When the birds fly south

by Stanton A. Coblentz

Abthar's words bewildered me utterly, as all reference to the flight of the Ibandru had bewildered me before. But I did not hesitate to admit my perplexity. "Your explanation runs contrary to all human experience," I argued. "During my studies and travels, I have heard of many races of men who differed much in habits and looks; but all were moved by the same impulses, the same natural laws. You Ibandru alone seem different. You disappear and reappear like phantoms, and claim to do so because of an instinct never found in the natural world."

My companion sat staring at me quizzically. There was just a little of surprise in his manner, just a little of good-natured indulgence, and something of the smiling tolerance which one reserves for the well-meaning and simple-minded.

"In spite of your seeming knowledge, my friend," he remarked at length, "I see that you are really quite childish in your views. You are mistaken in believing that we Ibandru do not follow natural laws. We are guided not by an instinct unknown in the great world around us, but by one that rules the lives of countless living things: the birds in the air and the fishes in the streams, and even, if I am to believe the tales I have heard, is found among certain furry animals in the wide waters and at times among swarms of butterflies."

"But if you feel the same urge as these creatures, then why should only you out of all men feel it?"

"No doubt it exists elsewhere, although weakened by unnatural ways of life. Did it ever occur to you that it may have been common to all men thousands of years ago? Did you never stop to think that you civilized folk may have lost it, just as you have lost your keenness of scent and sense of direction? while we Ibandru have preserved it by our isolation and the simplicity of our lives? As your own fathers may have been five hundred generations ago, so we Ibandru are today."

"But if your migration be a natural thing," I asked, remembering the sundry mysteries of Sobul, "why make a secret of it? Why not tell me where you go in winter? Indeed, why not take me with you?"

A strange light came into Abthar's eyes. There was something a little secretive and yet something a little exalted in his manner as he lifted both hands ardently toward Yulada, and declared, "There are truths of which I dare not speak, truths that the tradition of my tribe will not let me reveal. But do not misunderstand me, my friend; we must keep our secrets for the sake of our own safety as well as because of Yulada. If all that we do were known to the world, would we not be surrounded by curious and unkindly throngs? Hence our ancient sages ordained that when we Ibandru go away at the time of falling leaves we must go alone, unless there be with us some understanding stranger—one who has felt the same inspiration as we. But such a stranger has never appeared. And until he does appear, Yulada will weave dread spells over him who betrays her secrets!"

The old man paused, and I had no response to make.

"But all this is not what you came to see me about," he continued. "Let us return to Yasma. Now that I have told you of our yearly migration, you can judge of the folly you were contemplating. But let me mention another fact, which even by itself would make your marriage foolhardy."

"What fact can that be?" I demanded, feeling as if a succession of hammer strokes had struck me on the head.