Walls of Wind and the Occasional Diamond Thief Boxed Set

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  If I hadn’t been so intent on the meager trail I followed, and half-blind in the dark and the lack of birdsong, which was more than sight to me; if I hadn’t been hurrying to reach them before dawn, I might have felt that other presence. I might have noticed some scent or sound or sudden silence behind me, closing the distance between us faster than I was homing in on my Ghen.

  I thought it was the silence of sleep that stilled the forest birds and creatures. I thought it was the darkness of the night, setting my fur on end. I scorned the inherent timidity of my species, which urged me to hurry faster between the tall and somber trees, but still I felt compelled to greater and greater speed.

  I glanced behind. A ghostly, white body flickered between the black trees. In a shock of terror I broke into a run. The thing pursued me! I ran full out, imagining I could already feel the heat of its hunger. No matter how fast I ran, it drew nearer! I began to scream.

  The forest echoed with the sound of my screaming and the responding roar behind me as the monster broke from its stealthy pursuit into an all-out charge. Fear gave me strength and I fled, gasping for breath. The desperate sound of my terror mingled with the ravenous howls of the demon and ricocheted from tree to tree until the woods were alive with our frantic contest.

  At first I thought I imagined the movement of gray bodies between the trees up ahead. They were too distant to be part of this nightmare. Racing closer, they came within my sight. My screams subsided into sobs and I wavered between despair and hope as the breath at my back grew hotter. The entire situation began to seem unreal. I ran in slow motion while the horror at my back reached out to overwhelm me.

  I felt the rake of claws against my back even as the first knife whistled past my head and the howls of hunger behind me changed to pain and rage. Like a supernatural thing the monster tore into the flesh of Ghen who were forced to come within its reach in order to cut between it and me. Choking on tears I ran until I stumbled against the wide trunk of a ugappa and sank, on legs that suddenly buckled, to the ground. When it was over, they carried me unconscious to their camp.

  I’d like to think I saved their lives as well. That, but for my alarm, they might have been caught unprepared. Perhaps not only Kant’on would have died, without my warning.

  I’d like not to wonder if it was I who drew the danger to them.

  I woke to the smell of Kant’on’s funeral pyre. I rose slowly and stood, trembling and silent, as the Ghen completed their ceremony. It was not the reunion I had planned. For all my bravado, I hadn’t expected to come face to face with death—mine or anyone else’s.

  When the ceremony was over, Saft’ir turned to me. “What are you doing here?” he signed, his movements stiff, furious.

  “I followed you.”

  Koon’an, the leader of the expedition, motioned to Saft’ir to interpret for him. “You followed us? You’ve learned a lot from watching Ghen training sessions. What do they call you? Shadow?”

  I touched my breath, then signed through Saft’ir, “Why shouldn’t I watch? Why shouldn’t I learn? The forest belongs to Wind, not the Ghen. I have as much right to be here as you do.”

  “You put our lives at risk as well as your own. Koon’an paid the price for your ‘rights’.”

  I couldn’t help myself, I began to cry.

  After a moment, Koon’an bent down, touching my shoulder, and spoke more gently. “Enough,” Saft’ir signed his words. “Tell me why you have come after us?”

  “I want to explore the mountains with you.”

  Koon’an looked hard at Saft’ir, who shook his head quickly.

  “This trip was discussed in Council.” I paused to wipe away my tears. “My matri, Rennis, sits on Council. It wasn’t a secret.”

  “No, it wasn’t a secret,” Koon’an replied, “nor was it open to uninvited Bria.”

  “You should include Bria on your explorations. Wind is our world, too. We include Ghen in our city.”

  “It’s our city, also.”

  “Then you see things as I do.”

  For a moment Koon’an looked annoyed, then he grimaced in laughter. “You have courage for a Bria child.”

  “I’m not a child. Saft’ir became a hunter last season, and I’m his womb-sibling. This is my specialization year.” I paused, then signed boldly, “I choose to specialize in exploration.”

  Again Koon’an grinned briefly, but he said, “You will slow us down in the day, and alarm us with your night fears when we need rest.”

