Last Avarice

In a land left unscarred by the foul things that walk the Earth, there lay a forest still replete with the powers of old. The beasts who dwelt there knew nothing of the troubles beyond their insular lives and answered only to the call of their inner selves. Here, under the dark shroud of the starlit Heavens and the gentle light of the ascended Moon, the land was ruled by a King.

Lord Owl, Sovereign of the Night, soared above his realm and watched the fields below with unerring nocturnal eyes. His authority was mirrored in the lunar shape of his pale visage, with a bright brown tempering his magnificence from back-feathers to tail. Without warning he dove from on high, swooping low with talons outstretched to ensnare the unfortunate life below. The poor creature had but a moment to glimpse its doom before the talons closed, caging it fast. Lord Owl immediately returned to his royal roost, and once he was settled, he gazed upon the creature struggling in vain within his grip.

“Oh please, dread Lord, spare me!” cried the gentle mouse from the field. “Spare me, and I shall share with you a rumor of great interest!”

“Is that so?” the Lord replied with a laugh. “Little mouse, I know all that occurs within my realm— for I am King Under the Sunless Skies. The Moon is my matron, the Stars my cohorts above; their wisdom is mine to command.”

“Forgive me, mighty Lord,” squeaked the mouse, “but this tale comes from the Realms of Daylight— a place beyond your rule. Lord, beneath the light of day hunts a most terrible serpent— a Lord among horrors! Its scales are of shimmering gold, and its eyes… red as the crimson sunset. Oh Lord, surely such a beast would make far more fitting prey for the likes of you?”

“Indeed,” said the Lord. “Such a creature would make fine prey.” And he devoured the little mouse alive.

Soon, the mysterious Realm of Night and the hushed things that dwelt there gave way before the tides of daylight, and Lord Owl retired to rest. But he was soon awoken by a racket below; a crow pecking at the dirt in the shade of his royal tree, a bedraggled and beggarly thing unfit for the sight of a sovereign. But Lord Owl knew this creature, and the wisdom of such things that could travel between realms.

“Wormcoat!” he called down to the crow, startling it with a squawk. “Attend me.”

The wretched creature joined his Lord upon the branch, shuffling as close as he dared. An ant struggled along the greasy feathers near his black and shiny beak, and the crow’s tongue impertinently shot out to try and snare it as he addressed his King.

“Yes Lord?” Wormcoat said. “Did I disturb you?”

“Wormcoat, I have heard tale of a magnificent horror that hunts in the Realms of Daylight: a serpent with golden scales, and eyes of bright crimson. Have you seen such a creature?”

The crow’s head bobbed, and the ant fell away, landing somewhere far below. Wormcoat stared after it for a moment before his tongue slid back into his beak. “Yes Lord,” he said, “I have seen such a creature. It is as you describe— truly a sight to behold.”

Visions of the serpent’s magnificence filled Lord Owl’s mind, and desire overcame him to look upon it himself. “Where does it dwell?”

“None know, mighty Lord,” Wormcoat replied. “But you may find the serpent amongst the tall grasses at this hour, hunting the gentle mice of the field.”

Lord Owl departed at once, searching high and low for sign of his quarry. The bright daylight stole much of his powers, his vision blurred and erring, but at last he found it: a golden ribbon gliding through the grasses below, its eyes a pair of crimson specks upon its arrow-shaped head. Desire brimmed full in Lord Owl’s heart, and he knew at once what he must do. “Such a Lordly creature… I must have its power as my own! I shall pluck out its eyes and wear them upon my brow; only then will my name endure the Sting of Time.”

Lord Owl plunged from the bright heavens like a spear of godly wrath, the serpent helpless before him; but mere moments before he could strike, a shadow passed over Lord Owl and filled him with sudden dread. He broke off his attack at once and fled back to the safety of the trees, fear pulsing in his breast; a strange and unpleasant experience for one so mighty as he.

With weakened vision he cast about for the shadow’s owner, only to tremble as another bird joined him, shaking the branch with its might: Lord Eagle, radiant under the shining Sun with his bronze feathers and glinting beak, filled the King of Night’s vision with his splendor. He dwarfed his fellow Lord in size and power, Sovereign of the Sunlit Realms and the Mountain Above— and his word was law.

“Lord Owl,” he said, “I feared you had somehow lost your wits when I saw you flying beyond your appointed hour. But now I see that you trespass deliberately.”

“I had no such intent, mightiest of Lords,” Lord Owl replied. “I sought the serpent of golden scales— a creature I have heard fascinating tales of— and I wished to behold this horror for myself.”

