One for Sorrow Read online

  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 baskin
g 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 told of how he jeered at and taunted his enemy, as he drove him on through the undergrowth. Skulk regaled his excited audience with a vivid description of the robin’s final moments when, confronted by the magpies, Kirrick had cowered and begged for mercy. They laughed wickedly as they portrayed his death to their friends, boasting of their cruelty and brutality as the robin was slaughtered.

  “Now that’s an interesting story.”

  All eyes turned to the bird that perched on a rusty metal pole high to their left.

  Traska would have seemed, to an outside observer, to be indistinguishable from the rest of the gathering. Like all magpies, his eyes and beak were jet black, as was most of his upper body. This contrasted strongly with the pure white of his belly and wing flashes. Maybe Traska’s primaries were a more vivid oily blue than most, but this was only really apparent in open flight. At rest, as now, they lay along his back, crossing slightly above his rump and long black tail.

  But this was no ordinary magpie. Traska was the most feared and reviled bird in the region. A vicious, sadistic leader, he had come to power in this particular coven only six months ago. He had arrived as a solitary, unannounced and unheralded. Usually, such birds are mobbed and driven off. But Traska had chosen well. He was a keenly intelligent magpie, and had not just arrived there at random. He had discovered that this particular coven was ripe for the plucking. Their leader was old and weak – no opposition at all to a bird of Traska’s cunning and violent power. Typically, Traska’s coup had been underhand. He had taken his opponent on his nest and had murdered him in his sleep. He had also despatched two other major domos in the coven, in similar fashion. They had been good strong magpies, whose only fault lay in their loyalty to their leader. They had been a loss, but Traska was determined, from the start, that his authority would be total and unquestioned.

  Since that night, Traska had bullied and driven the coven, moulding them in his image. Any dissent had been murderously dealt with, often with sickening results. But Traska achieved his objective. His coven quickly became infamous among the corvidae. The rooks, crows, jackdaws and ravens, brothers all, knew of and feared them. Traska’s own reputation was enhanced. He was certain that it would not go unnoticed.

  His eyes stared down pitilessly at the two hapless magpies below him now.

  “Interesting, but might I hazard to guess – not entirely accurate?” Traska went on in a soft, but menacing voice.

  Immediately the mood of the magpies changed. The excitement became more feral and dangerous. Skeet and Skulk slumped uncomfortably whilst Traska continued.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong.” No one dared. “But I’ve had a few encounters with birds.”

  This provoked harsh laughter. Traska was known to have murdered at least one of every known species of bird – those smaller than himself, of course.

  “I have always found that robins go for height at the end. Height, and open spaces, in which to manoeuvre in a battle. Their speed and agility would be of no use to them on the ground.”

  “But he was trying to hide, not fight,” replied Skulk, defiantly.

  “True. As you tell your story, this is so. But surely, we’ve all heard about the courage of the robin. How one such bird even fought off an eagle who threatened his territory. And this Kirrick, being the last of the robins, must have been very brave and resourceful to survive for so long. Yet you tell us that he cowered and begged for mercy before the pair of you?”

  These last words were spat out scornfully, as Traska fixed Skeet and Skulk with a steely glare, which chilled them to their tail-feathers. The other magpies in the coven closed in angrily around their two miserable brethren.

  “Wait!” commanded Traska, continuing in a sweet, sarcastic voice. “They may have another story to tell us . . .”

  Skeet and Skulk knew then that they were dead.

  Meanwhile, Kirrick had had no difficulty in finding Tanglewood. He had been a little apprehensive on seeing its size, the denseness of the trees, and the gloom within that seemed unaffected by changes in daylight in the world outside. Once he had ventured into its depths, Kirrick had also easily found the crooked fir tree. There were plenty of signs of recent occupancy. A littered nest in the bole of the tree. Scattered bones of small rodents at its foot. But of the owl himself, none.

  Kirrick was suddenly at a loss as to what he should do. He was fairly sure that he hadn’t been followed to the forest, but any comfort that he felt was counterbalanced by the ominous atmosphere of the place itself. It made him realise how small a creature he was, and how alone. Depression struck him hard and he wept, although he could not have told you why. Then weariness overtook him, and he slept.

  He awoke to the softest of sounds – the slight ruffling of feathers, and a scratching of claws on a branch close by. Two large, unblinking eyes stared down at Kirrick, as the owl gently cleared his throat.

  “I am surprised at you,” said Tomar. “Sleeping out in open view in a perilous and unfamiliar place is not a wise thing to do, young fellow.” Tomar’s voice was low and sonorous, but not unfriendly.

  Kirrick plucked up his courage, and replied, “Thank you, then, for not taking advantage of my folly. But forgive me my bad manners, intruding upon your territory uninvited and unannounced. My name is Kirrick, and I have flown such a long way to see you.”

  “Indeed. Then tell me, Kirrick. Why have you come?”

  “I need to know what is happening to the world. I seem to have spent most of my adult life fleeing from relentless pursuit. But it wasn’t always like this. I can still remember happier times, although the memories become ever more difficult to recall. Why are the magpies doing this?”

  Tomar looked at the robin thoughtfully. Was this the bird? He had known that someone would come. That he would be given a younger ally in this time of dire need. Kirrick had demonstrated his courage in coming so far. And, if he were not resourceful, would he still be alive? But was he the one to meet the challenges that lay ahead? The bird to carry out Tomar’s plan, on which depended so much?

  The old owl knew just how daunting a prospect the robin would face, and how important it was to the future of Birddom that Kirrick should succeed. Yet Tomar felt doubt. How could he ask so much of someone so small? Judge not a bird’s heart by the span of his wings, he told himself. The robin would suffice. He had to. There was no choice, other than succumb to utter darkness, and that Tomar would never do. Kirrick felt the intensity of Tomar’s appraisal. It was as if those great eyes were looking into his very soul and finding him wanting. He anxiously remained silent while the owl made up his mind.

  At last, Tomar spoke. “You ask what is happening in the world? Why the magpies have killed your loved ones? We will talk of that, Kirrick, and I will try to answer your questions. No doubt what I will have to say will provoke a dozen more, at least. Well, I will try to satisfy your curiosity as best as I can, although I do not have all the answers, for I am only one owl, and the enemy is powerful.”

  Dawn saw an unappealing sight in the rafters of the derelict warehouse. Two carcasses hung pathetically from one of the beams. They had been stripped of their beautiful black and white plumage, and empty sockets remained, where once greed had glittered in their eyes. They had also been disembowelled. This was not usual treatment, but Traska had ordered it. He wanted to be sure about their stories and one certain way was to check the contents of their stomachs. The partially-digested rabbit confirmed his suspicions about the veracity of Skeet’s and Skulk’s tale.

  So the robin was still alive. This was a job that could not be left unfinished. Traska’s anger was terrible. He wreaked savage revenge on several more of his own coven, to appease his frustration and reinforce his leadership. Now, exhausted after his violent exertions, he rested and began to think. He knew that he would need help to find the robin. But he also knew that, in seeking support from other covens, he would intrinsically be admitting his own failure. He realised that it would not go unnoticed by his leader, Slyekin. Fear slithered into his stomach, and he defecated where he sat.