One For Sorrow

Clive Woodall

Description

Welcome to Birddom - a land where magpies rule. Dark forces are at work. An evil intelligence is masterminding their inexorable rise. Dominance has been achieved by systematic genocide and slaughter. In Birddom, blackbird and sparrow have been exterminated. The magpie has replaced the pigeon in the city and the starling in the garden. For small birds throughout the land, survival is everything.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Ziji Publishing
• Date de parution: 01 novembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780955405174
• Langue: English

Extrait

Contents
One For Sorrow
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Two For Joy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue







One For Sorrow



Chapter 1
Kirrick sat high in the ash tree, concealed from open view by the foliage and relatively safe. It was a glorious spring morning and he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to sing out, to celebrate the passing of a long and miserable winter. But Kirrick knew the dangers of such folly. The days of birdsong were long past. His very life depended on his silence.
Kirrick had been hunted for several months now. In the early days, the magpies weren’t so persistent. They were naturally lazy and, as carrion eaters, could always find an easier meal. Things were different now, somehow. The latest hunt had been concerted, orchestrated and deadly. It had already claimed the life of Kirrick’s mate, Celine. She had been worn down by the chase. Exhausted and terrified, she had finally broken cover. The end was swift and bloody. Kirrick had watched in horror, helpless, as his mate was torn apart.
Now, two weeks later, the grief had subsided – a robin is by nature an optimistic bird. But the memory would never leave him. As far as he knew, Kirrick was the only robin left in Birddom. Certainly, in the months of his pursuit, he had seen no other, save Celine, nor any sign of their existence. The destruction of his species was all but complete. Indeed, many other familiar varieties of bird – sparrow, thrush, blackbird – were gone, living on only in the memory. Magpies were dominant throughout the land.
Their numbers had increased at a staggering rate. They had replaced the pigeon in the cities and the starling in the gardens. The unending supply of carrion by the roadside, a boon provided by Man’s indifference to Nature, had been the trigger for their population explosion. But, as Kirrick had sensed, some force had begun to direct them. A malignant intelligence that had made possible their vanquishing of almost all other bird life.
As Kirrick sat hidden, he knew he was alone in the world. But loneliness gave him time to think. Whilst with Celine, the urge for survival had been total. But since her death, even in the heat of the chase, Kirrick was thinking constantly. He felt strongly that there must be a purpose to his survival. He knew that he had been spared, thus far, for a reason, and the memory of Celine’s death drove him to seek for an answer.
Skulk and Skeet, two huge and menacing magpies, hopped across the newly-sprung fields, their eyes alert for any sign of movement in the wooded area to their right. The manner of their patrol was becoming increasingly desperate. They felt sure that the trail had gone cold, but fear of retribution had made them stay on for hours, in the forlorn hope that they might yet flush out the robin. They knew the price of failure. They had seen wings broken. Eyes pecked out. They were terrified to return without blood on their beaks. So they continued their methodical patrol. Watching. Always watching.
Kirrick’s nerves were stretched to breaking point. He had sat motionless for hours, and almost a day of inactivity had made him feel faint with hunger and thirst. His toes cramped and his wings ached to be spread and flapped, to circulate the blood. Kirrick knew that the end was near. He would have to move soon, and feared that, whatever desperation drove him, it would not be enough to give him the speed to escape. His fate would be the mirror of Celine’s. The cramps had worsened, becoming impossible to bear. He would have to move, voluntarily or otherwise.
Suddenly, a dreadful scream pierced the air. It came from the field over to his right. A luckless rabbit had become ensnared in a wire trap, and her agonising, tortured cries only speeded her fate. But those same cries saved Kirrick’s life. For the magpies had flapped over to the stricken rabbit, eager for an easy meal. More importantly, they could now go back, with blood on their beaks, and bask in acclaim. So what if one robin escaped? Nature, they knew, needed two, and, anyway, he would probably fall foul of another scavenger before long. What difference could one single, small bird make?
