Chapter 3

It took three further weeks before Traska’s wing had healed sufficiently for him to attempt flight. But he applied himself to the task with grim determination, ignoring the pain. He initially favoured his stronger wing and had to continually correct his flight-path. Only supreme willpower made him use his damaged wing to its fullest extent. For the first few days he returned to his roost, exhausted by his exertions. But, gradually, his strength returned and he was able to attempt longer and longer flights. He ranged out far across the countryside, returning at dusk to a meal and sleep. Food was always plentiful in the company of the huge crows. For their part, they seemed to be in a sort of limbo, waiting for Traska to be well enough to make the journey of which he had spoken. On the few occasions when the magpie talked to his hosts, he took every opportunity to emphasise the attractions of his plans for them. He painted pictures of a land of abundance and a life of ease and plenty, with none of the dangers they now faced.

Traska’s cause was helped greatly when two of the hooded crows became careless and were blasted from the skies by a farmer’s double-barrelled shotgun. This was a most persuasive incident and Traska thanked the farmer, silently, for his unconscious assistance.

So preparations began for the long journey to Birddom. Donal decided that an initial band of twenty hooded crows should accompany Traska, with the rest remaining in their present hideaway. Donal himself would not go with the first wave of the exodus, sending in his stead his lieutenant, Finbar, to lead the crows. If, after a couple of months, everything in Birddom turned out to be as Traska promised, then three of the band would return with the news and Donal would lead the rest of his followers to this new land and home.

Traska was very pleased with this arrangement. He did not doubt his own ability to sow the seeds of treachery in the heart of Finbar. Even this slow-witted lieutenant would, with the magpie’s insidious help, be made to see the advantages of becoming the leader of his small band. And in being seen to make this come about; in being the instigator of Finbar’s pathetic little rise to power, Traska knew that he would win the loyalty of the huge crow. Twenty of these massive birds, cruel and powerful, but easily manipulated, would be more than sufficient for his purposes. He did not plan on outright war in Birddom. Not this time. There were other ways to be victorious against hated foes. And Traska hated Tomar the owl so very much.

Katya and Venga were deep in discussion. They had sat together for hours, while the sun had ridden across the sky and they had talked of little else but Venga’s mission. Katya had begun by reaffirming her love for her now fully-grown son. Then, for the first time, she recounted to him the full horror of Traska’s attack upon her.

She spared nothing in describing the details of the rape, the pain, the shame, the gloating indifference of Traska. She needed to crystallise Venga’s anger, to focus his vengeance and hatred. She sobbed in the aftermath of remembrance and Venga held his mother gently while she cried. But, once her tears had stilled, they began to discuss in detail what Venga would have to do to find the evil perpetrator of such a terrible deed. They both knew the dangers that the young magpie would have to face in his attempts to track Traska and not only from the evil bird himself. Word had spread swiftly about the eagles’ hunts for corvidae. Crows, ravens, and magpies were fleeing their homes in terror, or hiding in the desperate hope that they would not be discovered. Katya understood such vengeance. It was the very fuel that had kept her alive. The fuel she now ignited in the breast of her son. Venga would need to exercise extreme caution in his attempts to follow a cold trail, to find the magpie who was the object of their hatred. He would have to fly south for many days, to the site of the Great Battle. Tales of the clash between the alliance of the eagles, falcons and owls, and the full might of the corvidae, had spread like wildfire. It had already assumed legendary proportions, becoming the most famous event in all of Birddom’s history. Every bird in the land knew some of the details and many embellished them, after their fashion, until the conflict grew into a fantastic struggle. Katya knew that Traska would have wanted to be at the centre of such a horror.

She also had no doubt that he would have survived it. Not for him the heroic deeds and glorious death in battle. She knew that he would have observed, feeding on the energy of violence and death, but aloof from the fight itself. In her mind, Katya saw Traska creeping about on the edges of the struggle, scoring small victories against wounded and maimed opponents, tormenting the dying and bathing in the blood of the vanquished. Venga would have to begin his search for Traska in that place. It would be a monumental mission. The aftermath of any war left behind it confusion and chaos. She did not underestimate the task that she had set her son.

