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Prologue
In the beginning, the Golden Phoenix was born in a blaze of fire that sent light across all the Earth. The blaze was so bright that it gave vision to all the birds nested on the ground. When the Phoenix flapped his enormous wings, a powerful gust carried the birds from the ground up into the sky, and they began to fly.
The birds were delighted to spread their wings and explore the lands beyond. The owls and woodpeckers took refuge in the forests, to form nests within the trees; the gulls and terns flocked to the edges of the land, to feast on the fish of the waters; the puffins and penguins pursued the colder regions in the far north and far south, where they could roost in great numbers; the flamingos and dodos sought the most remote islands in the ocean.
At the end of the day, every bird watched the Golden Phoenix sink below the horizon in a blaze of red flame, and night fell. The birds of the Earth were afraid of the night, for it was cold and dark, and predators roamed the ground. The great white egg in which the Phoenix rested shone brightly through the night sky, as did the countless smaller eggs of his fellow watchbirds. At the break of dawn, the Phoenix hatched from his egg and his golden fire burned over the horizon once more, and the birds of the Earth rejoiced in the birth of a new day.
In the summer months, the Phoenix glowed brightly. The days were long, and the birds enjoyed the light and warmth of the Phoenix.
In the winter months, however, the Phoenix distanced himself from the birds. His light was often lost behind the clouds, and he spent more hours below the horizon. The days grew short, and the nights were cold. The birds did all they could to get closer to the Phoenix, to feel the fiery warmth of his feathers: the geese and kestrels, who could fly higher than the other birds, dared to soar close to the clouds, where the air became too thin to breathe; the swallows and ospreys, gifted with longevity of flight, migrated across the face of the Earth in search of the Phoenix … but no matter how high they soared, or how far they journeyed, no bird ever got close enough to see the Phoenix properly.
As their nests grew cold, and as food became scarce, the birds of the Earth began to peck and claw at one another in their desperation to survive. Of course, some birds had developed stronger beaks and sharper talons than others. The eagles and falcons took advantage of their superior size and began to prey on the smaller birds. The cunning magpies stole the eggs from the most vulnerable to satisfy their greed. The red-breasted robins intimidated their neighbours into surrendering territory.
Displeased by the behaviour of the birds, the Golden Phoenix appeared between two clouds and spoke directly to them.
‘You birds have disappointed me greatly. I granted you the gift of flight so you could explore the skies, and evade the predators who roam the ground. Yet, in my absence, you have chosen to turn on each other, out of pride and greed. For this, I will send a mighty storm upon the Earth as a reminder that even those at the top of the pecking order ought to have their wings clipped. For from my wings you began to fly, and from my wings you will fall to the ground.’
However, one family had proven themselves worthy of the Phoenix’s mercy. The house sparrows were a most kind and sociable bird: throughout the seasons, the sparrows had befriended their neighbours and willingly shared food and territory. Their nests were well-crafted and well-hidden within the shrubbery, thus ensuring they evaded the capture of larger birds.
And so, as he beat his enormous wings harder than ever, sending powerful winds and heavy rain upon the earth, the Phoenix kept watch over the humble sparrows. When the almighty storm arrived, the birds of the Earth scattered in the chaos, their flights thwarted, their nests destroyed, their eggs lost. The thunder and lightning struck fear in the heart of even the toughest birds.
The sparrows, though smaller and lighter than the others, were also among the bravest; they stuck together in their nests and waited out the storm, which lasted a whole month. When the winds eventually subsided and the rain ceased, the light of the Phoenix broke through the clouds and the birds of the Earth gathered on high perches. The Phoenix informed them that the storm was over – but as a reminder that violence amongst the birds would not be tolerated, he would send a mighty storm upon the Earth every fifty years. The sparrows, he concluded, were exemplary in their coping of the storm, and that all birds would do well to follow in their wings…
Chapter One
‘Focus hard on where it is you want to go. Be sure to check the coast is clear before you take off, looking both ways: you don’t want to collide with other birds, especially if they’re twice your size. Remember, Speckles: with flying comes freedom, but with freedom comes responsibility.’
Dawn was breaking over Downash Farm. The farmhouse on the hill, topped with its owl-shaped weathervane, was set in silhouette against the rising sun, which cast a pinkish glow over the sloped garden. Morning dew glistened on the overgrown grass, on the apples hanging from trees in the orchard, and on the cobwebs woven across the top of the hedges.
Concealed within one of these hedges, Mr Sparrow was stood behind his two-week-old son, Speckles, in their family nest. Beside them, Mrs Sparrow was curled up with her head beneath her wing: like the human family in the farmhouse, she was enjoying a well-earned lie-in.
