Windwalker_Forbidden Flight

by H. J. Bellus

  Netaniah—council elder, and leader of the weaver sect—glanced to Ismaela from across the stage, her expression dark. She had been convening with the other elders as time ticked away. They eventually broke off, each finding their seat on the stone council benches, except for Netaniah. She approached Ismaela, wearing regret upon her face.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “The council members are decided. They will delay no longer. If Kivanya can not reveal herself, then we are powerless to help her.”

  Ismaela felt her hopes beginning crumble. She’s coming! She has to, she thought, but the only outward indication she gave was a curt nod.

  The sympathetic look on Netaniah’s face hurt more than any of the insults Ismaela had endured from the opposition over the past week. That look of pained concern meant one thing—it was done. Suddenly all of their work uniting the women of the basin, their exuberant victories—including council representation—meant nothing. I’m going to lose my little girl. Ismaela’s eyes welled up, and Netaniah put a hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry,” she said again, before turning to take her seat among the other council members.

  Ismaela cast a venomous look toward Jado, before turning forward to scan for signs of her daughter.

  The crowd quieted as word spread that a verdict would be forthcoming.

  Senior councilman Daivari stood and stepped out toward the center of the stage. At one time, his ceremonial white robes would have ended just above the ground. But the years had taken their toll, and the last few inches now dragged at his shuffling feet.

  Everyone watched his gradual procession with growing anticipation.

  Kiva, where are you?

  He reached center stage, and lifted his bald head. “People of Madina Basin,” he called out in a powerful voice. “You bear witness to the trial of Kivanya Raisel Fariq, accused of violating sect enrollment protocol, trespassing on sect land, public disruption, and being accountable for the death of a kiraeen belonging to the windwalker sect.”

  The crowd murmured in surprise at the last charge. Ismaela caught the comments of those surrounding the stage.

  “Hah! A small girl, killing a kiraeen? Preposterous!”

  “More of Jado’s lies!”

  “That girl is a menace!”

  “Exile the blasphemer!”

  Ismaela furrowed her brows. This charge was not among those she’d known were coming. There was no way Kiva could have killed a kiraeen, at least not by herself. What was more likely was that Jado piled on the false charge to ensure a severe punishment.

  Daivari lifted his palms, gesturing for quiet. After a few moments, the agitated crowd once again hushed.

  “Our laws dictate that the accused must appear before the council, or face the full extent of punishment for the alleged crimes.”

  Ismaela’s gut clenched. Kivanya…

  The old man took a ragged breath.

  “By the obligations of the council, and the sanctity of Sahra’ law, I hereby pronounce Kivanya Raisel Fariq, gui—”

  A shrill screech interrupted the verdict, and a shadow, dark as night was cast upon Daivari, turning his white robes gray. He lifted his balding head skyward. His mouth fell open, and his eyes grew wide.

  Ismaela followed his gaze, and the breath escaped her lungs.

  Soon those in the crowd were shielding their eyes as they pointed up, shouting in surprise.

  Ismaela watched in awe as the great, dark shape of a kiraeen descended into the basin.

  14

  Temperance

  Kiva clung to the back of her newly bonded kiraeen. She was still growing accustomed to the strange new sensation of sharing her consciousness with another. The creature had no name recognizable in Sahra’ language. Unlike Kiva’s people, the kiraeen did not give names passed down from parent to child, but rather their names were derived from the world around them. When Kiva first enquired as to the kiraeen’s, her response was a projected scene in which a halo of soft moonlight reflected across a thin layer of clouds high above the desert floor. Kiva searched herself for a name that might closest represent the vision, and chose Noor.

  Noor also desired a kiraeen name for Kiva. After a moment of deliberation, a new vision was projected into Kiva’s consciousness. It was a desert sunrise. The condensation that had gathered in the night was evaporating into a gentle haze, blanketing the land. To Noor, Kiva was the mist, which despite being burned away each morning, persisted, returning the following night.

