A Whisper of Wings

by Paul Kidd

  It was a simple tale of creation; the meeting of “First Mother” with the spirits of the forest world. For the dancers of clan Swallow-Tail of the Katakanii tribe, the dance should be an easy task. One by one the girls fell quiet - poised like graceful, precious flowers high above the forest floor.

  Music rose to brush across the air; breath by breath the rhythm grew, while the trees stirred gently to the ebb and sway of sound.

  A naked dancer preened herself at the centre of the clearing. Javïra was a creature of perfect, pristine beauty - a beauty that could hurt with all the malice of a wildcat’s claws. The sun shone from her pure white fur, tracing icy highlights across her flanks. The painted mask across her face merely emphasised the cool perfection of her form. The music surged - Javïra swayed… The girl shamelessly indulged herself, stretching out her solo dance for all that it was worth. The music seemed to wilt and groan, dragged far past any memory of its initial charm.

  High up in the trees, Shadarii’s ears flattened, her tail thrashing as she shared the dance’s agony. Javïra was the darling of the clan; the first choice for any solo part, she had become the most sought after woman in the tribe. The Dancing Mistress doted on her, applauding the “perfection” of Javïra’s talents.

  Javïra also happened to be Mistress Traveesha’s niece…

  Far below, Javïra threw out her arms and turned yet another pirouette, tossing out her snow-white hair and dancing beneath a streaming shaft of sun. She paused, looked slowly up into the treetops… And whirled about to start her solo dance again.

  Enough was enough! Shadarii suddenly set her jaw and dove head first towards the ground, great wings sweeping out to guide her fall. She banked and made a dizzy curve past Javïra’s astonished face, then looped triumphantly up into the sky.

  Shadarii reached out to touch the ïsha flow, winging through the currents as she flipped over in another dive. All around her the other dancing girls came tumbling from their perches, laughing brightly as they hurtled through the air.

  Javïra flapped her mouth open like a landed fish, then slowly swelled, her fur going stiff with anger. Finally she hurtled her mask down to the ground and stamped in wanton fury.

  “NO!”

  Far up in the air the dancers dipped and whirred in delirious abandon.

  “No, no, no! Stop it! I said stop it!”

  Javïra shrieked in indignation. Dancers braked, tumbling in confusion as they broke apart their dance. Shadarii banked frantically to avoid a milling group of fliers.

  “It’s ruined! That scheming little skreg*** has ruined everything!”

  Javïra tore at her hair, prancing up and down in a magnificent tantrum. Mistress Traveesha swooped down from her perch, her jaw firmly set in disapproval.

  “Javïra! Whatever is the matter with you?”

  “That-that useless lump of lard!” One white hand pointed in accusation at Shadarii. “She deliberately destroyed my solo!”

  “Now Javïra…”

  “She jumped her cue! That little lardball jumped her cue!”

  One by one the dancing girls fluttered to the ground, and Javïra became the centre of a fussing cloud of sympathy. The girl swiftly wreathed herself with tears.

  “Did you hear the cue? Did you? No! It was her. She’s ruined it again!” The white furred girl hissed in spite, and Shadarii quailed, feeling opinion firmly turn against her. She slowly tried to back away, torn to ribbons by the others’ scorn.

  It wasn’t fair! She had been right! Javïra had been ruining everything. The others had seen it, felt it… why wouldn’t they just come out and say it?

  Butterflies scattered from the dark swirl of ïsha in the air. Mistress Traveesha coldly folded up her arms, and Shadarii felt the displeasure of her regal gaze.

  “Shadarii, come with me if you please.”

  Her tail dragging, the little Kashra allowed herself to be led away. Shadarii’s eyes burned with hidden tears as the Dance Mistress stood glaring at her from above.

  “Shadarii, why did you disrupt the dance?”

  Shadarii slowly closed her eyes. Her fingers flew in the formal symbols used in dancing as she pointed at Javïra, making the sign for ruin and catastrophe. The Dancing Mistress barely bothered to pay the girl attention.

