"Swordbird" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yi Fan Nancy)

1 THE RED AND THE BLUE

Just north of Stone-Run Forest, a war party of cardinals glided in and out of the shadows as the light of dawn slowly slipped into the sky. They traveled swiftly and low, each grimly wielding a sword in one claw. The leader, Flame-back, a sturdy cardinal distinguished by his larger and more powerful wings, reviewed their plan of attack.

“Circle the camp, wait for my signal, attack. Simple. Everybird understand?” Crested heads bobbed in answer.

The idea of violence frightened a young cardinal, who wrapped his claw tightly around his sword hilt. “Flame-back, are the blue jays awake? If they are, we’ll die! I don’t want to die!”

Flame-back looked at the blurred land in the distance and, flapping his strong wings a couple of times, tried to reassure his band.

“The blue jays don’t wake up so early, and nobird’s going to die. Nobird’s going to kill. Hear? We just scare and attack. No hurting.” Pausing, Flame-back added in a more comforting tone, “And we must find our eggs. We can’t let anybird, anybird at all, steal our unhatched offspring.” The speech calmed his band, especially the youngster, whose wail dwindled to a sniff and a sob.

The cardinals were deep in thought. They all knew that Flame-back was right. There were no sounds except their wings, whooshing and rustling against the wind as they flew-red figures against a blue sky. They soared over the Appleby Hills and across the Silver Creek. Dewdrops trembled on delicate blades of grass; dandelions and daisies peeped over their leaves to greet the sun. Near the fringe of the forest, beech trees stood still, and only the morning breeze occasionally disturbed them. Those trees were ancient ones, covered with moss and vines, leaning over to touch branches with one another. Small creeks gurgled gently as they rippled along, under mists that covered the ground. But the cardinals were in no mood to enjoy such things. They were on a mission. The war party made a sharp turn along a boulder and flew over the Line, the border between the territories of the blue jays and the cardinals.

As they crossed, a twinge of uneasiness ran along every cardinal’s spine. They were entering forbidden territory. But about a month before, it hadn’t been. A month before, the cardinals and blue jays had been good friends. Their hatchlings had played with one another; they had fished for shrimp and hunted for crickets together. But things were different now. With a brisk flap of his wings Flame-back led his cardinals through a twist in a gap in the tangled trees.

“Lively now, lads. You all know what we’re here for, so get ready. Fleet-tail, branch off with a third of our forces and go around to the left. You, take another third and go to the right. The rest, follow me. Swift and silent, good and low, friends.”

In a flash the cardinals separated into three groups and departed into the shadows. After flying through a ghostly fog, the cardinals saw their destination. Eyes glistened and heartbeats quickened. With a few hushed words, the cardinals swiftly got into positions surrounding the blue jay camp. No feathers rustled. They sat as silent and rigid as statues, waiting for Flame-back’s signal to attack.

The cardinals’ target was ten budding oak trees hidden behind a tall, thick wall of pines. The oaks grew in a small meadow of early spring flowers and clover sparkling with dew. The pine tree border was so dense that one might fly right past it and not see the oak trees inside. It was indeed cleverly hidden. Those oaks were the home of the Bluewingle tribe.

It was very quiet. Occasionally a swish of feathers and breathing broke the silence. A strange long-limbed tree protruded from the center of the grove. In the branches of this tree a hushed exchange was taking place.

An elderly blue jay, Glenagh, shifted on his perch, his thin gray shoulders hunched up. Peering through the oak leaves, he could see a dim ray of light climbing up the ancient mountains.

How long can we go on fighting our old friends? the old blue jay wondered.

He turned abruptly to face his companion, Skylion. “How are you going to keep this ‘war’ up?” Glenagh asked. “Ever since you became the leader of the Bluewingles, we’ve been fighting the cardinals constantly.” The old blue jay sighed. His feathers drooped. “You definitely do make your mind up faster than a falling acorn hits the ground.”

Skylion turned his gaze toward the elder, Glenagh. “They used to be our friends-our family, almost,” he said. The younger blue jay poured a cup of acorn tea for the elder with disbelief.

Shaking his graying head sadly, Glenagh accepted the tea with a worn claw. He gazed at his reflection in his cup with a dreary look. “Remember Fleet-tail? The cardinal who’s always so quiet? Just last week I saw him with a raiding party, hollering and yelling like the rest.”

“Well,” Skylion replied hoarsely, “we have to regard the cardinals as enemies. Stealing and robbing-that’s what they do now.”

Leaves rustled as the wind changed direction.

“True, the cardinals have robbed us bare to our feathers, but we have done our share as well.” Glenagh glanced again at the light outside. “The sack of pine seeds, the raisins, the bundles of roots, the apples…We’ve taken back more than what was stolen from us. We cannot say we aren’t thieves.”

Skylion hastily dismissed the idea. “Yes, but they stole our blueberries, our walnuts and honey! They stole the raspberries, the mushrooms, and more!” the blue jay leader argued. “We only took back food because we needed to survive. It’s just spring. There’s hardly any food you can gather outside. And what about our eggs? Our offspring. The next generation. Is there an explanation for that?”

“Peace is more important, Skylion.” Glenagh shook his head and took a sip of acorn tea. “You do have a point about our eggs, but the cardinals declared that we stole their eggs and they didn’t steal ours. I cannot believe that having been friends for so long, we have suddenly become enemies. Maybe they didn’t steal from us; maybe somebird else did. We should go and talk with them about this.”

“No, Glenagh. It would be a waste of time! We tried to talk before, but they only accused us of stealing from them first. You know that isn’t true!” Skylion snorted.

“But Skylion, don’t you-”

Skylion leaned forward. “Glenagh, can you stay calm and aloof when our eggs are snatched and stolen right from under our beaks? Of course not. We are fighting to get them back!”

Glenagh calmly looked at the leader, the steam of the tea brushing his face. He was silent for a few moments and then said, quite slowly, “Does fighting solve the problem?”

Skylion sighed deeply and shifted his glance to the wall, where there hung a painting of a white bird holding a sword. Though the painting was worn and the color faded, the picture still was as magnificent as ever. The bird seemed to smile at Skylion. Skylion almost imagined that the bird mouthed something to him.

Skylion whispered, “I wish Swordbird could come here to solve this.”

“Ah, Swordbird…” Glenagh toyed with the name as a smile slowly lit up his face. “The mystical white bird, the son of the Great Spirit…He is a myth, but I know he exists. I know in my bones. Do you remember the story in the Old Scripture about a tribe of birds attacked by a python? They took out their Leasorn gem and performed a ritual to summon Swordbird. Immediately he came in a halo of light, and with a single flap of his great wings the python vanished into thin air.” Glenagh paused. “Well,” he said, “to call for Swordbird, we need a Leasorn gem. It’s said to be a crystallized tear of the Great Spirit. But we don’t have one. We have no idea where to find one either. So, it’s what’s in you and me that counts.” Glenagh drained his cup, savoring the last drops.

Skylion opened his beak to reply, but he was interrupted by a frantic rustle of leaves. A young blue jay’s head poked through, and in a high, nervous voice the youngster gave the message: “The cardinals! We are being attacked! We are being attacked!”