The Adventures of the Little Great Boy

Three foxes played in a garden on Forest Road. Crows croaked down a county lane. It was a misty September morning, and the winter crisp air had come early this year. Families began to stir in their beds. The birds were singing their songs. And the light of dawn had broken through the curtain of clouds hovering above the Robertson’s house.

But something was off this morning.

A sleepy mother with hair sticking up pulled herself out of bed, grappling with the covers that had wrapped around her, leaving her husband without any. Her husband John woke with a start as a cold chill filled the air.

“Mary,” he croaked, “What time is it?”

“7am! You should know what time it is, the alarm has gone off, hasn’t it?”

“Ey? Oh, right. Well, I didn’t hear it, did I?”

“Again? Oh John, we must get your ears tested.”

“Not this again,” John chucked, rubbing at his crusty sleep stained eyes. “Where is Stephen? He’s usually here with our cup of tea, right?”

“Uhm, yes,” replied Mary, looking around the room with her dainty button nose high in the air. “He must still be in bed.” She sniffled and grappled her way off the bed, covers draped around her feet. Mary shook them off, strode to the window and pulled the curtains open and was blasted by prickly blue light.

“Looks like a beautiful morning,” murmured John in the background.

“Uhm, yes,” replied Mary, scratching her head this time. “Where is Stephen?”

“STEPHEN!” she shouted.

Nothing.

“Right.” Mary shoved her fluffy white dressing gown on over her pink and white checked pyjamas and strode to Stephen’s bedroom door.

“Stephen? Stephen darling?” Losing her patience she opened the door.

“Stephen?”

Stephen was sat there, on his animal printed acrylic rug, playing with his stuffed animals.

“There you are! You gave us a fright!”

Stephen jumped up and hugged his mother’s legs. “Sorry mummy! I just had the most amazing dream and th–“

“Ok ok Stephen,” said Mary cutting him off. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Could you make us that cup of tea darling? You know how busy we are.” And with that she ruffled Stephen’s hair and dragged her feet back into her bedroom.

Stephen did as he was told.

After they’d drank their tea the usual clockwork began. John went to his office basement to tie up some lose ends from the working week, and Mary cleaned the house. They’d usually be out for their family walk around 2pm. But 2pm passed. Then 3pm. Then 4 then 5. The clock struck 6pm when finally John’s slender and crooked nose, a Robertson family trait, poked from the basement door.

“We ready team?” he shouted exuberantly.

Stephen’s eyes lit up, and then immediately darkened. In a temper he yanked on his boots and coat and woolly hat.

They’d never been out this late. Never. Thought Stephen as he kicked a stone on their driveway.

John was oblivious and whistled to himself just like he always did, and Mary watched the river, just like she always did. And despite Stephen’s dismay, he watched the array of birds glide over the rippling water, just like he always did.

“Come on you two. Better cut across the bushes,” said Mary guiding them through a short cut. “I haven’t brought a torch, and I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to get lost out here in the dark.”

Stephen said nothing.

Through the bushes they came to the football field just down the country lane that split off from their road. Today it was empty. No footballers, no dogs and no walkers either. Stephen kicked at a few sticks and watched one of them summersault through the darkening sky, when he noticed something peculiar.

“Mummy, look!” said Stephen, pointing to a corner of the pitch, his previous disappointment melting away. “Look at all those herons! Why are there so many of them?” he gawped. “I’ve only ever seen them on their own. Mummyyy – look!”

“Oh yes,” said John, first, looking down his glasses balanced on his nose. “That is odd. There will be a logical reason for it though,” he said matter of fact.

“But no, daddy, you told me, and I read, remember? That herons are solitary animals!”

“That is right John. It certainly is a strange sight,” Mary finally piped in, peeling herself away from her phone.

John scratched his chin. “Hmm, I wonder. I wonder. Ah! I have it! They’re breeding! Yes. That must be it.” Said John looking rather pleased with himself.

But Stephen wasn’t satisfied.

“But daddy, what about the little ones, like me? Look! One, two, three, four, five. There’s five! 2 adults and 3 little ones. They’re a family!” he gasped with glee and clapped his hands together.

“Oh, yes,” replied John, this time scratching his balding head.

“Well. Uhm. Well. They still must be breeding. It’s the only logical answer, Stephen.”

But Stephen still wasn’t satisfied.

