My chest goes tight. Gods, I miss them. I hope they are all right. I hope?—
“Aline, take cover!” Ardruna barks and I throw myself down on my belly on pure instinct. Something passes over my head, so close it grazes my scalp. It whizzes off and Ardruna whines, then growls.
“What was that?” I breathe.
“The metal birds,” she growls.
“Metal birds?” Sitting back on my heels, I see them flying off, only to turn and sweep back around, heading for us.
Gods.I had thought them hawks. They are not. For starters, they are much larger, like ibises, their bodies thicker, their claws overlarge.
“Run!” I say and follow my own advice, securing the satchel on my shoulder as I race down the wide street.
“Good idea.” Ardruna lopes after me. “They are flesh-eaters.”
“It never crossed my mind,” I grouse. “This way!” I turn into a narrow street, then into another, a maze of alleys. “Maybe they’ll forget about us?—”
“Look out!” Ardruna yips, jumping into the air, knocking a metal bird off course. But more descend on us.
Too many of them. I hiss as a wing brushes my arm and a line of fire blooms on my skin.
Sharp. Their feathers are like blades. I glance up as the flock flies off to circle back. Metal birds, Ardruna called them, only they aren’t wholly metallic. Their beaks clank like swords banging on shields, and their wings cut like knives.
This detail nags at my memory. I know these creatures. This story. It’s right there, at the edge of my memory, on the tip of my tongue.
Beaks of bronze, sharp metal feathers, and poisonous dung. Yes, I know this tale... these are the birds of Ares.
Deadly enemies of the griffins. Relentless hunters.
“This way.” I dash into a garden. “These birds won’t stop attacking until we’re dead.”
“What can we do?”
“Hide until they go away. Hide behind a hedge they can’t get through, that’s what happens in the story.”
“What story? You know these birds?”
“Stymphalians, also called Stygian birds,” I whisper, crouching behind the overgrown hedge. “Shush now.”
“But this isn’t a solution! Does the story say how to get rid of them?”
“Well, the hero had a magical bow and arrows and shot them down. In fact, the arrows were steeped in hydra poison.” I frown, trying to remember. “There was something about their blood, or was it their urine, that?—”
“And do we have any hydra poison lying about?”
“No, but it’s supposed to be their only weakness.”
“Excellent,” Ardruna growls. “So now we die.”
“Unless we scare them away with noise and make our escape. If we had something to throw at them?—”
Ardruna hums. “There might be something inside the house. Let’s make a run for it.”
The birds are coming, and Ardruna and I get up and rush into the abandoned house. My shoes crunch on broken crockery and glass, on old bones and twigs. Rats run along the walls. A weaselly creature hisses at us and jumps off a stone bench to vanish into another room.
“They are coming,” Ardruna says and I hear their arrival, the rattling of metallic feathers and the clanking of bronze beaks.
Grabbing ceramic shards off the floor, I turn. I’m not going down that easily. “Hide! I’ll scare them off.”
