Lupus Rex (4 page)

T
HE ANIMALS CONTINUED
on through the middle of the day until they reached a small clearing that held a good stand of clover. The clearing was encircled with a thick brush of blackberries, and the fruit was ripe. The wind was soft and steady, and the area held no scent of predator, so the group set to feeding on the greenery and the seed it held. The quail fed for a while, their heads down. It was evident that few deer or turkey had found the clearing, for it was bountiful, and the birds and furred ate as much as they desired, but not so much as to become heavy.

“All together now!” called Sulari, who had been conversing with Cotur Mono and Gomor. It was not so much a conversation as a scolding of the two upon Gomor. The rabbit had wandered off for a time in open hardwoods. Anywhere alone without cover was no place for a rabbit, the old hare had told him.

“Anur and Erdic! Where are you?” It was Nova. She was mother to the two and also Harlequin. Immediately the quail set to searching, flying about, and conferring with one another about the possible location of the two chicks. The mother searched, but the two were nowhere to be found. When the mother quail sat down, her head beneath her wing, and began to cry, Ensis stepped forth.

“I heard them talking earlier,” said Ensis, Cormo’s grandfather and mate to Incanta, though he was somewhat younger than her. “They said, ‘We should go back to the field. We can hide and the crows will never see us.’ Anur said he knew the perfect place to watch and not be seen. I didn’t think much of it when I heard them, just thought it to be the chatter of chicks, if you please, but sadly I was mistaken.”

Though Cotur Ada was the eldest, he was not the leader. Cotur Mono held that distinction, if it could be truly said there was a leader of the quail. He talked for a while with Sulari, and it was decided that an elder quail and two younger would go back to search out the chicks. Monroth was the first to volunteer.

“I will go,” said Monroth with a righteous tone. “I will bring them back well before sunset. They could not have gotten far.”

“You are eager, young one,” said Sulari. “Mayhap your eagerness will set you up in a coyote’s belly. You may go, but certainly not alone.”

“I will go.” It was Cotur Ada.

In response the group stared at him, all eyes wide and unblinking. Then Rompus spoke: “Wise One, you are strong and respected, but you’re not expected to venture on such a mission. You’re more needed here, as our guide.”

“Oh, you are smart in the way of the tongue, badger, and certainly I am flattered, but there stands a point: the chicks need to be taught a lesson, and I will be the one to teach it. Now, I will take one more volunteer.” To this the badger held his response. “As far as being your guide, you need only to follow the trail. Cotur Mono knows it as well as I.”

“I will go,” said Ysil, and none disagreed.

So it was decided that the three would go in search of the young ones. Harlequin wanted to go as well and insisted that it was her responsibility to watch after the chicks, feeling it her lack of attention that had allowed them to escape notice during their departure. Certainly, Monroth and Ysil both would have enjoyed her company, even if it was just to look upon her, but alas, her joining them was denied by Cotur Mono, who insisted no more of the group be disbanded.

Harlequin looked to the two younger sojourners. “Be careful, you two. I will miss you both.”

A lump came into Ysil’s throat and he stumbled for something to say in return. Before he could manage a word, Monroth quipped, “Don’t worry, little one. I will be fine, of course. And not to worry a bit about these other two. I will be taking care of them.”

Ysil nearly spat up the clover he had half digested.

So as the majority of animals set off for the Vulture Field, three quail returned down the woodland trail and back toward their home in search of the irresponsible small ones.

Within the darkness of the thick brush surrounding, there were four eyes watching the scene with intense interest. And when the three were a good distance from their separated, there was a slight rustling of limbs and leaf, and two sleek, furry shapes carefully and silently pursued the smaller group.

T
HE WIND ALWAYS
whistles to a quail’s ear. The sounds of the forest are always beneath the ever-present harmony of whistles. When the wind dies, the birdsong and animal sounds become no more apparent and no louder to the quail, as the wind does not stifle the forest’s noise but enhances it. Nature’s sounds are much like music to the quail, with the wind being the rhythm. In this way, quail need not speak of the sound of an approaching storm or the approach of a predator, or for that matter the arrival of a crow. These things are like a new voice or instrument being added to a song. And though quail are careful and cautious, they often offer their song to the music of nature.

