Chapter Twenty-Four: Spring

 

Spring came early to the forest that year. By mid-March, the trees had shaken off their snowy coats and new green leaves had begun to sprout everywhere. Yellow daffodils turned their faces toward the fresh spring sun as they peeked out from the corners of the empty Council Chamber, and even the briar patch had dressed itself in delicate pink flowers to celebrate the end of winter.

The Rookery had sprouted too. Buds of all shapes and sizes had emerged from the woven branches, both inside and out, and the Rookery had begun to look like a garden. The damaged roof had been left unrepaired as a monument to the Second Great Battle, as it was now called, and tiny blue flowers were blooming in the rubble.

 The greatest change to the Rookery, however, was inside its branchy walls. The events of the winter had left their mark on the rooks. No more did they squabble and bicker and complain. No more were they simply a collection of individual rooks sharing a roof. The rooks had become a flock in purpose, in thought, and in brotherhood, and Titus had undergone the greatest change of all. The night of the Second Great Battle had stirred in him the courage and compassion that he had always possessed, but had never allowed to develop. That night, he reclaimed his position as the leader of the rooks, inaugurating the Rookery’s second Golden Age, and the flock had fallen easily and confidently under his wise and protective wing.

It was early morning when Arthur and Edward the fox set out for the village. A few rooks were stirring in their roosts, and Arthur paused to take a last, satisfied look at the Rookery. Edward stood in the shadows behind him, a piano-shaped parcel held gently between his teeth, and waited patiently for Arthur to whisper his goodbyes. Most of the forest creatures had left the Rookery weeks before—preferring their old dens and burrows now that the danger had passed—but here and there turtles and field mice, a weasel and a beaver or two were nestled cozily in the warm hay on the Rookery floor. Arthur turned to go, but before he had taken a step, a gentle flapping told him that Titus had landed sleepily behind him.

“Are you off, old friend?” he yawned, stretching his wings.

“I’m off,” Arthur smiled, patting Titus gently on the shoulder. “Gone but not forgotten, I hope.”

“Gone, but coming back soon is more like it, I trust,” Titus said as he cocked his head to the right.

“Yes, yes, we shall see,” Arthur laughed quietly. “I am certain I will see you again. And if not here, you know where to find me, I suspect.”

“Give my love to Sibyl,” Titus replied with a wink.

Arthur bowed low to his friend, and his whiskers twitched in turn. And without another word, he turned and walked through the carved passageway, over the stone bridge, and away from the Rookery.

Lily was standing atop the village boundary wall when Arthur and Edward came into view, gray and red against the new greenness of the moor. They ran at full speed simply for the joy of running and in no time Edward had leapt and Arthur had scampered to the top of the wall. Edward dropped the parcel carefully on the wall, and then bounded away for the safety of the garden, but Arthur remained.

“May I ask you to sit for a moment, my dear? I have something to give you,” Arthur said rather formally.

Lily sat without speaking, but her eyes never left Arthur’s. He perched himself on her knee, with his back to the moor. “It’s my piano,” he said.

“I know,” Lily returned, a quiver in her voice.

“Dear one,” Arthur said, “this is no time for sorrow. Be glad! Our story is not yet done! Think of the adventures that await us!”

“Yes,” Lily said. “It’s just that I shall miss you. And Father. September is such a long way away.”

“I know it seems that way, but there is much to be done, and you will be bound for India before you know it,” he said with a twitch of his whiskers.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. But isn’t a girl allowed to miss her best friend when he goes so far away?”

“She is allowed,” he said, climbing up her arm to her shoulder, and turning to face the forest. “Isn’t the forest lovely in spring?”

They both sighed, for a moment enjoying the silence.

“Lily!” her mother called from the front doorway, waddling through the garden like pregnant women do. “Come say goodbye!”

“Coming, Mother!” she shouted, and with Arthur still on her shoulder and the piano in her left hand Lily climbed down from the wall and walked toward home.

“Oh, hello, Arthur!” called Lily’s mother as Lily closed the kissing gate behind her.

“Hello, Mrs. Watson,” Arthur replied with a bow.

“Are we all ready?” Lily’s father asked, scanning the crowd of people that had gathered in the garden to see the travelers off.

Tom and Newton were there, both of them at least a foot taller and more manly than they had been when Father came home in the autumn. Nan stood in the doorway comforting the housekeeper, who was blubbering into her apron. Strathclyde was busy loading the last of the trunks onto the carriage that would take Arthur and Captain Watson to the port, and Mrs. Watson stood dutifully beside the kissing gate, with her handkerchief in one hand, and Lily’s hand in the other.

The Captain passed from one well wisher to the next with the efficiency of a seasoned soldier, shaking hands, clapping backs, and promising to come home soon. He finally came to the kissing gate, where he grasped his wife passionately and whispered gently into her ear. She stared at him one last time, and with a gentle squeeze of Lily’s hand, retired into the house for a moment of solitude. Lily stood alone now with Arthur and her father, the village lane stretching southward before them.

“Be good for your mother, my love,” her father said as he wrapped her in an embrace. “And no going into the forest alone.”

“Yes, Father. I am trying to be wiser now. I will make sure Edward is with me. I think we will be good friends after all,” she said bravely, missing Arthur already.

“And as for you, sir,” the Captain addressed Arthur, “it is time we were going. Your ship to Paris won’t wait for you, I’m afraid.”

“Quite right,” Arthur said, and he nuzzled Lily’s cheek for just a moment before he scurried from her shoulder to her father’s. “Look after Titus for me, Lily.”

