Kiteman of Karanga (2 page)

The next day Karl stood on the last ridge overlooking the desert. Foreboding and terrifying, it stretched away until its horizon danced with heat. He could see nothing but flatness. The desert was said to be endless, yet Karl remembered Bron's last words: "You can find a new life on the other side." Karl hoped it would be so. Often he had seen high-flying terrys come from the desert. Surely they had come from somewhere! Then a shudder ran through him. Even if there was another side, he stood little chance of reaching it.

Karl knew that a kiteman could fly almost anywhere by going from thermal to thermal during the hot part of the day. But when the sun went down, the thermals stopped, and flyers were soon on the ground. Every morning, the sun's heat made new thermals. In Karanga, flyers launched themselves from high up on the steep sides of mountains, about a thousand feet above the ground, in order to intercept the thermals at a point where lift was strong enough to raise a kitewing. With dismay, Karl realized that once he landed on the desert, he would have to continue on foot. On the flat desert surface there would be no way to get launched again.

Several miles to the south, Karl could see the great cinder cone of Angastora, Karanga's highest volcano. From its center a plume of smoke, hot air, and steam towered for thousands of feet. Despite the volcano's reputation for being a treacherous place for flyers, Karl had always wanted to visit the top of Angastora. He remembered Bron telling him how he had flown into it once and had found a usable thermal around the outside of the column of smoke. The rising smoke was a thermal too, but a flyer could not stay in it because he would be unable to breathe or see.

Now, as he watched the smoking mountain, Karl thought that if he could fly to the center of the crater and then catch a ride up around the thermal plume, it might lift him many thousands of feet higher than any ordinary thermal could. Then perhaps he could see across the desert.

A short while later, Karl landed on the rim of Angastora. Beneath him, the snow fields on the side of the volcano gleamed with blinding light. Leaving his wing on, Karl cautiously walked to the inner edge and let his eyes follow the rock of the crater wall as it sank straight down. Nearly a half mile below was a superheated landscape, with smoke and steam issuing from cracks in the rocks. Strange lights flickered, and there was a glow of molten lava. Most kitemen said that flying into Angastora was certain death, but Karl knew from Bron that this was not so.

Suddenly, above the steady rumble of the volcano, Karl heard the thin hissing of air on terry leather. He turned to see another kiteman land nearby, on the edge of the precipice. It was Garth, son of Bron.

"So, coward, don't look surprised. I promised I would follow you!" Garth pulled his spear back, ready to throw.

But as another spear smashed into the rocks just in front of him, Karl knew that Garth had not come alone. More spears would come crashing down any second, if Garth didn't get him first.

Karl had only one chance. He swung around, kicked free from the precipice, and dove down into the volcano. Behind him he heard a surprised shout. Garth had expected him to go the other way, down the outside slope, which would have taken several running steps and made Karl a perfect target. Then, hearing another shout, Karl looked back in astonishment. Garth had followed him into the crater.

Down, down, down. Karl dove until his kitewing hummed with the speed. Then he climbed steeply and brought his wing up and over in a perfect loop so that now he was following Garth. He stayed behind Garth while he looked for the hunters above. One by one, encouraged by Garths shouts, they too were entering the crater.

Karl knew he must act quickly. He could outmaneuver three or four flyers easily, but there were a dozen wings above him now, crowding him deeper and deeper into the crater. He had to try to come up through them.

The wingman on his right, his spear drawn, was closing in fast. Karl pulled back and around, and used his speed to climb on a collision course with the diving hunter. In the second it took for them to converge, the pursuing flyer swerved. With his own spear, Karl slashed his opponent's wing as he brushed by. No longer able to contain all its air, the kitewing dropped and the wingman collided with the hunter below him. There was a splintering crunch as both damaged wings began to spiral out of control. Anguished cries echoed from the crater walls as the doomed men whirled to their deaths in the lava far below.

More kitemen were bearing down on Karl from above. He had to get away quickly. Diving again, this time straight down, he sped past Garth faster than before, faster than he had ever dived a kitewing. The framework of his wing began to vibrate and bend.

