Fish Tails

by Sheri S. Tepper

  Abasio shook his head. “Thank you, Jules. This is a miracle. The one thing needed to guarantee success, and here it is! I don’t know about time travel, but if anyone could, it’d probably be Fixit.”

  Sun-­wings came out of the building and extended her wings, repeatedly, first one, then the other, then both, stretching them to their limits, moving them high, meeting over her back, then down, so far as the earth would allow.

  When Abasio approached, she said, “I think a rope loop, in front of the wings, just behind my front leg shoulders and held down, tight, by one of my front feet. In that way, the boy can put his upper legs under the rope, his lower legs back, and his feet tucked under it. Then I can tighten it gently—­is that right word?—­with my foot, but it does not choke me. He will hang on to the rope with hands, too.”

  They tried a ­couple of lengths before finding one that was comfortable for her. Abasio said, “Don’t fret over Dawn-­song, you know we’ll take care of her until you get back.” Willum came out of the wagon warmly dressed and muttering about blankets on fish—­Xulai had obviously seen to dressing him. Abasio unbuttoned the boy’s jacket, lifted the sweaters, and placed the message beneath the shirt, next to Willum’s skin. “There may be some other stuff in that wagon, Willum. I don’t know what it looks like. It’s called yribium. If it’s in ingots, it’ll be short, thick, very heavy sticks. If you see anything like that, grab some of it.”

  He took hold of the boy’s chin, looked beyond him to speak to both him and Sun-­wings. “Now, this is important. The woodsman over there in Saltgosh is not going to want to cut that tree! You give this to Melkin. It’s pollen from a male tree like the one you have to cut. It’s something their woodsman has wanted for years. He’ll cut the tree if you give him this. You’ve got an inside pocket in your jacket. I’m putting it in that pocket, and I’m buttoning it so you can’t lose it.” And pray to heaven that it contains what Fixit said it does. He turned to meet Sun-­wings’s eyes. She seemed to be smiling.

  “I’m going to climb the stone place they call ‘Two Old Men Pretending to Be Buffalo,’ ” Sun-­wings announced, turning toward the aspen grove at the foot of a tall formation of stones that did indeed resemble two hunched old men humped over like buffalo. When they arrived at the formation, she said, “Willum, climb onto my back by holding on to little bunches of feathers, not just one, it may pull out.”

  He did so, his face tight with concentration. Abasio handed him the flag they had prepared, bright red, like the Saltgosh singers’ caps. Sun-­wings climbed the rock, talons and claws gripping and shifting, Willum lying flat against her back. Once he was on top, she told him to get his legs under the rope; then she put a front foot into the rope loop, tightened it over Willum’s legs and her shoulders, and told him to bend his knees and tuck his toes under the rope and hold on tight. The next thing Abasio knew, she had launched herself downward, wings opening just before she hit the ground, then lifting, lifting. He saw her circle to gain height, then turn toward the west.

  On her back, Willum was caught halfway between ecstasy and terror. They were circling higher and higher, and he was suddenly glad of the extra sweaters. It was cold up here. Maybe Xulai had been right about that. She sometimes was right about things. Most times. They were headed west, over the road. There was a hill on the horizon, and they were headed for that, reached it, went over it, and began climbing again. The mountains ahead of them were higher, much higher.

  She circled up and up on the rising air from the sun-­warmed slope below, moving farther west with each turn until at last she tilted to one side and Willum saw the top of the pass beneath them, the pale scribble of road descending on both sides. The sun had risen far enough that there was good light to see by, though none shone directly on this western face of the mountain. The Gold King’s wagon was already one-­third of the way down the side, cars and trucks strung out behind it, weapons protruding from every window. Since the Gold King had an eight-­horse hitch and seemingly a light load, the wagon was moving very fast. Willum had never seen a wagon move that fast; one horse of the lead team carried a rider, and the accompanying riders were also at full gallop. He had extra horses, too, following along behind.

  Sun-­wings slipped over the first range of peaks, tilted, and sailed down the valley on the far side, past the Listener, turning from valley into valley, not flapping, just gliding through the rising air, slowly descending as they went. There ahead of them was the watchtower.

