Broken Wings

Clive Woodall

Description

Birddom is a paradise-in-waiting for any bird searching for a new life. A place where broken wings can heal and learn once more to fly, straight & true. But dark intentions threaten its serenity. Spindle, a gawky young heron, and Snowcap, a bright, white-headed blackbird, have both journeyed far to find this nirvana, unaware of the dire infection within. It rests on them to bravely attempt to purge the land of evil. Neither will flinch from the dangerous struggle to redeem Birddom from the claws of a powerful, deadly enemy. But will they succeed?

Informations

• Publié par: Ziji Publishing
• Date de parution: 02 juillet 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781908628107
• Langue: English

Extrait

Broken Wings
By the same author:
One for Sorrow, Two for Joy
Seven for a Secret
Broken Wings
Clive Woodall
Copyright Clive Woodall 2015
The right of Clive Woodall to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Published by Ziji Publishing Ltd www.zijipublishing.com
Distributed by Turnaround Distribution Services Ltd. www.turnaround-uk.com Telephone [phone]
ISBN: 978-1-908628-10-7
For Chris and Dave
I was inspired to return to Birddom and to write this particular story by Karine Polwart s melodic and hauntingly beautiful song, Follow The Heron Home and also by frequent visits to my garden by a part-albino blackbird.
It felt like coming home.
Prologue
The supreme folly in all human existence. That was how the abandonment was viewed by the rest of the world. Never in recorded history had such drastic and, to most, utterly preposterous action been taken by an entire nation. And of course it had grave consequences. When a country ceases to exist, those who previously populated it become, out of necessity, migrants. Wandering gypsies whom nobody wants nor welcomes. And when their numbers are so vast, as was again the case with this second and permanent exodus, initial animosity turns swiftly to outright hatred. Backs are turned, individually and nationally. Doors everywhere are slammed in faces and opportunities for anything other than mere survival are nigh-on non-existent.
Yet for those numerous unfortunates pushed from pillar to post there is no longer any way to voice their complaint. No government. No legal system. Although previously a very wealthy nation, albeit one long in decline, its former inhabitants are unable to benefit from its erstwhile prosperity. For, in the chaos and upheaval of transition, most of the money has been spirited away by a few self-seeking individuals in the higher echelons of society and the selfish greed of the few impoverishes the many.
And so, as has always been said, beggars can never be choosers, which results in the island s population being scattered far and wide across the continental mainland. Dispersed, their strength as a people is dissipated and their ignominy complete. Most are forced to travel the wide world seeking for somewhere new to call home. Many have no option but to populate areas previously deemed uninhabitable wilderness and, for many thousands, survival in such extremes is impossible. Numbers are thinned by starvation and disease, and also through predation by fierce creatures whose territories have been so peremptorily invaded. For Nature too bares its teeth at such unwelcome intrusion.
Those remaining fight to maintain even the most basic level of existence and life becomes a continuous struggle for survival in a hostile world, tortured by thoughts and memories of what has been lost. Absorbed but fragmented worldwide, the once-proud wavers of a united flag now wave one of surrender; their eyes pleading for pity, their hands outstretched for charity. But precious little of either is forthcoming and life - if so it can be called - is extremely hard.
Yet what other choice do they have? There can be no returning to their homeland for it no longer exists. It remains a geographic reality but not an economic one. And there is no justifiable reason to complain. For they were all equally culpable. Actively or passively, they all helped destroy that which supported them. They all participated in the ultimate, supreme folly: leaving an entire island to die.
Nature always finds a way. What does it matter how long it takes? Time is an irrelevance. Recovery may involve a passage of many years but it is, nevertheless, utterly inevitable. That is what humans never seem to understand. They live their lives by the clock, always wanting an immediate solution. An instant fix. That is why Birddom was abandoned, not that they knew it as such. No, men had their own name for the island but that is long forgotten. Never talked about anymore. It was merely a failed project, to be rejected and subsequently ignored.
They had achieved their stated aim, by ridding what they saw as their land of every single living, breathing creature. That had not been their specific goal, however - their war supposedly being waged only against the teeming insect life on the island. But, as usual, Man was careless in the extreme about what else he destroyed. His blanket approach to the perceived problem wiped out all animal and bird life along with the targeted insects.
