When the birds fly south

by Stanton A. Coblentz

"Perhaps," she returned, gently, "you cannot know. You may be like a color-blind man trying to understand color. But oh, I hope not! I hope—ever and ever so much—that you'll hear the call thundering within you. Otherwise, you'll have to stay here by yourself the whole winter, while the snow falls and the wolves howl, and you won't see us again till spring!"

Her emotion seemed to be overcoming her. Fiercely she wiped a tear from her cheek; then turned from me, to give way to her misgivings in the seclusion of her father's cabin.

But I was not without my own misgivings. Her words had revived haunting premonitions; it was as if some sinister shadow hovered over me, all the more dread because formless. What unhallowed people were these Ibandru, to go slinking away like specters in the night? Were they a tribe of outlaws or brigands, hiding from justice in these impenetrable fastnesses? Or were they the sole survivors of some ancient race, endowed with qualities not given to ordinary humans? With new interest I recalled the stories told me by the Afghan guides before my fateful adventure: the reports that the Ibandru were a race of devils, winged like birds and with the power of making themselves invisible. Absurd as this tale appeared, might there not be the ghost of an excuse for it?

As for Yasma's predictions and warnings—what meaning had there been in them? Was it indeed possible that I might be left alone all winter in this desolate place? And was that why Abthar had advised me to make ready for the cold season while his own people had apparently done nothing to prepare? But, even so, how could they escape the winter? Was it not a mere poetic vagary to say, as Yasma had done, that they went to lands where robins sang and the lilac bloomed—how cross the interminable mountain reaches to the semi-torrid valleys of India or the warm Arabian plains? Or was it that, like the bears, they hibernated in caves? Or, like the wild geese that they watched so excitedly, were they swayed by some old migratory instinct, some impulse dormant or dead in most men but preserved for them by a long succession of nomad ancestors? Although reason scoffed at the idea, I had visions of them trekking each autumn across four or five hundred miles of wilderness to the borders of the Arabian Sea, surviving on provisions they had secreted along the route, and returning with the spring to their homes in Sobul.

Unlikely as this explanation appeared, nothing more plausible occurred to me. But as the days went by, my sense of mystery increased. The people were fleeing almost as though Sobul were plague-ridden—of that there could be no further doubt! Daily now I missed some familiar face; first a child who had come to me of evenings to run gay races in the fields; then an old woman who had sat each morning in the sun before her cabin; then Yasma's brother, Barkodu, whose tall sturdy form I had frequently observed in the village. And then one evening when I inquired for Karem, I was told that he was not to be seen; and the people's peculiar reserved expression testified that he had gone "the way of the birds that fly south." And, a day later, when I wished to see Abthar in the hope that he would relieve my perplexed mind, I found no one in the cabin except Yasma; and she murmured that her father would not be back till spring.

But did I make no effort to solve the enigma? Did I not strive to find out for myself where the absent ones had gone? Yes! I made many attempts—and with bewildering results. Even today I shudder to think of the ordeal I underwent; the remembrance of eerie midnights and strange shadows that flickered and vanished comes back to me after these many, many months; I feel again the cool, forest-scented breeze upon my nostrils as I crouch among the deep weeds at the village edge, or as I glide phantom-like beneath the trees in the cold starlight. For it was mainly at night that I wrestled with the Unknown; and it was at night that I received the most persuasive and soul-disturbing proof of the weirdness of the ways of Sobul.

My plans may not have been well laid, but they were the best I could conceive. From the fact that I had never seen any of the Ibandru leaving, and that more than once in the morning I had missed some face that had greeted me twelve hours before, I concluded that the people invariably fled by night. Acting on this view, I hid one evening in a clump of bushes on the outskirts of the village, resolved to wait if need be until dawn. True, no one might choose tonight for the migration; but in that case I should lie in hiding tomorrow night, and if necessary again on the night after.

As I lay sprawled among the bushes, whose dry leaves and twigs pricked and irritated my skin, I was prey to countless vexations. The night was cold, and I shivered as the wind cut through my thin garments; the night was long, and I almost groaned with impatience while the slow constellations crawled across the heavens; the night was dark, and fantastic fears flitted through my mind as I gazed through the gloom toward the ghostly line of the trees and cabins. Every now and then, when some wild creature called out querulously from the woods, I was swept by desire to flee; and more than once some harmless small beast, rustling a few yards off, startled me to alarm. But in the village nothing stirred, and the aloof, shadowy huts, scattered here and there like the monsters of a nightmare, seemed to bristle with unspeakable menace.

Yet nothing menacing became visible as the long reaches of the night dragged by and the constellations still swung monotonously between the faint black line of the eastern ranges and the equally faint black peaks to the west. At length, lulled by the sameness and the silence, I must have forgotten myself, must have drowsed a bit, for I have a recollection of coming to myself with a start, bewildered and with half clouded senses.... The night was as tranquil as before, the trees and houses as dark; but as I glanced skyward I detected the merest touch of gray. And, at the same time, I had a singular sense that I was no longer alone. Intently I gazed into the gloom—still nothing visible. But all the while that same shuddery feeling persisted, as if unseen eyes were watching me, unseen ears listening to my every motion. Again I felt an impulse to flee; my limbs quivered; my heart pounded; instinctively I crawled deeper into the bushes. And, as I did so, I saw that which made me catch my breath in horror.

From behind one of the nearer cabins, two long lithe shadows darted, gliding noiselessly toward me through the darkness. No ghost could have shown dimmer outlines, or walked on more silent feet, or flooded my whole being with more uncanny sensations. Straight toward me they strode, looming gigantic in my tortured imagination; and as they approached I hugged the bushes more closely, trembling lest the phantoms discover me. Then suddenly they swerved aside, and passed at a dozen paces; and through the stillness of the night came the dull rhythm of sandalled feet.