Five Stars: Five Outstanding Tales from the early days of Stupefying Stories by Aaron Starr, Guy Stewart, Rebecca Roland, David Landrum, Ryan Jones Page A
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Bill and Uzzal enough to pay off their debt. She would take only near-star jumps and be back often enough. She could find a doctor who would fix Bill and take extended credit in payment.
If she could lose her fear of flying, they would be free, perhaps leaving Enstad’s Planet one day.
She nodded to Fump. “Help me lose my fear of flying and I’ll leave your world. But you must fix my houseboat so we can live in it until then.”
Fump bowed deeply in its little punt and said, “If we set out now, we will reach Nehnehgrumpis,” the nearest frogfolk village tree, “before sunset.”
“I can’t leave Uzzal behind. He’s too young.”
“Bring Uzzal. At first light, I will send a youngster to fix your boat.”
“Wait here.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” it said as it drew the pole into the punt. Celianne went inside and picked up Uzzal. He squirmed against her shoulder, muttering in his sleep as she carried him to the deck and knelt down.
“Hand Uzzal down to me,” said Fump.
Celianne hesitated and said softly, “I am trusting you with everything.”
“I promise to loose your fear of flying, therefore I will watch your young.”
She thought she heard footsteps on the pier as she handed Uzzal down to Fump. She dashed back and locked the houseboat’s door. Fump pushed off the moment her feet touched the hull, driving them across the sunset-bronze water quickly. The native’s poling was nearly silent, making faint plashes as they slid toward the village. Bubbles rising in their wake stank of hydrogen sulfide. Uzzal slept hard under the bridge she’d made of her legs. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw Baru Ekrasi sinking into the marshlands.
Ahead, in the frogfolk’s village tree, platforms twined liked orchids in the silvery branches. The trunk was two hundred meters across, a smooth, silver pole in the flat sea of reeds. Ten meters up, it split into three thick branches, one pointing southeast, one pointing southwest, the other to the nearest magnetic pole. Extending a thousand meters from the trunk, each branch was supported by root-like columns. A second and third tier of branches emerged horizontal to the ground but shorter than the one below it. Slender leaves grew from the columns at intervals like green waterfalls, drooping down the sides. Frogfolk and breeders climbed and leaped from platforms to branches and back, sometimes plunging into the water below, other times, scaling the trunk back to the heights. Occasionally breeders would leap free, gliding in lazy circles or wildly flapping the membrane between their arms and legs.
There was a wooden box on the top of the air-filter shaped tree. Celianne pointed and said, “What’s that?”
“My home. I will help you loose your fear of flying from that place.”
“It’s high,” Celianne said.
“Breeders not only lose their minds but their eyesight as well. If they are any lower when I push them from the platform, they see the surface, flail in terror, plummet into the shallow water then die and are eaten, and their bones sucked into the ooze.”
Celianne paused, not sure he was serious or not then asked. “What do your call your tree village?” Uzzal stirred, then settled back to sleep, humming softly.
“Nehnehgrumpis.”
“What’s that mean?”
“‘Hands That Reach But Cannot Touch’.”
Fump was breathing hard. It stopped poling, took a deep breath and let off a piercing whistle. A half-dozen frog fliers dove into the water and paddled out to the punt. With a few sounds, Fump had them pushing and pulling the punt toward Nehnehgrumpis, then turned to her.
Celianne looked down at Uzzal sleeping and said, “I wanted to forget my time flying among the stars, but I couldn’t. I hated the memories and I wanted new ones.”
“You are a fairka* , then?”
“A thinker?” Celianne said then snorted. “I guess I am.” She changed the subject, “How long has Nehnehgrumpis been here?”
Fump’s eyeballs bulged as
If she could lose her fear of flying, they would be free, perhaps leaving Enstad’s Planet one day.
She nodded to Fump. “Help me lose my fear of flying and I’ll leave your world. But you must fix my houseboat so we can live in it until then.”
Fump bowed deeply in its little punt and said, “If we set out now, we will reach Nehnehgrumpis,” the nearest frogfolk village tree, “before sunset.”
“I can’t leave Uzzal behind. He’s too young.”
“Bring Uzzal. At first light, I will send a youngster to fix your boat.”
“Wait here.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” it said as it drew the pole into the punt. Celianne went inside and picked up Uzzal. He squirmed against her shoulder, muttering in his sleep as she carried him to the deck and knelt down.
“Hand Uzzal down to me,” said Fump.
Celianne hesitated and said softly, “I am trusting you with everything.”
“I promise to loose your fear of flying, therefore I will watch your young.”
She thought she heard footsteps on the pier as she handed Uzzal down to Fump. She dashed back and locked the houseboat’s door. Fump pushed off the moment her feet touched the hull, driving them across the sunset-bronze water quickly. The native’s poling was nearly silent, making faint plashes as they slid toward the village. Bubbles rising in their wake stank of hydrogen sulfide. Uzzal slept hard under the bridge she’d made of her legs. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw Baru Ekrasi sinking into the marshlands.
Ahead, in the frogfolk’s village tree, platforms twined liked orchids in the silvery branches. The trunk was two hundred meters across, a smooth, silver pole in the flat sea of reeds. Ten meters up, it split into three thick branches, one pointing southeast, one pointing southwest, the other to the nearest magnetic pole. Extending a thousand meters from the trunk, each branch was supported by root-like columns. A second and third tier of branches emerged horizontal to the ground but shorter than the one below it. Slender leaves grew from the columns at intervals like green waterfalls, drooping down the sides. Frogfolk and breeders climbed and leaped from platforms to branches and back, sometimes plunging into the water below, other times, scaling the trunk back to the heights. Occasionally breeders would leap free, gliding in lazy circles or wildly flapping the membrane between their arms and legs.
There was a wooden box on the top of the air-filter shaped tree. Celianne pointed and said, “What’s that?”
“My home. I will help you loose your fear of flying from that place.”
“It’s high,” Celianne said.
“Breeders not only lose their minds but their eyesight as well. If they are any lower when I push them from the platform, they see the surface, flail in terror, plummet into the shallow water then die and are eaten, and their bones sucked into the ooze.”
Celianne paused, not sure he was serious or not then asked. “What do your call your tree village?” Uzzal stirred, then settled back to sleep, humming softly.
“Nehnehgrumpis.”
“What’s that mean?”
“‘Hands That Reach But Cannot Touch’.”
Fump was breathing hard. It stopped poling, took a deep breath and let off a piercing whistle. A half-dozen frog fliers dove into the water and paddled out to the punt. With a few sounds, Fump had them pushing and pulling the punt toward Nehnehgrumpis, then turned to her.
Celianne looked down at Uzzal sleeping and said, “I wanted to forget my time flying among the stars, but I couldn’t. I hated the memories and I wanted new ones.”
“You are a fairka* , then?”
“A thinker?” Celianne said then snorted. “I guess I am.” She changed the subject, “How long has Nehnehgrumpis been here?”
Fump’s eyeballs bulged as
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