“Hold on! I’m coming, Flame-back!” Skylion rushed to join the battle. He tossed a sword to the cardinal leader, and together they battled with the scout. Two were too many for Shadow; he turned and fled. Flame-back and Skylion tailed behind.
“Here, raven!” Flame-back roared angrily, and shot dart after dart at him. One struck Shadow’s behind, and the scout yelped, almost falling to the ground. But the dart hadn’t gone deep, and Shadow flew even faster.
Flame-back gathered all the strength he had to rush after the scout. He seized the raven’s cape and pulled with all his might. Skylion joined him, and together they tried to yank Shadow back to the camp. They almost succeeded, but then the crafty scout cut his cape off with his saber.
After he had freed himself, Shadow spun around and aimed his saber at Flame-back. The cardinal leader ducked, but he was a little slow. The blade bit deep into his shoulder. Thrown off-balance, the cardinal fell to the ground.
Roaring, Skylion gave the scout a solid wing clout, battering his head.
Flame-back regained his balance and yelled, “Archers, fire!”
From the treetops nearby, heads of cardinals and blue jays popped out in neat rows, bowstrings drawn back. Shadow dropped his saber and tried to flee. Too late.
Bows went singing. Arrows whistled from all directions, piercing the scout’s skin. With a horrendous shriek Shadow rose into the air. He disappeared into the night, followed by another volley of arrows and angry shouts.
Skylion flew to Flame-beak. “I’m all right,” the cardinal leader said. “My side is cut, and so is my shoulder. But they’ll heal.”
“I gave that raven a wing clout he won’t soon forget,” Skylion added. “Our archers did a wonderful job. He won’t be around for a while.”
Skylion and Flame-back were immediately surrounded by the Sunrise and Bluewingle warriors. When the red and the blue shifted their gaze to the crows and ravens trapped in the nets and webs, anger and hate boiled in their chests.
“Throw stones at them!” a blue jay roared. Many voices agreed.
“Don’t, my friends,” Skylion said gently. “They are now helpless and can’t harm us. We will take them prisoner and release them one day, far from Stone-Run. But we cannot be murderers. They have a right to live, as do all creatures that fly, swim, or run on this beautiful earth. Swordbird would not wish us to wrench their lives away.”
The place is full of sorrow;
There is no joy, no song.
There is a valley without a flower,
Feeling the wind go by.
There’s a riverbed without water,
Forever and ever dry.
Everything seems so dreary; it feels just too airy,
But on the hill, there’s a small wildflower that never cries.
Because hope is what it lives on.
– FROM A SONG IN THE OLD SCRIPTURE
18 LIVING ON HOPE
In the cave Aska bathed Miltin’s wounds with springwater, spread a mountain herb poultice on them, and bandaged them gently. Miltin smiled his thanks, and then his eyes drifted shut.
Realizing that Miltin urgently needed something to eat, Aska went outside to seek food. Crawling among the boggy puddles, the blue jay cropped the soft tips of new moss and put them in her bag. But then Asa spied a small golden blossom amidst the dull green, its petals fluttering in the light breeze. The blue jay stood there motionless, watching the flower bloom in the misty coldness. She knew every plant of the woodlands by heart, but she had never seen such a flower before.
“Oh, how could something so beautiful live here? Is it a magic plant sent by Swordbird?” Aska whispered. “Thank you, Swordbird! Miltin can be saved!” Aska dug out every bit of the flower with care and rushed back to the cave.
Aska put the golden flower and the moss into a pot of springwater over the fire and stirred them with a spoon. The pot boiled, giving off a delightful smell.
The roots, leaves, and petals bobbed in the soup as if they were saying temptingly, “Eat, eat…”
Oh, how Aska wanted to taste it! “No! Miltin needs every drop of it to survive!” she told herself firmly.
She poured the soup into a bowl and gently woke the robin. Miltin attempted to hold the spoon, but he was too weak to do so. She fed him sip by sip. But after a spell Miltin refused to eat any more. “You need it to keep up your strength too!” he said.
“But you’re injured! You need it more than I do.”
“But who will gather food if you fall sick from starvation?” Miltin returned.
Aska laughed and agreed to sip a few spoonfuls yet left most of the soup for Miltin. Aska started to feed the robin again, and he meekly opened his beak to the soup spoon like a hatchling.
“It tastes…like spring…” Miltin whispered. He swallowed another beakful. “Like…like…”
“It’s the taste of a golden flower, the taste of hope,” the blue jay finished.