  “Well yes! Of course you ruined it! Dear Mother Rain, Javïra’s nerves are in tatters. Have you no shame?”

  Shadarii furiously waved her hands, then flung up her fingers and tried again. Traveesha lost patience with the whole wretched exercise.

  “What’s that? Ruining? Ruining what, girl? You mean Javïra was ruining the dance?”

  Shadarii nodded, defeated by a simple sentence. Mistress Traveesha mulled her next words patiently before she spoke.

  “Now Shadarii, I want you to listen very carefully to me. I am aware of your talents as a dancer. I am also aware of your antipathy towards our poor Javïra. We are Past-Holders! Here art utterly rules our lives. Talent, not ambition! Harmony and never conflict. Each of us has her proper place, each working as one small piece of a greater whole. This is how society must function. One sour note in the music can ruin the work of all.”

  High overhead, a zephyr spirit drifted aross the glade, sculpting elegant curls into the ïsha flow. Not caring to notice the passing Ka, the Dancing mistress gazed loftily down at Shadarii.

  “Shadarii, jealousy does not become you. You are a fine dancer, one of my best, but your wilfulness has pushed my patience to the limit. We have tried to work around your disability, but we cannot pity you forever! Now either learn to cooperate with the other girls, or find yourself another lifepath. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

  Shadarii nodded miserably; she was defeated, trapped by her need to belong - even to belong where she was unwanted.

  They walked back into sunlight. The other girls swapped venomous whispers back and forth behind their hands, and Shadarii tried to close her ears, knowing full well that they meant her to overhear.

  Mistress Traveesha strode between the girls and clapped her hands with brisk authority.

  “Well now! A small disruption, but I think the breathing space has done us all a world of good! Shadarii, why don’t you take station in the second flight of fliers. Javïra dear, do go and fetch some proper clothes. We’ll not try your solo again today. You may take Shadarii’s place as the leader of the aerial ballet.”

  With an insolent sneer, Javïra swooped over to her abandoned pile of clothes. Traveesha’s long hands rubbed together in satisfaction; discipline had once more been upheld.

  “There now! No more dramas for the day. We’ll start afresh with gaiety and devotion, shall we? We have rightfully seen that personal initiatives have no place within an ordered set of forms…”

  A shriek of horror ripped through the air, and Shadarii lowered her long lashes in exquisite pleasure. Javïra’s squeals were pure balm to the soul; the girl hopped absurdly on one leg as she frantically plucked a slug from inside her loincloth, then slipped and fell on her backside in a handy pool of mud.

  Girls swapped astonished glances, only to see Shadarii laughing silently behind them. Her face fell as she suddenly met Traveesha’s gaze.

  “Shadarii! Go and tend the drums.”

  Mistress Traveesha’s wings spread wide in threat. Shadarii backed away, Traveesha coldly following her with anger in her eyes.

  “Now! Go on!”

  Shadarii simply turned and fled. The other women watched her with contempt, and a lean black dancer petulantly thumbed her snout.

  “Good riddance! P’raps she’ll fly away and leave us be!”

  “Hmph! With a build like that, I’m surprised the beast can even fly!”

  “I don’t care whose daughter she is, I still say she’s no dancer!”

  Javïra wandered back with her clothes clutched against her breast, glaring bitterly towards the forest.

  “We can make her want to leave! I say we push her out. There’s no place for cripples here!”

 
; Traveesha wagged a finger in admonishment.

  “Now now! She has a wild flair for shaping ïsha. Her ability is really quite entrancing.”

  “Well I’m sick of her! Just keep the little skreg away from me!”

  “We shall do as best we may, my sweet, but we must all be a little tolerant. Shadarii is slightly different from the rest of us. The poor girl deserves our pity.”

  Javïra made a spiteful face.

  “Oh yes - Pity. Let’s pity poor dear Shadarii.” She spoke so that her acid voice would carry clean across the clearing.

  “Poor poor Shadarii!”