Father and son were almost identical in appearance, with their chocolate-coloured wings, fluffy grey breasts, and short, sturdy beaks – but while Mr Sparrow had a solid black patch beneath his chin, his son sported a collection of black dots – which was why he was named Speckles.
‘When you’re ready,’ Mr Sparrow was saying to his son, who stood poised on the very brink of the nest, ‘bend your legs, lean forwards – and jump.’
Speckles took a deep breath. He crouched and leaned over the edge of the nest, until his claws could no longer cling to the twigs – and jumped as hard as he could.
A moment where Speckles simply hung in the air – then he began plummeting head-first towards the earth. As he gained momentum, the wind whistling in his ears, the garden rushed up to meet him – he thought he heard his father shout something from above – at which point Speckles hastily threw out his wings, and flapped hard.
He had pulled out of the dive inches from the grass; he soared across the garden with a wonderful swooping sensation. He flapped again and again, the wind coursing through the feathers of his outstretched wings – what a feeling!
‘Look, Dad! I’m doing it!’ Speckles yelled back towards the nest. ‘I’m flying – Woah!’
So enthralled was he by his first foray into the air, Speckles had not paid sufficient attention to where his wings were taking him: the bird table had suddenly loomed out from nowhere. Speckles threw out his wings to brake, but it was too little, too late. He crashed headlong onto the wooden platform and rolled across it, spraying seeds and dried fruit everywhere.
‘I’m OK,’ he announced in a muffled voice.
‘Hard luck, Speckles,’ called his father, who sounded as though he was refraining from laughing with great difficulty.
Speckles clambered sheepishly back to his claws, shook the debris from his feathers and set his sights on his family nest.
‘Come on,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Bend your legs … lean forward … and jump.’
He leapt off the bird table, once again experiencing that glorious swooping sensation, and flapped his wings. This time, when he reached his nest, he slowed down in good time and came to perch on the edge of the nest, landing with only a wobble.
‘See, you’re getting better already,’ smiled his father, and Speckles felt pride swell inside him. His mother was now awake. Mrs Sparrow was more slender in size than her husband, and her plumage was a light, walnut-brown. She had evidently witnessed her son’s successful second flight, for she was beaming widely.
‘I was just dreaming about your brother and sister,’ she said. ‘They would have loved to see you flying for the first time, too.’
Speckles frowned.
‘But I don’t have a brother or sister.’
‘You did at one point,’ explained his mother, smiling wistfully. ‘I laid three eggs in the spring. Your father and I were so excited to have three little chicks sharing our nest with us: Speckles, Sandy and Cocoa.’
‘So what happened to Sandy and Cocoa?’ asked Speckles.
He did not receive an answer immediately. His parents looked at each other. Mrs Sparrow nodded to her husband. Mr Sparrow led Speckles to the front of the nest and looked out at the garden.
The farmhouse garden looked rather how one might expect a farmhouse garden to look. The grass was in need of a cut, as were the bushes and hedges. The shed that housed rakes, hoes and shears was half-covered in sprawling ivy. Several objects were scattered across the grass: an ancient and very rusty roller; an ornamental table and chairs, the white paint of which was forever flaking away; and the simple, slightly lopsided wooden bird table that Speckles had crashed into not long ago. It was by no means the prettiest garden in the world, but to Speckles it was the perfect home.
‘Sandy and Cocoa were taken away from us,’ Mr Sparrow told Speckles. ‘The day before you hatched, this garden was raided by the magpies who live downriver. They like to steal other birds’ eggs, you see, and there’s plenty of them around at this time of year. It was – well, it was awful, Speckles. Nearly all of us lost offspring that day: the Chaffinches, Betty the blackbird, Patrick the pigeon … even the poor swallows, who had barely been in the country a month. Winston, the old crow, did what he could to fight them off, but we never really stood a chance against three full-grown magpies. Your mother was incredibly brave –’ Mr Sparrow smiled sadly at his wife, ‘– and although the magpies took Sandy and Cocoa, your mother managed to save you, Speckles.’
Speckles didn’t know what to say. He felt strange.
‘So where are my brother and sister now?’ he asked.
Mr Sparrow put a wing around his son.
‘They won’t be coming back, Speckles. I’m sorry. I think the best thing to do is to try and forget about it. Now, be a good lad and get yourself some breakfast.’
Speckles spread his wings once again and jumped. He was getting the hang of flying now: this time he landed on the wooden bird table without disturbing a single seed. This was the first time he had eaten from the table. Until now, his mother or father had always brought berries and small insects to him in the nest, and dropped the food straight into his open beak. He pecked at a sunflower seed, feeling strangely grown up.
There was the distant sound of a door unbolting. Speckles looked up the sloped garden to the farmhouse on the crest of the hill. A moment later, the farmer’s young daughter emerged from the back door. She came skipping down the slope, singing merrily, and came to a halt in the middle of the garden. Turning to the sparrows’ nest, she held out her right hand.
