A Whisper of Wings

by Paul Kidd

  High up in the trees, a flock of Katakanii dancing girls peered down into the clearing on their way to class. Srïhoonii twitched her antenae in puzzlement.

  “What on earth is fatzo up to now? Who are all those people?”

  “Who cares? Just some ragamuffins from another clan.”

  “I’ve seen them somewhere before. Who’s the dopey looking one who keeps on staring at her?”

  “Who knows. Come on, there’s practice to be done! Javïra, are you coming?”

  Javïra stared down at Shadarii, her eyes suddenly intense and bright. The white-furred dancer’s tail waved slowly as she let out a long, slow predatory hiss.

  “Javïra?”

  The girl’s breath seemed somehow faster. With an agile flip of wings Javïra raced off after her companions, while far below Shadarii drew her knives and danced beneath the gentle morning sun.

  ***

  “Now watch carefully, Kotaru! The winners will be the team the Wrens shall have to play tomorrow.”

  Prince Tekï’taa sat on a platform high above the ground. Below him, a crowd of ten thousand had gathered around the jiteng field. It would be a match to end all matches; two teams from the same clan fighting bitterly for the Tribal title. The Skull-Wings and the Orchids were to clash at last.

  The Swallow-Tails had turned jiteng into a hard and violent game. It was going to be a foul match, and for once the people seemed to be thirsting out for blood. Food shortages had made tempers fray to breaking point.

  The Katakanii priests sealed the sacred circle. Once the game had begun, no one could pass onto the field. Prince Tekï’taa watched the ceremonies while he ate a tiny peach.

  “Kotaru, do pay attention. I’m sure you will find the local playing styles most interesting.”

  “Never fear, my lord!” The young captain tried to be all attentiveness and eyes. “We’ll bring you a victory! I’m sure we will.”

  “Quite.” The Prince leaned forward to prod Kotaru with a peach pit. “It is important to me. See to it that you do.”

  Shadarii knelt quietly on the rear edge of the platform, making the Prince’s tea. It had taken her a whole string of beads to bribe another girl into giving her the post, but it was worth it just to be beside Kotaru.

  The Prince was treating her Kotaru like a piece of dirt; what’s more, Mrrimïmei said that the man enjoyed beating girls. Shadarii peered at the Prince, her tail slowly lashing through the air behind her.

  The Prince idly clicked his fingers at Shadarii.

  “You there! The fat one! Go and find us more tea, and be quick about it.”

  Shadarii looked at Prince Tekï’taa and gave a slow, sly smile. She retreated far too innocently for Kotaru’s liking; he almost made his excuses to dash off in pursuit when the Prince deigned to speak to him once more.

  “The Katakanii seem blessed with a fine crop of tender beauties. That last one was a touch overripe, perhaps. Still, she seems entirely pleasant.” The Prince sighed. “A virgin and a noble, too! Ah me. Too bad she is already spoken for.”

  Kotaru was suddenly all ears.

  “My Lord?”

  “Nothing. Clan business is far above your understanding.”

  “But my lord! You-you mean that she’s engaged?”

  “On no, of course not, boy!”

  Kotaru sighed in relief. All worries faded from his mind as he saw Shadarii alight back on the platform. She beamed at him, adoring him with her lovely eyes while steam curled from the iron teapot in her hands.

  “Aaah the tea! Thank you, m’ dear. I shall take a cup now, I think.”

  Shadarii smiled sweetly at Kotaru as she opened up the pot, daintily sprinkling in a pinch of herbs and grasses. The girl sighed in anticipation as she reached into her pouch. She held up a pair of purple seed pods and jiggled them merrily in the air, then winked at Kotaru, twirling the herbs with a malicious sense of anticipation.

  Kotaru frantically tried to signal her behind Tekï’taa’s back.

  No! For pity’s sake don’t!

  The girl seemed mildly surprised. She held the pods up before her eyes, looking sidewise at Kotaru before picking up the Prince’s teacup. Kotaru angrily flapped his hands.

  Shadarii! I forbid it!

