Somehow he knew they were in worse trouble than they had ever been, and he murmured, “Goél, I may have gotten us into this, but I sure can't get us out.”
Jake was silent as he looked down at the ground. He had never liked heights, and he certainly didn't like the faces of those who carried him. “Well,” he said almost philosophically, “I hate to say I told you so, Josh, but I told you so!”
Josh, of course, was far away and couldn't hear, and Jake took no satisfaction in being right this time. He didn't like the looks of Darkwind's face, and the idea of being a slave frightened him. He set his jaw and thought about the times Goél had delivered them and shook his head. As the earth rushed beneath him, he thought, It's going to be tough, but I know somehow we're going to make it.
5
Lord of the Winged Ones
Jake found himself unceremoniously dumped on the rock floor of a spacious arena. He grunted as he struck the ground, protesting, “Hey! Watch it, you birds, you could break my neck!”
One of his guards, a wiry, dark-skinned raider, reached out and slapped him across the mouth. “Better be glad you didn't get worse,” he snarled. “Watch your mouth, or we'll drop you over the side of the cliff!”
“Take it easy, Jake,” Dave said. “Don't get these guys upset.”
Jake had a fiery temper, but he realized that Dave was probably right. He kept quiet as his captors unfastened him and stood rubbing his arms where the ropes had bitten into them. Looking around, he saw they were in some sort of natural amphitheater. On one end was a raised shelf of solid rock and on it a throne built of some sort of horns all woven intricately together. On the throne sat a man, staring at the newcomers from a pair of dark, steady eyes.
“What have you brought back, Darkwind?” he called loudly.
Darkwind advanced two steps toward the throne and said, “Chief White Storm, we have had a good raid.” Turning, he waved his hand toward the prisoners. “See, we have snared seven ripe young birds. They will make good slaves, though they are young.”
The chief stared at the captives and nodded. “You are now the prisoners of the Winged Raiders,” he said. “If you behave yourselves and give no trouble, you will find it much better.”
Josh hesitated for one moment, then he stepped forward and held up his hand in a gesture of peace. “Chief White Storm,” he said, “may I speak?”
Surprised at the sudden words of the captive, White Storm smiled, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I am curious. Come closer.” He waited until Josh was only a few feet away, then he rose from his throne. The wings that were so cleverly affixed to him nestled against his back leaving his arms free. He was no taller than Josh but was very strong and wiry, as were all of the Winged Raiders. His face was like that of a hawk, and there were scars on his cheeks and on his powerful chest and arms—old battle scars, Josh knew instantly.
“You are not part of the Desert People,” he said. “Your skin is too light. All of you except that little dark one are already cooking under the sun. Who are you? Where are you from?”
“I am Josh Adams, and these are my friends.” Josh quickly named the others. “We are called, by some, the Seven Sleepers.”
A thought crossed the mind of the chief and was reflected in his eyes. “I have heard of Seven Sleepers,” he said. “There is some sort of song that has come even as far as the Citadel.”
“Yes,” Josh said eagerly. “There is a song. It goes like this:
“The house of Goél will be filled,
The earth itself will quake!
The Beast will be forever stilled,
When Seven Sleepers wake!”
When Josh finished the song, he said, “We come in peace, Chief White Storm. We are the servants of Goél, and we want to bring good will between the Winged Raiders and the Desert People.”
Darkwind laughed loudly. “There will be peace,” he said in a loud voice, “when the Desert People surrender to our rule and become our slaves.”
“We do not believe in slavery, nor does Goél,” Josh said sturdily.
White Storm was examining the captives. He shook his head, saying, “You do not understand our way of life. Look around you,” he said. He waited until Josh's eyes had swept the barren, rocky terrain. Only here and there were there any signs of greenery, bushes struggling to keep life in the rocky terrain. “We live in a hard land. My people are hunters, but we must grow food. To do that, we must have slaves. That is why we raid the Desert People, so that we may survive.”
