Chapter Three

Warrior And Sword

Between the time of the Old Fathers and the Tribal Wars, the Land of Iron (Turua) languished beneath an angry sky. The rivers became mud and the fish died. The mud caked under a relentless sun, and the crops would not grow. The True Kin (Sotrokier) knew hunger and thirst.

Ch 3 P.1. Learning To Fly

The green turned suddenly blue, and the air changed from warm to cool. Marle was once again plummeting through the sky and yelling at the top of his lungs. The air caught some of the wingsuit and spun him in dizzying circles as he fought desperately against his binding. Tumbling, Marle spotted a vast green forest below. The thought of being skewered on a pine made his throat dry with fear.

Marle was below the white clouds and above the green forest, and the tall pine trees were coming up to meet him far too quickly. He pulled against the zip tie with frantic gestures that only made his wrists hurt; he was getting nowhere. If there was any hope, if he were to use the wingsuit to his advantage, he would first need to free himself and spread his arms.

Marle remembered seeing a demonstration by a man showing the way to break free from a zip tie. With no small amount of effort, Marle managed to get his hands wide enough apart to make fists. He pressed his fingers together, as he had seen, and pulled his wrists sharply against his torso. Ouch! Marle was still bound. In heightened distress, Marle writhed against his bound wrists and screamed in desperate rage; the forest below seemed way too close.

Startled when the staff appeared in his right hand, Marle watched the zip tie break apart, and he felt the sudden strain in his muscles as his arms were thrown wide. Had the staff been lost to his grip? Marle could not consider that; he had to focus on what lay ahead of him. The wind had caught his wingsuit in just the right way, but Marle had never used one before. He had to rely solely on what he had read and seen about the matter. He would have to learn to fly on the fly.

Marle understood that he had a three-to-one glide ratio. In other words, he was moving three feet forward for every foot he fell. He recalled that his velocity might be reduced, roughly, from one hundred and forty miles per hour to as low as twenty-five miles per hour. Good! One thing at a time. Now he had to stretch out his body; keep his position taught. Balance was now his most vital concern. If he messed up, just a little, he might be thrown into another hopeless tumble.

If he adjusted his course, his gestures would need to be small and measured. There might be a few things he could do to slow his velocity. First, relax; sink into the suit with a less rigid frame. Then, flare to raise his head slightly but not so high as to stall. He was doing it. Marle laughed at his success, feeling a slight reduction in Gs. There was one other thing he might try, and that was born more of renewed hope than recollection. If Marle could fly in broad circles, he might give himself additional time to slow down.

The sky was a cool, crystal blue, stretching between misty horizons. The pine forest spun beneath him like a turning disc. The wind roared past his ears, and Marle blinked against the eye-drying pressure. He had never skydived or used a wingsuit, despite the many opportunities and invitations, but he felt a sense of pride in the success of his first-ever efforts. He was flying.

Still, the forest was determined to meet him halfway, and it looked particularly hard and woody. He had no plan for when he reached the trees. It appeared he had but one option: reach out and grab something. He had a moment to consider how that might work. Marle imagined gripping the top of a tall and elastic young pine. His momentum would take him forward, bowing the pine toward the earth. If he turned loose at the right moment, just when the pine began to snap back, his fall to the ground might be less than difficult. That's all he had, but it was enough to work with.

Marle closed his mouth against the rushing air. He did not pray, but he felt prayerful in his final moments. He had been handed a measure of success in using the wingsuit. It was not impossible that he might survive to reach the ground. Anything was possible, after all. In school, Marle never imagined that he would someday work in space, in a Tin Can swinging between Mercury and Venus, yet that had come to pass. The events that followed, even more unimaginable, Marle would save for future ruminations.

Now was not the time. It was a time not to think; it was a time to act. His focus had to be laser sharp. The trees approached.