  Willum sat up straight, held on with one hand, and waved the flag with the other. As they went by, he looked to his right and saw two incredulous faces staring at him through the watcher’s gap in the stone. Sun-­wings dropped as they went down the meadow, then began to circle, losing altitude and frightening a herd of cows into a frantic stampede. Lower and lower yet.

  He leaned forward and called, “That pasture right underneath us. That’s for ­people to camp and there’s no stock in it. That’d be a good place.” It was also out of sight of the wagon coming down from the pass place.

  Sun-­wings swerved, looked down, then her wings came high behind him and they were down. He loosened his hold on the rope and slid from the Griffin’s shoulder.

  “I’m going to walk up toward them,” he told her. “I’ll be back.”

  “Take your time,” she said. “I need a drink of water.”

  She walked toward the river, starting yet another stampede two pastures away, this one of horses.

  Willum went straight across toward the salt works, still waving his flag.

  Several men emerged from the salt works and came toward him. One of them was Melkin. Willum remembered having to . . . well, to apologize to him. He felt his face turning red.

  “Willum,” Melkin said, his voice a little tight. “You seem to have acquired quite a mount there.”

  “Don’t think I ’quired her,” said Willum. “Think I was just the lightest one they had to send.” He struggled with his buttons. “Sir, gotta letter in here from Abasio. He said important. Real important.”

  Seeing Willum’s struggle with several layers of sweater and jacket, Melkin helped with the buttons. He read the letter, muttering to the men at his sides. “Weapons,” he said. “Do you know what weapons they have, Willum?”

  Willum concentrated very hard on what Abasio had said to the others just before they took off. “I heard him talking while I was gettin’ dressed. They got long guns and lots of ’em. ’Basio says you’ve got bigger weapons’n that, but ’Basio thought it’d be better if you just weren’t ’vailable or visible when they came by, just sorta not there so no matter what they got, if there’s nobody there, then nobody starts shootin’ anything. Since ever’body knows you’re all moved down to Snow Town, those gangers, they won’t think anything ‘bout your not bein’ there. But they gotta take that road where the giants is.”

  “That’s a helluva big tree,” muttered one of the men. “Take a while.”

  Another commented, “It’d have to be, to make them go the other way. Otherwise they’d just haul it off the road.”

  “Can’t take long,” said Willum. “That wagon is one-­third a’ the way down on this side and he’s comin’ downhill with a light load an’ a eight-­horse hitch and the riders at full gallop an’ I don’t know how many cars and trucks behint him with those guns stickin’ out the sides.”

  “Go ring for Gister. He’s the best woodsman. We can use one of the big salt saws.”

  “He’s not going to let you cut that tree!” several of the men cried in virtual unison.

  Sun-­wings called, “Willum! The package Abasio gave you. Before we took off.”

  Willum got red in the face. He really had listened. He dug into the inside pocket of his jacket. “This is stuff from a male tree like that’n we hafta cut. It’s called . . .” He frowned again.

  “Pollen,” said Sun-­wings. “The trees grow near Tingawa. That’s w
here Fixit got it.”

  Willum grinned. “Abasio said this will make seeds, to grow new ones.”

  “Gister’s been looking for a male tree for over thirty years!” cried Melkin.

  “Well, he wouldn’ta found it around here. They grow where Sun-­wings said.”

  The men went off in different directions. A bell began to ring, a strange b’bing sound. Melkin, noting Willum’s puzzled look, explained. “There’s four message bells. Small, middle, big, and huge. Different tones to each one. We hit it with different kinds of strikers; metal makes one sound, wood makes another, wood with a leather wrapped around it still another. Each man who lives or works away from Saltgosh has his own signal. That signal you heard was Gister’s, the middle bell hit with a wooden mallet. If we did b’bingy, on that same bell, that’d be his boy. Anyhow, Gister’s the one’ll tell us where to cut and how deep, so it’ll come down right over the road.”

