Torin - The Luck Of Brin's Five Part 9

'The Wentroy insults itself!" she replied. "Dorn? You know the next part?"

My knees knocked so that I could hardly run, but I did it; and the piece of ritual was unexpected: Bird Clan formality had fallen away of late. I ran out into the field and threw the luck skein, which the Wentroy had ignored, high'into the air. I expected it to come back down again and lie discarded in the field, but there was a -gasp from those watching:( 116 ).

Wentroy's rudeness had already swelled the crowd. The long silken skein was caught in a current and whirled upwards in a broad spiral. The winds had accepted my offering, and the Wentroy's luck was tossing round and round above the ground like a seed. The Wentroy escort, young and old, could hardly restrain themselves; they must catch the skein, the most foolhardy pilot could not allow it to be carried off or dashed to the ground once the wind had taken it. I saw the old Wentroy scribe speak to the pilot, and at last the word was given. The escort swarmed over the field, jostling, eyes on the sky, hands uplifted. Brin 11 A 11 -1 L 11, 13 AX 1r_no e , an we t ree wa e o to the marvan. The crowd laughed and cheered and clapped palms against theirb.u.t.tocks; I realized they were applauding us.Now we thought our first trial was really at hand; Diver was in the pilot's chair, the catapult was attached, Brin and I stood to one wing, Ablo to the other. Diver had already given a few runs to his spin-toys, which made the va.s.sals duck their heads. But suddenly the clappers sounded; there was a confusion of marshals and a loud chopping buzz in the air above our heads. A large winged shadow dipped and zoomed across the field, and its buzzing was echoed by the crowd. The Launcher on his platform was speaking to alarae escort of more than twentv Dersons in black and whitequartering. Now he spoke on the hailing gourd"Diver!" Brin reached up, trying to pat his arm in thechair. "He is addressing you directly ."Tomarvan pilot . . . how say you? Will you give leavefor a new entrant to make a display?"A marshal had come up with another hailing gourd; heI gave it to Diver, who looked down at Brin with raisedeyebrows."It is a shame!" cried Ablo. "You need not give leave, Garl Brinroyan; you need not! He asks because you are in who asks this leave?' "

So Diver spoke into the gourd, and his voice echoed sharply across the field. "n.o.ble Launcher, who asks this leave?"

"Truly it is Murno Peran Pentroy up there, who asks leave."

Diver hesitated, the crowd was still; he looked at me and saw how I gaped with excitement. "I give my leave. I give my leave freely to this n.o.ble contestant!" said Diver.

There was another spatter of applause as the Launcher boomed his thanks. Diver climbed down, and we went back behind the barrier.

A hand plucked at Brin's sleeve, and there was jebbal Luntroy's officer, a tall ancient, who bade us follow around the enclosure to jebbal's viewing stand, a little row of raised seats outside her tent. There was jebbal, lounging and smiling, in her red gear.

"Take a seat, gentle friends," she said. "Let's see what flaming marvel Blacklock has to offer!"

So I sat down at Brin's feet on the gra.s.s and watched the black and white escort march onto the field. My friends Valdin and Thanar came and sat beside me, chattering excitedly, but I could hardly speak. I was in a dream state, about to see Blacklock for the first time, and my excitement was tempered with a strange dreaming sadness. I ranged in a moment from the here and now at the Bird Clan in Otolor far, far back to our tent on Hingstull. The warmth of the spring sun on my arms became the scratching cold of winter, and I saw Odd-Eye's face. "I have dreams for you, as fine as Blacklock's mantle."

The incoming machine swooped and circled; Diver stood up, flinging back his helmed head to observe it. It was sleek but short-winged with a large whirling vane, a giant spin-toy, mounted centrally; we could see wing-flaps and a dirigible tail. It caught the currents and used them, but it had a curious thrusting motion as well, and suddenly it( 118 ).

hovered, like a water-fly. The escort had formed a circle in the middle of the field; now they ran in together like dancers and quickly drew back again. I heard myself squeak with excitement. They had unfurled a huge net.

The machine hovered, increased height, and at last I thought I could see movement by the pilot's chair. Then separating, failing, a bundle of cloth, but moving, surely . . . a body, struggling, flapping arms in the air. I stood up with all the others and screamed like them, and a great bubble of silken cloth stretched and blossomed over the falling body. A tall Moruian in a shiny green flying suit floated down calmly under the green canopy, bounced deliberately in the net two or three times, then skillfully stood still and drew the folds of the silk together. Blacklock had come to the Bird Clan.