  Nestled in amongst the forest eaves, the Springtime settlement of the Swallowtails spread like beehives off into the night. In the boughts high, high above, the treehuses shone with the light of lamps and candlefire. The houses gathered into clumps and drifts like stars high in the sky - hundreds of households ringing with the noises of village even time. Children played while women tended to the evening meals; girls laid aside their work clothes and dressed themselves in painted skirts and shining beads. The whole forest filled with life as a warm moon arose to spill its silver light across the trees.

  Of all the houses in the settlement, none were as tall, as stark and perfect as the house of Nochorku-Zha. The family of Chief Nochorku were quite comfortably well off. They owned a number of fruit orchards and groves of succulent yams. Each noble house received a tithe taken from the common villagers. As ruler of clan Swallow-Tail, Nochorku-Zha had been given many gifts over the long years of his reign. Every day fresh presents were brought by supplicants who sought his good opinion. Nochorku-Zha’s two daughters had been well provided for.

  There was metal enough to waste on sheer frivolities. A real iron pot bubbled on the stove, and an iron skillet hissed and spat above the coals. In the branches high above the sheltered hearth, the family tree lodge was wide and luxurious. It broadcast a statement of refined good taste and carefully preserved austerity;. Nochorku had created a unique expression of his own unsmiling personality.

  Shadarii returned home with the lengthening of the shadows. She fluttered miserably down to tend the hearth, her heart still crying out with hurt from her disastrous day of dance. Javïra’s taunts festered deep inside her like a set of poisoned barbs.

  There were fruit balls and lily bulbs stacked beside the hearth, and honey cakes were arrayed in bowls for the taking. Shadarii fed the fire and unhappily began to eat.

  Shadarii was plump. The very thought of it made her miserable. The other dancing students were all slim and svelte - a fact they pointed out at every opportunity. The unhappier Shadarii felt, the more she ate; the fatter she became the more miserable she felt. It was a cruel circle.

  One of the village wives had come to tend the chieftain’s fire. The woman sat by the iron skillet, her hands busy as she arranged meals into individual works of art. On the fire behind her, fat white wood grubs toasted on the flames. From time to time she turned the crispy delicacies with her chopsticks, sending juices sizzling across the grill. Shadarii licked her lips and reached out for a crisp, fried grub - then jerked away in guilt as Zhukora stormed in through the door. With no catch in hand, the huntress seethed inside a dark, brooding cloud. She shot Shadarii a withering glance, then helped herself to a cup of lily tea.

  Shadarii retreated outside of the hearth hut. The village bustled with the warm activity of evening, and the air swirled with the woodsmoke of a hundred cooking fires. Beside the council lodge the evenings dancing had begun. Mistress Traveesha had been quite firm; tonight Shadarii’s services were definitely “not required”. The girl sighed and kicked her feet, stung by the sound of distant laughter.

  A tiny creeping orchid clung to the gigantic house tree. The little plant seemed strangely tired and wan, and Shadarii made a silent ‘aaaaaw’ of disappointment. She held the twisted, wilted leaves and filled her heart with sorrow.

  The girl closed her eyes and stilled her mind, reaching out to feel the flower’s pain. A gentle, unseen wind stirred softly through Shadarii’s fur as she bent down to kiss the flower, stroking at the petals with her loving little hands.

  For a tiny, fragile moment the forest seemed to hold its breath.

  The orchid sighed beneath Shadarii’s sweet caress, drawing strength in from the dancer’s glowing ïsha field. Bit by bit the petals slowly straightened, and the tiny plant spirit stretched in joy. It crooned and danced in gratitude, patting at Shadarii’s soul with little tendrils of delight.

  Shadarii smiled; for once her troubled mind lay quite at peace.

  The curtain to the hearth hut opened with a crash. Shadarii gave a guilty jerk and swiftly hid the orchid flower behind her wings as Zhukora stormed out from the hut, a struggling long-necked tortoise dangling from her claws. With a scowl she thrust the hapless creature into Shadarii’s hands.

  “You! Do something useful for once in your life! Kill the beast and clean it.”

  Shadarii looked unhappily at the tortoise, but Zhukora shoved the little dancer on her way.

