Chapter 1

Merion and Olivia looked on in hushed awe as they sat behind their mother at the very edge of the clearing. Portia had been invited as the guest of honour to the inaugural reconvening of the Council of the Owls. It was spring, a full six months since the Great Battle, when Slyekin and his magpie empire had been defeated. Throughout the late autumn and the long hard winter, survival had been uppermost in the thoughts of all of the leaders of Birddom. Sadly, some had not made it through to the weak but welcoming sunshine that lit up this particular day. The Great Owl, Cerival, had passed on contented into the next world, knowing that the last dreadful years of doubt and anguish had been expunged by Slyekin’s downfall.

Tomar now led a Council whose number measured eight members. Three owls had fallen in the battle against the magpies, and a third of the strength and wisdom of the Council had been irrevocably lost. But, for this meeting at least, their numbers had been made up by some very notable birds indeed. Darreal and Storne had both made the long journey from their respective highland homes to be present on this momentous occasion. So, too, had Kraken, flying inland once more from the coastal fortress of his seabird colony. The final place was left empty, in memory of Kirrick, without whom no Council would ever have been held and no future would have been possible.

It would be wrong to think that no progress had been made since the battle against the corvidae. The eagles and falcons had traversed the country, disbanding those magpie covens that remained intact and searching, always searching, for Traska. But, of that evil bird there was no sign. He had completely disappeared. With the onset of winter, they had abandoned their hunt and had returned to their homes. The severity of the weather through December and January had meant that there had been a necessary hiatus in the new order. Birds, large and small, had concentrated on making it through to warmer times. Now spring had come and the thoughts of all birds could turn to the future.

The immediate task for the Council was twofold: to assess the threat still posed by the corvidae; and to make plans for the future of Birddom. Tomar had already decided that the first task for his own kind, led by their respective Council members, would be to carry out a census of the bird life remaining in the land. This was an onerous task indeed. But vital, in order to analyse the current eco-structure and assess the imbalance in the natural order that needed to be addressed. Yet how could such a restoration be achieved? So many species had, almost certainly, been wiped out by Slyekin’s murderous armies. Would Nature ever be able to recover from such a loss?

Tomar’s opening speech was simple, but eloquent. He paid a touching tribute to the robin, whose courage and commitment should, he said, be an inspiration to them all.

“Kirrick’s achievements cannot be measured against his physical size, for he had a bigger heart than all the rest of us put together!” exclaimed the old owl.

Portia’s chest swelled with pride when she heard her mate so described. But to the two young robins, Kirrick’s offspring, it was not the words that impressed them. Never before had they seen such an array of huge and magnificent birds. Each of the owls was impressive, although Caitlin, the little owl, looked slightly comical by comparison to her fellow Council members. But Kraken, with his enormous black wings, savage yellow beak and piratical glare, scared them both greatly. And Darreal, with his keen, piercing stare and wickedly hooked bill, lost nothing by comparison. As for Storne, the magnificent eagle sat on his perch as if he owned the whole world.

Yet each of these three great birds were listening with due deference to Tomar, and they nodded in approval at the owl’s eulogy to their late, heroic friend. Kirrick’s loss had been a tragedy, even amongst so many other deaths. But the robin had left a legacy to them all. And they had a duty to see that Birddom went forward to a future that would be a fitting memorial to him.

“We must see to it that neither Kirrick nor any other bird who gave his life in the struggle against evil died in vain.”

Again, all around the Council, heads nodded in agreement at the wisdom of his words. Storne caught Tomar’s eye, and indicated that he wished to speak. The owl nodded his assent.

“We have a great task ahead of us,” boomed the great golden eagle. “Some very serious decisions need to be made. The murderous actions of the magpies have had a significant effect on all of us. Not only on the small bird population, which has been so cruelly diminished, but on the larger birds, whose natural prey included some measure of those same species. It may seem heartless to some of you here, but it is, or was, the natural order of things. We took them when we needed, killing only for food, and in that way maintained the balance in Birddom. But there is no longer any balance. The life of every single small bird must henceforth be sacrosanct, at least until a way can be found to restore their numbers.

This restraint must, of necessity, bring us into greater conflict with Man. For we will still need to eat and the deficit in our food supply will have to be taken from his stock. And therein lies great danger, as you are all aware. I talk not just of the needs of raptors like myself. The remaining birds will need to take a greater proportion of their food from Man’s crops. For we must honour our agreement with the insects. Let no bird break with the oath that Tomar made. Any that do so will pay with their own lives.”

The eagle paused, and swept his gaze around the clearing. His pronouncement was clear and unequivocal. And Storne knew that its message would be carried back, across the length and breadth of the land, to every bird’s home. The pact would hold, if the Council remained strong enough to enforce it. But Birddom needed to be given a reason to believe in the Council of the Owls. They needed to see a clear direction. A plan for the future. Storne looked once more to Tomar.