Just then, another heron appeared, its expansive wings spread out wide gliding on the wind and over their heads. Then another, and another, and another, some carrying chicks in their beaks. Until there were 12. A get together of small and large. Some of the chicks were nestled under the wings of their mothers and fathers.

“Come on now boys. The moon’s about to show. We’ve got to get back. We can’t stand here all night scratching our heads,” Mary said bringing it to a close.

“So what takeaway shall we get?” she said with hunger in her eyes, she was starving.

Stephen dragged his feet reluctantly but not without taking one last look behind him and saw something that he would never forget.

***

Stephen was very close to the edge of the football field where the Robertson’s had seen the herons earlier that day. What Mr and Mrs Robertson hadn’t seen, however, was the moonlight shining down on the dozens of herons, illuminating a crystal-encrusted staff held in the wing of the largest heron there.

He quickly switched his torch off and ducked under the trees, the only thing between him and the field. He could tell the moon was bright, the trees blocked its brilliance, but even so, it highlighted the trees around him, casting dancing shadows of limbs on the muddy ground. He dropped to his belly and crawled through the remaining few feet of trees.

“AHH!” Stephen’s hand slapped across his mouth to muffle his gasp, but it was too late. One of the herons had already noticed him.

“Who’s there?” squawked one of the herons.

Stephen was as stiff and as still as a wooden floorboard. It was no good though. A few herons stepped forward and pushed back the trees with their chiselled beaks and curious claws, and the brilliant moonlight shone like a spotlight on Stephen.

He stayed exactly where he was, just as stiff, and just as still.

“What is it?” squawked another heron.

“I’m not sure, Bert! Looks like a human boy! A dead human boy? He hasn’t moved a muscle.”

“Maybe he’s sleeping?” Bert shouted back.

But just then, Stephen’s eye sockets began to tremble with fear.

“Look-a-there!” Chirped up a third heron. “It moved!”

“So it did!” bellowed the first heron.

Stephen leapt to his feet and ran screaming, “TALKING HERONS!” but thudded into a tree. He bounced back onto his back and slipped into unconsciousness.

When Stephen awoke, he was laid on a pile of cut grass on the football field, surrounded by heron chicks dancing and singing. He was half expecting to be tied up. But he wasn’t. Stephen started to count the herons, but lost count after 37 as they were moving about.

“He’s awake!” squeaked a heron chick.

Stephen’s eyes widened.

“Are you ok?” squeaked another. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“Oh – I – er – “

“I think he might be hurt.” Squeaked the first heron chick. “PAPA!”

Stephen jumped up and went to run. His head span and he fell back on his bottom.

The largest heron there took a few large steps forward, head bobbing in unison with its large scaly feet. Then, spread its expansive blue and grey and white wings and landed at the foot of the heap of cut grass, sending bits flying into Stephen’s mouth. The Great Heron grabbed Stephen’s head in his clawed foot and stared intensely into his eyes. For a few moments Stephen’s eyes glossed over. The heron’s stare grew in intensity.

“Hmm. Ok. Ok. Nope! Looks like he’s alright, little ones. But better be sure, hadn’t we?” He took his crystal encrusted staff from beneath his wing and swirled it a few times above Stephen’s head and tapped it 3 times.

1.2.3

Stephen’s eyes shone brightly.

“All better.” The Great Heron said.

“Whoopey! Whoopey!” regaled the heron chicks.

“Now. We must proceed!” bellowed The Great Heron turning to his fellow herons with his majestic crystal-encrusted staff rifled in the air. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this!”

“Uhm. Excuse me.” Came a feeble voice from Stephen’s mouth. “C-c-can I leave, please?”

“What?” the Great Heron said turning to face Stephen in surprise. “You can’t leave.”

“B-bu-but why? What help can I be? I’m only a young boy.”

“Young, yes! But my, little one. You are special! You can hear us, all of us. I knew it as soon as you tried to run away screaming ‘TALKING HERONS.’ But no. You cannot leave. We need you. It is written. And we have been waiting a long, long time for this. So long, we almost gave up hope.

“You see, young one. We have been dying. Our numbers drop every year. If it keeps on like this, there won’t be any of us left!”

Stephen’s eyes welled.

“It is written that every century there is a meteor shower. And hidden beneath the metal rock is a precious gem that can help us.”

“But can how can a gem help you?” asked Stephen dubiously.

