When evening came, a party of birds-robins, blue jays, cardinals, and theater members-appeared in the sky above Fortress Glooming.

“Free the slavebirds! Free the slavebirds!” they chanted, waving their weapons in rhythm.

Hearing this, the soldiers who had been left in Fortress Glooming became frightened and uncertain. Turnatt must’ve lost the battle, they reasoned, or else how can the woodbirds come here?

“If Lord Turnatt is dead, then what’s the purpose of staying here? Waiting for death? I’d rather flee!” one of the soldiers cried.

Still uncertain of Turnatt’s fate, the remaining crows and ravens flew over the fortress walls and toward the mountains.

When the woodbirds landed on the fortress’s ground, they heard voices. “Over here! Over here!” the slavebirds yelled from the compound.

The woodbirds pried open the compound door and rushed inside. There was much hugging and crying. When Reymarsh saw the slavebirds he called to his tribesbirds, “Quick, remove their chains!”

While their bonds were being cut off, the slavebirds couldn’t help wincing and crying out in pain. The pieces of metal had worn into their flesh, almost embedded in their skin. But they were so glad.

The slavebirds were free; they were slavebirds no longer. During their celebration they seemed to remember something. “Come with us!” they said, and led the woodbirds to a hut outside. The woodbirds broke into the hut and went inside to inspect. The food before their eyes shocked them.

“Aren’t these apples, pine seeds, raisins, and roots ours?” Fleet-tail gasped.

“These walnuts, honey, mushrooms, and raspberries are from my tribe!” said Brontë in anger.

“These are the eggs stolen from the blue jays!” Cody exclaimed.

“Look, those are our cardinals’ eggs! We should carry them back. Maybe they’ll still hatch,” said a cardinal.

All the birds moved the food to the fortress meeting hall, preparing for a feast.

The crystal chandelier in the hall was beautiful when they lit the candles on it. When the birds of the Willowleaf Theater began to play music, everybird started to dance and sway. Their hearts fluttered with the notes. In the air and on the ground the birds danced gracefully, finally at peace.

On one side of the dance floor, Skylion, Flame-back, Glenagh, Reymarsh, Dilby, and Tilosses stood together, talking.

“My tribesbirds and I are leaving tomorrow,” Reymarsh said.

“So soon?” Flame-back was surprised. “Why, you can rest a day or two in Stone-Run.”

“No, when I left, I was in a hurry. There are still many things that need to be settled,” Reymarsh replied firmly.

“We are traveling south too,” Dilby cut in. “Our theater balloon has just been fixed, so we can journey together.”

Glenagh looked worried. “What about the freed slavebirds? They can’t fly so soon.”

Dilby smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Some of them can travel in our hot-air balloon.”

“Besides, the slavebirds who are unable to fly can stay in Stone-Run to rest and heal their wounds,” Flame-back offered. “They can leave whenever they want to, or they can settle here.”

Skylion nodded in agreement. “Right. Stone-Run’s a big place; there’s room for everybird.”

“Thank you all for your help and generosity. Our debt for your saving our lives can never be paid,” Tilosses exclaimed.

The other five smiled at him. “Let’s thank Swordbird,” Glenagh said, gesturing with both wings to the sky.

Early the next dawn, when the morning glow dyed Stone-Run Forest red, the theater balloon had already started to rise up into the air. In the basket there were also freed slavebirds beside the theater members. Reymarsh and his robins flew on either side of the balloon.

There were calls of good-bye both from above and below.

A new day began in Stone-Run.

– EXCERPT FROM PAGE 312, VOLUME XVIII, OF THE STONE-RUN CHRONICLES

It has been about eight seasons since Swordbird came and removed Turnatt from Stone-Run. Whenever our youngsters see a rainbow, they run up to me and take me outside to see it. They ask me whether it is the same as the Swordbird Rainbow and beg me to tell them the stories about Swordbird. Of course the Swordbird Rainbow is different from any others: You can see it move from one end of the sky to the other, like a shooting star.

The freed slavebirds are happy again. Most of them have returned home, but some have stayed with us. Fortress Glooming has been made into the Stone-Run Library. Now Stone-Run is indeed a wonderful place.

The wedding of Cody and Aska is soon to be held. Of course, as one can expect, most of our youngsters during the days of Turnatt have already had children. It shocks me to think how old I am.

In two days we are going to celebrate the Feast of Peace and Friendship at our camp (south of Fortress Glooming). Everybird is busy preparing for it. The cardinals and we have joined together, and we call ourselves the Stone-Run Forest tribe. The Waterthorn birds and many friends from far away are invited to celebrate the festival. It just warms one’s thoughts to think of all the delicious food that will be prepared.

This is a short summary of what has happened since Turnatt perished. The temptation of a freshly brewed cup of acorn tea is too great for me to resist; I will put an end to this entry.

To conclude, I would like to quote Swordbird’s words: “Peace is wonderful; freedom is sacred.”

Glenagh, Head of the Stone-Run Library

Aska and Cody landed halfway up the hill. “There. There it is,” Aska whispered softly, pointing.

Cody nodded, looking at the top of the hill. “Yes, it’s just like what you told me, Aska. A dot of white in the midst of the blue sky and the blue flowers. I can even see the bluets, forget-me-nots, and gentians around it.”

Aska tried to smile through her tears. “Yes. It hasn’t changed for seasons; it’s just the way it was then.” She sniffed as memories flooded her head. “I remember that day as if it were yesterday…” She started to cry.

Cody put a wing around her shoulders. “Now, now, Aska. You know we shouldn’t stop when we’re halfway there. Come on!”

The two blue jays once again flew. They fluttered a short distance and landed on the hilltop. The late-afternoon wind’s breath stirred the flowers and grass by the grave, making small rustling noises. The two birds let their eyes slowly sweep over the inscription on the headstone.

MILTIN SILQUORE

The words were slightly worn from rain and wind, but they were still distinct. The marble headstone glistened in the fading light. Aska stood there motionless. Tears blurred her vision as she remembered the cheerful, smiling robin.

Aska sniffed. “Miltin,” she whispered, “I am back. I have seen Swordbird; I have seen the tyrant Turnatt die; I have seen the slavebirds happy and free. I hope, through my eyes, you saw them too.” She brushed away a tear and smoothed her feathers as the wind changed direction. “Miltin, I’ve brought you a gift, a gift that can only mean peace.” Aska took a package out of her pack. She carefully unwrapped the cloth. “A feather, Miltin. It is not any ordinary feather. It is Swordbird’s. This I give you, Miltin. Rest in peace.” She inserted the beautiful feather into the ground among the blue flowers.