“I will,” she replied, trying very hard not to cry. “I hope you find your family.”

“I hope so too,” he replied with a smile.

Lily’s father hugged her one last time, and both man and mouse climbed into the carriage and rattled away. Lily ran into the lane and watched as the carriage became smaller and smaller in the distance. Her heart was sad, but hopeful, for, like Arthur had said, this was not the end.

“September,” she said quietly.

“September,” she heard from somewhere near her knee. Edward sat beside her in the lane, his crooked tail curled around her leg, and Lily knew that her adventures had only just begun.

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Cave

Arthur scrambled once more onto Titus’ back, and before he had seated himself firmly enough, Titus lowered his head and dropped silently along the face of the cliff.  His path followed a sharp curved arc toward the swirling and churning waves of the darkened sea and the sharp gray rocks below. At the last moment, the rook's wings stretched out wide and gave a strong flap, lifting them from the dive and depositing them firmly, but not too firmly, upon the rocky ledge just outside the hawks’ cave.

Arthur slipped silently from Titus’ back and the two exchanged glances as they stood facing the long corridor that sloped toward the hawks’ lair. They had just started toward the light slowly, quietly, when they heard a muffled crash behind them. Jack rolled into Arthur knocking him down, and Sigmund barely missed hopping right on top of them both as he descended from his wild dismount. By the time Arthur had dusted himself off and helped right Jack, the dull thumps had become a chorus, as animals and rooks landed as stealthily as they could in twos and threes on the lip of the cave. A squeak or two from the more relieved animals was the only sound that could have given away their approach, and they had neither seen nor heard any sign of the hawks.

The cave was not a hidden place. The hawks, after all, had no need to hide. There was scarcely an animal in the forest who was not familiar with this cliff and this cave, and there was scarcely an animal who didn’t know better than to stay far away. Those who ventured too close invariably became a hawk’s lunch.

But with Arthur and Titus in the lead, the animals of the Rookery had found a new courage, and that courage drove them to the place they had been warned to avoid for generations—all for the love of a human named Lily.

The small army of animals could not veil their approach to the heart of the cave for long, nor did they try. “Come, brothers,” Titus called. “We know that danger is ahead, but we mustn’t shrink back. Together we have done great things. Together we will do even greater things. Onward, for justice! For love! For Lily!”

“For Lily!” they cried together, and began their march down the long, sloping corridor.

The animals became more and more silent as they descended toward the light, which grew brighter as they drew nearer to the source. Though they passed numerous other corridors branching off in every direction (paths which did not lead, as this one surely did, into the heart of danger), the rescuers would not allow their growing fear to alter their course.

The going remained steady and the animals remained calm, until at last they heard a distant voice echoing from the walls of the cave: a faint, wordless cry of fear. It was Lily’s voice—unmistakable, even as it echoed off the walls and disappeared into the rumble of the waves crashing against the cliffs outside.

Lily’s cry pierced both Arthur’s and Titus’ hearts, and their slow, steady approach became a desperate sprint. The other animals trailed behind them as the two ran on ahead, descending ever deeper into the rocky cliffs. At last the corridor opened up and they nearly tumbled over one another as it gave way to a tremendous cavern. Even in his fear for Lily, Arthur gasped as he took in the entire room in an instant.

The cavern itself was oblong and angular, its walls meeting hundreds of feet above them in a single point, and etched into the once smooth walls were magnificent carvings depicting the heroic deeds of countless generations of hawks. Arthur was astonished by the hawks’ skill and attention to detail, but Lily’s cry of delight drove everything else from his mind.

At the farthest end of the cavern, Lily stood with her back against the stone wall. She was guarded by several hawks standing sternly in a semi-circle around her, preventing her escape. “Arthur! Titus!” she shouted from across the cave. “I knew you’d come! I just knew it!”

“Ah yes, we all knew you’d come,” a cold, threatening voice agreed from the firelit center of the room. Alistair stood firmly at the center of the cavern, his head held low, swaying menacingly.

“This is all very touching,” Alistair jeered. “It is unfortunate, then, that this little fairy tale won’t have a happy ending.”

Arthur and Titus stepped boldly into the light.

"It has been some time," he drawled on, "since any animal has dared set foot or claw into this, the most ancient place in the forest. It is a pity, really, for it may have served you creatures well to see the place where our great society of animals began. How little you understand your own story, you filthy creatures! Imagine, believing that life in the forest began with the Rookery! Bah! How very childish! It is fitting, then, that such a conflict as this—such a dramatic finale—should take place within these walls."

As Alistair spoke, the army of animals had crept in behind Arthur and Titus, so that by the time he had finished his speech, the whole of the Rookery stood before him. The hawk stopped speaking and looked intently at the creatures; they shuddered as his murderous eyes rested on them one by one. At last his gaze fell on Arthur who looked around cautiously before stepping forward, motioning for the others to stay behind. The mouse walked boldly toward Alistair, meeting the hawk in the center of the room, standing only inches from the enemy who towered over him by a great many lengths.

“The hawks are a great race indeed, Alistair,” Arthur said with the utmost sincerity. "We can all see your father’s deeds etched on your walls, as well as those of his father before him. What a grand history you hawks have!”

“It is grand indeed,” Alistair agreed, his pride swelling as he saw the wonder in Arthur’s eyes.

“I wonder, however...” and Arthur paused with a finger over his mousey lips, “Where are you? I don’t see you etched into the walls. Where are your great deeds? Your heroic exploits?”

