Chapter 4: Stranger in a Strange Canyon
Disclaimers: noun: 1. a disclaiming; denial or renunciation, as of a claim, title, etc.. 2. a refusal to accept responsibility; disavowal (Origin: Anglo-Fr desclamer, inf. used as n. Webster's New World Dictionary)
Translation- All the characters in here came from Dreamworks and Cressida Cowell and their genius. Except, maybe, for the mosquitoes, wolves, birds, rain, lightning and general canyon wildlife. I created that, and it is now taking up a lot of space in my living room.
Chapter Quote is from Robert Heinlein
"When in danger or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." - Ames' Law (R.A. Heinlein- The Cat Who Walks Through Walls)
Welcome to the first night of my rest of my life! What's left of it.
My back legs were feeling well enough that I could start to walk on all fours again. I could limp to a relatively sheltered area and curl up to wait for the night. I still had a nasty headache and the upset stomach.
The sun set and darkness set in. I watched in a sort of numbness as the world around me faded from a dull green to dark grey and then to a deep, cruel color between grey and black. I could no longer see any sign of the sky, just the leaves matted over head.
I huddled into myself, a prisoner in this strange world known as Ground. It was not a nice experience. Sensations happened all around me on every level. I heard worms moving beneath my feet. Mosquitoes tried to bite my hide. Forest creatures chirped and growled and squawked around me.
The worst was that I could not see the sky- the beautiful sky. I began to understand for the first time what the fear of enclosed spaces is. New sounds came into the night: ripples, roars, hisses and snarls. I wore myself out looking left to right and up and down. I could only hear the sounds but not see how dangerous they were. And I hoped they could not see how helpless I was.
And then like that dove music I heard in the mountains so long ago, I heard a song of hope.
The Lightning Signalers were calling out their positions for the evening! If today had been happier, I would have been perched on my Signal Stone on that unnamed island, calling out my position, too.
Maybe I was not lost after all!
I trotted to the edge of the canyon closest to where I had been shot. I reared up on my sore hind legs and balanced my front paws against the canyon walls. I closed my eyes, sank into myself and let my memory stone flare inside my skull. I pushed hard for my ears to send out my message sending.
:Brothers and Sisters! I'm the Signaler from the Islands on the Edge of the Sea! I need help! I am trapped on Birch Island, in a canyon! Please send help! ::
I felt my signal go outwards. I took a breath.
And I just heard the calls go out as before. No one had received my message.
I tried again, concentrating harder. No one acknowledged. I just heard their code calls, but no sign they had heard mine.
::CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?::
That call should wake up the dead. It just happened to not wake up any dead beyond my canyon. No one answered.
Scorch it and freezing hell! I realized that my tail fin was not the only part of me to be injured. I seemed also to have lost my ability signal to the others.
Oh please. don't let that be! Don't cut me off from my People! No!
If so, then I truly was finished. I lowered my head and let it rest against the canyon wall. My front claws loosened in defeat and I slid back down.
Someone did hear me, though. It just happened to be someone I did not find too helpful. A wolf's howl cut clean and sharp at the edge of the canyon wall. I hissed in horror. I could appreciate a wolf's scout call before, when I floated in the sky, well out of danger. Now on the ground and injured, that call sounded very different. I was being marked as potential prey. They knew I was too strong right now, but give me a few days of starvation. Then, when my plasma blasts had run down and with no ability to fly out of the canyon, they could easily enter the canyon do me in. And so ends the Saga of the Nightfurygetdown.
It humiliated me that, for the first time since I was very young, I felt so out of control.
Oh please, Sky Lady, Night Lady, Great Father. I do not ask to survive. I just ask for a quick, clean death. Can you do that for me?
The trio declined to answer me. As the night cooled and my breath began to stream out of my nostrils in ribbons, I raised my head up to the sky and thought of my father.
You must be really disappointed in me, sir. I never met you, but I wanted you to be proud of me. It makes me feel even worse that you died trying to solve this problem, and I could not carry on your Calling. I am so sorry. This was all my fault, my vanity.
And then suddenly I knew what the Viking's words Ek gerði þetta meant. Not because I suddenly knew the Norse language, but I glimpsed the pain behind the words.
I did this.
He certainly had, but I had, too, with my carelessness. And now the mission was in jeopardy.
In the dark foliage over me, the wind shook the branches a bit. Through them I did make out a glimpse of the stars, a pattern of celestial jewels thrown across the sky.
It soothed me. I don't believe in visions or such, but I took comfort from the sight of the stars, like I had been granted one tiny sliver of hope.
If that was your doing, Dad, then I thank you.
I did not sleep at all that night, though I sunk into a kind of shocked torpor.
When the sun began to show up as a sick green glow in this canyon from hell, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had lived for one more night. I heard the birds call around me . My snarky nature took pleasure in the fact that only male birds sing and they are really shouting threats and insults at each other.