As they set upon their way, the three joined in song. Perhaps to a man’s ear the song would have seemed an unharmonious chirping with the occasional shrill note added in randomly. But to the quail it was the song of their lives.

They sang:

When winter’s rain is hardened cold

By winds from north and high

We will not hunger days untold

Nor weep for bleeding sky

We’ll eat the finest golden grain

Among the sanctified

In that field beyond the darkened door

Past life’s fast burned light.

Around our mother’s welc’ming nest

We’ll gather safe and warm

Beneath her gentle wings we’ll rest

Forever free from harm

In that field beyond the darkened door

With no future and no past

In that field beyond the darkened door

We’ll know the truth at last.

And though the words of the song were sad, Ysil felt happy as he sang. He couldn’t remember a time when he did not know the words and melody. It was sung in small gatherings and when the covey held full council. It was the Quailsong, and all quail knew it. It was the song of travel and it was the song of home. It was sacred to them, and for another animal to sing it would hold no purpose. The other animals had their own songs.

But that day as the song died within the beaks there was only a moment of silence. Then there came a mocking murmur from the surrounding brush, and the melody that joined in with the wind was a whispered and vile voice. It was a voice Cotur Ada had heard before and one Monroth knew well (though he did not yet speak such), but Ysil did not. The melody was the same as the Quailsong, but the words were changed, and the harmony it brought was one broken and without amity. The birds, poised for flight, froze when they heard the voices:

Quailsies reach the darkened door

For foxes we will bite,

Quailsies they will fly no more

In foxes’ teeth so tight.

With a flurry the bushes burst and out jumped two foxes. In the same moment the quail flew. In a breath’s time, Ysil realized that the foxes had not intended to kill them, at least not yet, but only to scare them. However, at that moment Ysil felt the fear of death, and he forced its power beneath his wings. The quail perched in a shellbark hickory above, leaving the foxes below. The two on the ground burst into triumphant laughter at the quails’ terrified flight.

“Quailsies need not fear!” cried the larger of the two. “We only wanted to scare you! That we did, eh?”

To Ysil’s amazement Monroth responded to the two by name. “Drac and Puk, you did not scare me! I will stab a sharpened beak in your eyes should your teeth get close!”

Cotur Ada looked to Monroth. “We do not speak to furred red ones, chick; this you know. They are troublesome and cunning. We should fly far now, out of reach. Come, young ones.”

But Monroth reacted as if he had not heard the elder. “I will come down there and pierce your bellies with my talons! I have sharpened them, and they are as fearful as an eagle’s!”

The two below laughed heartily. “And you, birdie,
should
come down. We mean you no harm and have no intention to fight. We eat micies, yes, but no quail. Foxes eat fishes and bugs, but no quail. Quail are too pretty and foxes like to look at them. We only joke with you. Foxes want to be friends . . .”

“Do not listen to them, chicks,” said Cotur Ada. “You can never trust a fox. They will act as friends until you are close, then when you show them your back, the fox will turn and eat you. A fox will think of only one thing when its belly is empty.”

“Monroth, don’t talk to them! They can’t be trusted,” said Ysil.

“Oh, you both are so out of the times. These are trustworthy foxes. I spoke to Drac and Puk last moon. We scavenged late in the back field, and they were there. Tried to scare us, but didn’t try to hurt us. I talked to Drac for a long time. As a matter of fact, I like him.”

“He is a killer of animals, and were he the sweetest of all foxes, he could not turn against his nature. That is his order. You must follow your own.”

To Ysil, his grandfather’s words were those of wisdom, but Monroth only laughed and called down to the foxes, “I will come down now and show these old ones we’re respectable to each other! What say, boys?” And before the wise elder could protest, Monroth flew down and with a flurry settled on Drac’s back. “Let’s go for a ride, Drac! Like we did midsummer!” The two ran around the clearing like childhood playmates, laughing as they went.

“This is not safe,” called Cotur Ada. “Do not go near the sharp teeth!”

“Fly quick,” called Ysil. “He will bite you!”

