While one stood guard that night, the others slept. In the morning, they made some more soup, adding berries for an experiment, and the old woman drank it all from the proferred gourd. Then the language lessons began. She was an eager teacher once she understood that they weren’t just fattening her up so they could eat her.
The next day Kickaha set out after the people who’d abandoned her. Two days later he returned with flint spear heads, axes, hand scrapers, and several war boomerangs.
“It was easy. I sneaked in at night while they were snoring away after a feast of rotten elephant meat. I picked what I wanted and took off. Even the guards were sleeping.”
Learning the old woman’s language proceeded swiftly. In three weeks Shoobam was telling them jokes. And she was a storehouse of information. A treasure trove, in fact.
Primed with data, the three set to work. While one of the three guarded Shoobam, the others went out to get the materials needed. They killed the plants which she had told them were likely to contain gallotannin, or its equivalent, in certain pathological growths. Another type of tree which they caught and killed had an exceptionally light-weight wood yet was stress-resistant.
Kickaha made a crutch for Shoobam so she could become mobile, and Anana spent some time every day massaging the old woman’s semiparalyzed legs. She was not only able to get around better, she began to put on some weight. Still, though she enjoyed talking to the three and felt more important than she had for a long time, she wasn’t happy. She missed the tribal life and especially her grandchildren. But she had the stoic toughness of all the natives, who could make a luxury out of what was to the three the barest necessity.
Several months passed. Kickaha and company worked hard from dawn to long past dusk. Finally, they had three parawings much superior in lightness of weight, strength, and durability to the original made by Anana. These were stiffened with wooden ribs and were not to be folded.
Told by Shoobam about a certain type of tree the bark of which contained a powerful poison, Kickaha and Anana searched for a grove. After finding one, they pulled a dozen plants over with lariats and killed them. During the process, however, they narrowly escaped being caught and burned with the poison exuded by the tentacles. The old woman instructed them in the techniques of extracting the poison.
Kickaha was very happy when he discovered that the branches of the poison-plant were similar to those of yew. He made bows with strings from goat intestines. The arrows were fitted with the flint heads he’d stolen from Shoobam’s tribe, and these were dipped in the poison.
Now they were in the business of elephant hunting.
Though the pachyderms were immune to the venom on the darts propelled by certain plants, they succumbed to that derived from the “yew” trees. At the end of another month, they had more than the supply of elephant stomach lining needed. The membranes weighed, per square yard, two-thirds less than the gazelle hides. Anana stripped the hides from the parawings and replaced them with the membranes.
“I think the wings’ll be light enough now to work in the planet’s field,” she said. “In fact, I’m sure. I wasn’t too certain about the hides.”
Another plant yielded, after much hard work and some initial failures, a glue-like substance. This could seal the edges of the strips which would compose the balloon envelope. They sealed some strips of membrane together and tested them over a fire. Even after twenty hours, the glue did not deteriorate. But with thirty hours’ of steady temperature, it began to decompose.
“That’s fine,” Anana said. “We won’t be in the balloon more than an hour, I hope. Anyway, we can’t carry enough wood to burn for more than an hour’s flight.”
It looks like we might make it after all,” Kickaha said. “But what about her?”
He gestured at Shoobam.
“She’s saved our necks or at least given us a fighting chance. But what’re we going to do with her when we lift off? We can’t just leave her. But we can’t take her with us, either.”
Anana said, “Don’t worry about that. I’ve talked with her about it. She knows we’ll be leaving some day. But she’s grateful that she’s lived this long, not to mention that we’ve given her more food than she’s had for a long time.”
“Yes? What happens when we go?”
“I’ve promised to slit her wrists.”
Kickaha winced. “You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din. I don’t think I could do it.”
“You have a better idea?”
“No. If it has to be, so be it. I suppose I would do it, but I’m glad I don’t have to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Anana decided that it would be better to make three smaller balloons instead of one large one.
“Here’s how it is. To get equal strength the material of a large balloon has to be much stronger and heavier per square inch than that of a smaller balloon. By making three smaller ones, instead of one large one, we gain in strength of material and lose in weight. So, each of us will ascend in his aerostat.”
She added, “Also, since the smaller ones won’t present as much area to the wind, they’ll be easier to handle.”
Kickaha had lost too many arguments with her to object.
McKay resented being “bossed” by a woman, but he had to admit that she was the authority.
They worked frantically to make the final preparations. Even Shoobam helped, and the knowledge of what would happen on the day of liftoff did not shadow her cheeriness. At least, if she felt sorrow or dread, she did not show it.
Finally, the time came. The three bags lay on the ground, stretched out behind the wall of the windbreak. A net of thin but tough cured membrane strips enclosed each bag. These, the suspension ropes, were attached directly to the basket. Anana would have liked to have tied them to a suspension hoop below which the basket would be hung by foot ropes. This arrangement afforded better stability.
However, it was almost impossible to carve three rings from wood. Besides, if the ring was made strong enough to stand up under the weight of the basket, its passenger, and the fuel, it would have to be rather heavy.
