Flipping the Bird

“Aha, I knew it,” said Crispin. “You’re the bird!”

Julius bowed his head and nodded reluctantly.

“Odwald Ebonheart, at your service.”

“We’re really sorry,” said Olive immediately. “We were completely off about you. We read too much into your cupboard of goo.”

“That was terrifying,” Crispin added in our defence. “And you set that cobblefright on Figory Figgins!”

Odwald winced. “I can see how that might be interpreted,” he said. “I suppose there’s no point in this concealment anymore.”

With a ruffle of his feathers, the Gallus glimmered in the tavern light and shed his magical disguise. His feathers darkened from green to black and his claws contracted into a gnarled grasp. What remained was unmistakably the Corvum we were seeking.

From across the room we heard a sudden screech and, before we could react, Riffin breezed across the table and jumped straight into Odwald’s arms.

“Odwald, I missed you,” said Riffin, his voice muffled as Odwald embraced him.

Crispin’s mother brought over five steaming mugs of tea. We sipped at our drinks and Odwald began to carefully unpack his side of the story.

---

“I had to seize control of the library, you see,” Odwald said, eyeing Olive nervously. “Time was short. I had dangerous research to do. And if I had approached the professors directly they would have tried to take control themselves.”

“The Dean is a poor judge of character,” Crispin said earnestly.

Odwald blinked. “Well, let’s just say that his focus is academic, not in the messy practical business of protecting the Wood.”

“I agree completely,” I said, warming to Odwald the more he spoke.

“When the wildfires began earlier this year, I – err… – soon identified the cause as the Aspect of Fire,” Odwald continued. “A powerful elemental force. It had to be dealt with. I considered my options.”

“Perhaps a casserole?” Crispin mused.

“Don’t interrupt,” I snapped.

“To defeat such a thing,” Odwald shook his head hopelessly, “just to keep fighting against that dreadful heat. It would burn the feathers and flesh from your bones.”

“That’s why you created the cobblefright,” said Olive.

“Indeed,” said Odwald. “But it was unreliable, unstable. It escaped once and then you three arrived asking questions.” He lowered his gaze. “Your presence startled me. I couldn’t allow any interference. I had to find a way to persuade the Dean to remove you.”

“The scroll Crispin ruined,” I sighed in realisation. “How valuable was it?”

Odwald grimaced. “Just a fake.”

“Since we’re all being honest with each other,” I said, “that got us in a lot of trouble with the professors. I don’t think we can rely on their help now.”

Riffin looked genuinely shocked.

“Glinda still likes us, and Revayne,” Crispin said with unwarranted optimism. “We’re bone buddies.”

“Promising,” said Odwald. “And the Dean?”

Even Crispin’s delusions could not make that fit. “Not a bone buddy.”

“Then we’ll need to look for aid outside the Avium,” Odwald concluded. “The only remaining option is to seal away the Aspect of Fire. I presume you already reviewed my notes on the Borealis.”

“I thought that was just a legend,” said Riffin, eyes wide.

“So did I,” said Odwald. “But now I think it is true. I’ll need your help, and our friend in Alderheart, to find it.”

“I bet it’s in the mountains,” Crispin whispered to Olive.

“There is one other thing you should know,” Odwald began, then cut himself off. “Riffin, perhaps you could fetch us some more drinks?”

Riffin trotted obediently to the bar.

Odwald looked at us with genuine distress. He opened his beak to speak, seemed to think better of it, then ploughed ahead anyway.

“You said we’re being honest with each other,” Odwald said quietly. “Well, I feel I should do the same with you. Earlier this year I had a vision that warned me of the peril that threatened the Wood. It led me to the Scorched Grove, directly to the seal that bound the Aspect of Fire, and I could see it weakening, breaking.” Odwald drew a deep breath. “I had to do something, anything, but even my best intentioned spells were not enough. In fact, I rather fear that my efforts dislodged what remained of the seal, and it… broke.” He hung his head. “I fear that I caused this new recurrence of the Great Calamity.”

We stared at Odwald in horror.

“You must promise not to tell Riffin,” Odwald pleaded. “He would never understand.”

Riffin banged a tray down on our table. “I got us all shots!”

I reached for mine immediately and downed it unceremoniously. Olive cradled hers in her paws for a moment before doing the same.

“You know, I think we need a bit of a distraction,” I said to break the uncomfortable silence. “Riffin, would you like to spar?”

Riffin laughed, then gave me a look of incredulity.

“Only if you’re ready to lose,” he said.

---

Outside in Brackenmill the farmers still trudged along with their carts, returning from the fields, but soon every other member of the townsfolk with nothing better to do found their way to the village square where Riffin and I would face off. The young Humblefolk looked on with eager eyes, squeaking excitedly to each other in anticipation of the fight.

