A Savage Pursuit

In a Queensland rain forest, over ten thousand miles from London, Spior leaned his back against a fig tree. He bound his handkerchief tightly around his hoof on his left arm. The sabre cut had been clean and he was surprised there hadn t been much blood. The pain threatened to cloud his every thought. But he d been trained to ignore pain and so, with several deep breaths, he cleared his mind. He had other tasks to perform. The first was to test for broken bones. There were scratches and bruises, of course, one would expect that after falling from such a great height, but he systematically checked his bones and found them intact. The goggles had prevented his eyes from being poked out, and his hoofs had been burned to blisters from lifting the boiler, but they would heal. He did find a large thorn in his shoulder and grimaced as he pulled it out and tossed it aside. He d been convinced as he plummeted earthward that death was waiting for him on the rain-forest floor. But Fate had been kind. He couldn t even attribute his survival to his acrobatic skills, because he had been screaming and flapping his arms all the way down like a gosling. The sky, the sun and the airship battle above were blocked by the canopy of branches, vines and leaves He panicked a little when he thought of his companions. Socrates? Were they even now dodging the gunfire of the enemy? He pictured Octavia wounded, and nearly burst out with a sob of fear.

Snap to! He told himself. Keep the mind steady. Be in the present. These were the words Tharpa, his weapons master, had drilled into him. Think about what needs to be done, not what you cannot change. Those words belonged to Mr. Socrates. Spior took stock of his surroundings, shrubs, vines, knee-high palm trees, larger palms, massive roots for massive trees, all completely unfamiliar. The forest was quiet, as though holding its breath. He imagined that his screaming, crashing arrival had surprised wildlife. Here and there was a peep of a bird, or a hissing of a snake, as the jungle came back to life. He turned to the task of listing his useful possessions. He searched his pockets and bag and came up with a knife, a packet of matches, a pocket watch and a compass. He took the goggles off and saw that one glass lens had been shattered. His clothing was adequate now, though he had no idea how cold it would become at night. He guessed it would be warmer than sleeping in the drafty balloon car. At least the compass would allow him to discern his direction. In a front pocket he discovered a graham wafer. He munched a quarter of it. Spior knew very little about Australia, only that there were many poisonous creatures that could bite you and then you d die within the hour. Just avoid them, he whispered. You can get through this, old pal. The insect and animal noises were growing louder. Bolder. Some of the hisses seemed to be coming closer. He felt as though a thousand eyes watched his every move. As the minutes passed he became more aware of his many aches and of the grumbling in his stomach. He d need to eat more than a cracker in the next few hours. He could break of a stick and

tie his knife to it using strips of his clothing to make a spear. He wouldn t want to take on a wild boar, but a rabbit would do just fine. Or a kangaroo. That gave him pause. He wouldn t eat a kangaroo, would he? He didn t even know there were any kangaroos in this part of the country. Then he noticed that the forest was quiet again. After years of training he instinctively held his breath, let his heart slow so that he became only ears and eyes. An owl hooted. An odd sound in the day. The noise had come from many yards behind him. A screech rattled the branches sixty yards to his right. Could it be a monkey? Oh, he should have studied what animals live here! Surely Darwin or some other naturalist had written about the flora and fauna. Another hoot. There was quality to the tone of it that made his hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. At first, he thought it was just a natural reaction: fear making his heart speed up. Then another hoot, even closer this time. They were ponies masquerading as animals! He was certain of it! They were sending messages, probably surrounding him as he thought. As he pulled his knife from his bag he heard a hiss race pass him, and then a small thud. He turned to see a quivering spear sticking out of the fig tree. He leaped forward as three more spears missed by just inches. His attackers were on his left, judging by his angle, so he galloped, to his right, breaking through overhanging branches. Savages! Mr. Socrates had spoken of such tribes on the journey. On Caribbean islands, in Africa, and here in Australia. According to the

penny dreadfuls they killed for pleasure and ate the flesh of fellow ponies. Cannibals! It was important not to panic; it would only lead to poor decisions. He tried to hear over his own crashing and panting. No hoof steps behind him. Another hoot ahead of him made his heart go cold. He shifted to his left only to see rattling branches and hear shouts. They were herding him! He dodged right, but saw a blurred whitepainted face, nostrils wide as he sucked in breath. The man leapt, spear in hand. Spior Grabbed him by his necklace of what looked like shrunken heads, and used his own momentum to throw him down and knocking the tribal pony out. Out of the corner of his eye Spior saw tribesponies running to either side of him, shadowy limbs and floating faces, bodies hidden by foliage. There was only one direction for him to go. If he turned, he d be shot full of spears in a blink of an eye. They were forcing him to move forward, but to where? It was clear they were directly behind him.

Spior leapt over a fallen tree, nearly tripping on the rotted trunk. He heard a waterfall. Maybe he d be able to dive into a pool and escape! He dashed over a flat, open area, and then realized, a moment too late, that he had made a horrible mistake. The leafy ground had looked solid enough, but cracked and he plunged into a pit, shouting in fear. There was just enough light as he fell to see the bottom of the pit, lined with sharpened stakes.