Eos, p.59
Eos, page 59
Dunea nods silently.
Benaten takes a deep breath, and continues giving us the details.
“Now then. All your names are registered for the event. This means that you have the choice to participate, and you are guaranteed a place on my Team. I will also provide all the transportation necessary—in other words, hoverboards, and anything larger. There are enough units for all of you.” And he points to the back of the yard where the familiar hoverboards lie in two tall stacks on the grass.
“You will have the rest of today and three more days to practice and prepare. The Pilot Competition is on the twenty-eighth day of Setaet. Yes, I realize it’s short notice, but so is the apocalypse. I understand that some of you have doubts about your own capabilities. I repeat, you are not being forced to participate.”
Benaten glances around at all of us, and his gaze pauses meaningfully on Dunea and Menahit before moving on. Then, his resonant voice rises in strength. “However, I urge you to consider this opportunity seriously, and at least to try.”
Benaten pauses, and his energy-filled gaze sweeps over us with a sudden fire. “Some of you are already proficient in the use of hoverboards. You will do well to help the rest. Who here can fly?”
“I can!” Before anyone else can speak, my brother’s childish voice breaks the silence. He raises and waves one hand fiercely, while holding on to his board with the other.
Ter Aten turns in our direction. “Ah, the boy who’s worried about canal water spray.”
“Ter Aten, this is Uru, my brother,” I speak up, while my heart pounds so hard that I feel my lungs constricting. “It’s true, he is really good! He brought his own hoverboard.”
Benaten observes Uru with a sharp gaze, then nods. “We shall see. Anyone else?”
More voices are heard, including Chifuz, Mihravat, Girsul, and several other men whose names I don’t know.
I begin to raise my hand then put it down and stay quiet. My so-called ability to fly is laughable. None of the few other women here speak up at all. Indeed, they appear uncomfortable.
Benaten’s trainer, the bearded older man called Xingir Guai steps forward then. “I’ll be assisting all of you with this,” he says in a quiet, solid voice. “With your permission, im Ter—”
“Of course.” Benaten motions to him. “Please proceed.”
“I am Xingir,” the trainer says. “Everyone, move back and clear the area. First, I want those of you who can fly at all, no matter how poorly, to get yourself one of the hoverboards, and line up here. Starting with you, boy, who already has his own board.”
Uru surges forward with an excited smile, and stands in the middle of the courtyard. Meanwhile, the rest of us back up, clearing a large circle, and make our way to the hoverboards.
Dunea, Menahit, and two other women whose names I don’t know, stay back with a few of the remaining men.
In some embarrassment, I follow Girsul and the other men toward the pile of hoverboards, and pick one.
Then I get in the very back of the line.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-FOUR
“I want to see what each one of you can do on a hoverboard,” Xingir says. “You will get on a board, fly around this courtyard once, and come back. Let’s start with you.” And he points at Uru.
My brother jumps forward, drops his hoverboard so it hovers near the ground, then leaps on it with both feet in his usual feather-light stance. He sings the few simple notes to command the board and it lurches quickly, rising high into the air over our heads in a matter of heartbeats.
Uru leans into the wind like an expert, and soars around the courtyard at breakneck speed, with knees slightly bent, balancing perfectly with his skinny, little-boy legs. When he returns and descends, hovering barely off the ground, Uru taps the back end of the board with one foot, so that it swings into a vertical position just as he hops off, demonstrating a sleek dismount. The hoverboard ends up standing next to him, propped against his fingers as he lands.
Everyone makes sounds of appreciation, while Xingir nods comfortably. “Well done. I can see you’ve been flying a lot.”
Uru’s face beams with a smile, as he steps back, with his upright board in his hands, making room for the next person.
Chifuz steps forward and drops his board. Voice keys it, then stands up on it, sings the go command, and is airborne. He flies with ease around the courtyard, showing his military training in the clean, perfect stance and effortless balance. He returns, without any flair, but demonstrating that he is highly proficient.
