A Whisper of Wings

by Paul Kidd

  The Wren’s Captain watched the Mantises with something akin to weary sorrow before casually flipping the ball down through the goals. The crowd stared in absolute astonishment.

  The Mantises had lost; it was a Wren victory four goals to none.

  Suddenly the crowd seemed to find its voice, and a shout of triumph roared through the air. They cheered because it simply seemed the thing to do. For years afterwards jiteng enthusiasts would talk about the day they saw a legend born.

  Out on the field the Wrens flung themselves into each other’s arms. They had played in a state of dream-like shock, watching themselves in disbelief as goal after goal went home. Kotaru ripped away his mask and shook his whiskers free of sweat.

  “We won. We-we won! I don’t believe it!”

  “Believe it! Wind and Fire, believe it!” Mrrimïmei crushed Kotaru hard against her armoured chest. “I have never, ever won anything before in all my life!”

  Another girl, Tingtraka, kissed Kotaru on the nose, and his team mates cheered as their captain’s ears blushed red.

  King Latikai waded through the crowd to pound Kotaru on the shoulderblades.

  “Well boy, you’ve done me proud. I knew you’d not disappoint me.” He slapped Kotaru’s shoulders once again, nearly blasting the smaller man clean into the ground. “Four nil! Four nil, who’d believe it? There’s one to tell your grandchildren, eh? The day you beat all odds and won your fame!”

  The King gave the lad a victory hug that audibly cracked his ribs, then whirled Kotaru around and bellowed for the crowd’s attention.

  “People! People o’ the Vakïdurii, I present the winning team, the Superb Blue Wrens!”

  The King ruffled Kotaru’s hair, nearly rattling his brains.

  “It is my pride, nay, t’is my privilege to declare the Superb Blue Wrens our champion team…” The wild cheers of the crowd nearly drowned him out. “… and to further declare that they shall represent us against the Katakanii tribe.”

  The air roared as the tribesfolk surged their wings in applause. Kotaru reeled around in wonder, scarcely able to believe his fortune. He stared out into open space, seeing nothing but a pair of deep green eyes…

  The victors were swept away into the arms of the crowd. Laikikai straightened his jewelry and sidled off to find the captain of the Mantis team. He discovered her stripping away her wooden greaves, and duly slapped the woman on the back.

  “A fine game, lass! Well played and quite convincing. Aaaaah, if only my son had been here to give you the benefit o‘ his leadership. I’m sure…”

  The captain ripped off her helmet and hurtled back her plaited hair.

  “Tekï’taa? Ha! That bugger’s never held a catching staff in all his pampered life!”

  The King blinked, taken aback by the woman’s foul temper. He cleared his throat and mustered up his dignity.

  “Hmmmmm-ha, in any case, an admirable demonstration, although perhaps laid on a mite too thick. Four nil? Fire and Poison, girl, who’s going to believe that? Three-four would have been a better margin! Y’ took your orders far too literally. In the future, more initiative and less…”

  “My Lord! What in Poison’s name are you babbling on about?”

  The King puffed out the royal chest.

  “Your instructions woman! Have you no brains? The instructions that my son gave to you!”

  The exasperated player shoved aside her mask.

  “What instructions? What’s this damned nonsense you’re prattling now?”

  “The special instructions, girl! The orders for the Mantises to lose the game.”

  The Mantis angrily stripped off her gloves, glaring out at the jubilant Wrens.

  “No one gave me any skreggin’ instructions! Damned fool idea in any case. Special game - intertribal matches! Whose brilliant notion was this?”

  The King’s antennae rose in horror.

  “What d’ you mean no special instructions?” He grabbed the woman by the chest. “You were supposed to lose! That’s how it happened! Y’ don’t mean to tell me that a bunch o’ untrained commoners…”

  The Mantis angrily tore free from King Latïkai’s claws.

  “All I know is that we just got our tails whipped! Beaten by a flock of fledgling Wrens.”