“They are birthing totems! It ha –”

“PAPA!” the Great Heron’s chick cut in. “If you’re going to tell the story, you’ve got to tell it properly!”

The Great Heron’s chest heaved up and down as he chuckled heartily.

“Ok, ok. As you wish.” He said with a curtsy to his young one. And he sat cross legged and gave a nod of his head which instructed the others to do the same. He gave a wave of his staff and the moonlight dimmed and the stars shone brighter.

“Lore has it,” The Great Heron said, his voice deeper, “lore that has been passed down by many generations, that for each species there is a totem to help them when times are tough. For us herons, it is a rare precious gem of green that shines with unbelievable beauty. But alas, we’ve never been able to locate the fallen meteorites. Lore has it, that a human is needed to find it. To be quite truthful with you, young one, we’ve always scoffed at this. Humans are to blame for our decline. So, if you can imagine, why would we want a human helping us? But it has been our inability to forgive that has prevented us from finding you. Or rather, you finding us. It is written. That when our hearts are as beautiful as the green gem, our fate will become unsealed.”

Just then. A shower of flaming white seared across the midnight sky like falling rockets.

The Great Heron looked to the moon, with the third crater facing North “Right. We better begin. IS EVERYBODY READY?”

Suddenly the herons, whose numbers had swelled since Stephen tried to count them, started forming into lines. The great Heron saw the look on Stephen’s face and said, “They travelled from far and wide.”

The football was filled with squawking herons, and Stephen wondered how they hadn’t woken up the whole neighbourhood.

Some herons started handing out maps and passing them out backwards. Stephen noticed they all had little brown leather sacks on their backs.

“Supplies!” Bellowed the great heron to Stephen. “Who knows how long we’ll be out there or where the maps will take us.”

“But don’t you usually decide what route you want to take?” replied Stephen.

“These maps are different, little one. You could even call them magic. They were weaved out of ancient pond reeds many, many years ago. One of our ancestors once said that the plants are our friends and want to help us avoid extinction. We began documenting the routes we had taken, and then over time, they started rewriting themselves. Leading up to this event, the maps have never been so clear. It’s like they’re trying to speak to us.”

And off they went.

Up hills. Down hills. Over rivers where the Great Heron carried Stephen himself. They trudged through mud. Flew through clouds. Until eventually, the intricately drawn lines on the map completely vanished.

“STOP!” bellowed The Great Heron. “Never in our history has this happened before. This must be a sign. We must be here.”

They deep dove beak-wards through the clouds, Stephen hanging onto The Great Heron with all his might, trying not to pull out any feathers. They landed in a clearing surrounded by giant pine trees. Stephen couldn’t place where he was. Or how long they had been flying. Or what he could possibly do to help them find the Birthing Totem the herons needed to survive. His eyes began to tremble again as he thought of what they might do when they found out he was of no use.

The Great Heron’s claws gripped into the ground as they landed. Stephen slid down the heron’s beak as it knelt forward and landed with a thud. And there it lay. A great solid lump of iron metal, laden with craters.

Without word the party of herons swarmed around the mass of still steaming rock, pushing Stephen to the back. They pecked and pecked with their beaks, but to no avail. Not a single slither of iron rock was chipped off. But still they tried with a feverish eagerness, pecking for their lives. But still, not a mark, not a scratch, was made.

“The boy!” shouted one of the herons.

Stephen shrunk backwards.

“YES! THE BOY.” Bellowed The Great Heron. “COME! Come here, little one.”

Stephen very reluctantly dragged his feet towards the now rapidly cooling rock in the centre of the clearing. He was sure he had just seen it shimmer, as if winking at him. Stephen shook his head. The herons pushed him forward, until he was face-to-face, shrinking under its weight. His hand shook as he brought it forward and placed it on the rock, hoping to high heaven that something would happen. But nothing did. He placed another shaking hand upwards and placed it side-by-side, muttering under his breath with clenched eyes, “Please let something happen. Please.”

“We’re wasting time!” Shouted a rather scrawny heron at the back.

“I thought you said he could help us!” shouted another.

“I WANT TO GO HOME!” wailed Stephen, as his whole body began to shake.

“Not until you do what has been promised to us!”

More and more herons started to chime in until their voices started to rattle the trees.

“SILENCE!” bellowed The Great Heron.

“Ohh!” gasped Stephen, as all of the maps flickered with light, lighting up the clearing like a swarm of fireflies.

