They looked like children. It was not just their small size though, but that their heads seemed large in proportion to their bodies. Their chests were broad but their arms were wiry and muscular. Their wings were not feathered or attached to their backs, as legend told. Their arms were their wings: the bones of their fingers were elongated and formed the framework for a translucent membrane that stretched from fingertip to torso.
The armholes of the vests they wore extended to their hips to allow room for their wings. Slim-fitting trousers made of the same rough cloth as their vests covered their lower halves, and thin straps bound the cloth close to their legs.
As the two circled closer, she noted finer details. The last three fingers of each hand formed the wings, leaving the forefinger and thumb free. She found herself unable to decide if they were beautiful or ugly. Their angular, large-eyed faces were exquisitely fine, but their thinness and featherless wings did not live up to the depictions of them in scrolls and paintings. Yet they circled her with an easy grace that she found fascinating.
“Welcome to Jarime, ambassadors of Siyee,” she called. “I am Auraya of the White.”
The Siyee whistled to each other, adding a spoken, high-pitched word here and there. Reading their minds, she saw that this was their method of speech.
“She must be one of the Gods’ Chosen,” one of the Siyee said.
“Must be,” the other replied. “How else could she be standing on air?”
“Nothing in their message told of their ability to…to…”
“Defy the pull of the earth?” the other suggested.
She concentrated on their thoughts, finding in them the words she needed. Mimicking their speech was more difficult, but as she repeated her greeting they circled closer.
“I am Tireel of the Green Lake tribe,” one of the Siyee said. “My companion is Zeeriz of the Fork River tribe. We have flown long and far to speak to the Gods’ Chosen.”
“We have been sent by our Speakers to discuss the alliance you have proposed,” the other added.
Auraya nodded and searched their minds for words. “The other Gods’ Chosen wait below. Will you come down and meet them?”
The two Siyee exchanged glances, then nodded. As she descended, they followed, still circling. She understood that they could not stop in midair as she could. They relied on this continual gliding to keep them aloft. She noted the subtle shifts in their posture as they compensated for changes in the wind. When she neared the ground they swooped away toward a clear area of pavement to land. She followed.
As her feet touched the ground, Juran, Rian and Dyara came forward. The Siyee eyed the crowd of priests and priestesses nervously.
“Do not fear,” Auraya told them. “They are just surprised to see you. They will not harm you.”
The Siyees’ attention shifted to the other White. Tireel stepped forward.
“We have come to discuss alliance,” he said simply.
“You have flown far,” Juran replied, his voice softening as he spoke their strange language. “Would you like to rest and eat first? We have rooms in the Tower for guests.” The two Siyee looked up at the building dubiously. “Or if that is unsuitable a cloth house could be made in the gardens,” Juran added.
The Siyee exchanged a few soft whistles, then Tireel nodded. “We will accept your rooms in the Tower,” he replied.
Juran nodded in reply. “Then I shall escort you inside and see to your comfort. If it is acceptable to you, we will meet to discuss the alliance tomorrow.”
“That is acceptable.”
As Juran ushered them toward the Tower, Auraya realized Dyara was watching her.
“Well, that was nicely arranged.”
Auraya frowned. “How so?”
“You gain the ability to fly a few days before the sky people arrive.”
“And you think that was my doing?”
“Not at all,” Dyara smiled. “The gods are rarely coy about their intentions. That’s where we have the advantage over these Pentadrians. We don’t have to invent mysterious signs or complicated deceptions to convince our people of their existence.”
14
The bare stone slopes of the Open were bathed in orange light. As the sun set, fires were lit at the center of the clearing in a circular pattern. Snatches of song, beating of drums and the constant whistling calls of the Siyee filled the air.
All these effects combined to create an atmosphere of anticipation and festivity. Tryss felt a twinge of excitement as he surveyed the scene. Siyee of all ages were dressed in their finest. Bright colors and patterns had been painted on sun-bronzed skin. Jewelry adorned both men and women. Every face was strange and wondrous, for all were wearing masks.
As Tryss landed beside his father, he gazed around in admiration. As always, the variety and workmanship of the masks was amazing. There were animal masks, insect masks and flower masks; masks adorned with patterns and masks covered in symbols. He gasped as he saw one carefully carved to represent a Siyee with wings outstretched, smiled at a man whose head had been “replaced” by a large hand, then laughed aloud at a woman whose mask was an enormous ear.
Girls hurried past, giggling, their masks made entirely of feathers. An old man hobbled in the other direction, his gray hair streaming out from beneath a worn representation of a fish head. Two small boys narrowly missed Tryss’s legs as they hurtled past, one face hidden by a sun, the other half-covered by a crescent moon.
As Tryss followed his father to their usual place in the great circle, he put a hand up to straighten his own mask. It seemed bland and foolish next to some that he had seen—simply a repainted autumn-leaf design from a trei-trei festival a few years before. He’d had no time to make a new one, with all his spare time dedicated to practicing using his new harness and blowpipes.