  The King whirled to stare as the Wrens surged off into the village, thrilled with their outrageous victory. Laikïtai could only sag down upon a mouldy log as an endless stream of disasters opened out before his eyes…

  ***

  Shadarii frowned in concentration with her green eyes fixed on empty air. Two glittering blades swung into guard as she settled her grip and crouched in anticipation.

  Suddenly the girl streaked forwards. Orange wings swept out like sheets of fire, and bundles of dried grass tumbled down in fragments as she passed them by. Shadarii folded up and turned a somersault, splitting a target at the midpoint of her roll. Her dao clove beneath the target, sending wood and straw spinning to the ground.

  Damn!

  Shadarii screeched to a halt, angrily hurtling down her knives. She had missed by almost half a handspan, enough to take someone’s head off! Days and days of work, and still she had no progress to show Traveesha. The girl furiously sat down on the grass and thrashed her tail in spite.

  Skreg it, skreg it, skreg it!

  “Shadarii! Shadarii, are you there?”

  A great fat figure stood by the stream, gesturing imperiously. The High Priestess! Shadarii rapidly smoothed her hair and tried to make herself presentable.

  “Shadarii! Come lass, I have the most wonderful news for you. Your sister and I have made the most marvelous plans!”

  Shadarii landed neatly in the grass and dropped into a formal bow. She remained with eyes downcast before the priest, her wings shading her from the woman’s gaze.

  The High Priestess gave a loving, predatory smile.

  “Oh do get up, my dear! Come come, formality is only for the ‘mundanes’. You are almost one of us now. There’s no need for ducks and bows!”

  Shadarii went quite stiff. She looked up at the High Priestess in sudden fear, and the old woman laughed aloud.

  “Yes! Isn’t it the most delightful news? You are to become a Priestess.”

  Shadarii simply folded up and fell. She sat and stared emptily across the grass, her eyes blank and dazed.

  “Aaaah, I knew you’d be excited! Think of it, my dear; an exulted position amongst the tribe, status beyond your wildest dreams! In the future you could even rise to become High Priestess.”

  Shadarii scrabbled frantically to her feet, her eyes wild with panic. She looked up at the Priest and tried to plead. The old Priestess saw the girl’s alarm and crowed.

  “What? Tears and panic? Don’t be silly girl! T’will be the adventure of a lifetime. Don’t you want to be a Priest?”

  Shadarii frantically shook her head. She looked about herself in fright, trying to find some means of escape - someone who could help! Father! Did father know?

  Somebody help her!

  The wily Priest changed tack, and her voice became an insidious, subtle croon.

  “Shadarii, I have planned this for your own good. Have you heard them laughing at you? Haven’t you seen them sneering at the girl who has no voice? It hurts, doesn’t it, to be the laughing stock. Always the odd one out! Always the girl without a friend…” The old woman bent to whisper in Shadarii’s ear. “It can all be yours, my dear. Power to stand in pride! Status to hurtle straight back in their faces! Her Reverence Shadarii-Zho¹ will be a name to love - to fear. No one will ever dare to laugh at you again!”

  Shadarii wept, trying to tear words out of her throat. She tugged at the Priestess’ robes and tried to form a pleading little pantomime. She touched her forehead and made the sign for ‘dancer’.

  “Your Ka? Oh, your soul longs to dance!” She beamed and spread her hands. “Hush dear, dry your tears. We have a great need of dancers. Shadarii, you will discover stories that you never knew existed. All the
tales of the past will be yours to treasure, yours to dance. Come, take my hand! Take my hand and join our special world.”

  Shadarii’s pathetic pleas continued; finally the High Priestess reached out to crush Shadarii down beneath her will. She recoiled as the girl’s ïsha field lashed back with monstrous power. The Priest span backwards, blasted by Shadarii’s frantic energy.

  Shadarii stared at the Priest in horror, barely aware of what she had just done. The old woman’s eyes were finally lit with rage.

  “Don’t be foolish girl! What else does the future hold for you? Even a girl without a voice can prosper as a Priest!”

