Refugees Page 13
Long ago, before time, in the air, without ground
Long ago, kept in time, with a care, came a sound
Breathed a breath, flowed a flow, formed a form, sang a song
Soaring up, breathing out, flowing on, all along
Great Creator gave us movement, gave us motion
In a voice, inspiring life, for great devotion
Beings made for dynamic soaring on long flights
Webbed feet to reach the depths and wings to rise to heights
The best for water, air and earth, we did not lack
Ascending and descending scales ran up each back.
A Capella, ascending outward, granting lift
Teaching as we glide on His melodious gift,
Dipping, trilling, rising, lilting along the scale
Guiding as we gather in groups in which to sail
Notes become chords, a lone voice becomes a chorus
Swooping, rising, as the world unfolds before us
Drifting, dancing, ever-shifting to cede the lead
All in rhythm, the tempo changing, with our speed
A melody of love, a harmony of flight
Like newborn stars circling in the sky through the night
Each flier composing while still staying in tune
Choreographing a flight like the sun and moon
Always aware and caring for the choir and troupe
Returning in time to the refrain and the loop
A hymn sung in freedom, bound only to the key
A flight danced in grace, synchronized but still free
Smiling, laughing, giving other fliers the gift
Passing on the encouraging song, creating lift
We joined in the chorus with all our hearts. The percussion instruments joined in too, with the tambourines jingling and the drums booming:
Glory be to our Creator, gave to us life-giving trees
Hypnotize us, mesmerize us, give to us our song of peace
Harmonize us as we praise you, free from discord when we die
Grateful hearts lift us up high, fly us up into the sky
Sing oh Sing oh Mesmeringa, reach your voices to the stars
As the chorus ended, all the other instruments stopped and just the percussion instruments sounded, quietly at first, but becoming louder and louder. All of the singers kept humming the melody from the chorus, while one man with a deep bass voice sang the words. The other instruments slowly joined in, all playing off key, in a cacophony just like in the song:
Then one flyer decided he was better than all
He started to mumble, with a spirit of gall
Mumble turned to grumble, grumble went off key
Grumble, a loud jumble, which drowned out melody
Jarring, blasting, banging, screeching in a clamor
Building his fame, loudly proclaiming his glamour
Off key and off beat, the groups all started to whirl
Faster and faster each band started to swirl
The whirlwind dragged them all down into a spiral
That loud mumbling and grumbling had all gone viral
And we fell.
And in that magical moment, timed just right, the room went silent and the Gliders, who had somehow managed to float until the right moment, all let themselves fall to the ground. As they landed they folded into balls and rolled, their ribbons wrapping around them. They stayed rolled up on the ground. The pageantry had actually made me forget my troubles, but when they hit the ground, I remembered Klala. She had fallen, but she had fallen for real and she was dead. Klala was not a mumbler or a grumbler and she had not deserved to fall. Why? Why did it happen?
But the next stanza was starting, and the rolled up people somersaulted in reverse to unwrap. As they landed on their feet, they began dancing on the floor, weaving in and out in lines, but dragging their ribbons along the ground, with their arms down.
Blessed Creator, he provided trees with branches
With arms outstretched to catch, giving second chances
So those who clung to lush green foliage did not die
Found their refuge in the Forest, but could not fly
No more flapping, no more fluttering to the sky
Sadly down to the ground with no sound but to cry
Through the sobbing, moaning, wailing, we heard the voice
Of the Forest singing to tell us we had a choice
A special group of singers joined in from up on the window sills, imitating the calls of myriad birds singing in the dawn. The people on the ground began flapping their ribbons, climbed up the tree trunks built into the sides of the walls and at the right moment leapt again:
Birds were trilling, whistling, twittering, and tweeting
We saw them flying as they sounded their greeting
Saw a mother bird nudge a fledgling from the nest
It glided from the treetop to a place of rest
So we followed them up to the tops of the trees
Unfolded our wings and then jumped into the breeze
Gliding, soaring, floating again from tree to tree
Free again, our spirits lifted so thankfully
And with the dancers now all standing on ledges around the room, their arms lifted and their ribbons drifting, we all stood and joined in the final chorus:
Glory be to our Creator, gave to us life-giving trees
Hypnotize us, mesmerize us, give to us our song of peace
Harmonize us as we praise you, free from discord when we die
Grateful hearts lift us up high, fly us up into the sky
Sing oh Sing oh Mesmeringa, when at last we reach the stars
As we sang the final chorus, the pod holding Klala’s body was lifted to the ceiling high above. Then one by one, people stood and took turns saying a few words about Klala’s life. Her father started with a cute story about the first time she ever tried to glide. I immediately knew which story I would tell. Each story had to be only a few lines, because many people wanted to speak. I rose when there was a pause, after the family was done, and a few friends had spoken. I noticed a few people nudging each other when I got up to speak, but didn’t think much of it at the time.
