A Whisper of Wings

by Paul Kidd

  Keketál took a group of villagers and led them off beneath a wave of flames. The other men careered off trees and ripped through bushes, fighting one another in their mindless panic to escape.

  A lightning bolt ripped out through the trees, and two villagers screeched as white light blasted them to ashes. Keketál clutched against a tree and stared at them in horror.

  “They’re driving them! They’re driving the men towards the meadow!”

  The lightning blazed again as Keketál rolled his eyes and tried to form a plan. His duty to the village was to save as many lives as he could. The noble clenched his fists and blinked to clear his eyes.

  “Keketál will take you East towards the herds. We must find the shep and shepherds. After that, we have to keep the savages away from the river! The children are still hidden on the banks.”

  Keketál ripped away his crossbelts, then tore the bands into strips and hurtled them back towards the other men.

  “Quickly! Here, make slings. Get stones, branches, anything! When we fight, get height, get speed! Try to cripple their wings. Don’t go for a kill unless it won’t slow you down.”

  He knew. Keketál somehow knew it all, like something he had lived through time and time again. He shook the thought away and sat down to help his men.

  Keketál had saved six men from disaster. He had given them a purpose, he had given them courage.

  Now Rain help them, they were going to attack.

  Notes:

  1) “Fist captain”: Commander of twenty teams of twelve warriors. He is assisted by four “Hand captains”, each controlling five teams.

  Chapter Twenty

  Harïsh cursed and muttered as she fought through a tangled clump of blackberries. She had a headache, her feet were ripped and torn, and all over a stupid lamb!

  The creature thrashed and bleated as it struggled in the thorns, brown eyes gleaming with the guttering light of stupidity. Harïsh hacked at brambles with her shepherd’s staff, spitting venom as the lamb lunged even further from her reach.

  “Come here! Come here you stupid bastard!”

  A thorn jabbed Harïsh’s foot, and the lamb bleated as it wriggled ever deeper through the thicket. Harïsh bared her fangs and lunged out for the creature’s throat. Neck - nice thin neck! She could almost feel the bones splintering beneath her hands; eyes bulging, arteries bursting…

  “You little woolly shit! Come here! I’m going to twist your bloody head off!”

  Harïsh made a snatch. The lamb gave a little squeal of fright and leapt clean out of the thorns, then sped across the grass and ran whimpering to its mother. Harïsh fought back to open ground and glared pure murder at the elusive little beast.

  It wasn’t even her damned lamb! It belonged to Haripettii. The ear-tag was red on blue.

  Bugger it!

  Haripettii lounged back against a tree and laughed. He was a handsome lad of fourteen years or so. Harïsh glared at him and picked jagged leaves out of her fur.

  The fire seemed much, much closer. Harïsh scowled as she stared off towards her home; surely the fire must be under control by now? If not, then standing inside a thicket of dry thorn would be suicide. The safest course would be to move downriver. Harïsh slowly backed away, wiping her hands against her filthy skirt.

  “People, get your things! We’re moving the flocks out of here. Come on, lets get them down the watercourse.”

  Haripettii turned his back and ignored her. Less than a third of the shepherds were male, and they were all the difficult ones. The girls had taken one look at the fires and had already packed their bags to go. Harïsh stalked over to Haripetti and nudged him with her foot.

  “Get up. We’re leaving.”

  “Sez who?”

  “Sez me, skreghead.”

  “So who put you in charge? I’ll move when I say, and not when some dolly tells me to!”

  Girls grow faster than boys, and Harïsh had more muscles than any of the males. She landed an almighty kick on Haripettii’s rear. The boy tumbled to his feet and swung at her with his fist. Harïsh tripped him over with an efficient foot and landed him hard upon a great bum-piercing thistle. Harïsh whirled on another boy, her eyes glaring like an angry golden hawk.

  “Up! All of you, up! The fire’s crossed the creek. We’re leaving.” She pointed at a gawky, leggy girl who sat binding on her sandals. “Pachetta, you’re our fastest. Go back to the village and tell them where we’ve gone. I’ll take your sheep with mine.”

  Pachetta gave a stylish salute and swirled up through the air, brown wings whirring as she shot off towards the village. Meanwhile, with fliers swooping back and forth to rattle up the strays, the village flocks moved slowly south towards the river.

  Harïsh sighed. The day was too hot for all this nonsense. There were sheep to move and lambs to find. So much for the peaceful life of herding. Harïsh plodded wearily along behind her sheep, tapping up the laggards with her staff.

  Three weeks. Three weeks and she would be moving to the healers’ school at Emu Point. She would leave behind everything she loved to start her big adventure. Day by day the date drew closer, and now all of a sudden she had found reasons to stay right here at home.

  Keketál.

  Without him, her life would be over. He loved her. She could see it sometimes shining in his eyes. And then-then he would go and ruin everything by treating her just like a child. Would he ever come right out and kiss her? How obvious did she have to get? How could any man be so clever, so lovable and so dim?

  A piercing whistle rang out through the air as a high flying shepherd girl cupped her hands and gave a yell.

