by F M Andrews
The “island” he was standing on was at least as big as his whole village. The only feature on it was a bowl-like indent at its centre. Curiously he wandered towards the nearest dark line. The closer he came the more obvious it was that it was indeed a deep rift separating his piece of land from the rest. He peered cautiously over the edge and gasped. The huge, sheer cliffs plunged down so far that the trees in the bottom looked like tiny green puff balls. There was a glimpse of reflected light, possibly from water and a flash of white moving fast in the treetops but that was all there was to see. He stood up once more and stared across to the other side of the canyon, noticing with a sinking heart that the gap was far too wide to jump. If his “island” was surrounded by this deep divide he was going to have a problem.
Clearly the shard and its host were not in sight. He wondered if they were down in the chasm below, yet when he closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for the pull Errin had said he would feel, there was only a faint tug and it felt as if it was coming from a very long way away, in the opposite direction from the setting sun behind the mountains. Opening his eyes again he noticed that the sky was getting darker. It was definitely heading towards night and the temperature was beginning to plummet. He stood hugging his arms around himself, shivering and wondering what to do next.
There was no wood for a fire up here on the table top and he could see no way to scale down those cliffs. He unstrapped his blanket from the outside of his pack and huddled within it, staring up at the strange sky as one by one the stars blinked into existence. They were so different from those at home that he almost felt disorientated. He was totally unprepared for this. It had all happened incredibly fast. This morning he was with loved ones, on a world he knew but when Hezrill had been injured and his powers had shown themselves, all he had wanted to do was help, and now he was in an alien world, alone, uncertain and missing Errin so much he could hardly breath. He was only twelve turns old after all. How had he thought that he would be able to do this? That was the problem, he smiled ruefully to himself: he hadn’t bothered to think at all, he had just jumped in with both feet, as usual, not taking any notice of possible obstacles that might get in his way.
A weird sound flooded up from the rift below, startling him out of his self-pity. He crouched into a defensive stance as the noise grew louder and louder. It was a kind of squawking, squealing sound and it reminded him of the evening chatter of the birds coming to roost in the cherry tree outside his bedroom window at home. All at once, the air exploded with the sound of wings and raucous calls as a flock of white birds ascended above the cliff top and spilled across the top of his “island”. He crouched lower, covering his head with his arms, and peered upwards at the passing spectacle. Looking closely, he noticed that what he had taken for birds was actually a mixture of many different creatures. The only things they had in common was the fact that they all had wings, they were all white and none were bigger than a large dog. There were lizards, something that looked like a rat, bats, monkeys, a bear-like thing and many more. They rose in waves, bursting up over the rim of the canyon and then swept, chattering loudly, towards the middle of the earth table top. Once they reached the very centre they began to settle in for the night, all huddling as close as they could to each other.
Turrin blinked. One moment he was alone in a desolate landscape and the next he was overwhelmed with life of every description. The contrast was staggering and he shook his head in disbelief. What was that old saying Errin always used to use? “Always expect the unexpected.” Well, this was certainly unexpected. Never in his wildest dreams would he have pictured the scene before him now. Surprisingly none of the creatures took any notice of him, it was as if they could not see him or perhaps they thought he was one of them, just a little bit bigger and wingless, their focus was now all about finding the best spot for the night. There was a lot of shifting and shuffling as family members found each other and no one seemed to want to be on the edge so this caused a few scuffles but gradually peace began to prevail until there was only the occasional sleepy murmur to be heard. The bowl shape in the middle of the table top was now explained. If this was a nightly occurrence then over the years the ground had been shaped by the multitude of small bodies.
Turrin shivered. It was obvious that all these animals only came together like this for warmth. He was not sure why they left the chasm at night as it surely would be more sheltered and possibly warmer than this exposed position, and he wondered if they would let him join them. He edged closer, one step at a time. No one stirred and eventually he was able to sit down next to a thing that looked like nothing he had ever seen before. It had white fur and two sets of wings, now folded over its head and a long tail curled around its feet. It was most definitely warmer in the huddle but it was also smellier. It was not unpleasant but it did have a distinct animal odour to it.
The little beast he had sat down next to leant into him and sighed, not really waking. Turrin squirmed into position, wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down. Several more bodies pushed up against him, one even giving a contented little trill for a moment. As the little ones had not posted any lookouts he assumed they were safe for the night. Warm, body-heated air hung over the huddle and the soporific sound of deep regular breathing combined to make Turrin’s eyelids want to close, they just felt too heavy to stay open any longer. He was exhausted, it had been a very big day, yet, before he drifted off to sleep he sent a silent plea to the stars above that everyone he knew was safe.
#
Turrin was eventually woken as the bodies that surrounded him began to stir. He yawned, and tried to sit up but there was a small, furry lump still asleep on his stomach. He put a hand down gingerly to pat it, after all he had been trained for many years by Thad not to make any sudden movements towards a sleeping animal, and as his hand brushed warm, soft fur his mind exploded. Images flooded his thoughts. Images of shady tree tops, clear water, moist, damp smells and the sweet taste of ripe fruit that made his mouth water. He snatched his hand back and the images disappeared. His small companion opened its eyes and yawned, showing a set of very sharp, white teeth. Turrin slowly extended his hand again. It sniffed his fingers and then gave them a tentative lick. The image that accompanied this touch was not very complimentary. He saw a distorted picture of himself and the impression of an unpleasant taste. Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about being eaten, he thought to himself, smiling.
