GeneStorm: City in the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

Snapper felt far better after a moment of calm. She had a wicker covered bottle of cherry wine in Onan’s saddle bags. She took a deep pull from the bottle then proffered it to the feral, who sniffed at it then refused. The shark drank again, savouring the taste, before corking the bottle and putting it carefully away. She dusted off her hands and then signed to the young warrior.
    “Your friend still sleeps. He is in need of a healer.”
    “I will take him to the tribe. He will be cured.”
    The shark scratched at her snout, feeling a little dubious. “Are your healers skilled?”
    “They are skilled.”
    The feral warrior sat recovering his wits. He watched Onan, who was waddling about and amusing himself. The bird felt the warrior’s gaze upon him, and rolled a wily eye in return.
    “Clever birdie!” Onan chuckled, then bobbed his head up and down in a dance. He had been eating more banana melon. “Clever birdie!”
    The cockatoo delicately handed the feral a piece of melon. The warrior accepted it, quite taken by the bird’s intelligence.
    Snapper reached out, and Onan leaned his head into her, rolling his head in ecstasy as she scratched him behind his crest. The feral warrior pointed to Onan and made careful hand signs.
    “Your mount. It is impressive.” The feral seemed to be recovering his composure. “What is his name?”
    Snapper spoke clearly and carefully. “Onan!”
    “Onan.” The feral spoke aloud, stumbling the syllables past a mouth filled with tusks and fangs. “Onan?”
    “Onan”. The shark chuckled, and returned to hand signs. “Because he spills his seed upon the ground! It’s a joke from an old religion.”
    The feral seemed a little puzzled, but nodded in acceptance. He rose carefully from the ground, feeling many cracks and sprains.
    “We must not remain here. More enemy may come.” He motioned towards his injured comrade. “I will take my brother to the healers.”
    The warrior was in no condition to help, as Snapper set to work. Some tree branches and tunics from the fallen ferals served to create a makeshift travois. The shark strapped the travois poles into place behind the surviving beetle mount, then carefully lifted the unconscious man and laid him in place. The ride would be hell – if the man had been conscious, every jolt and bounce would have torn into his arm. Snapper scratched at her hide and scowled.
    “Warrior, how far must you travel?”
    The young feral picked up a war club from the ground. “We will find others in a day of travel. Perhaps two days.”
    Snapper thought, nodding as she looked towards the hills.
    “You cannot draw a bow. Screamers may still be in the hills.”
    “It cannot be helped. The wind spirits must protect us.”
    Bugger it – being a true chevalier was becoming expensive. Snapper unhooked her belt and removed the holster and her old two-barrelled pistol. She placed the weapon into the warrior’s hands.
    “Here. I cannot send you into the hills unarmed.” Snapper placed a handful of brass cartridges into the warrior’s pouch, then demonstrated the use of the gun. “Do this – place the shells here. Cock and fire it thus.” She made a sign indicating a gift between equals. “May it serve you well.”
    The young feral looked at the weapon in solemn amazement. He then gazed up into Snapper’s face.
    “This will not be forgotten.”
    The warrior leapt up onto the riding beetle and rode off without once looking back. He headed north towards the distant cliffs many days ride away. Snapper watched long enough to make certain they were off and on their way, and gave the men a final wave.
    “Well birdie – today we were good hussars!”
     
    ‘A knight there was, and from the time he first began to ride on out,
    Loved he chivalry – truth, honour and courtesy…’
     
    Giving a gun to ferals would be a hard thing to explain back in town: best not to bandy the story about. “Right! Work to do! There’s no rest for the