“They must survive too,” Josh spoke up. “We have been in many lands, Chief White Storm, and we have seen people come together instead of fighting.”
“Do not listen to him,” Darkwind cried out. “He is a spy sent to destroy our people. You well know the laws of our tribe, Chief White Storm. The captives we take are to be divided among our people. There is need for workers.” He looked at the Sleepers with some contentment. “These are frail and will probably burn out after a few years of work, but it is our right to use them as long as they live.”
A murmur of agreement went around the circle of Winged Raiders that surrounded the throne and the captives. Cries went up, “Yes, let us have the slaves!”
For one moment, Josh thought that Chief White Storm would deny the cries. Something like a grieved look swept across his face. He was obviously a man of war—yet there was more compassion in his visage than in that of Darkwind and the others. Finally, quiet fell across the arena, and Chief White Storm broke it by saying, “We must keep the laws of our people.” He looked at the Sleepers. “As I said, you will make it difficult if you rebel. There is no way of escape from this place. Those who have tried have died.” He pointed toward the sheer cliff. “Without wings you would fall and kill yourselves trying to get down from here. Obey your masters, and things will be easier for you.” He rose from his throne and nodded toward an older man. “See that they are divided fairly among the warriors, Sure Flight.”
“Yes, sir.” The speaker was a bronzed warrior who stood to the right of the chief. He was somewhat larger than the other warriors and had a look of command about him. His hair was dark but had a reddish tint to it. He stood looking at the captives, then began to call out names. “You, Darkwind, can have the dark-skinned one,” he said, indicating Wash. “He will not burn in the sun like the others and may last longer.”
Wash gave Josh a look of despair. “I would get him!” he whispered. But there was no help for it. The warrior Darkwind approached, grabbed Wash by the wrist, and dragged him out, away from the crowd.
One by one, Sure Flight assigned the Sleepers to different warriors. Finally, Jake alone was left.
“You will come with me,” he said.
Jake stared at him, his heart sinking. He could still hear the cries of Sarah as she had been dragged away by one of the Raiders, and he determined, no matter how bad things got, never to let a complaint pass his lips.
The crowd began to break up, and Jake followed Sure Flight down a rock trail that led past several caves hewn out of the solid rock. He passed one that was little more than an outline and saw one of the Winged Raiders observing four dark-skinned workers who were chipping away at the rock, seemingly making little progress.
Unable to restrain himself, Jake asked his captor, “Are they trying to make a cave?”
Sure Flight gave the small young man a swift look. “Yes. It will take a long time, but it must be done.”
Jake had the dreadful thought that he might spend the rest of his life chipping away at solid rock under the blazing sun. He ducked his head against the whistling wind that was always present, and his head was already beginning to swim with thoughts about escape. He said nothing more to Sure Flight, however, and finally they arrived at a ladder that was leaning against a sheer face of rock. Ten feet up was the entrance to a cave, and Sure Flight motioned. “In there!”
Jake scrambled up the ladder and waited until the warrior had mounted behind him.
“In here,” Sure
Flight said briefly.
Inside the cave, Jake was surprised. This was not a handmade cave but one that had obviously been created by the action of wind. It had scoured a large cavern at least twelve feet high and in an irregular shape. Furniture was scattered around, and rugs were on the floor. Several small holes had evidently also been scoured out by the wind, allowing the sunlight to come in. To Jake's further surprise, it was cool inside, almost like an underground cave.
“Who is this?”
Jake was startled by a voice. He had thought the cave was empty. Now he turned quickly to his right and saw a young woman wearing a white tunic that came to her knees. She had the same features as Sure Flight, and her hair was even a more pronounced red than his. Even at this low point in his life, Jake had time to think, She sure is a pretty girl!
“This is my daughter, Lareen.” Sure Flight turned to the girl and smiled fondly. “You won't have to work so hard now, daughter,” he said. “Darkwind brought back seven captives, and this will be your slave.”
