People of the Sky

by Clare Bell

  Rising above the shelf of rock where it had begun, the Cloud Dance began to wheel. It rotated slowly at first, then gathered speed, lifting to the eye-level of people sitting in the middle tiers of the amphitheater. Not only was it a visual display of great beauty and a haunting blend of sound, but smell was not forgotten either. Waves of scent swirled about Kesbe’s head, each smell bearing the unique identification of its own flier.

  She closed her eyes to better experience this symphony of odor, but the more she drew the smells into her nose, the more certain she became that one was missing. An image formed in her mind of the black and amber aronan.

  And then, abruptly, the missing scent was there, taking its place in the essences of the Cloud Dance. It grew stronger, overwhelming the others and painting the image of the rogue flier so brightly in Kesbe’s senses that the scene before her seemed to fade out. It talked to her, telling her that the flier was hidden, as she had thought, amid a tumble of boulders to one side of the amphitheater.

  She blinked, glanced warily to either side. Would it be so impolite for her to slip away? No one would notice, they were all caught up in the spectacle whirling before them in the sky. Carefully Kesbe scooted backwards on hands, heel and seat until she could reach her crutches. She ducked behind a low mound of sandstone, hunching over as she crutch-walked her way to the side of the amphitheater.

  The smell grew stronger in her nose, enticing her. Yes, the creature was there and it wanted her with it. She thought she was out of the crowd watching the Cloud Dance, but there was still one person seated on the rocks near where she must pass. She recognized the shaman Sahacat by the feather-scale cape draped around the woman’s shoulders and the scorpion-tail necklace about her neck.

  Kesbe blinked. Hadn’t that expanse of sandstone been bare just a moment ago? How could the shaman have moved so quickly? She decided to circle behind Sahacat, not wanting to encounter the healer’s gaze. She was sure she could pass undetected, for Sahacat, like the rest of the Pai, was caught up in the Cloud Dance.

  She was hobbling laboriously along a rock-strewn path above and directly behind Sahacat when the shaman lifted one hand. Kesbe froze, thinking she had been heard or smelled. Sahacat did not turn around. Instead she drew from her robes the black flute carved from the end of an aronan wingspar and began to play.

  Kesbe swung a crutch forward, preparing to pass on. She wondered if the shaman were joining in with the music or whether she was playing something else. It was a strange thing to do since she was not with the rest of the musicians who played for the Cloud Dance. To Kesbe it seemed rude to engage in one performance while witnessing another, although, she noted, Sahacat played so quietly that nothing could be heard.

  The aronan-scent tingled in her nose, beckoning her to the rockfall. Even as she took the next step she shivered, as if someone had showered her with ice. Sahacat’s fingers were moving rapidly on the shaft of the wingspar flute. Though Kesbe swore she could not hear the melody, it seemed as though the shaman’s playing took shape in her mind as a cascade of freezing rain, chilling her, shocking her and washing the effect of the aronan-smell from her.

  For a moment she lost herself and stood teetering on her crutches wondering what obscure impulse had led her to leave the performance before it was over. She was about to turn back when a tendril of odor touched her nose again and remade the image of the black-and amber-winged aronan.

  Hunching her shoulders, she swung around and doggedly made her way toward the rockfall where she was sure the creature had been hidden. She could not help a glance at Sahacat. The shaman was still piping her hidden music. This time the effect on Kesbe was not to shatter the aronan’s image as it had done before. The attack was more subtle. It distorted the sensory visualization Kesbe had created, making it smell, look and sound more insect-like and repulsive. Somehow it woke Kesbe’s memories of her unexpected encounter with Haewi Namij from the inside of her airplane.

  The attack had surprising strength. Kesbe had a difficult time fighting it off, even by drawing on her later experiences with Imiya and his flier. Once again the shaman changed the tone of her piping. Kesbe felt as though Sahacat, by the medium of her silent music, was delving into Kesbe’s old memories to find one she could use. She did.

  As a young child, Kesbe had once rescued a sphinx-moth caterpillar that was being stuffed into a burrow by a large wasp. She had kept the caterpillar in a jar and fed it leaves, hoping to see it metamorphose into a moth.

