neetha Napew - The Time Of The Transferance

“Maybe it’s some spiritual thing. The bigger the banquet and the more prey they cook at once the better it bodes for future hunting, or something.”

Mudge cocked an eye at him. His tone was bitter, resigned. “I knew if I just stuck with you long enough, mate, I’d wind up dead before me time. You know, at the end o’ every one o’ our previous little jaunts you’ve always clapped me on the shoulder an’ said ‘Well done, Mudge. Well done.’ “ He jerked a thumb toward the gate and the firepit beyond. “I’ll be well done for sure this time.” He turned his gaze on the flying horse.

“Wot ‘ave you found out about the cause o’ all this distress? You were right about ‘im bein’ big enough to carry all o’ us. So why don’t we just climb aboard and ‘ave ‘im fly us away?”

“He’s afraid of heights,” said Cautious.

Mudge’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the raccoon. “Wot’s that? I didn’t ‘ear that.”

The disgruntled Cautious raised his voice. “I said he afraid of heights.”

Mudge was silent for a long moment as he digested this. Then he walked slowly up to the huge stallion until his black nose was barely inches from Teyva’s muzzle.

“Mudge, don’t...” Jon-Tom began, but he could no more keep the otter quiet than he could have halted a flood of biblical proportions.

“So you’re afraid o’ heights? With wings that’d shame a ‘undred eagles an’ muscles like that?” He tried to kick the stallion in the chest but his short legs wouldn’t reach high enough. “You four-legged coward. You winged sissy. You namby-pampy cud-chewin’ pitiful excuse for a member o’ the equine persuasion! Wot use are you?” The otter continued to heap insults on the flying horse until Teyva buried his head beneath one of his wings. Only then did the thoroughly disgusted Mudge turn away.

“Thanks, Mudge.” Jon-Tom was shaking his head. “You really helped the situation, you know that? Here I’m trying to convince Teyva he can fly by building up his self-esteem a little and you—”

“Do wot, mate? Tell the truth? Tis a tough life and I ain’t one to coddle another bloke, especially when ‘tis my life that’s at stake.” He sat down and rested his head in his paws. “I only ‘ope that when they cook me they use plenty o’ sage. I always liked sage.”

Jon-Tom turned his attention back to the stallion and tried to peer beneath the concealing wing. “Come out of there, Teyva. That’s not helping anything.”

“Yes it is. I feel bad enough already and I’m going to die and you’re all going to die because you tried to help me. I don’t need any more shame.”

Weegee was standing next to the gate. “Time for last minute expressions of regret or whatever. They’re coming for us.”

Moving in solemn double file, a long line of villagers was approaching the corral. A dull chant rose from the rest, who were assembled around the firepit.

“Please come out of there,” Jon-Tom pleaded with the multicolored wing. A reluctant Teyva peeped out from behind the feathers.

“It is no use, man. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but you’re wasting your time. It has been tried before.”

“Maybe we can fake them. Pretend like you’re going to fly away. Shock them into hesitating for a while at least.” He put one hand on the black leather strap that ran down the stallion’s spine. “Do you mind?”

“Better you should be composing yourself for the last moment, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead.”

Jon-Tom put a foot into the lower leather straps and swung himself up on the broad, muscular back. From his new height he had a different perspective on Teyva’s size and power. The stallion would have the wingspan of a small airplane.

“Mudge, Weegee, Cautious: get up here behind me.”

“Wot for, mate? If that useless lump o’ ‘orseflesh could fly ‘e’d be long gone from ‘ere before now an” we wouldn’t be in this fix.”

Weegee spoke as Jon-Tom gave her a hand up. “Do as he says, Mudge.”

“Do as Jon-Tom says, do as Jon-Tom says. I’ve been doin’ that for over a year and look where ‘tis got me.”

“All right, then do what I say. Get up here!”

“An’ now I’m takin’ orders from a dumb female.” Grumbling under his breath, he rose and walked to the stallion’s side.

With Jon-Tom in front and the two otters and Cautious behind, there wasn’t much room left on Teyva’s back. Mudge was sitting more on the stallion’s rump than his back, which suited the otter just fine. According to him, that was the part of life he’d been getting ever since he’d met up with Jon-Tom.

“Turn and face them.”

“Why?” Teyva asked Jon-Tom. “I would rather not see the fatal blow coming.”

“Turn an’ face ‘em like the man says,” Mudge bawled. “Maybe it don’t make no difference to you, but I’m damned if I’m goin’ to die with a spear up my arse.”

Silently the stallion pivoted.

“Now spread your wings like you’re preparing to take off,” Jon-Tom told him. With a sacrificial sigh the stallion complied.

The gate opened. The villagers parted to form two lines leading from the corral to the firepit. Two wolves, a couple of dingoes and a bat-eared fox came marching ceremoniously down the aisle. Each carried a knife the size of a machete.

“ ‘Ere comes the anointed butchers,” Mudge muttered. “ ‘Old ‘em off as long as you can with your staff, mate.”

Jon-Tom ignored the otter as he studied the bloodletters. They wore black straps similar to those that had been placed on Teyva. The last wolf in line held an armful of smaller leathers. Obviously it would not do for the three smaller captives to go to their deaths improperly attired.

Leaning close to the stallion’s ear, he whispered. “Now make like you’re getting ready to fly.”

Obediently Teyva began to flap his great wings. They reached from one side of the corral to the other. He rose off the ground almost a foot this time before settling back to earth and nearly collapsing to his knees.

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. Jon-Tom thought he could see tears beginning to spill from his eyes. “I just can’t do it.”

“Goodbye, Weegee.” Mudge leaned forward to clasp her tightly to him. “I’m sorry about all the times we didn’t ‘ave to spend in bed so that I could show you wot a great lover I am.”

“And I’m sorry,” she murmured back, “about all the times we didn’t have to spend out of bed so that I could learn what a truly fine person you are beneath all the affected crudity and false bravado.”

“Me, I’m just plain sorry,” said Cautious. The raccoon shut his eyes and waited for the first kiss of the knife.

“Fly,” Jon-Tom urged the stallion. “I know you can do it. You know you can do it.” Remembering an old Indian trick he’d once read about he leaned over and bit the stallion’s ear. Teyva started but didn’t rise.

“It’s no use, my final friends.”

The butchers were mumbling some ceremonial nonsense next to the gate. Blessing the sacred slaughtering knives or something, Jon-Tom thought. They had less than minutes left.

“Fly, dammit!”

“Uh, mate.”

“Don’t bother me now, Mudge.”

The otter was fumbling with the left inside pocket of his battered old vest. Curious in spite of himself Jon-Tom looked back. No doubt Mudge wanted to present him with some final offering, some last token of his esteem to cement the bond that had sprung up between them during the past months. Something meaningful. Something that looked just like a four-inch square packet of white powder.

Weegee’s outrage was palpable. “Mudge!”

“Sorry, luv. I’m weak, I guess. Never made a promise that weren’t some’ow qualified.” He handed the packet to Jon-Tom. “As the time for spellsingin” seems past, maybe ‘tis time to try a little spellsniffm’. Give ‘im a whiff o’ this—just a tiny one, mind now.”