Drilli was pleased with his progress, though he still missed his targets as often as he hit them. She had assured him that people didn’t expect archers to hit their target every time, so they wouldn’t expect him to either. He wasn’t so sure. When the time came to demonstrate his invention, he needed to dazzle and impress. He needed to prove that this method was better than hunting with a bow from the ground or setting traps.
He sighed. Tonight he wanted to forget all that. The summer trei-trei, held late in the season, was the last festive Gathering before the long winter began; a last opportunity for feasting and wasting energy in acrobatic flying.
And this year he had a partner.
As Tryss’s parents took their places among their tribe, two voices rose above the general chatter.
“…seen it before, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Three years ago, I think. A bit of fresh paint doesn’t make an old mask look good again, does it? And an autumn leaf in summer! Can’t even get the season right.”
Tryss decided it would be better to pretend he hadn’t heard the voices, but his mother looked in their direction.
“You’re not getting along with your cousins anymore, are you?”
She sounded concerned. Tryss shrugged.
“They’re not getting along with me,” he replied. “Not since I got sick of them making me look stupid so they looked better, anyway,” he added quietly.
Her eyebrows rose. “So that’s why. I thought it was something else.”
He frowned at her, but her attention had shifted elsewhere. Her eyes flicked back to him, then she nodded meaningfully and looked away again. Following her gaze, he saw a butterfly-faced girl and knew instantly that it was Drilli. No other girl walked the way she did, he mused. Confident, but not showy. Her gracefulness was completely unselfconscious.
Looking at his mother again, he considered her insinuation that Drilli was the reason for his cousins’ taunting. She was probably right. They were jealous. They didn’t need to be. Drilli liked him and helped him with his inventions, but he had no idea if she thought he was anything more than a friend.
Except, well, she had lured him into asking her to be his
partner tonight, and girls didn’t do that unless they were interested in being more than friends with a boy.
The last rays of the sun had disappeared now. As Drilli and her family took their places the threads of music from instruments about the circle began to synchronize. All chatter ended. The Speaker of another tribe stepped into the circle, dressed in the traditional bright garb of the Patternmaker. He would direct the festivities, choose the order of flight patterns, and award prizes.
“For centuries since Huan declared her work complete and that we were ready to govern ourselves, we have come together every winter and summer to celebrate and give thanks,” he called. “We hone our skills and test our abilities so that she will look upon us and be proud. In spring we celebrate the oldest and youngest of us. In summer we rejoice in the partnership of man and woman, be they newly matched or familiar companions.” He raised his arms. “So let the couples begin the trei-trei!”
As musicians began a lively old tune, Tryss’s parents exchanged a smile and took off their masks. They ran forward, leapt into the air and joined the other couples wheeling in the traditional moves of the pattern. Turning away, Tryss looked toward Drilli’s tribe. She was watching him expectantly.
He started toward her, but paused as two familiar figures approached her from either side. Her smile turned to a frown as Ziss grabbed her wrist.
Her words were lost in the hubbub of voices around her, but the shake of her head made her meaning clear. Ziss scowled, but didn’t let her go. She turned abruptly to stare at Trinn, standing on her other side, and her expression became angry. She shook off Ziss’s hand, then stalked away.
Tryss noted that her father was watching her closely. His frown deepened as she joined Tryss.
Is that disapproval? he wondered.
“Tryss,” she said. “You weren’t going to leave me to fend off your cousins by myself, were you?”
He smiled. “You’re quite capable of defending yourself, Drilli.”
“It’s nice that you think so, but it would have been much more flattering if you had gallantly come to my rescue,” she huffed.
“Then give me enough time to get there before dealing with them yourself,” he retorted.
The music changed and she looked up at the fliers above, her eyes shining with eagerness.
“I would be honored if you would fly with me,” he said, the formal words sounding awkward.
She grinned, then took off her mask. He removed his and laid it next to hers on the ground. As she turned to face the circle, Tryss glanced back at his cousins. Both glowered at him.
Then he and Drilli were running. They moved apart and sprang into the air. He felt the heat of a fire add to the lift beneath his wings. It carried him upward, Drilli at his side. In a moment they had found a place among the couples, following the simple movements of an uncomplicated public pattern.
He had flown patterns many times before, but not like this. In early years he had flown with his mother, carefully following her every move. Later, with younger cousins, he had needed to direct them. Drilli did not direct or follow. He could read her slightest change of posture and know what she wanted or expected to do, and she responded to him the same way. It was both exciting and calming, liberating and hypnotic.
They stayed aloft for pattern after pattern, focused only on each other whether the music was lively or slow. He found he could manage complex patterns he had never bothered to attempt before. Finally the music ended and they descended to the ground to watch as hoops and poles were set up for the acrobatic tests. Soon Siyee were swooping about, gaining cheers from those watching.
During one of the louder rounds of cheering, Drilli leaned close.
“Let’s slip away,” she whispered.