Speckles watched as his father emerged from the nest with apparent interest; it was well known that a visit from the farmer’s daughter usually meant a delicious treat was in the offing: sure enough, sitting in her upturned palm was a single raisin.
Mr Sparrow dived onto the upstanding handle of the rusty roller, halfway between nest and girl. From the bird table, Speckles watched with great trepidation: at a towering four feet tall, and with hands the size of a sparrow’s whole body, the human girl was frighteningly large to him.
The girl was making noises of encouragement, and Mr Sparrow cocked his head. With bated breath, Speckles waited. His head flicked from his father to the girl, then back to his father again. He knew what was going to happen next, but it still made him nervous.
Speckles gasped: his father had sprung from the roller and fluttered onto the girl’s open hand. He pinched the raisin in his beak, and flew away again, back to the nest. The girl giggled and sprinted back up to the farmhouse.
Speckles sighed. Would he ever possess the bravery to fly onto a human hand like his father, or to fend off magpies like his mother? He ate another sunflower seed and looked out at the garden, which by now was bathed in warm, golden sunlight. The rest of the birds were awakening: the peach-and-grey head of Mr Chaffinch was poking out the nest in the west-facing hedge; Betty the blackbird was having an early-morning bath in one of the puddles on the farmhouse driveway; Winston the old crow was pottering about the orchard, pecking at a fallen apple.
Had an invasion of magpies really terrorised this quiet garden a fortnight ago? It was hard for Speckles to imagine the whirlwind of wings, the clashing of claws, and the terrible cacophony of screeching and squawking that must have filled the air. Then, once the assault was over, the mourning of lost offspring, the repairing of nests that had been so carefully constructed … and Speckles’s unhatched brother and sister, taken from their home, never to be seen again …
Speckles continued to watch the old crow wandering through the orchard. Straight-backed, glossy black, and at least four times the size of Speckles, Winston struck a formidable figure even from a distance. He had been involved in the fight with the magpies … Was it possible he knew what had happened to Sandy and Cocoa?
Reminding himself once more of his parents’ bravery, Speckles took a deep breath and flew from the bird table, landing in the dappled shade of an apple tree. Hopping through the maze of mouldy apples, Speckles approached the crow with caution.
‘Who goes there?’ cawed Winston. He spun around wildly and poised his wings as though preparing to fight. ‘Show yourself!’
‘D-Down here, sir!’ Speckles shouted nervously, waving one of his wings.
Winston bent down to observe the young sparrow all the better. Up close, Speckles saw a nasty scar across the crow’s closed right eye. He took a step back, scared.
‘Aha!’ barked Winston. ‘You must be Spencer’s little one. Speckles, isn’t it? I don’t think much of your posture, young lad! You won’t win any scraps like that. Come on, stand up straight! Wings tight! Stiff upper beak, laddie!’
Speckles did as he was told.
‘That’s more like it,’ said Winston, straightening up again. ‘Now, how may I be of service?’
‘I wanted to ask you about the fight with the magpies, sir,’ said Speckles earnestly. ‘See, I had a brother and sister who hadn’t yet hatched and –’
‘The fight? Ah, yes, the fight! I saw those meddlesome magpies off, and good riddance! Coming to Downash Farm to steal others’ young and expecting to get away with it – Pah! The nerve! Yes, those thieving thugs got exactly what they deserved.’
‘Yes – they stole my brother and sister –’
‘Who did?’
‘The magpies.’
‘The magpies? Ah, the magpies! Yes, those pesky poachers got exactly what they deserved! How dare they come to Downash Farm and take what isn’t theirs. It was an act of war, as far as I was concerned. They had even filched a human’s pouch to carry their loot away in. The sheer cheek of it!’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Speckles hastily. ‘Do you know what happened to the eggs they stole?’
‘The eggs? Hm, let’s see. Yes, I was chasing the magpies away – those cowards didn’t have the spine to stay and fight – and I managed to catch up with one. He was slower than the others. He was carrying the pouch of eggs in his beak, you see, and it was weighing him down. A foolish mistake! I pounced on the scoundrel and he squawked like a chicken and dropped the pouch. I told him to stop fleeing and fight like a real bird – but he had no interest in combat, no sir! That pestilent, pilfering, pigeon-hearted –’
‘But what happened to the pouch of eggs?’ Speckles interrupted, now losing patience.
‘The pouch of eggs? As I say, the magpie dropped it. No doubt it fell into the river over which I chased that scallywag. Another few minutes and I would have finished him off, believe you me …’
Winston continued to ramble aloud about the magpies, but Speckles had stopped listening.
The eggs had landed in the river. Perhaps his brother and sister were still alive after all.