“To my discerning eye, you sought more than just to behold, King of Night,” Lord Eagle replied. “The serpent is under my protection— no harm shall come to it. Its nature is a mystery to me, and until I learn of the powers that guide it, none shall approach. Do not challenge me again, Lord… I will not withhold my strike a second time.”

Lord Eagle took his leave, shaking the bough again from the force of his departure. Lord Owl watched the fields from where he was for a time, his heart murmuring desires unfulfilled. But he dared not challenge the King of Daylight’s command, and so he returned to his roost, intending to rest at last.

However, before he could close his eyes in slumber, the creature Wormcoat approached him once again.

“My noble Lord, the King of Daylight is a mighty foe,” he croaked, “but his power is on the wane. Age has blunted his power, and Time weighs upon his wings. If you were quick and cunning, he would be no match for you.”

“That may be true,” Lord Owl conceded, “if the conditions were equal. But Lord Eagle is mightiest of all while the Sun yet shines— my eyes alone would prove my undoing.”

“That is why I come to you now with a solution, Lord. The feathers upon my breast are fine and carry the hue of your dark realm within them. Let me bind them to your eyes, noble Lord, so they may be protected from the cruel Sun.”

Disgust filled Lord Owl at the notion of having the filthy creature’s feathers upon his royal visage, but he thought again of the golden serpent and its incredible eyes, and once more his heart stirred. “Very well, Wormcoat. I accept your gift and will use it well.”

The next morning, Wormcoat plucked out some of his own feathers and bound them with pitch pecked from a pine over his Lord’s eyes. Lord Owl’s sight became a thing of grey fog and hazy silhouettes, but indeed he was protected from the Sun’s blinding power.

“I hope my faith in you is not misplaced, Wormcoat,” he said. “Know that if I should fall, I shall curse you to a most bitter death if you dare to feast upon my flesh.”

The bedraggled crow hunched low. “I would not dare defile the flesh of Kings, my Lord… it is not for one such as I.”

“Good.” With that, Lord Owl took to the air, riding the updrafts until he soared high above the great forest. He waited, knowing Lord Eagle would soon spot him.

He did not wait long. Lord Eagle left his royal roost upon the Mountain Above and circled his fellow Lord. “Lord Owl, I bid you one last time to turn away from this course,” the King of Daylight intoned. “This conduct befits neither of us— and to destroy you would bring me no joy.”

“Nor I, to destroy you,” Lord Owl replied. “But I will not turn aside.”

“King of Night, what is this serpent to you? I foresee only ruin in this pursuit.”

“You are wise to be cautious with this creature, King of Daylight,” Lord Owl replied. “It is with good reason you fly above all unchallenged. But the Sting of Time idles for no one, mightiest of Lords— and before I perish to it, I will seize what treasures this world has to offer. No matter which of us is the victor, our names are assured to live on in the stories told by the gentle creatures below.”

“Then it is immortality you seek?”

“My Lord, I would seize the very Stars themselves if they were but within reach.”

“The wisdom of old has left you,” Lord Eagle scoffed. “These are grasping, ignoble thoughts, borne of one who fears the truth of his final days. How I mourn for what is to come… but if this is your wish, Lord Owl, then I will not deny your challenge. Let all below bear witness!”

Thus, the two Lords did battle beneath the Heavens, and all within the forest quailed at the sounds of their terrible struggle. Feathers rained upon the fields, and the grass glistened with a scarlet dew. Again, and again the Lords met, slashing with their talons and cutting beaks, unable to best one another in raw might. But despite Lord Owl’s speed and cunning, Lord Eagle’s predominate power could not be long denied, and Lord Owl fled before him with the Daylight King in swift pursuit. They passed over a roaring creek that bordered the grassy fields, flying low, and while Lord Owl did not dare look, he heard Lord Eagle’s wings beating like thunder upon the air behind him. That same fear he learned only yesterday filled his heart, and he desperately cast about for a solution, only to find one as he looked upon the creek below.

The Sun’s rays shone bright upon the water’s surface, reflecting into their eyes as the Lords passed over. One white-hot glimmer flared bright enough to cause Lord Eagle to divert his gaze for just a moment— for even he must bow before the fiery Sun— but the dark power of Wormcoat’s feathers protected Lord Owl’s sight, and to his good fortune he noticed Lord Eagle’s distraction. In that moment he struck, throwing himself against his foe with all his power knocking Lord Eagle askew. The King of Daylight struggled to realign himself, but he was slow, and one of his wings clipped the ground hard enough to bend bone and send him spinning out of control. Lord Eagle crashed upon the bank next to the roaring creek and lay still, his wings most cruelly broken. Never again would he soar beneath the Heavens, his throne upon the Mountain Above to remain empty forevermore.