Everyone laughed and cheered; I had never heard such a slapping of b.u.t.tocks. Even in this very first exploit that I had witnessed, there was some of that special magic that made Blacklock's audience laugh, even in sheer relief. Diver was laughing too; Brin leaned down and touched my shoulder. I saw that the flying machine was moving away to land at the end of the field, with a second pilot, of course, whom no one remarked greatly. The crowd was streaming onto the field to cheer Blacklock, so I took the clan children by the hand and ran with them. We managed to wriggle in fairly close, followed by Jebbal's officer. Between the shoulders of two va.s.sals holding the net we saw him: tall as a tree, broad as an omor, his helm was off now, and he seemed to be beaming straight at us. Blacklock is the handsomest Moruian anyone can imagine; he has a rather broad, jolly face and his skin is tanned, like a bush weaver's, with no trace of grandee pallor. His eyes are wide as a baby's and set well into his temples; they are a clear yellow brown. He has an enormous shock of light brown, almost blonde hair, and from his brow there flows back a broad black streak of dye ... his black lock.( 119 ).I.

As we all gaped and cheered, the circle of the escort parted at the very place we were standing, and a little creature, a female in the black and white uniform of the escort, cleared a s.p.a.ce and reached up to the net. Blacklock gave a final flourishing bow, shrugged out of the thongs that held on his green canopy, then took her hand and stepped out of the net. He allowed himself to be brushed down, then the little escort was making way for him through the crowd. She had a brisk, cheerful voice, and her face, as she led the hero, was creased with worry, like a mother fussing over a toddling baby, ten days shown. Yet it was a pretty face, young and pointed, rather like Thanar.

Blacklock was saying as he pa.s.sed, ". . . didn't even split a seam. . . ." I felt a stab of envy for the little escort, Blacklock's familiar.

"That is Spinner," whispered Valdin Galtroy, reading my thoughts, "Blacklock's first officer ... or maybe his mothering nurse."

Now Spinner was whispering urgently to Blacklock, who was still bowing to right and left.

"What?" boomed the hero. "Hmm, yes, well .

flaming courteous of the flier in the blocks . . ."

He waved his hand in a wide circle or two and shouted a command; the escort packed up and made tracks with admirable precision. I realized that it was Diver's turn to fly his exercises; I left the clan children and ran back through the crowd to do my escort duty. The clappers were sounding, and the Launcher repeated his orders to clear the field; I found Brin and clung to her arm. Diver was beside us, showing his teeth in a grin. His nerve was much better than mine; he was keen and eager to be in the Tomarvan. It came to me that Diver loved to fly; the time he spent above the ground was actually less nerve-wracking for him than the time he spent hobn.o.bbing with Bird Clan pilots and officials.

So it was all done over again. The excitement had died( 120 ).

down, and the fickle audience of the Bird Clan had drifted away, so that Diver and the Wentroy began their rounds almost unnoticed. Ablo was still fuming and fretting by the Tomarvan, and Diver leaped into the pilot's chair. The catapult was attached; Brin and I stood to one wing, Ablo to the other.

Diver looked down at us and said, "There goes the Mac chi me to beat!" We saw Blacklock's odd craft wheeled away through the barrier to a heaving ma.s.s of black and white cloth: its hangar being erected. I had time to read the name on Blacklock's machine, then the Launcher spoke, once, twice and the Tomarvan was sent aloft, followed by Utofarl, double hope of the Wentroy.

We marched smartly off the field; Brin and Ablo stood, shading their eyes, and I ran, bent low inside the barrier, to the end of the field to see better. Diver had made a good launch, but not so good as the Wentroy, who caught a wild current, lucky wretch, and spiralled up as surely as the good luck skein, so rudely rejected. Then I laughed, for the t Tomarvan eased into a series of perfect circular turns and a double circle, twisted, like the script letter which has the sound "ee".

aThere was a chuckle at my side, and I saw that I was'fit.