  “I’ve been in the forest for five days, following your trail. You had a head start, yet I caught up with you. I’ve slept in the forest alone. I’m not afraid. And I’m not going back.”

  He looked at me silently for a long moment, then he said, “No, you can’t go back.” He glanced at the smoldering logs from Kant’on’s cremation. “The... animal that chased you escaped us. I’ve had to send several Ghen to track and kill it. Three others will leave us to scout out our route when we reach the Symamt’h. I can’t reduce my party even more by assigning a third group to take you back to the city. You’re getting your wish, small Shadow, but you’ve made a very dangerous wish. I don’t guarantee your safety, you understand?”

  I touched my breath, but his warning startled me. Was he trying to frighten me? His next words confirmed my suspicion.

  “You’ll stay within the camp at all times. Do whatever anyone tells you at once, without question. You won’t engage in hunting or in fighting, if that becomes necessary.”

  Of course I wouldn’t hunt! As for the rest, when I had proved that I wasn’t an ordinary Bria he’d see his restrictions weren’t needed. In the meantime, I agreed to do as he said. Satisfied with my promised obedience, he left.

  Saft’ir left also. My appearance had embarrassed him. Despite my protest to Koon’an, Saft’ir knew his excitement over the expedition had made me want to join it. He’d been honored by being chosen to accompany them as recorder, despite his youth, but if my appearance were traced to him, he’d be held accountable. There was something more than anger in Saft’ir’s expression, however.

  Later, I asked what kind of animal had chased me, but Saft’ir refused to speak to me, except to translate the orders of Koon’an or the other Ghen. They were a group of sixteen, all mature hunters who’d already had their younglings, except for Saft’ir.

  “Why are there so many?” I asked Saft’ir. For once he deigned to answer.

  “There are courrant’hs in the mountains. It’s dangerous.”

  “Is that what chased me?” I asked, shivering.

  He looked away, silent once more.

  ***

  At every evening’s campfire we shared a meal of dried meat and fried corn with cappa tea. I couldn’t bring myself to share their meat, but supplemented my corn with ruberries and dried cappa fruit which I’d brought with me.

  Afterwards, Saft’ir recited the progressive events of the trip. The older Ghen corrected or added parts until they were satisfied. I’d been surprised initially when Saft’ir told me he’d been chosen as trip recorder. He wasn’t one of the better recorders of his birth-year, being by nature too impatient to respect details. He was better at tracking, but even so, not one of the best.

  What Saft’ir was good at, what he was really exceptional at, was fighting. No one said so, especially not in front of me or Rennis, but I often watched the fight practices and I knew. Saft’ir was strong and resilient and he fought to win. He never got angry, never lost his head, never inflicted more hurt than he had to, but he never quit. He simply refused to lose a fight.

  What did that have to do with being the trip recorder? In the end, I decided they wanted to honor him because of his dead parent. Which was unfair, because he had Gant’i and Rennis, the same as Yur’i and I.

  On the third evening after I joined the Ghen, I rose to speak when Saft’ir had finished. “Tell me also,” I signed, looking at Koon’an while Saft’ir translated. “I can be a recorder as well, for the Bria.”

&n
bsp; A circle of breathy grimaces greeted my request. Unlike the Ghen, Bria rely on writing. Only the storyteller’s memory is word-perfect and reliable—and he’s recalling myths. But when I pulled a stylo and several sheets of paper from my pack to show them, they quieted. My supple fingers could write quickly and legibly without the awkward typesetter they used to print for them. I smiled triumphantly, but not a single face turned toward mine was grinning now.

  “You don’t intend to keep this trip secret from Bria, do you?” My question was rhetorical. I only paused a moment. “Then why not have a Bria record for Bria?”

  After a moment, Koon’an touched his breath and Saft’ir signed his record for me. I noticed a few pauses, and a brief discussion among the Ghen before he signed the account of my attacker, but I made no comment and wrote what he signed. When I finished writing, Koon’an spoke and Saft’ir made me sign back to him what I had written.

  “There’s only one record of a trip,” Koon’an said, though I already knew this. “The group record. You’ll write nothing that isn’t agreed to by the group.”

