“You called well,” Bunao said, “for the yllerion do indeed rule over all other fowl in the world. They are fiery of hue, their wings are as sharp as razors, and not even eagles can stand against them.”
“How is it we have never seen them?” Anthony asked. “Is it because I am from the mountains, and they do not wish to roost there?”
“No, it is because there are but two of them in the entire world,” Bunao explained. “They live for sixty years, after which span they fly off to plunge into the sea.”
“It would seem we were fortunate to be summoning them at the end of that cycle!” Balkis said.
“So it would,” Bunao agreed, “but it was definitely your magic that brought them here, for we have never seen them before, neither the oldest among us nor our ancestors, and doubly grateful are we for having seen the sight.”
“If they fly to the sea to end their lives,” Anthony asked, “how will there ever be more yllerion?”
“Oh, before they begin their flight, the queen lays two or three eggs, and they take turns sitting upon them for forty days. If the young ones have not already hatched, the royal couple will not have to begin their final journey. But it must have occurred, for what you have seen here is what we have been told happens—that all the birds who meet them fly as escort with them until they are drowned”
“The poor creatures!” Balkis cried.
Bunao shrugged. “I am sure their end is quick, for the water quenches their lives as it turns the fire of their wings to steam.”
“But the nestlings!” Anthony protested. “How shall they survive with no mother or father?”
Bunao eyed him curiously. “You have a good heart. But fear not, for the nestlings are now the new king and queen, and the birds who served as final companions to their parents return to the fledglings, feeding and defending them until they have grown up and can fly and look after themselves.”
“A most singular breed,” Balkis murmured, turning to Anthony with wide eyes.
He nodded. “How fortunate we are to have seen them!”
“As though you had nothing to do with their approach,” Bunao scoffed, and stretched out a hand. “Come! You must be our guests for the night, and let us honor you!”
“Oh, we could not intrude—” Anthony began, then grunted as Balkis' elbow dug into his ribs again.
“But it is very kind of you to offer,” she finished.
“Not so kind as the lives you have saved by driving away the flocks! Indeed, we often lose a dozen or more of our people in this battle, and scores more die for lack of food in the winter. Everyone in this land of Piconye is in your debt. You must let us honor you for at least one night!”
“Well … perhaps only one night,” Balkis said, with a meaningful glance at Anthony.
He looked down at her elbow and said, “One night will not slow our northward progress so terribly much. I must accept with thanks, good hetman!”
“Then come!” the hetman cried to his people, and the throng shouted with joy, then pressed in around the strangers as Bunao led them toward his village. They were surrounded by joyful singing, and if the warriors had picked up their spears and arrows again, at least none were pointed at their guests.
At the edge of the vineyard hundreds of horses were tethered—but what horses! They were as small as sheep, and the Piconyans swung aboard them bareback, taking the reins and turning them homeward.
“I regret that we have no mounts large enough for you, honored guests,” Bunao said.
“We are accustomed to walking,” Balkis assured him. “Your warriors appear quite proficient with their weapons. Must you march to war often?”
“Only against the birds,” Bunao said. “We have no other enemies. We are content to spend our time laboring in the vineyards and going to worship the Christ on Sundays— though we also practice our archery and spear-play on the sabbath. It may not be rest, but for us it is recreation.”
As they came to the village they saw another troop, even larger, approaching. At their head rode a man with an austere countenance, dressed in a loincloth like the rest of them, but wearing also a purple cloak and a crown of gold topped by ostrich plumes of purple and white. Like all his people, there was a shield over one shoulder and a quiver over the other, and he carried a bow and spear slung at his saddle. A man at his right called, “Bow to Tutai, King of Piconye!
“Hail Majesty!” Bunao cried, and fell to his knees.
All his people followed his example, leaving Balkis and Anthony standing in their midst, unsure what to do. Then Anthony shrugged, said, “Royalty is royalty,” and bowed.
“Rise, good Bunao,” the king said, “and introduce me to these strangers. Then explain how the birds have left.”
“These are the wizards who called up the yllerion, Your Majesty, and bade the flock follow them away,” Bunao said as he rose. “I fear I have not asked their names—one never knows, with wizards.”
“We trust you well enough to tell you,” Balkis said, smiling, “for the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I am Balkis, and this is Anthony.”
Anthony held up a hand in greeting, somehow certain that Balkis wasn't being quite as trusting as she claimed. “Hail, O King!”
“Hail, O Wizards,” the king returned, saluting them with an open palm. “How knew you of the yllerion, if you are strangers?”
“We called the king and queen of birds, Your Majesty, though we had never seen them,” Balkis explained. “In truth, I was not sure there were such royalty among the feathered kind.”
“A lucky guess, then.” Tutai smiled, apparently relieved. “We thank you for kind rescue—this battle would have cost many lives without you!”
“It would seem that you shall not have as many birds to roast now, though,” Anthony said regretfully.
“That is a small price to pay.” But Tutai looked thoughtful. “In truth, most of those we slay go to waste—but now that you mention it, there should be some way to trap them when they come for the grapes next year. Perhaps we could ensnare them and gain as much food from their bodies as we lose to their beaks.”
“A good thought,” Balkis said with an admiring glance at Anthony. “Do you know anything about catching birds?” she asked him.
Anthony shrugged, seeming to swell visibly from her unspoken praise. “Only bird-lime and nets—but it would take many, many webs to cover all these vines.”
“We have the whole winter to weave them,” Bunao pointed out, “but what is bird-lime?”
Anthony started to answer, but Balkis laid a hand on his arm and said, “Let us discuss it as we dine.”
“An excellent thought!” said Tutai. “Lead us to your village pavilion, Bunao. We shall feast with these wizards and fashion a plan for dealing with the birds!”
As the sun warmed the earth, though it was hidden behind gray pearly clouds that filled the sky, an ant the size of a fox dug its way out of the sand dune that had sheltered it during the night. The day before, it had had a narrow escape from a shouting horde of women who seemed not to know they should be afraid of it, instead chasing it with horrible clanging things that bit from twenty feet away and more. It could run much faster than they did, though, and had doubled back twice to bite some of them, deeply, too—it hadn't liked the flavor— but their insane comrades had chased it all the more angrily for that. Finally it ran out into the desert, and they had not followed. It then burrowed into a sand dune to spend the night.
Now, though, it followed the scent of its property—a tang no human could have detected but that the ant knew welclass="underline" its own acidic scent mingled with the smell of gold. Strangely, the carrier seemed to have come this way, too, and the ant followed the trace far faster than any human could have run. To the ant, though, it seemed to be running slowly, and for good reason—its middle was hollow with hunger. It had to find food, and quickly.