  Shadarii sobbed, then cradled something invisible against her breast, hugging it as though it would be torn from her.

  “What? Babies? Don’t be a fool! Who’d want a cripple for a wife?”

  Shadarii jerked, and the Priest cackled as she saw her barb go home.

  “So that’s it! You’ve found yourself a man to dream of? Well keep dreaming, girl! You know as well as I just how far he’s going to run when he discovers you can’t speak!”

  Shadarii fell down to her knees and wept as the Priestess spitefully twisted home the knife.

  “A virgin you are, and a virgin you’ll remain! You’ll not miss it, girl. Just thank the Ka that the Priesthood wants to take you!”

  Shadarii pawed the ground in silence. The Priestess snorted in disgust.

  “Get up! Go and learn your knife dance. After Totenïha you shall be ours. You have eight days to make all your goodbyes.”

  The old Woman spread her wings and flew off into the forest. Shadarii crept across the grass in agony and felt her spirit bleed.

  ***

  “Flowers for my bride to be! Gifts for the mother of my unborn children! A perfumed rose to grace the hair of my devoted ladylove.”

  Massive, polished and perfect, Prakucha unfolded from the darkness and proffered up a tiny flower. He had lain in wait outside Zhukora’s lodge, knowing that eventually she must pass by. He made a mocking bow and grinned as he saw Zhukora’s hate-filled eyes.

  “What? No kiss? No trembling hug or breathless promises? You disappoint me. Surely you have at least heard how a bride should act?”

  The huge hunter barred Zhukora’s way, leaning his enormous bulk against the door.

  “You know my dear, you worry me. You lack the gentle feminine graces. Sometimes you seem barely female at all! You have the body of a spratling boy and the soul of a tiger cat. It will be a great pleasure to break you in at last.”

  Zhukora’s breast heaved in rage, and she glared at Prakucha with murder in her eyes.

  “Withdraw your offer of marriage, Prakucha! I will give you but one warning!”

  “Ooooh! Do you think to kill me through an excess of wedded bliss? I think not! We’ll soon have the wild Zhukora well and truly tamed!”

  Zhukora rammed the man aside. She stood in her doorway and then gazed at him slowly and carefully, like a hunter gazing at unwanted, butchered prey.

  “You were warned, Prakucha. The consequences will be no one’s fault except your own!”

  The girl turned and disappeared into the shadows. Prakucha slowly backed away, the humour slowly dying in his eyes.

  “Javïra dear - don’t play with knives, darling. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”

  Mistress Traveesha looked up from sewing beads upon a costume, scowling as she saw her niece’s latest antics. The girl pranced up and down the hearth waving a disreputable pair of dao. She posed herself in the firelight, admiring her shadow on the lodge-tree’s trunk.

  The first act of Zhukora’s tenure as a consellor had been to change the schedules for the totenïha ceremony. She had insisted that her sister make the dance a farewell before she departed from the tribe.

  So now a knife dance was to be played in public! A knife dance! Zhukora had insisted upon it, backed by a chorus of her followers. The young people were all eager to see - a vulgar delight seemed to be overcoming all good taste and tradition. Annoyed by the clash of knives, Traveesha jammed her needle through her leaf-leather costume and gave an irritated sigh.

  “Javïra, put those things down! You’ll cut yourself.”

  “I’m practicing, Aunt. Shadarii’s moves looked so good I couldn’t bring myself to resist!” Javïra gazed at the clean lines of her delicious body. “I think I might make a good partner for Shadarii in the dance. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Traveesha put her sewing down.

  “I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Javïra. We shan’t go looking for any trouble.”

  “Anything she can do, I can do better!”

  “Competition can become too much of a fixation, dear, but I suppose it’s good to see you occupied again.”

  Javïra’s eyes glittered spitefully in the dark.

  “Shadarii’s going to dance the most important dance in all the cycle. I thought I was going to dance the fourth performance.”

  “I’m sorry my dear, but there’s really nothing I can do. The Priests are most insistent. We shall find lots of other dances for you; now do put those wretched things away!”