“He's not very big,” Lareen complained. She came forward and, to Jake's amazement, began to feel his arms and punch him in the chest. “Why, look how flabby he is, Father!” The girl sniffed, disdain in her voice. “If you put wings on him, he couldn't fly for a minute.”
“He won't have wings.” Sure Flight laughed. “That's the last thing any of our captives need. He can be taught to do the cleaning and some of the cooking. It will leave you more free time.”
“I wish he were bigger,” Lareen said with a frown. Then she brightened and said, “Thank you, Father. What's its name?”
“I'm not an it!” Jake burst out. “And my name is Jake Garfield.” His red hair was ruffled from the windy flight, and his brown eyes were filled with anger.
Lareen laughed loudly. “Well, it can talk,” she said. “But it will have to be taught manners.” She walked over to the side the cave, searched for a moment, then came back with a small stick. Holding it up in front of Jake, she said, “Garfield, you see this?”
“I see it.”
“It's for children and slaves who don't mind their masters.” She held it in front of his nose, then tapped him on the forehead with it. “Don't make me use it.”
Jake's face turned red, and an angry reply leaped to his lips. He was an independent, touchy young man, jealous of his rights. He was the more angry because he had advised against this mission and now felt that he had been ignored. For one moment the angry words that boiled inside him were almost spoken, but he happened to catch a glimpse of Sure Flight's face and, just in time, clamped his lips together.
Sure Flight had been watching him. Now he relaxed, and his lips bent upward at the corners into a smile. “Second thoughts are usually best, Garfield,” he murmured. “If you obey me and my daughter, you will be treated well. If you do not, you will be beaten.” He came over and stroked Lareen s hair. “I must go to a meeting of the council. Use Garfield as you will.”
As soon as Sure Flight was out of the cave, Lareen held the stick lightly with one hand, stroking it with the other. Her eyes were large and almond shaped, and she had very thick lashes. Her skin was golden, and she had a well-shaped mouth. Her hair was long, falling almost to her waist. She had a curious expression on her face and said, “Before I put you to work, tell me who you are, Garfield. Where did you come from? I've never seen such white skin before.”
Jake shrugged and gave an explanation of the Seven Sleepers to the girl, who listened carefully. He said finally, “We came to the Citadel to try to bring peace between the Raiders and the Desert People.”
“That will never be.”
“Why not?
“Why, because we're enemies. They would kill us in a minute if they could. It's always been that way,” she said firmly.
Jake was annoyed by the simplicity of the answer. “It doesn't have to be like that. People can learn to trust each other, you know.”
“I trust my father,” Lareen said. “I trust Chief White Storm. I trust our people but no one else.”
Jake had no answer for that. He was tired and terribly thirsty.
The girl evidently saw his parched lips and said, “Come this way.” She led him around a corner of the room to a small area that had been hollowed out, by hand apparently. “You will sleep here. This is where the slaves sleep.” Then she turned and took him to a hollowed-out chunk of rock that stood in the shadows. “This will be your job,” she said. She picked up a cup and handed it to him. “You will make sure that the water is brought here.”
He took the cup and, when she said, “You may drink,” he eagerly scooped some water into it and drank thirstily. He refilled the cup again and when he would have filled it a third time, she reached out and took the cup from him. “That's enough. You've already had your day's supply of water.”
“That little cup—or two of them?” Jake exclaimed. “Why, I usually spill more than that!”
Lareen said, “You won't spill any here. Come, I'll show you what to do.” She led him out of the cave and almost flew down the ladder, she was so agile.
Jake stumbled to keep up. Overhead from time to time there were winged men flying, sailing along on the breeze that always moaned or whistled on top of the plateau.
They walked for what seemed like a long time, headed downhill, and finally came to a part of the Citadel that had more light. Jake saw what looked to be a very large garden with half-naked slaves working among the small, green plants. “You will work some on the farm,” Lareen said. “But now, I'll show you the water.”