Damn, I've gotten cynical! Well, bring back my sun and sky and I might be nice again. Until then, don't expect me to be sweetness and light.
Now that I was stronger to move again, I began to feel hungry as well. I limped heavily to the pond and managed to grab a tiny fish for breakfast before I took a long drink. I had the sense of foreboding that I was not going to get anything more from the pond than that little fish. By now the other fish had guessed I was in the vicinity, and they would stay far back.
I sighed, remembering the many times I had refused to eat the regurgitated white fish my mother made for us because it was not my favorite salmon. I now wished badly that I could now be eating that very same fish I had rejected.
I sighed and pulled my amputated tail around to inspect it in the light. It made me curl up my lips in disgust. It had not been a clean amputation. Bits of tattered, blue-black-grey webbing dangled from the tail, and I still had two broken stumps of radials that jutted uselessly out and then bent awkwardly toward the ground. I did not have the heart to try to break them off; they would probably shrivel up and fall off on their own. The only good thing I can say is the ache had gradually faded to a dull throbbing. Hopefully that would lessen soon.
Tired and sore as I was. though, I had come to a resolution through the night. My first obligation as a Signaler and a spy was to get my information to the right source. If I cannot transmit, then I HAVE to get out of canyon. After all, if I fell IN there must be a way to fall OUT of the canyon.
I first limped around the area, taking in all the canyon and its borders. I had to admit, barring the lack of sky views, I had chosen a lovely prison for myself. The lake glittered cool and soothing. A waterfall tumbled from the nearby mountain slope into the lake.. Plants of all types filled the canyon with greenery. Lots of species of songbirds and butterflies flew around, and honeybees did their work on the an amazing variety of late summer wildflowers here. Overall, a lovely place, but sorely lacking in exits. The few slots that opened into the canyon were too small for me to use. I would to have to somehow fly up and over to get out of here.
Okay, nothing for it but to try. Maybe I would be so desperate my body would give me the strength to clear up and over the wall. I positioned myself, gathered my energy, and charged at the lip, jumping in the air. Only to find myself falling back down.
I then tried staring at my injured aileron, willing it to heal itself. This method did not work, surprisingly.
That made me think of the one who had made all this possible: the little Firemaker with the amazing net wielding paws. I was still angry at it for putting me through this, but the many hours I had spent awake had dimmed my night fury (no pun intended). It made no sense for the Firemaker to have let me go just so I could starve to death here. Especially when it could have killed me so easily yesterday. I know its tribe are sworn to kill us. They've developed their whole way of life around it. Even their bodies have evolved over the centuries to handle the heavy iron poles and hand teeth they use to kill us: tall with broad chests and powerful front legs. Some of them, like the red furred Alpha Male, can even knock a Person unconscious with a blow of the fist.
I have traveled more than most of my kind here, so I know that not all Firemakers are out to kill us. But these Firemakers have lived isolated from the parts of the world that respect the People. It makes no sense for one of them to suddenly get the notion to free me. That Firemaker must have an ulterior motive, and probably not a benevolent one.
It occurred to me my espionage mission was not over yet. Crippled as I was, I somehow needed to isolate this specimen and find out why it was different from others. Was it planning something even more dangerous than the others of its kind? Or, possibly, did it truly want to help me?
Naaah. I will go with the danger theory. All the more reason to get out of this place!
I launched myself at the wall again, this time knocking some scales from my back as I fell. They glittered down like black tears, spiraling onto the grass.
And on it went. Like a sadistic version of Target Practice, I launched myself at various spots around the canyon, plunging upward and falling back down.
Whoosh up! Tilt to the left! Whoosh down! Slam! Shake the head. Repeat!
The muted sunlight in the canyon was starting to slide into the west when I made progress! I swung up at a good angle and caught my front claws in the canyon wall, not far from the lip.
Come on, back legs! Move it!
Before my powerful back leg muscles could bunch up to provide the second thrust, my tail tilted me to left and I slid off the walls, falling swiftly over the ledge to thud down on the opposite bank. I roared in anger as I fell. Shaking my head to clear the dancing stars, I gave it another shot before my mind told me to quit while I still had a head. I launched myself, up and onto the canyon wall.
Climb, damn you! Climb! Climb! Climb! Good! We're making progress and then the back legs and then...
... amazingly, we fall back down again!
ARRRRRGHHHHHH! Frustrated, I climbed to my feet and let loose an angry blast of plasma.
It did nothing to help, but it sure felt so good to destroy the pebbles in front of me.
I tried once more, experienced the usual results, collapsed to the ground, bruised and bleeding from tiny cuts and bruises.