"Ah, yes. Now the mouse understands..." conceded the hawk with a terrible sneer.

"Oh, Alistair, the mouse has understood for a very long time,” Arthur responded,. “I understand that you care nothing for honor or courage. Great deeds and heroism are nothing to you. You only care that your image ends up on these walls, and you have intended all along to use the destruction of the Rookery and the murder of the animals who live there as a means of making that happen! You have become so lost in the stories of the hawks’ greatness, that you don’t even care whether or not those stories are true. ”

"Is it wrong to seek greatness?" Alistair cried out, his booming voice resounding mightily throughout the chamber, causing the animals to flinch under the weight of his words.

"It is wrong," Arthur stated, as he stretched to his full height, "to seek greatness by doing harm, and under the pretense of a lie. That is not greatness at all! In all of these magnificent carvings, Alistair, I see not one other animal. I see only hawks. Not one of the forest’s other creatures appears in your history.”

“And what of it?" returned the hawk. "What have we lost by excluding the lesser animals, except weakness? Look at your little community—this pathetic band of four-legged vermin and weak-kneed birds—singing your little songs and puttering about as if the world were nothing but sunshine and happiness, refusing to admit to your pathetic weakness.”

“Weakness?" Arthur nearly shouted. "How, then, did we drive you from the Rookery this afternoon? How were you so soundly turned away if we are so terribly weak and you are so terribly strong? No, hawk, it is not we who have become weak. It is you!”

Suddenly a deafening screech echoed through the cavern, bouncing again and again from the walls. From a dimly lit corner of the cave, the elder hawk, who had been watching the proceedings carefully, reared up ferociously on his spindly legs and bore down on Arthur as his screech died away in the corridor.

"You will be silent, mouse!" he said. "What right have you to speak such words in the home of the hawks?"

"I will not be silent, you dreadful creature! Your empty threats and screechings mean nothing to me! You are the father of a dying flock! You hawks know nothing of goodness or rightness, and for that you will be put to shame! I offer you one chance for repentance: release Lily and we will go in peace. It is for you to decide."

"You will be silent or you will be forced into eternal silence!" the elder hawk hissed.

"And you will let the girl go! Or you will meet the same fate!" Arthur bellowed. The lesser hawks who surrounded Lily at the far end of the cavern cackled heartily at the mouse’s attempt to secure her release. But Alistair and the elder hawk recognized a ferocity in Arthur’s eyes that was not to be taken lightly.

Moments passed in silence, but Arthur stood his ground. A flutter to his right indicated the arrival of Titus who at that moment came to stand faithfully beside his friend. And a flutter to his left, accompanied by a gentle, “Hoot,” told Arthur that Jack had landed on his other side.

A dreadful moment of silence followed. Arthur, Titus, and Jack stared defiantly up at Alistair, who stared back, unflinching. A deadly, hungry sneer crept across his face, and Arthur knew the moment for action had come.

He dove at once to all fours, darting just beneath the powerful hawk, who could not react in time to stop him.

Everything else seemed to happen at once. Arthur’s sudden movement surprised the hawks and sent them into a great confusion. Alistair opened his beak and stretched his wings in hopes of catching the scurrying mouse, but as he did so he cried out in pain. Titus had taken to the air and plucked a bundle of feathers from atop the hawk's head before soaring to the uppermost parts of the cavern. Though he knew that he ought to go after the mouse, Alistair obeyed his instincts and pursued the rook instead.

Jack was certainly not to be outdone and immediately sped toward the hawks guarding Lily, hooting and pecking and flustering them so badly that for a moment they began fighting each other rather than him. The hawks found themselves at once out of control of the situation, as a hundred other animals—birds and bats and voles and mice and insects—swarmed in a great wave toward the confused predators. They scurried and flew and tumbled about the place as if they had just mounted a spectacular Tea Time. Then, just as the hawks reached the height of confusion, the animals began to bite, and poke, and nip the hawks so badly that they retreated into a corner just to get away from the tiny, menacing horde.

In the midst of all the chaos Arthur found it surprisingly easy to make his way unharmed to Lily, who grabbed him in both arms and squeezed him harder than she actually meant to.

"I just knew you'd come, Arthur! And look at everyone!" she smiled as she looked around. “Oh! I’m sorry!”

“That’s all right, dear,” Arthur coughed as she released her grip and his face turned back to its normal color. "But if our joy is to last, we must be off at once," he warned.

"Yes, of course!" she cried, quickly making for the nearest passageway from the chamber.

Arthur leapt at once in front of her, blocking her escape. "No, Lily. We don’t know where that tunnel leads. It is one thing to act bravely; it is another thing altogether to act with wisdom. The way to freedom leads through the battle tonight, not around it, I am afraid. Are you ready?”

“I am ready as long as you’re leading me, Arthur!” she smiled.

“Then come quickly, Lily!" he called as he led her with all the speed he could manage toward the true exit. He dodged in and out among the battling animals, as Lily ducked along behind, more than once swatting away the wings or claws of hawks who ventured too close. They passed through the danger in seconds and were at last freely in the cave that led toward the cliffs. They ran without slowing or stopping until they could see the faint outline of the cave’s mouth, and further still until they stood at last on the very lip of the opening, looking down the face of the cliff toward the sea.

Arthur gripped the edge of the cliff and looked down. "There is a path further down, near the sea," he said, his nose sticking over the edge, "but it will not be easy to reach. We must be careful, but we must be quick. We are not yet free from danger. Follow me."

