Princess of Amathar (26 page)

"I hope he doesn't expect us to do the same," I said, but a moment later he reappeared from the opening and flew back up to our position, this time carrying a rope stretching out from the window. When he reached our elevation, he took the end of the rope which he carried, and tied it around the base of one of the potted trees. He then pointed over the edge with his wing.

"Shall we climb down?" asked Noriandara Remontar.

"I don't know how much more my arm can take," I said, attempting to reminder her both that I had a broken arm, and that it had been broken in service to her.

"You are treating it like a mother's mother's elder sister," she replied, which was an Amatharian expression something along the line of "babying it"--literally, treating it as you would treat a frail old great aunt.

I sighed, resigned to the knowledge that I would get no sympathy on the subject. It seemed that the Princess was, in general, an unsympathetic person. She quite reminded me of her aunt in that respect. Grasping the rope firmly, I stepped over the edge of the building top, and repelled down the side, twenty feet or so, until I reached the open window and entered. Noriandara Remontar was close behind me. I don't know what I expected--perhaps a feather-lined nest, but I was pleasantly surprised by what turned out to be our accommodations during our stay with the flyers. The room was about fourteen feet wide, and about twenty-five feet long. It was clean, and it was empty with the exception of two large sleeping mats made of heaps of soft grasses covered with smooth white cloth. Before I had a chance to examine anything else, our friendly avian arrived, pointed to the beds with his wing, and then left. I didn't need to be told twice. I dropped down in the first of the beds and as usual had no trouble in dropping right off to sleep.

I suspect that I slept a long while, though as usual, I had no way to tell--it was still noon when I woke. It was a very restful sleep though, and I felt much better. The Princess sat on her bed and cleaned her weapons.

"You sleep too much," she said.

"I have been told that," I replied. "I don't recall being a particularly heavy sleeper on my home world, but since I have been here in Ecos, I seem to require more sleep than anyone else around me."

"Mm," she replied.

"Do you suppose that my arm has healed yet?" I wondered. It was impossible to recall if it had been splinted for a week or six weeks.

"Probably." Noriandara Remontar rose and crossed the room. She removed the remaining bits of cloth holding the splint to my ulna, and tossed the makeshift splints aside.

"Can you move it?"

"I haven't stopped moving it since it was broken."

"It must not be that bad then," she replied unsympathetically. I shrugged and started to clean my own weapons. The cleaning of one's swords, or if one is not a warrior, one's equipment in general, was a common Amatharian pass-time. It was a minor disgrace to have damaged or soiled equipment. It seemed that few Amatharians ever reached that state of disgrace, for Amatharian weapons needed little maintenance. Still the cleaning and maintaining of one's equipment was just what one did during periods of relaxation.

While we were still sitting upon our beds, a flapping noise alerted us to the arrival of the old flyer, who stepped into our room. He now had a sack, tied with string, slung over his neck. After peering at each of us intently, which I took as an avian form of greeting, he removed his burden and opened it up. Inside, he had a collection of fruit much like that which had been given to us on our arrival. We each selected one of the offerings for our breakfast, and the flyer watched us as we ate. When we had finished, he indicated that he should climb up the rope to the top of the building. Once atop the skyscraper, Noriandara Remontar and I found ourselves in the company of a large group of flyers. It seemed the entire community had turned out to welcome, or at least to examine us. The flyers were divided up into two groups--those who were brightly plumed and those who had relatively plain feathers. I still assumed that the brightly feathered ones were the males of the species. Several of these brightly colored individuals stepped forward and peered at us with what seemed to be a typical avian stare. One of these had a nasty cut across his chest. It had been stitched together with white thread.

"These must be the fellows who were fighting with the Kartags when we came along," I suggested.

"I was just thinking the same thing," replied my Amatharian companion. The elder came forward again. He pointed at the two of us with his two extremities, and then made a sweeping motion toward his fellows.

"He is either welcoming us, or inviting us to join the tribe," I said.