Initially, the humans had returned with optimism and enthusiasm; tackling the enormous clean-up, disposing of the multitude of animal and bird corpses, and, finally, dismantling every one of his machines of destruction. But the clinical efficiency of their performance in dealing out indiscriminate death had backfired spectacularly in the long run. For without any insects there could be no pollination and without pollination there was eventually no re-growth of vegetation. Crops could not be grown and, once their extra meat-stores were emptied, food could not be provided to support even a scant level of human repopulation. To all intents and purposes, Birddom became a sterile wasteland and, short-sightedly, men turned their backs on it and, with a collective shrug, forgot about its very existence.
But Nature did not forget and that great healer, Time, brought new life back to a dead land. Because mankind, in its undoubted stupidity, had failed to account for one important, fundamental truth: insects fly. A surrounding sea provides no barrier to airborne creatures, when favourable winds offer assistance. Birds fly too and, moreover, they often defecate in mid-air during their long migrations. And so seeds are dropped onto virgin soil and, being well watered in temperate climatic conditions, growth begins. Life starts afresh, but this time with an influx of insects to sustain it. In the waters, many species of fish, some never before native, repopulate the rivers and streams over time, feeding on an abundance of insect larvae, and grow fat and lazy in their new clean, unpolluted home. Whilst, on the land, plants and trees burgeon without restraint, growing strong and healthy, straight and true - a natural and not man-made harvest.
In such a fashion did Birddom recover its verdant beauty. Slowly but surely, it once again became a paradise in waiting, but this time unsullied by humanity. And this state of affairs did not long go unnoticed. Over-flown regularly by many migratory species of birds, it was inevitable that the news should spread, far and wide. Inevitable too that, over time, birds would gradually return to take advantage of this new Eden.
But Birddom would have to begin afresh. More than lives had been lost in the awful, wilful destruction. Societal hierarchy. History. Law. All had disappeared too, leaving all but a very few of the new immigrants knowing nothing of Birddom s proud heritage. There would be no extant Council of the Owls, to rule by advice and consent. Any wisdom to be had would have to be brought with them. All laws to govern this new generation of inhabitants would need to be formulated based on other thinking. Other experience. Yet so it always is with Nature. It refreshes itself periodically and, in doing so, provides new opportunities - for good and evil, alike.
Chapter One
A fresh start .
Spindle stared, unseeing, at the small, silver fish that swam precariously close to his legs for its own wellbeing, but he felt no inclination to stab at it with his long, sharp beak. His young mind was occupied with things other than the emptiness of his stomach. He absent-mindedly stirred the mud at the bottom of the pool, causing the startled little fish to flee for the cover of the reed-bed.
It s exactly what I need. There s nothing for me here. Not anymore.
Spindle s head drooped on its long, slender neck until his beak was almost brushing the surface of the water. He had seldom felt so despondent in all of his young life. The constant bullying from the other immature herons had sapped every last vestige of his self-esteem. Spindle found that he could no longer greet each new dawn with the exultancy it deserved. Rather, he invariably faced the coming day with trepidation, bordering on dread. And it was getting worse. The latest beating had been particularly brutal. Spindle wondered miserably, as he often had in recent weeks, why he should be the target for such collective cruelty. Admittedly he was somewhat small for his age - having grown to barely two bulrush lengths, even stood fully erect. He was slight of frame too and lacked the necessary aggression to fight his cause in a noisy, vibrant and overcrowded heronry like theirs.
And he no longer had anyone to protect him against the attacks. Without parents since the recent, untimely death of his mother, Breamflow - brought down by a combination of debilitating illness and the prolonged harsh and bitter winter weather - he was finding it increasingly difficult to fend for himself. No, it was obvious that the heronry held no future for him. He would never find a mate there because his character was already fixed as a weakling in the minds of his peers. Hadn t they given him the nickname which he now thought of as his own? His parents had called him Zander-rush from hatching, which was quickly shortened to Zander because it was less of a beakful, but the name Spindle - a derogatory taunt because of his lack of stature and bulk - had stuck and he had been called it so repeatedly that it had long since vanquished his true name from his mind. That w