  I touched my breath at once. It was part of my plan, to show that I could be a reliable trip recorder. I’d already proved that I could travel as fast as they could and sleep soundly at night. Now they would also see that I could be useful to an expedition; that even a Bria had a role on Ghen explorations.

  ***

  When we came upon the Symamt’h and I saw the flat lands across it, with the outline of the mountains beyond, I laughed aloud with delight. The wide river sparkled as though fragments of the sun had splintered and fallen onto its wavelets, shining there so brightly they hurt the eye. The tall, golden grasses gleamed on the other side, continuous breezes moving over and through them so that they whispered a merry song and danced to it, twisting and dipping as the wind changed course, incessantly. I felt I was watching Wind itself at play.

  And how far I could see! The magnificence of the view stunned me. I felt a deep reverence build in me as I looked across this hallowed land. When I finally turned from the beautiful sight, the Ghen were already stripping saplings and lashing them together into rafts. As soon as the first was finished, Koon’an sent Kur’ad, a friend of Gant’i’s, and two other Ghen I didn’t know, across the Symamt’h on it to scout out our path into the mountains. A dozen Ghen lined the bank, their rifles pointed at the river as the scouts crossed.

  It was a disappointment when Koon’an made the rest of us camp for the night on this side of the Symamt’h. I was eager to cross the brilliant river, impatient to run into the grassy arms of Wind. But I was rewarded for the delay by the sight of the sun setting over that wide and endless land.

  Never had I seen such bands of crimson, rose and lavender, stretching from horizon to horizon. I tried to fix it in my mind, wishing I could write it into my record to capture the sense of awe and splendor, and the magnificent play of colors. Bria knew nothing of this. Closeted within the perimeters of our city, hemmed in by the brooding forest, what did we know of Wind? I wanted to describe it so well that others, too, would be enticed to venture into danger to see the Creator Wind’s handwork.

  ***

  We crossed the Symamt’h the next morning. Ghen stood watch, firearms ready, on every raft, but the trip was uneventful. I would have liked to trail my hands in the bejeweled waters but I was placed in the center of the raft and ordered not to move. Later I asked Saft’ir why we had been so guarded.

  “Liapt’hs,” he signed.

  I’d heard of them. “Aren’t they in the wetlands?”

  “They’ve been known to venture north. It’s better to be prepared.”

  They were equally vigilant all the way across the grasslands. Koon’an pushed us, as he had in the forest, and we traveled the entire distance, about 200 miles as the Ghen recorded it, in fourteen days. We would have made better time but the scouts had taken most of the dried provisions, so the Ghen detoured to hunt. I was relieved to wait with Saft’ir and a group of five others. I didn’t want to watch any creature die.

  I’d forced myself to eat some of the fish they caught in the river, since my dried provisions were almost done, but now among the grasses I discovered a type of wild stringer, which produced long, slender pods. The Ghen assured me they were edible. I found them chewy and slightly sweet, filled with soft, fleshy seeds.

  When we reached the foothills I saw my first courrant’hs. Two of them were lying across an enormous boulder, dozing in the warm sun. They were no more than 150 armlengths from us, huge, powerful beasts, their shaggy, thick fur in alternating bands of beige and brown. I froze at the sight. These were the creatures attacking our city.

  I was afraid to move, to take my eye off them. One of them raised its head and blinked at us, lazily, as though the effort of moving was too great. In its dark eyes I saw a flicker that set me trembling. Saft’ir pushed me forward, breaking my locked gaze.

  “Don’t look directly at them,” he signed. “It’s a challenge.”

  “Will they attack?”

  “Not in the daytime. They only kill at night, but you don’t want them to remember you.”

  I shivered.

  “Don’t worry.” he signed, “You’re safe with us. They hunt singly or in pairs; we’re more than a match for them.”

  Although I didn’t look back, I could feel the courrant’hs eyes following me. I had to force myself not to tremble. The feeling of having a predator at my back returned to me. Something was wrong about these creatures, though.

  “Do all courrant’hs look like that?” I signed.