"I don't suppose that there is much distinction," replied Noriandara Remontar, "I doubt that they have many casual visitors up here on this floating little world of theirs." Two of the brightly colored males came toward the Princess, and taking her gently by each of her "wings" and led her away, while two of the drab looking females led me in another direction. I wondered at this strange behavior. There seemed to be several possibilities--either I was mistaken as to the identity of their sex, or they were mistaken as to ours. Any other sort of explanation was something that I didn't want to think about at the time. The answer quickly became apparent.

I was led to a part of the rooftop with a heavy concentration of the potted trees provided shade over a carefully cultivated area. Here in the cool protection of the shade were several beds much like the one I had been provided with, laid out upon the grass. On these beds were the offspring of the tribe. There were five children, ranging from an ugly, featherless little fellow about the size of a turkey, to an individual fully as large as an adult, but with an unkempt, hairy assortment of plumage. I followed my two new friends past the nursery, to a nearby bed of fruit bearing plants, which sprouted from the ground in a small explosion of long, sharp leaves. The bird women began picking the fruit and with their actions, they indicated that I should do likewise. There seemed to be no real point in protesting their perception of my sex. I had never really considered certain jobs to be ‘women's work,’ and even those men in the army who had thought that way, I am pretty sure, had not consigned farming to that category. So I gathered up fruit until I had an armful, and then followed the girls back to the chicks. The females began the next step of their duties, which was to gulp a fruit, whole, into their mouth, and a few moments later, to regurgitate it down into the waiting mouths of their offspring. I was a little concerned that perhaps they expected me to participate in this endeavor--something that I was sure I was not equipped for. Apparently though, they had already surmised my unsuitability for the task, for I was not asked to attempt it. We made several trips to the garden, for the children ate a lot. Then we endeavored to see to the other end of the chick. Each baby produced a fecal sack, which the mothers and I gathered and tossed off the edge of the building. It was, I imagined, much cleaner than changing diapers. Finally, when the offspring were fed and clean, they dozed off to sleep. I followed the girls to a group of seats arranged in a semi-circle, beside the potted base of the largest tree in our little grove. Each of the avians opened a small satchel and pulled out a piece of clean white cloth. Each in turn held up their cloth and showed what was being made of it, to the approving whistles of her peers. One was making a satchel, another, a sort of hood. Still another was producing a bed cover. The closest of my new friends handed me a large piece of cloth and a leaf from the fruit plant. I watched as she pulled the sharp tip away from the leaf, taking with it a long string of plant silk, and ending up with a passable needle and thread. I realized that I was being invited to join their sewing circle. One couldn't help but be flattered.

Now that I think about it, I don't think that up until that moment in my life I had ever attempted to sew anything. When I was a child, there had always been someone to do all my sewing for me. In the army, one simply requisitioned replacements for damaged and worn clothing. Like many bachelors, once I had left the army, I simply bought a replacement for a shirt that lost a button, or a pair of slacks that became ripped. Now that I had the chance to do some sewing though, I took to it quite well. I cut the cloth into a smaller piece using my short sword, and in no time at all I had fashioned my very own bird man satchel. I had been so engrossed in the completion of my project that I failed to notice the arrival of seven or eight new female avians. This was the night shift, or what passed for the night shift in a world where it was always noon. I followed my girls, as we left tending the babes to the newcomers, and rejoined the males and Noriandara Remontar. The males bore with them several large woven baskets full of fruit and the entire group sat down and enjoyed a meal together. I realized then that I was very hungry, and that I had been working for a day, or half a day, or at least a long time, without eating. This meal was both welcome and tasty. Afterwards, the Princess and I returned down the rope to our room.

"I haven't been this tired in a long time," reported Noriandara Remontar.

"What did they have you doing?" I wondered.

"We worked in the field, first planting one fruit bed, then weeding another, and finally picking the fruit from a third. What about you?"

"Much the same thing," I replied. "How long do you think we should stay here?"

"The city is floating in the general direction of Amathar. As long as that remains the case, we might as well stay aboard. It is quicker and easier than walking, and I doubt we will find a better method of locomotion. And since we are aboard the ship, life among these avians is infinitely preferable to eking out an existence by ourselves, constantly dodging the Kartags."

