Reddy

From my perch atop the tallest redwood tree in the forest, I could see the roofs of the farms that lay a half mile away. The sun was setting; as the rays blued into the ultraviolet of twilight my vision expanded to include the yellow grass fields beyond the woods to the east and the Spanish moss bearded mangrove trees to the west that bordered the marsh.

“Whooo-hooooooo,” came the eerily lilting voice of my cousin Pepper, a small Pygmy owl who sat in a tree down by the farthest yellow field.

I “Whooo-hooed” in response.

As night descended like a soft dark veil, additional owls lent their voice to the nighttime symphony of tree frogs, cicadas, and crickets.

I detected a rustle in the dry leaves below and pinpointed the vole’s location effortlessly. In seconds, the night song was interrupted by the last shriek of the unfortunate rodent; the brief silence that ensued thereafter was the eulogy of it’s wake. And then the song went on.

Shortly before dawn, I spotted my cousin, Sweetpea, down by the rural road that wound through the redwood forest to the sea. She was finishing up a young skunk and looking rather roly-poly.

“Hey Pea,” I said. “That was a pretty big meal for a wee Saw Whet.

“Yeah,” she cooed in her soft high voice, “but little skunks are so sweet and delicious, I couldn’t stop.”

“Can you fly?”

“Well…sure. I know, I know…it’s near dawn---”

We both heard the faint snapping of twigs and swiveled our heads in unison towards the direction it emitted from. It was something big doing its best to be stealthy. We heard the inhaling of air into big lungs and the exhaling through a mouth full of big teeth. That’s the problem with skunks. We’re told they smell strong and though we can’t smell them, other predators can. Where there’s one baby skunk, there’s likely to be more nearby.

The large cat slunk through the redwood sprouts and ferns. A human would not have heard the large animal, but we did.

“Fly SweetPea! Fly!” I screeched.

Sweetpea tried but her body was too fat. She flapped furiously but only made herself a bigger target.

The cougar leapt from the shadowy brush, all muscle and claws and eyes glowing with a furious yellow flame. We were taught growing up that seeing that glow was seeing through the windows into the flaming pits of hell.

Knowing it was forbidden and knowing I was supposed to let nature take its course…I did the outlawed unthinkable…not really knowing what I was doing…just going with it I suppose…I stretched my wings high over my head like the bird on a pharaoh’s amulet…like an eagle’s! And my eyes felt on fire! The scream from my throat was a cacophony of voices co-mingled into one: wolf, badger, osprey…bear!

The cat froze in mid-air. Then dropped like an old, rotted tree onto the road.

An anguished squeal escaped my beak. This was a strike against nature herself. Yes, I was a predator too. But to cause the death of one higher up on the food chain…with magic…was bad. Very bad.

The big cat snorted and we jumped a foot in the air then flew to the nearest branch out of its reach. Sweetpea wobbled while getting a grip and I steadied her as we watched the cat roll over onto its belly and stand, shaking its big head in pain and confusion. It looked up and locked eyes with mine for just a second, then raced off a little unsteadily, weaving a bit back and forth. It would not be back. Ever.

My fat little cousin looked at me, beak hanging open, panting, and even more wide-eyed than normal. “You…you…uh---”

Before she could finish, I fluttered my wings before her face, the soft pale feathers around her beak trembled, then she blinked. Her somewhat dazed and silly natural expression returned to her pretty round face and she blinked again. “Heyyy…how’d we get up here?”

Back in the cozy den I shared with my mother, I preened my feathers and yawned, puffing and getting ready for sleep. I felt her eyes scanning my face and knew she was squinting in a grouchy way. At last, I couldn’t stand the scrutiny any longer and said, “What mom? Why are you eyeballing me like that?”

She blinked, eyes again round. “Hmf. Have you been practicing again?” That’s my mom, no mincing around.