The ends of the suspension ropes were tied to the corners and along the sides of a rectangular car or basket made of pieces of bark glued together. In the center of the car was a thick layer of earth, on top of which were piled sticks. Wood shavings were packed at the bottom of the pile so the fire could be started easily. A layer of tinder would be ignited by sparks from a flint and a knife or the axe.
The wall of earth serving as a windbreak had been tumbled over four times because of the shape-changing terrain. The fifth one was almost twice as high and four times as long as the one built for the test balloon. It was roofed over by branches laid on cross-logs supported by uprights.
Three gallows, primitive cranes, stood near the open end of the enclosure. A cable made of twisted cords ran from the upper sides of the horizontal arm to the top of the balloon. One end was tied around the top of the balloon.
The three people pulled the envelopes up, one by one, until all three hung limply below the gallows arms. The ends of the hoist ropes were secured to nearby uprights. McKay, who had wanted to be first to lift off, probably because it made him nervous to wait, lit the fire. Smoke began to ascend into a circular skin hanging down from the neck of the balloon.
When the bag had started to swell from the expanding hot air, Anana lit the fire in her car. Kickaha waited a few minutes and then started a flame in his basket.
The bands of the “dawn” sky began to glow. Snorts and barks and one roar came from the animals on the plains, awakening to another day of feeding and being fed upon.
McKay’s envelope began to inflate. As soon it was evident that it would stand up by itself, McKay leaped up past the balloon, reached out with his axe, and severed the cable attached to the top. He fell back, landing at the same time the cable did. After rising, he waited another minute, then pulled the balloon from beneath the gallows by the basket.
Wh
en Anana’s balloon had lifted enough to support itself, she cut the cable, and Kickaha soon did the same to his.
Shoobam, who had been sitting to one side, pulled herself up on the crutch and hobbled over to Anana. She spoke in a low tone, Anana embraced her, then slashed at the wrists held out to her. Kickaha wanted to look away, but he thought that if someone else did the dirty work he could at least observe it.
The old woman sat down by Anana’s basket and began wailing a death chant. She didn’t seem to notice when he waved farewell.
Tears were running down Anana’s cheeks, but she was busy feeding the fire.
McKay shouted, “So long! See you later! I hope!”
He pulled the balloon out until it was past the overhang. Then he climbed quickly aboard the car, threw on some more sticks, and waited. The balloon leaned a little as the edge of the wind coming over the roof struck its top. It began rising, was caught by the full force of the moving air, and rose at an angle.
Anana’s craft ascended a few minutes later. Kickaha’s followed at the same interval of time.
He looked up along the bulge of the envelope. The parawing was still attached to the net and was undamaged. It had been tied to the upper side when the bag had been laid out on the ground. It looked like a giant moth plastered against a giant light bulb.
He was thrilled with his flight in an aerostat. There had been no sensation of moving; he could just as well have been on a flying carpet. Except that there was no wind against his face. The balloon moved at the same speed as the air.
Above and beyond him the other two ballons floated. Anana waved once, and he waved back. Then he tended the fire.
Once he looked back at the windbreak. Shoobam was a dim tiny figure who whisked out of sight as the roof intervened.
The area of vision expanded; the horizon rushed outwards. Vistas of mountains and plains and here and there large bodies of water where rain had collected in temporary depressions spread out for him.
Above them hung the vast body of the primary. The great wound made by the splitoff had healed. The mother planet was waiting to receive the baby, waiting for another cataclysm.
Flocks of birds and small winged mammals passed him. They were headed for the planet, which meant that the moon’s shape-change wasn’t far off. The three had left just in time.
Briefly, his craft went through a layer of winged and threaded seeds, soaring, whirling.
The flames ate up the wood, and the supply began to look rather short to Kickaha. The only consolation was that as the fuel burned, it relieved the balloon of more weight. Hence, the aerostat was lighter and ascended even more swiftly.
At an estimated fifteen miles altitude, Kickaha guessed that he had enough to go another five miles.
McKay’s balloon was drifting away from the others. Anana’s was about a half a mile from Kickaha’s, but it seemed to have stopped moving away from it.
At twenty miles—estimated, of course—Kickaha threw the last stick of wood onto the fire. When it had burned, he scraped the hot ashes over the side, leewards, and then pushed the earth after it. After which he closed the funnel of rawhide which had acted as a deflector. This would help keep the hot air from cooling off so fast.
His work done for the moment, he leaned against the side of the basket. The balloon would quickly begin to fall. If it did, he would have to use the parawing to glide back to the moon. The only chance of survival then would be his good luck in being on the upper side after the shape-change.
Suddenly, he was surrounded by warm air. Grinning, he waved at Anana, though he didn’t expect her to see him. The rapid change in the air temperature must mean that the balloon had reached what Urthona called the gravity interface. Here the energy of the counterrepulsive force dissipated or “leaked” somewhat. And the rising current of air would keep the aerostats aloft for a while. He hoped that they would be buoyed long enough.
