Walls of Wind and the Occasional Diamond Thief Boxed Set

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  A thin, high squeak. Bria!

  I reached out eagerly. Igt’ur handed my infant to me, frail, elongated skeleton with tiny veins clearly visible through the gauze-thin, nearly furless skin, trailing the cord that had nourished his fragile life. I cradled the scrawny newborn, gently wiping clean his face and nostrils.

  “Youngling,” I whispered, savoring the term of endearment reserved for one’s own infants. It implied so much—a lifelong bond, as visible as my blood in his veins, as eternal as the wind that blew over us both. My flesh yet separate, destined to go places I would not, taking with him whatever passion and strength I might impart before he began his journey.

  I watched, enthralled, as he opened his eye for the first time and blinked groggily at the world he’d emerged into. Gently I blew my life’s breath over him. How little prepared I was for the intensity of my emotions! Joy and terror struggled within me as Igt’ur once again reached into my womb.

  Another diminutive Bria he handed me; another tentative miracle, clinging to life. I carefully placed my firstborn against one of my upper breasts and took this second baby. The potion Igt’ur had given me made it possible for me to nurture life into these precious scraps of being despite the torment of my still-heaving abdomen.

  At least I was birthing Bria and Ghen. I sweated and I groaned, but I was no longer afraid. I had my Bria children, safe and sound; the last was his.

  I heard them before I saw them; the tiny growl, several octaves higher than Igt’ur’s but unmistakably Ghen, and the wild, crazed screech of the other. I opened my mouth to scream at the sight of the writhing body of a monster. The sound froze in my throat. A Broghen! I had borne a Broghen!

  It was neither Bria nor Ghen, but a misshapen horror covered in Igt’ur’s gray scales, with here and there tufts of blond fur. Its half-opened eyes were already searching for prey, oversized jaws snapping, scaly tail lashing with a fury impossible to reconcile with its newborn dimensions. The infant Ghen, bleeding from a dozen tiny scratches, instinctively gripped the monster from behind, to avoid its gaping jaws. Also, I realized with a start, to keep it from my fragile Bria younglings.

  Igt’ur’s fingers closed tightly about the Broghen’s jaws. Gently he extricated the struggling little Ghen from the Broghen’s claws and handed the exhausted newborn to me. Without hesitation I took him from Igt’ur, wiping his bleeding wounds and whispering my gratitude for his infant valor. He blinked at me wearily.

  I tried to ignore the shrieks of the Broghen as Igt’ur cut the cord with which my body had traitorously nourished it and dropped the hideous thing into the open cage.

  I stared down at the cage. He knew all along that I would bear four infants!

  In that instant I, who had never known hate, hated Igt’ur. He’d put that hideous monster inside me, along with his infant! In innocence and trust, I’d allowed my body to breed such a thing. I was numb with shock as I finished my administrations to the newborn Ghen and placed him against my third nipple. He suckled greedily, absorbed in his first hunger. My womb was still now and Igt’ur was gently applying an ointment to the abrasions I had sustained.

  The desperate howls coming from the cage increased in volume. I peered down at the creature inside. The infant Broghen no longer seemed an object of horror, but piteous, now that it could not harm me or my infants. It opened its gruesome mouth and I heard the unmistakable wail of a hungry newborn. Instinctively, I stretched out my arms to it.

  “Let me feed it.” My fourth nipple wept in response to its cries of hunger.

  “No,” Igt’ur signed. “It wants meat, not milk.”

  I shrank away, repulsed. The caged infant screamed, hideous and pathetic.

  “What will we do with it?” I signed. The thought of anyone knowing I’d borne a Broghen horrified me, even as I despised myself for such a shallow concern. “How could you do this to me?” I wailed, and the little Broghen keened in hideous counterpoint to my sobs.

  “This is the way of our births.”

  I read his signs through a blur of tears. “Others have had a Broghen?” My fingers shook as I signed.

  “Every birth bears a Broghen.”

