Flyers

hey came down from their homes in the cliffs above the high lake,
appearing out of the pine trees onto the cropped grass of the fields of the river
flats. Their garments varied only from shades of blue to white, and hugged their
slim bodies so they looked like small pieces of sky against the dark green of the
forest and the lighter green of the grasses. Hopping and leaping in the stiff
breeze, they made their way toward the jumble of mud and timber huts, which
stretched along a raised hillock above the river’s flood plain.
They had emerged from the trees almost in file but soon thereafter spread out
across the meadow, converging again into an untidy cluster, and finally four
straight lines.
The people of the village began to emerge from their houses as word spread,
and even the children ran up from their playing along the sandy river-shore,
games forgotten, fidgety eagerness expressing their impatience and anticipation
enlarging their smiles. Cheers arose spontaneously from the crowd as the first in
each line, spreading arms and wings, let the wind push out the thin membranous
webbing, and lift them up and back, swaying unsteadily, to drop behind the group
and resume their walk at the end of the lines.
The gusty nature of the wind caused several flyers to be blown sideways,
slipping to the grass in a tangle of legs and wings, and this caused much laughter
amongst the children, as well as jeers from some of the men folk. The flyers had
long since become a jesting point, for all knew the flyers never really flew, but
only lifted short distances in strong winds.
Attarian ceased his laughter, his features paused in near frown, a moments
sorrow frozen on his features. He shook his head as if to remedy their lots,
these outcasts of the Maker, then his eyes lit again with thoughts of trading
profits soon to be his.
A cheer went up from the crowd, rising with the wind, slipping from cheers to
oohs and ahhhs as one of the flyers, clad all in white, soared far higher than had
any before him. It almost seemed he could really fly as his silhouette was raised
above the spiky pine trees behind. He paused, and somehow held himself
motionless for long seconds, drifting slowly backward like a small cloud, wings
trembling to either side in quick and minute adjustments to maintain his positive
glide. Silence ensued amongst both groups of spectators, for the other flyers too
had turned and were watching the exhibition. A far stronger gust of wind whipped
sand and dust from the bare track which curved about the edge of the forest. The
high flyer tried to adjust as he was swept aside, but his stretching wings took too
much power from the wind and he was whisked up and backward, before being
slammed sideways, slipping out of his glide in the strong crosswind. Plummeting
to earth in tangled disarray, he tumbled down, down to strike the earth with a
cracking thud, lying still, quiet as the crowd, holding their breaths.
Attarian watched and shook his head as he turned away, walking back to prepare
for the celebration to follow. The crowd began to laugh and talk, drifting away as
they realised the show was over, the flyers came toward them slowly, showing
their usual disregard for their injured comrade. The slim figures of the flyers
spread out into a line facing the village, and halted at about fifty metres distance.
As they sat down, most of the crowd had disappeared back into the houses to
prepare what goods they had for trade.

Bluesky watched the others as they sat, stretching away to his left, hoping for a
glimpse of sorrow, or even a tear, but as he had known, none was evident.
Faces cold and hard as stone masks stared straight ahead, as did his own.,
despite the cloying emotion welling up inside him, threatening to betray him. He
knew these feelings would soon fade as they always did, and Cloud had been
old, well past the age when most died.

Attarian strode purposefully into the large room at the front of his Inn calling for
his sons but receiving no reply. He crossed to the heavy wooden bench on the
far side of the room, checking that there were plenty of clay flasks. Soon crowds
would arrive from the north, upriver and later, as word spread, from along the
seacoasts to the south.
By that stage the Women and slaves of the flyers would be setting up tents in the
fields between the village and the forest. Trading would begin in earnest the
following day, and continue for two days ‘till the rain began. Then the flyers and
their goods would simply melt back into the forest.
The next two hours saw the arrival of many of the villagers, and Attarian with his
two women were hard pressed keeping the supply of liquor up to them, Tempers
were good, and a mood of festivity prevailed, the sounds of laughter and
shouting drowning out any attempts at serious conversation.

(This is just a piece of a chapter entitled 'Flyers,' in the Fantasy/Science Fiction story, 'Colony,'
which I wrote some time ago. I'll be tidying the book up soon, maybe even submit it somewhere.
Email me if you want to read more. Sure, it will likely appear on this site eventually anyway.)

Flyers

by Gar