"Watch out for that tree!"
"Mayday! Not my payday!" I yelled, rhyming, flapping or trying to glide. My arms covered my face as I automatically tucked in my wings and crashed onto the ground. I did three summersaults, skidded a few feet, inhaling a month's worth of dust, and stopped. I'd missed the tree, but hit the ground. Again.
"Ow," I moaned, sitting up. My arms were scraped up, my clothes were torn, and I hurt.
"Are you alright?" Tasslehoff's voice asked from the small cliff.
"Do I look alright?" I retorted, red-faced.
"Why didn't you take your pack?" shouted the kender, holding up my backpack.
"I can't even glide yet!" I hollered. It would be disastrous if I tried to fly or take off with my backpack. The extra weight would double my crash factor. Now imagine jumping on a trampoline with two dictionaries in your arms and then flying off the trampoline. Not a pretty picture.
I brushed myself off, inspecting for injuries while stretching my wings. The territory was cracked and dry from years of drought. Obelisks of stone offered the only shade in the short stretch of barren desert. Hidden fissures and small cliffs were everywhere. I guessed we had strayed too close to the looming mountains on our left. The peaks were snow-capped on the purple mountain majesties- a perfect Kodak moment.
"So how do you track things or animals? Like tell how far ahead of you they are or the individual footprint?" I asked Mendelv after fifteen minutes of waiting. I had spent those minutes, after passing self-examination, watching them scale down the cliff with my handy-dandy raptor vision.
The elf crouched and I glanced down. He pointed at a footprint made by a shoe. "A human adolescent with unusual shoes is within reaching distance of my arm and was standing here for approximately five minutes, shifting her weight," the ranger observed caustically.
"Hey!" I rewarded his observance with a light push, causing him to fall back on his arse.
"Repeat the running start again, but this time try flapping," advised the elf, nursing his wounded pride.
"You two are buying me new clothes in Sanction," I scowled, taking a running start toward the ledge. I leapt off. "Flap, flap, flap," I murmured to myself as I felt my stomach drop. Have I lost my sanity, my temerity? Why am I throwing myself off cliffs? "Up, down, up, down, up down," I muttered, my wings stroking up and down.
My wings tired and I stiffened them, gliding on an air current. This time I managed to stay afloat for more than a minute and my stomach returned. I was one with the wind, my body gone. I laughed, tilting my wings from side to side, experimenting. As gravity took effect, my wings stroked quicker and shorter than if I had been using long, slow beating to stay aloft. I managed a semi-graceful landing onto my feet.
"Kanpai!" I cheered, jumping up and down. I'd managed to land with feet, not face. About time after all my klutziness. Flying wasn't so bad once the landing was nailed. I hugged Tasslehoff and even Mendelv when they ran over, impressed. "Kanpai!" I repeated, pumping a fist into the air.
"So what does flying feel like?" Mendelv asked impatiently.
"Have you ever tripped before?" I inquired.
"Yes. I almost killed myself on that last cliff," snorted the ranger.
"Do you remember the sensation of pure fear and exhilaration before you caught yourself or landed?" I persisted.
"The terror, yes," he nodded.
"Well, pretend after you've tripped a wind comes up beneath you and you soar away on it. Do you remember your muscles tensing and your heart leaping into your throat? Or feeling the wind caressing you, running through your fingers?" I asked. "Or terrified every second in between that you would suddenly fall into an abyss and break every bone in your body?"
Mendelv didn't answer.
"Ana, you never answered his question. He asked how flying felt," Tasslehoff reminded me. "You described taking off, but not how it felt."
"It's like love: taking off is like jumping off the cliff- you have to be inspired to jump and when you do, it's completely reckless, so natural yet you're afraid of falling. Yet equally, flying is one of the best ecstasies and thrilling experiences out there. I mean, who needs drugs when there's flying?"
The kender and elf glared at me.
"Anyway, in that moment between the ground and when you tripped, you're experiencing the freedom of your body, of gravity, spitting on human morals and the very laws of nature, and going through pure joy," I smiled, grinning like a drunken, love-sick fool. I was in love- in love with the wind.
"How does that defy the laws of nature?" Tas asked. "Does that mean you're an abomination or abnormal?"
