Five Stars: Five Outstanding Tales from the early days of Stupefying Stories Page 5

  Fump stopped poling and Celianne realized they were under their fishing deck. It said, “I will help you learn to fly again.”

  Celianne stood abruptly and said, “No.” She hoisted herself up. Scrambling to her knees, she pulled Uzzal up, turned and went into the houseboat, hoping Fump would just go away.

  She went to the cooler tank, pulled out vegetables and fruit, and set about cleaning and cutting them for lunch. She lifted bowls from the drying rack by the sink and filled them with fried, pale-skinned reed roots, bright red cranberries, boiled yellow cattail heads and sliced orange marsh sweet potatoes in the bowl. She poured fruit oil and herbs over them and handed Uzzal one bowl and took the other for herself.

  “Can we drink soda for lunch, Amma?”

  “Water. Soda is only for special occasions.”

  He didn’t try to wheedle but went instead and filled two glasses with filtered water. He followed her to the fishing deck where they both sat down on the edge, feet dangling over the water.

  Fump was gone.

  They ate with their fingers, in silence, staring out over the water as it rose to meet the hot gold sky in the hazy distance. It seemed to her that Fump’s promise still hung in the air.

  There was a knock on the door. Celianne grabbed Uzzal’s shoulder, saying, “Wait.” She made her way to the living room window, mercifully translucent from multiple cleanings, letting in light and vague shapes but not prying gazes. A slim window ran from the floor to the ceiling next to the door. A shadowed figure stood at the door. An arm came up to knock again: white sleeve, black feathers.

  Celianne opened the door a bit, Uzzal behind her. The ‘krasiman-vodoun priest smiled sharply filed teeth at her. She said, “I told you ‘no’.”

  He smiled and said, “I’m here to collect a debt.”

  “I owe you nothing!” Celianne exclaimed.

  He dipped his head again, “Bill owed Mamun begom a half-million Company credits. I paid off his loan. I am here to collect now as he will no longer be able to work. I am sure that you will be unable to pay off his debt. At least his life was spared and he still lives.”

  “But I didn’t know! How could I know? Is it a gambling debt? Because if it is…”

  Mamun shook his head, “I am a good Muslim, as are all ‘krasimen, as well as a vodoun priest. I do not deal with gambling debt. No, Celianne, he borrowed to feed you and your son.” His hand flashed out and he grabbed Uzzal’s hair. The boy twisted and bit the priest. The man let go with a very un-Muslim-like curse. Uzzal ran screaming into the house. Celianne slammed the door in the priest’s angry face. He roared commands at her.

  Celianne spun as Uzzal’s feet plunged through the weak spot. He shrieked, his entire body slithering through the plastic floor.

  The priest’s dark shadow slipped past the living room window. Celianne fell to her chest and reached down into the gaping hole, shouting, “Bachchale! Take my hand! Take it now!”

  Uzzal grabbed hold of her and she hauled him up. He was wet from the waist down and sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her neck and she stood with him. He flung scratched and bleeding legs around her waist and she staggered to the deck door, slammed and bolted it just as the priest appeared. She dashed into Uzzal’s room with its hand-sized window close to the ceiling, slammed the door and sank to the floor with her back against it. She wrapped her arms around her son and closed her eyes, breathing in giant gulps of air as he leaned his head on her shoulder, sobbing.

  Celianne listened for the sound of the priest breaking down her door, waited for him to come for her. She tried to hold her breath, hoping to hear a footfall that would let her know where he was, but she heard nothing. Uzzal’s weeping faded to hiccoughs, then to the steady breathing of sleep. Patting his back, she leaned her cheek against the tight curls of his hair. She watched the play of light across the room’s window as it fell into late-afternoon shadows.

  What could she do? She snorted: Bill hadn’t wanted to tell her he had borrowed half-a-million Company credits! He was safe in the hospital while she fought off the creditor-Company man and vodoun priest! And because they’d kept everyone at arm’s length, never answered questions about their past, they had no friends.

