Birds of Paradise - 6. Chapter 6

The aviary was a spooky place at night. The songbirds all went to sleep once the sun went down and although the falconers and their apprentices lived in a dormitory nestled against the wall, most ventured out into the city at night. There were no guards, and few wandered the grounds at night. There was no need. Only falconers were allowed into the aviary compound. They ate and bathed within the palace compound, and the apprentices all had chores similar to the palace servants. Anything they needed they did themselves.

The city and palace guards patrolled the walls from their stone walkways high above. They trusted the guards at each gate to monitor the flow between sections of the city.

After studying the paths and habits of the guards for the past few nights, Cy felt fairly confident in his ability to avoid notice. He would blend in with all the other falconers going into and out of the compound.

Still his heart beat furiously, making him slightly light-headed, and he sternly monitored his breathing as he approached the gate into the palace. Each step away from Indivriar felt like a betrayal and he knew why the falconers were so lax about his imprisonment. Every loud noise or sudden movement made Cy tense, yearning to scurry back to his mate's side.

He pressed a hand to the bulges in the pouch he wore under his clothes, and pressed doggedly onwards. If he couldn't do this, then they had no hope of getting out of the city and Indivriar would die. Cy couldn't let that happen.

The guards let him pass without notice or comment, which was one worry resolved. They didn't know his face; or at least he didn't stand out from all the other men in identical garb leaving the aviary.

Past the gate he turned down a servant's street rather than shove his way through the crowded main streets. The city was more alive during the dark hours than the day due to the miserable summer heat and he didn't want to chance anyone recognizing him. Just bringing the chicks out of the aviary was a death sentence. While a person couldn't be killed more than once, Cy knew there were some truly gruesome ways to die.

And those were not thoughts he needed, he told himself sternly. So long as he kept his head down and acted like he was on an errand, he shouldn't bring untoward attention to himself.

The aviary compound existed inside the walls of the palace grounds, a walled-in jungle within the heavily fortified palace walls. In the beginning, the entire city was protected by the palace walls, but as the population expanded and needed more room, another wall was built surrounding them and adding another ring of protection for the shah. Each time the city expanded, they built a new wall until the entire city was a honeycomb maze of walls and gates between sections.

The aviary had one exit, into the palace, but the palace compound had four other gates leading into the Temple district on one side, and the nobles' villas on the other. Beyond the inner two rings, the city was a mix of nobles and poor, ale houses and trade buildings. Little markets sprang up anywhere there was room for a wagon, and the city guard patrolled the streets and walkways above.

There were more guards at the gate between palace and the Temple District than watching the entrance to the aviary. There the guards had only to ensure that the falconers were the only ones coming and going. Entry to the palace was not restricted, but they were regulated. They watched everyone coming or going, and stopped anyone suspicious, but they waved Cy past with only a cursory glance.

While the city had been built along straight lines and planned angles, the city turned into a maze of winding streets beyond the palace gates. Cy slipped away from the main thoroughfares to hurry down near-deserted and forgotten paths. There was nothing wrong with his memory; the back ways and alleys had not noticeably changed, and he reached Temple Avenue before the second bell of evening.

The ancient temples were a familiar and welcome sight. Cy had grown up here, running wild among the street urchins and tradesmen's children with all the other apprentice priests and bards. His masters encouraged them to get to know all tiers of life so they could better empathize with their audience. Every song had a story and a lesson, and a master bard would know which song to pick for every occasion.

The Temple of the Sun towered over the rest, its four great staircases resembling the feet of a great, mythical beast, its golden discus catching the light of the sun or moon and stars to reflect upon the street below. Two journeymen priests had the task of hammering upon the discus with padded mallets at each moonrise and moon set. Even higher than the discus was the tiny platform where the Night Singer stood or sat to serenade the night, calling for the sun to hurry upon its path.

The voice was not one he recognized, but he hadn't been back to the city in years, not since earning his double masters and setting forth on his quest. At this time of night, the priests would be alone in their chambers, eating the remains of individual suppers, meditating, or settling in to sleep.

The old priest and loremaster who was Cy's mentor had chambers near the apprentices' quarters, because he said that the energy of the young kept him youthful. Cy would have known the way even in his sleep. Trying to sneak would be disastrous in the temple, where everyone knew each others' faces, so Cy kept his strides casual and easy, his smile natural, as if this was something he did every day. It had been, once, and he shared smiles and greetings with the few servants he passed.

When he reached his master's door, Cy paused before knocking to gulp a couple of calming breaths and gather his courage once more. He had to trust someone; he couldn't do this alone.

