A Whisper of Wings

by Paul Kidd

  The girl dove her nervous fingers down into her pouch, looking for something to occupy her hands, and she felt the shape of her round clay flute. Harïsh took it out and stared unhappily at the thing, wondering why she felt like laughing even as she felt so strange.

  The stranger’s tail went stiff. He stared at the flute, something sparking deep within his eyes. She handed it to him, fascinated by the sudden changes in his face.

  “Oh! Have you seen one before? It’s a clay flute. My father makes them. It’s not like a proper reed flute. They’re actually rather difficult to play…”

  The Stranger raised the flute up to his lips and blew a single, perfect note. It sang out like the haunted crooning of a ghost. The girl gave a shiver, the hackles rising all up and down her fur.

  High up in the rafters, the household spirit uncurled from its sleep, and Harïsh blinked in astonishment as the Ka danced to the stranger’s song. The nobleman’s green wings lifted to the touch of unseen winds. Finally he let the music end. The Stranger looked across at Harïsh with bright, shy eyes. She took the flute back in her hands, afraid to meet the stranger’s gaze.

  “Thank you. I… Thank you for letting me see.”

  The girl hastily scrubbed her eyes and handed him back the flute. She felt honoured to give the instrument into the hands of such a master.

  The Stranger’s eyes shone with light, and for the first time he seemed utterly alert. Suddenly the girl had an idea; she clapped her hands for attention, firmly pointing to her breast.

  “Harïsh. I am Harïsh. And you, do you have a name?”

  He blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. The girl pulled his chin so that he looked at her again.

  “Harïsh. Har-ïsh.”

  The stranger frowned, turned his hand towards his chest and pursed his lips in thought. Suddenly he reached out to touch the girl between the breasts.

  “Har-eesh.”

  He nodded slowly. Suddenly he smiled and touched her on the nose.

  “Har-eesh!”

  She was thrilled. He could speak! His deep, beautiful voice sent little shivers chasing down her spine.

  “Yes! Harïsh! I’m Harïsh!” She touched herself again. “Harïsh.” The hand went to tap him on his naked chest. “Your name? What is your name, do you remember?”

  His fur felt warm; too warm. Perhaps he had been sitting too long in the sun? The stranger touched his breast and screwed up his eyes in thought. Finally he gave a shrug; if he had a name, it was long fled and gone. The loss clearly troubled him.

  He seemed exhausted. Too many concepts had come much too soon. Harïsh gently laid him back upon his bed.

  “My poor, sick friend. We’ll get you well. The fish would never forgive me if I let him down, now would he? I’ll change your dressings and then we’ll let you sleep in peace.”

  She stroked his handsome muzzle and stared down at his precious, troubled face.

  “We can’t just call you ‘stranger’. Would you like a name? Shall I give you one?” The girl looked out the window and watched the waving grass. “What if we call you Keketál, ‘the river’s gift’? I think that’s rather strong and handsome, don’t you?.”

  Keketál. Yes, it had a gallant ring to it. Harïsh felt well and truly pleased.

  When he grew stronger, she would teach him how to speak once more. It would take time, but he would learn. The girl stroked her patient’s hair and gave a smile.

  The scuff of sandals made Harïsh’s ears twitch. Xartha stood staring at the stranger with her big wide eyes. The tiny girl was only four years old, the absolute picture of her doting mother. Harïsh glared down down at her baby sister and gave a scowl.

  “I thought I told you not to follow me any more!”

  The little girl just stood and stared. Harïsh sniffed and tried to ignore the little brat as she smoothed back her patient’s fur and tucked him in his bed. She let her hand linger softly on his brow.

  Maybe he was too warm? His forehead felt hot. Harïsh leaned closer and ran her hands across his fur.

  Xartha still stood there watching her, and Harïsh’s concentration shattered. She gave an ill-tempered snarl and stomped off to find her mother.

  Mama stood in the foreyard turning sheep’s-milk into cheese. Everything about Harïsh’s mother seemed neat and crisp and clean. Her bare breasts were high and firm, and her fur always held a smell of new-spun wool. Harïsh marched towards her, wailing all her woes.

  “Mama, that little brat’s following me again! I’ve told her and told her and she just won’t go away!”

  Her mother wrung out a bag of curds, hung up the cheese and gave a sigh.

  “Oh dearest, can’t you children play in peace? Mama is rather busy right now.”

  “I am not a child! I’m fifteen and I don’t want to be followed by some spooky little brat!”

  “Spooky? What nonsense is this now?”

  “She never talks! Why does she just sit there and stare at me all the time?”

  Harïsh’s mother simply went on with her work.

  “All I ask is that you look after the others from time to time. You are the eldest, my love. You’re of an age to be helping me around the house. You’ll have a household of your own some day. There’s no time like the present to learn a woman’s duties.”

  “But Mama…”

  “Oh Harïsh! Is it really such a bother? Why can’t you just ignore her if she’s bothering you?”

  Harïsh irritably kicked her feet.

  “She’s not just bothering me. She’s bothering our guest. She just stands there staring at him! He doesn’t like it.”