Miltin woke up early the next morning. To his surprise, the pain in his shoulder from the arrow wound had lessened, and the cuts and slashes from the Sklarkills’ spears no longer burned and ached. He tried a practice flight and found that his wings worked nearly as well as before.
Miltin rushed back to the cave to tell Aska the good news. “Don’t you think it’s strange that I can fly again?” Miltin grinned. “Let’s go out of the ravine and fly down the mountains now!”
I was right! Aska thought with wonder. That golden flower must be a magical herb sent by Swordbird! Thank you again, Swordbird!
Still, she was worried. Miltin seemed better and stronger, but his wounds were not completely healed. Aska forced him to wait until she finished checking and changing his bandages. The wound in his shoulder was the worst, deep and only half healed, and a long day of flying yesterday had already strained it.
The two set off.
The mist, as they went down the mountains, faded into a clear blue sky, so welcoming that it made Aska’s heart sing and Miltin’s heart soar.
“The Waterthorn tribe! Mother, Father, here I come!” Miltin yelled to the sunny forest below.
Those who died shall not have died in vain,
for they are brave souls fighting for rightness,
and he who guards peace and brings justice to the
world shall give them a rest they deserve.
– FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE
19 MILTIN’S WISH
It was nearly noon when Aska and Miltin flew over a river.
“Look! That’s the Rockwell River, which leads to my home!” Miltin called excitedly.
“We must be near then!” Aska cried. “When do you think we should reach there?”
Miltin did a loop in the air. “In a couple of hours at the latest,” he whooped. But as he flipped upright again, a sudden pain seized him, causing his left wing to buckle. He dropped down.
“Miltin!” Aska gasped. She dived after him. Fortunately the robin landed safely on the deck of a boat, the Rippledew, which was passing by. Aska came down beside him, steadying him with a wing.
The skipper of the boat came behind them. “Ahoy there, Miltin!” he called merrily. “Looks like you need a ride to the Waterthorn, eh? I hope you haven’t forgotten me.”
Miltin turned around. “Why, can it be…” His eyes widened in surprise. “Quaykkel Lekkyauq!”
“You got that right!” exclaimed the gray duck. He noticed Miltin’s bandages and asked, “Are you wounded, Miltin?”
“Nothing serious, thanks,” he murmured.
The duck looked skeptical. “You’ve had some adventures; that’s clear,” he said. “Well…it’s noontime, so why don’t you have lunch with me and tell me what’s been happening to you?”
“Oh, wonderful!” Miltin perked up. He felt as if he hadn’t eaten a meal for ages.
They went to the galley and ate plum puddings and spicy salmon stew. Over the meal Miltin told the skipper about Turnatt, his escape, and the need for a Leasorn gem.
As he spoke, a sudden shiver rippled through Miltin. He winced as the movement triggered pains all over his body. The aid from Swordbird’s magical flower was waning. He coughed and pretended to choke on the stew. It didn’t fool Aska. She shot him a look, but Miltin turned his head away.
After lunch Aska and Miltin went back outside to the deck. She peered closely at his bandages and gasped as she saw a new patch of red soaking through the white linen around the robin’s shoulder. “Miltin, are your wounds worse?” she demanded.
“No. I’m-I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” Aska said quietly.
Miltin gazed into the distance. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I’m not. If I had let you know the truth, you’d have insisted on stopping to nurse me. But it won’t matter if I let you know now, since we’re so close to my home.”
He paused and sighed. “My wounds can’t be healed. All those days of being a slavebird have worn my body down.” His head shot up; his eyes filled with anger. “Aska, you can’t possibly imagine how I was tortured at Fortress Glooming, for you’ve never experienced the cruel whip lashings, the painful beatings.”
“I know, Miltin. I can’t imagine how it must have been,” Aska whispered.
Miltin lowered his gaze. “You see, Aska…whenever I think of saving Stone-Run and my fellow slavebirds, I forget all my pain.”
Just at that moment Quaykkel came over. “Ho, Miltin, I’ve dropped by to tell you we’re at the Waterthorn!” he called. Miltin’s face lit up when he turned his head and saw the familiar, beautiful woods not far ashore.
He and Aska thanked Quaykkel and bade him farewell. They headed toward Miltin’s home.
Miltin flew over the shore that he knew so well, his heart pounding. Mother! Father! Where are you? he called in his heart. Aska followed, trying to catch up. She thought it strange that Miltin was able to fly so fast all of a sudden. The joy of seeing his home must have given him new strength.
Miltin turned back to point out a place to Aska. “See that, Aska? It’s my home!” he called eagerly. Aska looked ahead. At the end of the meadow of red blossoms was a verdant grove of maples, flashing all shades of green. Silhouettes of birds were visible among the trees; songs could be heard faintly.
