Together they rode into the Red Desert, their horses kicking plumes of sand into the air as they went.
Sita looked back at the tribe as they crested a dune and left them to their own long and treacherous journey. Then she turned her gaze toward Thonis.
You can stop searching for me now, Mery, Sita thought.I’m coming home.
22Wings
A jackal stalked a heron on the riverbank, and the ibis roosting on a tree nearby was the only one to notice. The heron was napping, her neck tucked in on itself, and the ibis could tell she was old from the bedraggled state of her plumage. The jackal approached her slowly, his belly low to the ground.
Fly away, quick-quick, the ibis’s instincts told him.Be glad it’s the heron and not you.
Then the ibis remembered the net that fell upon him and his brethren while they hunted in the marshes. How different it might have been if another bird had called out a warning!
The jackal stopped, muscles tensing, ready to pounce.
Oh dear, oh dear, the ibis thought, then swooped down toward them, yelping like a puppy.
The jackal and the heron both took notice. The jackal looked up, hackles rising, and the heron unfolded herself and stood. The jackal reared back in surprise, for the bird was at least twice as large as a common heron. Her plumage, which the ibis would havesworn had been dingy and faded, radiated with color—her breast pure white, her back, wings, and head the variegated green-blue of the river itself. She towered over the jackal, her golden beak long and sharp, and the predator shrank under her imperious gaze.
With a snarl, the jackal turned tail and ran. He’d been looking for an easy meal, not a battle with a giant.
Even after the jackal had gone, the ibis was hesitant to alight. Herons were usually friendly, but this was no typical heron.
The bird eyed him, and let out a deep, guttural sound.Be not afraid, little ibis. I am grateful for your warning. I am old and not as watchful as I once was.
The ibis blinked. The heron’s plumage had faded again. Had he simply imagined its brightness? She no longer looked as formidable.
The ibis fluttered down and landed in front of her.Heron, you are big!he squawked.Very big! Never have I seen your equal!
I am no heron,the bird said, shaking her great head indignantly.I am Bennu. I was here before the sand, before the sky, before the light. It was I who flew over the endless waters, whose call announced the birth of this world.
The ibis crooked his head. He had known other birds with delusions of grandeur—storks, mostly—but none quite like this one.
It has been too long since I hunted, the Bennu bird went on, sinking back to sit.Fending off that creature has taken my strength. Be a dear and get us some fish, would you?
The ibis could not believe the gall of this “Bennu bird.” First, he saves her life, and then she orders him to bring her food? Still, she was the first friend he’d made since the death of his flock. Perhaps, at her age, the Bennu had earned the right to make such demands. And besides, the ibis was hungry too.
Fine-fine—a fish, a fish. I’ll do what I can do, the ibis said.
Thank you, the Bennu bird said, and craned her neck to gently touch her golden beak against his black one.
An odd, pleasant warmth flooded the ibis’s body, and he felt happy for the first time in a long, long while. He flew south.
***
The ibis flew toward marshlands he’d seen near a city on the horizon, but when he reached its outskirts, the river was clogged with ships. Many of the sails sported ram heads painted in black and red, and the ibis wondered what they meant. Thinking he might have better luck scavenging from people than fishing, the ibis wheeled east, coasting over the tops of the buildings clustered there. Unlike the white shining city up north, this city seemed to be falling into disrepair—and into bloodshed.
As the ibis drew closer, cries rose from the streets. Below him, people were running this way and that, while swords clashed and carts overturned, spilling food everywhere. The ibis thought to dive down and grab a meal, but when he saw the bodies, he decided against it.
Disturbed by what he saw, the ibis descended to perch on the roof of a large house on a grand estate. It was quiet, untouched by the violence, and seemed a useful spot for a brief respite. A small hunched man with a red nose sat at the back of the house on a wide patio, lush with potted flowers and small trees. He was chewing rhythmically, like cattle do, and staring out into the desert beyond. Another man came out of the house and approached the smaller one.
“We’ve collected fifty hands so far, Nomarch,” the man said, “And we’ve piled the bodies of the dead in the marketplace for all to see.”
The nomarch snorted. “Only fifty? It’s been hours. Are the king’s reinforcements not enough to handle a bunch of old soldiersand shopkeepers?”
“It’s not that we can’t handle them. We can’tfindthem. People have gone into hiding. It’s as if they knew we were coming.”
The nomarch sighed. “Ever since Ankhu’s girl put a knife in my spy, that brewer, there has been unrest.” He clucked his tongue. “I should have killed her when I had the chance.”