Lord Owl alighted next to him, and upon seeing the state of his fellow Lord, he found himself struck by sudden sorrow. “Forgive me, noblest of Lords— I wish now that it had not come to this.”

“All too late, Lord Owl,” the fallen eagle replied. “All too late.”

“It is truly a pity we could not reach an agreement, fallen one. We might have shared the treasures of today.”

“The pity is in your high regard for such things. What will you do with your new title, King of the Forest? For mastery of the realm is now yours alone.”

“I shall continue my hunt, as intended,” Lord Owl said, drawing himself up. “I desire to pluck out the serpent’s eyes and wear them upon my brow— a symbol most fitting for a Lord such as I.”

“Most fitting indeed. But beware, Lord Owl: that horror’s nature is yet a mystery to me, and there is no treasure upon the Earth that can allay the Sting of Time. Only ill will come of this, mark me now.”

“We shall see, noble Lord. We shall see. I do not fear your curse— I am the King of Daylight now. See your power wane.”

So it came to pass that Lord Eagle perished upon the bank, last of that noble line of heavenly Kings. Lord Owl lingered for a time, but the flesh of Kings proved not to his liking, and he returned to his roost.

Wormcoat awaited him there, hanging upside down from the bough in a most ridiculous fashion. “Congratulations, your eminence— the realm entire is yours to command. None before you have claimed such a lofty perch.”

Lord Owl looked down the length of his beak at the creature below his feet. “What are you doing, crow?”

“Oh, this? My Lord, there are winged mice that live within the Mountain Above who roost as such. They claim the wisdom of the mountain drips down into their minds— but all it has done for me is put an ache in my skull!” With a squawk, he slipped from his perch and tumbled through the air, barely catching himself in time. Lord Owl waited impatiently for him to return, wrath stirring in his heart.

“Here, noble one,” Wormcoat said when he was settled, “let me remove my gift from your eyes so you might return to your royal self. Long may you reign, King of the Forest.”

“Spare me,” Lord Owl said, though he allowed the crow to pluck the black feathers away from his eyes. “I wish only to know where I might find the golden serpent— where does it dwell?”

“None know, noble one,” Wormcoat replied. “Its lair is yet hidden from me. But I shall search for this creature and tell you tomorrow where it will be.”

“Very good, Wormcoat. I trust you will not fail me,” the King of the Forest said.

“Lord, if I may… searching for the serpent will cost me many hours with which I may feed myself, and I have not the strength of Lords. If you could spare me a morsel from your hunt, I might seek out this serpent even faster.”

The Lord considered this for a time, but Wormcoat’s suggestion made sense to him. “Yes, I will do this, crow. If it brings me what I desire that much sooner, so be it.”

“Excellent, my Lord, excellent! Indeed, I shan’t fail you.” The crow’s eyes gazed out far beyond the fields, locked upon something near the creek, and his tongue ran greedily over his black beak; but with his thoughts filled with visions of the golden serpent, Lord Owl did not notice.

The King of the Forest took a moment to gaze upon his new realm, but soon found that the Sun’s brilliance still burned his eyes and caused them to err in their perception— somehow, Lord Eagle’s power was not at his disposal in its entirety.

“How troubling,” he said to himself. “But there can be no delay. I shall continue to borrow Wormcoat’s gift, until I seize the serpent and claim what I desire.”

That night Lord Owl returned to the comfort of his realm, hunting down two of the gentle mice that dwell in the fields with ease. When he returned to the crow come morning, and the beggarly creature had eaten his fill, he gave his King the news he longed for.

“Lord, I have it on good authority that you may find the serpent near the creek at this hour, sunning itself in the light of dawn,” Wormcoat said, noisily cleaning his beak. “If you hurry, you may catch it unawares!”

Believing in the immediacy of his triumph, Lord Owl took to the Heavens, his eyes protected by Wormcoat’s plucked feathers once more. His blurred vision drove him low, but eventually he spied the glimmering serpent upon the bank where the tall grasses wane. His wings hammering the air, Lord Owl launched himself at his quarry, all haste and murderous desire— no caution or care left for one so mighty as he. But something warned the serpent, and before Lord Owl could strike it vanished into the tall grass in a dart of glinting motion.

Lord Owl’s talons closed on nothing but air, and he retook to the Heavens in a fury. But no matter how far and wide he searched, he never saw the golden serpent again that day, and returned to his roost in defeat.

