The Luck of Brin's Five by Cherry; Wilder Page A

set it down as he delivered it, but the story is a simple one:
    â€œAntho the Bird Farmer was not a clansman; he lived on the outskirts of Rintoul where there are bird farms and market gardens to serve the needs of the great city. He followed the old threads, but he suffered a great loss . . . his Five and their children all were killed in an accident on the river, and Antho, who had been proud and rich, was left alone. He became mad, so it was said, with his solitude. One day he set free all his caged birds, even the scratching fowl who cannot fly, and wandered into the wilderness.
    There the winds took pity on him and blessed him with the power of flight. He made a marvellous craft from bentwood and a bolt of silk he found floating down the Datse. It was launched from the roof of a ruined temple, with the aid of two hermits, male and female, who lived in the desert. Then Antho caught every current of air and flew better than the grandees. His glider took him home again and was a wonder to behold. No other craft could match it, and the design was widely copied. In the end Antho flew away on another of his journeys and did not return. It was said that the winds had taken him.”
    We applauded when the tale was done, and the Harper repeated his last notes . . . Antho flying into the setting of the suns.
    â€œIs this tale very old?” asked Diver.
    â€œBy no means,” said the Harper. “Antho has been gone no more than twenty springs.”
    â€œHe could be still alive!” I cried. “An ancient—”
    The grown-ups all laughed.
    â€œHush child,” said Gwin, “you heard the Harper. The winds took him.”
    â€œI wonder?” said Brin. “Who is this liege of Beeth Ulgan’s . . . the Maker of Engines.”
    It was past the time for our best sleep, and we were folding our clothes into their bags, ready to crawl into our own.
    The Harper sighed and hung up his beautiful harp upon the white wall. “Diver,” he said, “I have been talking with the shepherds . . . Varb’s Five.”
    â€œWhat do they say?” asked Diver.
    â€œLast spring there were grandees at Whiterock. They left behind a treasure that none could put to use.”
    â€œA treasure?” I asked.
    â€œTheir glider came down about half a mile north east of the rock,” grinned Roy. “It lies there yet, covered with hides and branches.”
    â€œA glider!” Diver’s eyes were shining with excitement. We knew why the Harper had been unwilling to tell about this treasure.
    â€œWe must look at it tomorrow!” said Diver.
    â€œWill you . . . will we all go flying?” asked Narneen. Diver looked at us, sensing the tension.
    â€œIf your Luck can fly,” he said, “then so can you all.” It made me sleep easier.
    When I woke up, in brightish Esder light, before the Great Sun rose, the Harper and Diver had already gone. I ran up onto the roof, struggling with my tunic, and caught sight of them, clear of the glebe, two dark figures striding across the grazing fields. They passed into the shadow of the tall rock. I dared not go back down the ladder for fear of waking the others. They would soon be stirring anyway, it was only the darkness of the fixed house that kept them asleep. I looked over the edge of the roof and found more handholds than there were on Hingstull. Down I went, by rain pipe, window edge, and a tree branch. I ran through the glebe and across the grass in the flat light of Esder, overhead. It was a near thing, but I glimpsed Diver and Roy passing into a grove of trees off to the northeast, away from the fold. The wool-deer thumped and chirruped in their stockades; I thought I heard Varb’s Five stirring in their tent.
    I could have run on and caught up; but instead, out of mischief, or shyness, or because I wanted to go back to the fixed house for breakfast, I decided just to watch. I turned back and climbed the white rock. It made a