I limped, now very heavily, to the edge of the lake and plunged my face in the water to cool my over-heated head. As if to mock me, several trout had gathered in the water within snapping distance of me. Of course, I did not have time to grab one before they swam away. When I become an entertainment system for my potential prey, then I know I am truly on the way out of this life.
Panting, I let myself drop to my stomach and lay flat on the ground, my sides heaving with exhaustion. I flared my sensors wide open, hoping against hope my mental distress would reach one of the Signalers.
I really am going to die here. I just never thought it would end this way, though. Stupid, stupid, overconfident Lightning Person.
::::You are the most beautiful, magnificent creature I have ever seen.::::
The thought pulled me from my self pity. I don't consider myself any handsomer than others of my kind, so I knew that thought was not my own.
Huh? I raised my head. Something on the canyon lip above me on the other side of the lake rustled. I heard a pebble break loose and drop down to vanish among the rocks and grass. It was like no pebble I had ever seen; it was more like a thick stick with a carbonized tip. I looked up in the direction of where the object had fallen.
The young Firemaker who had freed me yesterday was sitting on the opposite canyon lip, its back legs folded beneath it. It had some sort of small plank balanced on its legs and was looking down at where the object had fallen. It gave a gasp when it realized I was looking at it, the pupils in its eyes dilating to that endless dark hole that can make Firemakers so terrifying in appearance.
I waited for it to shoot something out its front paws to hurt me at this not so far distance. But it did nothing of the sort. Instead, it actually relaxed a bit and looked at me with something I thought might be curiosity.
Then it occurred to me that the thought transmission my sensors had picked up had come from this dangerous creature. It thought I was beautiful, magnificent? Not evil, terrifying? Maybe it meant me no harm? More so- I actually picked up a thought from a FIREMAKER!
That was not supposed to happen. I could communicate in thoughts and images with the People of all species. I could easily pick up thoughts from other animals, though they manifested more like images and generalizations than complete thoughts. Occasionally a very intelligent animal of another species can communicate with me, like the Turkmene mare had when I was crossing the Steppes. Even then, though, she had to ask my permission or I would not have known to Mindlink with her.
BUT A FIREMAKER? That is something strange. This thought had been a bit fuzzy around the edges, sort of like what you would hear if you were underwater trying to hear a sound. But it had been a complete thought.
I picked myself to my feet and locked eyes with the Firemaker.
::Do you hear what I am thinking to you?:: I asked it, purring as I often do when I send a signal coordinate.
The Firemaker cocked its head, reminding me of a curious kitten. But it did not seem to have picked up my message.
I didn't think so. Nope- Firemakers cannot communicate the way do. That would have been too strange. Why, then, did I pick up the thought from the Firemaker?
He did not mean me any harm that was obvious. I blew out my breath in a sigh and watched as he put down the board and shifted himself into a curious position. His back legs crossed around each other and he placed his front legs on his back legs. Then he rested his head on his front paws.
It looked downright painful.
We stared at each other for quite a while, making no noise. The only sounds were the tumbling waterfall and the late afternoon noise of bees and crickets. From the distance I could hear the ocean waves slam against the rocky shore.
It was at this time that I registered I had stopped thinking of the Firemaker as an IT but as a He. I guess it was because he did not have the larger chest glands that mammal females have. His voice yesterday had also been lower in pitch, like Firemaker men's are.
He was definitely measuring me as well. I wondered how he recorded impressions. Perhaps that stick and board had something to do with it.
I took advantage of the opportunity to record my own impressions.
The first thing I noticed was he had cleaned himself up, so he looked far more civilized. (He smelled worlds better, too- I caught the pleasant scent of some sort of herbs mixed in with a clean lye-ash smell). Obviously he had the usual Firemaker features: large head, walking upright on the hind legs, and eyes in the front of his face (predator , not prey), two ear sensors and a long straight nose- probably good for warming up air in a cold region like this.
His legs were thin. The front legs ended in those terrifying front paws. I could see he had five digits on each paw. I wondered if there was a slot on the lower inside of his paw where he could make the fire jump out of his body. His back legs (or maybe I should say lower legs) probably had paws, too, but they were covered by fur-lined leather boots (I believe that was the Turkmene horse's term for rear paw coverings). I wonder if the back paws looked the same- they had to be bigger, though, to be able to support his body upright.
His head and face were not as hawk like as the Sarmatian's had been. He still had a long face, but it had high cheekbones and a straight jaw with a surprisingly determined set to it. His hide was some of the palest I have ever seen, and it looked like it was sun burnt (probably from his hunt for me yesterday). I also was surprised to see his face and the backs of his front paws were covered in what I could only call freckles. His, though, were reddish-brown, while mine were black and silver.