For three days more, Lord Owl tried to hunt the serpent, but his efforts availed him nothing. Each day he would offer Wormcoat another mouse, and receive the protection of his feathers, and each day he would find the serpent exactly where the crow said it would be. But no matter how carefully he timed his approach, the serpent would always slip away at the last moment, warned by some preternatural sense of the Lord’s imminent wrath. The Lord slept little, his thoughts always returning to that elusive creature. How desperately he wanted its gleaming radiance for his own, and its eyes for bright jewels to match the power he now enjoyed.

One night, Lord Owl found a golden scale stuck to one of his talons from where he had grazed the beast— his most successful attempt yet. The pale moonlight shone darkly upon the small speck, but this made it no less beautiful to behold. Lord Owl gazed upon the scale for many hours, and nearly forgot to hunt at all.

But the next day his pursuit of the serpent went awry once more, and despite the aid of Wormcoat’s predictions he returned to his roost again in defeat.

“I can get it, Wormcoat,” he said to the crow, the memory of that golden scale upon his talon burning bright in his mind. “Next time, I will finally get it. Just tell me where it will be next— that’s all I need. Have you found out where it dwells yet?”

“No, my Lord— I still cannot say. And… I’m afraid there is more ill news. This is the last of my gifts I can give you. My feathers… my breast is plucked clean, Lord!”

Lord Owl hissed his displeasure. “What turn is this, crow? I cannot delay my hunt, not when I am so close.”

Wormcoat’s head bowed low, his beak nearly jabbing the branch held between his toes. Lord Owl could not see well through his feather shroud, but there did seem to be a bare patch of flesh upon the crow’s breast. “Lord, if you must continue, then I suggest you keep this last gift until you succeed. It will make things difficult for you by night, but surely such is not impossible for the King of the Forest?”

Lord Owl drew himself up, his anger waxing in full. “Indeed not, my simple servant. I will continue my hunt as planned— only then will I rest easy, knowing that the Sting of Time will never diminish my name. All will recall my splendor in the coming days, Wormcoat.”

“Indeed they will, noble Lord,” Wormcoat replied. “I await your return as always.” And his little black tongue ran greedily across his shining beak, a gesture nearly unmarked in Lord Owl’s gloomy vision. But he paid it no mind, for the crow was a gluttonous thing and his mind was often turned towards thoughts of his next meal— and Lord Owl could spare none of his wrath for anything but the golden serpent and its captivating eyes.

But the dark nature of the crow’s blessing proved thrice as obscuring by night, and the Lord was nearly blind in the dark where he once saw true. He did not catch any mice that Night, and when he returned to Wormcoat, the impish crow refused to reveal the serpent’s location that day.

Finally roused to wrath, Lord Owl lunged for the little creature, intent on sending his bones to the Earth. But Wormcoat easily evaded his strike, cawing a laugh and taking wing. “Lord, my blessing will not easily let you harm me— see for yourself how I disappear!” And with a cackle he took off, with Lord Owl in furious pursuit. But the crow’s gift would not betray him, and Lord Owl soon lost sight of him amidst the trees. Fuming, he hunted the fields day and night, but he could not catch a single mouse.

His thoughts became slow and muddled. His wings did not bring thunder to the air as they used to. But his desire burned with feverish intensity, driving him tirelessly onward, until at last he managed to seize a single mouse— almost by chance— which he bore back to his roost in triumph. Exhaustion dragged at his spirit, and hunger gnawed at his belly; but these were mere trials to endure, and he knew he was equal to them. His summons were answered within moments, and Lord Owl watched Wormcoat’s approach with suspicion.

“Ever lurking close, are we Wormcoat?” he said, wondering if he would rather slay the creature outright and take his chances hunting the serpent alone, regardless of the odds. “Why should I pay this price to you, when you have yet to deliver me what I really want— the location of the serpent’s den?”

“But my Lord,” Wormcoat said, “I do know where the serpent dwells. I discovered it only yesterday, as it happens.”

At the sound of this timely proclamation, Lord Owl forgot his doubts at once. He released the mouse from his talons and listened to the crow’s noisome gobbling, barely containing his impatience. “Where, Wormcoat? Where does it dwell?”

“It has made its den between the Mountain Above and the fields, noble Lord,” Wormcoat replied with a belch, swaying upon the branch. “If you hurry, you may catch it as it emerges. But perhaps you should rest your wings first, Lord? Your strength is much diminished—”

“You have not the wisdom to doubt me, crow,” Lord Owl thundered. “Mine is the strength of Lords, and the needs of the body will not stop me. Soon I will have what I desire, and only then will I know rest.”

“So it shall be, mighty Lord!” the crow said, hopping about upon the branch. “Surely then, you shall strike true at last.”