“May I ask what plans the Great Owl has in mind? The very future of Birddom is in his charge now and I, for one, am confident that it is in safe wing-tips. How do you see the way forward, Tomar?”

The old owl had indeed given many long hours of thought as to that future and he began, without further ado, to explain his ideas. As he spoke, Portia began to see that he had in mind a role for her. Birddom would need repopulating and Tomar believed that the only way to achieve this would be to encourage an influx of small bird species from Wingland, that vast continent beyond the shores of Birddom. Slyekin’s empire had been very insular and it was unlikely the evil that had warped the corvidae in this land was also present in the wider world. Someone was needed who would be prepared to fly over the sea, and do everything in their power, once in Wingland, to persuade many species of bird to migrate to a new home in Birddom.

Portia’s standing as Kirrick’s mate made her, in the eyes of the Council and of Tomar in particular, the ideal candidate for such a role as emissary. However, the old owl was worried for her safety. In his mind, he had already been responsible for the death of one brave robin and, because of this, he balked at asking Kirrick’s mate to put herself into danger.

Portia, for her part, felt torn between her desire to be a player in another great adventure – to be useful and important in the way that her Kirrick had been – and her maternal instincts. Merion and Olivia were beyond the fledging stage and becoming increasingly independent. But the bond between them was extremely strong and Portia would be sorely grieved to be parted from them. Even so, she knew that her destiny had chosen her to be more than just a mate and a mother and, when the subject was raised, Portia volunteered for the task without hesitation.

Tomar, with his usual perception and intellect, then offered Portia his own aid in looking after the young robins. Both Merion and Olivia were excited to be in Tomar’s tutelage. He had such a great fund of stories, and knew so much about the history of Birddom, that their initial fears about being parted from their mother were swept away on a wave of noisy enthusiasm. Portia was relieved, if slightly piqued, to see that her children would be so easily reconciled to her departure, when it came.

Traska realised that he was taking a risk, coming to this wild and desolate place. The hooded crows, which dominated this part of the Isle of Storms, were huge and menacing. But rumour had it that they were also very slow-witted. Traska liked that in a potential ally. It would give him the control that he needed. He had learnt, during his brief period of captivity by Slyekin, the need for brute strength in order to provide a protective shield behind which he could weave his evil plans.

The irony of the fact that, in the final analysis, that same strength had been of no help at all to Slyekin was lost on Traska. He knew that the alliance formed against the corvidae empire were out for his blood. He had been hunted as mercilessly as once he had hunted for his adversary, the robin Kirrick. The magpie grinned malevolently as he recalled his act of murder. Killing that cursed robin had been so sweet. And it had been one in the eye for Tomar and his high and mighty Council of the Owls. Traska’s insides knotted with anger as he thought of the old owl and of how his genius had robbed Slyekin of his victory and ruined the magpies’ plans for domination. Thanks to Tomar and Kirrick, he had been forced to flee his homeland, to become a fugitive in exile. But Traska had no intention of spending the rest of his life in hiding. He wanted revenge. Revenge on Tomar. He wanted it so badly. And Traska always got what he wanted.

The hide-away of the hooded crows was in an extremely inaccessible, mountainous area, with scree-strewn slopes and precipitous-sided valleys. But, in spite of these precautions, their numbers were relatively small. Their attacks on lambs and other small livestock had made them hated by the island’s farming community and a bounty had been placed on each of their heads. Whenever one was sighted by Man, it would invariably be blown out of the skies. Traska realised that he should be frightened by these giant corvidae, but he was supremely confident in his own, vastly superior intellect.

Without warning, two of the hooded crows alighted, one on either side of him. Their dirty cream and black colouring compared unfavourably to the jet black, pure white and startling blue of Traska’s own plumage.

“What are you doing here, stranger?” one of the crows asked him.

“I’ve not come here to talk to the likes of you. I want to meet your leader!” barked Traska viciously.

“Oh, you’ll meet him, all right. But only when you’ve answered a few questions,” replied the other escort.

“I hope that this isn’t going to take too long,” Traska snapped at them. “I’ve important business to attend to. Your leader isn’t going to be pleased with you when he finds out how I’ve been treated!”

“We’ll take our chances,” the first crow answered back. “Now. Who are you? Where are you from? And what is your business here?” Traska replied with withering contempt.

“My, my! Three questions all at once. That must have been tiring for you! My name is Traska. I’ve flown all the way from Birddom. And my business is certainly none of yours! Now don’t waste any more of my time. Take me to your leader without further delay.”

So imperious and commanding was his tone that the two giant crows turned and, with only a curt call of “Follow us!”, took to the air and flapped away. Their flight was long and meandering, designed to mislead anyone who wished to try and mark their route for future reference. But eventually they led Traska to a site that he assumed correctly to be their destination. It was a massive cavern, the entrance well hidden from casual view by dense vegetation. Two giant trees stood like sentinels at the entrance to the cave, guarding its depths. In each of these trees, several roosts were sited – huge, haphazard structures, which served as both billet and lookout for the giant crows.