Riffin grinned at me from beneath his shining helm, shortsword drawn and lively in his hands. He felt the same as me, I realised. Neither of us were truly alive unless we were dancing and reeling in the exquisite challenge of combat.

I smiled crookedly back at him. This sparring match would be one for the kids to remember.

Olive unpacked her banjo and struck a few enquiring chords. Crispin stood next to her and, inexplicably, wriggled out of his shirt. I decided to focus on Riffin for the time being.

“I’m warning you, Strig Knight,” I said, grasping my great axe. “No holding back.”

Riffin swept his sword in a high arc and nodded grimly.

“You’ve got this, Plume!” Crispin shouted and shook his belly from side to side in time with Olive’s strumming.

“Remember, non-lethal only!” Olive added helpfully, speeding up the tempo. Crispin set his jaw and jiggled faster and faster beside her.

It was strange. I wasn’t sure if it was Olive’s music or Crispin’s belly dancing, but I felt filled with power and might. This was going to be fun.

Riffin screeched and ran towards me. It would have been a desperately funny sight, the Strig Knight was barely half my height, but his eyes were bright and his sword was sharp.

I met his charge with a furious slash of my great axe, leaping the last of the distance between us and bringing a two-handed blow clanging down on Riffin’s head.

“Bash his brains in,” shouted Crispin. “He’s got a helmet!”

Riffin ducked away from the worst of the hit and swung his sword backwards below my guard, but it didn’t connect. I almost crowed with delight. But before I could, a gust of wind blasted from the sword and swept me up and away from Riffin. I flapped my wings trying to regain control of my trajectory and landed awkwardly on the edge of the square.

I picked myself up into a defensive posture and beckoned to Riffin. The crowd on the square behind me edged backwards to give us room.

This time Riffin tried the gust of wind trick before he reached me on the charge, but I was ready and deflected it over one wing. Behind me, I heard a crash as a cart overturned and the soft thumping of fresh produce falling to the ground.

“Someone help the merchant Mapach; he should not be under attack,” sang Olive. A few of the townsfolk unwillingly tore themselves away from the fight to help the unlucky Cervan with his cart.

I closed the distance, grappled Riffin and lifted him bodily from the ground. He struggled in my grip, straining and lashing out with his claws, scoring two highly improper hits below the belt.

“Do you yield?” I growled.

“Never!” said Riffin.

“I yield,” said Crispin and fell on his back in exhaustion.

I threw Riffin away from me as hard as I could. He hit the ground hard, turning in the air and unable to control his landing with an injured wing. I took my opportunity to run in again and score another ringing blow to his helm.

“This doesn’t have to be the end; please don’t kill your friend,” sang Olive nervously.

Riffin jumped to his feet unsteadily and faced me again. He was holding his sword too low and couldn’t protect his injured side.

“Do you yield?” I asked again.

Riffin answered by running at me once more. His strike was clumsily angled but true. I blocked the brunt of it with the handle of my great axe and pushed back with all my strength to flip him onto his back and pin him to the ground.

“Okay, okay,” Riffin gasped as I held him down. “I yield.”

“Oh, I needed that,” I said, feeling peace and calm wash over me as my rage dissipated. I stepped back and released the wounded Strig Knight.

“I did not,” said Riffin looking more than a little worse for wear.

“I think I even learned a trick or two,” I said, offering him a shoulder to lean on. “Come on, it’s time to show you Crispin’s useful skills.”

---

We gathered as a five again in the Sunny Silkworm tavern after Crispin had patched up Riffin and me. Crispin’s mother laid out a restorative buffet for us to indulge in, and spent the evening doting on Crispin and listening to the ever more embellished stories of our adventures together.

“Remember when I held the door against a score of bandits?”

“And how you made everyone at the Avium think you were dead?”

“What about that Fat Cob song you came up with in the bandit camp?”

Riffin chuckled. “Just like we used to be, right Odwald?”

Odwald didn’t look up to smiling yet after his painful admission earlier. He nodded at Riffin in acknowledgement and returned to his food.

“You’ve been a party before?” I asked Riffin, interested to hear whether other adventuring groups were as dysfunctional as ours.

“Actually, there’s one more of us,” said Riffin, looking anxiously at Odwald for permission. “Some call her a witch, but she’s not a bad sort. She’s just a bit different from most spell-casters.”

“We’ll need her abilities to find the Borealis,” said Odwald. “She can locate it for us. She’s a Seer.”

“I am quite skilled in Divination myself,” said Crispin. His mother looked at him proudly and pinched his cheek.

“Susan’s abilities go beyond mere Divination,” said Odwald tartly.

“Susan?” I asked, my mind flashing back to a little old Hedge living in the swamp. “Susan who summoned a demon and had a pet beetle that she—”

“Marvelous,” said Riffin. “You’ve already met!”