The Bird Whisperer - Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

SWAGGERS THROUGH THE AGES

For decades, many people in Wingstead, the most prestigious city in the British Alterlands, said a lot of bad things about one of its most renowned aristocratic families – the Swaggers family. Of course, they said these things behind their backs, because the Swaggers were known to be dangerous people. It was not surprising that they were loathed by many. Some hated them because they envied their wealth and social status. Others disliked them because they'd been swindled by Swaggers on multiple occasions. There were also those who didn't wish to have anything to do with them due to the rather reliable rumors of their affairs in illegal matters and plans to undermine the calm and peaceful (more or less) life in the Alterlands society. But, most of all, the Swaggers were hated because they had Swaggers blood running in their veins.

The Swaggers family line descended from countless generations of – no, not aristocrats. They descended from, well, basically, a line of mean slippery bastards. The kind nobody liked. There is always a warrior in the king's army who will choose to flee from the battle instead of dying for the kingdom. There is always a spy who will double-cross his side just to see the looks on his comrades' faces – and in exchange for a certain amount of safety and gold, of course. There is always a humble servant of the kingdom who lacks the required amount of royalty and chivalry to be king, but instead possesses the gift of bow-shooting, wit and good looks, with the combination of which he will seduce and impregnate the king's daughter. These were the kind of people the Swaggers originated from: thieves, swindlers, cowards, traitors – yet all of them really good ones. These were but common folk, members of unknown tribes whose genetics was simply rotten. They probably went all the way back to a certain incident with a snake and an apple, and their name would probably be lost in the records of history as no one tends to remember the scoundrels.

However, when King Astonius the Third ruled the British territory of the Alterlands – "the world where everything was possible", inhabited by wizards, witches, warlocks, and occasionally banshees, werewolves, vampires and such other freaks – things changed. Princess Altiana turned out to be mysteriously pregnant just before she'd reached the level of maturity at which she could pick a husband fit to be the next heir to the throne. The king, of course, hushed matters up and hurried to marry his daughter to a noble lord, one of his loyal warriors. The disgraceful offspring, of course, was killed.

Princess Altiana lived long after her father's death with the lord, who naturally became the new king, but, alas, after the slaughtered baby, many more followed. They were undoubtedly spawns of the love between Altiana and her secret lover, whoever he was. This was clear to see as the princess was dark-haired, and so was her swarthy husband. Yet all of the children were fair-haired and pale as the moon. The new king, naturally, attempted on several occasions to murder Queen Altiana, but she was clearly skilled enough to thwart his attempts; besides, she couldn't be executed publicly as the kingdom loved her. In the end, the king gave up trying to punish her infidelity with death, but her children from her mystery lover were killed, again.

All of them but one: a girl who was allowed to stay in the castle as a common servant upon the condition that her mother would nevermore be unfaithful to the ruler of the British Alterlands. The girl ironically named Tenebra, a dark name given to her in the vain hope to compensate for the fairness of her hair, spent her life as a humble maid whose origin no one but her and her mother knew. Tenebra knew her real father well, and was proud to be the daughter of Foul Arenius the Swaggering, better known as a lover than a fighter, rotten but intelligent, cowardly but irresistible, good with the bow and better with the ladies. Two years later, the king and Altiana had a son who inherited the throne, but Tenebra's keen wits and uncommon beauty helped the Swaggering bloodline spread and over time her descendants took over the royal court.

This happened in the fourteenth century. By the twentieth century the members of the foul bloodline already went by the name of Swaggers and had a long history of lords, ladies, counts and dukes behind them as well as lots of gold in their vaults. What they did best was to survive. They were artful and sly and cunning, and whatever they lacked in the morality and courage department they made up in charm. In the 1960s they already owned about ten per cent of the large territory of Wingstead, and they managed to keep in this way throughout the next twenty years because they knew how. The hand on the knife in someone's back was always the hand of a Swaggers. The smile on the face of the winner in the foul play was also the smile of a Swaggers. It wasn't even their fault that they were so hated by everyone, including the gods and destiny. It was just in their blood.

* * *

One lovely summer afternoon in the 1980s, at the very end of the summer and at the very end of the '80s, the bad-blooded Swaggers family line produced another heir; this time, a male one. The boy entered the world with a scream. The scream was, however, his mother's. It said:

'DIE, YOU ROTTEN SON OF A TROLLOP, DIE!'

This cheerful line was kindly addressed to her husband, Leopold Swaggers, whose hand was quickly being ground to dust in the steel grip of his wife who was currently busy giving birth and seething with fury.

Tears swelled in the eyes of Leopold Swaggers the Second as the baby came out; tears of pain, not joy. He'd lose a hand today, there was no doubt.

His wife, Charlotte Swaggers, was covered in sweat, snarling and cursing at her countless sisters who were gathered around her blocking her husband out of sight.

'I HATE YOU, YOU STUPID PRICK!' she yelled. 'IT'S YOUR FAULT, THIS BABY! FIFTEEN HOURS I'VE BEEN GIVING BIRTH – '

It was then that the baby came out, and it might have cried out or something, but it couldn't be heard over Lady Charlotte's screaming.

'It's over, darling…' croaked her weary husband observantly. 'It's… it's a baby boy.'

"He looks like a princess," he thought grimly to himself. "I hope she lets go of my hand soon…"

But Charlotte Swaggers wouldn't let him off this easy.

'Don't "it's-a-baby-boy" me, Leopold!' she growled, beautiful yet truly frightening. 'You're the reason I'm here! A traditional birth at home?! It'd suit our roots better, he said! I nearly DIED! Fifteen hours! I'll kill you! I – '

But then, she was handed the freshly cleaned little creature in a towel and the world around Charlotte Swaggers disappeared. She was a mother. And her baby was the most beautiful girl – um, wait, boy – in the world.

The baby had snow white skin and nearly snow white hair as well. It looked so clean it seemed to shine. Its eyes were pale and watery and looked huge, but that was probably because it was frightened by an entire crowd of relatives ogling it curiously and reaching for it. It started whimpering quietly, probably too afraid to cry.

'It's beautiful,' uttered Leopold in an unusually soft voice, amazed at his own sudden feelings of fatherly affection.

'He is,' Charlotte cooed, gently pressing the baby to her face. 'He is my little ice prince. He won't be an oaf like you,' she scolded her husband without taking her eyes off her boy. 'He will be gentle, and cultured, and proud. A true gentleman. I'll call him Milford. Little Lord Milford. Isn't he perfect?'

Leopold stifled an awkward smile.

'Um… darling… Are you sure about the name? It is a royal name indeed, but, um, won't his future classmates make fun of him?'

'What for?' Charlotte asked distractedly, staring at her baby in blind obsession.

'Well, I was thinking they might suggest his name implies he has a "Mom I'd Like To –'

'Do you have a problem with this name?'

'No, darling, I just –'

'Are you arguing with me?!'

'No, darling –'

'I think I have the right to decide on the name as I've suffered for nine months and fifteen hours, don't you?!'

'Yes, darling. Milford is the best name possible.'

'That's right,' Charlotte beamed. 'And he will be the loveliest, most graceful boy, my adorable little Milford.'