Arthur turned and began to lower himself over the side of the ledge, grasping tiny cavities in the rock to steady himself. He had not yet disappeared from sight when his eyes suddenly grew wide with fear.  Lily turned to look, but had no time to react. Alistair was flying toward them at breakneck speed from deep within the cave—followed just as quickly by Titus, whose black eyes blazed with a fiery ferocity. Alistair dove just as he reached the lip of the cave and struck Arthur with his head, forcing him from the cliff and sending him tumbling helplessly toward the sea. Lily screamed and lurched toward the side. She watched, horrified, as Arthur slid roughly down the face of the cliff, then breathed deeply in relief as she saw him grab hold of an outcropping just before he fell all the way to the sea and to certain death. He did what he could to pull himself up, to climb back to where Lily stood exposed and vulnerable, but before he could move even an inch, the hawk had turned in his course and flew back to the cave’s mouth, where he landed heavily in front of Lily.

Lily found herself looking once more into those horrible eyes, but this time she was not alone, for Titus landed with a determined thud in front of her, bravely putting himself between her and danger. Though he seemed terribly small and weak compared to Alistair, his courage made him look much larger and more powerful than he actually was. Still, all the courage in the world could not stop the hawk’s hatred. He crept closer, his head bobbing slowly from side to side. He batted Titus away with an enormous claw, and as Titus tumbled into the corridor, Alistair unleashed a bone-chilling screech and sprang toward Lily.

Lily screamed wildly and pressed herself into the cliff face. She threw her arms in front of her face instinctively, but before she could close her eyes in defense, she saw a bright red blur streaking through the air before her. The fox’s bared teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he lunged toward Alistair. He growled wildly as his teeth found the evil bird’s wing, clenching harder and harder, until the sickening crack of breaking bones echoed off the cliffs.

"Go!" snarled the fox as he released the bird and dropped to the ground. His ears set back on his head, and his crooked tail stood tall in the air. "Go back into your cave and do not come out until you understand why you have been bitten!"

Alistair backed away from the mouth of the cave cradling his broken wing. He glared with pure hatred at the fox until a change came over his face—he glanced over the fox’s shoulder as a shadow fell across the corridor and terror shot through his eyes. With a yelp of mingled pain and fear, he turned and ran with all the speed he could muster back toward the cavern.

Lily’s heart pounded violently as if to make up for all the beats it had missed during the battle. The rescue had been almost miraculous, and yet she could not understand where the fox had come from or why Alistair had turned and fled so suddenly. But those questions were answered immediately by the warmth and familiarity of a strong hand upon her shoulder. She turned eagerly and drank in her beloved father’s face—the lines beneath his eyes, his perfect beard, and the special smile he reserved only for her.

“Father!” she cried, but she could say no more, because she was swept up into a strong, warm hug—the kind of hug she had almost forgotten—and she could do nothing but laugh, safe in the arms of her great protector.

The joyful reunion lasted only a moment, though. Lily wrenched herself from her father's embrace. "Wait!" she cried. "What about Arthur?"

She ran to the edge of the cliff and leaned far over, until she could see the waves crashing far below. Her father nimbly grabbed hold of her wrist—he did not pull her back, but protected her from falling as she searched for her friend.

Lily scoured the cliff face with her eyes, fear rising in her heart, when suddenly she heard a faint, “Over here!” to her right. Arthur was there, indeed, quite happily dangling just a few feet below the ledge.

“Arthur! Oh! I thought I had lost you!” she cried.

"Thank you for your concern, Lily," he called out, apparently untroubled by his precarious state, "but I'm quite fine. I am rather small, after all, and it takes very little effort to hang here. Please, I'll be up in just one moment. Don’t go to any trouble on my account.” And he resumed his ascent to the mouth of the cave as joyfully as if he had been on a mountain climbing holiday.

Lily returned to her father, to a reunion so joyous it could scarcely be diminished even by the present circumstances.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled into his familiar beard. He held her tightly, and she couldn’t help but think that her dreams of their reunion paled in comparison to the joy of the actual moment.

The other animals presently began to appear from deep within the cave, tired and perhaps a bit injured, but otherwise no worse for the wear. The hawks had been beaten back, and upon hearing from Alistair that a hunter with a pistol stood at the cave’s entrance, they had surrendered unconditionally to Jack and begged the animals to leave.

“They won’t be carving this day’s achievements on those moldy old walls after all will they, mate?!” Sigmund shouted out to Jack, who hooted happily in agreement.

Lily looked away from her father for a moment, at the crowd of courageous creatures surrounding them. “It’s so wonderful that you get to be a part of my story, Father! I won’t have to write this part down at all!” she clapped gleefully. “There are so many animals for you to meet!”

“All in good time, Lily,” said her father warmly.

“At least you ought to meet Arthur, the bravest mouse,” she said, “and Titus, the rook who brought me into the forest in the first place—though you mustn’t be cross with him for encouraging me to disobey, Father. And you must meet the vole and the otters and the bats and the jackrabbit…” Lily was getting carried away, looking around at all of her new friends, until her eyes rested at last on the fox who had drifted to the side, cautiously out of the way.

“And the fox…” she said, quietly. “Look at his tail! I didn’t notice it before! Father…could it be…?”

“Yes, Lily. The same fox from so long ago. I didn’t know if you’d remember,” her father smiled.

“My name is Edward,” said the fox stepping shyly out of the shadows.

“I’ve seen you before,” said Lily, “around the Rookery.”