  Kiva approached their bond with great will and purpose. Rather than attempting to dominate, she engaged Noor with respect, and Noor returned the sentiment. Both understood that they would never again be adversaries. Each had proven herself worthy of the bond, and accepted it as such. Kiva marveled at the powerful instinctive protectiveness she felt for Noor. If their relationship was anything like the one between herself and Zakai, it would only grow stronger.

  Who is this Zakai? Noor thought jealously.

  Kiva smiled to herself. Jonah’s kiraeen. He is a friend.

  The same that brazenly trespassed on my perch? Noor ruffled her feathers. She was having a hard time accepting that males could be considered allies. He has already felt the edge of my beak, I welcome another chance to clip his wings.

  Stop that, Kiva scolded, half amused by Noor’s vigor. Zakai is a friend. He saved my life, and he will not be harmed.

  Noor didn’t respond, but Kiva got the distinct impression that she was brooding.

  There, Kiva thought, pointing. Madina Basin.

  You are sure you wish to do this? Noor asked. The ground-dwellers will not be pleased at my presence in their den.

  It is the only way, Kiva answered. Don’t worry, none will have the courage to attack you.

  Noor gave the kiraeen equivalent of a scoff. I do not fear being attacked.

  Kiva’s kiraeen sensed her apprehension.

  Should any touch you, they will touch nothing else ever again, Noor thought, snapping her beak.

  They would be foolish to try, Kiva thought. On that point, they were in complete agreement.

  Noor pumped her wings, driving them forward through the air at great speed.

  Kiva looked ahead, and blinked. In addition to the instinctive, emotional connection she shared with Noor, came something more. Something unmentioned by Jonah, or any of the scripts. Up ahead, Kiva could actually see the wind curling into graceful eddies. To the east, a great rising column of air pushed its way up from the rocky ground, and far above, a steady stream of wind rushed northward across the sky. Noor called it windsense, and considered Kiva’s unfamiliarity further evidence of the superiority of her species.

  Kiva blinked again, concentrating on tuning out the additional visual stimulation. They soon soared over the southwestern wall of the basin. At the northern side, several kiraeen took flight, and Kiva was able to spot riders on their backs. Her improved farsight was another gift attributed to the bond. She wondered if Noor had benefited from any of her traits.

  There, Kiva thought, relieved. Do you see the crowd of people?

  I see them, Noor acknowledged.

  Kiva sensed a growing apprehension within Noor.

  You must not attack any of them, Kiva warned. If this is going to work, we will need to be windwalker and skyhunter, not young girl and deadly kiraeen.

  Noor grudgingly agreed. But if they strike first…

  Kiva didn’t have to answer. Anyone foolish enough to attack a windwalker and her kiraeen would deserve the consequences. She just hoped none of the other windwalkers would follow her down into the basin. They were forbidden to do so, but these were unusual circumstances.

  Down below, upon the stone shelf of the qarar, stood a single figure. The seven other council members sat on their benches, behind.

  They’re delivering the verdict! Quickly! Kiva urged.

  Noor’s
beak parted and she let loose a piercing screech, diving toward the stage with tremendous speed. The council members all stood, and those in the crowd pointed as Noor streaked down toward them.

  A mere several feet from the ground, Noor spread her wings wide, catching the wind and rapidly slowing them before smoothly setting down before the bewildered councilman at the center of the stage. Kiva recognized him as sidi of the stonegrower sect.

  Not a soul spoke, and an eerie silence settled over the entire proceeding.

  Noor spread her wings, tail whipping wildly behind, and lowered herself. Kiva slid over the side, and approached councilman Daivari. He was still staring at the over-sized kiraeen sharing the platform, when Kiva reached him.

  “I apologize for my late arrival,” Kiva said calmly. The silence held, and she leaned over in an attempt to draw Daivari’s gaze away from Noor. “I have come to stand trial.” Kiva felt invigorated. It was no longer just her own boldness that drove her, but the razor sharp predatory awareness of her kiraeen.

