by Jeff Grubb
The young woman returned to Penregon with promises of support for Tocasia and an order for light sailcloth, and the brothers returned to their work. Mishra had rebuilt the ornithopter’s framework, but the nature of the tail assembly defied him. Almost by unspoken agreement, Urza took over the reconstruction of the glider, discovering what wires went where and how they would function in flight. It was Urza who discovered that the sail-like wings had to be ribbed with thin shoots of candlewood in order to maintain their form in flight. For his part Mishra confirmed that by bringing slender bows of snapped wing ribs back from the dig along with strands of frayed wire. Urza saw that the wire was better for controlling the shape of the wings than mere rope, and another order was placed with Bly. The two young men spent hours together poring over the design, trying to determine how the tail assembly would function.
In all it took eight months for the ornithopter to be rebuilt. The key was the box of wires and disks that served as the craft’s engine. Urza, Mishra, and even Tocasia did not know exactly how the small engine could power the large ornithopter; they only knew that it did. Urza used the small, weak crystal that had belonged to the su-chi to power the device.
It was the last day of the year, Mishra’s birthday, when the craft was ready at last. The day was surprisingly warm, and a soft wind blew from the desert. There was some debate over who would get the honor—and the danger—of the first test flight.
“I should do it,” said Urza. “After all, I understand the workings of the power crystal cradle.”
“I should do it,” countered Mishra. “The flight levers controlling the wings are mulish, and they need a strong hand to keep them in line.”
“I’m lighter,” said Urza.
“I’m stronger,” snapped Mishra.
“I am capable of holding the levers in place,” said Urza.
“And I understand the power crystals as well as you do,” added Mishra quickly.
“I am the elder,” said Urza smugly.
“And it’s my birthday!” shouted Mishra, the blood rising to his face. “So we are equal.”
Tocasia looked at the two young men and let out a deep sigh. Such disagreements were rare but were severe enough to trouble her. At last she said, “If you cannot decide, then I will have to risk my ancient bones in this device.”
The two young men stared at Tocasia, then looked at each other. Each simultaneously pointed to the other and said, “He should fly it.”
In the end they flipped a coin. Urza won, and Mishra did a passable job of containing his disappointment as the last of the preparations were made. A wide level place had been cleared outside the stockade gates for the craft. The blond young man climbed into the housing at the front of the ornithopter and slowly depressed the two main levers, engaging the arcane crystal within the maze of gears and wheels that he had lovingly rebuilt over the past months. The entire craft trembled as the last of the slack in the wires was taken up and the wings accordioned out in a pair of great sails.
The wings beat downward: once, twice, and then a third time. The ornithopter gave a small hop on the third beat, and Tocasia saw Mishra start as well. The younger boy said nothing; his eyes seemed transfixed by the sight, and his hands were clenched. Tocasia wondered if he was worried for his brother or worried that his brother would damage the machine before he had a chance to try it.
The device took another short hop, then another, larger leap. Dust from the heavy beating wings blew in all directions, and the students retreated, covering their eyes and mouths from the swirling sand. One last leap, and this time the ornithopter did not come back down.
It was aloft, its wings straining against the warm air. Tocasia and the other students could hear the wires sing from the strain as the small craft, like a fledgling roc leaving the nest, leapt into the air. The ornithopter climbed into the sky, and there was a sharp clatter as Urza threw the locking mechanism into place, fixing the wings into a solid, gliding surface.
Urza was aloft for ten minutes. He circled the encampment twice, and there was a tense second when the craft suddenly dropped ten feet, but it quickly climbed again. Urza circled one last time, then set the ornithopter back down on the pad of level sand. The wings unlocked and beat as he landed. The candlewood supports groaned but held the craft upright.
Urza climbed out. “Hit some colder air,” he said briefly to Tocasia. “Apparently that has some effect on its ability to keep aloft.”
“Let me try,” said Mishra.
Urza did not move away from the device. “We should check all the couplings for wear,” he observed, still speaking to Tocasia. “And the struts for fractures. Not to mention the integrity of the power crystal.”
Mishra looked at Tocasia, his face clouded.
“Urza,” said Tocasia softly, “let your brother use the ornithopter.”
Urza opened his mouth to argue, then looked at his brother and silently stepped aside. Mishra piled into the flying device.
Urza leaned into the housing. “The right lever sticks, so you’ll have to muscle it,” he said.
Mishra only grinned and shouted, “Stand away!” He flung both levers into place, engaging the wings.
Urza backpedaled quickly out of the way of the huge, beating wings. Whatever sand had not been chased away before now was spun in a cyclone of wind.
The ornithopter went almost straight up in a single bounce. The entire encampment could hear the sharp creaking of the candlewood struts and the high-pitched whine of the wires passing through metal loops and pulleys. Urza grimaced as if the sound physically pained him.
“It would have been better had we waited to check out the craft before flying it again,” he said to Tocasia through gritted teeth.
“Better, but not wiser,” returned the old scholar.