“Yes. And I’ve seen you many places besides, Lily,” he said with a bow.

“He’s been watching you, Lily, just as he watches over the other animals, though they cannot possibly know everything he does for them,” Captain Watson smiled. “I didn’t know that such a strong heart could beat inside such a small creature.”

“You sent the vole when Alistair found me alone in the wood,” Lily said softly, suddenly realizing so much. “You brought my father here.”

“And he borrowed Strathclyde’s spade to warn the animals that trouble was coming,” Captain Watson finished. “He’s a sly little fox, Lily—I suppose that’s where the saying comes from. But he’s got a valiant soul.”

“Indeed he does!” echoed Arthur, having just slipped silently over the edge.

“Just know, Edward,” said Lily’s father, “that there will always be room around our home for such an honorable animal as yourself. And that goes for each of you, of course.” He looked particularly toward Arthur as he said this. “You mustn’t be fearful about leaving the forest and venturing into our world. Just as, I suppose, we should not be afraid to come to you.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Titus, and the rest of the animals echoed their agreement.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Blackthorn

 

     Captain Watson would have had a great deal of difficulty reaching the forest had it not been for Strathclyde’s torch. The night was very dark, and low-hanging clouds shrouded the ground in places, eclipsing the moonlight so completely that he had to rely on his own sense of direction and Dot’s nose to have any hope of reaching the forest at all. The wind was uncharacteristically still, and the snow creaked eerily under the Captain’s heavy boots.

      They moved along slowly now, the Captain silently praying for his lost child. But when they had come within a hundred yards of the forest, Dot suddenly released a low, mournful howl and broke into a sprint, her nose to the ground. He sprinted after her, certain that she had at last picked up Lily’s scent.

      Dot skidded to a halt at the tree line, and the Captain could clearly make out the imprint of small, booted feet. They were widely spaced, as if she had been running, rather than walking, into the menacing wood. Man and dog followed Lily’s footprints carefully beneath the outer trees, and the Captain’s mind raced, gripped by the fear of what may have become of his precious daughter.

      The footprints led them only a short distance into the forest before they stopped abruptly in front of a treacherous blackthorn hedge—a tall, wide, twisted barrier that no man the size of the Captain could hope to pass through without the help of an axe. Lily’s footprints became muddled just before the blackthorn, as if she had tried several times to squeeze through, her feet pressing deeply into the dark earth and muddying the snow in the process. In the confusion of prints, neither the Captain nor Dot noticed Lily’s set of footprints racing away from the blackthorn.

      Captain Watson paused for a moment to survey the hedge. Then, with his eyes focused, his jaw set squarely, and his mind fixed on the task at hand, he began to attack the blackthorn at its weakest points. He tore at one spiky branch after another, breaking them and throwing them aside, while Dot began to excavate a hole at the blackthorn’s base. Both man and dog worked tirelessly, ignoring the painful pricks and scratches the spikes inflicted.

      After an eternity of pushing and breaking and squeezing the Captain and Dot emerged at last on the other side of the hedge, eager to pick up Lily’s trail again and race on to her rescue. But there were no more footprints. No more scent to follow. There was no sign of Lily at all. A lesser man would have crumbled in desperation, but Captain Watson immediately began to evaluate the situation. He paced back and forth for a few moments, deep in thought.

      “I’m very sorry, Old Girl,” he finally said to Dot with a sigh, “but it looks like we’ve lost her. She didn’t come this way. I’m afraid I can see no course of action but going back through the hedge and looking at those footprints again.”

      Dot let out another low moan, and the Captain put out his hand to give her an apologetic pat when he realized that she was not moaning out of despair. She immediately leapt in front of her master and crouched low to the ground, her eyes fixed on a spot not three feet in front of her.

      The torch was already burning low, and the Captain squinted as he searched the ground for the invisible threat. Just then, two shining green eyes flashed in the firelight. “Show yourself!” the Captain demanded as instinct kicked in and he leveled his pistol directly at the eyes.

      Slowly, into the yellow ring of torchlight stepped a red fox. His tail was bent strangely to the right.

     Lily’s father lowered his pistol and looked intently into the fox’s brilliant green eyes. He blinked.     

      The fox blinked. “No,” he whispered to himself. “It can’t be.”

      The fox took a step forward, but retreated cautiously when Dot began to growl.

      “It’s okay, girl,” the Captain said, patting her on the head. “It won’t hurt us.”

      A battle raged in the Captain’s mind. He had heard many fantastic stories in his life. He had even invented quite a few himself. But no matter how far his imagination had traveled, he had never dreamed that the fantasies could be true.

     But now, having heard Strathclyde’s story, and having seen his daughter’s drawings, he began to wonder…Could it be true? For Lily’s sake, he had to take that chance. He shook his head and swallowed hard as he forced himself to set aside his doubt. He stared into the fox’ shining eyes.

      “Have you seen Lily? Have you seen my little girl?” he ventured, a slight tremor in his voice.

      The fox tilted his head to the side and stared back at the Captain. Then it nodded.

      The Captain drew a sharp breath.

     “But where…” his voice trailed off as a hint of doubt lingered. Then, taking a last leap of faith, he continued. “Where is she?”