“The second time my troop ever had archery practice, I forgot to bring my bow. We were just little kids. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid my bow would be taken away from me for good. When Klala realized what I had done, she handed me her bow, and offered to take turns with me, which would mean that for some skill tests she would be without a bow and would also risk having her bow taken away for good. I tried to tell her not to do it. But she insisted. So all through practice we took turns, with her left out one round and me the next, as we passed the bow back and forth. Klala and I had played together before that, but on that day we became best friends for life.”
By the time I finished speaking I had tears streaming down my face. The stories made us laugh and they made us cry. As each person spoke, a scribe recorded the story by twisting knots into rows of strings that hung from Klala’s bow. Klala’s body pod was to be returned to the forest, where it would hang from the top of a tree. But the stories recorded in strings would be housed in the Tree of Stories so that anyone who knew how to read knots could find them and read them. Suddenly I remembered that I would be leaving and would not be able to visit the Tree of Stories any more. How I would miss the stories in that tree! I focused even harder on every word being said so I could implant in my mind everything about Klala, my best friend, and take her with me forever.
When the appointed time for the speakers came to an end, one of the elders stood and said, “The Forest celebrates with us the life of Klala. Now we return her to the birds at the treetops so that she may join the flight of the stars in the land of the Creator.”
As the closed pod carrying Klala started to move along the vine that led from the hall, all the acrobats stood on the ledges and waved their ribbons, while all of those on the ground raised a hand and waved goodbye to Kla
la. We sang the chorus one last time as we waved:
Glory be to our Creator, gave to us life-giving trees
Hypnotize us, mesmerize us, give to us our song of peace
Harmonize us as we praise you, free from discord when we die
Grateful hearts lift us up high, fly us up into the sky
Sing oh Sing oh Mesmeringa, til with Klala we join the stars!
I had to believe that I would see her again someday, when we would race between the stars, just like we had raced between the trees. I would never stop missing her until that day.
Chapter 22
Mud - Amanki
Webbies in Arvuk believe that when the Berserker has been drinking he staggers around in front of the sun, blotting out its rays. An angry drunk, he whips the skies into motion and starts throwing things around. Sparks fly as his beer pots crash together, spilling his opulent reserves of drink into our river and before we know it the river god has become drunk too.
Now, in sudden darkness, we rose and fell on waves as torrents of wind-driven rain swirled all around us. I balanced on my legs precariously as I wrestled against the wind, trying to wrap my arms around the sail to roll it into a bundle, while the wind tore at the layered reeds. As the rain soaked through my tunic, pasting it to my skin, the drunken breath of the storm god ripped the sail from my grasp. Desperately, I grabbed for its sides and began to roll again, strapping rope around it as I went. A flash of light burst across the sky, condensing for an instant to reveal the path of a river of light through the sky, then disappeared into dark. Above me, black clouds rushed about the sky, while below me the raging water churned. Like a bug that has fallen on its back into a stream, our boat was propelled out of control.
Crack
I turned, fearing that our boat had split. Water was spilling over the bundles of reeds that formed the sides. I called to Manhera to help bail, but the wind captured my voice. As I reached for a jar, I felt the little hairs on my body stand up on end. Again, fire from the sky lit the air, and Manhera caught my eye as she rose from where she sat, a bag in her hands.
“Sit down!”
The wind grabbed my words, and swept up Manhera, as the hungry river flung the boat, and forced Manhera overboard into its cavernous open mouth.
Before she could disappear behind us, I grabbed the oars, fighting to turn the boat, to somehow hold the boat back. I lashed one end of a rope to the boat, coiled the rope and threw the other end toward where Manhera’s head bobbed in the water. But the wind tossed the rope aside, out of her reach.
I turned the boat, pulled in the rope and looked for Manhera. Her head had gone under. Through the dark swirling waters, I searched for her. But, I could not find her. Then, when lightening lit up the sky, her head emerged for an instant. I flung the rope behind her, hoping she might reach for it and catch hold as it sped by. The sky went dark. The rope when taut.
Crack
Did she have the rope? I strained to see. It felt heavy. When lightning flashed again, I was relieved to see that she had flipped onto her back and was being dragged through the water just like a fish we had caught while trolling. But unlike a fish that had been hooked, she would not be able to hold on for long.
I pulled on the oars, battling the wind and the river, to turn the boat from the swiftest part of the current. Next, I yanked the rope in, hand over hand, looping it and praying that she could hold on just a little bit longer. As she neared the side of the boat, I leaned over, grasped her wrists and pulled.
She was naked. The force of the current had ripped her loose fitting tunic from her body. She began coughing and choking, gasping for air, turning on her side in a fetal position. Water burst from her mouth, pouring out onto the bottom of the boat and she lay limp, breathing softly, the rain still battering her body. In those moments, I felt overwhelmed by a mixture of relief and concern, awe and desire. I covered her with a blanket and returned to the oars to try to steady our course.
Through all this, Baskrod had lay quietly in the water-soaked boat.
Now, he called out, “In your great love, oh Adon, answer us. Rescue us from the deep waters. Do not let the floodwaters drown us or the depths swallow us whole. Lead us into still waters.”