  She waited for night; got to her knees and laid Uzzal on his cot. He snuffled, rolled over and fell into a faint, boyish snore. She faced the door, touching the knob with one hand before turning it and going into the hall and the living room. Cold air welled up from the hole. The houseboat had a definite list.

  She went to the front door and peered at the translucent window, but could see no shadows. The back wall of the house had no windows so she flung open the door, leaping to the fishing deck.

  Below her feet, in its punt, was Fump. It looked up at her and said, “You are sinking.”

  “I know.” She sighed, collapsing to the deck. “Uzzal fell through a weak spot in the floor. He may have cracked the hull when he hit it.” She held her breath then said, “Can you help me?”

  Fump grumped. “What can I do about your sinking boat?”

  “Would you dive under and see what happened?”

  Fump didn’t say anything at first, merely stared at her over the water. “Will you do a small thing for me in return?”

  “What could I do for you?”

  The frogfolk turned its entire body to the left, then to the right. It did something with one eye so that it was able to look behind itself without turning. Fump said, “I can loose your fear of flying.”

  She swallowed hard, suddenly terrified, but asked, “Why would you do that?”

  “If you fly, you will leave and take the rest of the Humans with you, leaving us in peace.”

  “You can’t teach me to do the kind of flying…”

  He groaned, and then said, “When frogfolk change into fliers, they know only how to jump, swim, walk, eat and breed. But they must learn to fly to breed well. It is the work of the frogfolk to teach the breeders, so that they might fly far and make strong eggs. They are terrified when I begin, but I teach them anyway. I know how to loose their fear of flying. And I have helped other Humans before.”

  Celianne stared at it.

  If she could overcome her fears, there was a starship sitting in the center of Highest Baru Ekrasi right now. The port was tiny, so the ship was likely an independent, without corporate ties. Under a false name, she could sign on with them and send Bill and Uzzal enough to pay off their debt. She would take only near-star jumps and be back often enough. She could find a doctor who would fix Bill and take extended credit in payment.

  If she could lose her fear of flying, they would be free, perhaps leaving Enstad’s Planet one day.

  She nodded to Fump. “Help me lose my fear of flying and I’ll leave your world. But you must fix my houseboat so we can live in it until then.”

  Fump bowed deeply in its little punt and said, “If we set out now, we will reach Nehnehgrumpis,” the nearest frogfolk village tree, “before sunset.”

  “I can’t leave Uzzal behind. He’s too young.”

  “Bring Uzzal. At first light, I will send a youngster to fix your boat.”

  “Wait here.”

  “I have nowhere else to go,” it said as it drew the pole into the punt. Celianne went inside and picked up Uzzal. He squirmed against her shoulder, muttering in his sleep as she carried him to the deck and knelt down.

  “Hand Uzzal down to me,” said Fump.

  Celianne hesitated and said softly, “I am trusting you with everything.”

  “I promise to loose your fear of flying, therefore I will watch your young.”

  She thought she heard footsteps on the pier as she handed Uzzal down to Fump. She dashed back and locked the houseboat’s door. Fump pushed off the moment her feet touched the hull, driving them across the sunset-bronze water quickly. The native’s poling was nearly silent, making faint plashes as they slid toward the village. Bubbles rising in their wake stank of hydrogen sulfide. Uzzal slept hard under the bridge she’d made
of her legs. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw Baru Ekrasi sinking into the marshlands.

  Ahead, in the frogfolk’s village tree, platforms twined liked orchids in the silvery branches. The trunk was two hundred meters across, a smooth, silver pole in the flat sea of reeds. Ten meters up, it split into three thick branches, one pointing southeast, one pointing southwest, the other to the nearest magnetic pole. Extending a thousand meters from the trunk, each branch was supported by root-like columns. A second and third tier of branches emerged horizontal to the ground but shorter than the one below it. Slender leaves grew from the columns at intervals like green waterfalls, drooping down the sides. Frogfolk and breeders climbed and leaped from platforms to branches and back, sometimes plunging into the water below, other times, scaling the trunk back to the heights. Occasionally breeders would leap free, gliding in lazy circles or wildly flapping the membrane between their arms and legs.

