[piosenniel]

Mus'ad and Nizar

By the time Nizar had made it to the vendors’ market his brother had already found Tinar. He had been keeping an eye on him from the tops of buildings that stood along the young man’s route. The young fool was loping after the two foreigners . . . in dog shape; they were wandering aimlessly, or so it appeared to Mus’ad. ‘How obvious!’ he’d snorted to himself, but then the two fellows Tinar was following had not seemed to notice their tail. The dingy blue-grey pigeon chortled in an unattractive way at this poor excuse for a joke, then followed it up with the thought that perhaps foreigners were as dumb as he had heard.

On his third flight back to the spiced-scorpion seller’s stall, his wings growing a bit tired, patience wearing thin, he’d finally spotted Nizar winging his way toward the booth. Sitting together on the large carved sign above the establishment, Mus’ad attempted to elicit from his brother what Wyrma’s instructions had been.

‘Let’s see,’ cooed Nizar as he bobbed his head at his brother. A blank expression crossed his feathered face for a moment, followed by panic. He’d tried so hard to remember the instructions, but it was dark and he couldn’t concentrate on both remembering what Wyrma had said and finding his way in the dark. In an effort to buy himself a little time to remember Herself’s exact words, he began preening his wing feathers, checking for fleas. Mus’ad gave an exasperated hop toward his brother and pecked him lightly on the top of his head.

‘Well?!’ Mus’ad urged. ‘What exactly are we to do?’

Nizar fluffed out his feathers and shook himself as if to knock loose the Mistress’ instructions. Hunkering down, he concentrated hard. ‘There were three things,’ he said, brightening. ‘Follow him. Don’t lose sight of him . . .’

Mus’ad looked expectantly at his brother, and clacked his beak in irritation. Nizar fidgeted on the wooden edge of the sign. His mind had gone quite blank. Below them, a hungry mongrel slinked along in the shadows. ‘That’s it! Follow him. Don’t lose sight of him. And look for his dog shape.’ He bobbed his head in satisfaction. ‘Yep! That’s it. That’s what we’re supposed to do!’ ‘Herself’s very words!’ he pronounced with certainty. In a few moments they were both winging their way back to the area Tinar had last been seen in.

‘I wonder what he’s left out?’ mused the lead bird . . .

~*~*~*~

They’d missed the fight between the foreigners and the drunken alley rats. And could barely resist the urge to have a look see at the fiery goings-on at the harbor. Mus’ad grew a little panicked at the sight of the burning vessels in the harbor and the confusion on the docks. Surely Tinar, foolish as he acted at time, was not involved in that mess! Wrapped up in his thoughts he almost missed it as his brother went flapping by him, nearly slapping him with his wings in his haste to circle about him and head in the opposite direction. ‘There’s those foreigners!’ Nizar said, dipping one wing tip at the street below. ‘And there’s the pup!’ cried Mus’ad, altering the direction of his flight. ‘Good eye, Stinkbug!’

Despite the hated nickname, Nizar’s chest puffed up with pride at the compliment that accompanied it.

~*~*~*~

The dog had fallen far behind the two camels. Which was just as well, thought Mus’ad, since day was coming and the dark of night would no longer hide the trailing cur. Both the birds were tired, their only advantage that they could fly high enough to see far ahead and keep their quarry in sight. The camels the foreigners rode were small figures far in front of the footsore Tinar. The pigeons could see where they had stopped on the rocky rim in the distance, the one that led down to the honeycomb of caves below it.

Tinar had now approached closer to where the two men were dismounting. His belly low to the ground, the birds watched as he crept up a small rise and peered at his prey. The foreigners spoke for a few moments then urged their mounts down the narrow path to the entrance of the caves. As soon as their heads had disappeared from sight, the dog went slinking behind a small rocky outcropping near the ledge. Blending his slender form into the shadows of the piled rocks, he padded silently along to a position where he could watch some of the area below the ledge.

The two birds sat huffing and puffing on the limb of a scraggly sand-whipped tree. ‘Oh, Mus’ad, he’s not going down into the caves, is he?’ The little dun colored pigeon huddled against his older brother. ‘If he does, you stay here and keep lookout,’ whispered Mus’ad. ‘I’ll go down . . . be easier for me to do it . . . you just keep lookout . . .’

The birds looked back to where the dog crouched, as still as the rocks about him. ‘Maybe we’ll be lucky,’ whispered Nizar, distracted by some bug as it crept along a nearby branch. ‘No such luck,’ muttered Mus’ad, lifting his beak in the direction of the dog. In its place was now a small sparrow.

With a fluttering of wings the sparrow dropped below the ledge . . . and with a sigh, the blue grey pigeon followed - landing on the edge of the rocky ledge. Now a small lizard, he slithered nimbly down the face of the overhanging ridge, senses alert for . . . whoever . . . whatever . . . was below . . .