Chapter Nineteen: The Attack

 

Arthur was sitting at his piano when the hawks launched their attack. It was the very middle of the day, and the sun hung high overhead in the clear blue sky, reflecting brilliantly off the glistening blanket of snow that covered the forest, and inside the Rookery animals of all kinds had gathered around the piano for the afternoon sing-along.

“Hawk!” came the sudden cry from the lookout atop the Rookery. The word echoed throughout the whole of the Rookery. Every animal heard it and immediately understood: the attack had begun.

The Rookery turned to a flurry of activity once the initial shock had passed, though very little of this activity was positive. The rooks argued with each other. Every other animal scrambled about aimlessly. Every face was full of desperation; every voice was filled with terror.  All around them, the Rookery shook with a series of loud crashes and the entire structure groaned and vibrated as if in pain. The hawks, every last one of them, had united to destroy the Rookery.

“How many are there?” Titus shouted to the lookout..

“Dozens, mate! Dozens!” the terrified lookout called back as he fled his post. “I counted fifteen before they landed. They’re ripping the roof to shreds! We’re doomed! We’re doomed!” His echoing cry sent the animals into an even greater panic.

“How could it end like this? After so long...how could it end like this?” another rook shrieked, spiraling to the floor.

“Why? Why?” cried out several of the rooks.

Above the chaos Arthur stood atop his piano, beckoning his choir members toward himself, calling for peace and calm. “What’s all this talk about the end?” Arthur cried out to them. “What’s all this talk about losing? We live in the Rookery, friends! Remember your heritage! The Rookery will not fall today. Have courage!”

“Perhaps the truth is hard to see from so very low,” cursed Romulus, who had barreled through the crowd and landed almost on top of Arthur in his anger. “The hawks are ripping the Rookery to shreds! Courage? Friendship? They’re useless! And you’re useless! Say your prayers, mouse.” Romulus fixed his blazing eye on Arthur and stretched his wings to their full span. But just as he was about to attack, Titus stepped in, standing firmly between his brother and his best friend. The crowd of frightened animals turned their attention toward the quarrel.

“It seems that you’ve lost sight of a few things, little brother,” he said to Romulus, refusing to step aside. “We all have: I most of all.”

He turned to face the crowd of animals around him. “Please, everyone! I have a confession to make. Arthur has been much more than a friend to me these many months; he has been a source of advice and insight,” he threw a quick, glance toward Arthur. “These months in the Rookery have been very difficult for us all, but I must confess that I have failed you. For though I have acted as your leader all this time, Arthur has acted as mine. It is only because of his wisdom and courage that we have made it this far. Listen to what Arthur has to say, all of you. He alone can save us! I…I can do nothing….”

A gasp rippled through the company of rooks.

“We, the rooks—saved by a mouse?” Romulus cried out dramatically raising his wing to his brow. “Oh! What a story! Who would believe it?”

As Romulus hurled a mocking laugh toward Arthur, the Rookery shook under a powerful unified blow from the angry hawks above, and the rook fell silent. In an instant, the Rookery was in disarray. Their yelling reached every corner of the atrium and what had previously been a Rookery in panic became a far worse place indeed—a Rookery in anarchy.

Arthur could not stand it anymore. He shouted for them to be quiet, cried out for calm until he was nearly hoarse.

Turning to the piano was perhaps a final act of desperation.  He turned his back on the madness, sat down on his stool, and rested his fingers for a moment on the keys. Then he closed his eyes. This time, his musical offering had none of its normal peaceful, soothing melodies.

“This is no time for your awful racket!” Romulus bellowed, but Arthur ignored him.

Instead, his fingers pressed the keys with more force than they ever had, and though the sounds emanating from his instrument were still beautiful, they now held a war cry—a fervent, dedicated melody; firm in its convictions and fierce in its devotion to the Rookery. Arthur’s fingers carved out a new song on the keys of his piano that spoke far more than his tiny voice ever could—and it had its effect. The sounds of music filled the Rookery from bottom to top and silenced the raging, panicked animals.

