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Authors: Orson Scott Card
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alone conquer, a people like this? The Nkumai would only pull up their rope ladders and sneer. Or drop deadly rocks. And the fear of heights would surely incapacitate other Muellers besides me. We may have schooled ourselves to separate fear from pain, but falling was another matter entirely. Besides, I had no way of knowing whether a drop from such heights might do more damage to a Mueller than his body could heal in time to save his life. Fish might as well launch a war against the birds as Mueller fight Nkumai here in their home trees.
Unless, of course, we found some way to train Mueller’s soldiers to deal with heights. Perhaps they could practice on artificial platforms, or in the tall trees of Ku Kuei. I might have pursued this idea further, if I hadn’t been constantly distracted by the need to pick a footing that wouldn’t plunge me headlong to the earth.
We finally walked gingerly along a narrow branch to a rather involved house—though in fact I would have considered it simple back in Mueller. Teacher spoke softly, but penetratingly, saying, “From the earth to the air.”
“And to the nest, Teacher. Come in,” and the husky but beautiful voice of Mwabao Mawa drew us into the house.
The house was basically five platforms, each one not much different under foot from those I had already rested on, though two of them were quite a bit larger. However, they had roofs of leaves, and a rather complicated system of gathering all the roof-water into barrels in the corners of the rooms.
If they could be called rooms. Each platform was a separate room. And I could detect no hint of a wall anywhere. Only curtains of brightly colored cloth hanging from the roofline to the floor. Breezes opened the walls easily.
I chose to stand in the center of the platform.
Mwabao Mawa was, in a way, disappointing. She should have been beautiful, from her voice, but she was not—at least not by any standard of beauty I have ever known—not even by Nkumai standards. But she was tall, and her face, however unlovely, was expressive and lively. When I say tall, the word does not convey: in Nkumai, nearly everyone is at least as tall as I am now, and in Mueller I am much above average. At that time, of course, I was not yet at my full height, and since among the Nkumai, Mwabao Mawa was towering, I saw her as a giant. Yet she moved gracefully, and I didn’t feel intimidated. I felt, in fact, protected.
“Teacher, whom have you brought me?”
“She won’t give me a name,” Teacher said. “A gentleman, it appears, does not ask a lady.”
“I’m the emissary from Bird,” I said, trying to sound impressive without sounding pompous, “and to another lady I will tell my name.” By then, of course, I had chosen a new name, and from then on throughout my stay in Nkumai, I was Lark. It was the closest I could come to Lanik and still be plausible as a woman from Bird.
“Lark,” Mwabao Mawa said, making the name sound musical. “Come in.”
I thought I already was.
“In here,” she said, instantly trying to soothe my confusion. “And you, Teacher, can go.”
He turned and left, trotting easily along the narrow branch that had so frightened me. I noticed that he obeyed as if Mwabao Mawa had great authority, and it occurred to me that perhaps a womanly disguise was not the handicap here that it had been for me in Allison.
I followed Mwabao Mawa through the curtain she had entered from. There was no path—just a space about a meter and a half across to the next room. Miss the jump, and meet the earth. Not exactly a record-setting leap—but competitive jumping in Mueller offers no further penalty for missing the goal than the scorn of the observers.
This time the wallcurtains were subdued and darker, and the floor was, thank heaven, not one uninterrupted plane. It sank in two steps to a large center arena, which was liberally sprinkled with cushions. When I stepped down, I found that my eyes were willing to believe that I
Unless, of course, we found some way to train Mueller’s soldiers to deal with heights. Perhaps they could practice on artificial platforms, or in the tall trees of Ku Kuei. I might have pursued this idea further, if I hadn’t been constantly distracted by the need to pick a footing that wouldn’t plunge me headlong to the earth.
We finally walked gingerly along a narrow branch to a rather involved house—though in fact I would have considered it simple back in Mueller. Teacher spoke softly, but penetratingly, saying, “From the earth to the air.”
“And to the nest, Teacher. Come in,” and the husky but beautiful voice of Mwabao Mawa drew us into the house.
The house was basically five platforms, each one not much different under foot from those I had already rested on, though two of them were quite a bit larger. However, they had roofs of leaves, and a rather complicated system of gathering all the roof-water into barrels in the corners of the rooms.
If they could be called rooms. Each platform was a separate room. And I could detect no hint of a wall anywhere. Only curtains of brightly colored cloth hanging from the roofline to the floor. Breezes opened the walls easily.
I chose to stand in the center of the platform.
Mwabao Mawa was, in a way, disappointing. She should have been beautiful, from her voice, but she was not—at least not by any standard of beauty I have ever known—not even by Nkumai standards. But she was tall, and her face, however unlovely, was expressive and lively. When I say tall, the word does not convey: in Nkumai, nearly everyone is at least as tall as I am now, and in Mueller I am much above average. At that time, of course, I was not yet at my full height, and since among the Nkumai, Mwabao Mawa was towering, I saw her as a giant. Yet she moved gracefully, and I didn’t feel intimidated. I felt, in fact, protected.
“Teacher, whom have you brought me?”
“She won’t give me a name,” Teacher said. “A gentleman, it appears, does not ask a lady.”
“I’m the emissary from Bird,” I said, trying to sound impressive without sounding pompous, “and to another lady I will tell my name.” By then, of course, I had chosen a new name, and from then on throughout my stay in Nkumai, I was Lark. It was the closest I could come to Lanik and still be plausible as a woman from Bird.
“Lark,” Mwabao Mawa said, making the name sound musical. “Come in.”
I thought I already was.
“In here,” she said, instantly trying to soothe my confusion. “And you, Teacher, can go.”
He turned and left, trotting easily along the narrow branch that had so frightened me. I noticed that he obeyed as if Mwabao Mawa had great authority, and it occurred to me that perhaps a womanly disguise was not the handicap here that it had been for me in Allison.
I followed Mwabao Mawa through the curtain she had entered from. There was no path—just a space about a meter and a half across to the next room. Miss the jump, and meet the earth. Not exactly a record-setting leap—but competitive jumping in Mueller offers no further penalty for missing the goal than the scorn of the observers.
This time the wallcurtains were subdued and darker, and the floor was, thank heaven, not one uninterrupted plane. It sank in two steps to a large center arena, which was liberally sprinkled with cushions. When I stepped down, I found that my eyes were willing to believe that I
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