Chapter 4

On the first evening after Portia and Mickey had left on their mission, the children were very subdued. Immediately after the robin and bullfinch had flown away, Tomar had made a point of introducing Merion and Olivia to each member of the Council of the Owls. Every single owl had something wonderful to say about their mother and father, and the two young robins were effusive and excited, too full of awe to be immediately affected by their mother’s absence. There had been no further ceremony, although several of the Council members had urgent business that they wanted to discuss. But Tomar felt that it was imperative that he should devote his fullest attention to his charges for the time being.

Tomar and the young robins had been the first to leave, as the old owl wished to avoid a lot of goodbyes, which might remind Olivia and Merion of their mother’s departure. He had flown slowly, flapping his huge wings with great deliberation and keeping his pace to theirs. And, while they flew, he had talked. Tomar had told them about the founding of Birddom, and of the first Great Owl. Time passed quickly as he spoke, and the two children were too enthralled by his words to feel tired from their journey. They peppered his tales with questions, limited only by their occasional lack of breath from flying so far and asking so much!

They stopped only once on their journey, for food and water. Even with their beaks full, Merion and Olivia chattered away, asking about the heroes of the past, and wanting to know more, always more. Tomar felt exhausted. Their thirst for knowledge, for information and entertainment, left him drained. Fatigue in his aching old bones from the flight was nothing by comparison to the mental strain of trying to keep up with two quick, young minds, ever eager for more stories.

But, once they reached Tanglewood, which Kirrick had found so daunting on his first visit, the pair of young robins fell quiet. Perhaps the long flight had tired them more than they showed, but neither Merion nor Olivia displayed any inclination to explore their new surroundings. They thanked Tomar when he brought them some food, remembering their manners, but ate listlessly. And afterwards, the pair of them huddled together, heads down. They looked thoroughly miserable.

Tomar had avoided talking about either Kirrick or Portia to the young robins during their journey, not wanting to remind them of the absence of both their parents. But now he saw that they were missing their mother greatly and so the old owl decided to tell them a tale about their father. Tomar asked the young pair if Portia had ever told them about Kirrick’s escape from Traska, when he had hidden on the back of a swan to avoid detection by the watching net of corvidae, who had been gathered by the malicious magpie in order to trap him. On finding that the children had, indeed, been told that story, the owl asked them if they knew the tale about Darreal and the mouse. Once again both Olivia and Merion enthusiastically chorused their affirmation.

Tomar, in his wisdom, knew all along that Portia would have raised her two young children with such tales about the heroic exploits of their father. But he was skilfully drawing the young robins out of their unease and depression. However, the old owl realised that he would have to find a story that they hadn’t heard to keep their minds occupied. So, he decided to embellish a simple tale, told by Kirrick in the immediate aftermath of the Great Battle, when he had sat with Tomar, Cerival, Storne, Darreal, Isidris and Kraken, swapping stories of all that had preceded their momentous triumph.

Kirrick had, in fact, only provided the bare bones of the tale. In the midst of such heroism, it did not seem anything out of the ordinary. Kirrick had told it in a self-deprecating way, to indicate the extent to which luck had played its part in his adventure. But all the birds there realised the peril that Kirrick had faced and doubted that they would have dismissed it so lightly. For Kirrick had seen a fox and at rather too close a distance for comfort. Now Tomar knew that foxes do not usually pose too great a threat to wild birds. He was aware that they would, of course, eat eggs out of any nest that they could reach and, likewise, take young fledglings. He knew too that, as skilful hunters, foxes could sometimes kill an unwary adult. But Tomar had learnt as a young owl that their known preference was for larger, domesticated poultry which, being pinioned, provided easier targets as well as much more substantial meals.

Kirrick’s experience was confined to a close encounter with one of these large predators, after he had made an ill choice of resting site, following an exhausting flight on his journey north. He had been numbed with fatigue as he had only recently recovered from illness and delirium and, in the gathering gloom of evening, he had picked a low roost in a willow tree. Kirrick had been too tired to search his surroundings for signs of danger and had barely folded his wings before he had fallen asleep. The tree in which he had chosen to alight was adjacent to a large bank of earth. Careful examination would have revealed to the robin an entrance, in the side of this bank, to a fox’s den. Had the prevailing wind been in the right direction, the smell alone from the hole would have alerted Kirrick to the danger.