Careful not to dislodge his passenger, he sat up further. It stared back at him with large, expressive eyes. There was trust there, but only so much. Turrin was sure that if he made a grab for it, it would either flee or fight. He had noticed that it also had an impressive set of claws. It had a ball shaped body with small, soft, white feathered wings that looked surprisingly powerful. All in all, Turrin decided that it was really quite cute. It was clear that he could see into its mind by touching it but he wanted to do more, he wanted to ask questions and there were so many he wanted to ask. Why did they live in the chasm during the day but come up here to sleep? Why was there no vegetation on the table tops? Were there any others like himself nearby? He just had to figure out a way to get these questions across.
Thinking back to one of Errin’s sessions in the kitchen, a lifetime ago, he remembered her explaining how their talent should allow conversations through touch but the secret was to talk in images. That was all very well but how do you ask a question with pictures? Carefully he composed an image of the canyon as he had seen it and then made it appear as if it was night time. Holding this picture in his mind he touched his little companion on the shoulder. Terror, panic, blurred images of a huge predator stalking beneath the trees, moonlight reflecting in its dead looking eyes, blood dripping from its fangs. Turrin noticed that this beast did not have wings, meaning it was unable to leave the canyon floor. The tiny body began to tremble and Turrin quickly changed the projection to one of the sleeping huddle and gently scratched it behind its ear. The trembling stopped and the ima
ges of many nights of shared warmth flew past instead.
Next Turrin imagined the plateau full of trees. The expressive eyes became confused and the picture he received back was viewed from the bottom of the rift looking back up to the cliff tops. Gale force winds, ladened with dust was howling across the gap, blocking out the sky. Turrin sighed to himself, a really friendly place then! he thought. His whole interaction with his small friend had only taken a short time; however, the sun had popped above the horizon and comfortingly, it looked remarkably similar to Feld’s. A lot of preening, yawning and scratching was going on all around him as everyone was getting ready for another day. Soon wings were being stretched and shaken in preparation for flight, and then, as if a signal had been given, the exodus began. Dust flew and Turrin was left standing, buffeted by the down force of a multitude of small wings until, once again, he was alone on the bleak plateau wondering what to do next.
It was so quiet. The contrast between the vibrant spectacle of a moment ago and the emptiness now was extreme. Slowly he followed them to the cliff edge, as if drawn by a magnet. Peering down he wondered if he should try to follow. Absurdly he missed them already. The cliffs looked even sheerer in broad daylight and unless he himself sprouted wings, there was no way he was going to descend and survive. His stomach rumbled into the silence and he sat down to retrieve some food from his pack. Nibbling on a cow-shaped travel biscuit, memories of Errin’s warm kitchen, both of them laughing as they each tried to outdo the other with their imaginative biscuit shapes made him feel even more alone. Idly he rummaged around the pack with his other hand and came across the countdown sheet. Already one stroke was missing. He sat up straighter. Time was marching on and somehow he needed to get moving also.
It was clear to him that not only was his particular plateau surrounded by a deep rift, so were all the others he could see. He had to find a way to cross these obstacles if he was to travel towards the distant mountains and the pull of the shard. He wondered if he could sprout wings. He had not tried to use his talent since he arrived, maybe he should. Relaxing he very carefully reached out to the world around him. Yes there was energy in the sun, the river below and the small breeze but he could not seem to harness it the same as he could at home. It slipped through his mind's fingers or turned to mist when he tried to corner it. Concentrating hard, he managed to capture a tiny amount but he knew it would not be enough to give him wings.
He released it and slumped down to the ground. Sitting cross legged with his elbow on his knee and his fist supporting his chin he stared off into the distance despondently. What would Errin do? he wondered. He closed his eyes and pictured her. “Use your imagination, think yourself there.” A voice as clear as if she was sitting next to him sounded in his mind. He jumped, startled, expecting to feel her hand ruffling his hair as she did affectionately when he needed help to solve a problem, but he was still very much alone in this desolate place. He took a deep breath and began to analyse the words. What did they mean? “Think yourself there.” He gazed across the impassable rift and focused on a spot directly opposite where he was sitting now. Carefully he slowly complied a picture of himself standing there and imagined himself on the opposite cliff top. Nothing happened! “Teach me to listen to crazy voices in my head,” he snorted.