Just as they landed at the edge of the grove, a few robins hurried out. “Look, it’s Miltin! Miltin!” They clustered around him, chattering with excitement. Two of them dashed back to the trees to tell Miltin’s parents, all the while shouting to every other bird, “Miltin’s back! Miltin’s back!”
The whole Waterthorn tribe gathered around Miltin at his parents’ nest house. Before he got to the door, his parents were already there, greeting him with tears in their eyes.
Miltin dipped his head. “I’m back, Mother, Father,” he said.
Miltin’s mother quickly helped him up. “I’m not dreaming, am I, my son? Let me take a closer look at you…” she murmured lovingly. “Goodness! Why are you wearing bandages? Are you wounded?”
His father, Reymarsh, helped him through the door. “Let’s go into the room first, Miltin. You must be tired.”
After they had settled comfortably on cushions, Miltin spoke. “Mother, Father, this is Aska, of Stone-Run Forest. She is here to ask if she can borrow our Leasorn gem.”
“What happened? That hawk again?” Reymarsh quickly asked with grave concern.
“The hawk Turnatt made me and the other captives slavebirds at his fortress in Stone-Run. He also attacked Aska’s tribe and other birds there. They need our help. Father, you must lead your troops to Stone-Run with the Leasorn tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, or it’ll be too late. Turnatt will attack Aska’s tribe.”
There was silence. “You need a good rest,” Reymarsh said in a low voice. “And you know the ritual didn’t work perfectly. Swordbird didn’t stay long enough, and we don’t know why.”
“Promise me you will go tomorrow…” Miltin begged.
Reymarsh nodded slowly. Miltin faintly smiled. He opened his beak as if to say something more but suddenly collapsed.
The room was in a turmoil. Miltin’s mother called his name again and again. The medicine bird quickly came. “Miltin is in danger, I’m afraid,” he reported gravely after an examination.
Miltin’s mother burst into tears. “How can you be in such a state, Miltin?” she wailed. “You were healthy and well before you were captured! How can you be so sick after just over a month?”
“Madame, you need to be calm. Let Miltin rest,” the medicine bird said.
After a few hours Miltin’s eyelids fluttered and opened a crack, revealing his dry and tired eyes. He did nothing but breathe raspingly for a long time. His head spun with dizziness and pain, and he could hardly see anything but numerous spots before his eyes. He felt as if his whole body were in a bonfire.
The flower sent by Swordbird had helped him, he realized. But it couldn’t heal him. All Swordbird had been able to do was to give him strength to reach home and complete his mission. “Thank you, Swordbird,” he whispered faintly.
“Miltin! Miltin!” He heard Aska calling his name. He was not sure where Aska was. She seemed to be far off…
A warm, unfamiliar feeling enveloped him. No. He could not just let it come. Miltin tried his hardest to speak, but his throat was too dry for him to utter a clear word. His first attempt ended in a round of terrible coughs and hacks. But soon he managed a small, weak whisper.
“A-Aska…” he croaked. “I cannot go on to bring my slavebird friends to freedom. Please complete the task for me. You are a powerful, determined blue jay, and I choose you to finish it. Soon I will die. I wish I would see Turnatt be destroyed and the slavebirds go free, through your eyes.” He paused just a little and attempted a smile. The strange feeling once again tried to swallow him. He turned to his parents. “Father! Please fly with Aska, to Stone-Run… Turnatt must be destroyed…” His voice grew barely audible. “I love you, Mother and Father…”
The strange feeling came a third time to take him away. This time Miltin did not struggle to keep it off. He let the warmness go through his whole body; he felt as if he were soaring. A burst of brilliant colors filled his vision. They soon merged into a shade of blood red. The red turned into black. Miltin felt as if he were flying through a dark tunnel. The tunnel seemed endless, full of twists and turns. He was not afraid; he ventured on.
He shot through the opening of the tunnel and into the sky. Miltin’s wings no longer hurt, his chest and back no longer ached, and he felt happy and free. Looking behind, he could see his body lying in the nest bed. Around it were his parents, Aska, and his tribe friends. They were crying. All the Waterthorn birds were crying. He hovered in the air for a minute, gazing at them, carving all of them into his memory. “Good-bye, Mother and Father. Good-bye, Aska. Farewell, Waterthorn,” he whispered, tears in his eyes. After a while he reluctantly turned and flew toward the skyline, till his tribe was no longer visible in the distance. He flew higher and did loops in the air. Higher and higher he went, until he was flying next to the sun.