magic, then? I never knew that before. Plenty of Newlies do.”
“‘Course we believes in magic. What you think, you better'n me?”
“Certainly not. As you have pointed out, friend, I'm united in bliss with a Mycer girl.”
“Don't mean you got any concern for my folk—or any other creature what isn't humankind.”
“You think what you will. My feeling, simply from being with you a very short while, is that it is you who have little affection for any but your own. And I'm not certain of that. I saw how those Bullies back at the Grounds looked at you. And how you looked at them.”
For an instant, the cords in Bucerius’ massive neck tightened, and his broad nostrils flared. Then, turning away, he began to busy himself with the shrouds of his balloon.
“Don't be botherin’ me, human person. You be wavin’ at the dead down there. Preach at ‘em all you like. I got work to do. …”
B Y LATE AFTERNOON, THE WAR BALLOONS BEGAN to catch up a bit, though none passed the fleeter merchant ships. If any of the military craft had collided or fallen in the swamp, Finn couldn't tell.
Closer, he could see crewmen swarming about the dizzy heights of the portly craft, loosing this, possibly tightening that. Many, he noted, were Yowlies, Newlies with flat, ugly faces, pumpkin-seed eyes, and mean dispositions. Still, their great agility was valued on ships at sea, as well as those in the air.
Before the Change, before the erring seers had brought them up from beasts, the ancestors of the Yowlies had viciously hunted down the ancestors of Letitia's kind. Finn could scarcely blame Letitia for her fear and dislike of such beings. Their fierce appearance and disturbing cries were enough to set anyone's nerves on edge. If any creature changed from beasts lived up to its name, Yowlies took second place to none.
T HE AFTERNOON SUN CAUGHT THE BIG BALLOONS in its glare, and Finn noted their swollen flanks were no longer entirely bare. Now, magic symbols in garish shades of yellow, violet and green were smeared on every side.
This rite, he had heard before, was performed only when the craft were in the air. From the distance of Garpenny Street on the far side of Ulster-East, Finn had often seen vessels returning from the west with such markings, but never on any as they rose into the skies. “Not too surprising,” he muttered to himself, “for themore disaster, mortal fear and death are involved in a spell, the more effective they seem to be. …”
Many of the merchant vessels bore runic markings too, but Bucerius’ balloon showed nothing but an archaic B, a letter in the common tongue.
“You credit the magical arts to some extent,” Finn said, “though I see no signs upon your craft. Would I be out of line if I were to ask why?”
“Out of line's not even be a start,” the Bullie answered, without turning from his tasks. “Human persons be pokin’ they ugly heads into ever'thing they got no business in at all.
“No, I got no signs or symbols on my craft, an’ don't intend to.”
He stopped, and abruptly faced Finn, the late sun narrowing his eyes. “That thing up there be snappin’ a line or rippin’ a hole, you try chantin’ a spell while we be drop-pin’ like a barrel of lead. What I believe is curses an’ hexes can send this thing to the ground. I doubts there's a charm can hold ‘er up.”
Words, Finn thought, that made a strange kind of sense. Perhaps he, and this great—often smelly and disagreeable creature—shared a belief in kind: that he who depended on the strengths within himself possessed a power greater than magic spells.
“At least,” Finn added, “I'd like to think it's so….”
TWELVE
Y OU MUST PROMISE ME YOU WILL TAKE CARE of yourself, my dear. I know you are a fine, capable, and courageous man, and responsible in every respect. Still, I urge you to take extra caution at all times. You will be alone in an alien land, and have no one to depend upon but
“‘Course we believes in magic. What you think, you better'n me?”
“Certainly not. As you have pointed out, friend, I'm united in bliss with a Mycer girl.”
“Don't mean you got any concern for my folk—or any other creature what isn't humankind.”
“You think what you will. My feeling, simply from being with you a very short while, is that it is you who have little affection for any but your own. And I'm not certain of that. I saw how those Bullies back at the Grounds looked at you. And how you looked at them.”
For an instant, the cords in Bucerius’ massive neck tightened, and his broad nostrils flared. Then, turning away, he began to busy himself with the shrouds of his balloon.
“Don't be botherin’ me, human person. You be wavin’ at the dead down there. Preach at ‘em all you like. I got work to do. …”
B Y LATE AFTERNOON, THE WAR BALLOONS BEGAN to catch up a bit, though none passed the fleeter merchant ships. If any of the military craft had collided or fallen in the swamp, Finn couldn't tell.
Closer, he could see crewmen swarming about the dizzy heights of the portly craft, loosing this, possibly tightening that. Many, he noted, were Yowlies, Newlies with flat, ugly faces, pumpkin-seed eyes, and mean dispositions. Still, their great agility was valued on ships at sea, as well as those in the air.
Before the Change, before the erring seers had brought them up from beasts, the ancestors of the Yowlies had viciously hunted down the ancestors of Letitia's kind. Finn could scarcely blame Letitia for her fear and dislike of such beings. Their fierce appearance and disturbing cries were enough to set anyone's nerves on edge. If any creature changed from beasts lived up to its name, Yowlies took second place to none.
T HE AFTERNOON SUN CAUGHT THE BIG BALLOONS in its glare, and Finn noted their swollen flanks were no longer entirely bare. Now, magic symbols in garish shades of yellow, violet and green were smeared on every side.
This rite, he had heard before, was performed only when the craft were in the air. From the distance of Garpenny Street on the far side of Ulster-East, Finn had often seen vessels returning from the west with such markings, but never on any as they rose into the skies. “Not too surprising,” he muttered to himself, “for themore disaster, mortal fear and death are involved in a spell, the more effective they seem to be. …”
Many of the merchant vessels bore runic markings too, but Bucerius’ balloon showed nothing but an archaic B, a letter in the common tongue.
“You credit the magical arts to some extent,” Finn said, “though I see no signs upon your craft. Would I be out of line if I were to ask why?”
“Out of line's not even be a start,” the Bullie answered, without turning from his tasks. “Human persons be pokin’ they ugly heads into ever'thing they got no business in at all.
“No, I got no signs or symbols on my craft, an’ don't intend to.”
He stopped, and abruptly faced Finn, the late sun narrowing his eyes. “That thing up there be snappin’ a line or rippin’ a hole, you try chantin’ a spell while we be drop-pin’ like a barrel of lead. What I believe is curses an’ hexes can send this thing to the ground. I doubts there's a charm can hold ‘er up.”
Words, Finn thought, that made a strange kind of sense. Perhaps he, and this great—often smelly and disagreeable creature—shared a belief in kind: that he who depended on the strengths within himself possessed a power greater than magic spells.
“At least,” Finn added, “I'd like to think it's so….”
TWELVE
Y OU MUST PROMISE ME YOU WILL TAKE CARE of yourself, my dear. I know you are a fine, capable, and courageous man, and responsible in every respect. Still, I urge you to take extra caution at all times. You will be alone in an alien land, and have no one to depend upon but
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