“What? Me? No, of course not.” I felt then like a spikey spear of lightning would surely come through the oak’s bark and fry me. “We had a close call with a big cat but made it to safety just in time. I didn’t want to tell you about it cuz you would worry…cuz…you know.” I managed to look abashed and she at last nodded slowly. My two siblings had perished before I was able to fly. I was the smallest of the brood, the last to learn to fly. Momma was a bit overprotective.

“It’s because.” She corrected automatically, then sighed. “Reddy, it’s for your own good as well as the good of the entire forest for you to not practice.”

I sighed. She squinted at me like I was a microbe in a slide.

She said, “Oh Reddy. If the wizard finds out you’ve got any talent at all he will take you and enslave you. Just as he did your great great grandfather. Now that was a powerful owl. He started out just like you, with a little flicker---”

“Mom. I don’t---”

“Hush child. ‘Wise old owl’ is not just a frivolous human phrase. Long ago your great great grandpa Wildeye, showed an exceptional affinity for changing the weather. His interference drew the wizard’s attention. The wizard then enslaved Wildeye and forced him to bid his wishes. With Wildeye’s magic, the wizard grew ever more powerful. They say he is immortal now. They say he can feel when magic is used, when a spell is cast.”

I couldn’t help but show shock, I was truly amazed. Did I believe it?

“Yes son, the wizard is over two hundred years old. He will feel any spark of magic…he will take you away…” she sobbed then…”please don’t make ‘dumb baby owl’ another cliché.”

But the next twilight, high in my favorite tree, I pondered my dilemma. I had never been that powerful before. I hadn’t been sure I could erase Sweetpea’s memory either, but I had. How could I possibly stop practicing? What kind of life could I have being the runt of the litter…and still living with my mom? Again, I asked myself, did I believe the wild tales about the wizard? Tales told down through our generations.

I was about ten weeks old when I heard the first tale of the wizard from my uncle Aspen. He had been our favorite owlet-sitter because his tall tales were so fantastic and entertaining. He’d been the first one to tell us about the wizard. Since then, I had been practicing surreptitiously a little every day, with only miniscule amounts of success---a falling leaf here, a gust of wind there---I felt my sudden success had to do with necessity, an intense desire to thwart something really awful. How could I stop now? Besides, I was now four months old and had never seen hair nor hide of any old wizard.

Momma said my great great grandfather could control the weather.

I stared up at the clouds turning to bruises in the early evening sky. I stared until my eyes burned…I raised my wings over my head and shrieked…”Aaaaaaaeeeeeeeee!”

A scrub jay shrieked back as it headed home for the night, “Caaaaawwwwwieee!”

Great. Last thing I needed was those annoying birds hanging around. I turned towards the farmer’s fields where night rodents foraged but before taking flight a strong gust of wind---warm as a lion’s breath---pushed me off my branch. I whirled in the air as it somersaulted me. Just as I caught my balance, the wind vanished. Coincidence? Probably. Too many of those fantastic tall tales. As I flew towards my hunting ground, I heard a faint warbling whisper high in the redwoods, “….ooOoorleeeeEeeee….”. It was the wind passing through the trees, that’s all.

I feasted well that night, I was getting really good at being stealthy and my hearing was so acutely tuned to each and every rodent…a grey rat there under that leaf, a bevvy of fat young mice shivering under that log, I knew they’d be fleeing right into my path within two seconds. I was on fire. I was in my element. I loved being an owl. Thoughts of spells and wizards had taken a backseat…

That is…until I returned home to our oak burrow.

I knew right away that momma was not there. That was unusual because she was so overprotective, she always returned home in the early morning hours---1-2AM---to make sure I was home safe and sound by dawn. My heart started racing like a hummingbird’s. I took in great slow breaths and looked around our cozy burrow for some sign of where she might be.

I couldn’t lose her too. I suddenly felt shame and regret that I’d lied about the magic stuff. I’d never ever try again if she would come home safe and sound.

She did not return all that day. Even before the sun had lowered to the horizon, I exited our burrow, squinting my eyes against the brightness. Ugh. I hated sunlight. And daytime. Too much noise for my sensitive ears and too much light for my sensitive eyes.