  There was a wooden box on the top of the air-filter shaped tree. Celianne pointed and said, “What’s that?”

  “My home. I will help you loose your fear of flying from that place.”

  “It’s high,” Celianne said.

  “Breeders not only lose their minds but their eyesight as well. If they are any lower when I push them from the platform, they see the surface, flail in terror, plummet into the shallow water then die and are eaten, and their bones sucked into the ooze.”

  Celianne paused, not sure he was serious or not then asked. “What do your call your tree village?” Uzzal stirred, then settled back to sleep, humming softly.

  “Nehnehgrumpis.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “‘Hands That Reach But Cannot Touch’.”

  Fump was breathing hard. It stopped poling, took a deep breath and let off a piercing whistle. A half-dozen frog fliers dove into the water and paddled out to the punt. With a few sounds, Fump had them pushing and pulling the punt toward Nehnehgrumpis, then turned to her.

  Celianne looked down at Uzzal sleeping and said, “I wanted to forget my time flying among the stars, but I couldn’t. I hated the memories and I wanted new ones.”

  “You are a fairka*, then?”

  “A thinker?” Celianne said then snorted. “I guess I am.” She changed the subject, “How long has Nehnehgrumpis been here?”

  Fump’s eyeballs bulged as it said, “The tree was always here, but before Humans, it was only a tree. Once you settled on the island in the delta, Nehnehgrumpis was placed to watch.”

  “Why do you watch us?”

  “We reach for the highest sky but cannot touch it. You pull stinking mud from the marsh and make things to use. We tried to take knowledge from you at first, but you would not share and punished us.” The punt bumped into a natural slip. Fump stepped out on to a broad place that had been scraped flat into a landing. “Come. We need to go up to the platform.”

  Celianne scooped up Uzzal. Her eyes traveled up the trunk and kept going to the box at the top. She said, “How can we get up there?”

  “Can the boy climb?” Fump asked.

  She smiled a bit, nodded. “He’s like a little monkey.”

  “These ‘monkeys’ climb well?”

  “Very.”

  “Then you must wake him and we must climb. It is hard enough for me to climb to the box in the dark. You might not be able to do it.”

  “Do we have to go up tonight?” Celianne asked. It wasn’t that she was afraid of heights—exactly. “What do we climb on?”

  “I must always go up in full light so that I would see the steps.” Fump led the way along a path that had been carved into the roots of the tree, around the massive trunk and to the other side. The trunk was made of layered gray shingles the size of Celianne’s hand. Tiny hairs grew between the shingles, giving the tree its silvery sheen.

  They stopped at a cleft in the trunk. The interior walls glowed faintly green. “It is time to climb.” Celianne knelt down and slid Uzzal to his feet. “Honey, it’s time to wake up.”

  His eyes opened and he blinked at her then smiled. “Amma, I wanna sleep some more.” He stepped forward to lean his head on her shoulder, but she pushed him gently away.

  “We’re at the frogfolk village, Bachchale.”

  He stood back from her, eyes widening as he finally looked around. “Wow!” He looked up at Fump.

  Fump thumped with laughter and said, “Your mother says that you can climb.” He ducked into the crevice.

  Uzzal smiled white teeth big and bright in his dark face. “I can!” He made to follow Fump, but Celianne held him back.

  “Stay with me for now. We don’t know what’s in there.”

  “Where we going?” he asked.

  “Fump’s house is at the top of the tree.”

  Uzzal leaned back until his head touched Celianne’s belly and he said, “Way up there?”

  “Way up there.”

  “Let’s go!” he exclaimed and pulled her into the cleft.

  She had to duck because the ceiling was low, though neither Fump nor Uzzal had to and started up narrow steps that had been carved into the living wood of the tree. They climbed in silence until they stepped out of a cleft on the lowest branch of the village tree. The top of the branch had been scraped flat making two-meter wide path out to the very end a kilometer away.

  “Wow!” Uzzal exclaimed. He dashed to the edge, looked over, then ran across the branch to the other side and looked over again.

