Mid-Flinx (10 page)

“I’m human. A person,” he corrected himself. “Just like Teal and her children. They are your children?” Teal nodded and smiled.

He extended his open palm. Dwell ignored it, while his sister put a finger to her lips and gazed up at him in wonder.

“You’re awful tall,” the boy proclaimed.

“Am I?”

“Yes,” put in Teal. “Very.” Quite unexpectedly, her eyes grew wide and she retreated several steps, pulling the children with her. Flinx tensed immediately, until it finally struck him that
he
was the source of her sudden distress.

“What is it, what’s the matter?”

“Skyperson. You are a skyperson, from beyond the Upper Hell!”

A low growl rose from the giant furcot behind him. It was echoed by Tuuvatem and Moomadeem. Responding to the growing emotional upheaval, Pip rose from Flinx’s shoulder to interpose herself between the big carnivore and her master. Her wings buzzed furiously.

Instinctively he reached toward the needler holstered at his waist—and hesitated. The emotions he was sensing were fear and uncertainty, not anger.

“It’s true that I’m not from this world,” he confessed, “that I’m from up there.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of the distant sky. “Why does that frighten you? I mean you no harm, and I owe you my life.”

She relaxed somewhat, still watching him guardedly and keeping the children behind her. “There is a well-known tale oft told around the night fires. Of tall persons with different-colored hair and eyes and stunted feet who came among us long ago. But—you have the right eyes.”

“Go on,” he encouraged her.

“They came to hurt the forest, and none of them could emfol. Like you.”

“I may be wrong about that,” he replied. “I think I can do a little of this emfoling. We may just be using different words to describe the same thing. What happened to these skypeople who looked like me?” Evidently he had been preceded here, and if Teal’s account was to be believed, some time ago.

“They died,” she replied simply. “It was inevitable. They hurt the forest and the forest hurt back. They wanted the persons to help them, and of course the persons helped the forest instead.”

“How did these skypeople get here? Do you know?”

“The story says they fell from the Upper Hell in big pieces of metal. They brought more metal with them.” She pointed into the trees. “They fell in that part of the world.”

Flinx checked a sensor on his service belt. He was not surprised to find that both it and Teal were pointing in the direction of the metallic anomaly the
Teacher
had detected from orbit. So the anomaly that had drawn him to this location was an old shuttlecraft—or something more.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“The story does not say exactly. Several generations, at least. It was when there was only one tribe of persons. Now there are six. The Tallflower, the Sinvin, the Calacall, the Firsthome, the Seconds, and the Redflitter. We are Tallflower.”

Flinx searched for an analogy. “Since there are six tribes here, it shouldn’t be difficult for you to grasp the idea of there being many tribes of skypeople. Actually, there are hundreds.”

“Hundreds!” Kiss’s eyes grew even wider.

“Yes.” He smiled down at her. “And I come from a completely different tribe than the one that came here so long ago to cause trouble. In fact, I know less about them than you do.” He didn’t know that for a fact, but felt it was a reasonable enough assumption.

To his surprise, it was the big furcot who responded. He still wasn’t used to having the animals participate in the conversation.

“I think he may speak truth.” Saalahan snorted warningly at Pip, who darted past the massive skull. The furcot followed the warning by taking an irritated swipe at the minidrag, missing her completely.

“That’s enough,” Teal admonished the creature.

“Pip, get over here!” Making a reluctant landing on her master’s shoulder, the minidrag fixed the furcot with a wary eye.

Saalahan turned and, in a diffident demonstration of effortless power, leaped easily across to the next large branch. Moomadeem and Tuuvatem elected to remain with the humans.

“The cubs don’t go with their mother?” Flinx inquired.

“Moomadeem and Tuuvatem aren’t Saalahan’s cubs,” Teal corrected him.

He knew he was overlooking something vital. “They’re adopted, then?”

Dwell looked at his mother. “This man speaks strangely. And he sounds funny, too.”

