Glenagh entered his study, stifling a yawn as he closed the branch door. What had happened that night was on his mind: not the attack but something else.
The birds in the play called Swordbird, and he came, the old blue jay mused. Those crows and ravens will be back; my bones tell me so. And next time we may not be so lucky. How can we find the right way to call Swordbird, too?
He reached up for a book on one of his shelves: the Old Scripture, Volume 2. The pages crackled as he turned to the beginning, Ewingerale’s diary.
LATE WINTER, “THE DAY OF SNOWFLAKES”
On the day when snowflakes started to swirl all around, we began our quest.
I am Ewingerale the woodpecker, the son of Antoine Verne and Primrose. Since most birds call me Winger, it is not odd that I stick to the nickname and think of it as my only name. It fits me well because of my love for flight. Everybird I meet says that I am an undersized and bony woodpecker but have unusually large wings. I guess they are right. I always felt that my large wings were born to have a big use, so when I heard of Wind-voice’s great quest, I joined it without hesitation.
EARLY SPRING, “THE DAY OF WINTER JASMINES”
Wind-voice says that on every quest, there is a bud, a flower, and a fruit. Our quest so far has gone well, so Wind-voice says that the flower has bloomed, a wonderful flower.
Our quest is to try to find and enliven all seven Leasorn gems across the world and to find a sword with the eighth Leasorn on its hilt. Wind-voice, the leader of our little group, seeks the sword because his mother told him to do so. Although Wind-voice has never seen the bird who sired him, his mother told him that his father was always watching over him. So we started off, three in all, to find the sword.
EARLY SPRING, “THE DAY OF HEROES”
What makes a hero? Bravery, strength, ability, and a heart for justice.
Wind-voice says that he wants to protect innocent birds from evil, to be a hero. In fact he isn’t boasting; he indeed looks like a hero: powerful and lean, with sparkling eyes. He looks like a dove, yet he’s stronger and mightier than any dove who has ever flown. He has the skills to be a hero too. He is not only good at swordplay but also smart, quick to learn new things, and thoughtful of others. Crows cringe when they see him; even the intensity of the rain seems to lessen in his presence. And that’s the very thing that has made me realize: If Wind-voice is able to find the Leasorn sword, there will be more happiness, more peace in all the forests.
Being tired, I cannot write more. Wind-voice, our hero, may you succeed!
Glenagh was reluctant to close the book. His interest was deeply aroused because the diary’s author was Ewingerale, the companion of Wind-voice. Seasons later Wind-voice became a true hero-Swordbird.
Swordbird… the word rang in the head of the old blue jay. Something in his mind stirred, and Glenagh remembered what Skylion had told him: Swordbird could solve this conflict.
The old blue jay thought about it as he buried his head in the feathers of his left wing. Somewhere in the Old Scripture there must be the song to summon Swordbird. He would find it. Then, if they could ever find a Leasorn gem, they could call for help. And Swordbird would surely come.
Remove the chains on our wings; we want to fly.
No matter how dim the hope is, we want to try.
Soon no longer slavebirds we shall be.
We shall be birds of joy, forever free.
Now we must trudge in the darkness of fear,
With only stars as companions,
But then freedom is near.
Left claw, right claw, farther into the night,
Soon the light of dawn came into sight.
Free at last, free at last…
Rejoice, the days of sorrow have passed.
– FROM A SONG IN THE OLD SCRIPTURE
13 ESCAPE
Midnight came quickly. The first-shift compound guard had gone back to his bed; the second-shift guard was now dead with darts in his throat. “Good shot!” Miltin congratulated Glipper. The slavebirds stepped over the body and left the compound. Tilosses used the knife to work their legs free.
Glipper came to the front of the line of birds to lead them. As he looked at the sky, he noticed that it had become cloudy. Yes, that’s good. The moon is bright enough for us to travel, yet not so bright that guards can take notice. He looked back and saw Miltin give him a wing tip-up. That meant the robin had placed the bird dummies, and all was well at the back of the slavebird group. He returned the signal and started to crawl faster. The slavebirds uttered no sound in spite of the painful jagged rocks.
Glipper soon reached the hut. He and Miltin first helped the old and weak birds fly up to the hut roof. After everybird was safe, they made sure that no signs were left on the ground. The flycatcher and the robin were the last to fly up.
“It’s time,” Glipper said in a hushed tone to Tilosses. He, along with Miltin and the vireo brothers, crept to the edge of the roof and jumped noiselessly to the ground. They tipclawed nearer, nearer to the gate. There were two guards. One of them was half dozing; the other had covered his eyes with his cap.
Miltin gestured left and right with his claw. “Glipper, attack Crooked-shoulder with me. You two can get Large-cap. Remember, silent as shadows, and stifle them with the rags!”
The other three nodded and vanished to their places, waiting for the right moment.
Miltin burst out of the darkness and threw his weight on Crooked-shoulder. The crow had the wind whacked out of him, so he uttered no more than a gasp. Glipper came close behind and stuffed a smelly old rag down his throat just as Miltin gave him a kick that knocked him cold.
Meanwhile, one of the vireo brothers slipped up and punched Large-cap in the face, followed by a blow to the stomach by the other brother. The guard collapsed to the ground without a sound.
The four signaled the rest of the slavebirds to follow. The others slid down the roof as quietly as possible and flew over the gate in twos and threes.
Soon the slavebirds were outside Fortress Glooming.
The slavebirds went north, remaining in the shadows. Nobird looked back to the nightmarish Fortress Glooming, not even once.
Blood pounded in Miltin’s ears. Freedom is near, he thought with a burst of excitement.
The faint moonlight shone on the slavebirds, kindly guiding them. Shadows were friends, greeting them, hiding them.
After a while a few birds gathered their courage to speak.
“How far is it now?” Glipper asked Miltin.
“Not very far, I suppose,” came the hushed reply. The dreamy smell of rich earth mixed with pine needles greeted the birds’ nostrils as the midnight breeze softly blew.
Crickets sang softly somewhere far off. “Free, free, free…” they seemed to chirp. The heartbeats of the slavebirds thumped along to the rhythm of the cricket calls.
Free, free, free…
“Stop!” Miltin suddenly hissed to the rest of the slavebirds behind him. They stumbled to a halt. “Somebird’s coming this way!”
The slavebirds all froze in fright. Only their eyes moved. Yes, in the distance there were sounds of wings against the wind and claws crunching on leaves. They came closer.
“Don’t move. It must be Slime-beak and his soldiers!” Glipper whispered. The slavebirds crouched stock-still, all hoping that the bushes and shadows were thick enough to hide them. No one dared to draw a breath, and all feared that the crows and ravens could hear the wild thumping of their hearts.
Nearer the crows and ravens came. Flickers of light indicated the torches that some soldiers held. The slavebirds could almost see the malicious eyes of the foul bunch glittering in the darkness. The first few crows and ravens brushed by, followed by another, and another. More flew overhead. Almost every one of them had a sharp spear. The smell of beans came from them, mixed with the stench of blood and burned feathers. Though there were about thirty crows and ravens, to the slavebirds it seemed as if the line were endless. It seemed like an eternity before the last of the regiment-a bony, mean-looking raven with a knife in his claw-passed by.