      “This way, sir,” the fox answered quietly, and darted into the night.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Flock

 

Arthur stood on the stone bridge staring at the spot where Lily had been taken. It took a moment for what had happened to sink in. It was all so unexpected, so horrible. The sights and the sounds of the Rookery came rushing back to his senses. Behind him in the gallery, Sigmund was literally bouncing off the walls, Horatio was composing sonnets at lightning speed, and the bats chased each other up and down, squeaking in excitement. He could hear rooks chattering excitedly in victory, and one or two of his choir members had broken into song. No one had seen Lily go; no one knew that this battle was far from over.

Arthur’s whiskers twitched, first one, then the other, and then his mind sprung into action. And at just that moment, Nathaniel the vole scurried up, and tapped him gently on the shoulder. The look in the vole’s eyes matched that of Arthur’s and he knew that Nathaniel had seen the kidnapping as well.

“Right!” Arthur said to the vole. “Much to be done. Much to be done.” And he immediately made for the Rookery door. He scampered through the crowd with surprising agility—even for a mouse—and skidded to a halt near his piano, where he began to pace back and forth. His mind was racing as he formulated a plan to get Lily back. Hundreds of ideas flashed through his mind, and when he finally settled on a course of action, he took a deep breath, looked around the Rookery one last time, and headed for the door. But just as he reached the doorway, Titus’ booming voice, buoyed by his victory against the hawks, echoed throughout the Rookery.

“Mouse!” he shouted. The animals halted their congratulations at once and all eyes fell on Arthur.

Arthur stood frozen in front of the company of revelers. He couldn’t disguise the fact that he was headed out the door and away from the party.

“Where are YOU going?” shouted Sigmund, too excited to sit still.

“Yes, where?” sang the bats in unison.

“I’m sorry everyone, there’s no time to explain. I must go immediately,” Arthur replied as he tried in vain to push his way toward the door.

“But where?” Titus tried again, flummoxed by his friend’s strange behavior.

 “It’s just…” he stammered, pacing madly, “…it’s Lily.”

“What about Lily?” Titus knew by the look in Arthur’s eyes that something awful had happened.

“She’s been taken, Titus,” Arthur said, a slight tremor in his voice. “She’s been taken by the hawks. By Alistair.”

Terrified murmurs spread throughout the Rookery.

Arthur shook off his emotions and started again for the door. “And I am losing precious time! If you will please let me through!” he shouted, the slightest hint of panic in his voice.

“Not so fast, sir!” Titus roared over the commotion.  “Silence! All of you!” The murmurs immediately ceased. “Do you honestly think that you will be going after that dreadful hawk alone?”

“Well, I—”

“Do you truly believe that after all that you have done for us, after all that you’ve said, after all that you have...become…Do you really think that we have not heard your call? I am ashamed of you, friend! We go together or not at all. That is friendship. That is what it means to be a flock—and wings or no wings, in my book, you, Arthur, are the best of rooks! We will simply not allow you to go alone.”

Titus glared fiercely at his friend as Arthur’s eyes began to glisten with tears. “We go for Lily together or not at all,” the rook commanded. And his glare softened into one of his very rare smiles.

“Together!” shouted Sigmund and the otter in unison.

“Yes, yes, together!” the bats chimed in, and all around the hall, cries of, “Together!” came from animals of every kind. The rooks crowed their agreement, and field mice ran up and down the Rookery walls. The beavers slapped their tails on the hard ground sending up little clouds of dirt, and Jack the owl was so excited that instead of, “Together!” he could only cry “Who, Who, Whoooooo!” at the top of his lungs. From high above, many of the rooks who had roosted themselves for the night, exhausted from battle, dropped heavily to the ground with weary cries of, “Together!” and the damaged Rookery, for the first of many times, became an amphitheatre, projecting a dissonant, disorganized, but beautiful sound into the dark night sky.

“What do you say, brother?” Titus said, walking over to Arthur who stood at the head of the rag-tag rescue party.

“Forgive me, Titus. I had forgotten you all. I would be honored. But we must hurry. Lily is in terrible danger.”

“Lead the way, then,” Titus said with a quick tap on Arthur’s back.

For the third time that day, Arthur scrambled to the top of his piano. As quickly as he could, he relayed to his army the details of the mission. “Our friend Lily has been taken by a particularly cruel hawk named Alistair. I have no doubt that he has taken her to the crags just at the edge of the forest overlooking the sea. It is a long journey, but we must make it quickly. We haven’t time to spare. We must plan our attack on the fly. Quite literally. Titus? May we earth-dwellers ask a favor of you?”

But Titus knew what must happen even before Arthur had asked it of him. And with one glance at the rooks, the plan was set in motion. All over the Rookery, the earthbound animals and the rooks, owls, and bats began to form groups of twos and threes. Sigmund climbed somewhat clumsily on the back of his friend, Jack. The bats allowed the field mice to cling to their bellies. The rooks welcomed passengers of all sorts—from moles and voles to weasels and even stoats (as a demonstration of their new found sense of honor). The water-going animals took to the stream, which would lead them by a different path toward the cliffs, and before Arthur could protest, Titus knelt, indicating that Arthur should climb on his back.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, for much more than just the escort to the cliffs.

“The pleasure is mine, old friend,” he replied. He took to the air with Arthur clinging to his jet-black feathers and shouted to the animals below, “Right! Let’s be off! Tonight, we are all rooks!”

A great shout went up all over the Rookery, and just as the winged animals took flight with their odd cargo, Arthur spotted a fluffy red tail retreating around the edge of the Rookery door. Within mere moments the Rookery had all but emptied, save the few rooks who had been injured in the battle with the hawks, and the flight to rescue Lily had begun.