In anger and frustration, I raised my wings Pharoh-bird style, and cried out, my voice like a wolf’s, “AaaaaOOooooooo!” I shut my eyes and tuned away from the day. A cool breeze lifted the feathers on my back. I opened my eyes and saw it.

In the nearly dark night---wait. What? Dark? How long had I been standing here for? Nevermind that…the symbol carved into the oak tree above our burrow’s entrance began glowing. The cool blueish white glow detailed a pentagram in a circle, above the top point were two round orbs---owl’s eyes.

“No no no…” I said aloud and shook my head. But it was still prematurely dark out and the symbol still glowed.

The wizard had taken my mother.

It all came rushing back now. The winds, the hunts, the cougar…it was real. The tales were spiraling through my head; I fought to put them in some sort of order. I needed to not fall into despair because I’d been so deceitful. I needed to find my mother.

”Aaaaaaaeeeeeeeee!” I cried out.

“Caaaaawwwwwieee!” and “Aaaeeeeaaaa!” and “CaaaaCaaaaw!” came back. The scrub jays. Annoying as they were, they were everywhere in the day and saw all. A multitude replied back to me, recalling my voice as one of their own.

King Jay Lenny swooped down, landed beside me, bowed, and said, “Yes, yes! My Prince, my holiness, my---”

I stopped the annoying bird leader short. “My mother. The wizard. Where?”

He jumped up and down, his blue-black feathers ruffling, his pointy beak about to take my eye out.

I blew into his face and he calmed. “There. Past the mangroves, all the way to the cliffs at the sea. The lighthouse is where he lives.”

As I flew off in the direction of the cliffs, I heard him behind me. “Where? Where did the Prince…” it faded away as I flew farther. Weird birds they were.

At the edge of the sea, I saw only moonlit ocean and dunes and rock cliffs. I perched in a solid but spindly cypress that lurched precariously over a cliff, it was the highest view I could find. No lighthouse though.

I again screamed out in frustration. “SCREEEeeeEEE!”

This time a dozen seagulls answered my cry, “SCREEEE!” and “ScaREEE!” and “SCREEAaaaaaa!”

Then, a voice so unlike any I’d ever heard before, “OOOOhhh. I’m dying.”

Not my mother’s voice. The seagulls flew down and fluttered around a great big rock on the beach. They flew off again and I nearly cried out in anguish…but the rock moaned.

” OOOOhhhh. Pleeease tell my pups to carry on. They’re right out there in the waves, they’ll die if---”

The giant seal on the beach that had looked like a rock looked into my eyes. She smiled. “I knew you’d come.”

“No no no! You can’t die!” I said, hearing her pups in the waves just off the shore, crying.

Suddenly, my eyes felt like they were burning again. The huge momma seal flipped over onto her belly and flopped on her great fins back into the ocean. I saw splashing all around her as her pups rejoiced.

When I turned back towards the cliffs, the lighthouse was there. “Momma!” I flew to the topmost railing.

The light came on and I ventured inside the round room, scared. A light glowed from down the spiral staircase, warm and inviting. I hopped and fluttered my way down and down.

And down.

At the very bottom of an impossible depth…but it’s all impossible ain’t it? In my head I heard my mother correct, “isn’t it?”

And then she was there.

In an enormous space filled with…books on every wall, red carpets on the floors, and the soft, dim lighting us owls preferred. She was perched on a bookshelf ledge but flew down to me, shaking her head and crying.

“What mom? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Oh, she’s better than okay.” The voice was deep but mellifluous. The wizard! “My name is Oberly by the way. I know you’ve---”

“Heard it. Yes!” I cried. The wind in the trees.

I brushed mom’s wings off of me. I said, “Wait. Mom? You’re not a captive here?”

She looked to the wizard and he said, “Son…Redwood. Reddy to your friends…YOU are my next protégé. I’ve seen all you can do and you are AMAZING!”

“No! I won’t be a prisoner!”

“Hush, child,” mother said.

I said, “You knew. All along you knew I was practicing.”

She only nodded.

The Wizard Oberly nodded too.