  The magnitude of the revelation stunned me. My parent—the older councilors—all of them? They all knew?

  “I don’t believe you,” I signed, turning my face to the window. “Go away!” The thing in the cage howled. “Take it away!”

  Igt’ur rose and lifted the cage, but when he reached the door I cried out.

  “Where are you taking it?” I signed when he turned.

  He spoke the one word that I knew: “the wall.”

  Then I understood. Our terrible fourth offspring would live. Neither Ghen nor Bria could destroy their own. It would grow, in the dark, wild forest beyond the wall, into a terrible creature, howling at the edges of our civilization, a civilization as fragile as the three newborns at my breasts.

  And there, at the perimeter of our city, between it and the ravages of bestiality, stood the Ghen. They built the wall, they walked the wall, they were the wall, holding back the nightmares of creation so that Bria and Ghen together might rise above savagery to create the order and the beauty of our city.

  Council Relations

  (Briarris)

  The situation wasn’t as dramatic as I’d imagined. The Broghen weren’t raging right outside our walls, with Ghen dying daily to defend us. In fact, the Broghen were taken so far south they were rarely seen again. And the only Ghen I knew who’d died on the wall was Rennis’s mate, Saft’ir, who killed himself after being attacked by a courrant’h. So we were told. I wondered now, but I didn’t ask. I’d had enough revelations.

  Even if it wasn’t accurate, my idealistic vision helped me get through the shock of the birthing. I was back at work long before most new Bria parents. It also prevented me from falling into the complicated mix of guilt and blame that lay between most Bria and Ghen after their birthing. Igt’ur and I remained friends.

  During my brief convalescence, Savannis, the Bria Voice of Wind, came to visit me. I’d never had much use for his advice, but I listened without comment as he explained to me the reasons for keeping the Broghen a secret from young Bria.

  “How could you have mated and borne children if you had known?” he asked. “Our silence is meant to protect young Bria, not harm them.”

  For the sake of my city I agreed to keep the secret, like every Bria parent before me.

  I don’t know whether it was a tribute to my popularity or a punishment for stirring up the single Bria, but I was directed to handle Council Relations. I soon found myself in a meeting with Anarris, a Bria two years younger than I, who’d helped me raise supporters to attend Council for each of my motions.

  “We’ve begun to organize ourselves,” he told me. “We call ourselves Single-By-Choice.”

  The very name asserted their right to make a decision so widely disapproved of. I fidgeted in my chair. No wonder he was here looking to me for support; I’d started this. I could hardly tell him now that I’d changed my mind.

  “We thought you might talk at one of our gatherings,” he continued, “about being forced to join against your will, in order to sit on Council.”

  Breath of Wind, why had I spoken so openly?

  “You’re a public figure, a respected leader of our people. What’s more, you always say what you really think. A rare trait in councilors.”

  I wished it were more rare.

  “We offer support to young Bria who are intimidated by the pressure they’re under to be joined.”

  “Bria shouldn’t have to mate if they don’t want to,” I said.

  But I was finding my younglings more delightful than I’d imagined, and didn’t really know what I still believed. I needed time to think it out, statement by statement: what felt right, what no longer did. What I could still say and stand by.

  “I’m finding parenthood very compelling, right now,” I told Anarris. “I’m not sure I regret mating any more.”
r />   His movements stilled. I knew what he was thinking.

  “You can’t expect me not to love my younglings. But those who don’t want to join shouldn’t be made to feel they must.” Yes, that much I still believed, although I hoped he wouldn’t ask about councilors. Even if Ghen left Council, I could see now why Bria councilors had to be joined. I hadn’t even known what the real issues were before I birthed a Broghen. I was tempted for a moment to tell Anarris everything.

  But there was a stubborn look about his face that reminded me of myself. I know what I would have done with that information; I’d have used it to further my case against co-habitation. I’d have blamed the Broghen on the Ghen—that had been my first impulse when I gave birth—as though it were a deliberate act on their part.