Girsul is next. I already know Girsul can fly decently, but unlike the previous demonstrators, he is not particularly comfortable. And so Girsul takes his time, steps on the board with an initial wobble, then rises into the air somewhat slowly and flies lower than either Chifuz or Uru.
When he returns and steps off the board, he exhales in relief. “I need more practice.”
Xingir watches Girsul without judgment. “You’ll get the practice. Not too bad. Next!”
Three more men follow. One of them flies confidently, like Uru, but almost falls off when descending, so definitely overconfident. The other two can barely stand up, and balance wildly, flying very low to the ground.
“No problem. Keep practicing. You will get better before we’re done here,” Xingir tells all of them.
And now it’s my turn.
My stomach fills with anxiety, as I step forward. Feeling self-conscious in front of everyone, as if I’m a Storyteller going up on stage to tell a story, I cast down the board before me.
Breathe, Semmi, a familiar alien voice speaks in my head. Heket must feel my sudden turmoil.
“Thanks, Heket . . .” I think-mumble in reply.
But I can’t pay attention to the pegasus at the same time as I deal with the hoverboard. So, I try to ignore the waves of comfort that issue from him, flooding me.
I sing the voice command to raise the levitating board higher off the ground before I get on—because not even Bastet and the other great gods can convince me to stand on it. I hitch up my skirt just enough so that I can straddle the board, and I sit down. “Sorry,” I mumble out loud. “This is how I ride.”
And then, feet dangling, I rise into the air. . . .
It’s a different sensation, flying in the open, compared to being inside the dark tunnels with a relatively low ceiling. Suddenly I feel a terror of heights as I find myself high over everyone’s heads, staring down at the distant courtyard below, bordered by unkempt shrubbery. Even the sun seems brighter here, now that I’m slightly closer to holy Ra. . . .
Reaching the level of tall tree branches, I lean forward, face bathed in the crisp morning wind, and put both hands down on the board, holding onto either side with my fingers.
An unexpected memory comes to me, of flying on a pegasus bat, comfortably seated, clutching its silky fur. . . . Now that I’ve ridden both, I can confirm that it’s far less frightening to ride a pegasus than a hoverboard. Too bad that’s not really an option for the Race.
I circle the area and voice command the board to descend. It comes to a stop before Xingir. I swing one leg over and get off.
He gives me an amused look and says, “That’ll work.”
I feel an overwhelming sense of relief, and happen to glance in the direction of Ter Aten.
Benaten watches me intensely with a faint smile.
At once, heat engulfs my neck, rises to consume my face. . . . I blink and look away quickly, then take a step back, pulling my board with me.
Bast help me . . . what accursed, hoohvak feelings. . . . This is becoming ridiculous.
Now that we’ve shown what we can do, Xingir turns to the rest of the staff who supposedly don’t know how to use a hoverboard at all.
“You can see, as she just demonstrated, that you don’t need special skills or abilities to fly on a hoverboard,” the trainer says, pointing at me. “What is your name, girl?”
“Semmi,” I reply.
Xingir nods. “Feel free to do what Semmi did there. Sit on the board, lie on it. No one cares. As long as you stay on and don’t fall off, you can ride in the Competition.”
The remaining women and men appear to be much relieved, judging by their expressions.
“Indeed,” Xingir continues, “the most difficult part will be teaching you the basic voice commands. But as you know, that part is not that difficult at all. You’ll have the tone sequences memorized in a couple of days. Just in time for the Pilot Competition.”
He rubs his hands together. “Now, who wants to try first?”
For the rest of the morning and afternoon, we practice flying in the courtyard and around the estate. Xingir Guai himself is highly skilled on the hoverboard, and he is a good instructor. He walks around and demonstrates various stances and positions, useful hand grips for those of us who ride sitting down. He sings voice commands, and encourages beginners, with a solid, easy smile that never condescends but inspires confidence.