Arthur stopped the piece long before it reached its climax, for there was no time to finish. Back atop his piano he climbed, with every eye upon him, every mouth silenced, every sound quieted except for the sounds of heartless violence from the hawks above them.

Arthur spoke in a firm but calm voice. “My friends,” he said, “our words and our thoughts have grown far too desperate. We have no right to speak as if our hope is lost. For if we speak as if we have no hope, then we truly shall have no hope. If we speak as if the battle is lost, then—mark my words—the battle was lost long ago. If we cry out in fear or fight with one another as if all else has ceased to matter...well then...I suppose nothing matters at all, does it?

“But things do matter, dear creatures! They matter a great deal, and we all know this. We all know that this place, this great Rookery, means far more than its individual pieces. It is more than a bundle of sticks; it is more than a bonfire; it is more than a family of rooks. The Rookery is home—it is civility and hope and love. And this is what we must protect today, friends.

“The question is this: Will we allow the Rookery to be destroyed? Will it be said that we might have fought back, but could not manage to stop bickering long enough to save this place?

“It is upon us that the fate of this glorious, ancient refuge depends. Hear me please, my friends, for these may very well be the last words I speak to you: No help is coming. The task falls to us and to us alone.

“The hawks attack us with a force of perhaps twenty. But how many are we, friends? Have we even thought to count? How can we possibly believe that any army—even an army of hawks—should have the strength to defeat us?

“I can answer that question. They do have what it takes to defeat us, for we have failed to recognize that alone we are weak...and yet, together we could be stronger than any animal in the forest!

“Look around you! Look around and be amazed! Have you seen the place in which you live? Have you seen the carvings of your ancestors and the delicate work of their hands? Do you truly believe that any of this could have been accomplished by a single rook? Could it have been made by any single animal? Certainly not! Your ancestors came to this forest and found themselves facing a number of adversaries far greater than what we face today, and the very fact that we are standing here, in this magnificent structure, ought to remind us that we have every capacity for doing great things ourselves.  No man or animal ever did anything great on his own.  Why should we expect anything different of ourselves?”

Arthur completed his speech and sat down at his piano once more, his question ringing in the silence.

“Why, indeed?” Titus asked.

“Why? Why?” cried out another rook. “Why? Why?” other rooks joined in. The room was a flurry of black feathers and cries of, “Why? Why?” Even Romulus reluctantly took up the curious battle cry.

Why, their cries asked, had they not recognized it before? Why had they become so divided? Why were they allowing their home to be attacked?

The rooks took no time to discuss. No time to argue. No time to debate. Everyone knew what to do instinctively. For the first time in generations, the rooks had become a flock.

Titus was, naturally, the first to take flight, but the flock moved so swiftly that within seconds, hundreds of them had raced through the arched doorway and into the snowy world outside. As they passed the carvings of their ancestors, Arthur’s melodies came flooding back—his songs of nobility and chivalry, of the greatness of the rooks—and with those songs in their hearts, the rooks raced to meet their destiny.

Though the battle in the sky belonged to the rooks, the other animals followed them faithfully into the courtyard, willing to face their fear of the hawks to catch a glimpse of the rooks in their greatness and glory. Arthur led the way, followed by Sigmund, Jack, Nathaniel, some shrews, the family of bats, and the otters—each of them slapping his back in solidarity or giving him looks of devotion and even awe. The earthbound animals crowded the courtyard, looking intently skyward at perhaps the most wondrous sight their eyes had ever beheld.

They could no longer see the rooks—at least, they could no longer see individual rooks. There was no longer any Titus or any Romulus or any of their brothers. There was but one rook—a cloud of fearsome blackness soaring over the Rookery as a single body.

Titus led the flock higher and higher, pushing past the hawks into the sky above the Rookery. Alistair swung around as the massive black cloud of rooks sped past him. “Come out to play, have you Titus?” he shouted in their wake. Many of the hawks laughed, but their laughter died quickly as they looked up to see the flock turning as one above them, casting a huge shadow over the Rookery.

