Chapter VIII
THE BIRDS FLY SOUTH
It was early in October when the mystery of the Ibandru began to take pronounced form.
Then it was that I became aware of an undercurrent of excitement in the village, a suppressed agitation which I could not explain, which none would explain to me, and which I recorded as much by subconscious perception as by direct observation. Yet there was sufficient visible evidence. The youth of the village had apparently lost interest in the noisy pastimes that had made the summer evenings gay; old and young alike seemed to have grown restless and uneasy; while occasionally I saw some man or woman scurrying about madly for no apparent reason. And meantime all bore the aspect of waiting, of waiting for some imminent and inevitable event of surpassing importance. Interest in Yulada was at fever pitch; a dozen times a day some one would point toward the stone woman with significant gestures; and a dozen times a day I observed some native prostrating himself in an attitude of prayer, with face always directed toward the figure on the peak while he mumbled incoherently to himself.
But the strangest demonstration of all occurred late one afternoon, when a brisk wind had blown a slaty roof across the heavens, and from far to the northeast, across the high jutting ridges of rock, a score of swift-flying black dots became suddenly visible. In an orderly, triangular formation they approached, gliding on an unwavering course with the speed of an express train; and in an incredibly brief time they had passed above us and out of sight beyond Yulada and the southern peak. After a few minutes they were followed by another band of migrants, and then by another, and another still, until evening had blotted the succeeding squadrons from view and their cries rang and echoed uncannily in the dark.
To me the surprising fact was not the flight of the feathered things; the surprising fact was the reaction of the Ibandru. It was as if they had never seen birds on the wing before; or as if the birds were the most solemn of omens. On the appearance of the first flying flock, one of the Ibandru, who chanced to observe the birds before the others, went running about the village with cries of excitement; and at his shouts the women and children crowded out of the cabins, and all the men within hearing distance came dashing in from the fields. And all stood with mouths open, gaping toward the skies as the successive winged companies sped by; and from that time forth, until twilight had hidden the last soaring stranger, no one seemed to have any purpose in life except to stare at the heavens, calling out tumultuously whenever a new band appeared.
That evening the people held a great celebration. An enormous bonfire was lighted in an open space between the houses; and around it gathered all the men and women of the village, lingering until late at night by a flickering eerie illumination that made the scene appear like a pageant staged on another planet. In the beginning I did not know whether the public meeting had any connection with the flight of the birds; but it was not long before this question was answered.
In their agitation, the people had evidently overlooked me entirely. For once, they had forgotten politeness; indeed, they scarcely noticed me when I queried them about their behavior. And it was as an uninvited stranger, scarcely remembered or observed, that I crept up in the shadows behind the fire, and lay amid the grass to watch.
In the positions nearest the flames, their faces brilliant in the glow, were two men whom I immediately recognized. One, sitting cross-legged on the ground, his features rigid with the dignity of leadership, was Abthar, the father of Yasma; the other, who stood speaking in sonorous tones, was Hamul-Kammesh, the soothsayer. Because I sat at some distance from him and was far from an adept at Pushtu, I missed the greater part of what he said; but I did not fail to note the tenseness with which the people followed him; and I did manage to catch an occasional phrase which, while fragmentary, impressed me as more than curious.