Chapter 6 - Carabas and the People of the Air
It all worked out well with the giant creature. Barely any need to mention it.
But as our gallant band made its way through the Mists to safety, I was alarmed to discover increasing dissent and grumbling amongst them, beyond even the normal gripings of humans. Even Ann’s quaint sing-alongs were insufficient to calm them.
Fah. We were fortunately, at least, that humans are herd animals, and didn’t, as catlings would, wander off on their own.
Obviously, in the face of fatigue and hunger and danger and weariness and frustration, there was just one answer.
I sang to them.
Many and wonderful were the sagas I wove them, great stories of journeys toward safety, treasure, and success. I began with song, but the humans were so enrapt by my tale-telling, they begged me to save my voice and, instead, elocute my stories to them.
A gracious audience indeed, and clearly my inspirational note was having its desired effect.
And so the hours passed, and my golden words, silver tongue, and remarkable imagination brought many smiles to their lips, occasional ill-timed laughter to their throats, and forestalled some sort of foolhardy rebellion.
And as we marched up into the Midlands, we seemed to have finally escaped the eye of the Overlord’s forces.
Days went by, Rations were running thin (so thank goodness for the tales I’d told, otherwise we’d have faced a riot!). We’d achieved the Midlands, and the Ohir ruins we were passing were changing from tumbled-down towns and broken statues to fallen fortifications and the like.
“They are coming,” Wynn announced in dusty tones.
“Who?” asked Virens.
“The People of the Air.”
Well, let me tell you, that was something exciting. The People of the Air are – well, think of giant birds, as large or larger than a Catling.
Frightening? Perhaps, to those weak of heart. But … well, we are talking about birds here. No Catling born to the name would ever back down before a bird.
While the People’s armed vanguard approached, gliding through the air, we stood bravely against them in protection of the people of Red Valley.
(Wynn seemed strangely daunted by their approach, but, then, he often attracted hungry birds. I swore to myself I would keep him from their fierce beaks.)
Well, what with one thing or another, our brave front against them served its purpose, and they decided not to attack. Indeed, they looked upon Yours Truly with wonderment and, perhaps, the awe one would expect of prey before an unexpected predator. One might even say that, taking a look at me, they knew just what sort of fight they would have on their hands should they be anything less than peaceful and birdlike!
It appeared that they, too, had been victims from the fall of that sky island at the hands (we believed) of the Overlord. Their sacred hatching grounds had been upon that island (and what a treasure that would have been to find!), and had been destroyed by its plummet from the sky.
Their leader, a hen named Sakura, brought us to their encampment, where we were introduced as ones who had fought the people of the Overlord, who had brought the island down. I was about to launch into a retelling of how I snatched the teleportation whoziwhatsit from Ecki when Ann (with her truly caring, if poorly timed, compassion) called on the People of the Air to protect the refugees from Red Valley.
Given the example of our magnanimity and interest, the Bird People had no choice but to acquiesce. Let that be a lesson to you kitlings, that nobility of spirit is infectious.
Once brought into their inner sanctum, we learned that Sakura was heir to the chiefdom, as her elder brother had been on the island ready to bring back their next eggs when the cruel Overlord brought it down.
There was much other talk, about horoscopes and history and backstory and infodumps and other palaver that, for a Cat of Action, was less than engaging. Fortunately they had plentiful food (and we’re talking good meat, not seed), drink, and tasseled pillows to bat at.
By the end, we had charted our course – we would next travel to an old floating city that predated the Ohir, chained in place to keep it from drifting. Heigflæma – Hior’s Flame – it was called by the Ohir in their ancient (and, frankly, rather ugly) tongue. Now it was known (by its current inhabitants) as Chains Cross.
And it was, as Rowan foretold it, the next target of the Overlord.
How would I help save the city from such a fate? Prick up your ears, kitlings, and listen well!