  Her mother washed off her hands and dried them on her skirt. She sat down on a treestump and drew Harïsh to her side.

  “Harïsh - perhaps you and I should have a little talk. A mother notices things. I think you might be taking this business with our guest just a little too seriously. I should like you to spend less time with him.”

  Harïsh went stiff with panic, then saw her mother’s suspicious eyes and hastily ducked her head. Her mother was having none of it. She gave a sigh and folded up her arms.

  “Harïsh, look at me. Come on, look into my eyes.”

  Harïsh jerked up her face and defiantly set her jaw, and her mother slowly nodded to herself.

  “I had guessed as much. I would have spared you this if I had caught it earlier. Ah well, I suppose we all learn through our mistakes. Pain is just another part of growing up.”

  “M-Mama?”

  “First love is always the hardest. Let it go, Harïsh. This man was never meant for little potter’s girls like you.”

  Harïsh felt her ears burn.

  “Mama! I-I never… I feel no such thing!”

  “Indeed? Well then, I’m glad to hear it. A man like that has a family who are searching for him. He has a whole life waiting for him just beyond our reach. I’ll not see my little girl weeping once he finds his memory again.” The older woman’s words were soft and gentle. “Draw back a little, my dove. Infatuation with a mystery can only lead to pain.”

  Harïsh felt tears spring to her eyes.

  “He’s hurt! He needs my help. Mama, I have to care!” The young girl wept, her head cradled in her hands. “I’m not infatuated. I’m not! He’s just so helpless. He needs me! I can help him! I really can! I won’t do anything wrong - just let me care for him. It’s all I ask! Please.”

  Her mother closed her eyes and turned her face away.

  “Go and take the ewes for milking, then help your brothers stock the kiln.”

  Harïsh’s breath sobbed in her throat; she stared up at her mother through awful, pain filled eyes.

  “Mama, please! Can he stay? Can I keep on caring for him?”

  Her mother looked sadly down into Harïsh’s eyes.

  “Yes my love. I cannot stop you. I’m afraid you’ll care for him for a long, long time to come.”

  ***

  Desert winds stirred the dust into a sem
blance of life. Tiny figures shimmered in the haze, plodding onwards through a land of suffering. They walked by day, they walked by night, and still the horizon never came in reach; it was as though they walked the pathways of the damned, condemned forever to a world of thirst and emptiness.

  Without plants, without life, the desert held no ïsha field to lift beneath Kashran wings. Shadarii had simply led her followers out into a lifeless void; they had staggered in her footsteps over weeks of utter nightmare. The Pilgrims had almost reached the end of their endurance. A last few drops of salty water rattled in their drinking gourds, and no one had eaten for longer than they could remember.

  Still Shadarii wandered on. Perhaps she sought the world’s edge; perhaps she had finally lost her mind. Shadarii, Kïtashii and Tingtraka took the lead, and the other hunters shambled forwards over broken, crumbling earth. Mrrimïmei hung upon Totoru’s arm, her waist now noticeably thickened by the egg inside her. She carried it in grim silence, firmly keeping to the forefront of the march.

  Wind picked at the branches of a dead accacia tree, and one or two of the hunters tottered over to inspect the wood for beetles. They found nothing - not even a single termite. Kefiru kicked the tree and brushed his hand across his bloody lips; suddenly he turned, his antennae twitching to a hint of ïsha scent.

  A bearded lizard darted from the rocks. Kefiru’s throwing stick span through the air to smash the lizard’s skull. The hunter flung himself upon the corpse and swiftly cracked its neck.

  Food!

  The hunter laughed and snatched up his kill. The lizard was longer than his leg - a veritable feast! Kefiru hid and made ready to devour his meal.

  “No! Kefiru no!” Kïtashii glared down from the rocks above him. “Share it! What do you think you’re doing? Have you gone mad?”

  The hunter desperately concealed his kill.

  “It’s mine! I’ve not eaten in days! Who’re you to tell me what to do?”

  Shadarii made a curt gesture of her hand, and Kïtashii whirled back to face Kefiru.

  “It belongs to the group! As a group we live. We share it!”

  “Who are you to tell a hunter what to do? Since when do I take orders from a piddling little brat?”

  “No one’s giving any orders. What’s wrong with you?” Kïtashii jerked her head towards her teacher. “Share it! Mrrimïmei needs the blood. When she’s drunk, we can all divide the flesh.”

  Kefiru stared around at the ring of hostile faces, his eyes glaring mad with anger.

  “Why? Why listen? I caught the lizard! I want to eat it! What’s wrong with that - what’s wrong?”

  The little girl stared at him with wise, commanding eyes.

  “Have you learned nothing about what She’s tried to teach us? Sharing, respect, community! Three simple little rules! Is it too much to ask? We share it, but Mrrimïmei gets the blood. She needs it for the baby.”

  Kefiru ashamedly handed out the kill. Mrrimïmei weakly tried to wave the beast away, but Totoru hacked its head clean off and drained the blood into a cup, forcing her to drain down every reeking drop. She coughed and spluttered, but somehow kept the foul mass in her gullet.