Compared to other warm blooded creatures, Firemakers do not have a lot of body hair. The males grow hair on their faces, though a few of them do something to keep this from happening. Both males and females can grow their scalp hair very long. The Birch Island Firemakers usually wear their wavy hair very long, keeping it out of the way by twisting it into ropes or knotting it up on their heads. This Firemaker had no facial hair- so maybe he was too young for it to show yet. He was one of the few I had seen who wore his hair loose. It was probably too short to tie back since it fell just to the base of his neck. The front was short enough to leave his eyes free, but he seemed to have a lot of uneven strands that kept landing in his eyes anyway. It looked rather uncomfortable. I thought his hair looked roughly hacked off, as if it might have recently been much longer.
Cleaned of sweat, his thick hair was actually a rather nice color that reminded me of oak leaves in the late autumn. I already knew more than I cared to about his eyes, but they and his eyebrows were slightly tilted up at the edge, making it look like he was puzzling out a riddle.
This Firemaker was dressed much like the Sarmatian had been, in a thigh length belted wool tunic and cross-stitched leather leggings. His tunic was dark green and had some sort of odd knot work going up the area around the front paws. He also wore a long bearskin vest with the fur turned outside.
The sky was starting to get greyer, threatening rain later. The Firemaker must have seen that, too, since he unlocked himself from the contorted position. He brushed grass off his lower legs and moved off, catching a quick glance at me. I thought he might be wishing me a good evening.
I actually found myself hoping he would come back again. He provided some amusement, anyway.
That evening, a squall line of storms ran across Birch Island. A very good way to make a Lightning Person really frustrated is to put him in a canyon with no exit and then dump rain down it. Add a good dash of thunder and lightning and you have all the ingredients for a torturous evening. It was the first time in my life I had ever been outside in a thunderstorm- - and on the ground! The lightning was the worst, cracking above me and making every thing a terrifying deathly white. I heard a bolt strike somewhere in the woods above the canyon. The sharp crack sent painful reverberations through my sensitive ears until I howled for it to stop. I wondered if this is how Firemakers feel when they saw my plasma bolts coming down on them. I felt a strange emotion well up under the fear... compassion.
The rain was slimy and nasty, pricking my hide like thousands of tiny teeth. A sea wind slammed the raindrops sidewise into me until I rolled myself into a ball and tucked my face under my wings. I closed all three lids in each eye and prayed to the Night Lady that there would be no hail tonight; I was not sure how my wing membranes would take that.
There was no hail, but the storm seemed part of a system blowing in from the southwest. Rain would die down for a moment, the thunder would stop growling. I would sigh and thank the gods. Then it would start all over again.
All right, enough already! I thought angrily, though I was really terrified. I often complain that the gods have a sense of humor, and this seemed a perfect example. What could be more ironic than a Lightning Person getting struck by lightning? Even more so, one whose personal name means the sense of excitement that comes before thunderstorms? (I guess the closest to it in Firemaker speech would be Stormthrill).
My body started to tremble violently, both from cold and fear. I had to retract my teeth to keep them from scraping from each other in my shivering. I morbidly wondered if each night was going to get progressively worse. Maybe by the end of the week this canyon would be getting its very own supervolcanic eruption.
The cynical humor made me laugh inside and that kept me warm, so I started to focus on happier thoughts. Ironically, the Firemaker on the canyon rim was one of them. That thought he had tossed at me had been amazing, as had that curious expression in his eyes. I don't know how long we had stared at each other, but it had been almost meditative. After nearly two stress filled years of my Signal work and spy work it had actually been soothing to just sit and silently observe the world around me. I got an inkling maybe my Firemaker felt a similar sense of peace, too.
Hah. What is the matter with you, Lightning Person? He is not your Firemaker.
Actually, I told myself, he is. Or he will be.
The storm was dying down enough for me to pull my head from my wings. I opened all my eye lids and let out a huge sneeze, sending an unintentional spurt of plasma out. I shook my head and stared up at the hidden sky.
You see, I had a purpose now. I might not be able to get out of this canyon on my own, but as long as I still could move and breathe, I would continue with my mission. That Firemaker's odd behavior might come in handy. I had only been spying from the People's point of view and it was not getting me anywhere. Maybe I could co opt the Firemaker into doing a little info gathering for me. I had to assume he was not going to be too willing about that, so it meant I had to catch him and train him to do my work.
If that does not work, at least I could trick him into getting me out of this canyon. I still wouldn't be able to fly, but my odds of survival were going to be better if I was out of this canyon.
But I knew that Firemaker was very dangerous. If he could knock me out of the sky from a great distance, imagine what he could do to me close up? And I wouldn't be able to escape so easily. I must not ever let him know my disability was holding me back.
My breath streamed out of my nose as it hit the cold air. He could kill me, or I could kill him while trying to defend myself. This would be a risk, but I took a vow to my People. Besides, how else would I occupy my days until I starved to death down here?
The first thing I had to do was catch the Firemaker.
And that meant I would have to use myself as the bait.