Kirrick flew north. He travelled slowly and cautiously over several days and, as he flew, the countryside below him became more spartan and dramatic. The woodlands were replaced by steep, rolling upland pastures, with frequent rocky outcrops. He detected no sign of pursuit, but knew that this could only be a brief respite. The magpies’ malignancy knew no bounds and their utter ruthlessness would never allow his escape.
So Kirrick flew on alone and as secretly as he could, shunning contact with other creatures who might later report his passing. He had no deliberate plan in choosing north as a direction for his escape. It just felt right. And as he flew, he thought. He needed help. There had to be an answer – a way out of the nightmare of his existence. But where to find it?
If Kirrick could have seen into the future, he would have been daunted indeed. This journey, arduous and fraught with danger, would be but a prelude to three more, covering the length and breadth of Birddom. A massive undertaking for one so small. But vital for the very existence of all that was good in the land.
After a few hours, Kirrick felt the need to rest and refresh himself. He had spotted the brook twinkling invitingly at him, some time ago, but had flown on, seeking the safest place to alight. He felt desperately lonely, but checked carefully to ensure that there were no other signs of life. Then he landed gracefully in a small hawthorn near the stream. As he closed his wings to his sides, he relaxed and rested gratefully for a few moments. But his need soon overcame him and he dropped down to the water’s edge. He dipped his bright beak into the clear, rippling stream, and then tipped his head back, letting the cool water trickle down his throat.
It was an act of pure pleasure, and he took several more satisfying sips before getting down to the business of bathing. This he performed with the enthusiasm characteristic of his species, spraying water from the tips of his wings, the droplets catching the sunlight and sparkling like diamonds.
“You certainly seem to be enjoying that!”
Kirrick froze, terrified, his wings too wet to allow sudden flight.
“I said, you certainly seem to be to be enjoying your bath.”
It was a large bird who spoke. She had a long, sharp beak of jet black, a grey-tufted crest, and striking chestnut plumage on her cheeks. She was a grebe, and Kirrick had not seen her when he flew down, as she had been feeding below the surface.
“I’ve been flying a long way.”
Kirrick did not know why he spoke and was surprised at himself for doing so. But the need for companionship of any sort – for a kind of normality – kept him from retreat.
“My name is Anisse,” said the grebe. “Where have you come from?”
“I’m Kirrick, and I’ve flown from far to the south. I’ve been flying since the dark of the moon.”
Anisse considered his words for a moment and then asked, “But where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” replied Kirrick. “I’ve just been flying to get away from somewhere, not to get to somewhere, if you know what I mean.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble?”
Kirrick hopped back from the water’s edge, and spread his wings to dry them as he considered his response. He instinctively felt safe enough with Anisse, large though she was. She was neither pursuer nor predator. And he wanted, so desperately, to tell her his story, to unburden himself after so long. But could he trust her? The caution that had been ingrained in him over the last months took centre-ground again.
“I am in great danger, Anisse, and I have no wish to bring that danger on to you. It is better that you should not become involved. Thank you for your kindness, but I really must go.”
Anisse looked at him sadly, and asked one more question.
“What are you looking for, Kirrick?”
“Wisdom,” the robin answered.
“Then maybe there is someone who can help you,” she ventured. “There is an old owl who lives in the ancient forest of Tanglewood, not too far from here. He is deemed wise, even among his own kind, and might be able to give you the answers that you seek. Fly west, towards the setting sun. The owl is called Tomar and lives in the crooked fir. Tell him that I sent you. I am sure that he will treat you with kindness. He will help you, if he perceives, as I do, that your heart is true.”
“Goodbye, and thank you,” called Kirrick, as he flew up and away, with a direction now. A purpose to his journey.
In an abandoned and derelict warehouse in a city heartland, Skeet and Skulk were recounting their tale to the brothers of their coven. There were more than thirty magpies present, all eager to hear details of the massacre of yet another inferior species of bird.
Skeet and Skulk were basking in the admiration and attention of their peers. They recalled, in detail, their long hunt for the robin. They extolled their own patience, vigilance and cunning in stalking their prey. Finally, they told of how Kirrick broke cover, and went to ground amongst the low scrub and brambles, in the wooded area into which they had chased him.
Skeet had taken stance at a point close to where the robin had landed, whilst Skulk had flown further on and alighted to the rear. Skeet to