bow to you. You are chosen. But you will not wear the crown until your brother has poured his blood upon the field. It is an unwise thing he has done. It is not within the order. He must be captured and returned. And should the opportunity arise, it must be you to open his chest.”
Nascus stared at Ophrei in seeming shock and misunderstanding. Then he raised his head, his face set in resolve.
“So be it,” he said, and the wind abruptly ceased.
B ANKA, WHO WAS the first under Fragit’s command, struggled with one of the rebels. He pecked furiously at the rogue’s head and stabbed his beak into an eye, and with a great jerk ripped it free from the skull. The injured crow jumped away and fell squawking to the field, its life pouring from the hole in its head, death soon falling upon it.
Heeding the General’s command, Banka took to the air in pursuit of Fragit. As he neared the edge of the field, he saw two small brown shapes quivering within the brush. Quail. A new rage filled him. He bore down on the two small birds, the fury of battle still hot in his heart. I’ll stop and quickly deal with these before my commanded pursuit , he thought. The birds, frozen in horror, helplessly watched his descent, the crow’s awful eyes alight and his beak dripping red with blood.
C OTUR A DA SAW Banka take to the air and fly directly toward the hidden chicks. Then he heard the crow caw loudly and turn downward in a redirected flight path toward the young ones. He had seen them! If Ada were to try to save the chicks, he would take the chance of exposing the two he sheltered beneath his wings now. All could die. If he did nothing, the two little birds would surely find death that afternoon. He briefly wrestled with the decision, but before he could move either way, an old and haggard form staggered out of the brush and stood between the descending crow and the babes.
“Stop, Banka! You fool among fools.” It was Incanta, the elder. Her voice was shrill in righteous defiance. “You are the coward I have always known you to be, as was your father before! How dare you!”
But the angry crow did not slow down. He continued his dive. In seconds he would be upon the brave old bird and the frightened chicks just behind her.
Chapter Four
In the Vulture Field
S ULARI, THE OLD gray hare, was nervous. He had set out with a certain number of animals in his care. There were five missing quail of late, and now Gomor the rabbit had disappeared. This was no good. Certainly by now Cotur Ada had found the two lost chicks and was on the way to join them at Olffey Field. But the group had been there for two moves of the sun, and it would soon be dark again. This would not do at all. Sulari had hoped for a swift return of the lost animals and their rescuers.
Ekbeth, the mother of the vultures, sat on a low branch of the great dead sycamore. The huge tree had been a lifeless skeleton for a long time but, strangely, had not withered or rotted. In fact, when Sulari had made his first journey to the vultures’ field—a gesture of good faith, a trip he had made with his father when he was young—the tree had been dead then. The tree was pure white—all sycamores are white naturally, but this one was caked with the droppings of the fifty-some birds that called it home. All the vultures were the children of Ekbeth, or at least they called her their mother. Her nest was perched in the top of the tree.
The field itself, if it could really be called a field seeing as nothing grew within, was covered with bones. Bones of all types, from gnarled turkey bones to the bones of possums. From the bones of coyotes to the bones of the vultures themselves. Some of these animals had died here by their own choosing, but most of the bones were flown here after being picked clean. Sulari’s father had told him these were remembrances to the vultures—almost prayers. But to the hare, they seemed more like trophies.
Sulari
Nascus stared at Ophrei in seeming shock and misunderstanding. Then he raised his head, his face set in resolve.
“So be it,” he said, and the wind abruptly ceased.
B ANKA, WHO WAS the first under Fragit’s command, struggled with one of the rebels. He pecked furiously at the rogue’s head and stabbed his beak into an eye, and with a great jerk ripped it free from the skull. The injured crow jumped away and fell squawking to the field, its life pouring from the hole in its head, death soon falling upon it.
Heeding the General’s command, Banka took to the air in pursuit of Fragit. As he neared the edge of the field, he saw two small brown shapes quivering within the brush. Quail. A new rage filled him. He bore down on the two small birds, the fury of battle still hot in his heart. I’ll stop and quickly deal with these before my commanded pursuit , he thought. The birds, frozen in horror, helplessly watched his descent, the crow’s awful eyes alight and his beak dripping red with blood.
C OTUR A DA SAW Banka take to the air and fly directly toward the hidden chicks. Then he heard the crow caw loudly and turn downward in a redirected flight path toward the young ones. He had seen them! If Ada were to try to save the chicks, he would take the chance of exposing the two he sheltered beneath his wings now. All could die. If he did nothing, the two little birds would surely find death that afternoon. He briefly wrestled with the decision, but before he could move either way, an old and haggard form staggered out of the brush and stood between the descending crow and the babes.
“Stop, Banka! You fool among fools.” It was Incanta, the elder. Her voice was shrill in righteous defiance. “You are the coward I have always known you to be, as was your father before! How dare you!”
But the angry crow did not slow down. He continued his dive. In seconds he would be upon the brave old bird and the frightened chicks just behind her.
Chapter Four
In the Vulture Field
S ULARI, THE OLD gray hare, was nervous. He had set out with a certain number of animals in his care. There were five missing quail of late, and now Gomor the rabbit had disappeared. This was no good. Certainly by now Cotur Ada had found the two lost chicks and was on the way to join them at Olffey Field. But the group had been there for two moves of the sun, and it would soon be dark again. This would not do at all. Sulari had hoped for a swift return of the lost animals and their rescuers.
Ekbeth, the mother of the vultures, sat on a low branch of the great dead sycamore. The huge tree had been a lifeless skeleton for a long time but, strangely, had not withered or rotted. In fact, when Sulari had made his first journey to the vultures’ field—a gesture of good faith, a trip he had made with his father when he was young—the tree had been dead then. The tree was pure white—all sycamores are white naturally, but this one was caked with the droppings of the fifty-some birds that called it home. All the vultures were the children of Ekbeth, or at least they called her their mother. Her nest was perched in the top of the tree.
The field itself, if it could really be called a field seeing as nothing grew within, was covered with bones. Bones of all types, from gnarled turkey bones to the bones of possums. From the bones of coyotes to the bones of the vultures themselves. Some of these animals had died here by their own choosing, but most of the bones were flown here after being picked clean. Sulari’s father had told him these were remembrances to the vultures—almost prayers. But to the hare, they seemed more like trophies.
Sulari
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