As he pulled out of the dive Karl headed straight for the huge column of smoke rising in the center of the crater. Like a cloud, it would provide refuge from his pursuers; but unlike a cloud, it was poisonous to breathe. As he entered the column, wisps of vapor swept past him. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as the smoke engulfed him. He doubted that any of Garths band would follow him through the smoke. They would fly around it, which would take longer.

Cautiously, Karl sniffed the air. A biting pain seared his nostrils. He would not be able to stay hidden long, for he had to hold his breath and fly blind the whole time. It was impossible for any flyer to keep a wing upright for many minutes without something to look at for reference. Not disturbing his wing from what he guessed was level flight, and judging his speed by the sound of the air on the terry leather, Karl continued. He hoped he was going straight through the center of the column of smoke.

Loud shouts came from behind him. Karl's wing began to jerk and bounce. He tried not to shift his weight as the air grew rougher. The bumps meant lift; he might even exit the smoke higher than he had entered it.

Karl tested the air often now because he was running out of breath. The shouts behind him seemed echoes to his alarmed thoughts. He leaned forward, pulling the bar under his chest in order to go faster. His lungs screamed for air. He had to get out of the poisonous smoke quickly. His wing picked up speed. The shouts behind him became more frantic. When he didn't think he could hold his breath a second longer, Karl opened one eye slightly. Instantly, a stinging pain blinded it. He shut his eye as the wind drew the tears away. He must breathe! He let the air out of his lungs and started to inhale. The air was sweet. He opened his eyes as a few smoky swirls of vapor swept by. He had made it. He was clear now on the other side of the smoke.

But even as he was gasping for more air, Karl realized that he was in a dive that was quickly becoming a spiral. He checked it by straightening his wing and leveling off smoothly. Then he flew back in close to the smoke, where the air was bumpy with lift. With the few moments he had gained he would climb as fast as the thermal would take him. Once he was above his pursuers, he would be free. No Karangan could catch him in a thermal.

As Karl worked the currents at the edge of the rising column of smoke, the shouts from the other side faded. Then they were silenced by a harsh scream. Not far below Karl saw Garth come out of the smoke in a steep spiral, plummeting downward. All at once Garth righted his wing so violently that the action was immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering terry bone. Now, with his wing crippled and barely controllable, Garth fluttered deeper yet, and crashed onto a tiny ledge jutting out from the crater wall. A curtain of smoke hid him as he yelled to his companions to save him.

Karl kept climbing. By the time the hunters had come around the column of smoke, he was well above them. Although they had stopped chasing him for the moment, he knew that they would resume their hunt soon. Skimming over the crater rim, Karl flew north, paralleling the edge of the desert. He would put as much distance between himself and Garth's band as he could.

A feeling of confidence came over him. If he could evade a dozen of Karanga's best flyers inside the crater of Angastora, he could survive on the desert. Now, however, he needed a hiding place and food and water for his journey.

Presently Karl landed on a ridge overlooking the desert. He tied his kitewing tightly to some shrubs so that an unexpected gust wouldn't lift it up and smash it down again. Then he scouted the slope on foot until he found a small cave hidden among the rocks. Hiding his belongings in the cave, he took just his spear and knife and returned to the top of the ridge. He strapped himself back into his kitewing. One of the short-horned antelope that ranged in Karanga's valleys would provide him with all the meat he would want.

Taking a few steps down the back side of the steep ridge, Karl dove into the air again. As he glided out over the grassland, he scanned the valley floor for game. A half mile away he spotted three antelope grazing, so he shifted his weight forward to steepen his descent and pick up speed.

Karl could not imagine hunting on foot. Because of their kitewings, Karangans hunted over vast distances and never knew hunger. There were tales, though, of the times before they had wings, times when the people often went hungry. But they paid a high price for their easy hunting; they had to hunt the terry. Only terry skins would make a kitewing. Other animal skins were too small and far too thick and heavy. Only the terry's bones would do for the framework of a kitewing. Terry bones were hollow and light and springy, and they did not become brittle when dry. No other kind of bone nor any kind of wood was strong enough or light enough.