"Yes, what is it?" he heard old Master Finley grumble as Cy'd knocking roused him. He opened the door and Cy grinned wearily and hopefully upon an old, weather-beaten face with a ghostly, bushy gray beard and bald head. Pale blue eyes peered out from deep wrinkles, his smile toothy and lopsided from a stroke suffered several years past.

"Cyrus!" the old pries exclaimed. "The devil you doing here, my boy? Come in, come in!"

Cy stepped around a stack of books and gently set aside another in order to sit upon the padded bench by the window. Books and even older scrolls overflowed the shelves and tables of the modest room. More littered the bed which Cy could not remember the old man ever using. Finley instead settled upon an old armchair beside the lamp. A rickety table with three legs held a chilled wine decanter, glass, and a plate that only held a few crumbs.

The watery blue eyes raked over Cy, and he said, "I spoke with your aunt when she first arrived. Dreadful scandal, that. Now, tell me everything."

His first conversation in weeks brought a lump to Cy's throat, but he cast his mind back obediently. This was not a proper bard's tale, lacking polish or eloquence; this was a loremaster's dictation of events as they had happened, with all of the truth and none of a bard's flair for dramatics. He ended kneeling beside his master's chair, one of Indivriar's sleepy chicks cradled in his hand.

"By all that's holy," whispered Finley. A rheumy, gnarled finger reached out, the barest touch of a fingertip to the perfectly miniature feathers on the chick's shoulders.

Then he sat back and closed his eyes around a mouthful of wine. Much as he had as a boy, though with more patience, Cy waited and fretted. His hand curled protectively around the tiny babies, sleeping peacefully in their pouch, their tiny feet kicking occasionally against his belly.

"This is a great risk," said Finley eventually. "These are the shah's birds. It is treason even for you to be here."

"I know, master. I went in search of answers, and I only found more questions, but this ...." He spread his hands helplessly. "I am caught up in it now. To turn my back would mean my death, and the end of any hope to end this brutal war."

The old master smiled. "I know that, my boy. I have not yet lost all my wits." Still his eyes twinkled and Cy grinned back despite the severity of the situation.

"I can't let Indivriar die, master."

Finley looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping his fingers on the chair arms. "No, I don't suppose you can," he said. "There are stories, my boy, of the almost mystical power a songbird has over his handler. Old stories," he added thoughtfully.

Cy knew there was no rushing the old man and he bit his tongue to stay still and silent. He listened as the singer's hymn trickled down to their window. One of the first written by the faith, the song was one of hope, a promise of the sun's return.

Groaning with the effort, Finley stood and hunted through some scrolls on his shelf until he found the one he wanted. This he instructed Cy to roll out over the table. The scroll was a map of the Southern tip of Parsu. The map was nearly fifty years old, evident from the signature and date in one of the corners.

"Here," said Finley gruffly, tapping a section of trees that to Cy looked no different from the rest. "According to Loremaster Nyla's notes, this was where your predecessor met with the women of the jungle and accepted their gift."

"You believe me, then?" asked Cy in amazement. He hadn't expected that. "To be honest, master," he explained as the old loremaster arched an eyebrow in inquiry. "It's so far-fetched, I'm not sure I believe it."

"Hmphf. Pay attention, Cyrus, my boy." That was the cue Finley used for all his students when he wanted them to memorize something. "Once out of the city, go directly South, to Derran. It's a small village, here. From there, take this road." He tapped a thin line snaking generally South-West. You will have to ditch the wagon; it's little more than a horse-track, but you'll avoid the army lines."

He continued to name the towns and villages as he traced the route, telling Cyrus which ones would be friendly and which should be avoided. The weather would only get warmer as they went South, and he pointed out viable campsites and water sources.

"The people are a simple sort, and for the most part can be trusted, but keep those songbirds out of sight, Cyrus. They belong to the shah, and are seldom seen by the likes of the common folk. Word of them will travel far and fast."

"Yes, master. What about crossing the army lines?"

Finley snorted gruffly, but amused. "You are far better acquainted with the layout than I. But." He paused to rub his chin. "If memory serves, a few years back, the shah ordered this canal widened, but that territory was lost and the river abandoned. If you cross up here, you should be able to follow the river the rest of the way without being spotted."

"Hm," said Cy, pursing his lips. Spotted by the shah's army, no, but the warrior women? That was their territory now, a jungle wilderness with limited visibility. They wouldn't see the women until they were right on them.

He nodded. It would have to do. Besides, he wanted to speak to the warriors anyway. He took one look at the map to impress its features on his brain before stepping back. "Very well, master. I shall endeavor not to disappoint you."

A gnarled, brown hand curled around the younger, stronger man's shoulder. "May your journey be full of sunshine, my boy."