Teal tried to explain. “Furcots don’t have children.”

Flinx blinked. “Then where do they come from?”

She continued as if lecturing an infant on the most obvious thing in the world. “When a person is born, their furcot comes to them. Person and furcot are always tied—here.” She put a hand over her heart. “What about your snake? Where did she come from?”

“She came—” He stopped, remembering. To this day he wasn’t sure if he’d found the minidrag or she’d found him. But at least he knew she’d been born. He’d seen her give birth himself.

“Never mind,” he told the woman. “You can explain it to me later.”

Dwell eyed Pip curiously and she returned the boy’s stare. “Does everyone in your tribe have one of those?”

“No. Among my tribe, Pip and I are unique.”

“It is good to be unique,” noted Teal approvingly. “You are fortunate—except that you have no furcot.” Again she shook her head. “It is a terrible thing for a person to be without a furcot. I cannot imagine how one would live.”

Flinx grinned as he nuzzled the back of Pip’s head with a fingertip. “We manage.”

“You say you are not of the tribe of skypersons that came before,” Teal pressed him. “Yet if you can emfol, how is it that you stepped into the mistyr?”

“I’m new to this place,” he replied. “I’ve only been here a little while.”

“That’s plain enough to see,” observed Dwell sardonically as he picked at a nearby branch. He had exposed a cavity in which tiny bright red creatures dashed about on pink legs. They hopped around energetically, refusing to abandon their little celluloid caldera as the boy teased them with a twig.

“You see, Mother? He can’t help us.” His eyes darted about rapidly. “We’ve been too long out in the open.”

“Dwell is right.” Moomadeem glanced upward with all three eyes. “Still very close to Hell.”

“You speak of the Upper Hell.” Flinx followed the antics of the tiny red hoppers with interest. “Does that mean there’s a Lower Hell?”

Teal sighed. “You are truly ignorant.”

“Thank you,” he replied cheerfully.

“There are seven levels to the world. Persons choose to live on the third. At the top is the Upper Hell, at the bottom the Lower. Very few persons have gone there and returned. More have visited the Upper, but it is nearly as dangerous. There are sky-devils and more.”

“If it’s so dangerous this near to open sky,” he asked, “then what are you doing here?”

“Trying to find a bearing,” she responded. “We are in bad trouble . . .”

“Flinx,” he told her, “and Pip you already know.”

“We were out gathering. This is the season of the sugararries. They need a lot of sunshine and so only grow close to the Upper Hell. It takes a brave family to go gathering.” She touched the two small sacks fastened to her belt. One was half full.

“Those who bring back sugararries are accorded much honor by their tribe. After some have been given to the Home-tree, the rest are divided.”

“So you do it for honor?” Flinx inquired.

“Everyone shares.” Teal looked at him sideways. “Without sharing, a tribe could not survive. Everyone relies on every other person and furcot. That is the way of survival.”

“I understand,” he assured her. Cooperation would be vital in a place like this, where a harmless-looking blossom was as likely to assassinate as astonish you. It occurred to him that while he had yet to see a large, mobile, tree-bound predator—the furcots excepted—they must certainly exist. “How did you get lost?”

“Jerah was much better at finding the way than I,” she explained quietly. “He chose our course.”

“Your husband?” he asked. She nodded. He lifted his gaze, expecting at any moment, to see a larger version of the boy Dwell emerging from the verdure. “Where is he now? Out trying to find the way back?”

“He’s dead,” she told him.

The emotions he sensed within her were as confused as they were powerful.

Chapter Seven

“Jerah was a good hunter,” she went on. “Usually it was he and Ark and Brean who brought back the best food, the biggest game. It is the hunters who know the wide ways of the world, who can out-track and follow-back and find their way home.

“But one hunter can only carry so much. In certain things it is traditional for entire families to participate. Children are especially good at gathering sugararries. Their small fingers can fit more easily between the thorns.