Portia and her children were just stirring when Mickey’s cheerful face popped into view. The bullfinch cheeped a greeting, then hopped onto an adjacent branch. Portia joined him after a few moments preening to make herself look respectable.

“Good morning, Portia. You look very beautiful today.”

“Well, thank you,” she replied, flustered but pleased by the compliment.

“I hope that you didn’t mind me calling on you so early, but I’ve been eager to talk with you. I’m so excited about our adventure.”

Portia looked sombre, and her voice was subdued.

“It won’t be easy, Mickey. We could be going into great danger.”

“I know, Tomar told me all about it,” replied the bullfinch. “But at least we’ll be together. Two heads are better than one, and all that.”

“Yes, that is a great comfort to me. Thank you for offering to accompany me. I’m not sure that, when it came to leaving, I would have had the courage.”

“Of course you would, Portia. You’ve more courage in your smallest claw than I have in my whole body. I’m relying on your bravery. Wherever we go, I’ll be right behind you!”

Portia knew from experience that Mickey was no coward, but his joke made her smile. She had no doubts that he would make a good companion.

“But when do we leave, Portia?” Mickey asked, eagerly.

“We set off on our journey at daybreak tomorrow. I believe that Tomar has planned quite a send-off. I hope that, in the end, we can justify his faith in us.”

“I know that you will do yourself great credit. I am worried that I might let you down. I certainly will be of no great help when it comes to the language. Blimey, I can barely speak the Owl’s own tongue, let alone communicate in foreign speech.”

“There are more ways of communicating than with words, my friend,” Portia replied. “I truly believe that you were well chosen, if chosen is the right word. Your good humour and cheerful disposition may well turn out to be the most effective language that we will have in Wingland.”

“Thank you. But I believe that you exaggerate my importance.

I know that I am merely a companion to the emissary. You are the important one, Portia. The one that was chosen. I’m just tagging along for the ride. Besides, if humour and cheerfulness are good communicators, I know a more powerful one.”

“And what is that?” Portia asked, playfully.

“Beauty,” answered the bullfinch, and laughed at Portia’s blushes.

Tomar had called for all the members of the Council of the Owls to be present when Portia and Mickey began their journey, and now the two small birds stood, at first light, in the midst of the circle of eight. Tomar called for silence, then began to speak.

“Today is an historic day for Birddom. For, once again, we must rely on a robin to perform great deeds for the good of our kingdom. Your mission, Portia, is a more positive one than that which faced your mate, and I am more hopeful of the outcome. You are the equal of Kirrick in our eyes. You have undertaken freely, as he did, to fly into the unknown, with the risk of great peril. If you had chosen to set aside this burden, none here would have blamed you. So, take with you our thanks and admiration for your courage and resolve. And as for you, Master Mickey, guard her well and keep her safe. But, above all, bring her back to us, along with one or two others if you can manage it!”

Laughter and good cheer rang around the clearing and the formality of the gathering dissolved as each owl bade the brave pair farewell. Portia hugged her two children, trying not to cry. They, in return, beamed proudly at their mother. How lucky they were to be the offspring of two such heroes. Then, suddenly, all the goodbyes were said and the time for departure had come. Portia and Mickey took one look into each other’s eyes and then they were airborne, circling around the clearing before disappearing over the treetops.

There was little ceremony for Traska’s departure with the small band of hooded crows. Once the magpie’s wing had healed completely and had regained its strength, Traska went to visit Donal to make arrangements for their flight. Traska got the distinct impression that the leader of the crows had begun to regret his decision and now wanted the adventure to be very much underplayed. So Donal agreed at once that there was no point in delaying – they should leave that very evening. Traska would have preferred to wait until morning. He knew that they would not be able to fly very far before having to find a roost for the night, with all the inherent dangers that that posed. But Donal seemed most eager that they should be gone straightaway. Traska was becoming far too popular for his liking. And popular meant powerful in Donal’s eyes. Traska knew better, however, than to argue with his host, or to try to usurp Donal’s position on his own territory. So, with only a cursory farewell, the band of huge and menacing corvidae took to the lowering skies and flew off east.