From above, the forest looked, oddly enough, like a huge briar patch. Its sharp branches pierced the night sky for miles and miles around before giving way to the thick gray fog that covered the moor. Arthur had never imagined just how strange the world would look from above. And he had never dreamed that flying would be so exhilarating, or so frightening. He tightened his grip around Titus’ feathers.

“Don’t worry,” Titus called over the rush of wind. “We’ll get her back. It will all be over soon.”

“Yes,” Arthur replied absentmindedly. The sea had drawn very near now, and its silvery glow made the world seem colder. But behind him flew owls and bats and mice and weasels and rooks, and somewhere below beavers and otters and turtles and perhaps even a fish or two swam toward the same goal—they had come to stand beside him, and that somehow took the chill out of the air, and gave him more courage than he had ever known.

One by one, the birds dropped out of the sky and back into the forest, dodging sharp branches on their way to the ground. When the flock had landed, the smaller animals tumbled, most of them terribly relieved, to the earth. Slowly, with the expert stealth only prey animals can achieve, the small animals led the way through the last hundred yards to the cliffside.

Arthur and Titus emerged from the trees and found themselves at the top of a two hundred foot drop that ended in the rough waters of the North Sea. The roar of the waves, though far below, was more felt than heard. It rumbled like thunder.

It wasn’t difficult to see where Alistair had taken Lily. The cliffs were stark, standing out brightly grey against the black of the roaring sea, save for one bright spot on the other side of the cove. Near the summit of the jagged cliff, a dim orange light flickered from a cave into the night. “There it is,” Titus whispered to Arthur over the hiss and boom of the waves, “the home of the hawks.”

Chapter Twenty: The Captain

 

Strathclyde looked up from his book. “Must’ve been the wind,” he said to himself. But the wind, if it was wind at all, sounded more like a little girl’s scream than the eerie moan the wind usually made. “Still,” he thought, “better to check.”

Evening was setting in early. Low clouds had begun to roll in, obscuring the brilliant blue of the winter sky and stripping the snow of its sparkle. The old gardener limped to the front door and looked out toward the hills. The sky over the forest was empty except for a few hawks in the distance, racing toward the sea.

“Liiiilyyy!” he called in no particular direction. But his voice was lost in the snow and gathering fog. “That girl,” he muttered as he closed the door. “Back to normal, I see.” He sat down again with his book and pipe, certain that she would be home soon enough. No need to worry.

He tried to settle back into his chapter, but found himself reading the same sentence over and over again, so he got up and decided to feed the fire. He placed a bundle of twigs in the embers that had been smoldering since morning and watched as they crackled to life. Then he carefully constructed a tripod of logs around them just the right size to ensure that the fire would burn merrily all evening. “That’s better,” he said, satisfied with his work.

He was just about to settle back down with his book when he heard an almighty hollering coming from the back garden. It was his crotchety old wife caterwauling loud enough to wake the dead. “Missus! Missus! Oh, Missus!” she screamed as she came tearing through the house, trailing Nan, who looked scared half to death. “It’s happened! It’s finally happened!” she shouted with an almost comical look of glee spread across her chubby face. Her hands were flailing and her face was red as an apple.

“What are you on about, woman?!” Strathclyde howled, hoping to shout her down and end the hysteria.

“Where’s the Missus?” she cried.

“She’s gone to Mrs. May’s for tea,” he said, quizzically. And with that, she tore out the front door, fully intending to race down the lane to Mrs. May’s. But she stopped short and immediately burst into tears. Nan, who had followed her, backed away from the door as well, grinning bashfully as she hurried to the kitchen. And Strathclyde, who had been struck dumb by the women’s bizarre behavior, strode over to the door and stepped onto the front step.

“Well, I’ll be...” he said to himself, followed by a low whistle.

“Strathclyde, Old Boy!” shouted a tall, broad shouldered man as he released Mrs. Watson from a very tight, very personal embrace, leaving her to wipe away her joyful tears in the lane in front of the house.

“Captain Watson! How goes it, Sir?” Strathclyde laughed heartily as he limped forward to meet Lily’s father. They shook hands like the old friends they were and the Captain clapped Strathclyde hard on the back as they walked into the house together, leaving the three women to blubber at will.

Lily’s father looked around his house like a king come home to his castle, and everything seemed to swell with pride around him. The fire crackled more merrily, the lamps seemed to burn more brightly, and old Dot pattered in from the kitchen, her tail wagging so hard she almost lost her footing. Nan bustled around busily, throwing admiring glances at the Captain, while the housekeeper tried to set the table for supper, failing miserably because she kept crying into the soup bowls. Lily’s mother, of course, swept in from the front garden like a princess, light as air. She perched herself at the edge of her long-awaited husband’s chair, content to do nothing but sit by his side all evening long.

An hour of catching up passed quickly and as night began to fall in earnest, Tom and Newton came lurching in from a hard day’s play on the moor. They both ran to hug their father, but checked themselves just before jumping in his lap, instead grasping him firmly by the hand and saying, “Hello, Father. Hello, Sir.” He laughed and pulled them each forward for a very grown-up handshake followed by a quick hug, and then dismissed them to wash themselves for dinner.

“Oh, boys!” he called after them. “Have you left Lily in the garden? Where’s my girl?”

Tom shouted behind him, “She wasn’t with us, Father. Haven’t seen her since tea.”

“Oh!” Lily’s father said, somewhat surprised. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be in before long, eh?” And he settled back into his chair.