I.

thstanding next to a short, spare, brown person, probably lyfrom some escort, for he was middle-aged, with wrinkles ghnetting his green eyes. No grandee, more of a townee, and I ,refelt at ease with him. He was watching Diver's performance eas keenly as I was. The Wentroy tried to steal Diver's wind ideand could not, for Diver had no need of a wind. Thecircles, with fair success, then caught the wind again . . .

through skill this time . . . and flew off towards the First Mark, high and fast. Diver flew after him in the darting, buzzing Tomarvan.121.-terban and diedTomarvan banked and turned; the Wentroy tried a few"Fine! Fine! Oh excellently done! Is that your pilot?'

said my companion "My pilot!" I agreed proudly. I tried not to think of Bird Bone Place, up ahead.

I was about to reply in kind when I saw the insignia on his tunic and the white basket helm dangling from his strong, brown hands. I was speaking to Blacklock's copilot, who had landed the machine. I was excited then and almost went off into a flurry of childish questions about Blacklock, but something held me back. Politeness, for my companion was interesting in himself; or perhaps I had a moment of divining power of my own. I asked instead, "Good sir, who designed the n.o.ble machine that you brought in to land?"

His green eyes twinkled as he replied. "A good design is never the work of one mind. Your pilot, for instance, adapted that glider, with a device I call a wind-blade. Not new upon the land of Torin .

I felt my blood pound in my throat and answered boldly, "Nothing is new under the suns. I see your craft is called Dah'gan or Maker of Engines."

"It could be Maker of Looms!" He laughed. "What shall I call you, young escort?"

"Dorn Brinroyan. And my pilot is Garl Brinroyan, our Luck. What shall I call you, sir?" I had thought for a moment that he knew something about Diver, but now I was not sure.

"I have had several names," he said, "just as we all have several Families, from our birth Family onwards, as the Great Wind blows us through the world. Now I am called Fer Utovangan."

It was a plain name, signifying no more than Fer, the Second Pilot, or even the Other Wing-Maker. He pointed across the field to a certain glider and commented on its design, then went on talking pleasantly and knowledgeably about flying machines and every sort of device that helped them to fly. We heard a sound and I stiffened, then I could not hold back a cheer. The Tomarvan returned, fast and sure from the First Mark; Diver swooped low over the field( 122 ).

, the inted n its eably elped could t and e fieldand boldly circled the launching tower before coming in to land. There was a landing net in position, but Diver had never used one and had determined to use only his own power. The marshals were there to hold his wings, but I could not stay . . . I slipped under the barrier and my companion did the same. We ran to the left wing of the Tomarvan, which touched, bounced, but not high, then came in for a perfect landing. The wing rode right into our hands, and the spin-toys or wind-blades were quivering but Sill ti Diver climbed out as I shouted to him; he came down happily and stood beside us on the field. In his excitement he pulled off his goggles as well as his flying helmet, and I instinctively touched his arm. Hiding his eyes was a game we must always play. He turned his head aside, but Fer Utovangan said quietly, "No need to replace your visor on my account, Gar] Brinroyan."

Diver glanced at me, questioning. "This is Blacklock's copilot," I said warily, "called Fer Utovangan."

"A good flight!" said Fer, clasping Diver's hands between his own. He stared at Diver; blue eyes met green. Fer flinched a little but was not afraid.

"The Maker of Engines did not expect to find the Tomarvan and its pilot at the Bird Clan!" he said.

"Do you mean your machine or that One who gives others wings to fly with?" I asked.

"Both!" he said smiling. "I would give much to see what makes the Tomarvan fly-"

"In time I don't doubt you will see," said Diver, "and frankly, the Dahkan's engine is more new and wonderful to me."

"A thing I call a long-spark-maker," said Fer. "I wonder what you would call it?"

Diver replied with a few suggestions, totally unpro- nounceable to me at the time but in fact they had to do with "electricity". Fer laughed in delight.( 123 ).iHl "I have heard all the speech on Torin and words in two ancient tongues, taken from rock writings, but now I find there is something new under the suns."

He bade us farewell and walked off the field; Esto hung low in the sky, he walked into sunset colors. A few notes tw.a.n.ged in my memory, but I could not unravel the thread.

We walked back ourselves and saw Brin coming proudly to meet us. It was not until we reached the tent that I found the answer to the puzzle; it was such a rich, impossible secret that I hugged it to myself. I murmured that plain name over to myself as I watched an improved Antho wheeled out of its hangar: Fer Utovangan, Second Wing, Second Pilot ... or Former Bird Farmer. The winds had not taken Antho the Bird Farmer very far after all.