“I always felt safe with Jerah. He believed he could find a place where the sugararries grew thicker and sweeter than anywhere else. We walked a long ways without finding any, but Jerah was sure, so we kept going.”

“What happened?” Flinx’s tone was subdued. Recognizing and responding to her master’s feelings, Pip assumed a more solemn aspect than was usual for her.

Teal chose her words carefully, remembering. “We felt safe and had relaxed. The sugararry patch Jerah led us to was virgin and dripping with sweetness. After eating their fill, the furcots spread out to scout the area. While they were gone, Jerah decided to climb up a little ways to see how high the patch grew. I remember him calling down to us from a branch far above. The light was brilliant so high up. Sugararry vines need lots of light.” Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact.

“That’s when the diverdaunt struck. Jerah almost got away—he was a very quick man. Ordinarily, if a diverdaunt doesn’t kill its prey on the first strike it gives up and flies away. But this one was very persistent. It kept striking, and Jerah fought back. We could hear it clearly. There was a lot of yelling and screaming.

“Jerah had no chance to use his snuffler.” She indicated the tubular weapon strapped to her back. “Before the furcots could climb up in time to help, both he and the diverdaunt came crashing down through the green, locked in each other’s grasp. By the time a tangle of creels caught them up and halted their plunge, the diverdaunt was dead. But Jerah couldn’t free himself from its talons. It landed on top of him and he struck a branch.

“The fall broke his back. There was nothing that could be done.”

“I’m sorry,” Flinx whispered. “I don’t know what to say.” Reaching out to her, he sensed only regret. There was no surge of deeply felt emotion, no sense of overpowering loss. The children were nearly as stoic.

Clearly, self-control was an important component of survival on this world. Regrets had to be expressed economically and then put aside. Sorrowful moping was a sure prescription for joining the already deceased. You needed your wits about you at all times. Bawling and crying might attract curious predators.

“A second diverdaunt struck at Dwell and Kiss,” Teal was saying. “There must have been a flock of them patrolling that part of the first level. Saalahan knocked it down and Moomadeem and Tuuvatem tore it apart. After that there were no more attacks.

“But Jerah was the one who knew the way back to the Home-tree. Saalahan has tried, but furcots are not explorers. They keep to their humans and follow their lead. We have been lost now for many days.”

Flinx surveyed the all-encompassing sea of viridity, wherein every direction looked the same as any other. The diffuse sunlight offered no help in finding one’s way. “I sympathize. There isn’t anything that stands out as a landmark. Or treemark.” He nodded toward Moomadeem. “What about scent? Couldn’t your furcots find their way back by smell?”

“The forest is showered with smells,” she replied. “And a scent-trail is only good for one day, until the night’s rain.”

“Lost,” grunted the big furcot, peering across at them from the branch on which it sprawled. As Flinx looked on, Saalahan proceeded to clean all three paws on the left side, one after another.

“You spoke of ‘the night’s rain.’ ” Flinx turned his attention back to Teal. “If it rains a lot during the night you wouldn’t be able to use the stars to guide you, either.”

“A lot?” She gave him a funny look. “It rains
every
night.”

“There must be exceptions. It can’t rain every night.”

She just smiled at him. “The rain starts at dusk and stops an hour or so before the dawn. Every night. In between the rain and the sun we see the stars and the moons, but not for very long and then only when someone is brave or foolish enough to ascend to the uppermost reaches of the first level.”

“I see how you could have trouble finding your way around.”

“We have tried,” she told him. “We crossed back and forth many times looking for signs, but the forest grows back so quickly that scuffed bark and broken leaves are remade overnight. There are plants that sprout so fast you can see them growing.”

“So your village, your ‘Home-tree,’ lies on the forest’s third level?” He considered thoughtfully. That meant not only direction but altitude had to be taken into consideration. He could overfly the community numerous times in the
Teacher
’s shuttle without spotting its location buried deep within the hylaea. Nor would it reveal itself to instrumentation, fashioned as it doubtless was of native, natural materials.