He looked at her in surprise. Taking his hand, she slowly led the way through the crowd toward the dark forest at the edge of the Open. They stopped now and then, sometimes to watch, once to talk to an old friend, then, after a long, careful examination of all around them, she bent close again.
“You walk uphill into the forest for fifty steps then stop and wait. I’ll count to a hundred then follow.”
He nodded. Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, he waited until one of the acrobats started an intricate move before striding away into the forest. It was dark in the trees. The immense trunks had a sinister presence that he had never noticed during the day. He could not guess why: the Siyee had lived here without doing them harm for nearly three centuries.
Realizing he had lost count of his steps, he stopped. After a while he heard soft movement. As a feminine shadow appeared and he recognized Drilli’s walk he sighed with relief.
“I think your cousins saw us leave,” she told him.
He turned and cursed as he saw the pair hurrying through the forest edge toward them.
“I bet they’ve been watching us the whole night.”
“Fools,” she murmured. “Anyone who thinks they can win a girl over by being cruel to others is stupid. Follow me. Try not to make any noise.”
They crept through the forest. In the dark it was impossible to avoid stepping on twigs or dry leaves, but the ground had been cleared and smoothed into paths by many years of traffic. Tryss concentrated on following her and on their pursuit, so when she stopped it took a moment to realize where they were.
At the end of the path was a large bower. The walls glowed from a light within.
“That’s the Speakers’ Bower!” he exclaimed. “We’re not supposed to come here.”
“Shhh!” She put a finger to her lips and looked over his shoulder. “They won’t dare follow us. And nobody will be at the bower. They’re all at the festival.”
“Then why’s there light inside?”
“I don’t know. One of the Speakers probably left a lantern burning, to guide—”
Tryss froze as three figures appeared from the trees to one side and strode toward the bower. The newcomers did not look in their direction, to his relief, but marched up to the bower and went inside. The light within threw their distorted shadows up against the walls.
Drilli was breathing faster now. She turned to look in the direction his cousins had been approaching from, then abruptly crept closer to the bower and crouched down at the base of one of the huge old trees.
“If your cousins find us they’ll turn us in,” she told him. “Better we hide here and risk discovery by the Speakers.”
She looked toward the bower again. Voices could be heard now.
“We were attacked,” a man said darkly. “But not by men. By birds.”
“Birds?” Tryss recognized Speaker Sirri’s voice.
“Yes. There were maybe twenty of them. They came out of the treetops as one.”
“What kind of birds?”
“None I’ve ever seen before. Like a large black kiri.”
“Very large,” a third voice added. “Their wingspan was almost equal to ours.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
“What harm did they do?”
“They tore at us with beaks and claws. We all have scratches,” the first visitor said grimly. “Niril lost an eye, Liriss lost both. Half of us have torn wing membranes, and both Virri and Dillir may never fly again.”
Silence followed this.
“This is terrible,” Sirri replied with genuine distress. “What did you do then? How did you escape them?”
“We didn’t. They drove us to the ground. We tried to shoot at them but they scattered as soon as they saw us take our bows, as if they understood what they were for.” The speaker paused. “We walked for a time, then those of us who could fly did so, keeping low and among the treetops in the hopes that we could land and fight if another attack came.”
There was a sigh. “We do not need another danger to add to those we already face.”
“I have never heard of these birds before. Most likely they are an invading species. We should eliminate them, before they breed into numbers that threaten
us all.”
“I agree. We need to warn all tribes and—”
“There is something else,” the third man interrupted. “My brother here believes I was imagining things, but I am sure I saw a landwalker.”
“A landwalker?”
“Yes. I saw her as we left. She was watching us, and the birds were gathered around her.”
“I understand why your brother doubts. Landwalkers have never ventured that far into the mountains before. What did this woman look like?”
“Dark skin. Black clothing. That is all I can tell you. I only caught a glimpse of her.”
“This is strange. I must consider what you have told me. Is there anything else I should know?”
“No.”
“Then I will see you back to your tribe.”
The distorted shadows shifted to one side of the bower, then three figures stepped outside. Tryss watched them stride away, his heart pounding.
“I don’t think we were supposed to hear that,” he whispered.
“No,” Drilli replied. “At least they didn’t see us.”
“No.”
“We should go back.”
But he was suddenly conscious of how close she was. He did not want to move away, and she was making no move to do so either. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and smell her sweat mingled with a distinctly female scent.
She shifted closer.
“Tryss?”
Her voice was tentative and questioning, and somehow he knew no question would follow. His name was the question.
“Drilli?” he murmured.
He could barely see her in the darkness—just her jaw outlined by starlight. Slowly, he leaned forward.
Her lips brushed his. He felt a shock of exhilaration, then her mouth closed over his and he felt heat rush through his blood. Two thoughts flashed through his mind.
She wants me.
My cousins are going to be furious!
He didn’t care about his cousins. She wanted him. There was no mistaking that. This was no chaste kiss of a friend. Her hands gripped his shoulders. He slipped his arms under her wing membranes and caught her waist. She drew back slightly.
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