Mishra climbed a hundred feet, locked the wings, then forced the craft into a swooping dive over the encampment. Sheep and goats in their pens below let out frightened bleats as the ornithopter passed only a few feet above them. Mishra pulled back on the levers and reengaged the wings, and the craft climbed again.
“Do you think the craft needs a lighter pilot, now?” said Tocasia.
Urza shrugged. “Actually I think there is enough pull in the wings to take three or four people aloft at once if we expand the housing.”
“So the argument that you should have flown it because you were lighter was disproved,” pressed the old scholar, smiling as she spoke.
Urza winced but said nothing.
Mishra circled the encampment twice as Urza had before. Tocasia imagined that the lad was searching for the same spot of cold air so he could hiccough the craft as had his brother. She did notice that while Urza had concentrated on keeping the craft level, Mishra continually swooped and dove, banking in one direction, then the other.
Then Mishra flew over the camp once more and headed the craft westward into the deep desert.
The form of the ornithopter became a blur, then a speck on the horizon. Tocasia and Urza looked at each other.
“Perhaps one of the steering wires broke,” offered Tocasia.
“Or the little fool wanted to see how far he could go,” Urza grumbled, rushing for the rocky tor behind them to get a better view.
Urza had made it only halfway up the hill when the sound of wings cutting through the warm air heralded Mishra’s return. The younger brother circled the camp twice and then landed just beyond the stockade gates. By the time Mishra had touched down Urza was waiting, his face as stern as stone.
“What did you think you were doing?” he shouted as Mishra climbed out of the housing. “Bad enough that you probably overstressed the pulleys with your diving about! But to fly out of sight of the camp! You might have been attacked by rocs. If you had crashed in the desert, we might not have found you!”
Mishra did not seem to be listening. Instead he said, “I saw the drawings. Didn’t you?”
Urza was brought up short and looked at his brother, puzzled.
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nbsp; The dark-haired brother turned to Tocasia. “Out in the desert, there are drawings. Mounds of dark earth against the lighter surrounding sand. We’ve passed them before on foot but never noticed. But from above, you can see that they’re pictures! There are dragons, genies, rocs—even minotaurs.” He turned to his brother. “You saw them, didn’t you?”
Urza blinked at his brother. Then, more cautiously, he replied, “I was more worried about the performance of the craft.”
Mishra did not bother to listen. “They surround a large hillock. I’ll bet if we checked that out, we’d find it’s some sort of old Thran encampment.”
“It could be some Fallaji holy place,” started Urza, but Mishra shook his head.
“No.” He was emphatic. “There’s nothing in the old tales about Fallaji settlements in this immediate area. I think it’s Thran, and I think we should investigate it.”
“We should investigate the damage the flights did to the ornithopter,” said Urza, already prowling along the wings, pulling at the sailcloth and running his hands along the struts.
Tocasia spread her hands in a gesture that encompassed both brothers. “We should celebrate,” she said. “There will be time enough to do everything else in the morning.”
That night students and diggers built a great bonfire in the camp and gathered around the rising flames. There was an air of excitement among the students. The young nobles had new tales to take back to Argive. They had been present when Urza took the first flight and when Mishra found the great drawings in the desert. After long months of backbreaking work in shallow trenches and detailed cleaning of long-dead bits of metal, here at last was something to be proud of. There were songs, and the nabiz flowed. Rahud tried to teach several of the noble boys a traditional Fallaji dance. The boys had no concept of the dance’s rhythm, but since it involved waving pointed sticks they joined in with the spirit of adventure. Mishra told and retold the story of his flight, and Tocasia knew that every young man and woman in the encampment would be clamoring for their opportunity to fly in the near future.
Urza remained at the edge of the campfire, neither dancing, nor drinking, nor talking.
Tocasia walked over to him. “You are enjoying yourself?”
“Well enough,” replied the youth. “But I think we should check the rigging for any wear and tear. And if you want to put a larger housing—”
“Tomorrow,” said the old woman. “You are young enough for a lot of tomorrows. Enjoy yourself this evening.”
“I enjoy working on the devices,” said Urza, watching his brother across the fire pit. The younger boy was surrounded by students as well as a few of the diggers. It seemed to Tocasia that his story grew longer and more exciting with each telling.
“There are other enjoyments,” said Tocasia, following Urza’s gaze. “Your brother seems to have discovered that.”
The two were silent in the flickering firelight for a moment. Then Urza said, “I had nothing against Mishra taking his flight.”
“I never said you did,” returned Tocasia.
“It’s just that there is stress on any object that is put to the test for the first time,” continued the older brother. “We should have done a full check before letting him go aloft.”
“Of course,” said Tocasia in a level tone.
“His own recklessness aside, he could have been hurt,” said Urza.
“Yes.” Tocasia paused. “But tell that to a young man who wants to be his brother’s equal.”
“I was only being prudent.”
“And would you have been so prudent if you had lost the toss?” asked Tocasia.