What if they had scavenged metal from the original, downed ship? Of course, the forest might have completely reclaimed that by now, but there was one other possibility.

“Could you find your way home from the place the bad skypersons lived when they came among you?”

She started and her eyes widened slightly. “No one goes there! It is the site of past horrors; an evil, unnatural place. The forest there is still trying to heal itself.”

“Yes, but at least you know where it is. If you
were
there, could you find your way back home?”

She glanced briefly at Saalahan, who responded with a sleepy-eyed sniff. “It is a long way, but—yes. That way is well known to all the people.”

Pip chose that moment to loft from Flinx’s shoulder. The minidrag darted across to Kiss and paused to hover before the little girl, the flying snake’s pointed tongue flicking in and out in the direction of the child’s face. Nearby, Tuuvatem stiffened but made no move to intervene. Wide-eyed with delight, Kiss stared back at the minidrag. Then she threw up her hands to mock-shield her eyes and turned away, giggling musically.

Flinx let the pleasure of her reaction wash over him like a splash of cool water even as he sensed the flying snake’s more primitive but no less affable reaction.

“Gotcha!” Displaying uncommon quickness, Dwell leaped at the minidrag from behind with hands outstretched.

They clutched only empty air. Pip simply rose a meter vertically and paused there, brilliant wings humming loudly. Slitted eyes considered her would-be young captor. Letting out a growl, Dwell whirled instantly and jumped as high as he could. Pip zipped to one side.

Kiss quickly joined in the game, and the three were soon flashing through the air, Pip on wings of scarlet and azure, the children by means of vine and branch. The furcots watched indifferently, mildly disproving of the exorbitant waste of energy.

“Your little companion is very understanding of children,” Teal observed.

Flinx stood close to her, observing. “I think Pip’s enjoying it as much as they are. I don’t play with her as much as I once did.”

As he watched he felt slightly guilty knowing that, unlike his newfound friends, he could return home whenever he wished. His positioner would guide him infallibly back to the shuttle. All he had to do was avoid the rabid attentions of the local flora and fauna. That would mean abandoning this family to whatever fate might provide. Teal was putting on a brave face, but unbeknownst to her, Flinx had been reading her emotions all along. She was worried, and afraid.

It was clear that despite the best efforts of the furcots, she and her children weren’t likely to see their home again without his help. Although he knew next to nothing about this world, he thought he had found a way to do this.

“I think I can help you, Teal.”

As she spoke she caressed the thin, wispy petals of a black flower. It seemed to tremble in response. “How? You are more of a stranger here than we.”

He touched the positioner. “This tells me where my shuttle—my transportation—is located. Up there,” and he gestured skyward, “is my sky ship. It knows the location of the bad skyperson’s place.” Again he indicated the positioner. “With this I can keep track of both places at once, as well as my own location. I can follow its directions to the place built by the bad skypersons. If Saalahan is right, from there you can find your home.”

She wanted to believe but remained skeptical. “You can tell all that from a little gray pod?” He nodded. “If you are wrong we could become more lost than we are now.”

He grinned gently. “If you’re already lost, what difference does it make if you become more lost?”

“Try explaining that to a human,” Saalahan whispered to Moomadeem,

“We can always find this spot again,” Flinx insisted. “Surely you don’t think I’d go wandering off into this forest without being confident of finding my way back?”

“I don’t know . . .” She was still unsure.

“You know how many days you’ve been away from your Home-tree.” She nodded slowly. “Give me that many days to find a way back. If by that time we haven’t found the place where the bad skypersons lived, we’ll come back here.” He kicked the solid wood underfoot.

“Don’t do that!” Instantly alert, she reached out to put a hand on his chest. Her eyes were darting in all directions, and Flinx saw that the furcots had risen sharply from their near-sleep.

