“Hold your breath and fly higher!” Miltin urged, wind whistling in his feathers. “Higher!” They flew up and up. The Sklarkills followed, still chanting their threatening song, “Kill, kill! Sklarkills, kill!” No matter how high they went, the Sklarkills always followed. When Aska gasped for breath, her lungs felt as though they were on fire.
“Down. Now!” Miltin whispered dryly. The two plunged down, waving their weapons as they dived. Aska was not seriously wounded; she had only a small slash on her back and tiny nicks and sores. Miltin, on the other wing, was bleeding all over. With the speed of their dive, the two managed to evade the mob. Yet it was only a temporary escape. The Sklarkills quickly followed them.
“Aska,” Miltin gasped, “follow me! Quick!”
“What? Why are we-”
“Don’t ask now. You’ll see later. Just follow!” The robin flew with a burst of speed back the way they had come. Aska zoomed closely behind, a little confused. Why were they heading back when they were almost on the other side of the mountains? The Sklarkill band was in hot pursuit.
Miltin glanced back. “Take this, jackdaws!” he hollered, and snatched a large bag of grain out of his torn pack. He threw it as far as he could.
Immediately, the jackdaws flew to the bag, fighting for it, yelling to one another in hoarse voices, “Mine! Mine!”
Miltin kept flying. Suddenly the ravine again opened up beneath the robin and the blue jay. Rapidly Miltin and Aska turned and plunged into it. They disappeared in the mist. “Keep to the cliffs and sides!” Miltin whispered. “Quick! The Sklarkills will catch up soon!”
Miltin’s eyes darted to and fro. He kept glancing at the jagged cliffs that were the borders of the ravine.
“Here!” Miltin whispered urgently. He flew headlong into a small cranny in the cliff. It was just big enough for him and Aska. Inside it was dry and dusty. Dark too.
Now the fog worked to Aska and Miltin’s advantage. The Sklarkills could not see where their victims had gone. The blue jay and the robin huddled together, listening intently, until the last of the threatening chants faded in the distance.
Miltin breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s over,” he said.
“Watch out!” Aska cried.
A skinny young Sklarkill, more persistent than the rest of his band, had been hunting along the ravine for any place the two fugitives might have hidden. Now he poked his head and one foot into the cranny, snapping at Miltin’s tail. “Give me what you have!” he screeched.
Miltin spun around, rapier in claw. The jackdaw let out a horrible shriek as the blade crashed down between his eyes. He slumped and started to slip backward out of the hole, the weight of his paralyzed body pulling him down.
But as he fell, his claw hooked on to Miltin’s tunic. The jackdaw plummeted down through the swirling, misty air, dragging Miltin with him.
“Aska!” The cry of the robin hung in the air. It was followed by a sickening thud.
Miltin awoke, pain grasping every part of his body. Even opening his eyes was painful. He slowly craned his neck and looked around. He was in a cave! To his right was the cave entrance; to his left were a small fire and Aska.
He groaned as the soreness stung again. “What happened, Aska? Where am I? I hardly remember anything except that I fell…”
Aska nodded. “Yes, you fell, yelling my name. My heart was in my throat! I couldn’t possibly bear to fly down to see you smashed by the force of that fall.”
Miltin smiled weakly. “Well, you did.”
“I did. You were not smashed at all! How happy I was to find you alive, in one piece! You landed on that Sklarkill. I moved you to this cave, which is at the bottom of the ravine. Then it rained. Look, it’s only a small drizzle now.”
“But…I’ll bet that our rations are gone too.”
Aska sadly nodded.
Silently, the two listened to the light, whispering rain.
“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.”