Now it was the eve of the New Year. Esder was already rising in those sunset clouds, no more than forty pulse beats after Esto sank below the horizon, and Esder would shine on, long after Esto rose again. It is more difficult to fly by Esder light, but some pilots make it their art; the second round went on, by lot, without a break. Flags and mirrors were set up at the Second Mark, inland to the northeast, still on the eastern bank of the Troon, at a place not far from the landing where we had seen Narneen's questioners, the scribe from the Fire-Town and his Witness.

We went into this round with good spirits; but Ablo, who knew more than we did about the ways of the Bird Clan, was very nervous. The second round is the most hazardous of all because it is an elimination round. We sat in our tent, ate a good meal of farm fowl with greens and washed it down with honey water. The first decision was when to sleep: wakefulness had been the downfall of many a brave pilot and escort. Ablo sat blinking in the darkness of the tent, picking his teeth and fidgeting with our lot skein, which marked the Tomarvan to fly at the second hour after midnight, paired with Haded, the black glider. "Severk hours!" he exclaimed. "Seven hours, Garl Brinroyan! Sleep( 124 ).

9.

inhors,10,.

ird ost sat ndasny s ofor wake, it's your decision . . . we have a light escort."

"I will sleepand so will the escort. Will you watch for us, good Ablo?"

"Yes, Yes . . . but can you sleep, without wine or the preparations the grandees use? I have heard that Blacklock sleeps by the laying on of hands-sleep-stroking-magic."

"We can sleep," put in Brin, "have no fear. Wake us in good time."

So we slept before his eyes: Diver by the use of a small white piece of medicine from his pocket vest, and Brin and myself from natural weariness, plus a pinch of herbs in our honey water. I slept and dreamed a long ordinary dream that I was on a summer journey, walking, pitching the tent, weaving, with my dear Family all together again. Then I woke up, lonely for a moment and displaced, but filled with the excitement of the Bird Clan, as I saw Diver fastening his buckles.

Brin and Ablo parted the tent flap and came in, silvered by the light of Esder.

"Six out!" cried Ablo. "Six fallen by the way . . . never seen such an elimination round. The winds are blowing for you, Gar] Brinroyan."

"What has gone?" asked Diver.

"Utofarl," panted Ablo, "double hope of the Wentroy, indeed, tipped the Second Mark; the yellow Antho did the same-or was it a tree. At any rate, it nearly came down.

The copper boiler that came by the river went back into the river again, but the crew were saved, thanks to our Great Mother."

I was suddenly afraid. "Jebbal?" I whispered, staring a Brin.

"Safe, child."

"Continue with the eliminations," said Diver coldly Ablo, saw that his on:enthusiasm must be tempered; he went"The Kite lost wind . . . had it stolen by Tildee, the( 125 ).

steam engine. The winds took that pilot, first casualty this year. The improved Antho with the green tail had a wing and wind battle with Highness Jebbal and lost out. The other elimination was the gray glider that flew its first round with Tildee ... called Margan, the Peacemaker, flown by another unlucky sprig of Dohtroy, and named, doubtless, after her relative on the Council, Dohtroy out of the Fire-Town."

We went out into the bright Esder light on the field of the Bird Clan, with the business of the contest still going on, the constant coming and going of the escorts, the cries of the marshals. I felt we had dropped out of the world for several hours simply by going to sleep. And now all that remained in the contest werePEER-LO-VAGOBA pilot Jebbal Faldroyan Luntroy TILDEE pilot Ullo Mattroyan DAH'GAN cbief pilot Murno Peran Pentroy, called Blacklock HADEEL pilot Deel Giroyan, a town grandee of Otolor TOMARVAN pilot Garl Brinroyan, the Luck of Brin's FiveAblo was still very nervous as Diver made his last check of the Tomarvan before we wheeled it to the blocks. I thought this was because he had not slept, but in fact he had another thing on his mind. A member of Blacklock's escort approached to a respectful distance, and Ablo nearly exploded.

I knew it! Flaming privilege and grandees' tricks Murno Pentroy is going to issue a challenge!"

Diver looked about, and we noticed then that there were a surprising number of va.s.sals and escorts, including some from jebbal, watching our reaction to the message skein that the young Pentroy omor held out to Brin.

I have heard of this right to challenge. What can be asked of us?" said Brin, holding the skein.

"Blacklock has no partner," hissed Ablo, "and he score~( 126 ).

e se ewell for that display. He could ask to fly the second round in company with Tomarvan and Hadeel ... but I think he has other devilish plans!"

