The Time Of The Transferance

by Alan Dean Foster

  “You can overcome your fear, Teyva. All you have to do is talk yourself out of it. There’s no tether around your neck except the one in your memory. You can’t choke on a memory. Doesn’t the fact that you’re about to be gutted and spitted and served up as someone’s dinner make you want to get out of here?”

  “I have no more interest in becoming a premature meal than you do, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” Again he flapped his great wings. The backblast of air from those powerful limbs blew dust in Jon-Tom’s fact. Teyva rose off the ground an inch, two inches, three, half a foot this time before dropping back to earth. He was sweating and beginning to froth at the mouth.

  “I just can’t do it,” he said tightly. “I can feel the,tether around my neck. I can feel it tightening and constricting, cutting off my breath. If I got ten feet up I’d black out from lack of air and come crashing down. I know it.” He glared at Jon-Tom. “You don’t know what it’s like, that feeling. You can’t imagine it. So don’t try to tell me that you do.”

  “I won’t.” Jon-Tom wanted to be patient, to be gentle. Unfortunately, the light from the fire pit was beginning to glow brightly. There was no time for patience or gentleness. He had to push.

  “Let’s try something.”

  “They’ve gone an’ got themselves caught, the stupid twits.” Mudge was squatting in the middle of the big outrigger he and Weegee had spirited away from the boat landing, looking back toward the village. Two wolves had been guarding the trim little vessels, but some commotion among the huts had providentially drawn their attention. Now Mudge knew what the cause of the commotion had been, and providence hadn’t been involved.

  “They ought to ‘ave been ‘ere by now.”

  “Give them another few minutes.”

  He turned to stare at her in the darkness. “No. I know that Jon-Tom, I do. The poor bald-bodied ape don’t ‘ave the brains of a worm. Got ‘imself caught ‘e did. Well, we did our best. I tried to warn Mm, but no, ‘e ‘ad to go an’ play the noble man, ‘e did. It were ‘is choice, it were, an’ it don’t ‘ave nothin’ to do with us. We’ve a life of our own to live. Tis time to go.” He hopped out of the boat and leaned his shoulder against the side preparatory to pushing it off the low sandbar where they’d beached the hull.

  Weegee leaned out and rubbed her nose against his to get his attention. “We can’t just let them die like that, Mudge.”

  “We didn’t make the choice on ‘ow they’re goin’ to die, luv. They did that themselves. Wot about me and you then, eh?” He stood straight and kissed her, leaning over the gunwale to do so. Then he ran a finger over her whiskers. “I never met no one like you, lass. Never expected to. Never planned on settlin’ down because I never thought I’d ‘ave a reason to. Now I’ve got me a reason an’ I ain’t blowin’ it because some nitwit of a ‘uman from another world ‘asn’t got the sense to know when to mind ‘is own business. Jon-Tom’s been pullin’ idiotic stunts like this ever since I’ve known ‘im, which is as long as ‘e’s been in our world. I knew ‘e’d pull one too many one day and that would be the end o’ an interestin’ friendship. Today’s that day. ‘E’s made the choice. There’s no one else at risk in this. This time the fate o’ the world don’t ‘ang in the balance. Tis just Jon-Tom, an’ fate’s decided ‘is end ‘as come.”

  “Someone once told me that fate never decided anything.”

  “Wot fool told you that?”

  She leaned close. “You did, Mudge.”

  He pulled away from her but he couldn’t get away from her eyes. “Damn all females to ‘ell anyway. You ‘ear me, Weegee? I say damn you!”

  “I heard you.” She slipped over the side into the water. “We’ll haVe a nice long mutual cursing session later. Right now we’re wasting time.”

  Together they swam for the village, easily outracing the startled fish that crossed their path.

  Jon-Tom’s halting attempts at equine psychoanalysis were going nowhere fast when he was interrupted by the sound of a gate opening at the far end of the corral. At first he thought the cooks had come for them, but the opening was only to permit the injection of some new ingredients to the stew. These ingredients were unceremoniously tossed inside. The gate was slammed behind them.

  He didn’t wave. “Hello, Mudge. Hi, Weegee.”