  “Oi Pachetta! Back so soon? What’s up?”

  Harïsh idly looked up. Pachetta ripped though the branches overhead, sobbing as she looked back across her tail.

  “Help me! Somebody help me!”

  Pachetta hurtled herself down into the gully, and something black and hideous came screaming in her wake. Pachetta staggered as an ïsha bolt ripped out to gouge her wings.

  The monster exploded from the bushes and shrieked out for her blood. Hurt and reeling, Pachetta span out of control and crashed into the creek.

  The girl clawed at the ground. Her left wing had broken and one arm hung crooked from her shoulder as she dragged herself across the dirt and whimpered for her friends.

  An evil, predatory hiss came from behind her. Pachetta turned, life draining from her face; she watched a demon come for her, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “No-No go away! Please, please let me go. I haven’t done anything…”

  Black claws reached out to grab her by the hair. The creature’s knife swept up to poise above Pachetta’s head.

  “No! No, please! Don’t

  “NOOOO!”

  Blood gouted through the air; Pachetta shrieked as something sticky vomited across her face. She went on screaming even after hands and bodies crowded in panic all around her.

  “Pachetta! Pachetta, did he cut you?”

  Pachetta felt her face being swiftly wiped by someone’s skirt. The girl blinked, slowly realising she was still alive.

  “She’s alright. It didn’t cut her.”

  “Her arm looks funny!”

  “It’s dislocated shoulder. Hold her! Hold her still!”

  Harïsh grabbed Pachetta’s hand, shoved a foot inside her armpit and clicked the bones back into place. Pachetta squealed, her whole body shivering with pain. Her work already done, Harïsh held her tight and whispered calm words inside her ears.

  “Shhhh, it’s alright. It’s alright now. It’s over. You’re safe.”

  The demon lay sprawled across the ground with a stream of blood still seeping from its skull. Harïsh ignored the creature as she slowly smoothed back Pachetta’s hair.

  “It’s alright. I killed it with a stone, see? You’re safe now.”

  Pachetta’s gaze drifted far away, then fixed her eyes upon a eucalyptus flower and gave a vacant smile.

  “The v
illage… Everyone’s dead, Harïsh. Mama’s body is lying on our roof. I hope she doesn’t fall down. She might hurt herself…”

  Pachetta giggled and closed her eyes. Harïsh ripped the leaf tips from an overhanging paperbark and vigorously rubbed the buds beneath Pachetta’s nose.

  “Oh no, honey! You stay awake with me! You’ll be alright now. Just breathe this nice and slowly.”

  Harïsh spread a pool of calm amongst the other shepherds. She tended Pachetta’s wounds and spoke quietly to her friends.

  “Lyrilla, go up a tree and see if there’re any more black demons. Keep everyone else down low. We don’t want to be seen.”

  Lyrilla made to do as she was told. The fat blonde girl suddenly paused and looked down at Harïsh.

  “Harïsh, shouldn’t we use healing magic on her? I can do it.”

  “No. Not until we know if there’s more demons here. They’d smell the magic. Just stay calm and quiet. You’re all alright with me.”

  Harïsh spoke with a healer’s soothing voice. The others felt their terror bleed away as the fifteen-year-old reached out to take them with a mother’s guiding hand.

  “H-Harïsh. What about home? What Pachetta said, about the village…”

  “Shhhhh, we don’t know about the village. We’ll find out where we stand before we go rushing off anywhere, alright? We stay together”

  Lyrilla hissed down from her perch high in a tree.

  “Harïsh! Harïsh, there’s three more of them. I think they saw you kill the other one!”

  Harïsh never once looked up from her patient.

  “How far away?”

  “Huh?”

  “I asked how far away they are.”

  The girl took another look, her knees nearly hammering in fright.

  “F-fifty spans maybe. They’re just squatting in the grass keeping low.”

  Harïsh carefully eased Pachetta’s head back onto the ground. The potter’s girl dusted off her hands, slipping her sling into her fingers.

  “Everybody find smooth stones, as many as you can. Quickly now. Put them in your pouches.”

  A dozen anxious faces gulped up at her in shock.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to open fire and drive them off. We must chase them all away.”

  “Harïsh! We can’t just shoot at somebody!”

  “Yes we can” The Healer girl spoke with infinite patience - infinite calm. “I don’t know what these people are, but they’ve tried to hurt Pachetta. Now they’re going to try and hurt us. So I’m going to keep you all safe, but first we need to drive these things away so we can go and hide. Do you all understand?”

  Lyrilla looked almost ready to cry as she turned a rock over in her hand.

  “Do-do you believe what she said about her mama? About the village?”

  “Yes. I believe her.”

  The children suddenly turned and scoured the gully bed for rocks, and fine egg-shaped stones almost fell into their hands. Harïsh gently chivvied them along, striding along behind everyone and carefully keeping watch.

  She could see them now; three black shapes crouching in the grass. They held their grotesque heads together in council as they decided what next to do.

  Harïsh signalled the other teenagers to rise.