Titus hovered above the hawks, the great, writhing mass of angry rooks held at bay behind him. “I don’t recall giving you leave to use that name, hawk,” he snarled. “And before we finish today, you will realize that this is no game.”

The hawks landed on the unstable, crumbling Rookery roof, each of them looking to Alistair to guide their next move.

“Before we finish today, I will be picking my teeth with your bones,” he retorted.

The flock launched toward the hawks at once. The hawks held their ground as long as they dared, but as the rooks shot toward the Rookery, many of them lost their nerve. They scattered in their fear, and the rooks followed. The hawks struggled and cried out in pain, surprise, and anger as they were driven away from the Rookery.  

“Come back, you cowards!” Alistair screamed over the tumult, frightening many of the hawks into turning back to fight. They dove toward the flock from every angle, trying to break the rooks apart. But they failed with every attempt. Alistair tried again and again to break through to Titus, who was leading the flock in spectacular twists and turns, but he couldn’t keep up. The flock attacked hawk after hawk, and one by one, the hawks stumbled toward home on broken and bleeding wings.

As the hawks turned in retreat, Alistair turned and circled back toward the Rookery.

“This isn’t over, Titus!” he screeched before speeding off over the forest.

The earthbound animals cheered from below, none louder or more enthusiastically than Arthur. He gazed up proudly at his friends as they circled the Rookery in triumph, letting out a loud “Whoop!” as he caught sight of Titus leading the way.

Suddenly, a great crash echoed through the trees on the edge of the courtyard, and Arthur heard a familiar voice shouting his name. He turned to see Lily picking herself up from the ground where she had tumbled over a fallen log.

“Lily?” he called out, his voice a mixture of happiness and disappointment. “What are you doing in the forest? I thought that I was quite clear—”

“You were clear, Arthur! And I’m very sorry I have disobeyed, but I wouldn’t have come unless it was important! The hawks are going to attack! I’ve seen them circling the Rookery!” she cried.

“Oh, my!” he laughed. “What a dear, sweet girl you are! But you are an hour too late. The hawks have attacked, but look skyward. Look what the rooks have done!”

So Lily did look skyward. She looked into that great, noisy cloud of rooks and could not suppress a smile. They pitched and dove and painted the sky with beautiful swirls of the deepest black as they celebrated their victory.

“Why, it’s so wonderful!” she cried out. “It’s the most wonderful thing I have ever seen! Oh, Arthur! I should have believed in you and the rooks.”

“Perhaps so, Lily,” Arthur said smiling, “but you are here now and once again you’ve shown bravery beyond reason. Perhaps you ought to stay for a bit, since you’ve come all this way.  I’m certain that Titus would love to see you—though as you can see, our general is busy at the moment.”

Lily laughed, and they began to walk toward the Rookery door behind the other animals who had already gone inside for the celebration.

“Oh yes, Arthur! I would love to stay. Perhaps we can even have a Tea Time? I do so love—” Lily stopped mid-sentence, her words escaping her. At first it was only a whisper that she heard—a voice in the forest behind her whispering her name. A voice she could not help but recognize.

“What is it, Lily?” Arthur asked cautiously.

“It’s just...” her voice trailed off as she looked back toward the forest, “...I thought that I heard something in the forest.”

Arthur turned and looked for himself, his eyes straining to see into the wood.

“Perhaps we ought to hurry into the Rookery, my girl,” he said, running up ahead in hopes that she would hurry after him.

Lily did run after him. In fact, she had nearly caught up with him when she heard a terrible flapping sound behind her, followed by an even more terrible, piercing cry. Long, leathery talons curled around each of her shoulders and though she continued running, her feet were no longer touching the ground. She swung her legs wildly, trying in vain to escape her captor’s vice-like grip. She tugged at his claws, but he was too strong. Lily knew that the last weapon in her tiny arsenal was her teeth, but as she summoned the courage to bite the huge bird’s scaly ankle, she looked down. She had passed beyond the upper levels of the Rookery now, and in an instant she knew that to try to escape the bird’s grasp at this height would be suicide. She saw the Rookery fade into the distance below, and she looked up to see the horrible face of Alistair grinning back at her.