Meanwhile, the more experienced hoverboard users such as Chifuz and Uru, practice advanced moves and share useful bits of advice with the rest of us. Uru also indulges in a bit of showing off, as he constantly executes absolutely pointless little jumps and other antics while on his board.
After a few hours, even the most reticent among the staff, such as Dunea, make the attempt to fly. Dunea sits down on the hoverboard, lies forward on her stomach, and hugs the board for dear life, as she rises just slightly above waist level, flying slowly.
“Hathor and Bast . . .” she mumbles, over and over, as she circles the courtyard.
“This is actually not bad at all,” Menahit states, after having had her own turn sitting on a hoverboard.
“I told you,” I say with satisfaction. “We can all do it!”
Nearby, Chifuz overhears us, and pauses with a wink. “I’m starting to think we have a full Team.”
At some point during our training, Girsul comes up to me and says discreetly, “Sun basking time?”
He and I walk beyond the courtyard to a small but sunny nook near the estate walls, where we take out the pegasei and give them a thorough feeding.
“Everyone here knows about them, right?” I ask carefully. “We don’t really have to hide.”
Girsul chuckles. “I suppose, but just in case someone doesn’t, we don’t want Ter Aten to be concerned about it.”
“To be honest, I’m more concerned about my little brother seeing me handle these pegasei,” I say, putting the shining rainbow turnip away in my pocket because Heket just told me it has fed sufficiently. “Uru doesn’t know I have it, and neither does anyone else in my family. And I plan to keep it that way.”
“Same here. No one in our home camp knows.” Girsul continues to turn the pegasus bracelet with his palm, so that it catches the light. Unlike me, he doesn’t have a pegasus in his head telling him when it’s time to stop.
When we get back, Benaten is speaking again, and everyone has paused their hoverboard riding to listen.
“Tomorrow, we’ll continue to practice the basics, and then discuss strategy,” he tells the gathered staff. “There are things you’ll need to pay attention to, in order to keep up with the others during the Race. We need to consider what special tricks and techniques might give all of you an advantage. As Leader of this Team, I’m going out right now to investigate and examine some of the general areas of our Race route. I also have additional business to handle.”
He pauses, searching the staff with his gaze. “Chifuz, you’ll come with me. . . . The rest of you, continue training with Xingir for at least one more hour before resuming your regular duties. Next time I see you, we’re going to have a Team plan. Good effort, everyone. See you all back here in the morning at seventh hour.”
And our employer leaves us, along with Chifuz, both heading back inside the house.
“Where are they going now?” Uru asks, tugging my skirt. “Aren’t they going out?”
“They are,” Menahit replies. “They’re probably going down to the tunnels underneath the house, and leaving that way.”
Uru looks amazed. “There are tunnels underneath the house? What tunnels?”
I bite my lip. “Uru, I think it’s best that Ter Aten tells you himself, and only if you need to know. Yes, there are tunnels and he uses them for some secret work he does.”
“Oh, you mean when he’s being the Man in the Nik—”
“Shut your hoohvak mouth, Uru!” I rush to interrupt. “Don’t ever speak about that in public, not even here! Got that? Or I’ll pull your ear!”
Menahit shakes her head in mild amusement. “Let the boy find out now. He will eventually, now that he’s working here.”
“Well, he isn’t exactly working here,” I say awkwardly. “He is flying with us, yes, but—”
“Probably should ask Ter Aten to hire him on.” And Menahit gets back on her hoverboard.
After several more hours of hoverboard training, Xingir dismisses those of us who don’t have other specific tasks for the day, and Uru and I return home.
“That went well,” I tell my brother in relief as we ride the late afternoon bus. “I think I’m going to ask Ter Aten if he might indeed hire you.”
“Yes! I can be a messenger for him!” Uru chortles with excitement.
“You certainly can, chazuf. But first, we need to continue to practice for the Pilot Race.”
And we do.
For the next three days.
Sacred Bastet and all the great gods of Atlantida, there are so many things, a whirlwind of things taking place over those three days. Exciting, but also repetitive and arduous, all at the same time.
