[ a section of the Penguin Epic. In the vein of my teenage obsession with fantasy and science fiction, this book is based on the premise that Animals can talk, and live lives like we do. This section is a jump into a future section of the story, and unfortunately gives away a detail about what has happened to a character from the book. Sorry if this frustrates some. The Macaw is a macaw and the ruler of this kingdom. And Icarus is a Penguin. And their country is at war. ]
“Guards, close the door.” The great macaw said.
Icarus turned to leave, assuming the bird king meant to be alone.
“No, you stay.” The king said while looking directly at icarus. The deep blue bird removed his crown, and placed it on the desk between him and the penguin. He breathed deeply, and halfway through letting it out he whispered. “Please sit.”
Icarus awkwardly struggled at climbing atop the stool the king was referring to. The stool was made for terrestrial animals, where as the perches around the room were made for the bird. But those, for obvious reason, were of no use to the penguin.
Icarus tried to cover the fact he was out of breath. As he sat nervously.
“How old are you?”
“14 yearss old. Your magessty.” Icarus breathed deeply trying to hide his lisp, and calm his slightly pounding lungs.
The macaw nodded and threw a a voice just over a whisper he said.
“Icarus, I am 140 years old.” He made no effort to emphasize that statement, but his shoulders and back relaxed once he said it. Icarus tried not to react to this fact, this bird he was talking to had seen more of history than most animals alive.
“The only part of our nation that has seen more life than me would be the trees and the hills.” His blue feathers glistened as he let out a soft laugh.
“What is it that you want Icarus?”
“To fly majessty. To defend this home.”
“And you need to fly to defend it?”
“Yes majesty.”
“Do these guards, silver-back gorillas… born to the ground, need to fly to defend me?”
Icarus feared answering. The song his father sang to calm him while they used to fly echoed in his mind and he said “They are not birds majesty.”
The Macaw did not smile, but he did nod.
“You lost your parents young Icarus?”
“My mother majesty. Father still fishes in the western sea.”
“I have no parents.” The macaw said. Icarus felt odd to hear then fact that he had read in the history books said allowed. Both of the Bird King’s parents had died when he was just 5 due to a northern raid in the early fighting between the kingdoms. “I have seen more life and more death than most wish to know, and I know how a bird changes when a spouse dies.” The king’s dark eyes glistened only slightly. “You did lose both of your parents.” He blinked slowly. “Or you would be home.”
Anger turned Icarus’ beak red hot as water fought to fill his eyes.
“When were you last home?”
“Six y…” Icarus coughed. The shaking in his voice cleared slightly. “Six years ago majesty.”
Icarus readjusted in his seat. His feet dangled off the edge. His formal jacket, though the smallest size available, hung loosely.
“This war is filled with animals that have stories worth repeating. Animals that fight for their kid, their chick, their young at home. Or they fight to win a mate at home. So in the end, their story has a worthy end. Then there is you Icarus. You want to fly, but you can not fly. You want to defend your home, but have spent most of your life away from it. Your life fills the whispered gossip of our nation, but it is not a story worth repeating beyond that.” The king leaned back on his perch. “Do you know the ‘song of the bear?’”
“The nursery rhyme? Yes.” Icarus remembered it from the book his mother had read from that smelled like dust and cookies. He prayed he wouldn’t have to recite it.
In a world of cold dirt and lumber
The bear of the woods looks to slumber
His paws, the small fear and fall under
The bear of the woods looks to slumber
The toil the plan and the work of summer
The bear of the woods looks to slumber
Winter has come
Work is done
The bear of the woods lives in slumber.
The Bird King continued, “The bears of this word are the most fearsome warriors, the catalysts that change kingdoms, the animals on the front lines. But yet, they are meant to rest and it is perfectly natural. I believe our modern bear’s desire to ignore that instinct has been a downfall of civility. A bear at rest is beautiful. Something so powerful, so deadly embracing the still and the quiet. In days of old, a bears home was their focus because they knew that for a good portion of their lives, they would rest in it.”
He gestured with his wings outstretched, “Heroes are made when their hearts are at rest so they can be thrown into chaos. Go home, see your father. If any voice is to repeat your story beyond vane intrigue, let it be your father’s.”
The king looked down to his crown and continued, “Fathers are taken daily. Mothers are taken daily.” He looked up again with a softened brow “Find rest, and then worry about flying.”
