Flock Together

The news of an emergency announcement from the Birdfolk Council spread through Alderheart like the approaching flames. By the time Speaker Bita emerged from her chambers to address the crowd, almost everyone in the town was in attendance.

“Citizens of Alderheart,” Speaker Bita began, calmly and clearly. “Birdfolk and Humblefolk alike. We find ourselves here facing a great and terrible test, with the fate of the Wood hanging in the balance.”

I noticed Susan and Dean Windsworth together in the crowd, accompanied by a suspicious-looking Gallus monk. It seemed as if the three mages had found each other after all.

“The encroaching advance of the Scorched Grove continues. Our home, our livelihood, our way of life is at risk. I will not conceal the fact that this is the greatest threat Alderheart has ever seen.”

Eliza was there too, further back in the square, with the other merchants. Among them I spotted Hannibal and Deadstu, two familiar faces that I realised I had never seen outside the Roots.

“But we will not let this threat prevail,” shouted Speaker Bita. “For a long time we have lived divided. But when such a threat affects us all, we know we must come together. Tomorrow we fight not as Birdfolk and Humblefolk, but together as citizens of the Wood.”

Riffin and the Perch Guard, armour polished and gleaming, drummed their spears against the ground, eliciting cheers and shouts of agreement from the crowd. Speaker Bita held up a wing and a reluctant silence fell.

“I am glad to hear your agreement,” said Speaker Bita. “Tomorrow we will act. We will need all our strength to succeed. And succeed we must. We do this for Alderheart. For the Wood. After all, this is the only home we have.”

---

One last day to prepare. That was it. And then we would face the Aspect of Fire.

“I’m glad they didn’t cancel Battle of the Bands,” said Crispin.

“Egg,” said Olive.

Crispin and I shared a guilty glance at each other.

“Do you think we should have someone look at her?” I asked. “Like a healer?”

Crispin frowned indignantly. “Plume, I am more than capable—”

“I know, I know,” I said. “But we’ve got to fetch a few essentials anyway.”

“Egg,” said Olive.

“Including eggs.” I sighed. “It’s just not like her to take so long to recover from massive head trauma.”

“That is true,” admitted Crispin. “Okay, to the shops!”

---

We spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon visiting markets and old friends to gather supplies for the inevitable showdown.

Down in the dank and gloomy Roots we met with Hannibal, slimy as always. He offered us some of his Special Brew, spicy potions that would fortify us against flame. We took them and his old reliable healing potions with a hefty discount for the Defenders of Alderheart.

Crispin spent an absurd amount of time searching for a particular gem in the canopy markets. He haggled admirably but, after sales tax, somehow ended up paying exactly the price the merchant had originally asked.

To no-one’s surprise, Olive stocked up on eggs. I hoped she intended them for a strengthening breakfast and not for use in battle against an immense fire elemental. It was difficult to tell.

Finally, we left the upper branches of Alderheart and travelled to the Tenders’ headquarters on the ground. They were busy, Tenders rushing to and fro, delivering messages and organising ordinary Humblefolk into groups. They had their work cut out for them, mobilising bucket brigades and taking on volunteers.

We located Havel amongst the crowd. If the bustle of the Tenders was a garden bursting with life, then Havel was the gardener nurturing the sudden growth and guiding its energies in the right direction.

It was an honour that he immediately made time for us.

“Plume, Olive, Crispin,” Havel greeted us warmly. “How can we help the Defenders of Alderheart?”

“Egg,” said Olive.

“You could start with that,” I said with a grimace.

“One too many rocks to the head,” whispered Crispin.

Havel crouched and studied Olive’s eyes. He held up a claw and moved it from side to side. Olive followed its movements.

“Interesting,” said Havel. “She seems fine physically, but it’s like she’s struggling to process recent events and is relying on a strong memory from the past. Have you tried to return to the source of this egg?”

“The source of the egg?” I asked. “I mean, she ate them regularly at the Avium.”

“I understand what I must do,” said Crispin immediately.

“Really?”

“Tomorrow I will make a breakfast consisting only of eggs.” Crispin’s eyes took on a faraway look as his thoughts turned solemnly to the task.

“Any other advice for us?” I asked Havel.

“Protect the three mages,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t fuel the fire.”

“I will inspire the people as only I know how,” said Crispin with a swing of his hips.

“Thank you, Havel,” I said. “And good luck.”

---

On our return to the branches, we were summoned by an eager corporal of the Perch Guard to attend Speaker Bita’s office. It felt good to step out of the chaos of the city again and take solace in the Council chambers.

Waiting for us was Odwald, undisguised; and Dean Windsworth and Susan the Seer, feelings somewhat disguised. They had drawn a replica summoning circle on the ground and were discussing the finer points of three-part spell harmonics when we arrived.