I inwardly winced at the harsh words. "Erm, well, humans, elves, kender, minotaurs, dwarves- none of us were built to fly. Dragons, griffins, and birds have hollow bones, we don't. All of us are under the same cruelty of nature- wishing, staring up at the sky enviously at them, wishing we could fly. For humans, it's the worst. We're totally senseless to the world around us- humans can't sense anything wrong by faint feelings in the air, by scent, or sounds."
I paused to take a deep breath and continue my awesome-sounding speech.
"The falling when you trip is freedom of oppressive restrictions and boundaries, when your aging, bigot of a body doubts itself and the limits. So-so…" I trailed off, realizing the gravity of my situation.
"So?" Mendelv persisted, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I bit my lip, staring at the ground. "The little, chosen band- those who do fly- are few and far-in-between because…" I took a deep breath, loathing myself "because they are the ones who change the world, break the rules."
I could practically hear the lyrics to 'In the End' by Linkin Park singing in my mind, reminding me: "I tried so hard and got so far…but in the end, it doesn't even matter. I had to fall to lose it all, and in the end, it doesn't even matter." I couldn't escape it, it had come back to bite me. My stupid qualities I hated about myself- the ones that, if I accepted them, could allow me to rise over the crowd.
"They are the ones who destroy tyrant empires, start revolutions, and endure unfair and harsh hardships but usually come out triumphant." I bit my lip to keep from crying. This was one of the things I desperately had been running from all my life- and like in the cartoons, it suddenly appeared before me, much to my and the cartoon's dismay. "Flying is a science and passion, a talent, a power, control of wind, of wild freedom, but control and understanding."
Without another word, I took of running, flapping my wings so I could take off and begin running away from those qualities again.
"What's the fiasco?" grumbled Tas as another man was pushed into him in Sanction. The man yelled, "Kender!" as his hands flew into his pockets, backing away. The classical ripple effect made the kender our personal Moses. Mendelv and I stayed close behind Tasslehoff before the crowd closed behind him.
A colorful flyer nailed onto a wooden post read: Gentlefolk of Sanction: you are affably encouraged to the premier of an original play to be performed by the Players of Gilean. The handout gave a list of plays that were to be executed over a period of two days. Beneath the plays were the characters and the thespians acting as said character. My eyes found the show timings.
One was beginning in five minutes.
"A play by the Players of Gilean!" the kender beamed, trembling with anticipation. "They're a famous group of immortal actors who travel across Krynn! C'mon! The Kender Calamity is starting right now!"
We weaved through the crowds at break-neck speed. Mendelv, Tas, and I skidded to a halt to see a big man wearing a Friar Tuck outfit with a golden rope tied around his waist. "-hope you enjoy our play," he finished, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the entire crowd.
"We made it," Mendelv whispered as the fat man waddled off the stage.
I was ready to impale myself on Mendelv's sword.
The play sucked.
Well, for the time period, it was beyond expectation, but to me it was like watching a cheesy, overly dramatic video from the 1970's. It was horror fest. I could see through the illusions, they were bad –no, that would be too kind…terrible- computer graphics. Everything was low grade from the bright costumes to the overuse of cosmetics. I gave the actors credit for having dirt smeared on their costumes, acting and speaking in the age, but I remained unimpressed.
Plays would never beat a good cinema. Like Lord of the Rings.
I would run out of fingers and toes before naming all the movies with better graphics and performance than this paltry play. Simon from American Idol would have agreed with me.
Repressing suicidal urges, I scowled as I glanced around. Everyone's rapt attention was on the stage; even Tasslehoff was too captivated to borrow interesting items. Shifting my weight for the umpteenth time, I crossed my arms and frowned at the stage. Standing the entire play was not on my list of things to do.
Zigzagging through the audience with total disgust written on my face, I stormed toward a deserted tree to sit under until the finale. At least that had been the plan until the fat narrating friar who had been on the stage earlier intersected my path. "Not satisfied?" Pillsbury Doughboy inquired, cocking his large head to the side in a puppyish manner.
I nodded with a frown. Who was this dude?
"What do you find dissatisfying?" the stranger persisted, folding his pudgy fingers across his overextended midriff.
"I can see through the illusions! They're terrible," I sighed. "The actors resemble prostitutes with that much make-up slathered on their faces. I won't even get started on how thick the drama is. I'll get ill, but the speech is superb."