  Shadarii gave a helpless little shrug and dunked the seedpods down into the Prince’s tea. With her green eyes all wide and innocent she proffered Tekï’taa his drink. The Prince reached for it without a second glance and raised the cup up to his lips; Kotaru jerked and tried to intervene.

  “Uh…”

  The Prince slurped his tea and scowled.

  “What is it now, Kotaru? Rain, man! Your nerves are getting irritating!”

  Shadarii sighed as she watched the Prince drain down his cup. He smacked his lips and asked to have another, and Shadarii gleefully complied. Kotaru watched helplessly as she dipped the seedpods in his cup once more.

  The Prince drained the second cup with all the gusto of his first. Kotaru bit his nails, his tail twitching fitfully behind him.

  A scream came from the audience as the jiteng players arrived. The Orchids whirled up into the air, posing for the adoration of the crowds, their bright costumes shining with all the colours of the rainbow. They flexed their muscles and shook their staves, as exquisite as the flowers that they emulated.

  Suddenly the spectators rose up to their feet, and the air shook to a roar as a wave of demons surged onto the field.

  “ZHU-KO-RA! ZHU-KO-RA! ZHU-KO-RA!”

  Hunters leapt and screamed while the cruel black shapes of Skull-Wings clattered through the sky. Kotaru stared at the leering skull masks and felt his face drain blank with fright.

  Prince Tekï’taa politely clapped his hands, delighted by the gruesome costumes.

  “Aren’t they delicious! The Katakanii field eleven major Jiteng teams. The Skull-Wings are the only team that crosses clan boundaries. Such a team! Three hundred members! They’re the most vicious group to ever play the league. Seven days of jiteng trials, and not a single game lost!”

  Kotaru’s eyes were riveted on Zhukora’s cruel, lithe form. Prince Tekï’taa slurped his tea and glanced irritably at his companion.

  “What is it this time? You have comment on your opponents?”

  Kotaru swallowed, his eyes riveted to the evil figures swarming through the air below him.

  “I… Nothing! I-I just saw the uniforms once before.”

  “Ha! Hard to mistake. They say Zhukora is a witch, and that each team member consorts with demon Ka and vampires…”

  Prince Tekï’taa shifted uncomfortably on his seat, frowning slightly as rubbed a hand across his stomach. Shadarii helpfully topped up his cup. The Prince frowned and drank more tea, irritably settling back to watch the game unfold.

  “Wings spread, ball high!”

  The ball arced into the air. High above the open field, the battle had begun.

  Zhukora hovered in midair, sweat dripping down the inside of her mask. Two goals down against the Orchids, and two goals scored against themselves! Prakucha had caught them by surprise, deliberately slamming two Skull-Wing players between his own men. He had taken a foul just to break the wings of Zhukora’s best Fast Forward.

  It had been a stupid move; not only had it cost the Orchids a penalty, but it had also stirred Zhukora’s anger. She hung like a vast black bat above the field, her mind slowly seething her revenge.

  Daimïru speared up from the tangled grass of the meadow. Her long blonde hair streamed out beneath her helmet, marking her far better than any flag or painted armour. She raced around Zhukora and nimbly braked herself to a halt.

  “Ootïka’s arm is broken. He won’t leave the field.”

  “Good man! Put him on guard by the goals.”

  Daimïru’s fangs gnashed in fury.

  “Two of my team out of action!” The girl gripped her staff. “Let me take him now! Why wait?”

  Zhukora’s eyes stared across the field. Her voice never changed its measured tone
.

  “We will stay to our plan. You are stronger than the provocation, Daimïru; always remember that. We must move only in the final goal run.”

  Daimïru’s tail thrashed.

  “Zhukora, I would never question your orders, but I simply must protest. It is my duty to protect you! To risk yourself in this fashion might cause you to be hurt.”

  “It is the only way to draw Prakucha out. It is the best plan for success.”

  “I would rather take any injury myself and leave you whole.”

  Zhukora nodded.

  “I know you would, my love. I know.”

  The crowd’s roar ebbed and flowed around them like the endless wash of leaves. Zhukora slitted up her eyes and rode the storm, feeling the anger slowly fill her up with strength.