“This is where we will cast our spell,” said Odwald, pointing at the circle.

Crispin opened his mouth to ask a question, but the Dean got there first.

“Not here in this office,” he said wearily. “The circle in the Scorched Grove.”

Crispin nodded deeply. “As I thought.”

“Oh,” said the Dean, taken aback. “I apologise.”

“I was going to ask if you knew that,” explained Crispin.

A scowl filled the Dean’s face but subsided as Susan surreptitiously took his hand and squeezed.

“Anyway,” Odwald coughed. “First we will need a distraction. Someone must lure the Aspect of Fire away from the summoning circle to give us time to get in place. Someone who can endure the heat and stay ahead of the elemental.”

Olive placed a hand on my shoulder and nodded.

Crispin did the same on my other side.

“Plume,” said Crispin, “has endured much.”

“I can only imagine,” Odwald said with a small smile. “In the meantime, we will use the Borealis and my research to seal away the Aspect of Fire. Once we start the magic we cannot stop, and we will be unable to defend ourselves from interference.” He looked at us gravely. “The Aspect of Fire will not go quietly. It will come for us.”

“We’ve been preparing,” I said. “The Defenders of Alderheart will protect you.”

“Good,” said Odwald. “You must weaken the elemental enough for the spell to take hold. And you cannot depend on any assistance. The majority of the citizens and the Perch Guard will be needed to fight the flames that encroach upon the Wood. It will get worse during the battle.”

“Egg,” said Olive.

“We are up to the task,” I said. And strangely, I believed it.

“Until tomorrow, then,” said Odwald. “Rest well.”

---

Crispin and I stood beside Olive in the wings as we watched Speaker Bita giving the opening words of Battle of the Bands.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” said Crispin. “You know Olive performs best under pressure.”

“Egg,” said Olive confidently and strummed her lute.

I looked at the stage. I was initially surprised that the Birdfolk Council had allowed this event to continue, but I realised now that Speaker Bita’s decision had been wise. Everyone needed a distraction, a bit of respite, a chance to blow off steam before the reality of tomorrow took hold.

“We can do this, right?” I asked Crispin quietly.

“We can,” said Crispin.

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, Plume,” said Crispin. “I know what I’m talking about.”

A Mapach with a clipboard rushed up to us and checked Olive’s thaumaturgy. Olive adjusted her hat and flexed her paws.

“It’s time,” said the Mapach and gestured hurriedly towards the stage.

Olive strode out onto the stage to rapturous applause. Speaker Bita greeted her halfway across and they posed together to cheers and whoops and screams of excitement. Then Speaker Bita bowed and left Olive alone in front of the audience.

Silence fell and we held our breath.

Olive held up her lute and her voice boomed out over the crowd.

“Hello Humblewood!” Olive shouted. “Are you ready for Battle of the Bands?”

The cheers and shrieks returned in the affirmative, and Olive smiled and played the crowd. Cupping her free paw beside her ear, encouraging the crowd to reply louder and louder.

“I can’t hear you!”

Crispin and I looked at each other. “She’s okay!”

“Now let me tell you all a little EGG about Babson,” said Olive. “Settle down and EGG up.”

I coughed. “She’s mostly okay!”

Olive’s paws were unaffected in any case. They danced over the lute strings to a playful tune that sounded vaguely nautical. The crowd clapped and stamped as the sound crashed like a wave them and swept them along for the ride.

Now listen you here
If you’re big or small
If you’re short or tall
Any size at all
While you sit in bed
And you’re tucked up tight
In the dead of night
Or the morning light

Let me tell you a tale
Of a strong hero
Who we met, as you know
Many moons ago
When we walked in the Wood
And we saw his face
It was Hath’s own grace
Put him in that place

His name is Bab-son
Son of the Wood, father to the brave
Brother to the Humblefolk whose lives he saved
His name is Bab-son
Friend to the lonely, answering the call
Fighting for our future, he will save us all

“Will you help these men?”
Asked the brave Mapach
Yes he walked that track
With seven wounded on his back
And he laid them down
In the cool of the Wood
So we helped as we could
While the hero stood

“Won’t you sleep for a bit?”
But he would not rest
As you may have guessed
He was focused on his quest
“If you’d been where I’ve been
And you’d seen what I saw
Then you’d lend me a paw
I can still do more.”

His name is Bab-son
Son of the Wood, father to the brave
Brother to the Humblefolk whose lives he saved
His name is Bab-son
Friend to the lonely, answering the call
Fighting for our future, he will save us all

But in the dead of the night
Babson slipped away
To return to the fray
Or to fight another day
And although we tried
We never saw him since
Not a glance, not a glimpse
Of the Humblewood Prince

His name is Bab-son
Bab-son