Chapter 7

It had all seemed so plausible, so easy, when the great and wise had devised the plan. A simple task for Birddom’s emissary. To fly across to the vast expanse of Wingland and persuade a few dozen birds, to begin with, that life would be better for them if they would accompany the robin back to her homeland.

But, in reality, it was an idea fraught with difficulties, not the least of which was deciding where to begin. Two weeks had passed since Portia and Mickey had scoured the locality and had chosen a suitable base for their operations. The local bird populace had been neither hostile nor friendly. To a large extent, they had ignored these strangers to their land and had carried on with the normality of their lives. Such attempts as there were at making contact were all instigated by the robin and the bullfinch. But every attempt fell down because of the language barrier. Portia and Mickey simply couldn’t make themselves understood.

To make matters worse, at no time since their arrival had they even had a glimpse of any migratory bird to enlist. They searched the skies daily for a sighting of a swallow or martin, serin or swift. But to no avail. It seemed that those birds who had previously traversed the seas to Birddom were now far more cautious about journeying even close to its shores. They had deserted not only Birddom itself but also, it seemed, the part of Wingland in closest proximity to it.

“We have underestimated our task, Mickey,” Portia said solemnly, as the pair reviewed another fruitless day. “There are birds aplenty here. Enough, indeed, to repopulate every part of our land. But none will come with us while we are unable to communicate with them. And yet, conversely, there are birds who can understand us, and who we could talk to, if only we could find them. I am glad now that we made our sea voyage in such a leisurely fashion, for I fear that we will have a great deal of flying to do in these lands before we complete our mission.”

The robin looked earnestly at her companion. The pair had kept up each other’s spirits since their arrival from Birddom and had talked together at length. Mickey had gradually lost his facade of chirpy coarseness. Such serious discussions called for more than a brash manner, and the beautiful robin was glad to learn that Mickey evidently possessed a keen mind. Portia had begun to suspect that her companion’s way of speaking was a contrivance to hide his intellect.

But it was obvious he had taken their failure badly. The normally ebullient bullfinch was very crestfallen and withdrawn. He felt very inadequate, as if, in some way, he had let his companion down. Portia smiled in encouragement at her friend.

“I am relieved you are here with me, Mickey. I could not face a single mile without you. You can always make me laugh. I know that we will need your good cheer in the days and weeks to come.”

“Thank you, Portia. I am gratified that you see me as an integral part of our mission, even if only in the role of the fool!”

“I value you as a friend, Mickey,” the robin replied. “Now let us plan our next journey. Which way do you think that we should travel?”

The bullfinch considered their options for a while before replying, “It is still early in the season for large numbers of travellers to have reached these northern climes. I think that our best option would be to travel south, in the hope of a chance encounter on their flight-paths.”

“Sounds good to me, mate,” chirped Portia, in an awful impersonation of the bullfinch’s accent.

Tomar thought long and hard about the information that he had received earlier that morning. He sat quietly in the bole of the crooked fir tree, which had been his home for more years than he cared to remember. Merion and Olivia were playing a game, flitting in and out of the nearby shrubbery, and the old owl watched them with deep affection. But his attention was elsewhere.

News had been brought to him of Traska’s reappearance and of the mayhem being caused by his band of thugs. Not that Tomar was seriously worried about them. They were insufficient in number to prove any real threat to the sanctity of Birddom, and their violent actions were of minor significance, compared to the return of their companion.

Tomar recognised his own failure, as Great Owl and leader of all Birddom, in allowing Traska to escape from his talons after the Great Battle. The malevolence of this magpie knew no bounds and the owl had come to fear Traska more than he had Slyekin, his megalomaniac leader. That magpie had been corrupt and insane. But Tomar knew, with a chilling certainty, that Traska was truly evil. And it was not just the callousness of the magpie’s actions in murdering Kirrick that made the old owl’s blood run cold. He knew that this dreadful bird meant to inflict more malice against the just and natural order of the land. But what was his specific purpose in returning to Birddom? The numerical weakness of his cohorts persuaded Tomar that Traska had not come back for a fight. The re-emergence of the Council of the Owls, and their strong alliances, forged during the confrontation with the corvidae, gave the owl confidence that Traska would not dare wage outright war. The question remained: What devious plan was now fermenting in Traska’s mind?

Traska needed news. He desired information about Birddom, and had his own peculiar way of obtaining it. While the small bird populace had been decimated by the corvidae, those remaining had taken great heart from the victory over that same enemy. The whole of Birddom knew about the Great Battle, and particularly of Kirrick’s role in the overthrow of Slyekin’s evil empire. The brave robin was a hero throughout the land and the birth of his two offspring had been the cause for great celebration.