  Anarris wouldn’t consider how such knowledge would terrify those already pregnant, or what it might mean to the future of our city if frightened young Bria refused to join. There weren’t many who’d willingly bear a Broghen. No, if Anarris knew of Broghen, he’d use it to strike back at those who were calling him “selfish” and “immature” and “irresponsible” for not joining. I’d received such comments myself for my youthful opinions, and I knew.

  I hated keeping such a terrible secret. Nevertheless, I wasn’t prepared to see all my endeavors come to nothing in a few generations of frightened Bria. I wasn’t prepared to watch my city die, or to have my younglings grow up terrified of their future. Nor would the Ghen stand by, unconcerned. Breath of Wind, I didn’t want to think of what might happen if Bria refused to mate willingly...

  Anarris was watching me intently. I realized my thoughts had disturbed me into stillness and resumed a courteous movement.

  “I understand your position,” I said carefully. “If you need the help of a councilor, come to me and I will listen. I want to represent your rights when I can.”

  He began to rise. He knew I was also saying, but I’m not one of you any-more. “Can I call on you if Single-By-Choice meets with opposition?” he asked.

  “Call on me,” I said, promising nothing. My moral compass had shifted and all my choices would be much harder now.

  “I’m glad you’re serving as Council Relations,” he said as he turned to leave, “but not as glad as I was before.”

  ***

  Ocallis grinned when he saw me coming, carrying my Bria babies while Igt’ur’s youngster staggered behind. Although we lived only a few houses apart, I’d seldom had time for my sibling before the birth of our children. He’d been busy himself, becoming an accomplished glass-blower, but that wasn’t the reason. We didn’t talk about the beliefs that had separated us, or what we believed now. Our children and the two little Ghen played while we drank cappa tea, and I rested from my thoughts.

  “Look at him,” I said, amused as Mant’er’s child, Heckt’er, crept through the swaying grasses after imaginary prey.

  “Mant’er is pushing him too fast. He’s just a baby,” Ocallis said.

  “You’re not going to tell others how to raise their children, are you?” Ocallis’s comment made me uncomfortable. He’d opted to take time off while his infants nursed, only going into his studio occasionally to work on a special piece. I would have gone crazy taking care of babies all day. A little callan milk and the company of a watcher now and then wouldn’t harm my children or Igt’ur’s.

  “No, but I worry. Mant’er says the forest has changed, and yet he takes Heckt’er into it so often.”

  “You think the Broghen...?” My throat closed over the rest of my question.

  “Of course not,” he assured me quickly, “they’re too far south. But even a mangarr’h could harm a one-year-old.”

  I shuddered at the mention of the loathsome little creatures. They were too small to harm an adult, but they were predators. And like all predators, they bred in-species. It was obscene: you could look at a beast and not know from its appearance or behavior whether it was an infant-bearer or a fighter. Even worse, it might be both.

  There are creatures where the differentiation between mating species is slight, such as the farmborra and the gock; both feathered avians whose wings we clip—but there the similarity ends. Gocks have clawed feet and knife-sharp beaks, which we file down for our protection. In size, in coloring, in behavior, there are other differences. As there should be, between a fighting species and a nurturing one. Predators, however, mate each other, disgusting as that is to contemplate.

  “What does Mant’er think is wrong in the forest?” I asked. Mant’er was a good hunter—no, an exceptional one, according to Igt’ur. Ocallis’s worries about him taking Heckt’er into the forest were probably groundless.

  “He says the game is becoming scarce.”

  “Ghen might have to eat eggs and callan cheese.” We laughed together.

  I might have said more, but Ocallis puzzled me. He showed none of the anger and betrayal most Bria felt toward their mates after birthing a Broghen. Only the knowledge that our younglings would never have been born without Ghen growth fluid moderated the resentment of most Bria. No wonder my parent had been impatient with my complaints when Ruckt’an returned to the Ghen compound. He’d probably been relieved to see him go.

  Mant’er arrived from his duty on the wall and took his child away from playing with Igt’ur’s. Something had happened between them, but neither would speak of it. He turned away when Igt’ur came up to us.

