The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [172]
I heard a faint movement and craned my neck, trying to farsense them.
A shudder of branches caught my eye. Squinting, I realized there were birds in the tree. I let my eyes follow the trunk to the ground, thinking the three Talents might well have disturbed them.
No one.
The branches rustled again, and I looked up, wondering what had brought the birds to such a place. Animals generally avoided firestorm-devastated areas for months after, sometimes years. There was no small prey, no insects, and no plant life. No reason—yet there they were, just sitting and staring.
One of the birds extended its wings, and I drew in a sharp breath at the flash of red on its plumage. Guanette birds. I had seen one up close only once, a stuffed trophy. Even dead, the bird had possessed a quality that had enthralled me, a wild sort of nobility.
Looking more carefully, I could tell one of the three was a male, with a straighter beak and smaller body. The two larger, with curved beaks, were female.
I sent a questing probe to the birds. After a moment, the smallest began to fidget, shifting weight from one claw to the other like a sheepish child. I sent a more aggressive inquiry. The male flexed his wings and gave a faint chirrup.
“Will you answer?” I sent directly to him.
There was no response, and I was unsure I had reached the bird. Its mind was oddly opaque, and I felt light-headed and weak. Then I felt a probe in my mind. It had entered with such precise delicacy I had not even been aware of being broached. The finest shield I could create would not bar entrance to such a fine-tuned probe.
“Greetings, funaga,” came the thought shyly, but with undeniable grace.
“I am Elspeth,” I sent. “What name/shape may I call to you?”
“Do not speak to it!” came a sharp, intrusive probe, no less delicate than the first. I wondered if the infection were somehow weakening my natural defenses.
The first hesitated, then spoke again, its presence the merest cobweb in my thoughts.
“My name is Astyanax,” he sent. I heard a brief aside directed to the other mind. “And ‘it’ is a she.”
The two females, still side by side on the topmost branch, exchanged a doubtful look, and the effect was so like two old women conferring that I laughed in spite of everything.
All three looked up at the sound of laughter. One of the others addressed me. “Funaga, we of the Agyllians do not give our names lightly. But answer this: Are you a male or a female of your kind? It is not easy to tell your sort of creature apart. You all look so much alike, plucked and naked as an eggling.”
“I am female. What are Agyllians?” I sent, wondering why the strange word sounded familiar.
No one seemed ready to answer, and the two females looked at one another for so long, I sensed they were communicating on some unknown level.
Without warning, the silent communion ended, and the largest of the three birds dropped from the tree and glided to land near the cave entrance. The bird was much bigger up close, standing higher than a tall man. I drew back nervously, wondering if Guanette birds were carnivorous.
“Is it the one?” the bird mused, apparently thinking to itself. It eyed me intently with beady black eyes.
“I wouldn’t taste very good,” I sent uneasily. “My wounds are poisoned.”
“Wounds! Did you hear what it said?” sent the other female. I was beginning to be able to tell them apart.
“She is the one,” Astyanax sent with sudden certainty. Both females looked at him pointedly; then the first returned to its inspection of my limbs.
“It is dark.… Hard to tell,” murmured the bird on the ground. It came closer in a curious drunken gait. My fingers closed around a rock.
“Funaga,” it sent. “I am Ruatha of the Agyllians, and my companions are Illyx and Astyanax. Do you truthtell about these injuries?”
Bewildered, I nodded. “I was burned a long time ago. The scars have become infected. I’m sure I would taste horrible. I might even be poisonous,” I added earnestly.
The bird made a dry croaking noise. “We do not wish to eat you, funaga. Agyllians are