  “Signal the umpire that we’re ready to take the penalty play now. Echelon formation on Nataku’s lead.”

  The Orchids sullenly shook themselves out into some semblance of order, and the umpire tossed the ball up to Zhukora. With a curt snap of her fingers she ordered her phalanx forward. The Orchids raised up a single scream of anger and then lunged into the attack.

  “Go-go-go!”

  Zhukora flung her formation down into the Orchid’s claws. Figures smashed into each other at break-neck speed. Zhukora punched out with her fist, an ïsha bolt smashing back an Orchid who had been fool enough to block her path. She ripped the power from Prakucha’s wings, shrieking triumphantly as he crashed into the ground.

  She felt the ïsha all around her like a surging force. Every day her powers grew; her people’s faith had filled her with a dizzy rush of strength. Zhukora threw back her head and laughed as she tore clean through the Orchids’ heart. Nobles yelled in fury as Daimïru clubbed them from the air. With hair streaming out behind them the pair of women streaked up to the Orchids’ goals. Zhukora folded up her wings and rolled, screaming past the goal guards to smash the ball down through the hoop. She curved up in a mighty loop, basking in the savage adoration of the crowd.

  Daimïru flew beside her, aura burning bright as she yearned for the moment of release. Zhukora caressed Daimïru’s hair, sharing the pure thrill of the moment.

  “Now, my love! Now! Finally you may strike!”

  The blonde girl gave a sob and whirled around, her mad eyes searching hungrily though the players. Finally they alighted on Prakucha, and Daimïru gave a hiss of ecstasy.

  Behind her, the Skull-Wings gathered for their final devastating play.

  “Fools - Idiots! I said I wanted her destroyed!”

  Prakucha slammed his fist into his palm, his purple mask shivering with rage. The hunter shoved a player backwards with one huge hand. “Can’t you even carry out the simplest plan? Just get Zhukora! I want her out of the game! Break her wings!”

  Players hastened forward.

  “Captain, her ïsha strength is unbelievable! She smashes us aside like insects! Forïta’s being treated for convulsions. That black bitch did something to his aura!”

  “The blonde one is always there. She’ll take a blow herself rather than let her captain fall!”

  Prakucha’s rage was terrible to behold. The enormous man rammed a player back against a tree.

  “Then bring her down! Evade her! I want Zhukora taken out of action!”

  “Wings spread, ball high!”

  The ball span up into the sky; with a howl of fury the Orchids stormed towards the prize.

  Two Skull-Wings hurtled through the air and curled into defensive balls, cracking full-tilt into the Orchid leaders. Wings and limbs exploded in a blast of fury. The Skull-Wings uncurled in midair, wings expertly flipping out to break their falls while two injured Orchids spilled helplessly to earth.

  Players slammed into one another in a furious melee, and Zhukora shot away from the combat, racing for the ball. Prakucha saw the move; with a roar of fury he dove towards his prey. This time he would break her ribs and give her something to remember him by! A small piece of pain to last until their marriage day. With a scream of triumph Prakucha cracked his staff between her wings, and Zhukora tumbled to the ground.

  Somewhere in the distance the Skull-Wings snapped home their final goal. Prakucha turned his head in shock, looking towards the goal posts even as he speared downwards in his dive.

  A shape stabbed down from the sun, and something smashed between Prakucha’s shoulderblades. His wings shattered as Daimïru collided with him from above. Prakucha screamed and hit the ground, tumbling end over end as he smashed into the earth.

  Prakucha’s helmet broke against a stone. The huge hunter lay semi-conscious on the ground, half smothered by the tall grass that towered overhead. Another figure had skidded to a halt beside him in the neck-tall grass, and Prakucha gave a croak, reaching feebly towards his rescuer.

  Something knelt across his twisted spine and wrenched his helmet back. Prakucha writhed in sudden fear, huge muscles helpless against an even greater force. A wooden staff jerked back his head, cutting off his air.

  He stared up into a snarling skull. Long blonde hair streamed in the wind as a girl’s eyes glazed in homicidal lust.