Traska flew alongside Finbar and, engaging him in seemingly idle conversation, wasted no time in denigrating Donal for his incivility.

“Do you think that he was jealous of you?” asked the magpie. “It seemed to me that he was very keen to get rid of you, altogether. I expect that he saw you as a threat to his own position. A powerful bird like yourself.”

Traska’s flattery worked like a charm and he could see that he would have very little difficulty in bending this rather stupid bird to his will. Traska smiled thinly as they flew on. When it became too dark to see easily, Traska asked Finbar’s opinion on where it would be best to alight for the night. He had already spotted a likely roost some time previously and had been subtly steering them towards it. But he wanted to give Finbar the impression that he was the one who was making the decisions.

Finbar’s own, less than profound thoughts on the subject, with the ideal option staring him right in the beak, concurred with Traska’s, and the band of corvidae descended into the chosen treetop to rest for the night. As the birds settled, Traska raised his voice so that all there could hear the words that he spoke to Finbar.

“A wise choice of roost, if I might say so. I begin to feel so much more confident, now, about our journey. With you to lead us, I know that we will not go far astray.”

Finbar’s chest puffed up with conceited pride and Traska picked up, from here and there around him, affirmations from the other crows.

“Yes. That Finbar’s a good chap. We won’t go far wrong with him around. Traska obviously thinks highly of him, at any rate. And that magpie is nobody’s fool.”

When Venga finally took leave of his mother and flew south to begin his search for Traska, he felt a curious mixture of emotions. Since his birth he had known no other companion, so fear was uppermost in his mind, big and strong as he was. However, this feeling was soon replaced by one of excitement. At last he was set on his course, actively pursuing his destiny. He had a great adventure ahead of him. He would see places, experience sights, face dangers of which he had so far only dreamed. The more he thought about it, the more the feeling of excitement welled up inside him, making him want to shout to the skies. But, as he opened his beak to let out the sound, the feeling changed subtly and he realised with a shock that his overriding feeling was one of relief.

He had never known anything except the claustrophobic love and anger of his mother. But now he was free. Oh, he was still bound by his duty, by the constraints of his mission. But he had escaped from her physical presence and the feeling of relief was overwhelming. He opened his throat and cawed his joy to the clouds, the sun and the trees. He sang to the mountains and valleys. He flew without restraint. Without a care in the world. Vigour coursed through his veins, and his wings beat the air relentlessly.

His first flight covered many miles and only the lack of light prevented his continuing. He felt that day as if he could have flown on forever. But, as dusk descended, he began to look for a suitable spot to alight for the night. He had taken little notice of his surroundings and knew only the direction of his flight from the general position of the sun, now low in the sky to his right. The light became gloomy and Venga gave all of his attention to the task of spotting a roost.

The hawk hit him hard. She had swooped down on him from above, at great speed, and her talons buried themselves deep into his flesh. Venga screamed as the pain registered and then began to struggle wildly, in a desperate effort to free himself from the hawk’s clutches. The fury of the young magpie’s struggles hampered the raptor’s flight. Venga was heavy and powerful. Gradually the talons were loosened from his body, but the claws did terrible damage. In an effort to hold him, the hawk tried to move one of her feet, to improve the grip on the magpie’s body. Venga thrashed in terror and fury, twisting his wings free and spinning the two of them around in the air.

The hawk had had enough. She would look elsewhere for an easier prey. But, as a parting shot, she flicked her head sideways, near to Venga’s face. Her curved beak hooked into the magpie’s left eye, ripping it from its socket. The agony of this terrible wound, on top of the damage wrought to the rest of his body, caused Venga to mercifully lose consciousness.

If he had done so a moment sooner, the hawk would have felt it and held on to the limp body. But she had already dropped the magpie. Venga fell like a stone, oblivious to the impact of his body on the hard ground below, cushioned only by a scant layer of vegetation. Exposed and utterly still, Venga lay on the hillside, awaiting his fate. Death had only to choose from its many options. Venga had no say in the matter.