The Messenger Bird
Early the next morning at Lindenlea Farm was much like any other. Albanac rose at dawn, rubbed his eyes, used the outdoor privy, tossed in some sawdust and fed the capercaillies. He then let out a yodelling call to Rastus that sounded like "Hupsidaisy-mashelbewaitinshortlyoo!" to let the worthy ibex buck know that the house was stirring and could give his morning report when he was ready. He returned inside, washed his hands and face with soap root in cold water from the ewer and set about making sure that there was enough soaked grain, fruit and milk to go round for breakfast.
By this time Angharad had stirred herself and was blowing up some coals in the stove for a cup of mint tea before facing a new day. She called to Gwyn, who groaned and pulled the covers up over himself and buried his head. Like all young people his age, he seemed to need just a little more sleep than he had even two years before.
Gwyn had not slept in with his parents after all. Nor had Clive slept in the main room. After a short talk with his parents in their room, he had half carried Clive up the ladder to sleep with him in the loft. They had both felt better for it, although the summer evening was warm.
Clive on the other hand was now in a hurry to get down and outside and he barked out to Albanac that if his good-for-nothing son couldn't bestir himself, perhaps the man of the household could understand the need for a short dignified walk in the garden before breakfast.
So Albanac cheerfully climbed the short ladder and helped Clive down, who then huffed and puffed his way quickly out the side door through the woodshed and made himself scarce for a few minutes.
Shortly thereafter, Rastus herded the ten milking goats up to the farm house yard. He went for his morning mash and the milking goats waited patiently in line to be milked. By this time Gwyn had tumbled down from the loft, washed his hands and joined his parents in sitting on stools and milking the goats.
The day proceeded more or less as normal. No messenger birds showed themselves. There was weeding to be done and some fresh fodder to be cut for the goats. They had to go searching for a capercaillie who appeared to have made an escape and a new nest away from the coop after the storm and they needed some of the eggs. Clive had a good nose and before long he had located a very full nest under the low sweeping branches of a young hemlock tree. They gathered all but four much to her consternation, then gathered her up with her remaining eggs. With her complaining all the way, she was taken back to the coop and settled her into a new nest with her warm eggs.
Gwyn also helped Albanac to saw some green wood from the main trunk of an elm tree that had succumbed to the storm several days earlier, after paying respects to the spirit of the tree which still resided in the roots and a remaining cluster of suckering stems a few feet away. Some of its branches would do very nicely as water pipes when hollowed out to bring water to the vegetable patch in high summer and parts of the main trunk would be used for making Gwyn a new bed.
It was whilst Albanac and Gwyn lay down for a short while on the grass, taking a rest from their sweaty work with a drink of goats milk, they saw a strange sight. Far above, caught in the early afternoon sunlight, there swept the pinions of what looked like a mixed flight of winged horses, gryphons and eagles. There were clearly heading for Anvard. This gave them pause for thought, but there was nothing to be done but continue as normal. They all slept a little lighter and were weary the next day upon awakening.
The next three days were much the same, more milking, more weeding, the harvest of some early plums, a washing day and baking of several big round loaves of solid bread using rye and barley flour and a new yeast starter that Albanac had brought back from the Beruna market the week before.
They went back to bed.
By the fourth or fifth morning, lulled through sleep with the house smelling deliciously of baking bread, Gwyn had almost put the Gryphon out of his mind. But whilst Albanac and Angharad were enjoying a refreshing mint and balm tea and discussing the main chores for the day ahead, a talking messenger bird arrived just as Rastus was making his way up the hill with the milking goats.
As luck would have it, it was a raven, one of the two who had run errands for Angharad the previous autumn. Her name was Cornell and she circled down, alighted on the gate post before flapping over to the veranda where they were all eating. Cornell had a scroll in one claw. She looked at them, first with one beady eye, then the other.
They stared back at her expectantly for a moment before Albanac belatedly called into the house. "Gwyn, Cornell is here. She has a message. I think you should come down and hear it."
Gwyn stumbled down the ladder and half falling, half gathering his rug about himself, he slid through the house and out the front door, collided with his mother's seat and abruptly sat down on the front step. "Ooof!" he said and rubbed his bruised backside. Clive looked over with a baleful eye but said nothing. It did not do to keep the messenger birds waiting. They normally had many other people to visit.
"Well Master Gwyn, it seems you are in time for some grave tidings" croaked Cornell. "Today, I come bearing a message from Dale the Third, King of Narnia. It concerns us all. I only heard it myself for the first time an hour ago. The Parliament of Owls have been out all night it seems, delivering these scrolls to all the most reliable day birds right across Southern Narnia. I don't have long. I have at least ten other hamlets and caves to visit up these valleys. I've just been to the dwarf mines over the ridge. They're in uproar, and no mistake."
Her beady eyes surveyed them appraisingly. Rastus arched his neck and pulled in his nose, his horns standing up tall, looking majestic, his yellow-grey eyes with their horizontal slits expressionless. The humans had all gone pale, looking grave. Even Clive stopped panting, licked his chops once and sat staring with bloodshot eyes, his mouth firmly closed, ears witching slightly.
