Kichaka moved through the crowd slowly, avoiding eye contact, as she always did. She looked down with a studied enigmatic smile intended to put off, but not to offend any who might seek to speak with her. The young Amu alchemist, deep in thought… thinking about how to avoid awkward social situations. She glanced back at her flank to make sure the nyansapo alama that marked her as vipawa was still covered with her colorful kilt of parrot feathers. The last thing she wanted was attention because of the joined stylized flasks that graced her hindquarters.
Some Gift! As soon as someone sees it, they assume you have all sorts of time to spare to help with their projects because you get your own projects finished in no time. Or they are jealous because you did not have to work hard to become accomplished. For the past few years, she had tried hard to pretend the alama didn’t exist. Her parents didn’t understand why their brilliant daughter sought to work in the shadows and avoided taking credit for her own discoveries. They despaired that she didn’t have any friends.
It does not matter; my colleagues will never like me, no matter what. I constantly serve as a reminder that life is not fair; that some of us have built-in advantages. Yes, I am a genius. Hooray for me.
She continued until she got to the line that was passing through the Garden of Punda. The word was that the day after the Great Assembly, the Prophetess had planted the seed of a treeship in the garden, and zebras thronged to see this wonder. Kichaka had been tending to an experiment for the past two days, so she had a good excuse to miss the largest crowds, but she had to admit her curiosity was piqued, particularly following reports that the seed had germinated seemingly overnight, and was now a mass of tendrils and creepers that grew so quickly that it seemed to visibly move.
It was a bright, sunny day, and it was pleasant to stand in line, enjoying the sights and smells of the Garden of Punda. The zebras immediately in front of and behind her were couples, so there wasn’t anyone trying to engage her in conversation. The line was running up the broad central lane of the garden, which was enclosed by two rows of flowering hedges. Pink mallow was mixed with spekboom, the large, ornate ruby-pink flowers of the mallow contrasting with the delicate light pink cones and jade leaves of the less showy, but hardy succulent shrub.
Side paths led from the main avenue through the hedges, one to a grove of spectacular nandi flame trees, another to a bed of gorgeous, but deadly, glorious flame lilies, a third to a succulent garden full of aloe and other plants used for making salves and lotions, and a fourth to a marshy pond, full of water plants such as the rare and lovely marsh pagoda, a tall rainbow of small, delicate flowers. In the middle of the central path, outrageously showy bird of paradise plants flowered exuberantly every ten feet or so, and bees and butterflies were everywhere, collecting pollen and nectar.
Now she could see a dozen zebras carrying buckets to and from the stream that ran past the garden, past the gawking crowd to… surely that cannot be it? The heap of brambles and vines, already taller than her head, was at least ten yards long. She couldn’t see how wide it was, but it appeared to twitch, even sprout leaves and twigs as she watched. Greenish puffball mushrooms were visibly expanding as they peeked out from between the vines. She saw movement at one end and recognized the flapping of leaves from the fan plant.
This plant is a chimera! Ideas for a half dozen possible experiments popped into her mind as she waited impatiently for the line to move on. It was only when the couple ahead of her shrugged and turned to leave that she saw, and heard, what was holding up progress.
“I insist! If you want assistance from the Guild, you will need to give us samples. Surely, you can’t expect us to work with detritus when living tissue is available!” The nasal whine grated against Kichaka’s bones. Tamaa! The supercilious senior alchemist was gesturing around with a bronze pruning hook, forcing a young House servant back. Despite her protests, the stallion reached out a hoof and took hold of a writhing vine with the grippers on his hoof cuff.
“Tamaa! What are you doing?” Kichaka didn’t stop to think about the fact that she was not only raising her voice, but she was raising her voice to a senior alchemist.
Tamaa turned and looked down his muzzle at her. “Oh, it is you — Kichickoo? Whatever your name is, lab assistant, I’m taking a botanical sample. It is something alchemists do.” He returned his attention to the vine and started to press downward with the pruning hook. The filly, wearing the black neck band signifying House service, fled, shouting for help.
Kichaka gasped; the entire mass of vines seemed to shudder at the touch of the hook. It appeared to be bending away from Tamaa, who started sawing away. “Rather fibrous, aren’t we?” He pulled the vine down to get a better grip.
Kichaka wasn’t quite sure what happened immediately after that, but the next thing she knew, Tamaa was sprawled on the ground with his pruning hook in the dirt next to him, and she was sitting on his chest. Parrot feathers were everywhere, and her kilt had disintegrated. He was much bigger than she was, so he easily shoved her off and rolled to his side. “Are you insane? Go back to the kraal, now!” He rolled over, grabbed the pruning hook in his mouth, and set it back in the socket of his cuff.
