The noises of the battle returned. Skylion quickly shifted the angle of his blow so that the flat of the blade thumped on the cardinal’s shoulder.
The cardinal opened his eyes and locked them for a second with Skylion’s. There was surprise in his eyes, and perhaps some gratitude. Then he was gone, disappearing behind the other battling birds.
The blue jays held out stubbornly. Fighters from both sides were getting tired. The blue jays were light and agile in build, while the cardinals were muscular and heavy-framed. Slowly, very slowly, the blue jays drove the cardinals back toward the Line.
There the cardinals decided to hold their ground and retreat no more. The battle would be decided on the tallest mound of the Appleby Hills. One minute the blue jays seemed to be winning, but the cardinals gained advantage in the next. The red mingled with the blue, fighting, beating, and yelling at one another.
Shadow, Turnatt’s scout, hid in a tall tree nearby, smiling cruelly at the fighting cardinals and blue jays. “It’s better than I thought!” he crackled. “Wait until His Majesty hears about this!”
Aska had left the Bluewingle camp quietly that morning, before the attack by the cardinals. She was a pretty blue jay, with glossy feathers, a sweet voice, a graceful figure, and eyes that were like deep pools of dark chocolate. She sighed. The whole thing was too confusing for her to understand and to accept. The fights and battles. How did the cardinals ever become our enemies? We were good friends a month ago. Why not now? She missed seeing her best cardinal friends. She missed playing on the Appleby Hills, where the sun shone brightly and dandelions carpeted the ground, making the hills golden as far as the eye could see. It was now cardinal territory, and the blue jays stayed away. She missed the taste of the cardinals’ special raspberry pies with golden, honey-covered crusts and sweet, sticky fillings.
The more Aska thought, the dizzier she became. Sitting alone on a quiet branch did not help. She looked around. A small creek gurgled peacefully nearby, and the fragrance of the early spring flowers drifted to her nostrils. The scene would normally make Aska happy, but not now.
The blue jay, catching an uplift, rose unsteadily into the air. Thoughts whirled in her head as she flew in the direction she thought was toward home. She shut her eyes for a second to clear her thoughts. When she opened them, she found herself staring at shadows that floated in the air. The shadows moved toward her.
Flea-screech grumbled unhappily. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal for four days. He and five soldiers had been sent out to capture woodbirds, but they had found nothing. He knew he would be punished if he came back with nothing more than half-starved soldiers.
Living on thin acorn soup and dandelion roots was not the kind of life Flea-screech wanted. In despair he kicked the mossy ground. By chance a wad of moss hit another crow on his beak, muffling his surprised gurgle. Flea-screech stared angrily at the soldier, and the soldier stared back, each thinking of his own misery.
Flea-screech’s thoughts were interrupted by an excited whisper: “Sir, there’s a blue jay flying not far from here who could be easily surrounded and captured!”
Seconds later, the crows flew off toward the flying blue speck. It wouldn’t know what the shadows were until it was too late.
“Help!” Aska screamed as she realized what was happening. Darting this way and that, she flew in complex patterns and then sped away, careless of her direction. The crows tried to surround her. She knew that they were bigger and heavier than she was, so she flew her fastest through thick, mazelike groves and bushes. The crashes and yells of pain told her that her plan was working. But the crows kept following.
Fueled by her fright, she flew even faster. There were at least three birds behind her, or possibly even five. Aska shuddered at the thought. The dense bushes wouldn’t last forever, she knew. They ended only ten feet away. As she burst out into open air, another crow tried to block her path. She yelped in surprise and, seeing no other way to avoid a collision, zoomed under the bird. The dumbfounded crow shrieked with rage.
“Oh, you sly blue jay!” Aska heard the crow cry. “Soldiers!” he yelled over the loud whooshing of their wings. “Chase that blue jay south toward Fortress Glooming! We’ll have it cornered!”
Aska flew through strange and murky territories, neither blue jays’ nor cardinals’. She peered about for good places to hide. Her wings were getting sore from the flight. Oh, somebird help me! she thought, taking no notice of the rain that bounced off her shoulders and dampened her feathers.
“You tricky blue jay! I’ll get you, me and my crew will!” The voices pursuing Aska were getting louder as the crows drew closer. After ducking under a bush and hearing the crows crash into it, Aska saw a startling scene, a half-built fortress towering over a great stretch of young birches and cedars, the height of a typical old pine tree. As her eyes swept down, she saw stone blocks piled on the ground, waiting to be used to build another wall. Through the rain she could make out a small patch of tall grass just beyond them. Gathering all her strength, she darted between the grass stalks, breathing hard. She heard the loud whoosh as her pursuers whizzed past, still yelling and howling.
Aska’s feathers were damp, too damp for her to lift her wings and fly without difficulty. Her breath came in short gasps. The rain made a rhythmic sound on the grass leaves above her head. What was she going to do now?
The road to success is full of thorns.
– FROM THE OLD SCRIPTURE
5 THE WOODBIRD IN THE GRASS
Just as Aska encountered Flea-screech and his soldiers, the slavebirds were given a little break because rain threatened to fall. No soldier wanted to get wet standing guard as the slaves worked.
Tilosses poked his head through the wooden bars of the slave compound and glanced at the gray sky. Quickly ducking in as a cold wind chilled him, the old sparrow sighed. Would the rain keep Miltin from carrying out his plan?
Tilosses quickly looked up, beckoning Miltin over with a nod. The old sparrow told the robin all he had heard while eavesdropping on Turnatt’s conversations with Slime-beak and the scout, Shadow.
“They are going to kill us when the fortress is finished,” Miltin whispered to himself. He thanked Tilosses for telling him the news and then fell silent, deep in thought.
The slaves waited anxiously, having small and pointless conversations. Rain beat down on the wooden roof of the slave compound, making a dull rhythm as well as many bothersome drips that created wet spots on the dirty floor. Plip, plop, plip, plop. The wet spots became muddy puddles and finally small pools of brown water. The birds paid no mind. The rich smell of earth and worn wood filled the air. Miltin sat huddled in a corner with rags for blankets. He lowered his gaze and studied a pool of water intently. The puddle rippled every time a drop of water fell into it. Soon most of us will be killed, he thought. Many of the woodbirds in the forest will be captured by cruel Turnatt, just like the big mud puddle swallowing the small drops of the water from the roof. No! We can’t wait passively to be killed; we can’t allow new birds to be tortured and pinioned… The woodbirds can’t be captured! They are our only chance! He jumped up.
“I’m going to ask Slime-beak for permission to gather wood now,” he said in a calm voice. He scanned all the birds in the crowd. Glipper gave him a wing tip-up. Tilosses nodded. The rest of the birds were looking at him. As unruffled as possible, Miltin spun on his heel and marched out of the slave compound.
“Wow, I don’t know how he’ll do it, but he’s taking some risk,” a slavebird commented. “If he’s caught talking to a native woodbird…”