The terry! Karl thought. But for the terry, he would have become a great hunter, so nearly perfect was his skill with a wing. Why had he panicked at the terry hunt? Why had he been unable to keep his courage up and just hang onto the stick? Why? He had no answer, even though the question went round and round in his mind and made him feel rotten and sick. Perhaps it would be better to be dead than to feel like this.

But the nearness of the antelope pulled him away from his gloomy thoughts. He was coming up fast on them now, and as his shadow fell across them they looked up and bolted. Karl chose the middle animal and tracked it as it streaked across the flat terrain.

In a moment he was directly over it. Diving steeply, he rammed his spear down into the animal's neck. The antelope stumbled and fell as Karl pulled his wing up into a climbing turn to work off his excess speed. Then he glided to a gentle landing a few feet away, slipped out of his harness, and ran to his quarry. Stepping on one horn, he cut the antelope's throat with a quick motion. In a few minutes it had stopped kicking.

As he skinned the antelope, Karl felt lucky for having found game so close to his temporary camp. While he was waiting for the meat to dry, he would make a water sack out of the terry leather he had brought with him. It would have to be a large sack, almost half as tall as he was, but he knew that the terry leather would hold the weight and that water would stay fresh in it for days.

Karl cut the meat into thin strips for drying. As he worked he glanced back at Angastora in the distance. It had been Bron who had told him the trick of flying close to the plume to get lift while being careful to stay out of the deadly smoke. A wave of grief overcame him. Bron was in his every thought and action. He could do nothing that did not recall him. "It was my fault," the great hunter had said. But Karl blamed himself. Knowing that his failure had caused the death of his teacher and friend made him wonder why he was even bothering to make preparations to survive the journey. He should just fly out into the desert!

But his hunter's training made his hands keep working. He tied the cut-up meat in the skin, folded his kitewing, and began the hike back to his temporary camp. He searched the sky constantly as he walked, for if he were spotted by Garth's wingmen now, he would be vulnerable.

Outside the cave, Karl made a rack out of brush and hung the strips of antelope meat to dry. In a couple of days the meat would be hard, and it would keep for months. He threw the antelope skin on the ground for a bed and then took out a sheet of terry leather and began sewing a water bag. As he worked he kept one eye on the sky. He would not let Garth catch him unawares again.

A few days later, Karl climbed to the top of the ridge behind his campsite. He stood in the shade of a boulder and scanned the midmorning sky. At first he felt relieved to see the blue sky clear of any specks, but suddenly a large shadow passed across the rocks. Karl dove under the boulder and peered out.

Three kitewings flew silently above him and continued on their way. With a stifled gasp of relief, Karl realized that he had not been seen. Across the valley, he spotted another flight of three wings low down, ridge soaring, and searching as the first group was doing. Garth's posse was making a major effort to rout him out and there was not a moment to waste. He raced back to his campsite.

Karl worked quickly. His preparations for the desert crossing were complete. He gathered up his hunting kit, lashed his water bag to the frame of his kitewing, and got into the straps. Then he forced himself to look at the desert. There was no time to delay; at any moment, one of the hunting parties might reappear. Taking a running start downhill, Karl launched his heavily loaded wing toward the desert, diving down the slope until he had speed enough to move out over the flat expanse and search for thermals.

Nobody would follow him now.

All afternoon, Karl flew west. By late in the day, Karanga had fallen beneath the eastern horizon. Yet, as Karl squinted against the lowering sun, he could see no break in the desert, only the immense flatness that seemed to go on forever. The thermals were weakening as the sun sank, and Karl knew he was on his last glide of the day.

A short while later, Karl's wing flared back and settled. He touched the ground running. Then he slowed down and stopped. He climbed from the straps and rubbed his stiff muscles. The desert was absolutely still. There was no breeze, no chirping of insects, nothing. There was only a quiet as vast as the desert itself. Here and there, the sand had been heaped into little dunes a foot or two high, and in the distance he saw some rocks as big as crouched men.