  “Yes, they all look the same,” Saft’ir replied.

  “Are there no white courrant’hs?”

  “Saft’ir, are there any white courrant’hs?” I repeated.

  “No.”

  “What was it that chased me, Saft’ir?”

  But he said nothing more.

  I remembered Koon’an’s words, then: “I don’t guarantee your safety.” Perhaps he hadn’t simply been trying to frighten me into obedience. In fact, the more I considered it, the less I believed that. A leader of Ghen would not make such a statement to a Bria unless he had to; it went against the basic understanding between our species. What was he warning me of, if not courrant’hs?

  ***

  Three days later, the quiet night was broken by shouts from the guards. My bedroll was in the center of the encampment alongside Saft’ir’s. All about me Ghen were leaping awake to the cries of the watch, grabbing firearms and knives and racing to form a circle around our camp, gray scaled bodies between us and the dark. I half rose, reaching for my own knife, but Saft’ir held my arm.

  “Recorders don’t fight,” he signed to me.

  I might have protested but Saft’ir also sat passively as the others fought around us and I knew he wanted to join the fray much more than I did. Nevertheless, we held our knives ready to defend ourselves, if necessary.

  Bloodcurdling screams from the things attacking us tore through the darkness. Our warriors roared in response. The struggle was too close and the night too dark for firearms. I strained my eyes, wishing my night sight was better, but all I saw were shades of darkness: the wide, black shapes of huge boulders, the grunting, grayer shadows of the Ghen and beyond them, now and then, a blur of white.

  “What is it? What are they?” I signed to Saft’ir but he ignored me, holding his knife tightly and trying to look in every direction at once.

  Suddenly, in front of me, a Ghen went down. Beside him another, and the circle was broken. Raging toward me I saw the ghostly shape of a monster!

  It stood on two massive legs, like a Ghen or a Bria, and yet it was neither. It was nothing I’d ever seen or heard of, yet it was familiar, like a half-forgotten nightmare from one’s childhood. Reaching its arms toward us it rushed forward, coming into focus nearer to the fire’s light.

  The white scales that covered its body were dotted with tufts of thin fur, matted with gore. Long, blood-drenched claws extended from its hairy paws an
d equally bloody were the rows of fangs in its gaping maw. The heat and smoke of our fire distracted it, and it hesitated. The intimate sound of its half-suspended breathing was more terrifying than its earlier crazed shrieking had been.

  I shrank back until the campfire behind me singed my fur. My mouth opened to scream but my throat was frozen and I watched as from a distance while three of our fighters sank their knives into it. The monster fell on the ground before me.

  I stared, holding my breath, half-expecting it to rise up again more hideous in death than when alive. I didn’t notice that the battle had ended until its carcass was pulled away by two weary Ghen and flung onto the rocks beneath our trail.

  With its removal the spell of horror was shattered. “What was that?” I screamed over and over, pounding on Saft’ir’s chest until my voice broke and my head sank to my knees. As Saft’ir bent down, I whispered to myself the answer: “Broghen.”

  Saying it, I began to shudder. Soon I was shivering uncontrollably. I wanted to go home. Creator of Wind, I wanted to go home! Only the greatest effort of will kept me from sobbing it out loud. Saft’ir breached the wind’s space between us and built up the fire near me.

  I couldn’t feel its heat. Ice-winds reached into my heart and I shook as though I’d been born in a warmer climate and suddenly been transported to a cold and alien world.

  Koon’an came and stood frowning over me, but I was barely aware of him. He ordered hot tea brewed. I drank mug after mug of it, hardly noticing the scalding liquid as it disappeared into the coldness inside me. I stared blankly at the Ghen as they prepared for the cremation of their two comrades who’d died in the skirmish.

  Koon’an was wrong not to tell me about Broghen when we were sure to meet them. I nearly died of fear, unprepared for such a sight. I sat by the blazing fire, cold and shaking, watching the funeral pyre for our dead.

  I went to Koon’an the next morning. “Tell me the truth about this expedition,” I signed. When Saft’ir translated, Koon’an looked at me as though deciding what to say.