Equally important for birds everywhere had been the reformation of the Council of the Owls. Many a bird slept easier in his nest knowing that Tomar was the leader of Birddom. News of the first meeting of the new Council, and of its agenda, spread far and wide. Tomar’s plans lifted everyone’s spirits and a sense of joy and optimism reigned throughout the land. Portia’s mission was the talk in every treetop in Birddom and, in truth, Traska could easily have obtained all the information that he wanted by patient eavesdropping. But patience was not a virtue that the magpie possessed, if indeed he possessed any virtues at all. Besides, it was much more fun doing it his way.

The unfortunate recipient of Traska’s attentions was a young starling, who had lingered too long over a tasty morsel when her flock had become airborne, alerted to danger by their lookouts. They had seen the dark shapes of the huge crows, as they penetrated the valley where the fifty or so starlings were feeding. Engrossed in sating her appetite, the unfortunate starling had realised her peril too late. The hooded crows had mobbed her as she tried to flee and now she cowered, helpless, in front of Traska. She was not a very brave bird, and the violence inflicted upon her was far in excess of any requirements. She would have told Traska everything that he wished to know with much less ‘encouragement’. But the magpie’s bloodlust filled his mind. Every question was accompanied by a vicious peck, drawing blood from the terrified starling.

But Traska was careful not to kill his captive before he had extracted every scrap of information from her. Three times she pleaded with him to finish her, to release her from the agonies that he was putting her through. But Traska knew that this was an opportunity to impress the giant crows who watched the proceedings with eagerness. The magpie knew that mercy was not on the agenda. Not that any such charitable act would ever have entered Traska’s mind. He was enjoying himself far too much. However, there came a time when the little starling simply had nothing left to tell him, and Traska vented his disappointment at the ending of his entertainment by casually stoving in the starling’s skull with a stabbing thrust of his powerful beak.

The evil magpie sat quietly and pondered the information that he had gleaned. His original plan would have to be altered. He had intended to go after Portia, but now she was out of his reach. But the young robins . . . now there was a thought. So that blasted robin’s bloodline lived on, did it? Well, he would see about that!

Finbar and the other hooded crows were also enjoying themselves hugely in this new land. Although reliant on, and, in reality, led by Traska, Finbar still revelled in his portion of power as their nominal leader. These massive corvidae talked incessantly amongst themselves about the opportunities that had been placed in their paths.

“There’s so much food here, and we can fly where we like without being blown out of the skies by Man,” said one.

“Traska was right,” continued another. “This is the land for us. We’ll not want for anything here.”

There was, indeed, a general consensus of opinion among the hooded crows that their individual and collective lot had been much improved by following the magpie’s advice. Traska had chosen his route inland from the coast with considerable care. He wished at all costs to avoid contact and conflict with Man, not only because of the inherent dangers, but also to help create the impression in the dull-witted minds of his companions that this was a much better habitat than they had left behind. So, an air of contentment reigned among the corvidae and, for the time being at least, they were happy to leave Traska to his plans while they explored their new home.

A germ of an idea had been forming in Traska’s mind ever since his interrogation of the starling, and it crystallised his vague intentions of harm towards the pair of young robins into something far more specific and satisfying. He knew now exactly how he could bring about the downfall of the high and mighty Council of the Owls, and exact a fitting revenge upon his enemy, Tomar.

But, in the meantime, he explored the territory minutely, looking far afield for a fortress of his own, which would allow his small force to repel any retributive attack once he had carried out his evil design. It was on one such excursion that Traska found himself in familiar surroundings. He was flying over a tract of land at the foothills of the high mountains where he had suffered ignominious defeat at the wings of Storne and his eagles. Immediately below him was the very spot where Kirrick and Portia had gone to ground in the rabbit warrens, and where the hunting magpies had so nearly caught up with them.

‘Curse that robin!’ He had been the bane of Traska’s existence, and continued to dominate the magpie’s thoughts and feed his hatred long after his actual death. Traska flapped his wings strongly for a few beats and veered off his present course, wanting to flee the haunting memory of Kirrick’s goodness and valour.

Katya recognised him the instant she became aware of his presence and her heart froze with fear. But Traska did not know her. She had been an object when he had raped her, a mere receptacle for his lust. Now those base feelings were latent and Traska’s loneliness made him seek contact with another magpie. He had spent too long in the company of strangers and desired greatly to be with one of his own. Besides, Traska had swiftly realised that the female that he approached was very beautiful indeed.

“Good morning, my dear lady,” ventured the evil bird, honey dripping from his tongue. “This is a fortunate meeting.”

“How so, sir?” Katya replied. She had seen no gleam of recognition in his eyes, and this hope made her bold. “Who is the recipient of this good fortune?”