  Tingtraka parted the lizard flesh into thirteen equal pieces. One by one the hunters slumped into the dust to eat. Kïtashii brought a tiny morsel to Shadarii, who tried to pass her food to Mrrimïmei. Kïtashii snatched it back and forced Shadarii to sit down and eat her share.

  Kefiru crammed raw lizard in his mouth, eating it bones, scales and all. He wiped his bloody hands against his tongue and glared over at Shadarii.

  “She sits up there like lady muck! Look at her. She’s just as thirsty as anybody else! Why won’t she just give up and turn around? She’s no immortal; she can die just like the rest of us!”

  Rotïka cracked a lizard bone and glared at him in hate.

  “Well why don’t you turn back, then? I’m sick to death of your incessant’ whining.”

  Kefiru turned away and gnawed his lizard bones in silence, his dark thoughts hanging over him like a cloud.

  A change somehow seemed to creep across the ïsha. The pilgrims slowly lifted their antennae and lifted up their eyes in sudden wonder.

  Something soft and beautiful was dancing in the dust; Shadarii spread her smile of love. The pilgrims laughed as she pantomimed an enormous hopping toad, puffing out her chest in pompous pride.

  <
  One day the toads peaceful world began to change. The lake fell on hard and dreary times. The sun grew hot, burning at the toads’ nice warty skin. The lake began to shrink, leaving a ring of mud cracking all around the banks. Every day the lake seemed slightly smaller - a little shallower. The toad community grew afraid, and held a meeting to decide what they should do.

  The toad spokesman sat upon a majestic lily pad and waved his claws in fright.

  “Fellow toads! Our lake is shrinking. Soon there will be no cool mud for us to sit in - no lovely water in which to bathe our feet. Something must be done! How shall we deal with this threat to our way of life?”

  The toads croaked amongst themselves in consternation. They puffed out their chests and argued bitterly, each person filled up with his own opinions but unable to find any answers.

  Finally one old creaky toad waddled forth before the others. The assembly fell silent as he made his muttering way towards the lily pad. He settled back and spoke out in an ancient voice.

  “Cousin toads, hear my words. The lake has dried before. The lake shall dry again. There is no need for panic and alarm. We merely need techniques for survival.”

  “What! What techniques could these be?” The other toads hopped eagerly up and down. The old toad puffed out his chest and made the youngsters quieten down.

  “We shall create a simple set of rules. There is enough for all if we will be satisfied with a little less. Water will be scarce, but if we all share, we shall live happily through the summer. There is not enough space around the lake’s edge for everyone to sit snuggled in the mud. We shall take turns, with each toad getting a fair share of what we have. When the winter rains come, the lake will swell with water. Life will go on as normal once again.

  Hardship is always temporary. All bad times pass, if only we have fortitude and patience.”

  The other toads croaked out their applause! Only the fat toad at the back seemed unhappy with the arrangement. He waved his pudgy claws and tried to shout the others down.

  “Stop! You can’t just listen to this old fool! What use is knowledge of the past? These are modern times! The world is changed and new. I say this is a disaster! Something must be done!”

  No one was listening to him. The other toads put their heads together and began to lay out plans for their survival. They would dig tunnels in which to hide their skins from the burning sun. Each would have a set time of day to bask beside the lake. The toad community all went off to start their new found work.

  The fat toad watched everything in disgust. All around him toads burrowed down into the soil. Dirt flew and mud clods tossed. It all looked like too much hard labour! Finally everyone had a nice deep hole to hide in. The fat toad gave an irritable sigh and dug his own hole in the bank. Although the idea was silly, he was unwilling to be left looking like a fool.

  At dawn the toads began their roster. Group by group they settled by the water, each giving up his time when the appointed moment came. Everyone gained enough pleasure to last the day. There was just enough for each toad to get by.

  Long days passed. Each morning the sun rose high and burned the trees and grass until they cracked. Each evening the lake grew lower. The toads clung onto their plan, sure that in the end everything would turn out right. In truth, life was really very tolerable.

  Not everyone was happy. Th
e fat toad scratched his belly and paused carefully in thought. He looked at the falling lake and sourly sucked his lips.

  “How can I trust a doddering old fool? Of what value is the knowledge of the past? The lake is shrinking! There isn’t enough water for us all. Soon it will be gone, and when that happens, I’ll not die of thirst like all these other stupid fools.”

  So when it was time for the fat toad to take his place beside the water, he shuffled down obediently to his spot. The creature peered slyly back and forth and then scuttled over to the shadows. He dipped his nose into the water and sucked in a great huge gulp. He stored the drink beneath his skin and hoped the others wouldn’t see.

  “No one will miss a little bit of water! I’ll just take this and keep it until it’s needed.”

  Greed always spreads. When one person takes something, another person covets it. What someone else has, we always want. The other toads saw their fat brother sucking in the water and felt a surge of panic. Someone was hoarding water! Perhaps there wasn’t going to be enough water after all? Each toad scuttled off into the shadows and slyly took a suck of cool, refreshing drink. They licked their lips and quietly crept back into their holes. At the end of the day, every toad living by the lake was smugly sitting in his tunnel feeling very fat and full. Each one was convinced he was the cleverest toad in all the world.