Verna’s Journey
Pauline Anne Armitage
Chapter Two The Tarncot
I
awake feeling bleary-eyed. I stagger to
my feet. Vika lies on the floor
sleeping peaceably. I reach for the twin
triangles of tabuk[1] hide
joined at each point and step into it, so as to cover my lower torso. I tighten the top at my waist with the
adjusting thong. Vika stirs. Realising that I’m awake and standing over
her, she scurries to bow her head before me in obeisance.
“Ten thousand pardons, Ubara. I slept while you were awake!”
“Silence Vika. My head hurts from too much wine. Please, just give me my clothes.”
Vika rises and helps me
into my boots and jerkin. She’s done a
good job. My garments have not been this
soft ever, not even when the hides were newly cured. I should thank her, but I don’t really feel
too well. Besides she’s a slave. Thanks are not expected by her. I retrieve my weapons and head off seeking
some verr[2] milk to
quench a parched throat. I manage a bowl
of thick sullage[3] along
with the milk. I begin to ‘come
round’. I’m still not at my best
when Callius and Arminias enter the
hall. They have already eaten.
“If you are ready, Ubara? It’s time for you to learn to fly a Tarn.”
I’m
not, but I can’t really put this off. Arminias’ voice has the
tone of an executioner. I get up and
follow the two of them to the Tarn cot. On the way, we pass the store of the
quartermaster. He finds me fur-lined
riding-leathers and boots. Such are
necessary as it is colder in the sky than at the ground. It gets colder the higher one goes. The leathers and boots are just a bit too
big, but they are the smallest he has.
When I get to Ar, I’ll have some made
to fit.
Arminius
greets the tarn-keeper. The tarn-keeper. has an air
about him, of ‘Why am I bothering’. He
just knows that a tarn is going to kill me
today. He’s just going through the
motions, giving the barest minimum of information. He leads us to a bench over which is thrown a
tarn saddle and throat
strap.
“You mount with the
mounting ladder...”
The
tarn-keeper. indicates.
“You make sure that you
fasten the safety belts so that you can’t fall off.”
The
tarn-keeper. goes to the
throat strap.
“This fastens round the Tarn’s neck, The six straps or reins are numbered
clockwise, one-strap being at the top.
To control direction you pull on the strap or straps closest to the
direction you wish to go. One-strap for
up, two and three for right, five and six for left. Four to go down or
land. To slow the tarn down, you pull on
all the straps equally. A quick flick of
all the straps together tell the tarn to speed up. Alternatively you can use the Tarn goad to encourage a
faster pace.”
The
tarn-keeper. takes just
such a device from his belt.
“Hold out your hand.”
I
do so. He slaps the goad into my hand
pressing the activation button. There
are sparks and a searing pain in my hand.
“The Tarn-goad is not a
weapon or a toy. Treat it with respect!”
Feeling
is coming back into my hand.
“If you want the bird to
hunt for food, whether you are in the saddle or not, use the word ‘Tabuk’”
I
nod.
“This is a Tarn-whistle. Each Tarn responds only to
the tone of its own whistle. You summon
the Tarn with the
whistle. Don’t lose the whistle. Lose the whistle and effectively you lose
your bird! You’ll get yours when a
suitable Tarn is allocated.. The Tarn can hear the
whistle up to ten pasangs[4]
away. That’s about it really. Let’s find you a Tarn.”
I
resolve to thread the whistle onto the thong that holds the Ubara signet.
We stand on the floor of the Tarn cot by the big open
flight-exit, looking up at the birds.
Most are quiet, but there’s a big red-plumed one fluttering its wings
and squawking on a perch high up and back.
Arminias talks to the tarn-keeper.
“Do you have something
relatively safe and docile…?”
“No!”
I
surprise myself! I know! I just know which bird I want!
“I’ll take that one.”
I
point up at the big red fractious Tarn. The tarn-keeper is
horrified.
“Lady!…”
He
doesn’t know that I’m nominally the Ubara.
“...The big red female
is barely trained. It’ll kill you! It’s badly injured one keeper who tried to
saddle it! It’s unstable. It won’t settle down!”
“Let it kill me! As I said to the Commander, I’m not afraid of
death.”
I
hear him mutter to himself. I think his
comment is ‘mad fool!’
“So be it, Lady. Your funeral...”