  Willum was furiously thinking of all the talk he’d overheard while they’d been getting him dressed. “So you’ll keep all your folks safe and away from that wagon when it comes by you? And not leave any tools out where they could maybe get’m and clear the road? An’, I jus’ thought, there’s that buncha Edgers with ’em and their guns. So, after the wagon goes through, if we go in there past the notch t’collect the stuff, if the giants don’t . . . get ridduv ’em, THEN ’f you had some men with weapons ready, that might be a pretty good idea.”

  Melkin grinned at him. “Thank you for the suggestions, and yes, I agree it’d be a pretty good idea. I’m glad we’re down in Snow Town, though. We’d be vulnerable if we were still living up in the town. Oh, we’d get all the ­people down, but they’d have to leave all their possessions behind. Do you know why this guy took the stuff?”

  “ ’Cause he’s got somebody wants to buy it for, oh, a lot of gold. A great lot. But what these men want is only the Edgers should be left alive when the waters come. They wanta kill ever’body else an’ specially the sea-­babies. An ’Basio and Mr. Fixit, they need that stuff to figure out what them Edgers’re up to so they don’t . . . kill a lot more ­people.”

  “They want to be the only ones left alive? The Edgers?”

  “Yessir. And they’re the ones that’re messin’ things up, makin’ things like those giants. Did you know they were still growing?”

  “Still? Who says?”

  “Sun-­wings, the Griffin! She says. Her folk have been watchin’ them. She says they were still growin’, but they’ve been stopped now by Mr. Fixit. Now they’re getting littler.”

  “You need anything before you go back? Or does she?” Melkin stared at the Griffin, shaking his head. He’d seen Griffins, now and then, at some distance, but never this close. “If you’re going to park somewhere and watch what happens, you’ll have to be high, and it’s cold up there, so you should have a blanket. I’ll bring you one. And could I . . . be introduced to her?”

  “Sure. But be nice. She’s very polite.” Willum remembered Digger. “ ’Cept when she’s killing somebody, I guess. But she doesn’t like the taste of ­people. So you’re safe.”

  Melkin was introduced to Sun-­wings and got into a conversation with her about the giants while Willum went hastily across the pasture to the privy the group had used when they had camped here previously. He had really, really not wanted to wet on Sun-­wings. Somehow, that just wasn’t the relationship he wanted to have, but it was really cold up there and sort of swoopy and he really, really had to go.

  When he came out, a woman was coming down from the town with a sandwich and a blanket for him. It was Liny, the tailor’s sister, the one who’d made all the cookies. (They’d met her before but he hadn’t swiped anything from her, so he could just say thank you without being ashamed or having to apologize. He’d really never had that feeling until Abasio had taught it to him. Probably because there wasn’t anything in Gravysuck worth stealing.) Liny asked if the Griffin would like anything.

  “Any raw meat,” Sun-­wings replied. “A piece about the size of that boy.” And then she laughed, and after a moment the woman laughed with her. Still, she returned in a little while with two men carrying a leg of something that kept Sun-­wings busy for some little time. Flying had given her an appetite. Recently she hadn’t really been eating much.

  Gister showed up. The men began to move machinery. Sun-­wings suggested Willum get on her shoulders while she climbed a sidewall. Waving farewell, Willum did so. The men not busy moving machinery stood staring as the Griffin climbed to the top of the south wall. Looking at the drop, Willum put the folded blanket under his bottom, his legs under the rope, bent his knees to clamp down on it, tucked his toes under, and gripped it tight, closing his eyes and concentrating on not throwing up as she launched herself down, then WHAP and they were headed up. She circled, higher and higher. He heard machinery below them; a huge-wheeled block-­cutting machine was slicing into the south side of the tree.

  High and higher, they went. The machine shrieked. Higher yet. Willum looked over his shoulder as they crossed the watchtower. The tree trembled. Sun-­wings heard it and turned so they could watch the huge bulk of it tremble and tremble while the men ran to get away from the trunk. The tree shook and leaned and came down across the road to the west with a crash that buffeted them, high as they were. Now the men came back and were trimming away the growth around the other road, making the way to the notch more visible, more . . . Willum thought about it. More usable-­looking.