  “Alright everybody, they’re nicely grouped together. Remember the wasps nest we shot down over Lord Ingatekh’s table last feasting day? We’re the best shots on the river. We’ll all fire together so they cannot dodge.”

  Harïsh rose slowly to her knees and tensed herself to fire.

  “Alright everybody. Ready? Set? Go!”

  Slings cracked as the young marksmen sped their missiles home. Over in the meadow the demons whirled in shock. A black shape span and tumbled back in pain.

  “Keep firing! Fast as you can!”

  Father Wind sped the sling bullets through the air. The demons fled in panic, a last rain of stones hacking through the branches all around them. The shepherds gave a cheer, the boys leaping up the gully walls to fire a final shot.

  Harïsh dragged the others back down into cover. She tossed one girl her shepherd’s staff and gathered her equipment.

  “Alright everyone, we’re going to abandon all the sheep. We can find them again later. We’re moving down to Wattle Creek where the banks overhang the water.”

  Haripetti toyed unhappily with his sling.

  “Harïsh, what about the village? My mama’s there!”

  Harïsh’s golden eyes were strangely soft and sad.

  “I know, my friend. My mama’s there as well.”

  She led them down the watercourse and out into the trees. The shepherds softly flitted through the bushes and left their homes behind.

  A black shape knelt briskly in the dust before Daimïru and cracked his wings out in salute.

  “War-Leader, team seven has encountered enemy resistance. One man dead, one injured. The injury is serious.”

  “How bad is your casualty? Who was injured?”

  “Myself. My elbow has been broken.”

  He said it without the slightest hint of emotion. The man’s arm dripped blood onto the ground as he held his formal pose of submission.

  “One enemy female was discovered spying on the village, and team seven flew in pursuit. The prey lost us in the brambles behind the village meadow. The team split in three to comb the brush. Our detachment discovered the target fleeing down a dry watercourse. Team leader Frakaki gave chase and was attacked by plainsmen armed with missile weapons. He was slain instantly.”

  “How many enemy?”

  “Approximately twelve, War-Chief. Mostly immature females.”

  Daimïru slowly paced across the ground. She trod through a patch of glistening blood, stirring up a cloud of bloated flies.

  “Why did you flee? Are children so terrifying to you?”

  “Our officer was dead. We were outnumbered three to one. My orders were to scout and report. I held the team in place only until we had assessed the lethality of their weapons. I considered my report to be of value.”

  “Would you do it again? Would you make that decision again if you faced such a situation.”

  The man blinked.

  “I… It would depend upon the situation, leader. I would carry out my duty as I saw fit.”

  “Good. You are promoted to team leader.”

  Daimïru glared out across the shattered ruin of the village, staring at the corpses with savage, hungry eyes.

  “So you’ve found aggressive females? Ha! So they are not entirely without honour. What weapons did they have?”

  “The creatures use a strip of cloth to hurtle stones with tremendous force. Our man was killed by a single blow to the skull at twenty spans. At a fifty spans they are still too accurate for comfort.”

  Daimïru caressed the skull-shaped pommels of her dao and paused in thought.

  ”We must develop combat tactics against their weapons. Take your full squad. The odds must be approximately even. We must see how well you fare against these stone flinging warriors. Bring us back a victory.”

  “Yes leader!”

  Daimïru snapped her fingers and brought a tiny demon gliding to her side.

  “Rooshïkii, you will follow team seven and observe. Under no circumstances are you to engage. I require your full report on the engagement.”

  The little girl snapped her wings across her face in salute, then followed team seven on its mission. Daimïru watched them go and gave a smile.

  “They were here. Harïsh’s ïsha trail is fresh.”

  Keketál knelt above a tiny patch of scuffled ground, reaching down to touch a handful of crushed paperbark leaves. The nobleman somehow read a whole story from a few scuffles in the soil.

  A corpse lay bonelessly sprawled beneath a redgum tree, and Keketál rolled it over with his foot. The demon had been dead for less than half an hour. The noble retrieved a blood-stained pebble from the muck and gave a frown.

 
Hupshu licked his lips and leaned in closer to his friend.

  “M-my lord? What is it?”

  “A rose quartz slingstone. Harïsh’s stone. She shot the demon while he held a captive by the hair. She was standings over there beside the banks.”

  “That’s twenty spans away! To shoot one man and let another stay untouched? My lord, it isn’t possible!”

  “Harïsh can do it. The rock has her ïsha scent. She’s killed our first enemy.”

  Lord Keketál scowled as he sifted through the grass for signs. The six villagers watched uncomfortably, completely mystified by their leader’s preoccupation

  The nobleman finally finished his examination. He drew a long, bent stick out of the corpse’s belt and tucked it through his own, then retrieved the demon’s spears and tools.

  “The shep and shepherds were here. Eight to twelve children carrying one injured.” Keketal kept one spear and passed another pair back amongst his men. “They must have gone on foot to hide their ïsha spoor. Clever. They must know of somewhere close to hide.”

  One boy looked from the empty ground and up into Lord Keketál’s hard eyes.