The
tarn-keeper. calls an
order to a subordinate. The perch is
unhooked from the cot wall and lowered with a pulley arrangement so that it
drops onto a cart. The bird on its cart
is pushed towards us. It’s still beating
its wings and squawking. I find the bird
to be beautiful. If I am to die, let it
be at the beak of such a bird as this! I
am told later that to Tarnsmen, death by Tarn is not considered a
dishonourable death. I call to the
second keeper, the one who’d brought the bird down.
“Free her!”
The
man unhooks the bird’s tether.
I step forward. I
hear Arminias and the tarn-keeper. step back
as fast as they can. I hear the word
‘Crazy!’ I look the Tarn in the eye.
“Greetings Sister of the Wind! Let us be one! Let us ride the wind together!”
The
bird leaps forward! It stops just short
of me. Its beak only inches from my
face. It opens its beak and issues a
scream that temporarily deafens me. I
feel the wind thrust from its mighty lungs and drops of spittle sprinkle my
face. I make no attempt to move. I do not flinch in the slightest, not out of
belligerence, but because somehow I know that the bird will not harm me. I am its sister, its counterpart, its other
half. How I know this I don’t know The long scream ends. The Tarn steps back in
puzzlement. There’s another look in its
eye now. Recognition.
“Come Sister! Let us feel the wind beneath our wings. Let us soar into the sky!”
I
reach for the saddle and throat strap. I
climb the saddling block on the cart. ‘Sister of the Wind’
perches quietly and still as I fasten the saddle and controlling straps. I hear from behind me awed voices. ‘She’s a Tarnsman!’ ‘A woman Tarnsman!’ ‘A Tarnswoman!’ ‘I never thought I’d see the day!’. I am satisfied that the harnessing is secure
and not harming the Tarn. I turn to the tarn-keeper.
“Whistle!”
He
steps forward his jaw hanging slackly.
He presses the Tarn-whistle and a goad
into my hand. I fasten the whistle
securely into a pocket of my riding leathers for now, and the goad to my wrist
by its leather loop. I’ve no intention
of ever using the goad unless I have to.
This Tarn is too precious for
such brutality! I lead the Tarn to the edge of the
platform. I climb the ladder to the
saddle and strap myself into the saddle.
“Fly, my Sister! Fly!”
I
pull on the one-strap. We are in the
air. My stomach with the remains of last
night’s wine feels left behind on the platform.
A strange feeling! My stomach
catches up to me. I am in ecstasy. I am Mistress of the
World! Up here, it’s like I’m a Goddess. I climb higher still.
Arminias having
collected his own Tarn joins me. He shouts out to me.
“Beware of hubris! You are not a Goddess! Control the Tarn! Keep your head and your wits under
control! Daydreaming is dangerous to you
and the Tarn.”
How
does he know what I am feeling? Was his
first flight so gorgeous? Did he feel
like a God on his first flight? I wake
up to reality and answer.
“Got your point, Arminias!”
“Now follow me. Do what I do, make your Tarn conform to what
mine is doing.”
Arminias leads me
through a series of manoeuvres designed to test and increase my skill at
controlling the Tarn. We fly together for an hour or more before Arminias leads us back
to the Tarn cot. I land the Tarn and encourage it to
it’s previous perch. Sister of the Wind is no
loner fractious. Arminias approaches, a
huge grin on his face. I see beyond him Grippus and Callius with huge smiles
also. Arminias grabs me and
hugs me. I’m amazed that I let him get
so close without drawing my knife! The
hug is not one of desire, but of fraternal greeting. He releases me.
“See that your Tarn is fed. Get some food. Do what you need to. We leave for Ar, in an Ahn.”
There
is much cheering and breast-thump salutes as we leave the cot. Even the few slaves outdoors shriek with
admiration.
At the 11th Ahn[5] Arminias, Callius and I are
ready. Our Tarns carry saddlebags with
our limited belongings in them. Our
weapons are strapped to the saddle where we can easily get them in case we need
them. The rest of the garrison, or so it
seems is there to see us off. Grippus steps forward.
“Fly with the wind, Ubara. When you return, call and visit.”
“We cannot see where
time takes us, but if I’m back this way, then yes. I’ve still get lots of your wine to drink!”
Grippus snorts a
laugh. The three of us climb on our
Tarns and rise off the platform. Callius leads. Apparently he’s more familiar with the route
than Arminias.
