by Jon Saboe
“I am Kreivan,” said a young man. They instantly recognized him as the owner of the voice who had answered earlier. A large tattoo of a spider covered his right temple and spread down over one eye, its legs sprawled in jagged lines across his face and over his bald (shaved?) head. One elongated leg stretched along his jawbone. A jeweled spider also hung from a small amulet piercing his lower lip.
“You are a long way from home,” he grinned. “What brings you to our plains?”
He paused, but before they could answer he held up a hand.
“That was rude,” he said, apologetically. “We don’t ask questions here. Everyone has their own story, and you may tell yours, but only if you wish.”
Manco Chavin bowed slightly.
“Thank you,” he said. “Actually, I am here because my four friends have an urgent need, and I told them you would be able to help.”
Kreivan nodded for him to continue.
“I have never been to the plains before, but I visited the Plateau of Remembrance back when some of you were young children learning to walk.”
He looked around as if he might recognize some of them.
“My four friends need to get to the coast as soon as possible. They have a sea vessel waiting for them many leagues to the south, and they must arrive there before it departs.
“You see, the Priests of Apu Inti did not like how they choose to dress, and we fled over the sea to…”
Kreivan raised a hand.
“No need to explain,” he admonished. “How quickly do you need to reach the coast?”
“By tomorrow.”
Kreivan seemed momentarily stunned, then looked at the faces around the fire and returned with a sorrowful gaze.
“That is not possible,” he stated. “The coast is very close if one flies like a bird, but it would take several days to climb down the mountains and cliffs to reach it. We never have reason to go there.”
Manco Chavin was bewildered for a moment. “I didn’t realize you were still so high above the sea,” he said.
Kreivan continued.
“Also, we would have no ships or vessels to offer you once we did arrive at the sea. We would need to construct a craft for you, and then guide you down the mountains. We are happy to help, but it will take at least two weeks.”
Peleg’s heart struck bottom. He had tried to maintain a forced optimism, but he now realized that they had been pretending all along. There never had been a way to return to the Urbat.
“We can provide some food and blankets for the night. Tomorrow we can discuss your future plans.”
Manco Chavin turned to the men from the Urbat with a look of helplessness and shame.
“You saved my life, and I had hoped to return the favor.” He sighed, dejectedly. “I am sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
“You tried,” said Peleg, managing, somehow, to suppress his despondency.
Untash nodded in agreement while Thaxad stood expressionless.
The five men stood quietly for a moment until Serug said, “Well, we might as well accept their offer of food.”
The night’s entertainment had obviously concluded. The young Wari gave them each a bowl of llama stew and some kind of wine made from a small yellow flower which they translated as lion’s tooth. There were also several wool blankets brought for them to sleep in.
Peleg drifted off to sleep listening to the fire and the youngsters’ quiet conversations. He had difficultly following much of it, because it seemed (to him) that there were many slang words which he could not recognize. He was sure that Manco Chavin would not have recognized many of them either.
He awoke with a start, and stretched with the satisfaction of a good night’s sleep—until he suddenly remembered their situation. Sentenced to live out his life on this distant, unknown continent. His mind raced with frantic scenarios of how he could somehow construct a ship and return home, but he realized such a plan would require more years and manpower than he was able to expend.
The young Wari offered them some fried eggs on small plates which they ate gratefully. Afterwards, they saw Kreivan approach, his facial jewelry glistening in the early morning sunlight.
“I hope you slept well,” he began. “We would like to show you what we do here. We use our artwork to honor the Atua and their handiwork in hopes they will someday return to give us their wisdom and power.”
They put their gear together and washed in the basins provided. Kreivan waved for them to follow, which they did.
Peleg was astonished at the expanse of the plain. He had never seen such a level surface before—with the possible exception of an extremely calm sea. It stretched northward beyond the horizon, and he could look back over the direction they had traveled and only see in the distance the ranges leading back to the Plateau of Remembrance. To the east and southwest he could see small hills which surely marked the descent into the sea.
Kreivan led them to a group of five artists, who were working on the ground, carefully laying multi-colored stones in a mosaic; aligning them precisely with a large chalk outline. The pattern stretched for several meters with a slight arch, and additional details could be seen in the portions that were completed.
“What is it?” asked Serug.
“It’s a monkey,” answered Kreivan with a laugh. “It’s somewhat whimsical, but Traima, the designer, hopes to one day meet the Atua responsible for these animals.
“Our parents told us of many different creatures from before the crossing, but we have seldom seen any until recently. Animals of this type only arrived here within our lifetime.”
“Well I’m glad,” said Serug under his breath to Peleg. “They certainly are good eating.”
“There are other animal drawings nearby, and several more are planned. To the north is a dog, and there are also condors and lizards.
“I, myself, am working on a depiction of a spider,” he said. He pointed off to the northwest. “It is a few leagues that way.”
He brought his finger around to his face.
“As you can see, I like spiders.”
“Please forgive me,” said Peleg, studying the ground. “But I don’t see a monkey in this mosaic.”