The robin had told how he had awoken the next morning to the sound of snuffling, to find a large, bushy red tail brushing past, inches from his beak. The fox was returning to its lair, carrying its prey. Its jaws were stretched wide in an effort to hold the plump body of the chicken. It had seen Kirrick on his roost and had paused momentarily, thinking to lay aside its burden for a quick snack, but, fortunately for the robin, it had already eaten well during its night’s excursions and hungry young mouths waited in the den below. So Kirrick had escaped, flying off immediately upon waking and realising his danger.

Tomar looked at the two young robins waiting eagerly for a story, and asked, “Did your mother ever tell you about Kirrick and the fox?”

“No, never,” Merion and Olivia cheeped in unison, thrilled that they were going to hear a new tale about their father.

“Would you like to hear it?” the owl teased, knowing the answer full well. The robins beamed, their earlier depression forgotten. So Tomar began his story.

“Kirrick awoke with a start. Something had disturbed him from his deep sleep. A noise, close at hand. The first thing that he saw when he opened his eyes was a large black nose. It quivered in front of his beak and Kirrick looked down from it to a long, pink tongue, lolling from between the fox’s jaws. The robin realised that, at any second, those jaws would open and snap shut again around his small body. He pecked sharply at the beast’s nose, and the fox yelped in pain and backed off slightly, surprise written all over its face.

“What do you mean by waking me up like that? I was having such a nice dream.”

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” asked the fox.

“Why should I be afraid of you? You’re only a fox, aren’t you?” Kirrick replied.

“But I’m so much bigger than you are. I could swallow you whole, and not even feel your body as it slipped down my throat!” the fox barked, bridling at Kirrick’s apparent insolence.

The robin realised that he was playing a dangerous game, but continued, “Oh, I don’t think so. You obviously don’t realise who I am.”

Uncertainty clouded the fox’s face for the first time, and Kirrick paused significantly, before carrying on, “Do you think that I would have been foolish enough to roost here, right on your doorstep in such a perilous position, if I were a mere robin that you could just gobble up like a biscuit?”

The robin puffed up his feathers to their fullest extent, and assumed a look of self-importance on his beak.

“Who are you, then?” asked the fox, with a touch of respect in his voice.

“All in good time,” Kirrick replied. “First of all, tell me your name.”

“I am called Reykard.”

“Well, Master Reykard. I am Kirrick the Wise, a great wizard and magician, though I say so myself. I am the possessor of great powers and could transform you into a toad as soon as look at you, so mind your manners. I merely took this guise for ease of travelling through this countryside without frightening poor, dumb creatures like yourself.”

Kirrick’s tone was utterly dismissive and helped him to establish his dominance over the fox, who began to look decidedly uneasy. But, even so, Kirrick realised that the animal remained close enough to eat him, in a flash, before he could make good any escape. He’d had no time since waking to preen the kinks out of his feathers, or to stretch his wings. He was still so vulnerable, and only his wits were keeping him alive.

“Perhaps, young cub, there is something that you might do for me.”

The fox was a full-grown adult and being referred to, in such imperious tones, as an adolescent, further undermined its confidence in the confrontation.

“What could I possibly do for a wizard?” asked the curious animal.

“Well, I am looking for wild garlic plants. As everyone knows, they possess healing properties and are of great use in a lot of my potions. Do you know where any might be found?”

“I have quite a wide-ranging territory and I think that I remember seeing some garlic on my travels. But those plants were several miles to the north of here.”

“Were they plentiful? I wouldn’t want to waste my time on a few miserable specimens. I need to gather a good quantity for my spells.”

“Oh, yes,” replied the fox, enthusiastically. He seemed pathetically eager to please.

“Very well then,” the robin continued. “I am still rather weary and, as you were rude enough to wake me from my repose, you can carry me there on your back. Or would you rather spend the rest of your life as an earthworm? It wouldn’t be too long a life, I can assure you!”

“I will carry you, oh great wizard. Hop onto my back. I can run very fast. We should be there in an hour or two.”

“Well, stop yapping. I’ve no time to waste. Perhaps I can catch up on my sleep while I ride on your mane.”

And, so saying, Kirrick jumped down from the branch, and onto the fox’s smooth back. He dug his small talons deep into the animal’s luxuriant fur and held on, as the fox set off at a gallop.