But all activity in the drawing room had stopped. Even Dot froze in mid-wag. Strathclyde looked from the Captain to the housekeeper. The housekeeper looked from Strathclyde to Mrs. Watson. Mrs. Watson looked from the housekeeper to Nan, and Nan immediately burst into tears. “Not again!” she cried, and ran out into the night. Strathclyde’s wife and Lily’s mother were close on her heels.

“What the devil is going on?” Lily’s father asked.

“Well, Sir,” Strathclyde said, “Lily has been, a bit, shall we say, difficult lately. Back in the autumn, she started running wild. We couldn’t keep her home. Kept running in at all hours with her dresses and stockings muddied and torn. I suspect she may have been in the forest, but just as I was about to—”

“The forest?” Captain Watson said, his color rising. “Why would she go into the forest alone? She knows she’s not—It’s dangerous!”

“Well yes, Sir, of course. But she has not gone missing for some weeks now. In fact, she’s been worrying us in just the opposite way—rarely leaving her room, never playing with other children. So when she went out this afternoon, well, we were just happy to see her ready to play again. We didn’t suspect that she would go missing.”

“I see, I see,” the Captain said with a steely determination in his eyes. “But we are wasting time talking. If she is in the forest, she could be in danger. We must find her. I must find her.”

He started toward the door, but Strathclyde placed a firm hand on his arm. “Sir,” he said, “I think you need to take just a moment and hear me out before you rush into the forest.” The old man was remarkably calm, considering the fact that he alone suspected the degree of danger Lily could be in.

The Captain spun around impatiently, but with a quick look at Strathclyde, he held his tongue.

“What is it, Strathclyde?” he said.

“Now, Captain Watson, I know that what I’m about to say will sound strange—eccentric even, but...well...you must listen,” Strathclyde began.

“I will listen, but please, for Lily’s sake, speak quickly,” Lily’s father said, his urgency becoming hard to contain.

“Yes, Sir. Well...when I was a boy, you know, I grew up in this very village, just down Poplar Grove Lane...”

“Yes, yes, go on,” Lily’s father said.

“Well, my father used to tell me stories—strange and wonderful stories about the forest. He spoke of the forest creatures as if they were his friends—as if he had met them and spoken to them. Yes, it really is rather unbelievable, but we children found such delight in those stories that we would ask to hear them again and again.”

“Fairy tales have their place,” Captain Watson urged, “but they’re no help to me now, nor will they help Lily if she is in danger!”

“Of course, Sir, but please, just one more moment. You see, one story that I particularly loved as a boy was about the battle between the hawks and the little rooks. My father told me of a mighty battle and the defeat of the hawks and the construction of a refuge in the forest where all the animals, great and small, could run in times of trouble. When the hawks are afoot in the forest, it is said that a representative of the animals would place a spade in the ground on the path to the Rookery. I don’t understand the symbolism—I don’t think anyone does—but by that simple sign, all the animals would know that trouble was brewing. They would know to come to the Rookery.”

“This is just nonsense, old man,” Captain Watson cried.

"I agree, Sir,” he said. “I always thought they were just fairy tales too. But now I’m really not so sure. Lily went missing one night—it was the same night my spade went missing—and when she came home, she was positively alight with excitement about some adventure she had. Next morning she told me she had seen a spade. And a rook. Sir, I’ve never told her my father’s stories, but she seems to know them all perfectly. And, well, I think you should see what she’s been drawing.”

As crazy as Strathclyde sounded, Captain Watson couldn’t deny the gardener’s sincerity, so he followed him dutifully up the stairs and the two men entered Lily’s room together.

“Lily fell ill several weeks ago,” Strathclyde explained, “and she hasn’t been out of sight since, but today she seemed to light up again. We couldn’t have imagined she would go very far. But...”

Strathclyde walked over to Lily’s table near the fireplace to show Captain Watson her book of drawings, but Lily’s father reached it first and found the letter she had written that morning instead. His lip trembled as he saw her childish handwriting and read her sweet words, but he read quickly and with purpose. The tension in the room mounted with each line he read, and as he read of Alistair and the Forest Council, his face grew redder and sterner. His jaw became set, and his eyes fierce.

“Strathclyde!” he roared.

“Yes, Sir!” Strathclyde returned, standing as straight as he could.

“Fetch me a strong branch. I need a torch.”

“Yes, Sir!” Strathclyde shouted behind him as he raced as quickly as he could down the stairs, hoping that he was wrong about everything he had said. For if he was right, Lily could be in very grave danger indeed.

The Captain stood very still for a moment as his eyes scanned his daughter’s room with the thoroughness of a trained soldier. In the window seat lay several sheets of paper, their edges crinkled from wear. Clearly, Lily had held them often and tightly. He picked them up and slowly leafed through them. A portrait of a rook. A portrait of a vole. A portrait of an owl. A jackrabbit. A mouse. She had held this one the most. And she had cried over it—the pencil marks were smudged where her tears had fallen.

“What have you done, my girl?” he said quietly. He laid the drawings back on the window seat and bolted out of the room and down the stairs.

“Back inside, all of you!” he shouted toward the women as he raced down the lane toward the edge of the village, just as Lily had done that afternoon.

They knew that tone, and understood his resolve, and they obeyed without question and without hesitation.

Lily’s father bounded over the village wall with Dot speeding after him, and stalked toward the forest. In his left hand, he held aloft the flaming torch Strathclyde had shoved into his hand as he darted past. In his right, he gripped the trusty blunderbuss pistol that would take care of any man or animal attempting to stand between him and his Lily.