  Daivari finally noticed her standing before him, and looked to her with brief surprise. “Yes. Of course—”

  “What have you done?” It was Jado’s voice that cut the silence. He was walking forward. “Blasphemous girl! You would bring a female, here?”

  Noor turned her attention to him, and the look she gave froze him on the spot.

  Kiva, being privy to Noor’s desires, gave her a warning glance. No violence. Kiva turned then not to Jado, but the crowd.

  “Tradition says that women are forbidden from joining the windwalker sect. That we lack the strength to complete the trials…the will required to bond a kiraeen.” She paused, and the crowd began to murmur now that the initial shock had worn off.

  “And yet I have done both.” Kiva gestured to Noor.

  “This is an abomination!” Jado cried out, again stepping forward.

  Noor lowered her head, and her tail fanned out to reveal an iridescent pattern of red and black.

  Noor! Kiva warned.

  The kiraeen reluctantly collapsed the end of her tail, and lowered to the floor with petulant exasperation. I wasn’t going to kill him, she complained. I’d only have taken a hand…an arm at most. If she hadn’t been pouting before, she most certainly was now.

  Kiva ignored Jado and continued, “I understand…that there is a time and a place for tradition, but just because something was decided centuries ago, does not mean it is right. I stand here before you as proof of that.”

  “And what would you have us do?” Councilman Elam spoke up. “Our traditions are what make us who we are. Do you believe we should abandon them? Abandon our identity?”

  “I would never suggest such a thing,” Kiva said vehemently.

  “Yet you continue to violate our laws, and break with our ways.”

  “Tell me, councilman, what is our greatest tradition?”

  The late-aged man with graying hair furrowed his brow. Kiva stared at him, unflinching.

  “I suppose…our greatest tradition would be convention…adherence to the order and laws of our society,” he answered confidently.

  “A good tradition,” Kiva responded, “But not the greatest.”

  Councilman Elam’s expression soured. “And I suppose you, a girl not yet past her adolescence, would know better than her elders?”

  Kiva turned away from him to face the crowd. “Centuries ago, when our people were forced from our homeworld, was it convention that gave us the courage to leave everything behind?”

  Some of those in the crowd were looking at each other with uncertainty.

  “When my great grandfather, and all of those in the basin, were faced with the great drought—a threat so severe that we nearly lost everything—was it convention that led every last sect to re-purpose its focus on finding a solution?”

  “I recall the great drought,” elder councilman Daivari said thoughtfully. His voice became somber. “I was only a boy, though I still recall the cries of the dying.”

  “Councilman Elam,” Kiva continued, “We are in agreement on one thing. Our traditions are what make us who we are—the greatest of which is the tradition of abandoning convention when it impedes the survival of our people.”

  Jado barked a laugh. “And you think allowing female windwalkers will ‘save our people’ from some nonexistent threat?”

  Kiva turned to see the windwalker sidi wearing a sardonic smile. “As you already know, Sidi Jado, the threat is hardly nonexistent.”

  His smile melted, and his eyes narrowed.

  Kiva turned back to the crowd. “At this very moment, great sandstorms sweep across the desert to the southwest.”

  Another low, unsettled murmur worked its way through the crowd.

  “That is not all,” she continued. “Not two hours ago, I witnessed what I thought was ash falling from the sky. It was not ash, but flakes of rain-frost, and by the time I’d left, it had painted the ground in a blanket of white.”

  “Meddling girl!” Jado cried out, glaring at Noor.

  The crowd’s tone had grown to concerned conversation.

  “To the northeast, blood red Garra flowers bloom in vast number upon the Mujdab Plains, where no life has taken hold for hundreds of years.”

  Shouts began breaking out. Kiva was hit with a sudden wave of doubt. What am I doing confronting the council? This is madness…

  It was then that Noor’s raw tenacity heated her blood. The man you call Jado is a coward. You possess more strength than these landbound groundwalkers.