She stared at the tarnished, dull bronze of the hook as he returned to his three hoof stance. This idiot hasn’t even cleaned his sampling tool! She interposed herself between the guild zebra and the bramble, which seemed to be returning to relative quiescence. “Did you not see? It was reacting! You could give it an infection with that dirty thing; this isn’t just some interesting shrub you found in the rainforest!”
“You really are insane. I am a senior guild member. You physically assaulted me, and are now disobeying a direct order. As soon as I get back with my sample, you will be out on your perky little ear, filly! You will be digging up manioc roots with the rest of the farmers! Now, get out of my way!” He snarled at her, brandishing his pruning hook in her face.
She was too angry to care. She shoved her own hoof cuff into her tool bag and felt the socket click. She pulled it out quickly, the gleaming bronze of her own hook catching the sun, the finely ground edge glittering. “This is how a professional maintains her equipment, you arrogant, incompetent, lazy idiot!” She pointed it at his stomach; he could maim her, even take an eye, but she’d disembowel him in return.
Tamaa backed up in shock. He was easily twice her weight, but that was indeed a sharp blade. “I — I —” He looked up as Mshauri came around the end of the plant, followed closely by Maoni. “She attacked me! Prophetess, this maniac attacked me and is threatening me with a weapon!”
“A maniac with a weapon? Mshauri, what do we see?” The Prophetess was unperturbed.
“The speaker is a stallion with a pruning hook attached to his hoof cuff.” The Eye of the Prophetess spoke cooly. “We recognize him as Tamaa of the Amu, an alchemist of the second rank. He has dirt in his mane and on his back, and is, for some reason, surrounded by parrot feathers. Standing between him and the treeship is a filly, or a small mare, also an Amu, and also with a pruning hook She looks rather upset about something. We do not recognize her, but she also appears to have the accoutrements of an alchemist. Her mane is in a single braid, she is rather pretty, and appears to be marked with an alama. Nyansapo, I should think.”
Eyebrows rose above the Prophetess Maoni’s blind eyes. “A vipawa who we do not recognize? Child, what is your name?”
Kichaka suddenly realized the situation she was in and who she was speaking to. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she fell back on her hindquarters in sheer terror.
“Oof? That is an odd name.”
“Kichaka, Prophetess.” Her voice was shaky, barely more than a whisper. She must have fallen back into the plant, because she felt the tendrils on her back. They were warm, which surprised her.
“Oh, she does sound fierce, does she not, Mshauri?” Then they all turned their heads as the filly who had run away from Tamaa returned from the other side of the treeship. She was followed by a large stallion who had a truncheon on a lanyard around his neck. They both stopped when they saw the Prophetess, and bowed.
Mshauri spoke. “Maridadi, why did you abandon your post?”
Maridadi pointed at Tamaa. “He was waving his knife around, saying he was going to take a cutting of Nafasi Nyingine, so I went to get Kulinda.” The stallion glared at the alchemist.
Tamaa was outraged. “I am an alchemist of the second rank! I do not take orders from low level House functionaries. Prophetess, I really need to take some samples and get back to my lab with it, if you want us to develop that nutrient fuel you told Chief Mke about.”
“Tamaa, you may have good intentions, but I will not have you terrorizing my servants. I take it this has something to do with you being attacked by our maniac here?”
“She has lost her mind! She charged into me head first and then turned her pruning hook on me.”
The Prophetess turned to Kichaka. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Prophetess.” The vines seemed to be curling around her, supporting her; the contact was comforting.
“I take it you objected to this approach of taking a cutting?”
“Well, yes, Prophetess. His blade is filthy. He could have given the plant an infection. And the way the vines were reacting, it was as though they could feel pain. It was—afraid.”
Tamaa rolled his eyes and clucked. “That is ridiculous!”
Mshauri gritted her teeth. “This is the only chance we zebras have to save ourselves, and you feel you should just take a whack at it with a knife? You do not think you need to ask permission?”
The alchemist snorted. “I am not one of your House flunkies. And as you said, this plant is our chance of saving civilization. Perhaps the Amu should simply take over the project.”
Mshauri’s eyes widened in outrage. “You threaten the House of Punda?”
“It will not come to that; you will just let us take over growing and caring for the treeship. You have no choice. This is more important than your precious traditions. Mke and the other chiefs will see things our way.” He sneered. “Or maybe you would rather come up with a nutrient formula. Punda himself might come down from the mountain and give you the recipe.”
