Diversity Is Coming

by Nicolas Wilson

About Kirstin Pullioff

  Kirstin Pulioff is a storyteller at heart. Born and raised in Southern California, she moved to the Pacific Northwest to follow her dreams and graduated from Oregon State University with a degree in Forest Management. Happily married and a mother of two, she lives in the foothills of Colorado. When she’s not writing an adventure, she’s busy living one.

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  Seven Weeks, by Gail Villanueva

  Murdered by salt and fire. The perpetrator sprinkled salt over Izkeh’s exposed lower body while the rest of him was in Torso Flight, then burned it — a cruel and certain way to kill a Man Ang’Gal.

  At eighteen, my brother was only two years older than me. He still had many years ahead of him, at least two hundred more to be of service to the Colony. But dying young was an occupational hazard of being a Watcher.

  Perhaps if he had followed the Path of a Crafter like me, Izkeh would still be alive. But he didn’t, and death was the price he paid for choosing the most dangerous Obligation in the Colony.

  It was Izkeh’s fault he died.

  “I am so sorry, Doolei,” said one of the women clad in golden robes as she flew to my side. I gave her a nod, which she interpreted as an invitation to hug me.

  “Thank you,” I managed to squeak, stiffening at her touch. If she wasn’t careful, she could possibly kill us both. Our leathery wings had thin membranes, and it was only our ability to severe our torso from our lower limbs that kept them intact. If the woman clipped even just one of my organs of flight, my added weight would drag us both down the rocky surface below.

  The woman misinterpreted my response once again, hugging me even tighter. I would have preferred no guests at my brother’s Coffin Preparation, but Mama Oojeen’s Diviner colleagues insisted on being present. “No sister of ours must go through grief alone,” they reasoned.

  To my relief, the woman finally released me. “When your brother reaches the Kingdom of Teeqoh, he’ll be able to watch over you again,” she said. “You will help him get there, yes?”

  I studied my brother’s golden coffin. It was rectangular, and laid on its back while attached to the rocky side of the limestone isle. Flying down to the bottom of the floating island to light a candle for the next seven weeks would be torture for my wings. Besides, I wasn’t too happy about leaving behind the lower part of my body so often. Didn’t Torso Flight give Izkeh’s murderer the opportunity to kill him? I wanted to say. Instead, I gave her a dutiful nod. “Yes, Diviner.”

  The woman looked as though she was about to hug me again, so I hurriedly flapped my way to Mama Oojeen’s side. My aunt placed her hand over Izkeh’s coffin. “Good luck, my child. May Teeqoh’s servants protect you,” she whispered. I almost jumped when Mama Oojeen reached for my hand. “We shall fly back to the cave, Doolei. You can stay, if you want.”

  Without hesitation, I nodded. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t say no. Mama Oojeen’s pupils were like black saucers amidst her brown sclera even though it was morning, her bronze cheeks stained with tears. The violet Glow of her veins pulsated as she tried to hold back her grief.

  I glanced down at my arms. Had I been experiencing a powerful emotion, my complex network of veins would have glowed bright orange. But the protruding marks remained as brown as my skin.

  The flapping of Mama Oojeen and her fellow Diviners’ wings grew fainter and fainter, until I could hear them no more.

  I was alone.

  If Izkeh’s spirit was still in the Isle, he would hear me. The other dead Man Ang’Gals in the hanging coffins beside my brother’s probably would too, but I didn’t care. “Why did you have to leave, Izkeh?” I cried, letting go of the bitterness I had inside. This time, my veins turned to a darker shade of the setting sun. “You could have picked a safer Obligation, but you didn’t. You couldn’t stay for your one and only sister!”

  But the coffin remained silent. I growled, and turned away. I reared up my leathery wings, and shot upward, the wind hissing in my ears. I flew higher and higher, stopping only when the air grew thin and the sound of the water mines dimmed.

  From my height, I could see the Floating Isles of Ang’Gal clearly. Twelve isles circled four big ones, which in turn levitated around the most majestic of all, the Royal Isle. Each island resembled those precious acorns our Foragers worked so hard to get — brown like the nut, but barren as the desert below them. Holes pierced the islands, forming the Combs. These clusters of cave dwellings made the isles seem like acorns rotting away.

  If I flew higher, I would see beyond the mountain ridge surrounding the Ang’Gal Floating Isles. But the last time I did, the air got so thin I was knocked unconscious, saved only by a passing Forager on his way to the Dock Isle. Izkeh got so mad at me, Mama Oojeen had to intervene.

  “Your death means nothing to me, Izkeh.” I rarely saw him in the two years since he became a Watcher, and he always scolded me anyway. Come to think of it, I could not recall him smiling when around me. All I could remember was his frown, and the disapproving way he shook his head.

  The temptation to fly higher nagged me, but I pushed it away. I would not hurt Mama Oojeen the way Izkeh did by dying.

  Selfish. Yes. Izkeh was selfish, I thought as I flew back to the cave. Mama Oojeen was waiting.