River and Terran meet Tink, an elf inventor who crash-lands his 20-foot-wingspan flying machine on their meadow. Tink explains his pedal-powered craft, shares food, and uses a green stone to start a fire before revealing he's come to tell them about Octan, a prison island.
The forests Chapter 8.
Within what seemed like just a few short seconds, as river and Terran stood watching with stunned eyes and wide open jaws, the entire flying machine loud chunka chunka propellers, smoke, wheels, woods, sparks, splinters, metal and man skidded violently into the meadow just 50 yards in front of them. Both boys took several giant steps backwards as the man hurled himself over, away from the dust and smoke of his flying machine, coughing wildly and stumbling awkwardly out into the meadow. He waved his hands dramatically in the air, fanning the smoke from his body and reaching desperately for the leather straps that dangled from his large brown helmet. He pulled the straps and threw his helmet to the ground. The helmet struck his big pointed leather boot and he shrieked loudly, jumping up and down on one leg while pulling his injured foot to his chest. This action threw him off balance and he fell backwards towards the machine, collapsing in a crumpled heap under the wing. He looked up and saw the boys. His eyes grew enormously wide. Then the wing shuddered, squeaked, and with a tired creak dropped directly onto the man's head, knocking him flat onto his back. He fluttered his legs to the side, rolled over and slid out from under the wing, sitting up again and looking with wide surprised eyes at river and Terran. Terran began to giggle. River elbowed his brother sharply. Careful. He could be dangerous. The machine sputtered for a moment and in a flash the man whipped his body around to glance at his flying apparatus, then spun back towards the boys just as quickly and spoke in a high pitched squealing voice.
Wha ho.
The boys both took another giant step backwards.
What ho. Quibbling quivers. Guildran boys. What ho.
He stepped towards him with the back of his hand, wiped streaks of smoke stains, dirt and grass from his face and hair. His long flowing green cloak hung down to his calves and a brown leather satchel was slung over his shoulder along with a black dagger tucked into his side belt. Terran began to clench and unclench his fists, nervously eyeing two sizable rocks close to the man's boot.
He could see river glancing towards their water containers. If this man meant trouble, both boys were ready. But instead, with a non menacing curious smile, the strange fellow flashed a toothy grin and held out one leather gloved hand. Tink.
Tink the inventor at your service.
And with that he took an exaggerated courteous bow and flipped his hair back, revealing two massive pointed ears. River spoke first in a hushed whisper. Elf Terran nodded slowly in agreement, though he'd never before actually seen a live elf. Tink simply stood there, a smile plastered on his face still holding out his hand, he glanced down at his glove, winced embarrassingly, and ripped it off.
My apologies, young sirs. Here is my actual hand.
Terran stepped forward first. He reached out towards one of Tink's long slender fingers, grabbed it and shook vigorously. Terran. Good to meet you, Elf Sir. Tink.
Tink will do.
Tink turned towards River.
And you, kind sir.
River cautiously raised his hand and waved. Hey. Tink kept smiling.
Yes, yes, I know. A bit unsettling for a giant man made bird to crash from the sky, isn't it? But you must admit my landing wasn't half bad.
With that, Tink turned around to survey the slight wreckage behind him. The bird like flying machine had a wingspan of nearly 20ft, with a single propeller on the front and a large underbelly beneath the thick thin wooden wings. The wings and the underbelly were attached to a small cockpit by a series of leather straps, many of which appeared to have been torn or frayed by the landing. Below the underbelly was a small charred metal bucket full of what looked like some kind of charcoal. The cockpit, which seemed as though it would likely fit no more than two people, was simply a small platform with a horizontal steering stick, two bicycle like pedals connected via a series of round gears to the propeller, a a triangular rudder projecting from the back and two rickety wheels jutting out the bottom.
It's quite simple really.
Tink began to explain the workings of the flight machine, apparently assuming both boys were interested in exactly how the apparatus worked.
It all begins with some nice hot coals to heat the cloth balloons to which the wings are attached. With the proper gusts of wind and a good high cliff, these wings will then easily take my lightweight wooden bird aloft.
He slapped a hand on the wing that was still upright, causing the fragile wood to shudder and wobble.
I operate the pedals to turn the propeller while shifting my steerer to the right or the left to move the wings up and down and from the front to the back to adjust the rudder, hence taking me up, back and to the sides. Glorious, isn't it?
He looked down at the one broken wing that hung to the side, the frayed leather straps, the slightly cockeyed rudder, and a broken rear wheel.
Of course, some repairs may be necessary and perhaps improvements to the landing apparatus, but within just a few weeks this invention rivals the mightiest dragons of the sky, wouldn't you agree?
As if spurred by his boasting, the metal bucket hanging below the underbelly squeaked, snapped, and fell to the ground with a puff of black powder and smoke, scattering hot coals to the ground. Tink shrugged and smiled.
Yes, some improvements will certainly be in high order.
Finally, he seemed to remember that river and Terran still stood there, silently observing his explanation of machine construction and flight physics. He looked up at the boys.
So what's your crime?
Terran looked confusingly at river, then back to Tink. Crime?
Well, of course, my boy. What heinous crimes did two Guildering boys commit to have been banished to the island of Octan? Mass murder. Setting a town to fire, Injuring a cithrin's lid.
Neither boy spoke. Tink looked past them at their fortified root shelter, where piles of bark and forage plants were scattered about. Their hoodies still hung, drawing in the wind. The remains of their fire starting efforts were piled behind them. He seemed to sense their bewilderment.
You do know this is a prison island, don't you?
River and Terran remained quiet as Tink continued.
Sea monsters surrounding the island. Very little life here except the most dangerous criminals. Reports of strong magic hidden in the rocks and the trees. Are you completely ignorant?
He stopped and shrewdly smiled.
Or perhaps you're just hungry.
With that, he flung his satchel from his shoulder to his waist, reached inside, and produced a dark brown loaf of bread.
Care for a bit of balanga?
He reached into his bag again and produced what appeared to be a thick.
Slab of jerky and perhaps some dried tanuki meat.
The boys had never heard of either food, but their eyes lit up at the prospect of sinking their teeth into the closest thing to bread and meat they'd seen in a good five days.
Tink nodded towards the evidence of their attempted fire.
But first, let's get a flame going, shall we?
And with that, he reached into his bag one more time and produced a small green stone. With a twinkle in his eye, he flicked his long fingernail against the stone once, twice, then three times. On the third attempt, a shower of sparks flew from the surface of the stone.
Perhaps you fledgling criminal, Gildan, shall simply kill me, but I'll take my risk.
Tink strode casually past river and Terran, bent over their pile of tinder, and repeated his flicking. The small bundle immediately began to glow red and churn a steady wisp of smoke. Placing the green stone back in his bag, Tink stood and massaged the smoking pile in his hands, blowing on it and rotating it as the flames and smoke grew.
Well, what are you waiting for? Fetch more wood and fuel and we.
Shall dine with the promise of bread meat and fire. River and Terran sprung to action and skittered across the meadow to the edges of the trees, returning with handfuls of twigs, sticks, and dried bark. Tink worked quickly with their fuel, creating a roaring flame. Within just a few minutes, he removed his cloak, sat in the dirt, and spread out before him several chunks of bread, a pile of dried meat, a glass jar of coarse black flecks that appeared to be some kind of of salt, and a richly colored golden oil.
And now, my young Gilden boys, sit, and I shall tell you the tale of the prison island of Octan, and, more importantly, why I have come here.
The Solution to Aging Might Be Closer Than Anyone Realizes - With Ben Goertzel