Every morning, we go to the estate courtyard to train, and those of us such as Girsul, Uru, and I, stay there until late afternoon.
Ter Aten informs us that, until the Pilot Race is over, our training takes precedence over any work in the underground tunnels, because he needs a solid, functional Team. Meanwhile, he himself disappears for most of the three days, doing his clandestine business, and occasionally taking Chifuz or select others with him.
Every time Benaten leaves, Uru stares in his wake with admiration. He then pokes me in the ribs or whispers near my ear, “The Man in the Niktos Cloak . . . hehehe!” And when I tell him to hush, he adds, “I want to go with him. . . .”
“I know you do.” I sigh in amusement, shaking my head at the little sha. “Maybe later. But now, we all need to practice, as he ordered.”
Our continued training on the hoverboards consists of flying while sitting, lying down, occasionally attempting to stand up on it, and endless other stance variations.
Xingir Guai insists that we practice flying through very narrow vertical spaces, to mimic possible limitations of flying under a bridge. To that end, a rope is strung across two trees, and lowered further down, for each flying pass, until it’s very close to the ground.
“Learn to fall down flat on your stomach and hold on, at a moment’s notice. Learn to squat and crouch on the board. Learn to stand up from a low or seated position.”
We attempt to do what he says.
“When you get up, keep your hands firmly on the sides of the board, so that you are always gripping something,” he adds. “Maintain a strong grip!”
Easier said than done. By day two, my fingers ache from squeezing the hoohvak board so hard.
Dunea, Menahit, and the other two women do a lot of groaning, and continue to fly sitting down for all of it. Only a few of them attempt to get up and crouch or kneel.
I learn the two women’s names: Emzarabi, a tiny, very pale-skinned young woman with bony arms and brown hair, and Nemadoris, close to my height and somewhat on the heavy side, with a round, warm face, curly hair and light brown skin like Uru and me.
Emzarabi is generally terrified of the hoverboard, and makes high pitched sounds whenever her board makes any hard turns. Nemadoris is calm and resigned, wrapping her arms around the board, but has a bad habit of closing her eyes when flying.
“You do that and you will crash,” Xingir reminds her. “Yes, the sun is bright, and there’s wind and dust in your face. But you must look where you’re going. So, open your eyes, squint, look down, but always look! Also, lift your feet more, keep them back, closer to the board, don’t just dangle them.”
His stream of minor criticisms and advice for all of us is endless. Fortunately, it is all useful.
At some point, Xingir passes out rope and various cords to everyone on staff. “As a last resort, tie yourself to the board.”
And he demonstrates, looping the cord around the waist and then underneath the board, and ties specific knots that are easy to unravel in one pull. So, for several hours we also practice tying and unraveling knots. Menahit and Dunea enjoy this part, since they are nimble-fingered and dexterous.
I learn the names of the three other men on staff who choose to stay on the Team (while three others regretfully tell Benaten they cannot do it, because of their personal circumstances or physical shortcomings). They are Aramazd, Yereg, and Tehom. Black-bearded, muscular Aramazd, with a shaved head and skin reddened by the sun, is the overconfident one, who flies fearlessly, but not that well. Brown-haired Yereg and pale-skinned, red-haired Tehom are both very careful, both somewhat older, and they tend to sit on the board.
In the long run, all that matters is that we all don’t fall off.
There’s one other thing we discuss.
“We don’t have any information on the nature of the hovering platforms,” Xingir tells us. “All we know is, they appear disk-shaped from the ground, but they’re strictly guarded, and there’s absolutely no access to them. No one is permitted to fly up there to see them before the actual Race.”
Many staff members shake their heads. Unhappy, frightened whispers are heard.
Xingir watches our reactions with sympathy. “We can only guess as to what’s on the top layer, what kind of surface we’ll be dealing with. Assuming the worst—that it’s a slippery, smooth, or featureless, orichalcum surface—we need to be prepared to stand up on it without any guardrails, as it moves.”