  “Be careful!” Celianne cried. Platforms with domes built of woven rushes and flexible sticks sprouting flowers extended from the branch to hang over the marsh below. The round doorways of the domes were hung with leathery skins. The scent of cinnamon from the flowers hung in the late afternoon air.

  Uzzal squatted down at the door as the leather was pushed aside and someone looked out at him. “Hi,” he said. The occupant whistled and clicked. “What did he say?”

  “Its name is Huulor and it wonders what you are doing here.”

  Uzzal smiled and said, “My name is Uzzal. My amma’s here to learn to fly again.”

  Fump spoke to it. Huulor replied and Fump translated, “He wants to know if you can follow him.” The native climbed from its hut. It was only as tall as Uzzal.

  All three turned to Celianne. She nodded. “Be careful. I’ll be back shortly.” She looked at Fump and said, “They won’t go down to the marsh, will they?”

  “I will instruct Huulor to stay on the branches.” It spoke then turned to Celianne and said, “We must go.” Fump led the way around the trunk again, this time stopping at flat stakes in an ascending spiral.

  In the distance, she could see Baru Ekrasi. At the center of the island, harsh lights flooded fused sand that made the starship landing pad. It had three ramps extruded and a half-dozen anti-grav sleds moving pallets out of its hold and stacking them along the edge of the pad. It would head for space the moment it had exchanged its cargo. The next ship wouldn’t drop down for another month.

  She wouldn’t be able to put off the vodoun priest for that long. She had to lose her fear of flying now. Taking a deep breath, she followed Fump up the trunk.

  ¤

  They climbed until they reached the third level of branches; branches on all three levels aligned with the ones below, leaving “pleats” of foliage free space for the newly flying frog fliers to practice. Fump rested by squatting and gestured for her to join it. This level was cruder than the two below, the branches shorter. Only a small part of one of the branches had been flattened. Beyond was natural bark. Panting, she looked down at the ground. She wheezed, “It’s dark down there.”

  “The sun is setting.” Their branch level was still well lit. A rope ladder hung from the box’s platform above, dangling against the side of the tree. “Are you rested enough?”

  She watched the shadow slowly crawl up the trunk then looked at Fump and stood up. In the distance, she heard sharp whistles. “I’m ready.”

  “You first. If you slip, I will catch you.”
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  She nodded and started up the ladder. Celianne had a stitch in her side and the platform and box were still forever away when she slipped. She flattened herself to the trunk, mouth open in a silent scream, closing her eyes as her foot scrabbled for purchase. Her fingers trembled, and her single supporting leg shook.

  Fump grabbed her ankle and guided it to a rung. Shuddering, she pushed up and scrambled into the box, collapsing on the floor. Behind her, Fump pulled itself after her. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she managed, rolling to her back.

  “Come to the window.”

  She rolled to her stomach and slowly got up. Fump was at a rectangular opening, facing Baru Ekrasi.

  “You will fly there tomorrow.”

  “I need to go now! They’re loading so fast, the ship will be gone tomorrow!”

  Fump blinked at her, then turned to a cupboard hanging on one of the walls. It opened a door. Holding a package out to Celianne, it said, “These are your wings. Try them on.”

  She took the package from Fump’s hands and lifted it to her face. A smell like petroleum jelly permeated the stiff material. Celianne unfolded it, spilling it to the floor. There were two sleeves with supple membranes hanging from the underside and a hard, meter-long bony extension jutting from the wrist. It attached to the length of leggings, which had ties at thigh, knee and ankle. There was a chest piece with leather strips to tie across the back. She frowned and said, “Why does this fit me?”

  “I told you: I have loosed the fear of flight in breeders and Humans alike.”

  “There’ve been other pilots here?”

  “None who flew starships, but others who wished to fly away, yes.”

  “They lost their fears?”

  “None of them fears flying any more.”

  “I want to go now.”

  “You need to wait. Night hunters are dangerous even for humans.”

  She glanced to the lights and the starship. A crew had laid out an oil line and were inspecting it. “The starship is going to leave soon.” Celianne said. She turned to Fump, “I need to be on it. Release my fear now and I will fly to the ship and join the crew.”