Martin Hocke
Novel
A relentless system regulates the coexistence of Barn owls, Tawny owls and Little owls. In the land of the owls, violations of these ancient rules are punished with death. But a new era has begun: former enemies inevitably become allies in the fight against a common, old enemy.
With poetic wit and captivating powers of observation, Martin Hocke has woven this fantastic trilogy of novels, which revolves around owls and other nocturnal birds, into a parable that stands in the tradition of Watership Down and Wind in the Willows.
The Ancient Solitary Reign
978-3-95751-305-2
The young owl Hunter has received a sound basic education in history, geography, natural history, mankind and religion from his parents. His siblings also taught him what is important for survival in the forest. Full of anticipation, Hunter sets out to spend a four-year apprenticeship with one of the experienced specialist owls. But the way to his teacher is long and dangerous. When Hunter arrives, the wise old owl is dead. Now the young Hunter is completely on his own, far faster than he would like to be.
The Lost Domain
978-3-95751-306-9
Since time immemorial, the Tawny owls have formed the privileged aristocratic class among the nocturnal birds, far superior to the Barn owls and Little owls. Yoller, the son of the leader of a Tawny owl dynasty, also grew up with this belief. However, when the impetuous young Tawny owl is attacked by buzzards during a messenger mission to remote forest areas, his aristocratic origins do not help him one bit. Yoller is saved from certain death by the owl May Blossom at the last minute. Yoller and his lifesaving heroine fall in love, but conflicting life plans separate them again. Thus Yoller follows his intended purpose as a Tawny owl and returns to his homeland, where he finds himself confronted with the eternal struggle for supremacy in the forests. But the experience with May makes him doubt the old rules ...
Am an Owl
978-3-95751-308-3
The rule of law for Tawny owl forbids crossing the borders to no man's land. The young Tawny owl Olmo decides to resist this ancient rule, too much fascinated by the dark secrets of ancient times. Unafraid, he leaves his desolate homeland and embarks on a life-threatening journey. But his decision has serious consequences that will dramatically change the lives of the owl population.
‘A moving story that can hardly be thought more exemplary as a fable of the entanglement of people of our time. I hope this book is widely read.’ (Hans Bemmann, author of The Stone and the Flute)
‘Only imagination can capture the incomprehensible truths of human experience and make them comprehensible’, writes Martin Hocke about his decision to write fantasy novels. Since the publication of his first Owls novel, Martin Hocke, born in Cologne in 1938 and shortly thereafter settled in England, has been recognised as a leading author in the area of fantasy literature.Originally an actor with the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London, he realised that only by writing, not acting, could he find his true voice.
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Martin Hocke: The Ancient Solitary Reign. Novel
Copyright © 2019 by Nicole Hocke
Represented by AVA international GmbH, Munich
Cover design: Joachim Luetke (www.luetke.com) using themes from Angela Waye/shutterstock.com, begemot_30/shutterstock.com und MZPHOTO.CZ/shutterstock.com
Revised edition © 2019 by hockebooks gmbh
All rights reserved. The work (or parts of it) must not be (re-)published without the publisher’s consent.
ISBN: 978-3-95751-305-2
For Pauline
and with many thanks to Jenny Picton,
without whose help, etc.
Hunter sensed something different as soon as he entered the forbidden territory of the Lost Domain. As he flew fast across the lake and parkland halfway between midnight and dawn, there was an eerie, uncanny silence, as if all the creatures of the night had burrowed deep into whatever hiding they could find and were waiting with silent, bated breath for the apocalypse to come. Even the dark night air was tense with expectation and only the tall, ancient trees of the secret forest towards which Hunter sped seemed unaffected by the premonition of disaster. But when he left the parkland behind him, entered the forest and flew on at tree-top level among ancient sycamore, elm and oak towards Brook’s Barn owl territory beyond, he found the same eerie stillness and sense of foreboding among the creatures of the forest floor. It was as if a giant, evil presence overshadowed the whole of the Lost Domain and as if all the living creatures there were struck dumb and petrified by the catastrophe to come.
As he flew deeper into the forest, Hunter felt more and more afraid until eventually his wings began to numb with fear and the very act of flying became an effort. As he struggled on, he was seized with a growing temptation to hide somewhere in the woods, freeze into oblivion and let history take its course without him. But then he thought of Yoller, of little Alba, of his family and of the twelve million years of Barn owl tradition that lay behind him. ‘Know before you die that with us and among us still you will survive for all eternity and beyond the boundless limits of all wisdom and all time.’ The words he whispered to himself
warmed Hunter a little and he felt his strength and courage returning as he said them. Soon he was nearing the edge of the forest and not long afterwards the trees began to thin out and then gave way to the rolling fields and meadows of Barn owl country where he would normally have felt at home and safe from fear of the unknown.
But this time it was different. As he flew on over Brook’s territory towards the abandoned cowshed inhabited by the Barn owl and his mate, he experienced the same sense of desolation and impending doom that had held the whole of the Lost Domain in thrall. With the chill of fear still clutching at his heart, Hunter sped towards the Barn owl’s home, when suddenly he missed a wing beat and fluttered in full flight as he glimpsed, or thought he glimpsed, something quite dreadful in the meadow just below him.