  Willum looked back once more when they were above the pass. The watchtower wall blocked his view of the Saltgosh Valley. It did not block his view of the switchbacks on the western side, and the Gold King’s wagon was maybe six or eight roads lower than it had been, the followers strung out in a long line behind it. He still had the twelve riders, but there were slightly fewer of the trucks. He spotted two of them higher on the mountain, gushing steam into the cold morning air. Willum turned his attention back to the wagon and visualized it going through the notch . . . not. If the wagon stayed in front, they’d have to stop every truck, then unhitch the horses and shorten the harness to make it just a two-­horse hitch—­no way more than a two-­horse hitch could get through there, then go through, take the other horses through, then rehitch. The sun was lower. It was midafternoon. Sun-­wings sculled, catching an updraft, using it to lift, then to slide.

  Willum leaned forward. “ ’Basio wants to know if they go through, and what happens.”

  “I can land somewhere if you’re cold.”

  “Just if you’re tired, Sun-­wings. Otherwise I’m fine.”

  Willum grinned. Oh, it really might be worth learning to listen. He finally figured it out. If you wanted to do anything NEW, you had to listen for what was new. Everything back in Gravysuck was OLD. He had listened to things Xulai told him on the trip, because they were NEW things, but bein’ told what to do was just OLD stuff. Anyhow, it had felt like . . . seemed like . . . no, it just used some of the same words like it was an OLD thing, but what he hadn’t figured out was it couldn’t be OLD when Abasio or Xulai did it, because everything they were doing was a NEW thing. That’s why they were so tired all the time, because doing NEW stuff all the time meant you hadn’t got used to it or figured out the easiest way to do it yet, or figured out how to get out of doing it yet, and that was why they got so . . . peeved at him.

  He finally figured it out. He was going to try really, really hard, to learn to listen.

  Sun-­wings found a place on a southwest-­facing side of a peak, almost at the corner of the north and east valley walls but cupped and sheltered from the northeast wind and warmed by the afternoon sun. She lay upon a ledge, fluffed out both feathers and fur to hold the heat from the sun-­warmed stone while the boy cleared some of the sand and gravel that had accumulated at the bottom of the wall to make room for her legs. Then he snuggled into the warm notch between her left front leg and rib cage, covering his legs an
d her front feet with the blanket.

  “Don’t your feet get cold, Sun-­wings?”

  “They have a venturi tube in each one of them.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A place where the blood is forced through a tighter place that makes it move faster. Birds have them in their legs. Otherwise their feet would freeze in the winter.”

  “Who told you that?”

  She paused, suddenly thoughtful. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember. Someone did. Before I was grown. Long, long ago. Venturi tubes and dual musculature in the upper back, and unequal weight distribution of internal organs, many things like that. I shouldn’t be able to fly, you know.” She sighed. “But I do.”

  They looked down on both sides of the wall, Saltgosh to the south, the Valley of the Giants to the north. It was truly a valley of the giants, for the huge creatures were readily visible, two or three of them moving about at any one time, one or two of them tall enough that their heads were almost even with the tops of some trees. They must have been a long way west when he and Abasio and Xulai had come through here before. Two of them were what Abasio had seen when he went back in the notch that time. Willum tried to identify different ones and count them, but they all looked alike. No clothes, of course. How did they keep warm in the winter? There seemed to be at least five, maybe one or two more. In the Saltgosh Valley, ­people were busy moving livestock: all the cows and horses were disappearing among the trees. Though the ­people had been moved down some time ago, the animals were let out on pasture daytimes until it actually snowed. Sun-­wings nudged his leg and pointed with her beak, and he saw the water was building up behind the huge dropped tree trunk. Some still ran under the trunk in the old riverbed, but more was diverted into the northwestward flow, through the notch. He nodded sleepily.

  It seemed a very short time before they spotted the Gold King’s wagon approaching the watchtower, and Willum realized both he and the Griffin had fallen asleep for a while. Sun-­wings’s beak was resting on his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, letting his elbow casually shove the beak a little to wake her up. The horses were still running and the Gold King’s entourage was alert, weapons at the ready, looking all about themselves for any hostile action and finding none at all.