“Both of us,” responded Traska, slightly taken aback by the tone of her reply. “I have been searching the land without knowing why. Now I have my reason. My quest is self-evident. I was meant to find you.”

“Pretty words, sir. But why should meeting me affect you so? You know nothing of me.”

“Oh, I know you well enough!” answered Traska, and Katya quailed at the thought that, after all, this devil had known all along that she had been his victim and was now cruelly toying with her. But his next comments reassured her of her anonymity.

“I know that you are the one bird that I have been looking for all of my life. What is your name, my lovely?”

“I am called Katya, and I am definitely not your lovely!”

“Forgive my forwardness. I did not mean any offence, Katya. Your beauty merely made me speak from the heart.”

Traska looked at her shyly as he spoke. With utter astonishment, Katya realised that this foul creature who had so blighted he life was in love with her. It had to be that. She knew only too well that he was still more than capable of forcing himself upon her, there and then, as he had done so horribly before. But there was respect and admiration in his gaze and Katya saw a way to succeed in her plans. But the thought of the necessary action repulsed her. She would have to accept the advances of this malicious, vile bird. Even encourage them. She would, she knew, have to become Traska’s mate, until Venga returned to save her. She looked up into Traska’s eyes, with a demure expression.

“You mistake me, sir,” she replied. “I took no great offence. But now you have the advantage over me. You know my name, but, as yet, I do not know yours.”

“You must forgive me once again, Katya, for such rudeness. My name is Traska.”

“Traska,” she repeated, and her smile belied the bitter taste of that name upon her tongue.

“We might as well give up and go home. We have failed in our task, and let down everyone in Birddom!” Portia sobbed, in despair. “Whatever made me think that I could be like Kirrick? He was a hero.”

“Yes, he was,” said Mickey. “And one thing that he would never have done is give up. So let’s not have any more of that kind of talk. Of course you’re depressed. Of course you are disappointed. But we’ve come a very long way, and I, for one, am not going back to Birddom without a whole host of birds following on behind me.”

The bullfinch puffed up his chest feathers, his bold eyes daring Portia to argue with him.

“I hate it when you are always right,” she laughed, breaking the tension that had started to build.

“I am sorry, Portia. I know that the onus of this burden falls upon your back, not mine.”

“Our backs,” the robin contradicted, no longer surprised by her companion’s eloquence and wishing to mend any damage to their relationship that her former harshness and self-pity might have caused. This was a lonely and frightening land. Portia knew that their friendship was all that stood between her and failure. “Enough of this brooding then, Mickey. Let’s keep looking. Where haven’t we tried?”

This was a good question, for the robin and the finch had covered a great deal of territory in their search for a migrant to mediate between them and the natives of Wingland. They had flown many miles, casting their net wide while systematically journeying south. But the skies and the trees had remained deserted. Mickey smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Just keep your beak pointed into the wind,” he said. “And I’ll be right behind you!”

With Katya’s help, Traska eventually found what he was looking for. The terrain in the narrow and steep-sided valley was similar to the hideaway where Donal and his band had remained so well hidden and safe, in spite of their persecution by Man. It was here that Katya had made her nest after Traska’s horrifying attack upon her. Her need then had been to shut herself away from the world, to hide her shame and sorrow. Traska clapped his wings in delight when he saw it.

“My dear Katya. It is absolutely perfect,” he crowed. “No bird, large or small, could over-fly this base unnoticed. And, more importantly, none could gain entrance to our home with my friends around to discourage them!”

Traska used the word ‘home’ in a tone that was far too familiar for Katya’s liking, but she swallowed her disgust. “I’m glad that you approve, Traska. I’ve always been very happy here.”

“I must say that I’m surprised to find so beautiful a bird living all alone,” Traska oozed. “Have you never had a mate, my love?”

Katya held back the retort that would betray her true feelings, and turned away from him. She did not trust herself to look at the evil creature who spoke so possessively to her. But her words, when they came, were very much to Traska’s liking.

“I think that I was waiting. Waiting for you.”

He closed upon her then, and she shuddered at his touch. Their coupling was brief, but not brutal as it had been before. Indeed, if the awful memory of the rape had not precluded it absolutely, Katya might have felt some pleasure. Traska was not gentle or tender. He did not know how to be. Instead he was dominant and powerful, and exuded a confident masculinity that might, in different circumstances, have thrilled and excited her. Katya had to remind herself that the only pleasure left to her would not be released until this foul bird in her wings was dead and cold, food for worms, if his fellow carrion eaters left anything for them to eat.

Traska mistook her sigh for one of contentment. ‘At last!’ he thought. ‘Everything is going my way!’