Hunter slowed down, turned around and flew back slowly at a slightly greater height, not wanting or daring to look down again lest the sight he had seen was real and not merely a nightmare vision induced by a blend of fear and troubled fantasy. When he did finally look down, the shock of what he saw sent him shooting higher still, as if to escape from the unspeakable reality beneath him. He circled for a while, high in the night sky, unable to think or act as the panic in his brain threw all his sophisticated systems into a state of chaos.
Slowly, as he circled, the use of his shock-shattered faculties returned and he forced himself to drift slowly downwards and land beside the first of the two bodies he had seen. He recognised the corpse at once. The female owl lying in the grass beside him had once been Melody, Brook’s mate, and her body was unmarked save for the single rent of one enormous talon, which had split her open from the chest down to the parting of her legs. The blow had killed her instantly and not very long ago, for the body was not yet entirely cold.
Hunter looked down at the corpse and the one dreadful wound for quite some time. Then he gathered himself together and said the last words quietly, in clear but trembling tones, before turning his attention to the second butchered body. In the course of his short life, this was by far the worst sight he had ever seen, a sight so gruesome and horrific that he had to fight back a panic impulse to fly away and go on flying till he could believe he had merely dreamed the dismembered, mutilated body in some one-off nightmare that belonged to youth and would never come again.
It seemed at first as if bits of what had once been Brook were scattered everywhere. The head was severed from the body and lay three lengths’ distance from the mutilated trunk, to which one wing was still attached, while the other, ripped whole from the shoulder, lay with its feathers still intact on a little hillock nearer to Melody’s body than to the one from which it had been rent by one tremendous blow.
‘I must say the words,’ Hunter muttered to himself, almost deranged by the appalling carnage that lay spread before his young, unwilling eyes. ‘But to which part of the body do I say them?’ he whispered weakly to himself, while his bill chattered uncontrollably and his faculties were once more chilled and numbed by fear. ‘Which bit is the Brook that I once knew?’ he asked himself, in near-hysterics. ‘Is it the trunk and chest where his living heart once beat, or must I say the words to his severed head that once contained a brain?’
With a great effort of will, Hunter pulled himself together and muttered the last words incoherently over the remains of Brook’s torn and battered torso. He then breathed in as deeply as he could, took off and headed blindly for Ferocity and Ripper’s wood, not looking back and trying not to think at all until he had put at least five meadows’ distance between himself and that piteous, dismembered corpse. As the valley began to slope upwards and the first line of trees loomed into sight, Hunter slowed down a little and began to reason with himself again.
‘The monster must have come in this way, just as Yoller said he might,’ Hunter muttered to himself, beginning to search once more for some hope of survival, however temporary and however slight. ‘He must have come in through Brook’s territory and taken poor Melody by surprise. Probably Brook tried to defend her and was torn to pieces for his brave attempt. But where is the monster now? Was he in the Lost Domain as I came through, or has he already invaded Ripper’s wood, without a decoy and ahead of time? If I call to announce my presence, will a Tawny answer? Or will the Eagle owl emerge and will my life end now?’
Being a creature of habit, Hunter clung to what small comfort he could find by returning to the same branch of the same smooth-leaved elm where he had sat with Yoller after the two of them had flown across the Lost Domain. He listened for a little while, then summoned all his courage up, called and was overwhelmed with joy when Yoller answered from a short distance deeper in the wood. They met moments later in a small, natural clearing but by common, unspoken accord moved deeper among the dense trees before selecting a branch of a hidden sycamore on which to sit and talk.
‘You’ve seen what happened?’ Yoller asked, without preamble. ‘You realise that the monster is already here?’
‘I’ve seen what he did to Brook and Melody,’ Hunter said, shuddering as he remembered, ‘but I don’t know where he’s gone to since.’
‘To the Lost Domain,’ said Yoller, grimly. ‘If you’ve just flown across there now, then you’re a very lucky owl to be alive.’
‘And you?’ asked Hunter. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here till daybreak.’
‘Our contingent decided to stagger its departure,’ Yoller said. ‘We forecast that he might arrive tonight and elected to fly here one by one. If we’d flown together in formation, he’d certainly have spotted us and wiped the whole contingent out, especially if he’d hit us over the parkland or the lake where there’s no cover and no chance to bring him down among the trees.’
‘How many of you made it?’ asked Hunter, who could tell that some must be lost from the drawn and tense expression on the Tawny’s face.
‘Only my father and myself, so far,’ answered Yoller. ‘That leaves my brother and the two refugees to come.’
‘There’s still some hope then?’ Hunter asked. ‘If you left longish intervals between you, they may get here yet.’
‘I doubt it,’ answered Yoller. ‘I left first, you see, but the second refugee was next in line, followed by the first. Both those two left well before my father. As I told you, he’s already here but there’s still no sign of them.’
‘Perhaps they lost their way,’ asked Hunter. ‘They don’t know the territory, after all.’
‘We briefed them very well,’ replied Yoller, with a slow shake of his head. ‘There’s still some hope for my brother. He was last to leave and by now should be somewhere in the middle of the Lost Domain. But I’m afraid both refugees are dead.’