As Jake followed her he saw that the slaves were watering the small plants, each of them carrying a bucket or cup. They would dip out water and pour it carefully around the base of the root. It was a very primitive kind of irrigation system in which no water at all was wasted.
They reached a door guarded by two armed Raiders who eyed Jake suspiciously.
“This is our new slave. Its name is Garfield,” Lareen said. “It will come to bring the water to our house.”
When they nodded, she passed inside the cave. Instantly Jake felt the coolness. They walked down a slanting walkway for what seemed to be a long time. Candles set in holders furnished a flickering, feeble light. Finally Lareen stopped so suddenly that Jake ran into her. “Watch where you're going, Garfield!” she snapped.
Jake looked down and saw two more armed guards. They were outlined by torches set in the side of the wall, and at their feet was what appeared to be a well with a curbing.
“This is Garfield,” Lareen said again. “It will bring the water for our house.” She held out the two buckets that she had brought, and one of the guards sheathed his sword and let down a container on the rope. It seemed to take a long time, and Jake heard a faint splash far, far below. When the guard pulled it up, he very carefully measured out the water into the two buckets.
“You carry them,” Lareen said to Jake and then turned and walked out.
Jake followed, and, by the time they had gotten to the entrance, the pails were cutting into the palms of his hands, but he said nothing.
“Come on, and don't spill one drop of that water,” Lareen said. She led him quickly back to their cave and, when they got to the ladder, said, “Give me one of them.” Taking the one bucket she scampered up the ladder and then waited for him.
She poured the contents of her bucket carefully into the stone reservoir and said, “Put the water in there.”
When Jake had poured in the water she said, “Now, you can go back. Carry water until it is full.”
Jake turned to go, but her voice caught him. “Stop, Garfield! When I speak to you, you will say, ‘Yes, Mistress.’ You will call my father ‘Master.’” She watched him carefully, almost as if she hoped he would refuse.
But Jake shrugged and said, “Yes, Mistress,” then picked up the buckets and walked out of the cave.
Carrying the water was tedious business. It took Jake ten trips to complete that task. He kept his eyes open, and once he saw R
eb walk by carrying a heavy burden, led by a rather heavyset woman who scolded him in a shrill voice.
“I guess me and Reb both got women trouble,” Jake muttered. Finally, he got back on the last trip, poured the last of the water into the reservoir, and said, “I'm glad that's over.”
But Lareen, who had been sitting on a chair watching him, said, “Now! You can entertain me.”
Jake stared at her. “Entertain you? What are you talking about—Mistress?” He added the last quickly when her eyes flashed.
Lareen said, “Can you sing?”
“Of course I can sing.”
“Very well, sing me some of the songs of your people.”
Jake was sorry that he had admitted that he was able to sing, and in truth he was not very good at it. But he saw that the girl was determined and began to sing one of the old Beatles songs from Oldworld.
Lareen listened to it, then said, “That's a good song, but you're not much of a singer.” She began to sing herself, and Jake was shocked to hear what a good voice she had and that she had memorized the song just from hearing it once.
“You're a good singer,” he said. “You'd need to go on a concert tour back in the old days.”
“What's a concert tour?”
Jake explained basically what it had been, and Lareen's eyes glowed with pleasure. “I'd have liked that,” she said. “Everybody listening to me and clapping their hands.”
Jake was weary and said, “Is it all right if I sit down before I do anything else?”
Lareen said, “Come, I'm going to teach you how to cook.”
Jake's heart sank, but he sat and watched as she prepared the meal. He was so tired that he fell asleep once, and finally Lareen said, “You're going to have to do better than that, Garfield. I won't have a slave around that goes to sleep.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Jake said wearily, then promptly closed his eyes and went to sleep out of sheer exhaustion.
Winged Raiders of the Desert Page 4