  I collected my two while Igt’ur tossed his squealing youngster onto his shoulders. I had never let him play with my children thus. I wanted them to find their own strength, right from the beginning.

  Wasn’t that what Anarris was trying to do?

  Choices

  (Igt’ur)

  When I was four, my parent took me into the forest to track sadu’h. The first time I was able to find the trail of one and follow it without assistance, I thought I understood what it meant to be a hunter. I sighted the sadu’h in a sun-dappled shadow, stretching to eat the lower leaves of a cappa bush, unaware of my approach. I bit down hard on my tongue to release my muscles from the tension of my excitement.

  Barely breathing, I pulled a stone from my pouch and positioned it in the thong of my slingshot. The sadu’h was at the edge of my range, but I dared not go closer for fear of startling it. It was right beside the opening to its bur-row: a single bound and it would escape.

  I swung the loaded slingshot and when the momentum was right, I let it fly. My aim was true, but the distance was too far; when I reached the sadu’h I could see it was only stunned. I knelt beside it, resisting the urge to grab it at once, and prayed as I had been taught: “Thank you for making me a guardian of Wind, servant of this creature that gives itself to sustain me, that I might guard the forests of Wind for all its progeny, as long as I live.”

  I sealed the promise quickly by drawing the flat side of my hunting knife across my forehead, while my parent watched approvingly. The sadu’h still lay on its side but it had twice kicked its hind legs convulsively as I whispered my obeisance. If it got away while I was praying, my parent would say that was the will of Wind, but I wanted to give Him as little time as possible to will it. The sadu’h’s third kick propelled it into my hands as I lunged for it.

  It struggled desperately. I had to drop my knife to hold it. I looked about for a rock or tree trunk to swing its head against, but there were none nearby. I could feel my heart panting for air like a Bria in stillseason as I strained to hold the sadu’h. Finally I pulled it to my chest, pinning it against me with one arm, wincing as the claws on one of its hind feet dug into my chest. Then, all at once, it went still.

  Surprised, I looked down. Its head was tilted upward so that I found myself gazing into its single eye, enlarged with terror. Against my breast I could hear its tiny heart, beating quick and high in eerie accordance with my own. I stared at it for a long moment, feeling... guilty? embarrassed?

  Behind me, my parent coughed gently. I reached for my knife and drew it quickly and painlessly across the sa
du’h’s throat. As its blood spilled out across my chest, I understood what it was to be a hunter.

  Mant’er laughed when I allowed Rukt’an to take my place in helping Briarris to his house the day we joined. I grinned back, shrugging, and returned to the Ghen compound to collect my things, walking slowly to give Briarris plenty of time. I was in no hurry, myself.

  “Igt’ur, have you changed your mind?” Saft’ir called as I passed the opening to the room where he slept. He was a year younger than I, a boisterous youth given to outbursts of righteous anger and teased for it, but he took it well. I liked him. I felt that he would always do what was right—as soon as he calmed down enough to see it.

  “The deed is done,” I said, trying to make light of the turmoil within me.

  “You’re joined already? You only left two removes ago!”

  “So quickly one’s life changes,” I replied, annoyed that he would make such a comment, as though my sense of time passing was less acute than his. Ghen count time as Bria do, in removes of the sun and moon. The sun shifts thirty-seven times its width across the sky, moving from its first rosy arrival to its final scarlet descent; the moon, starting higher in the sky, makes twenty-six shifts. They repeat their journey 583 times to complete a year, and the last sixty-three days are stillseason. Was he going to remind me of all this, as well? And of the wistful Sphere, Wind’s mate, sitting beside Wind to watch the shifting display in the sky above them both, as though I did not know?

  Should I remark to him that Bria use small glasses which trickle sand through a narrow middle from one side to the other, measuring the time of a single remove, but I, being a Ghen, have an instinctive feel for passing time. How could one hunt, alone or in a triad, without a keen awareness of every moment? A hunter must have good timing.