‘I hope not,’ said Hunter, with another little shudder. ‘With Brook gone, that would mean we’d lost three troops already, a long time before the battle has begun.’
‘Some early losses were inevitable,’ said Yoller, with a fatalistic shrug, ‘though I admit it’s a pity about our second refugee. He was a brave, strong bird and would have been most useful. But the first was still suffering from shock. It wouldn’t have made much difference whether he’d got here or not.’
‘It’s also a pity about Brook,’ said Hunter. ‘He obviously put up quite a fight before he died.’
‘That is a shame, I quite agree,’ said Yoller, ‘but my uncle and his two peasant neighbours should arrive all right. They’re coming from the west and don’t have to cross the Lost Domain.’
‘I must be going now,’ said Hunter, wondering at Yoller’s apparent detachment and continuing outer calm. ‘I’ll have to hurry if I’m to reach the council meeting and get back here again before the dawn.’
‘Yes, go now,’ Yoller said. ‘And if you bring back much-needed reinforcements, make sure they are as brave and disciplined as you are yourself. Remember, we need quality, skill and the capacity for self-sacrifice. Not hangers-on.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Hunter, preparing to take off. ‘And whatever happens, Yoller, you know that you can count on me.’
‘I know,’ replied the Tawny, gruffly. ‘Go now, my friend. At dawn, we meet again.’
Hunter nodded quickly and then left. Without pausing for rest or refreshment he flew across the entire expanse of Ripper’s wood, across the no man’s land and around the sleeping village with its familiar steeple until he came to his father’s territory and flew gratefully across field and meadow towards the barn where he had grown up in peace, surrounded by abundant love and shelter. In the face of all that had happened since, so suddenly and so soon, those fledgling seasons now seemed to have vanished like a dream that had died forever in the build-up to the coming war that would either see the end of all they knew or give the few survivors a chance to start a new life very different from the one they had known before.
As Hunter approached the barn, which stood firm and welcoming in the autumn moonlight, he was greeted by the unusual sight of his mother, Quaver and Dawn Raptor perched in a line of three along the roof. As he landed beside Dapple, he realised that the council meeting must still be under way inside the barn and that in all probability the assembly was still unaware that the invasion had begun.
‘They’ve been debating solidly since well before midnight,’ Quaver said, as soon as the greetings and the welcomes were completed. ‘Bardic was right. It looks as though the meeting will go on all through the night and maybe tomorrow, too.’
‘I bring important news,’ said Hunter. ‘Something they must know at once.’
‘You can’t interrupt a council meeting,’ Dapple said. ‘It’s against the constitution. You’ll have to wait until they take a break.’
‘I can’t wait,’ said Hunter, angrily. ‘The news I bear is a matter of life or death.’
‘Oh well, rules were made to be broken, I suppose,’ his mother said, after looking at him long and hard. ‘But remember, if it’s news they’ve heard already, they’re likely to get very cross.’
‘Well, since we’ll all be dead quite soon, it doesn’t really matter,’ retorted Hunter, who was very close to breaking under all the strain and stress.
‘Have you come to tell them the invasion has begun?’ asked Dawn Raptor, who sounded infuriatingly calm, detached and uncaring. ‘Because they know already, or at the very least, they’ve guessed.’
‘Then why in the Great God Bird’s name are they still talking and not acting?’ demanded Hunter, beginning to quiver all over with frustration. ‘Why do they go droning on while others are preparing for victory or death?’
‘There, there now, Hunter,’ said Dapple, in sad but soothing tones. ‘Just be patient. They must break soon, if only for refreshments. A few moments more won’t make any difference between life and death.’
‘I think I hear them coming,’ said Quaver, who was bending right over with his ear pressed against a big chink in the roof. ‘In any case, there’s a lot of movement going on down there.’
Sure enough, a few moments later the experts on the council began to emerge one by one from the barn below them, each flapping his long wings once or twice and then flying off in different directions in search of much-needed refreshments. Hunter had never seen so many owls together at one time and in spite of his frustration he was quite impressed. Steeple was the last to appear through the barn entrance below them and instead of following the others to stretch his wings in search of food, he flew upwards and sat beside them on the roof.
‘What’s happened, father?’ asked Quaver, eagerly. ‘Tell us! What has been decided?’
‘Wait, Quaver,’ said Steeple, glancing only briefly at his younger son before turning at once to Hunter. ‘Welcome back,’ he said. ‘You are a very brave young owl and you have accomplished your mission in the time allotted. Now, what news do you bring us?’
‘Dire news, father,’ said Hunter, with immense relief at the opportunity to unburden the dreadful tidings that he bore. ‘The invasion has begun, Brook and Melody are already dead and the Tawnies intend to do battle at dawn in Ripper’s wood, though they have already lost two or three of their warriors in the Lost Domain, where the monster now rules and prepares himself for further slaughter by gorging on rabbit, hare and full-grown pheasant.’
‘We guessed as much,’ said Steeple, nodding gravely. ‘The War Owl computed the various reports that we’ve received and forecast that the monster would come in through the Lost Domain.’
‘Yes, but are we going to fight?’ asked Quaver, eagerly. ‘For the Great God Bird’s sake, tell us what has been decided.’