  Kesbe swallowed hard, unable to face the rest of the memory. She narrowed her eyes at the shaman’s back. Sahacat was starting to play dirty. Aronans weren’t wasps, yet she suddenly felt a wave of repulsion that again nearly turned her back. The tentative scent of the black-and amber-winged flier turned sour in her nose. Why did she want anything to do with this creature?

  She felt shaky, nauseated. She wanted to sit down, but most of all to get away from Sahacat and that damned black flute. She turned, choosing the most direct way out of the amphitheater. Once she judged herself beyond Sahacat’s influence, she sagged down onto a stone, buried her head in her arms, wanting to weep.

  She was so confused! Ever since she had come here, it seemed, her mind was not her own. People and events somehow influenced her much more than they ever had before she came to Oneway. She had been the one to control things, people knew she did as she pleased, little caring what others thought. Now she felt as though she were being tossed around between Sahacat, the Council, Imiya and Nabamida, not to mention that amber and black thing that had leaped out and grabbed her emotions when she least expected it.

  I’ll just get Gooney Berg fixed, deliver her and get out of this crazy place, she promised herself, but that thought made her feel strangely forlorn. A few tears slid out of her eyes even as she berated herself furiously for giving in.

  And then, even while she was floundering her own confusion and despair, she remembered the desperation of the being that had reached out to her from the sinkhole of its own pain, begging her not to turn away.

  What is a promise made to an oversized jour-legged cockroach, she jeered at herself, but could not make it convincing. No, however much she tried, she could not think of the aronan in that way. How could she feel so strongly about someone or something she had barely met, if that word could be used to describe the encounter? Well, Haewi Namij had paved the way, with its delicate charm and its breathtaking beauty in flight. If that wasn’t seduction, what was?

  She found herself grinning even as she sniffled. Seduced by aronans. What an idea.

  The odor still lingered in the air around her, reminding her that the black-and amber-winged creature was still there. It no longer made a sour stink in her nose. The idea of following the scent-trail made her feel better.

  She went behind the rockslide and then down into it, again discarding her crutches and making her way with two hands and her one good leg. She banged her injured knee, winced at the pain but did not turn back. Crawling across a boulder, then ducking through a low cranny made by two slabs fallen together, she saw the back of a robed female figure. The hand held a tether that went to the black and amber aronan, who was singing softly. Its narrow muzzle was at a crevice, through which it watched the Cloud Dance. It scuttled around to face Kesbe as she emerged.

  Nyentiwakay also turned. Kesbe thought that the girl must think her ridiculous to abandon the Cloud Dance and scrabble through the rocks with an injured knee. She steadied herself, then hopped on one leg, bracing herself against the surrounding rocks.

  Wordlessly Nyentiwakay helped her to sit and placed the end of the aronan’s tether in her hand. She raised her head and found herself reflected in many facets in the eyes of the rogue. To her it was no longer something to be described in such words. Nyentiwakay guided her hand to the creature’s neck. She stroked the stiff mat of bristles, bringing its perfume to her nose. The aronan moved close to her, crouching. She found herself sliding an arm around it as if it were an old and dear friend, while it cares
sed her with its antennae. Together they moved to the crack in the rocks, lifted their heads and watched the ending of the Cloud Dance.

  A few feather-scales swirled with the dust across the mesa. The Cloud Dance was over and the Pai had gone back to Tuwayhoima. Kesbe sat on a low boulder, feeling as though she had woken from a hypnotic trance. Nyentiwakay loosed the tether on the black and amber aronan. In response to Kesbe’s look of inquiry, the lomugualt answered that the creature posed no further danger to anyone, at least until the next dance.

  “Do aronans really understand the ceremonials?” Kesbe asked skeptically.

  Nyentiwakay gave her an enigmatic smile and ran fingers lightly along the curve of belly beneath the robe. “They understand that and a great deal more, you will find. Hai, pretty one, you are free.” The lomugualt stepped back from the black and amber, giving it room to spread its wings.