  Teyva pawed the earth. “More of your friends? You certainly do have a number of foolish acquaintances, man.”

  Mudge was brushing himself off. The expression on his face ought to have been sharp enough to cut through the pen all by itself. “You don’t know the ‘alf o’ it, four-legs. I should’ve brought me longbow but the water would’ve ruined it. Should’ve brought it anyway an’ taken the chance. Too bleedin’ late now.” He ran back to the gate and bestowed some choice epithets on his captors.

  “Very smart this bunch.” Cautious was cleaning his tail. “You got to be real quick or they drop down on you from trees.”

  “I’ll keep that useful advice right where it’ll do the most good,” the otter growled. “Only trouble is ‘tis about three minutes shy o’ bein’ of any use. I didn’t think to keep an eye on the trees. Didn’t see no monkeys livin’ ‘ere.” He stared straight at Jon-Tom. “ ‘Course they got one now.”

  Weegee walked slowly up to Jon-Tom. “This is my fault. Mudge didn’t want to come. He was probably right, but I insisted.”

  “Wot do you mean I didn’t want to come? Are you sayin’ I ‘ad thoughts o’ abandonin’ me good mate ‘ere to the cookpot without at least tryin’ to save “im?”

  Weegee turned on her paramour, stared at him for a moment, then looked quietly back up at Jon-Tom. “Everything you told me about him is true.” She strolled over to whisper something to Cautious. Meanwhile Jon-Tom, vaguely aware that he might be missing something, walked over to rejoin his brave friend.

  “I appreciate the effort, Mudge. I’m just sorry you didn’t succeed.” He nodded toward the gate. “You bought us some time, anyway. They’re going to have to enlarge the firepit again.” Through the fence posts they could observe the delighted villagers doing just that.

  “Why don’t they just cook us one at a time?” the otter muttered.

  “That’s what I do not understand,” said Teyva.

  “Maybe it’s some spiritual thing. The bigger the banquet and the more prey they cook at once the better it bodes for future hunting, or something.”

  Mudge cocked an eye at him. His tone was bitter, resigned. “I knew if I just stuck with you long enough, mate, I’d wind up dead before me time. You know, at the end o’ every one o’ our previous little jaunts you’ve always clapped me on the shoulder an’ said ‘Well done, Mudge. Well done.’ “ He jerked a thumb toward the gate and the firepit beyond. “I’ll be well done for sure this time.” He turned his gaze on the flying horse.

  “Wot ‘ave you found out about the cause o’ all this distress? You were right about ‘im bein’ big enough to carry all o’ us. So why don’t we just climb aboard and ‘ave ‘im fly us away?”

  “He’s afraid of heights,” said Cautious.

  Mudge’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the raccoon. “Wot’s that? I didn’t ‘ear that.”

  The disgruntled Cautious raised his voice. “I said he afraid of heights.”

  Mudge was silent for a long moment as he digested this. Then he walked slowly up to the huge stallion until his black nose was barely inches from Teyva’s muzzle.

  “Mudge, don’t...” Jon-Tom began, but he could no more keep the otter quiet than he could have halted a flood of biblical proportions.

  “So you’re afraid o’ heights? With wings that’d shame a ‘undred eagles an’ muscles like that?” He tried to kick the stallion in the chest but his short legs wouldn’t reach high enough. “You four-legged coward. You winged sissy. You namby-pampy cud-chewin’ pitiful excuse for a member o’ the equine persuasion! Wot use are you?” The otter continued to heap insults on the flying horse until Teyva buried his head beneath one of his wings. Only t
hen did the thoroughly disgusted Mudge turn away.

  “Thanks, Mudge.” Jon-Tom was shaking his head. “You really helped the situation, you know that? Here I’m trying to convince Teyva he can fly by building up his self-esteem a little and you—”

  “Do wot, mate? Tell the truth? Tis a tough life and I ain’t one to coddle another bloke, especially when ‘tis my life that’s at stake.” He sat down and rested his head in his paws. “I only ‘ope that when they cook me they use plenty o’ sage. I always liked sage.”

  Jon-Tom turned his attention back to the stallion and tried to peer beneath the concealing wing. “Come out of there, Teyva. That’s not helping anything.”