‘Nothing, yet,’ said Steeple, looking solemnly at each of them in turn. ‘There will be a show of wings immediately after this recess.’
‘Go and eat something, Steeple,’ said Hunter’s mother, looking sad, though calm, and speaking very softly. ‘You haven’t had a bite all night and who knows when you’ll get another opportunity?’
‘I can wait,’ replied Steeple, patiently. ‘It’s only right that my family should know the situation as it stands.’
‘What are the motions that you vote on?’ asked Dawn Raptor, in a detached, almost disinterested manner that made her seem mature beyond her years. ‘To fight, or not to fight? Surely it can’t be as simple as all that?’
‘No, not quite,’ said Steeple, with the trace of an ironic smile that suddenly made him seem less old and tired. ‘Basically, there are three alternatives. The first is to evacuate, or go into hiding. The second is to join forces with the Tawnies and the third to mobilise an air force and offer resistance of our own.’
‘Which will the council vote for, do you think?’ Dawn Raptor asked, with her eyebrows quizzically raised.
‘It’s hard to say,’ answered Steeple, the feathers on his forehead rumpled by a frown. ‘Your future tutor, the new Owl Owl, is all for evacuation. He says neither the Tawnies nor ourselves have any hope of victory. In his opinion, the only help we can expect is from the giant Snowy in the north.’
‘Winger is against any form of cooperation with the Tawnies,’ said Dawn Raptor, with the smug complacency of one who knows. ‘He calls them our once and future enemies, or sometimes "the enemy within". He says it would be a good thing for us if they were to be exterminated, or at least to suffer very heavy losses.’
‘What arrant nonsense!’ exclaimed Hunter angrily. ‘I’ve never heard such a load of crow dung in my life! They are our neighbours, they share this territory with us and we’ve managed to live side by side in peaceful co-existence for the past three hundred springs. At this very moment they are preparing to fight and die for the territory we share. "The enemy within", what a heap of sparrow shit!’
‘That’s enough, Hunter,’ his father said, reproaching him mildly with raised eyebrows. ‘Each council member is entitled to his view and Winger is the incumbent Owl Owl now. The Man Owl agrees with him, but for a different reason. He says our only real hope against this monster is man and his firesticks. Because of the recent changes in their behaviour patterns, he believes that the men are having some kind of war among themselves. There are some signs that this maybe drawing to an end and when it’s over the Man Owl believes that they will turn their attention to the monster and destroy him to prevent the killing of their hens, their lambs, their pheasants and their human fledglings. He thinks that we should evacuate and wait till then.’
‘What about the War Owl?’ Quaver asked. ‘Surely his is the view that matters most at a time like this?’
‘He believes that we should organise our own defence and fight the monster now,’ said Steeple, speaking slowly and carefully, as if he were still summing up the evidence before casting his own vote when the council reassembled. ‘He does not believe that man and his firesticks can destroy the Eagle owl and considers the Tawny battle plan too sudden and too rash.’
‘How can he, when he doesn’t even know it?’ Hunter asked.
‘If we fought with the Tawnies, he’d be subordinate to their commander-in-chief,’ said Dawn Raptor, cynically. ‘He probably wants the sole glory of leading the Barn owl forces to their defeat and death.’
‘Is no one in favour of joining forces with the Tawnies?’ asked Hunter, who could hardly believe his ears, or credit that any owl could value his own opinion or career above the collective chances of survival.
‘Oh, yes,’ Steeple said. ‘Quite a strong faction agrees with fighting alongside our proud and ancient neighbours. The History Owl, the Language Owl and the Geography Owl are all in favour. And incidentally, so am I.’ Steeple paused and looked at each of them in turn. ‘It only grieves me that our constitution prevents me, as member for religion, from doing violence to another owl of any species whatsoever.’
‘Even the monster?’ asked Hunter in amazement.
‘I’m afraid so,’ answered Steeple, with a sad shake of his head. ‘Otherwise I’d be the first to volunteer.’
‘Does the council really know the Tawny plan?’ asked Hunter, desperate for action now as the members began to fly back for the final vote. ‘And do they know what the monster did to Melody and Brook? Have they seen any of his victims yet?’
‘I must go now,’ said Steeple, as a large, middle-aged Barn owl flew somewhat ponderously back into the barn below them. ‘Our leader has returned. In a few moments the votes will be cast and we shall know.’
‘What does the leader think?’ demanded Quaver, sounding as impatient as his brother. ‘And my tutor, Bardic? Which way will he vote?’
‘Wait, Quaver,’ said Steeple, who was obviously impatient to return to the assembly. ‘In a moment, you will know.’
‘Father, before you go,’ said Hunter, interrupting quickly as Steeple prepared to leave them, ‘I have to tell you that I’ve volunteered to fight with the Tawnies, at dawn in Ripper’s wood. I’ve also promised to take a contingent of Barn owl volunteers. There’s not much time.’
‘I know,’ said Steeple, nodding, though showing no emotion. ‘I’ll tell the council now, before the final vote.’ With that Steeple took off and flew back into the barn, pausing to let the last returning member of the council flap in through the aperture before him.
‘I bet Bardic votes in favour of fighting with the Tawnies and also for raising an army of our own,’ said Quaver, with a cynicism that almost matched his sister’s. ‘That way I shall be exposed to both battles and he’ll get to compose two separate epics for posterity.’
