Wings of Omen

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."

"You speak quite well for an unsophisticated fisherman."

Uralai took the bird on her hand and moved it up to her shoulder. It hopped obediently onto its new perch. Monkel held his breath. A new awareness washed over him of how easily the bird could go for her eye.

"Your idea of becoming one with this miserable town is hard to accept. I will have to think about it further. However..."

She laid a soft hand on his arm.

"... accepting your admiration is not as new as you seem to think. Remember, you are the head of your clan, while within my own, my status is less..."

The bird turned and loosed a load of dung down the front of her uniform.

Monkel rolled his eyes heavenward and fervently wished he could expire on the spot.

"Don't worry." Uralai's laugh was only a little forced. "It's a wild thing, like this town. It doesn't know how to behave politely. It's a wonder it's as tame as it is. Tell me, how did you do it? Was it very difficult?"

"Well..."

Before Monkel could continue, the bird moved again. This time, it hopped onto Uralai's head where it repeated its earlier misdeed in sufficient quantity so as to dribble some onto her face.

"You did that on purpose!" Monkel exploded, grabbing for the feathered fiend. "I'll..."

The bird launched itself out the window and disappeared with a scream that was more triumphant than apologetic.

"Good riddance!" Monkel shouted. "I'm sorry, Uralai. If I had thought..."

Uralai was shaking with silent laughter as she wiped the droppings from her face and hair.

"Oh, Monkel," she said, using his name alone for the first time, "if you could have seen yourself. Maybe I should have accepted your escort the other night. You're becoming as violent as those people you drink with. Now, come. Walk with me and tell me about the taming of your departed gift."

It was more than an hour before Monkel took his leave and floated home on a headier wine than any served at the fisherman's tavern. The gift had succeeded beyond his wildest hopes in opening communication with Uralai. What was even better, with the bird gone, he no longer had to worry about having unwittingly visited misfortune upon her house.

The bird was waiting for him when he arrived home, and no amount of cursing or thrown rocks would entice it to leave.

A SPECIAL NOTE FROM THE EDITORS TO THIEVES' WORLD READERS

We would like to take a moment to thank our readers for their continued support over the last five years.

The fan mail we have received is of Homeric proportions, which has created a problem at our end. For years we have tried to answer each letter individually, and as a result have countless sacks and drawers of unanswered mail. We've read it all, but replying is biting heavily into our writing (for pay) time. In desperation, we are converting to a word processor and a computerized mailing list, and armed with the weapons of modem technology we will tackle the backlog. If you have written us without receiving an answer, do not give up hope! We're working on it.. .even if the response is several years late.

As an added bonus in appreciation for your patience, your address will be included in our private mailing list. This will be used for an infrequent newsletter, giving advance information about future volumes and a

Again, thank you for your support. The series wouldn't still be going without you!

Robert Ly

Ly

November 1984