The cavern itself was dank and full of sound. Its ceiling was high, and constantly reflected back, in echoes, the screeching of the birds, who used the cavern as the base for their operations. Several rank partial carcasses of lambs and calves lay rotting in the gloom. Not for nothing did the farmers revile these predators. Every now and then a solid-looking crow would hop over to the decomposing bodies and rip savagely at the flesh, gulping down large mouthfuls.

As Traska was led into the interior, he caught sight of a massive bird. Compared to this giant, the rest of the flock of hooded crows seemed almost diminutive in stature. Donal was the leader’s name and Traska quailed in his presence. Then the magpie pulled himself together and began to appraise his opponent with a more critical eye. The head was huge, with a powerful black beak. It was set upon a thick-set neck and shoulders, the solidity of which made the thought of this bird in graceful airborne flight seem almost absurd. It was as if he were made out of the same rock as the cavern in which he resided. The eyes were, however, a dull black, with no gleam of intelligence. Traska decided to go on to the offensive.

“More time-wasting! When am I going to get through to you stupid birds? I want to meet your leader!”

“I am in charge here, and you’d better watch your tongue, or I’ll rip it out, personally!”

“Give me your name then, and show a bit of respect for your superior!”

“What the hell makes you my superior?” Donal queried, laughing.

‘Well, I’ve got a brain, for a start,’ muttered Traska, under his breath. But to Donal he said, “You may be the leader of this shabby band of flea-bags, though I can see little cause for pride in that. But I am king of all the corvidae in Birddom!”

“Well, forgive me, your Majesty!” the giant crow replied, bowing his head low. Then he turned to his hench-crows, and barked an order. Half a dozen crows swooped down upon Traska, quite prepared to rip him to shreds, at their leader’s bidding.

“Break one of his wings.”

The pain was excruciating, as two of the crows pinned him down and a third forced his wing back at an unnatural angle until the bone snapped like a twig. Maimed, Traska rose once more to his feet and glared at Donal with contempt. He refused to let himself show how much the injury hurt.

“You are so brainless. Didn’t you ever give a thought as to why I came here? You know your trouble? You’re a moron, that’s what you are!”

“I’m not the one with the broken wing,” Donal responded defensively.

“It’ll mend,” Traska said. “But now I’ll have to remain here until it does. You’ve just got yourself a house-guest.”

“Why should I bother to look after you? If we turn you out, you’ll soon fall foul of some hunter. And then I won’t have to worry about you.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? My coming here is the best thing that ever happened to you. I can offer you an opportunity better than

any you have ever dreamed of.”

“Tell me about it!” commanded the massive crow.

Traska began to strut about arrogantly, in spite of the injured wing, which hung limply at his side.

“You are outlaws in this land. Living in hiding, in fear of Man. You are hunted and persecuted, constantly afraid for your lives. In Birddom, Man presents no real threat to us. We are lords of the skies. We can come and go as we please. There is so much space and food is plentiful. Come and join my corvidae. Our numbers are fewer than they were erstwhile and you will find little competition among us.”

“You are most generous, oh king of the corvidae. But I am left wondering why.”

The huge crow looked quizzically at Traska, who replied,

“Because I need some muscle. We corvidae have enemies in Birddom. Other birds, jealous of our power. They have waged war against us in recent times. We won, of course. But our numbers were diminished. We lost some fine birds in that battle and I want revenge. Your band of crows would give me the strength that I need to conquer my foes, once and for all. You, in return, will get a home where you will be free of fear and will be able to live in a manner far beyond your present meagre aspirations.”

“I have to say that I am impressed by your offer.” Donal’s tone was conciliatory and there was less aggression in his posture. “We have begun badly. But I believe that we have both seen the other’s worth. Let me try and make amends for your ill-treatment, and for my rudeness. I am called Donal and I am, as you say, leader of this motley crew. My two lieutenants, Finbar and Shauney, you have already met.”

Donal indicated the two hooded crows who had been Traska’s escorts upon his arrival. “They tell me that your name is Traska.”

The magpie stifled a contemptuous retort concerning their powers of memory, and replied with a simple “Yes.”

“Well, Traska. I hope that you will forgive us and will accept our hospitality, now that we are all friends.”

‘I’ve never had a friend and certainly wouldn’t choose the likes of you, if I wanted one!’ Traska mused, masking his thoughts with a smile.

“I have travelled a long way and I am very tired. Perhaps there is some place where you would allow me to rest.”

Donal snapped an order to his two lieutenants and Traska was led to the foot of a smaller tree at the cavern entrance. There were many branches and several hung low to the ground. Finbar grabbed the end of one in his beak and pulled it powerfully downwards, allowing Traska to hop onto it, in ungainly fashion. Hindered by his wing, he was forced to climb up through the branches, using feet and beak to pull himself higher, until he reached a comfortable roost. There, exhausted and in pain, Traska collapsed and lay still. After a while, fatigue overcame the agony of his broken wing, and he slept.