“What? What is it?” the scrawny heron spat in eagerness like a hungry wolf.

The mass of herons looked around each other, each as clueless as the next.

But then suddenly, the whole clearing was aflame with light from the glowing maps.

“Ahhh.”

“Ohhhh.”

“Oh my.”

The herons gasped and gawped in awe at the dazzling light.

“Ouch!” shouted one of the herons as she dropped her map.

Every other heron began to do the same as the maps were too hot to touch. They shone with new engraved lines of silver light that looked like molten metal. As they dropped to the floor, they fell in a perfect pattern, the lines matching up to the next.

“What does this mean?” squawked a younger heron.

The Great Heron stepped forward to analyse the maps new purpose. He scratched his chin with a long nail-like claw. Then turned to Stephen.

“Young one? Can you understand this?”

“It’s Stephen, actually.” He replied with new courage, as he had seen something like this before, but he couldn’t remember where, in a book maybe.

The molten lines on the maps indicated weak spots on the meteorite. A glimmer caught his eye and his eyes turned sharply to the right. He picked up a smooth sharp stone. The meteorite began to glow with the same lines of the map. The herons continued to look at each other blankly, while Stephen hammered away at the lines. After he’d gone over all them, he stepped back, feeling confident something was going to happen. But it didn’t.

The herons had been holding their breath. Then all of a sudden their disappointment and anguish released as rasping sighs.

The Great Heron flapped his wings with force and yanked his staff from beneath one, then thwacked it on top of the meteorite in a rage. The outer shell began to crumble away, revealing an astonishing, precious gem of the most beautiful green, its light bouncing off the leaves.

“HE’S DONE IT!” the herons rejoiced together.

The Great Heron stepped forward and grabbed the gem in his great claws, then threw it high into the air for all to see and then caught it in his brown satchel.

The sun was beginning to set as the moon was rising.

***

Mr and Mrs Robertson had just got back from the police station. John opened their front door and Mary stepped inside. She missed the smell of sizzling bacon and eggs that normally filled the kitchen, wafting through the house.

“It’s so empty without him here, John.” Mary said with a whisper. With red and swollen eyes she searched the kitchen and then stared at where he’d normally be. “He’s been classified as missing, John!” she said, wailing this time.

“Now, now, Mary. It’s Stephen. Right? He’ll come back,” said John stroking Mary’s hair. “We know he left in the middle of the night, right? And there’s no sign of a struggle, yeah? He’ll come back, Mary. He’ll come back.” He said, holding back tears.

***

“WE MUST CELEBRATE!” bellowed The Great Heron.

The herons began to dance and sing, forgetting Stephen was there.

“WAIT!” Stephen shouted. “I need to get home…” his voice faltered.

“Home?” The Great Heron turned to face him. “Stay with us, little one. You are one of us now!”

“Th-that’s very kind, but, I’m sure my mum and dad will be missing me.”

“Very well.” The Great Heron swished and swooshed his crystal-encrusted staff and a solid bronze heron ornament appeared. “Something to remember us by.” He bent his neck and ushered to Stephen to climb on his back and off they went. Up hills. Down Hills. And over rivers, as the moonlight shone over them.

Getting back didn’t seem to take as long, and no map was needed for The Great Heron.

Stephen could see the football field in the distance. But it looked different. Like there was a cloud of magic resting on the ground. They glided over the field, the country lane where crows croaked, and into Stephen’s garden. He slid back down the heron’s neck for the last time and ran to his back door. He turned to say a final goodbye, but The Great Heron had already gone.

“Stephen! There you are! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? We’ve been worried sick!” Mr and Mrs Robertson swept him up into their arms.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” Cooed John.

“I was with all those herons daddy!”

“The what?”

“The herons! We went on a great adventure!”

“You can’t possibly have bee –“started Mary, but then stopped. “I mean, let me put the kettle on and you can tell us all about it.”

And so they sat and listened.

“Tomorrow,” Mary said, “We can all go on a great adventure together.”

Mr and Mrs Robertson took Stephen up to bed after they had all been fed and tired themselves out with talking.

“Night Stephen.” “Good night Stephen.”

They both said whilst ruffling Stephen’s hair, kissing him on the forehead.

The door closed with a creak and Stephen jumped out of bed, remembering his little bronze heron statue. He took it from his trouser pocket that has been neatly folded over his desk chair, and put it beside his book The Adventures of the Little Great Boy on his bedside table.