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.”
“Bruised yourself pretty good?”
“Not at all. You see, the tether was around my neck and the door was taller than I was. So I was trapped against it, hanging from my neck. I tried to right myself by flapping my wings but they were pinned between my back and the door. I hung there against it slowly strangling until a mare who was a friend of my dame happened to come strolling by. She bit the tether in half, but by that time I had blacked out. That memory has remained with me always. Now if I try to fly all the fear and pain comes rushing back in on me and I feel as though I am strangling. You see, there is no great mystery about it. Just as there is nothing I can do about it.”
Jon-Tom nodded. “Perfectly understandable.”
Teyva eyed him in surprise. “It is?”
“Certainly. You can’t fly if you’re grounded by a childhood terror. Many people know the cause of their irrational fears. They simply have no idea how to overcome them. The first thing you have to realize is that your fear is irrational. That all took place a long time ago, when you were barely an infant. You have to convince yourself there’s nothing wrong with your mind, just as you know there’s nothing wrong with your wings, your legs or any other part of your body.” He took a couple of steps forward until he was practically eyeball to eyeball with the stallion.
“You can overcome your fear, Teyva. All you have to do is talk yourself out of it. There’s no tether around your neck except the one in your memory. You can’t choke on a memory. Doesn’t the fact that you’re about to be gutted and spitted and served up as someone’s dinner make you want to get out of here?”
“I have no more interest in becoming a premature meal than you do, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” Again he flapped his great wings. The backblast of air from those powerful limbs blew dust in Jon-Tom’s fact. Teyva rose off the ground an inch, two inches, three, half a foot this time before dropping back to earth. He was sweating and beginning to froth at the mouth.
“I just can’t do it,” he said tightly. “I can feel the tether around my neck. I can feel it tightening and constricting, cutting off my breath. If I got ten feet up I’d black out from lack of air and come crashing down. I know it.” He glared at Jon-Tom. “You don’t know what it’s like, that feeling. You can’t imagine it. So don’t try to tell me that you do.”
“I won’t.” Jon-Tom wanted to be patient, to be gentle. Unfortunately, the light from the fire pit was beginning to glow brightly. There was no time for patience or gentleness. He had to push.
“Let’s try something.”
“They’ve gone an’ got themselves caught, the stupid twits.” Mudge was squatting in the middle of the big outrigger he and Weegee had spirited away from the boat landing, looking back toward the village. Two wolves had been guarding the trim little vessels, but some commotion among the huts had providentially drawn their attention. Now Mudge knew what the cause of the commotion had been, and providence hadn’t been involved.
“They ought to ’ave been ’ere by now.”
“Give them another few minutes.”
He turned to stare at her in the darkness. “No. I know that Jon-Tom, I do. The poor bald-bodied ape don’t ’ave the brains of a worm. Got ’imself caught ’e did. Well, we did our best. I tried to warn ’im, but no, ’e ’ad to go an’ play the noble man, ’e did. It were ’is choice, it were, an’ it don’t ’ave nothin’ to do with us. We’ve a life of our own to live. ’Tis time to go.” He hopped out of the boat and leaned his shoulder against the side preparatory to pushing it off the low sandbar where they’d beached the hull.
Weegee leaned out and rubbed her nose against his to get his attention. “We can’t just let them die like that, Mudge.”
“We didn’t make the choice on ’ow they’re goin’ to die, luv. They did that themselves. Wot about me and you then, eh?” He stood straight and kissed her, leaning over the gunwale to do so. Then he ran a finger over her whiskers. “I never met no one like you, lass. Never expected to. Never planned on settlin’ down because I never thought I’d ’ave a reason to. Now I’ve got me a reason an’ I ain’t blowin’ it because some nitwit of a ’uman from another world ’asn’t got the sense to know when to mind ’is own business. Jon-Tom’s been pullin’ idiotic stunts like this ever since I’ve known ’im, which is as long as ’e’s been in our world. I knew ’e’d pull one too many one day and that would be the end o’ an interestin’ friendship. Today’s that day. ’E’s made the choice. There’s no one else at risk in this. This time the fate o’ the world don’t ’ang in the balance. ’Tis just Jon-Tom, an’ fate’s decided ’is end ’as come.”
“Someone once told me that fate never decided anything.”
“Wot fool told you that?”
She leaned close. “You did, Mudge.”
He pulled away from her but he couldn’t get away from her eyes. “Damn all females to ’ell anyway. You ’ear me, Weegee? I say damn you!”
“I heard you.” She slipped over the side into the water. “We’ll have a nice long mutual cursing session later. Right now we’re wasting time.”
Together they swam for the village, easily outracing the startled fish that crossed their path.
Jon-Tom’s halting attempts at equine psychoanalysis were going nowhere fast when he was interrupted by the sound of a gate opening at the far end of the corral. At first he thought the cooks had come for them, but the opening was only to permit the injection of some new ingredients to the stew. These ingredients were unceremoniously tossed inside. The gate was slammed behind them.
He didn’t wave. “Hello, Mudge. Hi, Weegee.”