  Kesbe hoped it would choose to remain, but to her dismay, it kicked itself into the air and lifted rapidly. She watched it fade into a dot against the late afternoon sky. She turned to Nyentiwakay, intending to ask the lomugualt how to call it back, but the other was already walking away, taking the path to the village.

  She should do the same, she thought heavily. She had seen much and she was tired. Tired enough to believe that the black and amber had chosen her. Just as she turned to follow in Nyentiwakays tracks, she heard the whirr of wings.

  She squinted up into the slanting sunlight that bathed the mesa. Something wheeled overhead. Her excitement rising, she flung back her head, searching the sky for the aronan. Her aronan.

  For an instant she didn’t see the flier and felt her elation droop. Then it appeared from out of the sunglare, dropping in a steep dive toward her. It came so close, she ducked, lost her balance and fell to the side, losing her crutches. It swept past in a rush of sage-scented air, soared up into a wing-over and began to circle while Kesbe picked herself up. She found that her knee would bear weight and she could do without the crutches, although she limped.

  The aronan’s scent reminded her of Haewi Namij, but she caught a sharp peppery tingle that matched the black and amber’s spirit. She brushed the dirt off her tunic and leggings, staring skyward. The creature wheeled, buzzed her once again and shot upward in a series of loop-the-loops.

  “Show-off!” Kesbe bellowed as it cavorted above her. It tossed its head, dipped a wing and began to spiral down. The ebony in its wings glistened in the sunlight while the amber markings glowed gold. The body was a soft velvet brown that shaded into light tan on the head and white on the antennae.

  With a quick fan of its tail, the creature pulled up and settled, touching down on four slender legs. Kesbe moved toward it. Like a skittish horse, it shied away. It fluttered into the air and landed again.

  Exasperated, she stood still, knuckles on hips. “A show-off and temperamental to boot. Hey, chosovi. Don’t you remember? I’m supposed to be your friend.”

  It waggled its head at her, rolling and unrolling its tongue. Kesbe stuck out hers as far as it would go. The aronan seemed to like that it fluttered toward her.

  She felt a rush of excitement. All her other encounters with aronans had been with someone else present to control and gentle the creature. Now she was alone, facing one that was half-wild and unpredictable. How strong was the bond that had formed during the encounter in Aronan House and the companionship during the Cloud Dance? The creature knew her now. Did it trust her? Those two straight horns above the eyes looked sharp, they might wound even in play.

  The black and amber pranced, side-stepping. It began to sweep its wings in a rotary back-stroke that scooped air toward Kesbe. Billows of scent washed over her. She noticed that the odor changed constantly, each time she breathed, she inhaled a different mix of smells. The base-scent remained the same, but overlying and blending with it was a flux of odor that flowed from sweet to spicy to sharp so rapidly that her nose could barely follow.

  There were smells she had no names for and smells that danced tantalizingly at the edge of her olfactory memory. Certain scents seized her emotions with frightening power. Others passed by with so subtle and delicate an effect she was barely aware of them.

  Surely this must be a language, though so strange and complex, she despaired of being able to answer. But she had answered before, in those moments at Aronan House when she had reached out to this same creature and drawn it from despair. How had she done it? Could she speak in the same language of odor?

  A mischievous spark jumped in the aronan’s eyes. It tossed its head, pranced backwards and crouched, splaying its front legs and closing its wings. Now its scent snapped with spice, as if daring her to approach. Kesbe took one pace toward the creature. With a quick sideways step and whirl, the aronan was suddenly behind her. Before she could react, it dived between her legs, coming up with her on its thorax. It wanted her to ride!

  Off-balance, she flailed, fearing that the creature would spring into the air, tumbling her off. It didn’t. Instead, the aronan stood braced for take-off, waiting for her to get ready.

  The wing swung outward, locking in the dihedral position she had seen Haewi use for gliding. She hitched herself slightly forward, tucking a fold of her tunic underneath as padding. The creature was slab-sided and about as comfortable to sit on as a picket fence, but that wasn’t going to deter her. As the internal muscles that powered its flight engine warmed up, the aronan’s thorax began to vibrate, sending a thrill of anticipation through her—the same feeling she got in the cockpit when Gooney’s props started winding up for a take-off roll.