  Prakucha squealed as Daimïru heaved back on her staff. Prakucha’s huge body bucked and ground between her thighs as she clung and twisted; finally with a crack of bone, she snapped Prakucha’s neck. Daimïru stared into his eyes, thrilling to the sharp feel of his dying. Her loins jerked in release, her body shuddering in wild spasms as she let the moment take her like a lover’s glorious thrust. She ground him tight against herself and felt the corpse’s heat as her breathing shuddered harshly in her throat.

  The afterglow roared in Daimïru’s ears. She tottered to her feet, absently brushing aside Prakucha’s Ka.

  The grass had hidden everything. Prakucha’s speed of fall would explain his injuries. The deed was done; the first obstacle had finally gone…

  Daimïru wandered in a daze towards Zhukora. Daimïru’s legs were weak, and her limbs trembled. In a strange state of exultation she sought Zhukora’s arms. Zhukora held her tight, sharing in the precious triumph, allowing Daimïru to weakly lose herself inside Zhukora’s fur.

  The first few players were circling towards Prakucha’s corpse. Daimïru looked into Zhukora’s eyes and smiled in adoration, reaching up to stroke the face of death above her.

  Two snarling skulls locked in a kiss of death. The first blood had been shed, and strangely, Zhukora no longer cared. The first step had been so easy. She took Daimïru’s hand and slowly led her from the field.

  In the background, the vast crowd stirred like a restless animal. The news of Prakucha’s death slowly spread like, souring the air with a noxious, hungry smell.

  The emotion felt strangely familiar, yet somehow sharply alien.

  It seemed something like…

  Anticipation.

  Prince Tekï’taa gritted his teeth and held on for dear life as he clutched onto the latrine. Tortured eyes rolled in agony as he lifted up his tail and heaved.

  Ohhh Raiiiiin! Please let it end!

  A hand appeared over the edge of the privacy screen waving a sheaf of fine soft paperbark. Tekï’taa weakly grasped the paper and dropped it at his feet.

  “Th-thank you child… I f-fear I may be here for quite some ti…”

  Aaaargh! Not again! The Prince flailed for support as his guts knotted up in agony; the poor man shut his eyes and prayed feverishly for his life to end.

  Shadarii dusted off her hands with satisfaction and danced off to find Kotaru. With the Prince regrettably taken ill, the Vakïdurii entourage had discreetly retired from the game.

  The river shone clean and bright in the hot afternoon sun as Shadarii swooped down to circle high above rapids. Jiteng players lounged in the grass while smoke swirled above a cooking fire. Kotaru leaned idly back against a tree trunk, the music of his pipe casting a cozy spell. Shadarii turned an agile somersault and landed by his side. Kotaru smiled up at her across his flute, his music suddenly becoming lit with swirling
moods of joy. Shadarii nestled up as closely as she dared.

  Clams and roots had been wrapped up into parcels of paperbark and then stuffed beneath the coals. Plain, tall and with a long sagacious nose, the girl Tingtraka arranged the sizzling packets to their best advantage. Pulling her long black hair back from her red-furred face, she shyly bowed to Shadarii, disturbing the girl’s adoring reverie of Kotaru’s face.

  “My lady - uh - Shadarii? We all heard shouting just now by the field. Is there some sort of trouble with the game?”

  Shadarii shrugged; the jiteng game? Who knew? Who cared? She went back to gazing at Kotaru, her tail waving softly in the breeze.

  Kotaru looked down at her, and she melted beneath his big brown eyes. The man softly blew a short phrase on his flute, exploring a gentle phrase of sound. Shadarii heard her own name lingering on his music as he played the song that he had crafted just for her.

  Sha-da-rii…

  Sha-da-rii…

  This time it was played without sadness. She luxuriated beneath the soft caress of music, feeling him worship her with his art.

  Sha-da-rii…

  Shadarii opened up her eyes and blinked. Suddenly her mind snapped into crystal clarity. The girl quickly snatched a piece of paperbark, and with a piece of charcoal she began to hastily sketch down symbols on the sheet.