Monroth paid them no heed and continued his ride. He hooted and whistled as the fox ran around the clearing. Then the fox took off out of the clearing and disappeared into the overgrowth, a thick tangle of mountain laurel and lobelia. For a few minutes there was no sign of them but for a continued rustling of the bushes. Ysil began to feel certain that the fox had turned on Monroth and eaten him. Puk, the older of the two, had stayed within the clearing and continued to laugh. He began again his mocking song. Ysil noticed that Cotur Ada did not even look at the fox but kept his eyes focused on the spot where Monroth and Drac had disappeared. After what seemed much too long, the fox came dancing back into the clearing and still perched on his back, like some miniature winged horseman, was the young adventuresome quail.

“Ha-ha,” cried Monroth. “Every quail needs a fox to ride! Maybe this is the way it is meant to be!”

“Monroth,” commanded Cotur Ada—and this time there was something passionately consuming about his tone, “get off that fox now and come back up here.”

The young quail looked up to the elder and seemed to hear him for the first time. “Oh, all right,” relented Monroth. “You’re no fun at all, old bird.” And with that he flew from the fox’s back and up into the tree. He landed on the branch beside Cotur Ada and looked at Ysil, who eyed him incredulously. “What?” he asked. “What’s the worry? I told you, I have known these foxes for a while. They are harmless.”

“As I said, chick, there is no safe relationship between quail and fox,” said Cotur Ada. “Pray you learn this easily before the harder way. When I was but a few moons older than you, Monroth, a fox killed my father.” This he said with hushed tones. Then the wise quail looked down to the foxes. “What do you want, tricksters? Why are you here?”

It was Puk that answered. “We only watch as so many animals go by and wonder:
What could all the animals be traveling together for, and in such haste?
And Drac says, ‘Must be the crows sent them moving.’ And I says to meself:
What could the crows be sending the animals away for?
And then I remembers! Me old father tell me when I’s a pup ’bout the way of the crows, how when the King dies, them big black birds make all the other animals leave so as they have the field all to theirselves. And then it hits me: The King is dead! The old King Crow is gone! And there’s much to do now, if you’re a fox. Much to do.”

“Surely, you have guessed correctly. The King is dead,” said Cotur Ada. “Now, go on your way and let me and these two continue our journey.”

“Oh, joy of a lifetime! The King is dead!” Puk ran in circles around the tree the quail were perched in. “Did you hear that, Drac? Most certainly I was right! The King is dead! The time of the fox is coming soon, for certain!”

Ysil looked to Cotur Ada. “What does he mean?” he asked.

“I am afraid he is hoping the day is near when the foxes may go to the field and pillage the mice nests,” answered Cotur Ada. “The King Crow kept them safe. But there will be the same wisdom and protection from the next King. He is forgetting that.”

And Drac joined Puk in his celebration, hopping and bouncing around the tree. Ysil, at Cotur Ada’s side, with Monroth also looking on, watched the dangerous animals below with a grotesque fascination.

It was not long before the foxes gave up their celebration and ran off to the deeper woods. When they did leave, the quail waited a good ten minutes before flying down to the trail.

Cotur Ada had chastened Monroth for his irresponsible behavior while in the hickory tree, and once they were on the ground it did not stop. And even though Monroth eventually conceded and told the old bird that his word was wise and admitted he had been foolish, Ysil believed that Monroth really did not mean it. He thought there was a message to be found in his cousin quail’s eye. It was a look of prideful knowledge, as if his mind were made up no matter what his tongue professed. Ysil knew that Monroth wanted to be friends with the foxes, the old bird be damned.

The trail widened and the quail, without thinking about it, moved to the edges of the brush, out of view of the clear sky. From the open sky death did often descend.

The old bird went on admonishing Monroth as they walked, then he set his eyes on both of the young quail with fiercesome warning. “But even the foxes aside,” said Cotur Ada, “the truly foolish thing would be to show yourselves to the crows while in their Reckoning. They will not play with you and use you to their needs, as the wily red ones do. You both need to be full aware of the danger of our mission. The crows will open your hot bodies and share your blood. Then they will leave your feathers to blow in the wind, your bones to dry in the sun. I pray we find the young ones before we reach the field, for if the crows have found them, they are already dead.”