  There was an edge of anxiety to the feeling this time she didn’t have the protection of a cockpit or even a seatbelt, for that matter. She tested her leg, found that it would bear the strain. The wound was healing amazingly fast. Was that Sahacat’s doing?

  She sat straighter, gripped with her knees until her inner thighs threatened to cramp. With an eager toss of its head, the black and amber cycled its wings through several full strokes, gradually increasing speed until the tips blurred.

  The driving thrum from the aronan’s wing-muscles reached a frequency that threatened to vibrate Kesbe out of her seat, but she squeezed hard with her legs until the resonance passed. Her teeth buzzed together, but she forgot the discomfort as the black and amber began to lift. For an instant she felt a crazy rush of disbelief. Was she really rising into the air on an aronan? Or would she wake from this dream to find herself being pulled from some wreck with a severe concussion.

  Her excitement was abruptly damped when she noticed that instead of rising in a level attitude, her mount was starting to nose down. The tilt became worse the higher it went. It struggled to compensate by beating its wings harder, but couldn’t. Kesbe’s spirits took a similar nosedive. She must be too heavy for the flier after all.

  The black and amber’s tilt grew so steep that she found herself staring at the ground over its head and leaning forward involuntarily. That was just enough to completely unbalance the aronan. It swung nose over and Kesbe experienced a few seconds of hovering inverted close to the ground before she lost her knee-grip.

  The short fall onto her back knocked the wind out of her but did no worse harm. When her vision cleared, she saw the black and amber hovering right-side up a few feet away. It settled, opening and closing its wings as if perplexed.

  A spluttering noise came from behind a thornbush a short distance away. It sounded as if someone were trying to stifle a guffaw. Kesbe knew the voice.

  “Either come here, Imiya, or get the hell out. Take your pick,” she growled, not bothering to use the Pai Yinaye tongue. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. She assumed her tone would convey her message. She saw that the youth had Haewi with him, which only aggravated her discouragement.

  He came, still giggling in a high voice. Then he straightened his face, dodged under his own mount’s wing and began fussing with Haewi’s rear legs. Kesbe thought he was just removing the last of the Cloud Dance streamers but when she looked more cl
osely, she saw he was undoing a cylinder of fired clay strapped to the aronan’s right hind leg. The object was notched lengthwise to slide along the upper limb segment just as a movable weight would slide along a beam balance.

  He took the weight from Haewi to the black and amber. It shifted nervously, lowering its head horns.

  “Hai, pretty one,” he said, holding the weight up by its straps. “You have worn this before. And you want someone who will ride you. Be still, then.”

  Still puzzled, Kesbe came alongside the aronan and stroked it while Imiya deftly attached the clay artifact to its rear leg. It dawned on her what the boy was doing as he frowned and repositioned the ballast cylinder further outboard along the limb segment. She wanted to kick herself for letting her emotions so overwhelm her pilot’s training to make her forget the fundamental requirements of weight and balance. A center-of-gravity correction was all her aronan needed.

  With a sharp grin at her, the boy secured the counterweight then attached and adjusted a similar one on the flier’s offside leg to match. He boosted her aboard. Soon she was aloft once more, this time hovering straight and level. She couldn’t suppress a whoop of triumph, which startled her mount into a climb like a high-velocity lift. Imiya’s upturned face was suddenly ten meters below her.

  Kesbe’s panic turned to exhilaration as she filled her lungs with gulps of air. She shook her head at Imiya, who was beckoning her down. No! I want to stay up here. She saw him scowl, shrug and let his hands fall to his sides. She imagined what he was thinking. All right, let this crazy woman go too high, fall off and kill herself. It’s not my problem.

  It sobered her a little. Aloft, the aronan seemed even less substantial than it did on the ground. Kesbe felt as though she were sitting in mid-air, exposed to the whims of wind or gravity. Even the flimsiest of ultralight aircraft offered at least a harness. The realization that there was nothing to save her from toppling off made the ten meter height feel greater. It was better, she decided, if she didn’t look down. She concentrated on pressing her knees into the mat of bristles that covered the aronan’s thorax.