I nodded in acknowledgment. So it was decided that we would remain members of the avian tribe, falling into a routine, a cannot say a daily routine as their were no days--Noriandara Remontar hunting and gathering with the males, and I taking care of the youngsters, sewing clothing, and repairing equipment.

I am always losing track of time in Ecos. I am sure that the Amatharians and the other races native to this artificial world manage to keep track of their doings with better ability than I, though I would point out that they never overtly paid much attention to the passing of moments. In any case, it was some time before the routine of the flyer's lives was interrupted. I had begun to think that with the Kartags safely on the ground level of this flying city, that we--that is to say, the flyers--had nothing much to fear as long as we stayed on our lofty perches. I was soon to find that there were other dangers. I was following the typical flyer schedule, having had breakfast with all of the tribe and the Princess. As usual, the girls and I fed the chicks and sat down to do some sewing. I was working on the last stitches of a new tabard for myself, my original having been torn for splints and bandages along the way. I had previously completed one for the Princess. They looked pretty good, if I do say so myself, though they did not have the beautiful crests of knighthood emblazoned upon them. Just as I was inserting the needle into the cloth once more, I heard a scream nearby. I jumped up, dropping my sewing handiwork, and raced to the source of the commotion.

The baby avian farthest away from me was under attack, and though the females were attempting to protect it, it was clear that they were no match for the attacker. It was a great insect, five or six feet thick and fully thirty feet long. The bloated caterpillar like body, colored in bright blues and purples, undulated as it moved upon its many legs. On its front end was a hideous open mouth with several sets of ugly pinchers, and on its tail, which stood up like a scorpion's, was a stinger long enough to drill clear through the body of a man. The females were attempting to distract it from the baby who was wailing with fright. As I leapt forward, my gravity enhanced muscles carrying me high into the air, I whipped out my sword. It immediately began to glow with a white hot intensity as the soul within awakened and anticipated battle. I reached the baby in three steps, and on my fourth step, I hopped over the head of the insect and stepped squarely upon its back. The tail shot forward, its stinger heading straight for my chest. My sword sliced through the tail where it connected to the bloated body, sending green ichor flying. I then turned and drove the point of my sword down into the creature's body. It immediately began to collapse, spewing a fountain of green goo into the air and leaving a great green puddle reflecting in the sun. Two of the female avians rushed to the baby's side to see that it was alright. It seemed unharmed. The others turned and looked at me with what I thought was uncomfortable silence. They didn't act frightened, at least not overtly, but they didn't seem as social as they did before. I imagine that my display of an inordinate amount of power must have seemed quite unfeminine to them. They remained stand-offish the remainder of my shift. Back in our room, I related the experience to Noriandara Remontar.

"We should leave now anyway," she said. "We are close to the nearest approach to Amathar."

Chapter Twenty Six: Feet on the Ground

When the Princess and I woke up from a restful sleep, we gathered our things together, including several new tabards and satchels which I had made, the latter filled with fruit which she had provided. We climbed up the rope to the top of the building to make our farewells to the tribe. The avians gathered around us, cooing and chirping softly. Even the females seemed to have forgotten their stand-offish behavior. They gave us many small tokens of their affection, such as necklaces of beads and feathers, pieces of dried fruit, small bags of herbs, and tiny containers of flower nectar. I extended my hand in a wave to the flyers, and the Princess and I exited the rooftop haven using the same door through which we had entered it. By now I was feeling quite healed and healthy, my time spent sitting and sewing having served well in a recuperative capacity. The flights of stairs which had seemed so many on the way up flew by as we made our way down to the street level of the floating city. As soon as I stepped out of the front door of the Meznark building, I was forced to jump aside to avoid stepping in a large pile of fecal material left right there on the street. It was not the neat little bags that the avians left behind either, but a nasty pile much like I had seen below the mountains of the ancient Orlons. This alone was enough to remind me that we were now in the realm of the Kartags, though quite honestly, I never felt them to be much of a threat to my safety. Instead I wished to avoid them more for their unsavory nature and for their hideous smell. Still, we wasted no time in getting to the ladder which led down to the landing bay below the city.