Creative Commons – The Plainsrunner – Chapter Five

Announcement

I have decided to release The Plainsrunner under a Creative Commons license – Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike (CC-BY-SA). To celebrate that, I am going to publish it here serially, one chapter at a time.

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Chapter Five – Now What

When she reached down to pick up the blanket, Sage noticed a few drops of blood falling on it. My ear, she thought, recalling the day flier’s talon striking her. She didn’t remember any pain then, and didn’t feel any now. Must not be too bad, she thought as she rummaged in one of the panniers for first aid supplies. As she was pulling out the bag she remembered that it was her mother who insisted on putting it in there. She tried to reconcile that with her mother’s cool aloofness before she left. She hadn’t even come to the gate to say good-bye. Sage shook her head thinking she would never understand motherhood.

The medicine bag had a small mirror in it. Just the thing if you’re attempting first aid on yourself. She held it up and examined her ear. It was worse than she thought. The top of her right ear was split by a three centimeter tear. The ear was covered in blood and it had run all down that side of her head and neck. The good news was that the bleeding had slowed down already. The wound was just oozing a trickle now.

She got out her water bag and used it to rinse her ear. She could clean up the rest later. For now she just needed to get a good look at the tear so she could see what needed doing. She propped the mirror on the pannier and pressed the wound together, then she bound it so it would stay. It was more difficult than it had to be because her hands were shaking. Come on, she told herself. It’s barely a scratch. Just a bit of blood. Nothing to get all shaky about. You’ve had worse playing in the compound with the other kids.

She finally got it wrapped up and used the mirror to admire her work. She thought she looked ridiculous with a great white flag for an ear, and she was laughing at herself as she stowed her gear and put on the blanket and panniers. “Okay,” she said as she started down the hill, “fliers should have no trouble spotting me now.” When repacking the pannier, she had taken care to fix the rattle. At least, she thought, they might have more trouble hearing me.

She found the glider right where she thought it would be. She picked it up and found that it had no marks on it. Even the flier’s talons hadn’t managed to put a scratch on its smooth surface. There was no material this light that could do that. Maybe a glazed ceramic. Or glass. Like her mirror, or those few bottles and jars the village had traded for. But if the glider was made out of that stuff, then it would be far heavier than it was. As she was lashing it on she said, “So, who made you?”

She looked past the jumbled blocks and up the high cliff. She could see where she’d thrown the glider from, and she had a small pang when she thought about how close she was to following it. If the flier had hit her more squarely she would have been knocked over the edge. Then the flier would have plucked her out of the air and taken her back to its aerie. If she hadn’t died by then, she would have as it was tearing her apart to eat. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were shaking badly. Worse than before. Her breath was shallow, she could feel her heart pounding, and her legs felt weak and trembly.

She ran her eyes along the cliff face and soon picked up where the flier’s aerie must be. There was a lot of guano on the sheer wall below it, and she thought she saw some movement. Looking more closely she could see that the nest was occupied by at least one, and possibly two young fliers. They were waiting for the adult to bring them back some food. Sage shivered at the thought that it could have been her.

She found herself looking at the cliff above and below the nest, and she realized that she was trying to see if she could get at it. She was thinking about whether she could destroy it and kill these young fliers before they could grow up into big fliers. She shook her head and turned away. “You can’t do that,” she said. Glancing back she thought, it’s too dangerous anyway.

Now she didn’t know what to do. Should she go back up the Scarp and throw the glider again? She couldn’t think why. Maybe she should go for a run out on the plain. That used to be one of her favorite things. Running until she was panting in sweet exhaustion, and then trotting back to the village, to friends, family and food.

Her stomach jumped and her breath caught. Again it hit her: this was real. She would never be going back to the village again. This wasn’t just an adventure for a day or two. This was a life sentence. She wasn’t going to see her friends again. Or her family. And the only food she would have was what she had brought, and when that was gone, what she could find.

She turned her head toward the river, hitched her panniers for better balance, and started walking. It was as good a place as any to spend the night. She told herself not to think beyond that for now. Walking slowly toward her campsite on the river, she said, “What’s the point of thinking about it? What would be the point of that?”

If the glider vibrated, she didn’t feel it through the pannier.