Maoni cleared her throat. “Kichaka, since you are opposed to taking a cutting, how would you suggest going about designing a nutrient solution for Nafasi Nyingine?”
Kichaka felt her anxiety lift, like a mist being dispersed by the bright sunshine of a practical problem that demanded a solution. “Prophetess, it appears to me that this plant—or perhaps I should say creature—that Nafasi Nyingine is an amalgam of at least four types of plants. The vines are lianas; a species of giant clematis, I should think. There are puffballs growing in the midst of the vines, and I am fairly certain they are kuruka uyoga, the floating mushrooms grown by the Vumba. That would make sense; the ship will need buoyancy to fly.”
Tamaa snorted. “Supposition!”
She stood, putting her pruning hook back into her tool bag. “Observation. At the back end, there are fan plants, presumably to provide propulsion. And if I am not mistaken, I see a sapling under the vines. May I take a closer look?” The Prophetess nodded, and Kichaka reached in to part the vines and look at the center of the mass. “By the bark, it looks like muyovu, the cloud trees. They grow on the highlands and can get quite large, though they are mostly harvested by the Fundi before they grow to adult size. According to the scrolls, they can reach nearly a hundred yards, if they are allowed to. This one is growing sideways, along the ground, and — that’s odd. It looks like it is not cylindrical. More like canoe-shaped.”
Tamaa laughed. “That is outrageous! How could a tree grow shaped like a canoe?”
“Magic.” Maoni’s voice was matter-of-fact. “How does a seed survive for a thousand years? How does it contain four different plants? How does it grow so quickly? Those are all due to the magic imbued by the shamans of the ancient past. But more to the point, how do we keep it alive once it is flying?”
“Prophetess, do any of the ancient scrolls record how this was done?” Kichaka was wide-eyed with fascination.
“The roots were dug out and laid in the trough of the hull, and the crew kept them moistened in a bath. Unfortunately, the scroll with the formula they used has not been found. Perhaps it did not survive the journey.” Maoni pursed her lips. “The alchemists assured us they would resolve the problem, and it may be that we have no choice but to resort to taking cuttings. However, they will not be taking control of the project, and I would be shocked to find that Guildmaster Kikundi had any knowledge of this scheme, much less Chief Mke. He knows the other tribes would never accept such a situation.” Mshauri scowled at Tamaa on Maoni’s behalf.
“Kikundi is in his dotage. I will be the Guildmaster soon,” Tamaa gloated. “Mke will see reason.”
The Prophetess sighed. “This is not the time for politics. Kichaka, my child, do you have an alternative proposal?”
Tamaa’s face reddened. “Her? She’s just a lab assistant, and not for much longer!”
Kichaka thought for a moment. “Prophetess, if I am correct that Nafasi Nyingine is chimeric in nature, then it is simply a matter of finding a mixture of nutrients for each of the component plants that feeds all four, but does not cause harm to any of them. We can experiment on finding an optimal formula on samples of uncombined plants to give us what we feel we need in terms of growth of the parts that support buoyancy for the fungus, structure for the tree, propulsion for the fan plants, and, well, I’m not quite sure what the vines are for.”
“Control. Apparently, the shaman-pilot used the vines to control the ship, somehow. We’ll have to figure that out when the time comes.” Maoni smiled. “I accept your proposal. When can you start your work?”
Kichaka’s jaw dropped open and she fell back once again into the mass of vines. Her mouth moved, but all she could do was make squeaking sounds as the shock of what she had just done hit her.
“I will take that as an immediately. Excellent. Tamaa, do you have an objection to this course of action?” Maoni’s mouth wouldn’t have melted butter as she smiled at him.
“I most certainly do, Prophetess! The Alchemist’s Guild will never accept such a plan! This is an outrage!”
“How wonderful!” Maoni nodded. “So, the Guild is now off the project and will stay away from Nafasi Nyingine until further notice. All is settled!”
Tamaa stomped off in high dudgeon, muttering dire threats under his breath while Mshauri fought to keep from laughing. Then she stopped, and instead exhaled in wonder as she looked at Kichaka.
“What is it, child?” Maoni had a puzzled look on her face. “What do we see?”
“Prophetess, I would say Kichaka was correct that the vine is a clematis. The vines appear to be cuddling her, and one has placed a large purple bloom in her mane.”
Maoni said nothing for a moment, then she laughed. “I would say we have found our first crewmember!”
Kichaka was silent, reaching up to touch the blossom, then gently stroked the vine that had draped itself on her shoulder.