Closer examination of his catch had shown a bird unlike any Monkel could recall having seen, though admittedly he had spent little time studying land-birds. It was roughly the size of a raven, though its vaguely hooked beak would lead some to think of it as a hawk, and black as the sea at night. Dominating its features was a pair of bright yellow eyes which seemed at once soul-piercing with their analytic coldness, and smoldering with an ill-repressed fury that one normally only sees in a death match with a blood enemy.
When Monkel gave the bird the freedom of his quarters it began methodically breaking every item vaguely fragile and several he had thought beyond damage. When he packed the few remaining valuables away, the bird countered by leaving its droppings on his clothes and bedding and gouging and splintering his furniture with its beak.
As to Monkel himself, the bird's attitude varied. Sometimes it would flee in terror, crashing headlong into the wall in its efforts to escape, and at other times it would fly in his face, screaming its outrage while contesting his right to even enter the room. Mostly, it would play coy, letting him approach with outstretched hand only to flutter away to wait again on another perch... or better still, climb onto his hand momentarily, then use its beak in a slashing move to draw blood from his hand or face before taking to the air.
The bird thought it was terrific fun. The thoughts of Monkel himself, with an increasing number of scars and half-healed wounds adorning his features and appendages, are best left unrecorded save to note that he often found himself wondering if the bird was edible. At this point in their duel, simply killing it would have been an insufficient expression of his frustration.
The final breakthrough was triggered by a conversation with one of his clan members. Clan Setmur was growing more and more concerned about his attempts at bird taming. Not only was it leaving him in a perpetually foul mood, it was drawing unwanted attention to the wharf community. Whether his friends at the captains' table had let the news leak or if Hakiem was not as retired from storytelling as he claimed was inconsequential. What mattered was that it was now common knowledge on the streets of Sanctuary that one of the Beysib fishermen had caught a black bird and was trying to tame it. Curiosity seekers appeared in a surprising array of rank and status. Barflies and S'danzo seers, petty criminals and self-proclaimed emissaries of the crime-lord Jubal all were asking questions with varying degrees of subtlety regarding the bird and its trainer. Once, a dark mysterious woman reputedly never seen by the light of day was heard to make inquiries.
To one and all, clan Setmur claimed ignorance, but, as a normally quiet private people, they were distressed at this sudden notoriety. Having failed in their efforts to convince Monkel to abandon his task completely, they instead plied him with every bit of advice they could think of to bring his project to a successful and, above all, speedy conclusion.
Thus it was that Monkel was approached by Paratu, one of his cousins, as their ship approached Sanctuary after a day's fishing.
"Have you considered treating the bird like a person?" she said without preamble. "Perhaps it resents your attitude."
Monkel found himself smiling in spite of himself.
"Whatever led you to that idea?"
In response, Paratu gestured toward the city.
"I was recalling what you told us when we first arrived at this hellhole... about dealing with the residents of Sanctuary. You said we shouldn't think of them as animals. That if we treated them as people, they would respond as such and everyone would benefit. Well, your advice worked, and it occurred to me that, like the people, the bird is from the city. Maybe the same approach would work for you now."
"There's one problem with that, Paratu. The bird is an animal."
"So are the people," she said, staring at the town. "They respond to respect, and I frankly doubt you could find more than a handful that are any smarter than your bird."
Monkel had laughed openly then, but later gave the suggestion serious consideration.
Starting that very night, he began talking to the bird... not with the simple commands of a trainer, but open conversation as one would have with a close friend. He spoke of his previous life, of his fears in coming to this new land, and of his achievements thus far in his period of clan leadership. He told the bird of the elegance of the Beysa's court and of Uralai's beauty. Once he got started, talking to the bird became an easy habit, for, in truth, Monkel was a lonely man made lonelier by the pressures of leadership.
To his amazement, the bird responded almost immediately ... or, to be accurate, it stopped responding. Instead of flying in terror or slashing at his face, it would sit quietly on his hand, head cocked to one side as if hanging on his every word. Soon, he became bold enough to set the bird on his shoulder, where it was in easy reach of an ear and an eye. The bird never betrayed this trust. If anything, it seemed to glory in its new perch and would flutter quickly to Monkel's shoulder as soon as he entered the room.
After a week of this, Monkel tried taking it outside and, in a final test, would transfer it to other people's shoulders. Through it all, the bird remained well mannered and tolerant. Though suspicious of its sudden domesticity, Monkel decided it was time to make his presentation. If he waited much longer, he knew he would have grown too attached to the bird to give it up.
"You'll see. She's very beautiful, just like I told you."
The bird regarded Monkel with an expressionless yellow eye, ignoring the sweetmeat he was offering as a bribe.
With an inward sigh, the head of clan Setmur twisted in his chair to peer down the palace corridor once more, then resumed staring out the window.
He had considered presenting his gift to Uralai in the Beysa's court, but his confidence sagged and he decided to wait and catch her coming off duty. He still had lingering fears about the reliability of the bird's manners, and while a mishap while presenting it to Uralai would be embarrassing, the same slip in front of the Empress would be a disaster.
"You'll like it here," he murmured, more for his own reassurance than for the bird's. "It's definitely a step up from fighting for gutter scraps. I'll bet any bey art-those are our own holy birds-would envy the treatment you'll..."
A soft footstep reached his ear, and he looked again to see Uralai approaching. All of his fears and insecurities ascended to his throat in a tight knot, but he steeled himself and rose to meet her.
"Good evening, Uralai."
"Monkel Setmur. What a pleasant surprise." Her voice was nearly musical when it wasn't speaking for the Beysa. "And what a lovely bird."
Buoyed by her warm reception, Monkel hurriedly blurted his mission.
"The bird is a gift. I... want you to have it."
"Really? I didn't know they sold pet birds in this town."
Uralai was studying the bird as Monkel took it on his hand and extended it toward her.
"They don't," he said. "I caught it and tamed it myself."
"Why?"
Monkel was growing uneasy. When he had rehearsed giving the gift to Uralai, he had not anticipated a prolonged conversation, and his discomfort increased as the talk progressed.
"I wanted... I am an unsophisticated fisherman and, try as I might, I could think of no better way to express my admiration of you than with a gift."
"That wasn't what I meant," Uralai said, "though you have certainly achieved your goal. What I was trying to ask was why you chose this particular gift."
"The bird is native to our new homeland. Its spirit and the town's are one. If we are to survive here, we must also become one with that spirit. We must not cling to our old ways and customs, but rather be open to change and local ideas... such as your not being offended by the admiration of one from a lower clan."