  “Well go on! Father’s waiting for his meal. What are you doing out here anyway? Eating again, eh? Rain’s blood girl, don’t you ever stop?”

  Zhukora raised her hand, and Shadarii flinched away in fright. Zhukora ground her fangs and gave a snort.

  “Oh stop cringing! Just go clean that tortoise!”

  On a stump nearbye, a broken branch slowly grew a pair of glowing yellow eyes. The frogmouthed owl shed its motionless pose and gave a yawn, blinking as it contemplated a night spent on the wing.

  Zhukora sighed and ignored the creature; gazing aloft, the long, lean huntress irritably tugged her hair.

  “I’m going up to see father. There’s a meeting of the clan elders tomorrow. If he’s going to preside I’d better make sure he understands the issues.”

  Zhukora brushed her hands off against her leggings. She looked around and seemed annoyed to find Shadarii still standing in the shadows. The red haired girl held the tortoise with a horrified expression on her face, and Zhukora gave an irritable sigh.

  “Oh give it to the cook! Just go and fetch water for the tea.”

  Shadarii silently surrendered up the tortoise, then spread her wings and fluttered off into the gloom. Zhukora poured herself more tea from the iron pot. She glowered across one shoulder, cradling her pottery cup, watching as her sister’s tail dwindled in the gloom. Zhukora sipped her tea and made a face, then irritably stood and hurtled the dregs into the ashes.

  With a brisk flick of her feet she sprang aloft, fading silently into the black, sharp shadows of the evening.

  “Father?”

  The inside of the lodge always seemed dark. Zhukora’s tail lashed, her spine prickling to emotions that she dare not recognise.

  Here the regime of tradition lay enshrined in all its glory. The room was austere and restrained, with decoration carefully pared down to a minimum. Zhukora smoothly knelt down at the edges of the shadow, her wings sweeping out to shade her impassive face.

  “Honoured father, it is almost time to eat. Counsellor Kïkorï and his wife are joining us tonight. They bring news of the famines in the western tribal lands.”

  The room remained frozen in unmoving, aimless darkness; Zhukora kept her gaze firmly riveted to the floor.

  “Sire, the elders of the clan will meet tomorrow to discuss the coming toteniha festival. We must review the topics they will raise. You must decide upon your policies.”

  Something in the shadows stirred, and a deep, smooth voice whispered in the silence.

  “Yes… Policies…”

  Zhukora’s wings quivered.

  “Father - It’s important.”

  “Yes… But no hurry. It will all still be there tomorrow. The young always place so much credence upon haste…”

  Zhukora rose and trimmed the lamp, and the shadows swam and fled. There, beneath paired masks of Father Wind and Mother Rain, sat the high lord of the Katakanii’s clan Swallow-Tail.

  Nochorku-
Zha had bones that jutted hard like struts of steel. His jet black fur glittered with a sheen of grey - hair once as black and straight as his daughter’s now shone pure white with age. Long antennae stirred as he sat in the shadows of his empty home.

  His eldest daughter’s face remained frozen in a cold, hard mask of duty.

  “Father, I must talk to you. Something - something happened today. I was in the forest hunting. My kill! Prakucha stole from me!”

  Her father simply smiled.

  “Prakucha cannot steal from you. He is a hunter of a higher tier. He would never act in such a way. To do so is unthinkable.”

  Zhukora clenched her fists, frustration piercing her voice.

  “My spear struck first! He stole from me!”

  “His spear takes precedence. He is an older man. His rights must be upheld.”

  “Rights?” The girl’s lithe body seethed with hate. “The kill was mine. Mine! It isn’t fair. He is guilty of a crime!”

  “He cannot commit a crime against you. He is higher in status than you. His own claim therefore must be the correct claim.” The old man’s wings stirred softly in the gloom. “This is the forest, child! Nothing ever changes. All is as it must be. In the perfect order, all creatures have their place. This is the divine necessity of stasis.”

  “Father! Things are happening!”

  “Nothing is happening. All troubles pass. We know this because our troubles have always passed. The forest is eternal; the Kashra are eternal. We bask beneath the Wind and Rain in the one-world of the earth.”