Kreivan laughed, and his spider tattoo crinkled around his temple.
“Oh, you can’t see it from here,” he chided. “What you see in front of you is just a portion of the arch of its lower back.” He pointed to a section where the outline veered off to the east. “Over there is where the tail begins. It goes for quite a ways, then begins to curl in on itself in a spiral.” He grinned and shook his head. “Traima likes her spirals.”
“Why so big?” asked Serug.
“It is to attract the attention of the Atua.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I imagine there is an element of showing off, too.”
“But you can’t even enjoy it—or even show it to others,” protested Peleg.
“Besides,” added Untash, “how is anyone to know whether or not you were successful in an accurate representation of your subject?” He, too, was straining to see a complete product.
“Well, the artist oversees the pattern, and then we all help to fill in the coloring and textures.”
“What do you mean by oversees?” pressed Untash.
Kreivan paused for a moment, apparently confused, then said, “The artist ‘sees’ or watches over the complete outline as it is laid out. They are like a director.”
Thaxad had remained silent throughout this entire discourse, partially due to his internal bitterness at being stranded here. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, he was intensely interested.
“Exactly how does this director watch over the entire design?”
Kreivan was taken aback by the tall Mentor’s forcefulness and sudden curiosity. He stared into Thaxad’s face, and, for the first time, appeared to notice his small tattoo—insignificant by Wari standards. Kreivan seemed as though he was going to ask about the teardrop marking, then suddenly dismissed the idea and answered Thaxa
d’s question.
“They are seated in the Overseer Chairs,” he said, pointing to what appeared to be a small totora-reed bench several meters away. “They are made by craftsmen in Cahuachi where our families live. We have dwellings there where we make our homes. We only sleep on the plains when we are immersed in a large project or group planning.”
Peleg stared at the wide seat, and noticed a large, black, shapeless mass resting beside it. He saw a small fire burning and suddenly remembered exactly why Captain Phaxâd had sent them to explore this land.
The large black mass was slowly growing.
Thaxad’s intensity grew as he interrupted the young Wari.
“Please,” his eyes bored down. “We may be able to return to our ship with your chairs. I realize we have nothing with which to compensate you, but if you have another, the four of us can attempt to make the journey. It must be today, since our ship leaves the first thing tomorrow morning.”
It was disconcerting to Peleg to see the Mentor beg, but he was starting to realize what Thaxad was proposing. Serug and Untash still had no idea what the Overseer Chairs really were.
“But you would have to release the lines that hold it to the ground,” responded a clearly terrified Kreivan. “You would float up, never to return.”
“Not true,” replied the insistent Thaxad. “Our weight would soon overcome the buoyancy which lessens with altitude.”
It suddenly dawned on Serug and Untash what he was proposing. Their mouths opened silently.
“Besides,” continued Thaxad. “I see you use black cloth—probably cotton—which uses the sun to keep the air heated. At the end of the day, the air would cool and your chair would fall freely.”
Peleg’s heart began to pound at the thought of an un-tethered balloon lifting him over the mountains—or out to sea—in that small wicker seat. And also of falling freely.
Kreivan pondered before speaking.
“It would delay our projects many weeks, but if you are so desperate as to risk such a journey, it must be very important.”
He made up his mind.
“We have a second chair on the other side of our campsite,” he said. “You may have them freely. However, it will be almost noon before the bags are inflated.”
He paused.
“If I may ask, how do you intend to control the chairs? I mean, how can you imagine that you will succeed?”
“We shall be successful,” was Thaxad’s calm, definitive reply. He gazed at Kreivan with utmost assurance.
“I know this for a fact.”
Peleg was seated next to Untash as he watched the large black envelope gently begin to tug at their chair. It was nothing more than a bench made of braided reeds, with only the slightest of handholds.
Their protestations had fallen on deaf ears. Thaxad had simply maintained that since the small overhead clouds were moving south by southeast, their chairs would travel with them when they were high enough. And by evening he was certain they would have traveled far enough so that the coastal winds would blow them down towards the coast where they might be able to spot the Urbat—or at least close enough to track it as it moved along the coast.
“Besides,” he had said. “If only one chair makes it, we should be able to let the crew know where to search for the other one.”
He assured them that the deflating or cooling balloon would not descend too rapidly to cause injury. At least not permanent injury.
Manco Chavin had said his good-byes, and one could see the desperate hope in his eyes that they would make it. The young artisans had taken to him (apparently impressed by someone who had fled the ‘establishment’) and it seemed he would be staying there for quite a while.
Thaxad was with Serug in the chair they had first seen. Peleg could see their envelope in the distance, and closed his eyes, wishing that the day were already over.
He had never been more terrified. He would almost have preferred to drown in the pyramid’s water clock. Heights were one thing. Floating suspended in a gondola attached to a ship or the ground was another. But removing all ties to the earth and allowing the winds to carry you as far (and as high) as they wished was beyond all comprehension.