It was a dizzying ride, and Kirrick took quite a battering, being constantly bumped about as the beast that he rode leapt over obstacles, or squeezed through narrow gaps in the vegetation. Reykard continually looked over his shoulder at the robin, as if fearful that the wizard might grow angry at the roughness of the ride and perform some hideous spell on him.

“Are you all right?” panted the fox. “We’re almost halfway there.”

“Well, I cannot say that it’s a comfortable ride, albeit that it might be a swift one. But you carry on, young pup. I can tolerate a few bumps and bruises. As long as you are sure that our journey will be worth the discomfort.”

So the fox bounded on and Kirrick sat on its back, gaining several miles in his journey with very little effort on his part. Finally, they arrived in a damp wooded grove, where the pungent odour of the garlic plants was sufficient to make Kirrick close his nostrils.

“Here we are,” barked the fox. “I hope that you are pleased with me.”

“It will do, I suppose,” Kirrick responded, diffidently.

“How are you going to carry all the plants that you need?” asked the fox.

“Do you think that I am a wizard for nothing?” replied the robin. “A little magic will provide me with a basket big enough to carry a whole field of garlic. And perhaps I will transform you into a horse, so that I can ride you all the way home again!”

The fox looked frightened, and thought about bolting. But it was afraid that the wizard might carry out his threat before it could get away. Besides, Reykard was intensely curious and wanted to see the wizard as he really was, and to watch him perform his magic.

“But that would be unfair” Kirrick continued. “You have been kind enough to carry me this far. I will not ask more of you. Indeed, I feel that you should be rewarded. I am too tired to begin my tasks here straightaway. Too little sleep, you know. But, before I catch up on my rest, I think that I can manage just a little magic. As a thank you for your service to me, I will grant you a wish. How would you like a den full of plump and tender young ducklings, already plucked so that you won’t have the bother of a mouthful of feathers? I could give you enough to last you and your family for a whole month, if you so wish.”

The fox’s eyes glittered greedily at the thought of such a ready supply of food. He could do with a week or two of ease.

“I would like that very much. Thank you, oh kind wizard,” replied Reykard.

Kirrick closed his eyes, and pretended to concentrate. Balancing on his perch, he spread his wings wide and began to chant in a strange tongue, as if speaking an incantation. The robin was actually using the ancient language of the owls, for he had learnt a smattering of words from Tomar before he had set out on his journey. After a few moments he opened his eyes again and looked directly at the fox.

“That’s all there is to it, Reykard, my young lad. Simple enough when you’re a wizard. Now, off you go back to your den and let me get some sleep.”

“Just how many ducklings will there be?” asked the fox.

“You’ll be really surprised,” replied Kirrick. “You won’t be able to count them!”

Reykard positively drooled as the robin spoke and, quickly voicing his thanks, raced off in the direction that they had come. And Kirrick hopped up into a higher branch of the tree, and began to preen, preparing himself for his next journey.”

Tomar was quietly pleased with himself. His little story, whilst apocryphal, was suitably in keeping with Kirrick’s heroics. And it also served its purpose well. Merion and Olivia were enraptured and now showed no signs of the sadness that had come upon them on their arrival at Tomar’s home. The old owl bade them goodnight, promising more tales in response to their eager pleading.

Once the children had settled, Tomar flapped his great wings and set off for a brief flight around his territory. His huge eyes scoured the terrain for food, but he was also watchful for any other activity. Although it was at his suggestion, Tomar felt that a significant burden had been placed upon his ageing shoulders. The two youngsters had been given into his care in complete trust. Portia had shown absolute faith in Tomar and had willingly undertaken a journey fraught with potential danger, safe in the knowledge that her young would be well looked after. It was a heavy responsibility and weighed upon the old owl in equal measure with his duties as Great Owl and leader of all Birddom. For these young robins were very special. Their father was a hero, the greatest of his line. And who could say that their mother, Portia, might not yet outdo the heroic exploits of her mate?

But above all to Tomar’s eyes, Merion and Olivia were symbols of the rebirth of Birddom. They were the very first children born into a world of renewed peace and hope. The very first fledglings who did not know the fear of tyranny. They were born to take ownership of this new world. Tomar was but its temporary guardian, in the twilight of his life. But he vowed that night, to himself and to the two sleeping young robins, that he would strive to deliver into their wings, when the time came, a world fit for their generation. Birddom would grow strong, prospering in his safe-keeping, and their future would be a bright one.