  “Yes it is. I feel bad enough already and I’m going to die and you’re all going to die because you tried to help me. I don’t need any more shame.”

  Weegee was standing next to the gate. “Time for last minute expressions of regret or whatever. They’re coming for us.”

  Moving in solemn double file, a long line of villagers was approaching the corral. A dull chant rose from the rest, who were assembled around the firepit.

  “Please come out of there,” Jon-Tom pleaded with the multicolored wing. A reluctant Teyva peeped out from behind the feathers.

  “It is no use, man. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but you’re wasting your time. It has been tried before.”

  “Maybe we can fake them. Pretend like you’re going to fly away. Shock them into hesitating for a while at least.” He put one hand on the black leather strap that ran down the stallion’s spine. “Do you mind?”

  “Better you should be composing yourself for the last moment, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead.”

  Jon-Tom put a foot into the lower leather straps and swung himself up on the broad, muscular back. From his new height he had a different perspective on Teyva’s size and power. The stallion would have the wingspan of a small airplane.

  “Mudge, Weegee, Cautious: get up here behind me.”

  “Wot for, mate? If that useless lump o’ ‘orseflesh could fly ‘e’d be long gone from ‘ere before now an” we wouldn’t be in this fix.”

  Weegee spoke as Jon-Tom gave her a hand up. “Do as he says, Mudge.”

  “Do as Jon-Tom says, do as Jon-Tom says. I’ve been doin’ that for over a year and look where ‘tis got me.”

  “All right, then do what I say. Get up here!”

  “An’ now I’m takin’ orders from a dumb female.” Grumbling under his breath, he rose and walked to the stallion’s side.

  With Jon-Tom in front and the two otters and Cautious behind, there wasn’t much room left on Teyva’s back. Mudge was sitting more on the stallion’s rump than his back, which suited the otter just fine. According to him, that was the part of life he’d been getting ever since he’d met up with Jon-Tom.

  “Turn and face them.”

  “Why?” Teyva asked Jon-Tom. “I would rather not see the fatal blow coming.”

  “Turn an’ face ‘em like the man says,” Mudge bawled. “Maybe it don’t make no difference to you, but I’m damned if I’m goin’ to die with a spear up my arse.”

  Silently the stallion pivoted.

  “Now spread your wings like you’re preparing to take off,” Jon-Tom told him. With a sacrificial sigh the stallion complied.

  The gate opened. The villagers parted to form two lines leading from the corral to the firepit. Two wolves, a couple of dingoes and a bat-eared fox came marching ceremoniously down the aisle. Each carried a knife the size of a machete.

  “ ‘Ere comes the anointed butchers,” Mudge muttered. “ ‘Old ‘em off as long as you can with your staff, mate.”

  Jon-Tom ignored the otter as he studied the bloodletters. They wore black straps similar to those that had been placed on Teyva. The last wolf in line held an armful of smaller leathers. Obviously it would not do for the three smaller captives to go to their deaths improperly attired.

  Leaning close to the stallion’s ear, he whispered. “Now make like you’re getting ready to fly.”

  Obediently Teyva began to flap his great wings. They reached from one side of the corral to the other. He rose off the ground almost a foot this time before settling back to earth and nearly collapsing to his knees.

  “I can’t,” he said hoarsely. Jon-Tom thought he could see tears beginning to spill from his eyes. “I just can’t do it.”

  “Goodbye, Weegee.” Mudge leaned forward to clasp her tightly to him. “I’m sorry about all the times we didn’t ‘ave to spend in bed so that I could show you wot a great lover I am.”

  “And I’m sorry,” she murmured back, “about all the times we didn’t have to spend out of bed so that I could learn what a truly fine person you are beneath all the affected crudity and false bravado.”

  “Me, I’m just plain sorry,” said Cautious. The raccoon shut his eyes and waited for the first kiss of the knife.

  “Fly,” Jon-Tom urged the stallion. “I know you can do it. You know you can do it.” Remembering an old Indian trick he’d once read about he leaned over and bit the stallion’s ear. Teyva started but didn’t rise.

  “It’s no use, my final friends.”