"Well, I'll come to the point. You can check my words against the scroll in my talons if you like but it'll be quicker if I just talk." She flicked her wings and ruffled her neck hackles.
"Anyone who is a talking beast or bird, faun, centaur or the like or a son of Adam or a daughter of Eve is to withdraw from this part of Southern Narnia and gather on the far side of the Ford of Beruna within three days. Winged beasts and talking birds are included for the moment, until the King works out the lie of things. Dryads and naiads and the like are welcome to call in to Beruna if they can, but he respects the need for them to guard the trees and streams they belong to and asks them to try to withdraw into themselves and just keep watch for the next few weeks until they are asked otherwise."
"It seems that Anvard and its village have been invaded by an army of strange and ghoulish creatures out of nightmare. It includes werwolves and minotaurs! They have killed many people. Whilst Anvard is in Archenland, it is feared that they will use it as a staging point to invade Narnia and will try to come down this very valley! We don't know when their next foray will be, but we know we can't risk the lives of those who are here. I'm sorry, but you'll have to move."
His mother and father were looking grim and had a hint of tears in both their eyes. They were holding hands tightly. Gwyn whimpered a little. He knew as well as his parents that between them and the dwarves over the ridge, there were only eight pack horses and they would have to carry as much food and other supplies with them belongings with them as possible.
Albanac held out his hand shakily, took the scroll from Cornell, and unrolled it, scanning the contents. Angharad looked over his shoulder. Cornell had embellished the message slightly but she was certainly not a twitterer. The basics were in the scroll. Yes, all in the greater Archen Valley who could, had to pull up their roots as quickly as possible and flee to Beruna and the northern side of the Great River. It bore the seal of the King.
"Thank you Cornell, may the blessings of Aslan and all the stars be upon you" intoned Angharad. She sighed, took the scroll, rolled it up and rebound it with the ribbon that was attached to the seal and handed it back to Cornell who quickly grasped it in her left talon.
"No doubt we'll see each other in a few days!" rasped Cornell. "Don't take too long! I hope to see you well on the track down to Beruna by noon tomorrow!"
With that, she hopped up onto the veranda, sidled up onto the peak of the roof and then took off, flying to the west up the tributary valley. From her direction, they suspected that Cornell would probably be next visiting the dens of some talking bears and the cave of a hermit centaur, who survived on roots, berries and spring water.
Angharad said "I doubt if the hermit will be persuaded to shift himself at all and if Cornell can find those bears, he'll be lucky. I think they will shift themselves if he finds them but they'll will complain the whole way down!"
"Yes and probably get completely distracted by the thickets of fruiting berries that were everywhere at this time of year." added Albanac.
There was another farm-holding, The Mincing Mare, down below them in a neighbouring side valley, about an hour's ride away which was probably being visited by Cornell's mate right now. This farm bred and trained train stock horses for herds-folk and chargers for Narnia's defence and they were blessed with a flying stallion from the line of Fledge which helped manage the herds. Angharad looked across at her husband gravely and said: "I hope the Mincing Mare can be persuaded to loan a horse or two to us to help us shift things quickly enough"
Albanac looked back and said: "You are very right. One of us should ride there on the old grey mare this morning and be back as soon as may be. But to tell you the truth my love, I'm more concerned about our goats. Aslan knows how long we will be stuck on the Northern side of the Great River. I'm in two minds about whether we should try to take as many as we can manage down the valley and risk the fords of Beruna or just let them run free. What say you Rastus?"
Rastus tossed his proud head and said: "I wouldn't like the chances of the milking girls being very comfortable without you or some young kids to help relieve them, so I dare say they'd best come down the valley. I think I'd best tag along then and help keep them comfortable. But unless you plan to murder and eat the rest of the lot in two days, I think you'd better let me get help to lead them up to the high fells quick smart. If the King speaks true and Narnia's about to be invaded down this valley, I rather think the high fells will be a far safer place than on the far side of the fords of Beruna. They won't be too welcome, not being talking beasts and all and not so skilled on the heights, but at times like this Aslan's charge to treat the dumb beasts gently and cherish them will certainly be followed, I can vouch for that. But I can't vouch for my people bothering to listen to the King. If they can't protect themselves from werwolves and minotaurs on the high fells, no one can. They'll tell me I'm mad for coming with you. Into the stomach of the wolf is what I'm thinking."
This speech was the longest they'd ever heard him make and they all glanced at him in surprise. The wisdom of his words could not be denied and they seriously began to wonder if indeed it might be better to go higher up instead of lower down.
However, in the end they decided to obey the King and Albanac set off with Gwyn down to the Mincing Mare on the old nag to beg for a pair of stock horses in this time of emergency.
Angharad saw them off anxiously and once they were out of site she carefully approached the Linden Tree, placed her hands firmly on its trunk and bent her forehead respectfully to the rough bark with eyes closed.
Many minutes went by in silence until she began to shake and quiver, whimpering slightly until with a gasp she broke from the tree, reeling in shock and horror before tumbling to the ground in a dead faint.