‘Honestly, Hunter, what chances do you think the Tawnies have?’ asked Dapple. ‘You know their plans and you know the mettle of their forces. Is there any chance at all, or will all those present be wiped out?’
Hunter paused before replying. He looked at his mother and saw in her eyes the dreadful anxiety that her outward composure could not hide. Dawn Raptor’s expression told him nothing. It was as enigmatic as ever, as if the whole business of the invasion and the impending battle had been blown up out of all proportion and did not really merit her attention. For a moment or two, he almost hated her for that. ‘I think they stand a chance,’ he said. ‘Not much of a one, I admit, not even with our help — and without it, even less.’
‘Go and eat now, both of you,’ his mother said. ‘Only the Great God Bird knows when you may get the chance again.’
‘No,’ said Hunter, gently, feeling surprisingly protective towards his mother. ‘I’ll wait for the vote and for the volunteers. Directly after, we must leave.’
At that moment there was a general stirring in the barn beneath them and almost immediately afterwards the council members began to reappear, one by one, and fly off purposefully in their different directions. Quite soon Steeple appeared beside them on the roof. He looked tired but satisfied and much happier than might have been expected. ‘Come on, Quaver,’ he said. ‘Bardic is waiting for you in the barn. And you, too, Hunter. I’ll introduce you to your volunteers.’
‘Volunteers!’ Hunter exclaimed. ‘Surely you don’t mean members of the council?’
‘Of course,’ said Steeple. ‘If we’re to fight in Ripper’s wood at dawn, it’s much too late to summon anybody else.’
‘How did the vote go, father?’ asked Quaver, bouncing up and down with excitement now that the moment of truth had finally arrived.
‘It was split, as I predicted,’ answered Steeple. ‘Three voted for hiding or evacuation, four voted in favour of raising our own forces and four decided that our only chance of survival lay in joining forces with the Tawnies. Each member has flown back to his own district to raise what troops he can, except for the volunteers, of course.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Hunter, whose heart was racing with excitement at the thought of leading such an important contingent to the battle zone.
‘History, Language and Geography,’ said Steeple. ‘The History Owl is still young, fit, strong and exceptionally brave. As fighters, I’m not so sure about the other two, but at least we shall be honourably represented. But come now, no more talking. Time presses and the battle calls.’
With these brave words Steeple took off, flew back into the barn and introduced his sons to the three most eminent volunteers. The Language Owl was a small, wiry, alert bird approaching middle age, the Geography Owl, though larger, appeared to be somewhat disjointed and rather dowdy, while the History Owl was lithe, bright-eyed and positively shining with good humour, health and strength.
‘Right, Hunter,’ he said, as soon as the brief introductions had been made. ‘You’re the one that knows the drill. Brief us as quickly as you can so that we have at least some idea what to expect when we reach the battle zone.’
So Hunter told them everything he knew, concluding with the role that had been chosen for the Barn owl troops in the forthcoming battle.
‘Well, that sounds most encouraging,’ said the History Owl. ‘It shows that the Tawnies have retained most of their ancient battle skills, though I must say I can’t see why we’ve been chosen for the close in-fighting among the trees. With their shorter, blunter wings, the Tawnies are much better equipped than we are for that kind of thing. It is their natural habitat, after all. We’d probably do better in the open sky, as one of the first assault waves, and we’d certainly make much swifter decoys over open country.’
‘I see that the History expert wants to get us killed at once,’ said the Language Owl, with a little twinkle in his eye. ‘For my part, I think the Tawny plan is admirable. They provide the decoys and the early suicide squadrons, so to speak, and leave us to be slaughtered with their weaker troops among the trees.’
‘The learned member for History is quite right,’ said the Geography Owl, lugubriously. ‘He and the admirable Hunter here would make faster, more efficient decoys than any blunt-winged Tawny. But fortunately for us, our neighbours clearly require the glory of dying first themselves.’
‘Speak to Yoller when we get there,’ said Hunter, turning eagerly to the History Owl. ‘I’m sure he’ll accept any suggestion that will help us win the battle and the war. It’s not glory that he’s after, but survival.’
‘Congratulations, Steeple,’ said the Language Owl, turning to Hunter’s father with a solemn expression that was tempered by the constant twinkle in his eyes. ‘I do declare that you’ve bred up this young fledgling to be a veritable fount of wisdom and of common sense, and the latter, you must agree is an exceedingly rare quality among owls of any kind.’
‘Enough of this idle chatter,’ replied Steeple. ‘Duty and honour call. We are no longer strong with the first flush of youth, but our courage still remains and some work of noble note may yet be done before the end. Let us away now to destiny and Ripper’s wood, while darkness still holds the dawn at bay and we may fly in the safety of sacred owl light.’
‘Are you coming, too, father?’ asked Hunter in surprise. ‘I thought you said you weren’t allowed to fight.’
‘Under martial law, a Religion Owl can defend himself if and when he is attacked,’ said Steeple, who was not at all his usual, solemn self and seemed unnaturally elated at the prospect of battle and of almost certain death. ‘And in any case,’ he added, ‘the Tawnies could use me as a decoy. That way I wouldn’t be fighting, would I? Just merely flying, you might say.’