“Pray that it is so, Wormcoat,” Lord Owl said. “Pray in earnest.”

Before the fields where the gentle mice dwell, where the foot of the Mountain Above meets the earth, the golden serpent had indeed made its den, nearly hidden by a large stone that had cast itself from the heights above. Lord Owl, unable to see from on high through the tattered feathers still clinging to his eyes, circled low and waited for that telltale glimmer— and at last, his patience was rewarded. The serpent’s head emerged from its den, swaying as it surveyed the sunlit lands beyond. With the boulder above, the serpent could not perceive Lord Owl’s terrible descent until it was too late: it tried to flee down its hole, but Lord Owl finally struck true. He snatched up the serpent in his talons and bore it away, its weight tugging at his tired wings.

He could not bear it far, and landed upon a tree close to the creek, pinning the serpent’s head beneath his foot once he landed. Breathing hard, excitement pounding away in his heaving chest, Lord Owl gazed upon the serpent in all its glory. How bright its scales shone then, so close that even his shrouded eyes stung, and its bloodred gaze observed him from beneath his pinning foot.

The serpent did not struggle, but it shifted uncomfortably upon the branch. “Who are you, beast, who so dares trap me?” the serpent hissed.

“I am Lord Owl, King of the Forest,” he replied, drawing himself up to his full height. “Sole sovereign of these lands. I come to claim your life, as is my right.”

The serpent laughed. “I see no King before me— just some beggarly and wretched thing, unfit for the eyes of a sovereign. Look at the dust upon your feathers, and the grime upon your beak. I hear your laborious breaths, your weak and fluttering heart— no, you are no King.”

“Silence!” Lord Owl cried. “Your words have no venom for one such as I. I shall pluck out your eyes and wear them upon my brow! Only then will I escape the Sting of Time.”

“Is that all?” mocked the serpent. “Come then, o’ great King— look upon me well, and see your desires fulfilled.”

Lord Owl leaned closer, his vision dazzled by the crimson shine— and thus did not see the serpent’s other half rear up. Fangs flashed, and before Lord Owl could react, the crimson-eyed serpent smote him upon the breast. Staggered by the blow, he tottered back on the branch, releasing his precious quarry. His error suddenly revealed, Lord Owl now perceived that the serpent bore identical markings on its tail to its head— a design of deceit intended for hunters such as he.

The serpent slithered off, looking back only once with its true eyes— which now shone a brighter crimson than the false. “Look upon me, fallen Lord, and recognize my name in your poisoned heart. Do you know me?”

“I do. I know you well, serpent.”

And Lord Owl fell from the tree, landing hard upon the bank next to the creek. His heart shuddered in his chest, his breaths slowing. How he struggled upon the dirt, trying to regain himself and return to his royal roost, but he had no strength left.

In his dimming senses, he heard the flapping of wings nearby.

“Wormcoat,” he croaked. “Is that you?”

“Yes, fallen one.”

“I am undone,” Lord Owl cried. “Avarice has bested me, its venom in my veins. My eyes grow dark.”

“You were not bested, mighty Lord— such a thing is not possible. No, you were deceived… here, let me uncloud your gaze.”

Wormcoat peeled away his tattered feathers from Lord Owl’s eyes, allowing him to see true at last— and thus he did not miss the fat old crow hopping in the dirt next to him, the skull of Lord Eagle picked clean of flesh and resting upon his bobbing head. The feathers upon his breast were much diminished, the black skin beneath pimpled in the breeze, but there were many more to spare.

“Ah. I see it now,” Lord Owl said, and his head fell back against the Earth.

“Yes Lord. The serpent fed me just as you did— two mice a night, what a feast! I knew where it would be, just as it knew when you would strike. How ragged you ran yourself trying to catch that magnificent horror. And see the end it has brought you! You have indeed evaded the Sting of Time, just as you wished.”

“Yes. I see it now.”

Wormcoat hopped closer, his beak agape. “Oh fallen Lord, if only you understood the contentedness of worms, and the peace known to all silent things that labor upon the Earth. With such wisdom this fate might have been avoided… but to the crow, the spoils.”

“And what shall you do with your new title, Lord Crow?” the owl whispered.

“What shall I do?” Lord Crow cawed, hopping closer still. “Why, I shall see my desires fulfilled at last! I shall pluck out your eyes, fallen one, and wear them upon my brow. A most fitting treasure for a Lord such as I, don’t you think?”

Lord Crow’s tongue ran across his black and shining beak, a sight to be the fallen one’s last. And so it came to pass that Lord Owl perished upon the bank, last of that noble line of heavenly Kings…