Urza did not answer but stood watching his brother across the flames.
Mishra was correct: there were drawings in the sand of the deeper desert to the west of their encampment. They were large figures made from raised mounds of dry earth, darker than their surroundings, and best visible from the air. Tocasia had conducted earlier expeditions in that very area before settling on the present site of the encampment but never guessed their true nature.
The drawings were an odd mixture. There were humanoid figures of every type, any one of which might be the representation of a Thran. There were also all manner of animals: deer, elephants, and camels. There was an odd collection of geometric symbols—curves, spirals, and sharp angles that crossed and recrossed the gathered figures, bisecting some, leaving others untouched. Doodles, thought Tocasia, created by a race of desert titans.
The drawings were of Thran origins, of course, as Mishra had guessed. They were arrayed around a single location, a large mound. This proved to be a rich field of artifacts, including an almost complete su-chi skeleton that finally fulfilled Tocasia’s dream of putting together one of the enigmatic beasts. There were also the remains of several ornithopters. Yet the discovery of the su-chi and ornithopters was secondary to the rich trove of power crystals found in the central mound. Many of the crystals were cracked or expired, but there were among the dross more than enough operational remains: vibrant, lambent jewels that glittered with a rainbow of sparks and patterns within. There were more than enough of the jewels for Tocasia to keep for her own work, with sufficient surplus to send to other scholars and various noble supporters in the capital of Penregon. This in turn supplied enough interest from the nobility to allow her to open a second permanent camp at the site of Mishra’s find.
The discovery of the drawings in the deserts was made possible by airborne observation. The same method revealed similar drawing fields, though none as large or intact as the first. An arc of them extended into the desert in a broad sweep outward from the Kher Ridges. Some of the drawings had figures of recognizable races, while others did not. All contained a stylized pattern of curves and zigzagged lines around a central mound containing wrecked artifacts and power stones. During the next two years researchers located almost twenty such mounds.
Still the big questions eluded Tocasia and the brothers. No one found any skeletal remains of the Thran themselves, nor any art. The archaeologist discovered nothing of their language more than a few fragments that seemed little more than labels and an obvious set of numerical symbols. At dinner the scholar, the two brothers, and some of the elder students were accustomed to discuss the Thran’s possible nature.
“They had to be human,” said Urza in the course of one such talk. “Everything we have found is capable of being used by human-sized individuals. They were probably a successful branch of the early Fallaji people that dominated the others through their advanced science. The surviving Fallaji of today turned their enterprising brethren into godlike beings.”
“The fact that we’re comfortable with their tools doesn’t mean anything,” disagreed Mishra. “Dwarves or elves or orcs could have used these items. Or minotaurs.”
“Minotaurs are too big,” said Urza. “Their hands would be too large to hold most of the devices.”
“Minotaurs could be in charge, with humans doing the labor,” Mishra returned. Tocasia noted that the younger brother refused to concede to his sibling even the smallest point. “Imagine,” he continued. “Minotaurs ruling the Thran nation, and humans as an underclass. Like among the orcs—the big ones are on top, and the little goblins do all the hard work.”
“We’ve found no minotaur remains, Brother,” said Urza coolly.
“We’ve found no human remains, either, Brother,” Mishra shot back, raising his glass of nabiz in a mock toast to his own logic.
Tocasia leaned back in her chair (recently arrived from the capital—a comfortable, cushioned affair) and let the two brothers spar. This was an old argument, revisited at least once a month. It always ended the same way: in an admission that they did not know enough. That confession always seemed to frustrate both of the young men.
Both of the brothers had changed over the years of discovery. Urza was leaner than ever, though he finally had a good set of shoulders. His face was smooth, and he prided himself on not losing his temper as he had when he was a c
hild. Mishra, for his part, was as impulsive as he had been the day of that first fight. His most obvious change was a sparse dark beard that framed his smiling mouth.
The older students at the table watched the argument as well but did not get involved. Urza and Mishra were older than most of the students now, and in another few years they would be thought of as adults in their own right. The noble students had learned early that voicing a contrary opinion when the two were fighting like this was a sure way to turn both young men against the interloper.
Tocasia was proud of the boys and their achievements, and in turn they were devoted to her. But again and again they returned to this single argument and could not move beyond it. They still had not learned the identity of the Thran.
As the young men’s voices rose higher, Tocasia leaned forward, hoping to turn the brothers to a new tack.
“Why haven’t we?” she interrupted.
Both young men blinked at the older scholar as she repeated, “Why haven’t we found any remains—human or otherwise?”
“Scavengers,” said Mishra immediately. Urza made a rude noise.
“Then why haven’t we found any scavenger remains?” he asked scornfully. “There are no dead creatures of any type among the wreckage. There should be some, even by accident.”
“And you have a theory, Brother?” asked Mishra.
“Plague,” said Urza calmly. “Something swept through that not only killed the Thran but destroyed their remains as well. That also explains why the wreckage is so widely scattered.”
