75 - So... Can I Trust You?

“Just kill it, Kraganzh!” Sander and his warbird dropped behind Kyrus, he could see the shadow change.

He let the spear dee-cline out of his hand, held his hand palm out toward the Hive Lord.  “Set your stone to record, Hive Lord Sander.” He said quietly, as the big, wild, warbird clashed his beak and redoubled his cheeping plaint.  “I accept the risk, and take it on myself.  You’ll have record of it to show my father if I’m wrong here.”

“Kraganzh!”

Kyrus signaled to his bird and Tzar let the stick settle all the way to the ground where it popped its landing gear to keep it from burning holes in the sand.  The warbird hens leaped up, wheeled and ran but the old bull didn’t move other than to close his beak and stopping his noise.  Sander’s bird croaked and in the distance there was a boom and a hiss as a dune lost one of its faces in the wind.

The sun beat down on his sarband and Kyrus had more sweat on him than could be accounted for, just from heat.  He swallowed and mandered up a silk guiding band, like the one they used for the cuddle flock and a classic goad in his other hand.  All his practice was making code access easier and easier, at least for practical things.  He took one step closer and spread his arms.  “You’re smarter than we’ve thought, aren’t you?” He said to the big white bull.  “You’ve figured out that if you quit trying to kill us, we can help you fly.”

The white warbird turned his head sideways, his tongue showing through the holes in his beak where the beak-break had been. He stood up, slowly, not flinching or startling even though Sander shouted.  He was so old that he was a third again as big as any riding bird and he towered over Kyrus, who held his ground. There was a flicker of motion as he struck, and the bird goad spun away digging down into the sand, so fast that Kyrus could only see the motion in code.  He’d begun to snap a shield up between himself and the big bird but he’d been too slow.  But once the goad was knocked out of his grip, the bull stood still, staring at him.

Kyrus didn’t stop setting up his shield, but the bird didn’t move other than to thrust its tongue in and out. Ky slowly raised the band toward the bird. “Do you want to fly?” He twitched his fingertips in a ‘come here’ gesture.

The big head dropped, slowly, until they were almost face to face and Kyrus could hear Sander reeling off a muttered prayer to Light and Dark and his warbird making distressed little clicking noises. He could see the pupils of the eyes, barely, a darker black in the dark reddish black. It narrowed to almost a pinpoint and the massive razor-sharp beak stopped, just outside his mandered up shield. It was only visible because of the dust in the air.

The warbird stuck out his tongue and pushed against the shield, the leathery, dry tip pressing flat.  Kyrus wasn’t sure what to do. Was that a willingness to cooperate? If he got killed by this bird, by guessing wrong, his father would just kill him. "Can I trust you? Can I trust you, Old Man?"

The bird shifted where he stood, claws as long as Kyrus’s forearm scratched through the sand and over the stone beneath.  He heard Sander, behind him. “Don’t do it, Kyrus!  EnDarken me, boy... fak me sideways if you...”

He dropped the shield.

The bird didn’t move for a long moment, then clacked his beak at the flight stick, sank down on his haunches and grabbed the silk loop out of Ky’s hand, as if to say. “Well? What’s taking you so long?”

Kyrus reached out. The glove on his hand wouldn’t protect him if the bird decided to take him apart. It watched him but didn’t move, silk trailing from its beak. Kyrus touched the feathers just behind the hinge of the beak, a spot that all the cuddle flock loved having scratched. Then worked his fingers in to the skin and scratched gently.

The largest warbird he’d ever been next to, leaned into his hand and shut its inner eyelids three quarters of the way and positively groaned with pleasure. Behind him he could hear Tzar chattering with jealousy.  “Let’s...” he swallowed to work some moisture into his dry mouth. “Let’s fly then, Old Man?  Good bird?  Flight-stick?”