‘If you stayed here, you wouldn’t be attacked at all, old boy,’ said Bardic, who in contrast to Steeple seemed very unhappy and subdued as they prepared to leave the safety of the barn and set out on their historic flight.
‘Of course I should be attacked eventually,’ said Steeple. ‘So should we all. And I prefer to go forth and meet my destiny, not skulk at home in hiding waiting for fate to overtake me.’
‘Bravely spoken, Steeple,’ said the History Owl. ‘Come on Bardic, do cheer up! Cometh the time, cometh the owl, isn’t that what they say? And this time the owls to come are us, and you in particular to record this epic for all future time. Lead on, young Hunter. We will follow in formation. And while we fly, think of the great victory that lies ahead. Some of us may die, but others will survive to enjoy the freedom of the skies. Think only of liberty and freedom while we fly, not death. And remember the words: "With us still you will survive for all eternity and beyond the boundless limits of all wisdom and all time."‘
They left the barn then and after a brief, highly charged goodbye to Dapple and Dawn Raptor, Hunter led them across field, copse, meadow and no man’s land towards Ferocity and Ripper’s wood. Flying at the head of the formation, with his brave brother, his father and the four council members close behind him, and with the History Owl’s strong words still ringing in his ears, Hunter nonetheless found it impossible to forget that many of them would not live to see another moonrise.
As they flew on towards the slow break of day, the two burning questions in his mind were whether any of them would survive at all, and if they did, would he himself be numbered among the living or the dead?
Soon after they had entered Ripper’s territory, a call from Yoller led them on and right across the woods to the small clearing about a meadow’s length from where the trees began to thin and give way to the no man’s land of copse and spinney that led down the valley to Brook’s Barn owl territory beyond.
Yoller met them as they flew in and guided them down into the branches of a mighty beech tree on the near side of the little clearing. ‘These are your quarters,’ he said, once they had settled in separate ranks on the sturdy centre branches of the beech. ‘You will be stationed here until the battle starts. The first assault squadron is already in position, half a meadow’s distance nearer to the edge of the wood, but still deep enough among the trees for the monster to be at a disadvantage when we bring him down. When the first wave of three rises to attack, you will proceed to the battle zone and await instructions. Is that clear?’
‘What about your brother?’ Hunter asked, before any of the others had a chance to speak. ‘Did he get here in the end?’
‘He did,’ said Yoller, looking very drawn and tense, although his outward manner was still calm. ‘He got here, but he brought bad news with him, I’m afraid. It seems the Eagle owl can fly much faster than we thought. My brother saw him catch and kill our second refugee over the parkland in the Lost Domain. He says the monster is so fast over open country that it was like watching a peregrine falcon overhaul a geriatric sparrow.’
‘Have you changed your plans accordingly?’ asked the History Owl, who was perched poised and erect on the branch above the one on which poor Bardic cowered, clutching at the tree trunk and looking quite unlike his florid, handsome self.
‘I am reviewing the situation with my father and my brother now,’ said Yoller, nodding towards an elm on the south side of the clearing. ‘But it is already clear that one decoy will be insufficient. Somehow, we shall have to work a relay system.’
‘Let us fly as decoys,’ said the History Owl, in clear, decisive tones. ‘We are faster over open country and less effective at fighting among the trees.’
‘You don’t know the territory,’ said Yoller doubtfully. ‘And in any case, the first decoy must start from the forest in the Lost Domain.’
‘Then let the first one be a Tawny, as you’d planned,’ said the History Owl. ‘We can take over when your decoy emerges from the forest and hits the Barn owl country between here and the Lost Domain.’
Just then there was a call from across the woods to the east of them which was answered at once from the elm tree on the other side of the clearing. ‘That’s my uncle arriving with his two retainers,’ said Yoller, looking visibly relieved. ‘We are at full strength now and battle can commence as soon as I have briefed the new arrivals. In the meantime, discuss this decoy business among yourselves. I will consult with my father and my brother and give you our decision.’
Yoller was about to take off when he seemed to remember something, turned again and spoke privately to Hunter. ‘Will you fly with me a little way?’ he asked, reaffecting the old, casual drawl that Hunter knew so well. ‘I want to have a word in private.’
‘Of course,’ said Hunter, and followed the young Tawny till he paused and hovered out of earshot in the centre of the clearing.
‘There’s someone here to see you,’ Yoller said, sounding distant and embarrassed. ‘A friend of yours, she says.’
‘A friend of mine? Where?’ asked Hunter in surprise.
‘Over there,’ answered Yoller, nodding at a partly hidden sycamore across the clearing. Hunter looked carefully at the tree in question and was amazed to see little Alba perched inconspicuously on one of the lower branches. He thought he saw her smile at him across the open space, but he was too astonished to respond and instead turned back to Yoller, who was hovering impatiently beside him.
‘What on earth is she doing here?’ he asked ungraciously. ‘I didn’t think you allowed little immigrants on Tawny land.’