And of course the young Wari were useless when it came to comforting him. They felt Thaxad was equally crazy—except they believed that the chairs would continue skyward forever—and none of them was that eager to meet the Atua.
They had built fires to heat and inflate the envelopes until they were almost full. Then they carried them over to the chairs where they fastened them with hemp lines. After that, they just stood back and watched what was sure to be a debacle.
Peleg grit his teeth and braced for the inevitable lift. The large black envelope tugged on the poor reed bench which began to sag under the weight of the two men until Peleg finally felt his feet slowly leave the earth. He closed his eyes fiercely and gripped the edges as the chair tipped back and forth, threatening to deposit them both onto the receding ground.
Ahead he could hear Serug and Thaxad cheer as they excitedly lifted for the skies. We are committed, he thought despondently. A huge invisible fist gripped his stomach as he sensed their ascent. He resolutely kept his eyes closed. With no line to hold them down and no gondola to stand in, vision would only serve to panic him further.
“I can see the monkey!” Untash exclaimed on his right. “We must be over thirty meters above the ground!”
He twisted in their seat to look over his right shoulder causing the chair to shudder—and increasing Peleg’s terror.
“And I can see a large bird and Kreivan’s spider!” He turned back to address Peleg. “There are a few other designs down there, and I think I saw one of Traima’s spirals.” He glared into Peleg’s closed eyes.
“You can’t see anything that way!”
Curiosity mounted and eventually Peleg risked a peek. Instantly he was horrified to find himself much higher than Zini had ever been. He glanced down to his left and saw some simple geometric drawings—two simple triangles and a few bisecting lines. Apparently all of the fancy artwork was on Untash’s side.
Vertigo suddenly clawed at his stomach and he pitched forward in his seat, threatening to tumble to the ground far below. His heart raced feverishly as Untash grabbed the back of his neck with his huge hand and hauled him upright.
“On second thought, perhaps you should keep your eyes closed,” he advised.
Peleg’s eyes were already clamped shut and he nodded in submission. He gripped the side of the seat with sweaty palms and forced his head to face forward. His heart began to subside as they floated in silence.
Silence.
Panic hit Peleg once again. They weren’t moving. He had spent enough time on Zini to know that he should be able to hear or feel some kind of breeze.
“Why aren’t we moving?” he asked his partner. “It feels like we’re just hanging here.”
“Oh, but we are,” answered Untash. “And moving very rapidly, too. We’ve arrived at the current that Thaxad mentioned, and are floating swiftly towards the southeast.”
“But I don’t feel any…” Peleg stopped as he realized his mistake. Since there was no line to hold them back, they were moving with the exact speed of the surrounding wind—hence there was no sense of passage through the air. Zini had always been tethered, and therefore was never allowed to travel freely with the air currents, creating a wind which blew past his ears.
“This is actually very exhilarating,” said Untash. “You can probably open your eyes, now. We’re far enough up, you can just pretend you’re looking at a picture below, and since there is no sense of motion, you might not get sick.”
“I’m not going to get sick,” grumbled Peleg.
He mustered his courage and forced his eyes open. Looking straight ahead he saw a large black dot with Serug and Thaxad suspended from it. He could see them talking animatedly, and Thaxad was pointing at something off to the East.
Serug looked back and waved.
/> Show off, thought Peleg
The sun had burned away the clouds that Thaxad had seen earlier, and the sense of motionlessness was overwhelming. It seemed as though the two balloons were hanging in the sky, fixed against the unending blue.
A flock of finches caught his attention as they flew between them. They appeared undisturbed by the intrusion into their domain as they headed out to sea. Apparently there was some land to the west which they knew about. Perhaps even Kupé’s island.
He worked up the nerve to look downward and was startled by what he saw.
They were traveling quickly over large mountain ranges covered with thick trees and foliage. Rushing waterfalls could be seen in the distance dividing them, and Peleg was sure he saw at least one rope bridge.
He could see the ground moving slowly beneath them as they flew south, and he realized that they must be traveling very quickly indeed if, at this height, parallax still allowed the movement to be visually discernible.
Eventually he started to relax and enjoy the unfolding scenery. Ridges rolled under them and he began to savor the midday warmth under the shade of the large black canopy.
They continued traveling toward the south throughout the day, only interrupted by the shifting of their sore bottoms from the twisted reed webbing, and the one embarrassing moment when Peleg was forced to relieve himself over the side while remaining seated. Throughout the entire awkward procedure, Untash kept repeating, “I told you to go before we left.”
Peleg had noticed the heights of the mountains starting to decrease. At first it seemed like he and Untash were rising, but soon it was apparent they were flying over ranges of lower elevation.
As the hours passed, the direct sunlight continued to heat the air inside of their black cotton envelope, and the two passengers could feel the sweltering draft from the small opening above their heads. However, by late afternoon, their envelope was no longer surrounded by sunlight, and the internal air began to cool. Soon they were dropping gradually and Peleg’s stomach began to seize up again.
