“It’s time for the colors of evilness,”
he harshly whispered, eyes glinting with fire.
“Red, of blood and flame;
Black, of shadow and night.”
– FROM A STORY IN THE BOOK OF HERESY
16 A BALL OF FIRE
Turnatt’s temper had gone from bad to worse. How could he not be angry when he saw Slime-beak returning battered and beaten? The captain looked as if he had swum in soup and jumped on pies.
He begged for mercy as some pie filling dripped down his face. “Oh, Milord, there were a couple of tricksters among the woodbirds! Some horrible birds who attacked us with food! Though I was defeated by the woodbirds, I caught the escaping slaves as I came back. Oh, forgive me, milord!” Slime-beak knelt down low at Turnatt’s claws.
Turnatt eyed his soup-covered captain. If I kill him or demote him, I can’t find another bird in my army capable of taking his place, he thought. Besides, I might need to use him later.
Still, Turnatt was disgusted with the crow’s appearance and roared to his soldiers to take the whimpering Slime-beak away. He did not want the food-covered captain to make a mess on his fine polished marble floor.
The stupidity of Bug-eye, nursing his injured claw in the infirmary while the slaves escaped, along with the defeat of Slime-beak at the Appleby Hills, infuriated the hawk lord. His angry thoughts whirled and churned like a hurricane. Turnatt was not the kind of bird who kept his anger to himself. His yellow eye became brighter and brighter, as though it were a ball of fire. Soon it grew so frightening that the soldiers on guard in his chamber looked away, shivering. All of the hawk lord’s feathers rose, making him twice his original size. His deadly talons flexed; his cruel beak sliced through the air.
Just then an innocent soldier sneezed, and suddenly Turnatt could not bear it any longer. Faster than lightning, his claws stuck out and his beak dug into the bird’s flesh. The raven died instantly, but Turnatt kept ripping the body apart. His movements were so swift that the cringing soldiers could not see him clearly. But they could well hear the growls and bellows and the sound of flesh and bone being torn apart. They stood as far away as they could, frightened to silence.
Turnatt brutally feasted on the raven’s flesh and drank his blood. He grinned at his soldiers as if they were friends.
“Give each slavebird twenty lashes.” He tapped his covered eye slowly. His other eye narrowed into a slanted slit. “Get me Shadow now, and then you’re dismissed.”
The soldiers went away. Turnatt heard the screams of the slavebirds being beaten outside when the raven scout slipped in. “Yes, Your Majesty?” Shadow played with the edge of his black cloak. His amber eyes glowed as he peered at the hawk.
“Since I trust you, you’ll be put on the biggest job of your life. If you fail, you’ll die!” Turnatt began the conversation with a threat. “Now, how many good scouts are available?”
“Ten counting myself, Your Majesty,” Shadow answered, closing one eye.
“Good. You’ll lead an attack on those cardinals and blue jays. Get your scouts ready, and get a bottle of oil or two. Prepare to set fire to those filthy woodbirds’ camps! Do as much damage as you can. I’ll also give you some archerbirds to command. Do not be foolish, and don’t let me see you covered in beans like that scum Slime-beak when you come back!”
“You have my word as a scout, Your Majesty. I will not fail you.”
Turnatt quickly cut the raven short. “Good! Now start!”
Over the next few days Shadow and his scouts observed the red and the blue, watching for their weaknesses. They gathered enough oil and other necessary supplies. They were the strong right wing of Turnatt’s army, and they seldom failed to accomplish their tasks.
The day after Aska and Miltin’s departure, Glenagh found what he was looking for, the “Song of Swordbird” in the fifth volume of the Old Scripture. But it was in the old language, which none of the birds could speak anymore. Glenagh painstakingly set about translating it.
“Sing it, Cody.” Glenagh handed the paper to him. “Do you think we got it right this time?”
Cody started to sing.
Cody paused to catch his breath. “Is that all? I like the tune.”
Glenagh shook his head as he adjusted his spectacles. “Only the first verse. I haven’t got the second verse yet, but I’ll bet we can find it.”
“In time for Aska and Miltin’s return, of course,” said Cody.
“Yes, and I hope no serious trouble will come from Turnatt before that.”
Shadow was hiding close to Glenagh’s study. He noted the happenings with satisfaction. “You are looking for Swordbird’s help now? Well, I’ll see about that when flames devour your home and singe your song sheets! Will you be happy and sing then?” He vanished with the other scouts.
Cody rubbed his eyes. Things were strange lately. He had heard whispers that slowly faded into the sounds of the creek. He knew these might be coming from his imagination, but he had just now seen two amber eyes staring out of the darkness. As he looked harder, they vanished. He didn’t think that his senses had played a trick on him. He was sure that somebird was watching silently. Deep down Cody knew something terrible was about to happen.
That evening, Shadow gave his last instructions to his band of scouts and archers. “Listen, my friends. Together, we are strong, but apart, we shall be defeated. The red and the blue can be powerful together, as Slime-beak discovered. But tonight the blue shall be alone and at our mercy. Burn, scouts! Destroy! As for the archers, stay in the shadows and make no moves till I say so!” He turned to a few of his scouts. “You three, pour oil on the exposed roots of the trees, and then set them aflame! Let the evening come, for it is our friend!” All the silent birds nodded and went to their work. They were so well camouflaged that nobird saw them as they prepared to kill.
Everything was calm in the Bluewingle camp until flames erupted. Cries of alarm came from the birds as they fled their nest rooms and trees, but some didn’t get out in time. Yells shook the night as arrows sprang from the surrounding undergrowth. Since it was dark, nobird knew where the archers were. The fire grew more intense, until the camp trees looked as if they were made of burning gold. Branches crackled with tremendous noise, burned off, and crashed down, trapping some fleeing birds underneath. Cries hung in the air as arrows pierced throats and hearts. The night air was thick with screams and smoke.
Cody dashed out from his flaming home. He flew as fast as he could toward the Sunrise camp, knowing that their friends were their only hope.
Soon a band of cardinals, joined by the theater group and Cody, rushed to the scene, armed and ready to defend the blue jays against anything. But it was too late. The scouts and archers were gone like a gust of wind.
Bodies lay piled together. Some were killed, but most were just wounded. The ones who were alive were crying silently next to those who had fallen. Scorched feathers floated in the air. The whole tribe became a sea of flames.