Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Of all the amh, birds that were neither predator nor prey to the sparrows, the iparral, or cardinals, were the most likely to treat with sparrows and not to fight with them. So long as there was ample food, the cardinals and their brides would suffer the sparrows to be near them and to converse.

So Lwyr sought their counsel, specifically that of Rreko, a cardinal who had lived in the area for many years and had raised three broods a year, like clockwork, with his bride.

“Tell me, please, if you have a moment, what I should do about the nest-intruders, the cowbirds,” Lwyr said. “They have laid their egg in my beloved’s nest, and she is beside herself with worry.”

Rreko cracked an oily seed open with his great orange beak and chewed on the contents, meditatively. “They have bedeviled us more and more,” he said. “But we accept it as a fact of life.”

“What happens with the chicks you raise?” Lwyr pressed. “What happens as they grow?”

“We do our best with them, and they care for us in their fashion, but they always speak in a foreign tongue from the nest, it seems, and when our fledglings scatter they never return, seeking instead their own kind. I suppose all sons and daughters are the same, in that way.”

“What if they could be made to stay, for us that flock?”

“Well, they do flock sometimes, usually in the spring, but they are such rude, garrulous creatures that they would not fit in with a flock so…delicate…as yours.”

“What if they could?”

“I would say that is a fool’s dream,” Rrenko said, cracking another nut. “It is as if asking what if the sun were edible.”

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The sparrows recognize two deities, two powers to whom they give thanks and from whom they seek favor. The first is Aurin, the Father, the Great One–the sun. He bestows gifts like abundant sunshine and milt temperatures when he is pleased, but can also curse his adherents with rain, clouds, and storms if displeased. He is celebrated on Longday and Darkday, as the former is when he is closest and most present to his children, and the latter is when he is at his most distant, drawn away by affairs in the sky from his erstwhile romance with Iurra. Aurin does not have a code as such; he simply responds to what his followers do. If they show him proper respect, he is kind; if they insult him, he will be vengeful.

Iurra, the Mother, the Dear One–the earth–is the second great god of the sparrows. Unlike Aurin the Father, who has never deigned to speak to his children, the sparrows believe that Iurra once spoke to, and granted requests from, sparrows. They believe that she has withdrawn in sadness due to the wickedness of her children, but that she can be coaxed back through good behavior and sacrifice. Tywy, the sparrow of legend who was and is his people’s eternal leader, set down a series of commandments known as Iurra’s Word. If the Word be followed, many believe, Iurra will once again speak to her children and grant them boons.

Iurra’s Word is as follows:
-Be true to your mate unto their death, and to your chicks unto their fledging.
-Let no sparrow be faethwr (a bird of prey) or llew, a predator. (Sparrows do not consider insects to be alive.)
-Share your bounty with the flock, and in turn the flock will share its bounty with you.
-Sing strongly and well, but only when the time is right.

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For Xori had in fact dined on the flesh of another bird, in direct contravention of Iurra’s word.

The striders had prepared the bird’s flesh so artfully, and so flavorfully breaded it with crumbs and spices, that Xori had simply not noticed. But Echyda, with her father’s prowling eye, had noticed the subtle bones, the secret sinews, and had reported them to Oesoeddi, who still possessed his father’s keen mind and impressive memory for the word of Iurra, the Mother.

Despite Xori’s protests of ignorance, the remedy was clear. Xori was stripped of his title of riau, leader, and declared to be faethwr, a bird of prey, along with all his followers who had joined him in the forbidden repast. They were cast out, shunned for their cannibalism. All but his daughter Xoria, of course, who had been the first to sound the alarm and now stood to become the new riau, clear of suspicion.

After all, what daughter would report her father who did not have the best interests of the flock at heart?

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A selection of words and terms from Passerine, the language of sparrows.

strider – A human being, so named for their curious gait. “Strider” is used rather than the Passerine word, llewe, to reduce confusion.

llew – A predator, which takes and eats sparrows. Can be more generally applied to any creature that sparrows find frightening, including striders

ysgly – Prey, that which is preyed upon by llew. Can include sparrows, but more often refers to other creatures.

faethwr – Birds of prey, eagles and hawks. While they can be–and are–called llew, their ability to fly makes them more dangerous.

amh – Birds that are often indifferent to sparrows. Typically applied to crows, gulls, and the like, which rarely harm sparrows so long as the sparrows are not foolish.

riau – A king or leader. Can be used in a metaphorical or honorary sense, often for a particularly old or respected sparrow.

esgyn – Good places in trees. They can be fine perches, or highly suitable nesting material, but most often refer to excellent sources of food like wild berries.

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“You mustn’t heed him,” said the crow. “His kind have a dour streak to them.”

“You know all too well of what I speak, corvid,” hissed the vulture. “You have taken of the dead just as I, I who have seen and feasted on death since my parents first bore it to me in the nest.”

“So what would you say, then?” I asked both birds.

“The world is cruel and there is no reason to it,” said the vulture. “I have seen the deserving young cut low, the revered aged slaughtered, and feasted on the eyes of those who wished only good for others and the world. Indifference is the way of our world, and indifference I cannot but share.”

“And you?” I asked the crow.

“Who cares?” it replied. “Stuff happens and there’s no reason to read anything into it. Sure, I’ll eat the dead if they’ll go to waste. But I’ll also eat a berry, and that doesn’t say anything about the world other than it’s juicy. Trying to read a philosophy out of what happens is like shouting at a rock. It might make you feel better, but the rock will do what it does and you only hurt yourself by worrying about it.”

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