‘We don’t normally, but this is wartime and the rules are different,’ Yoller said, dropping his familiar drawl and reverting to the clipped, matter-of-fact tones of the military leader. ‘She said she wanted to see you once more before the battle and I gave her permission to stay here, provided that she didn’t make a nuisance of herself or get in anybody’s way. She also volunteered to fight with us, but I said no, of course, unless we’re running out of troops right at the end, when we’ve got the monster down among the trees.’
‘I’ll have a word with her when we’ve settled the business of the decoys,’ said Hunter, attempting to sound as indifferent as he could, whereas in reality he was overjoyed and deeply moved by little Alba’s presence. When Yoller left him and flew across to the southern side of the clearing to join his own contingent, Hunter stared back at the sycamore, trying to pick out the expression in the little immigrant’s eyes. It seemed to him that she was smiling in that half-wistful, half-quizzical way that he had come to know so well, but he could not be sure because the distance was too great and in any case her face was partly veiled by the last of the sycamore’s fast-fading autumn leaves. He half-lifted one wing in a perfunctory salute, to which Alba at once replied with a much firmer and more energetic wave. Resisting the temptation to go to her at once, Hunter turned and flew back to join his fellow Barn owls in the beech tree, where he found them engaged in heated debate about the strategy and tactics of the forthcoming battle.
‘Tell us, Hunter,’ said the History Owl, before he had had time to settle on his branch. ‘You know the terrain between here and the Lost Domain. How many decoys do you think we’ll need from there across the Barn owl country in between?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hunter, ‘but from what Yoller tells us, I’d say two, at least.’
‘I think three,’ said Steeple, firmly. ‘And I wish to be the first. Since our constitution forbids me to attack another owl, I’d be quite useless later on, in the battle here among the trees.’
I know the territory, father,’ Hunter said. ‘It’s obvious that I must be the first.’
‘You can show me where to wait,’ said Steeple. ‘All I need to know is where the monster will emerge. From there any fool can fly a straight line due south-west to the point where number two takes over.’
‘With respect, Religion,’ said the History Owl, ‘it doesn’t matter much who goes first or last. What matters is how many of us go and above all how we organise the thing.’
‘According to my information and to my calculations,’ said the Geography Owl, calmly, slowly and with more authority than suggested by his rumpled, drab appearance, ‘the decoys must fly a total of fourteen meadows’ distance across Brook’s territory from the Lost Domain to the battle zone among the trees. A fit Barn owl can sprint, or fly flat-out, for five meadows’ distance at the most. Therefore three decoys must be used. Hunter first, because he knows the Lost Domain. There is no guarantee that the Tawny decoy will succeed in leading the monster right to the edge of the forest. He may be caught and killed first.
‘In that case, our first decoy will have to penetrate the forest, take his place and lure the monster into open country. The second decoy, History or Religion, it doesn’t matter which, must take over four meadows’ length inside Brook’s territory, near the abandoned cowshed where he lived. He flies full five meadows’ length and then the final decoy takes over and brings the monster to the battle zone.’
‘Very logical, Geography,’ said the History Owl approvingly.
‘I don’t agree,’ said Steeple. ‘I still think I should go first.’
‘It’s too late to argue now,’ said Hunter. ‘Look, Yoller’s on his way back across the clearing.’
‘History, Geography, Youth and Religion shall combine to lure this monster to his death,’ said the Language Owl, enthusiastically. ‘I like it. It has a fine irony and augurs well for the death of any tyrant.’
Yoller landed in the beech tree, glanced briefly round at the Barn owl contingent and then came straight to the point. ‘Our council of war has discussed the matter and we agree that you should act as decoys,’ he said, using the clipped tones he adopted as a military leader. ‘My brother Forster has already left for the Lost Domain to locate the monster and lure him through the secret forest. Your first decoy should leave now.’
‘I’m ready,’ said Hunter, boldly, though he felt his heart first skip a beat and then sink slowly downwards towards his belly.
‘We all three fly together,’ added History at once. ‘Hunter must show us exactly where to take up our positions.’
‘I’ll be back with you in a moment,’ Hunter said. ‘First I must say goodbye to a friend of mine.’
‘May the Great God Bird go with you all,’ said Yoller, casting a brief but solemn glance at Hunter, Steeple and the History Owl in turn. ‘You will find your comrades and my squadrons waiting to destroy the monster when you bring him in.’ With that he flew back to join his own troops, while Hunter took off and flew across the clearing to the spot where little Alba waited, half-hidden amongst the fading foliage of the sycamore.
‘Hi, Hunter!’ she said, as he alighted on the branch beside her. ‘I hope you’re not mad at me for coming?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ said Hunter, looking at her very hard and remembering that he might never, ever see her smiling face again. ‘I’m glad you came and I’m glad that Yoller let you stay.’
‘He was kind,’ said little Alba. ‘I’d never have expected that from a Tawny, especially on his own territory.’
‘It’s not his,’ said Hunter automatically. ‘And if we fail today, the whole question of territories won’t matter any more. Wood, forest, fields, meadow and even no man’s land will all belong to the monster.’
‘I guessed you’d be going as a decoy, Hunter,’ said Alba, her voice trembling as she looked at him with big, wide-open eyes. ‘For my sake, please take care. I’ll stay near to you when you get back and I promise that I’ll help you all I can.’
