neetha Napew - The Time Of The Transferance

“Have this in a minute.” Cautious grunted as he pulled on the post. “Why not.”

“I just can’t.”

Something struck Jon-Tom in the small of the back, propelling him into the corral through the gap he and Cautious had opened. The raccoon sailed in alongside him. Man and coon rolled to their feet in time to see a dozen grinning, well armed villagers starting to put the posts back in place. Cautious’s knife lay next to the feet of a muscular wolf. He picked it up and stuck it into his belt. They’d approached so quietly neither Jon-Tom or Cautious had heard them until heavy feet landed in their backs.

Now they resecured the posts. Their tongues hung out as they regarded their new prisoners. Not a word was spoken.

“Plenty quiet people for sure.” Cautious started forward. “I can climb this fence, I think.” He started forward until an arrow landed in the ground a foot in front of his big toe. Jon-Tom looked up into the trees. There wasn’t much visible among the branches. Intimations of bows and flashing eyes.

“That’s where they came from. That’s why we didn’t hear them sneaking up behind us. They’ve probably been watching us ever since we came out of the river, trying hard not to laugh.”

“Plenty dangerous people all right. Think nobody watching, they watching all the time.”

“Not wasteful, though.” Jon-Tom nodded at the arrow. “That could have gone through your foot.” He turned away from the corral wall. “Pretend we’re stuck, that we’ve given up.”

“We are and maybe I have.” The raccoon sat down heavily.

“Not necessarily.”

“What are you talking about? You’re just as helpless as I am,” said Teyva.

“There’s a six-inch blade concealed in the bottom of my staff.” Jon-Tom gestured with his ramwood stick. “And I have an instrument in my pack.”

“I don’t think music will help.”

“You don’t understand. I’m a spellsinger.”

“You’ll never be able to spellsing yourself out of here, man. You won’t have time.”

Jon-Tom turned, studied the dark silhouettes of the trees. “Maybe, maybe not. Is that why you haven’t flown off? Because you’re afraid they’ll put an arrow through you before you can get above the treetops?”

The stallion turned away. “Oh no, that doesn’t worry me. I could be up and gone before the quickest among them could take aim. They don’t worry about that, though, because they know I can’t fly out of here. Because they know what’s wrong with me.”

Jon-Tom rested a hand on the enormous wing which lay folded back against the stallion’s right flank. He could feel the muscles beneath, the play of tendons the size of his thigh. The horse looked strong enough to fly off with a grand piano strapped to his back.

“You look all right to me. If you’re not worried about being shot down and there’s nothing wrong with you then why the hell don’t you fly out of this lizard coop?” He tugged appraisingly on one of the leather straps that hung down the stallion’s sides, the black leather that was the mark of a chosen victim. “If as you say there’s something wrong with you, I sure as hell can’t see it.”

“That’s not surprising. It’s not something that shows.” Teyva swallowed in embarrassment. “You see, I am afraid of heights.”

Jon-Tom stared open-mouthed at the stallion. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t fated to personally make the acquaintance of every psychologically damaged individual in Mudge’s world.

As for the villagers, they were delighted to welcome two new additions to the night’s feasting. To make them feel at home they busied themselves adding two new small spits to the pair of larger ones. The fire pit was widened. The main course would now be preceded by two appetizers. Surely a benign providence had smiled on them, blessing them with fresh food which walked right up and practically begged to be consumed.

Why, one of them wouldn’t even have to be skinned.

Jon-Tom studied the posts from the inside. The blade hidden in the base of his ramwood staff would make short work of the ropes holding them together, but it would also expose him to the attentions of the bow-wielders in the trees overhead. He doubted they’d allow him enough time to cut his way through.

“We in stew for sure.”

“Maybe not. Mudge and Weegee are still out there.”

The coon blew his nose. “Nothing plus nothing gives nothing. I think we better try and figure way out of here ourselves. Don’t think you ought to count on your otter.”

“He’s come back for me before.”

“Did he have new lady with him at that time?”

“Well, no.”

“Then you ain’t talking ‘bout same otter no more. Which you think he choose between? New life with her or old friendship with you?”

Instead of making that choice Jon-Tom wandered over to Teyva. The stallion paid him no mind as he inspected the arrangement of leather straps that dangled from neck and back, and wondered if their captors would try dressing him in similar garb. In his heart Mudge was coming to save him, but his mind agreed with Cautious. They’d better try and figure a way out by themselves—and fast. Teyva represented the best chance of making an escape. Work on him instead of the fence.

“A flying horse that’s afraid of heights. Doesn’t make any sense.”

The stallion glanced back at him. “Neither does a spellsinger from another world, but you’re here.”

Jon-Tom adopted his best professorial tone, the kind he used when tutoring befuddled first-year law students. “Why don’t you stop staring at that fire pit and relax? I’ve had some experience in matters like this. Maybe if we work on it we can find a cure for what’s ailing.your mind.”

“I am relaxed. Just as relaxed as anyone can be when they’re preparing to be the main course at a cannibal feast. As for your curing me, man, you are welcome to try, but I must warn you that as things stand now I begin to get nervous rearing on my hind legs because it puts my head so far from the ground. On the ship I spent all my time in my room because I couldn’t bear to look over the railing. The surface of the ocean was too far below.”

Not good, Jon-Tom told himself. “Have you always been this way?”

“As far back as I can remember. When I was a colt I used to run and hide from my playmates because I couldn’t bear to watch them soaring freely through the air, playing tag with storm clouds, while my own inner fears bound me to the earth. Oh, I tried to fly, man. Believe me I tried!” He unfurled his magnificent mottled wings and flapped them vigorously, but as soon as two hoofs rose more than an inch off the ground he immediately tucked his feathers against his body. He had a wild look in his eye and was shivering visibly. Clearly the mere thought of flying was anathema to him.

Cautious was shaking his head, watching. “Damndest thing I ever see.”

“Don’t help,” Jon-Tom said sharply to the raccoon. He turned back to Teyva, smiling comfortingly. “When did you first realize you were afraid of flying, as opposed to actually being physically incapable of flight?”

The stallion spoke shyly, “Oh, I knew that from way back. If you’re searching for some pivotal event, some deep dark secret of my past, you don’t have to look far. When I was very young I was told, though I can scarce remember, that I had begun to fly on a training tether, as is the custom with young colts. Apparently, and I can hardly credit this though I am assured it is so, I was braver than most. I tried to fly right out of the stable that was my home. Right over the stable door I went like a shot, a door about your height, man.”

“What happened?”

“I tripped.” He shuddered visibly. “My legs hit the top of the low door. One hoof caught on the latch and the rest of me tumbled over the other side.”