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ld cheer as he
swooped sleek-winged over their heads, would swell with pride as he
gained height like a soaring eagle - blissfully unaware that his
test-flight would end a couple of hundred miles away at the nearest
way-station. He'd leave 'em standing, open-mouthed, like the idiots
they were. Best of all, the two wordsmiths, who thought they were such
wise guys, would be totally shafted.
It was a good plan. It had style. And it was a hell of a lot better
than trying to outrun a bunch of screaming lumpheads.
When Cadillac joined him for supper that evening, Steve used the
opportunity to talk about his three years at the Flight Academy in New
Mexico, culminating with an eloquent account of his first overground
solo. Cadillac listened attentively. Afterwards, when Steve had gone
to sleep, he went to Mr Snow's hut. They sat crosslegged on the
talking mat and shared a pipe of rainbow grass.
'He wishes to build an arrowhead so that he may teach me to ride the
sky like a cloud warrior."
'I know..." The old wordsmith's voice floated through the smoke that
curled lazily between them.
'Is there any reason why this should not be?"
'None at all." Mr Snow pulled deeply on his pipe, inhaling the
smoke.
His face froze in a half-smile for several minutes while his vocal
chords waited for the air to clear. 'He follows the path laid down for
you by the Sky Voices."
Cadillac took the offered pipe and drew more smoke into his body. His
head began to take wing. As a consequence, there was some delay before
his brain managed to make contact with his mouth. 'To help build an
arrowhead will give me knowledge of the High Craft, and to fly like an
eagle will bring me great standing. You are my teacher." He passed
the pipe over. 'It is not fitting that I should receive these gifts
without them first being given to you."
'You go ahead,' replied Mr Snow. He waved the pipe in the air. 'This
is the only way I'm leaving the ground."
Steve was right in thinking that the clan had moved further to the west
but he was not entirely correct about the reason for their retreat to
the relative safety of the high ground.
While the clan elders were anxious to avoid further attacks from the
arrowheads until they had learned to resist the fire from the sky and
the long sharp iron wielded by the sand-burrowers they had a second,
equally pressing, reason for moving westwards: the elders wanted to
avoid having to answer any challenge over the M'Call's turf until the
Bears had regained their standing. By running from the battle with the
iron snake they had - like the Japanese samurai of old - 'lost face'.
Without 'standing', they were - by the unwritten laws of the Plainfolk
- unworthy to bear sharp iron and engage other warriors in single
combat. Since the M'Call's turf was now threatened with incursions by
the D'Vine - the clan to which the dead Shakatak and his three
companions had belonged - Roiling-Stone had given the order to withdraw
westwards into the great mountains until the shamed Bears were ready to
'bite the arrow' - the traditional proof of courage by which they
regained their warrior status.
Steve was invited by Mr Snow and Cadillac to sit in on the ceremony.
Seeing the flames leaping from the big bonfire and hearing a rumbling
background beat of drums, he thought he was finally going to hear one
of the long-awaited fire song sessions. Instead, he found himself
watching a macabre ceremony of self-mutilation. Mr Snow explained to
Steve the reason why, since his capture, he had only heard solo voices
singing a keening lament, sometimes accompanied by a haunting melody
played on reed pipes; the rousing fire songs, which recalled the epic
deeds of the M'call's, could not be sung in honour of warriors who had
lost their standing; they had first to bite the arrow.
Sitting beside Cadillac, Steve watched with morbid fascination as the
first of the M'Call braves knelt before Rolling-Stone, the clan elder,
and presented him with an arrow. Each brave was required to make his
own, whittling the straight shaft and honing the four blades of the