“What is it, what’s the matter?” He tried to look every which way at once.

“Stupid skyperson.” Moomadeem stretched and yawned. “Better learn fast.”

Flinx jerked his head in the young furcot’s direction. “What was that all about?”

Teal hastened to explain. “When you strike a branch like that, you send out vibrations. Those who live in the forest are very sensitive to such things. For example, you could draw the attention of a Chan-nock.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I see your point.” Moomadeem was right. Once again he felt like a prize incompetent. It made him that much more determined to see this family safely home.

Meanwhile he would learn. He’d have to. He couldn’t rely on Teal and her children and furcots to look after him every minute of the day.

“That way?” she asked him, pointing.

“Give me a minute. I want to be sure before we start out, and frankly, I need to sit down for a little while. I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“Not when the
griple
had you,” Tuuvatem reminded him.

He smiled embarrassedly as he found himself a smooth, bare place on which he might sit. Only when he was certain it was solid, toothless, and fangless, however, and unlikely to be concealing anything capable of tearing the bottom out of his pants, did he actually sit down. Crossing his legs, he began to work with the positioner. Pip landed gently on his right thigh and peered curiously at the softly glowing readout.

Teal came over to watch him work, but the children were more interested in play. They amused themselves while the three furcots slipped into a contented semislumber.

He felt her curiosity. She was a study in contrasts: outwardly assured and in complete control, inwardly rife with turmoil and uncertainty. That was natural enough, given her situation. She was putting on a brave face for the sake of her offspring.

To his relief, the
Teacher
responded promptly via the shuttle’s relay. It would take only a moment for it to plot the best route. Unfortunately, it could only provide linear directions. In the course of following the prescribed path, they might have to detour up or down to accommodate local conditions.

While he waited, he felt himself surrounded by that inscrutable dark green warmth. It fuzzed his perception while simultaneously invigorating his spirit. He likened it to a nurturing, all-encompassing blanket that was not quite transparent. Something was at work here deserving of deeper study, something stronger than the exotic aromatics that permeated the cloying atmosphere and threatened to overwhelm his olfactory senses. Further study would have to wait, as would everything else, until he had helped these people find their way home.

The
Teacher
responded to his request by providing precise directions in the form of a blinking arrow on the positioner’s screen. Set between a pair of notches, it pointed the way toward the metallic anomaly he had first noticed from orbit. All they had to do was walk, keeping the arrow positioned between the notches. Via the shuttle, the
Teacher
would track them while providing automatic updates.

The ship also calculated the distance to be traveled. It was respectable without being overawing; about what he had expected. After all, Teal and her late mate had managed to cover the same distance with two children in tow.

He rose and pointed. “We go that way.”

Teal moved to stand close to him, staring in wonder at the positioner. “It could be, I suppose.” She encompassed the section of forest ahead with a wave of her hand. “Somewhere out there.”

“There’s more.” He looked down at her. “If we pass close by your Home-tree I will probably be able to tell. I can—He searched for a way to explain his talent. “—I can’ sort of ’emfol’ people.”

That made her frown. “Only plants can be emfoled.”

“I said ‘sort of,’ ” he reminded her.

“You
are
different. Is this a true thing you are telling me?”

He nodded. “I can often tell how people are feeling. Not what they’re thinking, but how they’re feeling.”

Her gaze challenged him. “Then you know what I am feeling, right now?”

He closed his eyes. Not because it was necessary, but because he thought it might make his ability more comprehensible to her. “Nervousness. Uncertainty. Hope.” He blinked.

She nodded slowly. “Emfoling people. What a peculiar notion. How many other skypeople can do this?”

“As far as I know, Teal, I’m the only one.”

She nodded solemnly. “So you are the only one of your tribe.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I hope it is not so. Because if it is, then you, Flinx, are more lost than we are.” She turned and called out to her children, beckoning them to rejoin her.