I hoped Adon was listening. Our boat was starting to fill with water. I began to bail with a large empty jar. If the boat sank, I might be able to swim to shore, with my finlike feet and my ability to stay under water for longer periods of time than humans. But in their weakened states, Baskrod and Manhera would drown. I must somehow get the boat to safety.
Looking toward the shore made me feel like we were going even faster, as if we were being pulled forward while the river bank was pulled in the opposite direction. The shore blurred. We rounded several bends before I remembered a trick Baskrod had taught me. I watched the path of the current and looked for areas of still waters around the bends. Finally, as the river snaked to the left, I turned the boat far to the left to force it out of the current. As we bore into quiet waters to the left, the current continued close to the right bank before making another turn.
Just as planned, my boat had cruised into an area far to the left, out of the current. Calmer waters spilled up into the reeds, where I finally brought the boat to a stop just beyond the flooded shore. Manhera was sitting up, clutching her blanket closed around her with one hand. I realized that we had lost many of our supplies. Leaves from Manhera’s herbs floated in the water at the bottom of the boat. The rain was still cascading from the clouds above us. I looked around at our surroundings, but in the darkness, there did not seem to be any shelter, only mud.
If there was a settlement nearby, I hoped that the people would be civilized, but I would not be able to find out what manner of people, if any, lived here until morning.
Shakily, Manhera was able to stand. We both helped Baskrod out of the boat, and the two of them leaned on each other, as I dragged the boat onto drier land.
“I’m going to spread this sail on the ground.” I explained. “Then we can sit on it with what is left of our supplies and turn the boat on its side to use as a shelter.”
She grabbed a rope and tied the blanket around her, then they both did their best to help. We were able to huddle under the boat, soaked and exhausted, and before long, Baskrod and Manhera were sleeping. I sat, clutching my knees to my chest, watching the water rise, and praying that it was Adon’s will for the rain to stop. Sitting there, I fought to keep hope afloat, but my emotions finally overwhelmed me, and tears of exhaustion joined the raindrops on my already drenched face, like when two creeks join to become one swollen river that overflows its banks. If the Berserker kept up his drunken rage, and the river flooded the land, we would be safer riding in the boat than sitting behind it.
Chapter 23
Grass - Metlan
Metlan awakened with a start and it took him a few breaths to remember where he was. Apparently he had rolled around in his sleep and was now dangerously close to the edge of his platform, which did not have any railings. He grabbed hold of his silk covering and edged to the center of the platform. He sat up and leaned against the trunk of the tree around which the platform was built. No wonder he had dreamed of falling, sleeping in a place like this.
If he could put aside his fear of falling, all in all, this wasn’t too bad a place. The fliers had given him food and fresh water. The only sounds were the rustling of trees, some insects rubbing their legs, and a few birds calling to each other every now and then. When he looked around all he could see was a maze of branches, trunks, leaves, and hanging pods, along with the flier-made additions of ropes and pulleys. His tree was in an isolated area away from the trees in which the fliers lived, although in the distance he could make out what looked to be some sort of wooden terraced structure in another tree top. He wondered what his platform had been used for before it had become his prison.
On a branch just above where Metlan was sitting, but out of his reach, a bird alighted. It was a large bird with a black face
, a white belly, shiny black wings, and a long black tail. It cocked its head to one side and looked at him, then chirped a kind of harsh sound twice and quickly raised and lowered its wings as it gave out a high pitched chirp. For some reason, with Pergassi nowhere in sight, Metlan was glad for the company.
“I wonder where they all are?” he said out loud to the bird.
The bird turned its head from side to side as if looking for something. Then suddenly it took off from the branch, spreading its wings. As it did so, Metlan could see that the tips of the wings were white, but they were outlined in black. It flew into the forest and returned shortly with a twig in its mouth. He looked in the tree above him and noticed a large round nest of twigs that stuck out in all directions. It must be making some repairs.
Then he heard a twill from below, the bird let out a squawk, dropped its twig and took off in a flutter of wings to return to its nest. Metlan moved to the edge to discover Pergassi far below. How he longed to bury his face in her soft fur. Even though nobody was around, he didn’t dare speak to her. She crouched low at the bottom of the tree, patiently looking up at him.
Earlier the fliers had served him some berries, which he had put aside under some leaves. He now took the twig the bird had conveniently dropped on his platform and used its edge to pry off some of the bark from the tree. These trees had amazingly thick bark, but in some places he was able to pry off a few thin, older pieces. He looked around again, then took out the berries and squished them on a leaf. Metlan dipped the twig in the berry juice and used it as a crude writing instrument to write on the bark: “Safe Spying Metlan”
It was not written very neatly, but the words could be made out. He carefully dried the bark by waving it back and forth with his hand. Next he covered it with another piece of bark and wrapped a vine securely around it. He hoped that Pergassi would remember how to take the bark to Telski and Sholfo and that the boy would keep his promise to deliver the message to the king. Metlan looked around one more time. Nobody was in sight. He spoke two words: “Pergassi, fetch”. Then he dropped the bark and watched it fall to the ground. Just as he had hoped, Pergassi faithfully picked it up with the corner of her mouth.