Pillsbury Doughboy's head turned toward the stage before returning to me. "I don't see anything wrong. Perhaps plays designed for the faint of heart are not for you," he suggested mildly.
"Of course you don't see anything wrong. You're one of them. You've been around the Players of Gilean, adjusted to their styles and the modus operandi," I said and added as an afterthought, "Faint of heart? The…the awfulness of this act is going to make my heart faint!"
Friar Tuck was silent. My griffin/dragon hearing cursed my annoyed brain with the clarity of the striking words that were being spoken on the stage. It only reminded me of the atrocities that irritated me to no end.
"You have valid points," the friar admitted, "but would you endeavor to put yourself in their shoes? Acting is not as easy as it looks. Neither is sorcery."
"I never slandered their courage," I shrugged, "and who said being a wizard was a bed of roses?"
His brows furrowed, almost conjoining to become a V. "You're a mage?"
"No, but I've read and heard enough from a wizard's point of view to know that wizards are strong people. I admire them," I smiled fondly. "If I could ever become a wizard, I'll die happy."
"Why would you want to become a conjurer? They face ridicule from everyone, distrust and anger. Some wizards are scarred or bitter from trials you and I could not imagine," discouraged the friar.
I snorted, "I don't care about the ridicule. I've had rocks thrown at me, mocked, teased, hit, abused, sexually harassed, and more. You don't have to be a wizard to get ridiculed. Personally, I couldn't care less if anyone was angry or distrustful of me. Why give a damn about them when they don't give a damn about me?"
"Some people do give a damn about your actions," the good friar persisted. "The past relationships with wizards and the communities are dangerous."
"Well, the communities should get over themselves," I retorted. "Who do they come crawling to help for? Wizards. Who assists them despite their distrust and disrespect? Wizards. Mages are unappreciated and worn thin. The day they stop helping the community is the day the community perishes, but the Conclave knows that."
Glass on the nearest store windows shattered.
I cut my speech about the injustices of mages short.
Oops.
I blamed the magical dragon blood and my temper.
The magic had reacted from my anger and bitterness. I could remember the words Hagrid told Harry Potter: "Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry? (58) "
The aftereffect was exhaustion, despair, and lethargy. Although I was more than willing to give in to the emotions, I knew a good cup of tea would cure it. Tea and mints cured every illness. Chocolate, duct tape, and running it over cured everything else.
"Would you like me to treat you to lunch?" the fat friar inquired upon hearing my stomach howl all too audibly. "You may consider my offer over the food."
I stared at him. "What offer?" If he had slyly offered something, I hadn't caught it.
"The offer of putting yourself in my troupe's shoes," Friar Tuck reminded.
Oh shoot. Shooty, shoot, shooty, pa-toot-ey! Frick! Frickfrickfrick!
I had just insulted the troupe in front of its director!
Fudge monkeys. What about an offer…
Oh yeah, huh! That offer. It flew completely over my head. I thought he was just using an expression. Wohoo! A fellow who toys with the different meanings of words! Note to self: seriously consider his offer…if he buys dessert…or if he doesn't keel over when he sees the bill.
You think I'm kidding?
At the last little, cute village we stopped at, Mendelv, Tasslehoff, and I had gotten a discount 'cause Mendelv was a well-known ranger around those parts and simply because Tas was a kender (if we kept Tasslehoff entertained, we got free food and board).
Tasslehoff and I had decided to have an eating contest. Myth, legend, rumor or whatever had it kender could outeat any species, excluding dragons. But flying and being a mutant made me hungry enough to devour a young dragon hatchling. I had won by a whole steak, two blueberry muffins, and fifteen raspberries.
I smiled at Pillsbury Doughboy. "Sure, I'll take up the first offer and consider the second. Just be sure you have your money where your tongue is wagging."
Disclaimer: I don't own Friar Tuck, Pillsbury Doughboy, the troupe leader (Sebastius) or the Players of Gilean, 'In the End' by Linkin Park, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Dragonlance, or American Idol; and if you like the flying speech: go to fictionpress and search for 'Queen of Glass' (it's totally worth it- and something to read while waiting for me to update .).
(J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. U.S.A.: First American Press edition, October 1998)
Kanpai- (Japanese) cheers!
