sorrowfully of the loss of the nightingale and the lark. He repeated tales, from far and wide, of planned and systematic genocide.

“But who is behind all this?” Kirrick questioned imploringly.

So it was, then, that Kirrick first heard tell of Slyekin. When Tomar spoke of him, the tone of his voice caught a harsher edge, and he had difficulty in controlling his bile. Slyekin was a magpie, unremarkable in appearance from others of his species. He was, in fact, rather on the small side, and had limped from an early age. But Slyekin was imbued with intelligence, cunning and, above all, evil. From birth he had demonstrated a terrible capacity for treachery, killing his siblings on the nest, within hours of hatching. Abandoned by his distraught parents, he had eaten his dead brothers and sisters to stay alive. Then, as a young adult, he had avenged himself on his mother and father by arranging for them to be murdered in a most sickening fashion and having their heads brought to him in his lair.

Sadistic and twisted though he was, it had been Slyekin’s superiority of mind that had facilitated his rise through the ranks of the corvidae, overcoming his physical disability, which might in other circumstances have seen him ridiculed and rejected by his peers. But Slyekin quickly built his power-base on brute strength and savagery. He surrounded himself with dull-witted, but physically impressive ‘friends’, using them to subjugate others to his will. Few magpies, or any other bird for that matter, are genuinely evil. But they are easily led, especially when promised things beyond their own power to comprehend. While Slyekin’s power grew, no magpie questioned the rightness of what they were doing, or even the benefits that they would accrue at the end of it all. For some, the power and dominance over other birdlife fed their egos. For others, the fear of murderous retribution prevented them from speaking out. It was as if no magpie had a single, independent thought, or held an opinion of his or her own. Their wills were bent, like slaves, to the service of their overlord and to his master-plan. However, to achieve his desired aim of the annihilation of all other birdlife, Slyekin needed information, beyond his own acquisition among the corvidae. And so he turned to the Council of the Owls – the very essence of good and right in Birddom.

He befriended the present Great Owl, Cerival. Slyekin came as an acolyte, seeking wisdom, and his eagerness, fawning and flattery had deceived the wisest bird of his generation. The evil magpie became the Great Owl’s pupil. He devoted his life, seemingly, to his Master’s needs and, in return, was taught the lore of every bird in the land. Slyekin learnt their habitats, their song and their areas of weakness and vulnerability. He became such a common sight with Cerival that it seemed only natural that he should come with him to the Council of the Owls, which was his intention all along.

And all the while he listened and learned. Then, five years ago, when Slyekin felt that he had acquired all the knowledge that he needed, he disappeared without trace. Within a year, Slyekin had re-emerged, in all his dark glory and had taken control of the corvidae once more, but now with the tools that he needed to finish the job. The onslaught had started and birds began to die without number. The owls never held council again.