‘No, Alba,’ Hunter said, shaking his head and attempting to control the emotion that was welling up inside him. ‘Take my advice and leave this very moment. Fly east before the battle starts. Win or lose, the monster will have his talons full until the sun is high. Fly east and you might still survive.’
‘I’ll be waiting here,’ said Alba, leaning sideways on the branch and resting her head against his shoulder. ‘Fly hard, Hunter, fly fast and above all, fly back here to me. Even if we both die in the battle, promise that we’ll meet one more time before the end.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Hunter, putting his wing around her and hugging her close to him. ‘Believe you me, I’ll do my best, for both our sakes.’
He took his wing away from around her shoulders, rubbed his bill quickly and gently on the top of her head and then took off and flew to join his comrades, not once daring to look back.
The three decoys did not pause or speak until they had flown five meadows’ distance out of Ripper’s wood, when the History Owl peeled off from the formation and took up his position in a solitary elm. Hunter and Steeple then flew on swiftly to the deserted cowshed where Brook and Melody had once lived. Here Steeple waited, facing the dark and distant outline of the secret forest towards which Hunter flew on alone as dawn began to lighten the blackness of the autumn night. As the forest loomed towards him in the lifting darkness, an uncanny stillness filled those moments before daybreak with a tension that seemed to hold every creature, every tree and every blade of grass in its icy, all-pervading grip.
Hunter stopped at the edge of the forest and perched high in a tall and ancient oak tree just inside the first line of trees. From his vantage point in the upper branches of the lofty oak, Hunter could see far across the secret forest, which was immersed now in an even deeper, more sinister silence than when he had crossed the Lost Domain at dead of night. Soon, much sooner than he had expected, Hunter picked up a gigantic predator, something so huge and powerful that it blotted out all other living creatures from his scanner, which told him that the monster was only five meadows’ distance deeper in the wood and moving very fast in his direction. Soon his equipment picked up a Tawny on the same flight path as the monster, but travelling lower on a hell-bent zigzag through the upper branches of the trees. Icy fear gripped Hunter, but he stood his ground and strained his eyes into the lightening darkness above the sea of trees that stretched ahead of him. Then the monster came in sight and the sheer size of it took Hunter’s breath away. With fear threatening to choke him, Hunter fought hard to regain control of his breathing and forced himself to watch the invader’s fast but leisurely approach. To keep pace with Yoller’s brother, flying flat out beneath him, it seemed that the Eagle owl needed only half the power of those broad, enormous wings which moved with a majestic, slow and savage sort of grace.
‘Now!’ Hunter told himself, as the giant loomed to within half a meadow’s distance from his perch. ‘Attract his attention and fly now, or the monster will drop and kill poor Forster as soon as he emerges from the trees.’
With a supreme effort of will, Hunter rose above the branches of the oak, screaming and hissing his defiance at the fast approaching giant. Then he turned and fled, that one close glimpse of the monster’s massive head prompting him to accelerate more quickly than he had ever done before. The Eagle owl made a slight change in his direction and put on a surge of power in pursuit of his latest prey.
Then, suddenly, as Hunter strained wing and sinew to stay ahead of death, the monster paused in mid-flight, hovered for a moment above the confines of the forest and then crashed down among the trees with a mighty howl of triumph — a howl so bloodcurdling and so shatteringly loud that it must have carried full fourteen meadows’ distance to where Yoller and his troops were waiting among the trees in Ripper’s wood. The monster’s howl was followed by a short, sharp scream of pain, and as Hunter turned and glanced back fearfully in flight he saw the Eagle owl rise up from the edge of the forest with Forster’s body dangling like a lifeless toy from the talons of one giant claw. Though Forster had been bigger and stronger than the average Tawny, his broken body seemed smaller than a newborn fledgling’s as the monster trailed the crumpled carcass contemptuously beneath him.
In spite of this tragedy and even in the midst of all his panic and his fear, Hunter knew that the mission must continue, so he summoned all his strength and all the remnants of his failing courage and raised one weak yell of challenge and defiance to lead the monster on. The Eagle owl loosened its grip on the torn and crumpled body, allowing it to fall with fluttering, lifeless wings and crash down to its last resting place on the confines of the secret forest. Then the Eagle owl let out another dreadful howl and set off across the open country in hot pursuit of Hunter, closing the gap between them with each beat of those broad, gigantic wings. There was no cover anywhere on the ground ahead of Hunter and no shelter till he reached the deserted cowshed where his father was waiting to take over. At half a meadow’s distance from the isolated building, the monster had gained ground to within a dozen lengths of his quarry’s tail and at the quarter-meadow mark Hunter felt the monster rise above him, ready to drop and pluck him in full flight. Though panic-stricken, Hunter did not flag or falter but strained every breath and every muscle in the flight ahead.
Then, as the monster blotted out the sky above him, he saw his father rise from Brook’s abandoned cowshed and launch himself upwards like a rocket in the monster’s path. As Steeple soared into the attack, the monster seemed to hesitate, uncertain whether to drop on Hunter or to deal first with this unexpected, suicide assault. ‘Fly on, Hunter!’ were the first and last words Steeple shouted as he rose above his fledgling’s flight path and hurled himself with talons bared at the monster’s mighty head.