But a niggly thought crept in, “Maybe you need to use talent, gather power to do this?” He stood and once again focused on the spot but this time gathering as much of the forces around him that he could. It was such a meagre offering compared with what he had experienced in Feld but he hoped it would be enough. Staring intently at his chosen destination he pictured himself standing on the ground, casting a shadow, hair moved by the gentle updraft rising from the cliff face. Abruptly his view changed and he stumbled. One moment he was looking towards the morning sun and the distant mountains and the next he had his back to them. The chasm was still at his feet but now he was standing on the opposite rim. He had done it. He had transported himself from one side of the gorge to the other. Several deep breaths later he began to do a little jig on the spot. “Yes, I did it! I did it. I really did it.” He spun round in a circle, laughing and punching the air. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
There was no stopping him now. Excitedly he turned to face the pull from the distant shard and began walking, a huge smile still lighting up his face. He was about half way across the next “island” thinking that all of these plateaus looked very much the same when a crippling thought stole into his mind. It took all the power from his legs and he staggered, gasping for breath. He bent forward, hands on knees, eyes closed and waited for the shaking to stop. He felt ill. In one over-excited moment he had nearly put the whole mission in jeopardy. He had nearly walked away from his point of arrival without marking it in any way.
It would have been impossible to find it again. Not only would he have failed Feld but he would have been stuck in this would for the rest of his life. It was no good. The more he thought about how close he had come to disaster the more ill he felt. He had to sit down. His legs would no longer support him. He opened his pack and drew out another biscuit and washed it down with a swig from his water bottle. He needed to gather his thoughts. Staring at the ground, Turrin took stock. The positive thing was that he had thought about this before it was too late, he would easily be able to find the place he arrived, but the problem looming large in his mind was how to mark it so he could find it again?
He stood once again and slowly and thoughtfully retraced his steps, hoping an idea would present itself by the time he arrived back at the beginning of his journey once more. He was so grateful for the sun and the mountains for without them he would have had no idea which direction to go in. Strangely it did not seem to take long before he was once again standing on the cliff edge, looking across at what he now thought of as ‘His Island.’ Imagining himself on the opposite cliff and then moving there was so much easier this time. He walked slowly to the middle of the plateau, scuffing his feet, nibbling a fingernail in thought. There were no rocks to make a cairn, there was no way to mark the dirt, it was as hard as rock, and he didn’t have the strength of talent to make a mark of any sort.
Turrin lifted his arms and looked up in a gesture of hopelessness. “I can’t even complete the first instructions,” he thought as tears of frustration trickled down his cheeks unheeded. One splashed onto the dirt, making a dark circle on the ground. He stared at it absently, watching it evaporate. I wonder if I could make this ‘island’ appear darker than the rest? he mused. Maybe if I imagined it? A picture of the red earth near Hope sprang into his thoughts. It was worth a try, he had nothing to lose. For the third time that day he gathered the meagre power from the world around him and then he slowly began to turn in a circle imagining the earth around him turning a lovely dark, rich red colour. It took several circles before he began to notice a slight change. He was exhausted and his hold on the gathered power was loosening. Gritting his teeth he made one last circle, pouring every last bit of his energy into it before the power escaped his hold and fled.
He hung his head, feeling completely drained. He had given it his best and he hoped it was enough. Slowly he looked up and gazed around him and laughed. “Ha! Behold the great wizard strikes again!” The earth had definitely changed colour and he would have no trouble finding this spot again, but instead of a dark, royal red his ‘island’ was now a very sweet light pastel pink.
Night followed day and Turrin found himself on yet another identical plateau far from where he started, curled up with another jumble of small white furry bodies, dosing in their shared warmth. The shard’s pull had become marginally stronger but Turrin was beginning to worry about his timeline. The longer it took to find the shard and its bearer the less time he would have to convince them to come back with him and then to travel back to the pickup point. He was also beginning to wonder who or what the shard bearer might be. So far he had not received a single image from his fury friends of another human. Maybe there were none on this world. But by
far his most urgent concern was the fact that his water was getting perilously low. Tomorrow he would have to find a way to go down into the depths of one of the rifts and fill his bottle from the river he could see flowing at the bottom. He just hoped that it was safe for him to drink. Despite all these worries swirling around in his head the rhythmic breathing and warmth of his companions made it hard to stay awake and in no time it was morning again.
It wasn’t until late that afternoon that he finally found a chasm that held a possibility of transferring down into. He had hoped that he could do this decent in stages, maybe find a ledge halfway down, but there was nothing like that at all. Peering down the steep cliff face he could just make out tree tops like green cushions scattered along the valley floor but they would not make a good landing site. He walked slowly along the cliff edge looking desperately for any possible site to transfer to. The day was at its end and the sun was close to the horizon when he finally spotted a large flat boulder that looked as if it had slid down from the cliff face recently. It was free of any vegetation and it would be easy to imagine himself standing on top of it. Carefully he committed his present location to memory, so that he could transfer back here easily, squinted at his new destination and tried to picture what he would look like standing down there looking out at the river.
The transfer was instant. He would never get used to the flip flop his stomach made each time he ‘leapt,’ but he was now staring across the river’s clear waters towards the massive cliff wall opposite. He had thought that these cliffs looked big from above but they seemed twice the size from below. Far, far above him a thin strip of sky cut a line between them. It was cooler down here in the shade, the light less intense. Green plants grew everywhere from the tall trees in the upper story to the ferns covering the ground. The green leaf matter gave off a damp, humus smell but there was also the fresh, clear smell of water. The river itself was not fast moving nor was it deep but it was clear and it looked clean.