As the heat became stronger, he untied the funnel, and he cut it away with his knife. The situation was uncertain. Actually, the balloon was falling, but the hot air was pushing it upwards faster than it descended. A certain amount was entering the neck opening as the hotter air within the bag slowly cooled. But the bag was beginning to collapse. It would probably not completely deflate. Nevertheless, it would fall.
Since the balloon was not moving at the speed of the wind now, Kickaha felt it. When the descent became rapid enough, he would hear the wind whistling through the suspension ropes. He didn’t want to hear that.
The floor of the car began to tilt slowly. He glanced at Anana’s balloon. Yes, her car was swinging slowly upwards, and the gasbag was also beginning to revolve.
They had reached the zone of turnover. He’d have to act swiftly, no hesitations, no fumbles.
Some birds, looking confused but determined, flapped by.
He scrambled up the ropes and onto the net, and as he did so the air became even hotter. It seemed to him that it had risen from an estimated 100° Fahrenheit to 130° within sixty seconds. Sweat ran into his eyes as he reached the parawing and began cutting the cords that bound it to the net. The envelope was hot but not enough to singe his hands and feet. He brushed the sweat away and severed the cords binding the harness and began working his way into it. It wasn’t easy to do this, since he had to keep one foot and hand at all times on the net ropes. Several times his foot slipped, but he managed to get it back between the rope and skin of the envelope.
He looked around. While he’d been working, the turnover had been completed. The great curve of the planet was directly below him; the smaller curve of the moon, above.
McKay’s balloon was lost in the red sky. Anana wasn’t in sight, which meant that she too was on the side of the balloon and trying to get into the harness.
Suddenly, the air was cooler. And he was even more aware of the wind. The balloon, its bag shrinking with heart-stopping speed, was headed for the ground.
The harness tied, the straps between his legs, he cut the cord which held the nose of the wing to the net. There was one more to sever. This held the back end, that pointing downward, to the net. Anana had cautioned him many times to be sure to cut the connection at the top before he cut that at the bottom. Otherwise, the uprushing air would catch the wing on its undersurface. And the wing would rise, though still attached at its nose to the balloon. He’d be swung out at the end of the shrouds and be left dangling. The wing would flatten its upper surface against the bag, pushed by the increasingly powerful wind.
He might find it impossible to get back to the ropes and climb up to the wing and make the final cut.
“Of course,” Anana had said, “you do have a long time. It’ll be eighty miles to the ground, and you might work wonders during that lengthy trip. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Kickaha climbed down the ropes to the rear end of the wing, grabbed the knot which connected the end to the net, and cut with the knife in his other hand. Immediately, with a quickness which took his breath away, he was yanked upwards. The envelope shot by him, and he was swinging at the end of the shrouds. The straps cut into his thighs.
He pulled on the control cords to depress the nose of the wing. And he was descending in a fast glide. Or, to put it another way, he was falling relatively slowly.
Where was Anana? For a minute or so, she seemed to be lost in the reddish sky. Then he located a minute object, but he couldn’t be sure whether it was she or a lone bird. It was below him to his left. He banked, and he glided towards her or it. An immeasurable time passed. Then the dot became larger and after a while it shaped itself into the top of a parawing.
Using the control shrouds to slip air out of the wing, he fell faster and presently was at the same level as Anana. When she saw him she banked. After some jockeying around, they were within twenty feet of each other.
He yelled, “You O.K.?”
She shouted, “Yes!”
“Did you see McKay?”
She shook her head.
Two hours late
r, he spotted a large bird-shaped object at an estimated two thousand feet below him. Either it was McKay or a roc. But a long squinting at it convinced him that it must be a bird. In any event, it was descending rapidly, and if it continued its angle, it would reach the ground far away from them.
If it was McKay, he would just have to take care of himself. Neither he, Kickaha, nor Anana owed him anything.
A few seconds later he forgot about McKay. The first of a mass migration from the moon passed him. These were large geese-type birds which must have numbered in the millions. After a while they became mixed with other birds, large and small. The air around him was dark with bodies, and the beat of wings, honks, caws, trills, and whistles was clamorous.
Their wings shot through a craggle of cranes which split, one body flapping to the right, one to the left. Kickaha supposed that they’d been frightened by the machines, but a moment later he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the appearance of an armada of rocs which had scared them.
These airplane-sized avians now accompanied them as if they were a flying escort. The nearest to Anana veered over and glared at her with one cold yellow eye. When it got too close, she screamed at it and gestured with her knife. Whether or not she had frightened it, it pulled away. Kickaha sighed with relief. If one of those giants attacked, its victim would be helpless.
However, the huge birds must have had other things on their minds. They maintained the same altitude while the parawings continued descending. After a while the birds were only specks far above and ahead.
Anana had told him that this would not be the longest trip he’d ever taken, but it would be the most painful. And it would seem to be the longest. She’d detailed what would happen to them and what they must do. He’d listened, and he’d not liked what he heard. But his imagination had fallen short of the reality by a mile.
The World of Tiers Volume Two: Behind the Walls of Terra, the Lavalite World, Red Orc's Rage, and More Than Fire Page 40