  Reinvigorated by Noor’s stark appraisal, Kiva raised her voice, “For centuries, we have known peace. But any familiar with our past can tell you, it was not always so.” She paused, and waited as the crowd quieted to an agitated murmur. “You know of whom I speak.”

  “That is enough,” Elam shouted.

  “Let her speak!” voices from the crowd responded, and the bitter councilman scowled.

  “You preach of tradition,” Kiva said, turning to him. “What do our traditions say of heeding the warnings of our ancestors?” She turned back to the crowd.

  “The sands rose up and named us foe, The plains wept blood where nothing would grow, Upon dunes painted white, the Sharun take flight, Reaping death and despair, in the absence of light.”

  Silence again returned, and Kiva knew she had their full attention.

  “The signs are clear, yet those whose duty it is to heed them have remained silent,” Kiva said, pointing back toward Jado.

  “This is preposterous!” Jado shouted. “This…child has no—”

  Daivari raised a palm toward him, and he quieted in disbelief. “Is it true, councilman?” Daivari asked. “Are the signs present?”

  “Neither myself, nor my windwalkers have encountered any frozen ash. As I said, it is preposterous.” He was nearly ranting.

  “And the sandstorms? The blood flowers?” Daivari persisted.

  Jado’s expression darkened, and his silence was answer enough.

  Angry shouts came from those watching, only this time they were directed at Jado.

  “Peace,” Daivari called out, again raising his palms to the crowd.

  “The signs are clear,” Kiva said, and the shouts subsided. “The Sharun will soon be upon us. We must prepare to fight, or be destroyed.”

  Concerned voices again rose from the crowd. People turned to each other with worried expressions.

  “How many have challenged the windwalker sect in the past ten years?” Kiva asked. “At this moment, there are fewer members than there have been in the past century…and even if none will admit it, the same holds true for the other sects sworn to defend. We have grown complacent. We must train new warriors,” Kiva said with conviction, driving a fist into her palm.

  “I will fight!” a shout came from an unnamed voice in the crowd, and was echoed by oth
ers.

  “And how are we to find the additional warriors?” The voice that came from behind belonged to a woman. It was Netaniah.

  Kiva smiled on the inside. The weaver sidi was helping lead her to the point. Before Kiva could answer, the fourth male councilman—who had been quiet up until then—spoke, “If it is true, and the signs are present, then I will commit the builder sect to defend.”

  Daivari nodded to him with respect. “If this threat proves true, we will need men from all sects to stand together.”

  “There is no threat!” Jado screamed, his eyes bulging.

  “Enough, Jado,” Daivari said firmly.

  The crowd became increasingly agitated.

  “It will not be enough,” Kiva said loudly, drawing more than a few fearful eyes.

  Elam responded, still wearing a scowl, “This girl would suggest we give up!” he called out, seizing on the opportunity. “Abandon our homes!”

  “No!” Kiva shouted. “I say we fight! All of us!” There was a brief moment of confusion, and Kiva sensed that her time was nearly up. “For each male sect sworn to defend our people, we create a female twin, dedicated to the same cause.”

  The crowd objected vociferously, and Elam’s scowl turned into a smug smile.

  “I am proof that it is possible!” Kiva insisted, but the crowd was no longer listening.

  “I am sorry, Kivanya,” Councilman Daivari said, gently placing a wrinkled hand on her arm. Noor raised her head, which had been resting on the stone floor. “We have strayed far from the original purpose of this trial.” He turned to the others. “If the council will take their seats, we will begin the vote.” The elder councilman turned and shuffled back to his bench as the others sat.

  Fools. Noor’s thought came to Kiva as she turned to face the council.

  “Kivanya Raisel Fariq, you stand accused of violating sect enrollment protocol, trespassing on sect land, public disruption, and the death of a kiraeen belonging to the windwalker sect.”