  The butchers were mumbling some ceremonial nonsense next to the gate. Blessing the sacred slaughtering knives or something, Jon-Tom thought. They had less than minutes left.

  “Fly, dammit!”

  “Uh, mate.”

  “Don’t bother me now, Mudge.”

  The otter was fumbling with the left inside pocket of his battered old vest. Curious in spite of himself Jon-Tom looked back. No doubt Mudge wanted to present him with some final offering, some last token of his esteem to cement the bond that had sprung up between them during the past months. Something meaningful. Something that looked just like a four-inch square packet of white powder.

  Weegee’s outrage was palpable. “Mudge!”

  “Sorry, luv. I’m weak, I guess. Never made a promise that weren’t some’ow qualified.” He handed the packet to Jon-Tom. “As the time for spellsingin” seems past, maybe ‘tis time to try a little spellsniffm’. Give ‘im a whiff o’ this—just a tiny one, mind now.”

  “Right, yeah, sure.” Jon-Tom snatched the packet. In his frantic efforts to break it open he almost dropped it. When he ripped it down the middle Mudge winced as though the tear had gone through his back fur. Clinging to the stallion’s neck with his left arm he profferred the gaping bag with his right. “Open your eyes, damn it.”

  Teyva blinked, saw the bag. “What is that? I have already made my peace with the universe. There is nothing more to do.”

  “I agree, right. This will help relax you. Take a sniff.”

  The stallion frowned. “It looks like sugar. Why sniff instead of taste?” The chanting rose in pitch and the official butchers were spreading out in a semicircle to make sure no panicky captive could dash past them.

  “Please, just inhale a little. My last request.”

  “A foolish one, but if I can make up a little at the last for all the damage I’ve done I will do so.” Bending forward, the stallion dipped his nostrils to the packet and inhaled deeply. Teyva was quite a large animal. Most of the contents of the packet vanished.

  A couple of minutes slid by. Then the lead wolf raised the ceremonial blade and struck. It cleft only empty air.

  Teyva hadn’t so much taken off as exploded two hundred feet straight up.

  The shockingly abrupt ascension caused Jon-Tom to drop the packet and the remainder of its euphoric contents. Cautious and Weegee had to grab Mudge to keep him from diving after it. With his tremendous wings beating the air to a blur, the stallion hovered like a hummingbird above the corral and its stunned occupants. Teyva not only had the wingspan of a small plane; the extraordinary rapidity of his wing beats made him sound like one.

  “Well what do you know.” He studied the ground far below. “You were right, man. That is the ground down there, isn’t it?”

  Jon-Tom’s heart was pounding against hi
s chest as he clung to the black leather straps with a death grip. “Yes. Quite a ways down, in fact.”

  Teyva spun in midair. “My but this is interesting up here.” He glanced down again. “Look at them all jumping up and down there. They seem quite exercised about something.”

  “I imagine it’s our escape.”

  “Oh yes, our escape. We have escaped, haven’t we? They were going to kill us.” His gaze narrowed. “Cook us and eat us. Nasty mean old people. We should teach them a lesson.”

  “No no! I mean, we don’t have time to teach them a—nooooo!”

  Folding his wings against his flanks, the stallion dropped like a stone toward the corral. What the startled villagers below took to be war cries were actually screams of utter terror. Wolves, foxes and others scattered in all directions. Some didn’t flee fast enough and the stallion’s front hooves cracked a few skulls. Teyva repeated his stuka-like dive several times. Then he hovered over the center of the village and emptied his bowels and bladder. Having lastly knocked over a brace of torches, thereby setting half the village on fire, he fluttered overhead and surveyed the havoc he’d wrought with an air of equine equanimity.

  “That ought to teach them to think twice about trying to eat any helpless strangers.” He glanced back at Jon-Tom. “I owe you everything, man. What can I do for you?”

  Aware that his skin must by now have acquired something of a greenish cast, Jon-Tom fought to form a coherent sentence. “Could you take us to a town called Strelakat Mews?”

  “I don’t know where that is, I’m afraid.”

  “How about Chejiji, then?”

  Teyva’s expression brightened. “Ah, Chejiji! Of course I know Chejiji.”