Brin read the skein and smiled. She drew Diver aside and made him hand read as much of it as he could while she explained. "A challenge: Tomarvan and Hadeel to waive the Second Round and fly altogether, with Blacklock and the two other survivors in an immediate deciding race. Its formal name is Great Circle for the Winds' Favor."

"I will do it!" murmured Diver. "What say the rest?"

Ablo bobbed up at his elbow, still fuming.

"Garl Brinroyan ... think what you risk! Against Hadeel you will survive and gain points. You have never flown the Great Circle ... it is thirty weaver's miles over a strange course!"

Diver laughed and looked into the sky, a dark translucent blue, where faintly in full Esder light keen eyes might find the stars. I remembered he was another creature, a Man, from the void, who had flown further than anyone under the two suns. It seemed a very little thing to ask him to do ... but I was still afraid. He was our Luck still, our poor sib whom we had nurtured, our bonded kin; and he could be cast down and killed here, flying the Great Circle.

"Where are the charts, friend Ablo?" he asked.

"You are determined, Garl Brinroyan?" Diver nodded gravely, and Brin's fingers whisked over the skein filling in the answer.

"The challenge is accepted!" she announced. The watch- ers stirred and chattered; some gave shouts of encourage- ment.

It turned out that we were the last to accept the challenge; the other contestants were ready, even the Tildee had a second head of steam. Two Bird Clan gliders flew off, on the instant, to patrol the circle and land marshals at the towers. There was a sound of music and chanting and a band of Bird Clan va.s.sals, with scarlet tippets over their( 127 ).

blue green, marched around the field in a ceremony for the winds' favor. The pilots and their escorts were bidden to center field for a departing rite and a good talking to from the Launcher: We set out boldly from five corners of the field; Blacklock, conspicuous in his green cloak at the head of an enormous wedge of black and white followers; Jebbal with hardly less, bearing the flax flowers of Luntroy on their white cloaks; Deel Giroyan with twenty, richly dressed, bearing the crest of Otolor; the young Mattroyan, attended by forty omor in striped bag-hose, each one carrying a green tree branch. From our place marched Diver, fine and tall, attended by just three, for Ablo marched with us, grumbling still.

We had gone only a few paces into the field when Blacklock halted, maybe from Spinner's prompting or his own goodness of heart, and dismissed all but three of his escort. He walked on attended only by Fer, his copilot, by Spinner, and the young herald who had just visited us. It was a stroke of great courtesy. Jebbal immediately did the same, then the Giroyan and the merchant's child. I guessed at their reluctance, poor things, because town grandees have a deep love of display and feel that it increases their honor. So we marched on and came to center field where Blacklock made the mood easy and laughed as we pa.s.sed around the cups of honey water.

I stared my fill at Blacklock and found that he was covertly sizing up Diver. Presently, after Deel Giroyan had made a greeting round of the circle, Blacklock gestured to his copilot and they strode up to us. We exchanged bows and salutations, but Blacklock was unable to stand on ceremony.

"Well met!" he said, "and from what I hear, Garl Brinroyan, you are a strange bird indeed, to fly so far."

"Not beyond the sound of your name, Highness!" said Diver. "It has been heard on Hingstull."( 128 ).

This was a smooth answer but it did not please or satisfy Blacklock. His handsome face was alive with curiosity; he nudged Fer Utovangan and burst out: "Speak up, old bird!

I've been misled ... here is some courtier! Ask a ques- tion."

Fer chuckled and scratched his chin. "You must know Blacklock cannot stand a mystery," he said with a wink, "so I will ask: who are you, Garl Brinroyan?"

"He is our Luck!" I said.

"He is our bonded Luck," echoed Brin.

"Where does this Luck hail from?" asked Blacklock.

"It has been suggested that I am an Islander . . ."

"Surely a devil flown from the void," put in Fer.

"One might say, Highness, that the winds themselves sent Garl Brinroyan to my Five," said Brin.

"Well, if we're talking about possibilities," cried Blacklock in exasperation, "one might say he is Eenath the spirit warrior!"

"One might say this is another Maker of Engines," said Fer.

"One might say," I piped up, "that Fer Utovangan is Antho the Bird Farmer!"

Fer and Blacklock stared at me with expressions of comical surprise; Blacklock roared with laughter. "Blazes, old bird, the mountain child has you netted!"

"Hush child!" whispered Fer. "Do you not know that the w inds have taken that old-time designer?"