  Javïra laughed, and her teeth flashed as she swung her knives.

  “Just practicing, Aunt, just practicing! I have a feeling that it still might come in useful.”

  Javïra hurtled a dao through the air. The knife smacked into the treetrunk, spearing though the shadow on the wall. Javïra stared at the weapon, her whole body thrilling to the sight of gleaming steel.

  “Yes Aunt! It might just come in very useful indeed.”

  Notes:

  1) Zho: “Learned”. A title somewhat different from that of “Zha” (“Revered”).

  Chapter Seven

  The dawn came cruel and bitter, and the cold sliced beneath the fur to draw pain straight from the skin. Clan Swallow-tail sat beneath the grey predawn light and suffered it in silence. Wisps of steam curled from their nostrils to hang like twisting wraiths, while here and there a child coughed, the sound strangely lonely in the eerie forest hush.

  Deep amongst the ferns, a speck of brightness wavered. Faint cries and chatter carried on the breeze as piece by piece the forest filled with glorious drifts of song. The Katakanii clans filtered through the leaves at the appointed hour.

  Voices rose as Swallowtails yelled greetings through the green, and tribesfolk broke into a run as they dashed to meet old friends. The forest erupted into chaos as ten thousand voices pealed out in joy. Dancers from a dozen villages whirled up into the air. Hunters hammered one another on their backs as married daughters clasped themselves in their mother’s arms. It was the yearly binding of the tribe, the time of totenïha.

  In the middle of the pandemonium, solemn ceremonies were taking place. The counselors of the five clans all spread wings before King Saitookii, and the High Priestess made blessings while her dancers consecrated a circle for the jiteng games. The common folk paid the ceremonies not the slightest bit of heed; those with kin in the Swallowtail villages wandered off to dump their gear, while others streamed out into the woods to snatch the prime camping spots beside the streams. Old women gratefully followed younger folk towards the baths, keen to steam their bones and forget the rigours of the march.

  All in all the Totenïha ceremonies were off to their normal start.

  ***

  Totenïha brought its usual gift of joy, and for a few brief days the tribe pretended that the famine had gone. The people sang and danced beneath the trees, whooping with laughter as they spread their wings to fly. Children tumbled in the waters while hunters scoured the riverbanks for food. Young women flocked to watch the Jiteng players at their games, gazing adoringly at their latest heroes.

  Of all the Katakanii there was but one small group who had no time for play. The Past holders were scarcely allowed to stop and catch their breaths as they laboured day and night to make the holiday a triumph for their tribe. The girls woke at dawn, snatched up a hasty meal and dashed to start their warm-ups b
efore the other tribesfolk had even stirred from bed. At night the hunters came to coax the girls into the bracken, showering them with gifts and soft enticements, but for once even Javïra could scarcely find the energy to smile. The hunters sighed and irritably waited for the times to mend. Once the main ceremonies had come and gone, the girls would soon spark back to their normal selves. Wingshedding had always been one of the finest times of year. The nights were warm, the bracken soft, and the girls would soon prove more than willing…

  Far off in the forest, two girls sat and painted masks beside a stream amidst an arsenal of gleaming knives. A bird-wing and a swallow-tail, Shadarii and her companion worked in silence, their brushes moving with a gentle, fluid grace.

  Shadarii’s companion was a compact little white-furred girl with delicious amber eyes. Hatïkaa had an overbearing character and muscles hard as iron. Shadarii primly tried not to take offense at the other woman’s manner. Sometimes Hatïkaa could be funny; it was the other times that wore Shadarii’s temper down. Hatïkaa’s only interests in life were her sex life and her child; she had been married for nearly half a year and already had an egg about to hatch. Shadarii had nervously edged away from inquiring about the details.

  Shadarii lived inside a world of pain and misery. All her hopes were dying right before her eyes. Even her little dream of love had begun to wither in her heart. Hatïkaa looked over at Shadarii and wrinkled up her snout.