A Whisper of Wings (15 page)

“My Lord, I have told you the truth as I see it. Shadarii-kai-Nochorku-Zha has been central in two incidents of public violence! I say that she is a disruptive influence and a danger to the other girls. My poor Javïra has lost three teeth! The healers have had a dreadful time grafting her fangs back into place.”

A soft, calm voice gently soothed the ïsha as the High Priestess radiated matronly good sense.

“Please good people, there’s no need to unbalance our harmonies over such a little thing. Perhaps this honoured council might allow a poor old woman to make a small suggestion.”

Nochorku-Zha dared not risk a bow - his back was in no condition to withstand the strain. Instead he gave the High Priestess a firm nod of consent.

“By all means, Revered Mother. This-this whole damned argument has lasted far too long!”

The fat Priestess folded her hands across her bulging belly.

“A simple solution seems to suggest itself; since the girl unwittingly causes trouble, perhaps she should be eased out of such a public profession. Future harm will thus be avoided before it ever gains the chance to form.”

Nochorku-Zha seemed utterly delighted. Now here was wisdom! He looked about in satisfaction at his council, noting with some puzzlement the look upon Traveesha’s face.

The Dancing Mistress coldly laid her antennae flat.

“And what, pray, would the Revered Mother suggest as an alternative future for this newly freed young dancer?”

“Oh, she might prosper better in an atmosphere of calm reflection. I’m sure the wise Nochorku-Zha and his talented eldest daughter would agree.”

“Calm?” Traveesha’s fur bristled instantly with fight. “You mean the priesthood!”

The Priestess spread her hands in logical appeal.

“If this is where Shadarii can find true happiness, then I suppose it must be so. I’m sure we can find a way to welcome this poor unwanted little waif.”

“Why Father, of course you have!” Zhukora’s ïsha field stoked across her father’s mind. “It’s a family tradition. Shadarii is following in the wind-wake of our beloved mother. You really have no intention of releasing Shadarii to the Priests.”

“Don’t I?” Suddenly the old man’s stubbornness took hold. “Yes, of course I don’t! The very thought of it. She can stay where she is and learn to like it!”

The look that they exchanged spoke far more than mere words, and the Priestess cursed herself for letting greed force her hand too soon.

“Bah. The girl shouldn’t remain a Past-holder if she can’t fulfill her function. The girl can’t even speak a word!”

Zhukora combed her hand through her exquisite hair.

“There’s a simple way to meet your challenge. Shadarii should prove her skill. If she can truly dance, then surely the Past-holders is where she belongs. If she proves that she lacks talent, then perhaps another profession might reasonably lay claim to her.”

A capital suggestion! The elders murmured in approval, muttering eagerly to one another.

“Very well Zhukora. Produce this sister of yours one hour after the evening meal and we shall judge this tongueless storyteller’s talents.”

The girl cruised serenely from the lodge while the council members congratulated themselves upon another job well done. The High Priestess heaved herself up onto her feet and stalked off on Zhukora’s trail.

Outside the lodge, the trees were filled with loitering young hunters. The High Priestess saw Zhukora waiting for her on a branch, and the two women walked side by side in silence. The High Priestess slyly tried to probe Zhukora’s aura, but her efforts were to no avail; like her younger sister, Zhukora’s field burned with terrifying power. The old woman glanced sidewise at Zhukora’s face.

“Why Revered One, do I have something you desire? How very interesting! Now that gives us something to talk about, doesn’t it? You see, there’s one or two things that I might want from you…”

“Do you wish to bargain, your Reverence? Shadarii is still negotiable trade goods! Convince me. Who knows? Shadarii might yet be yours.

“I shall be most interested to hear your offers, Reverence. I shall be waiting with… anticipation.”

With a sly swirl of her tail the girl departed. The High Priestess stood grinding her fangs in fury, muttering dire oaths beneath her breath.

***

The council fires burned bright against the forest night, catching the gleam and flicker of two thousand watching eyes. Nochorku-Zha sat enthroned amidst the clan council; hunters and gardeners made silent ranks inside the gloom. News of Shadarii’s trial had spread, and so the clan had gathered in to witness the judgement of Nochorku-Zha.

Within the shadows, a small, soft figure slowly rose against the ferns. Firelight lingered softly on shining orange curves, and the flames were shamed by the figure’s glorious hair.

Shadarii wandered softly down into the light.

While Deity such as Wind or Rain were always represented naked, lesser spirits were depicted through formal dress. Tonight Shadarii’s limbs were criss-crossed swirls of colour, and a painted wooden mask hid her pretty face. Shadarii’s clothes hugged close against her plump young curves, and her eyes sparkled with a secret laughter that made the night seem bright. Shadarii warmed the senses with a homely glow, like the taste of golden honey upon fresh made bread. One by one the audience relaxed, basking in the softness of Shadarii’s subtle light.

The costume was instantly recognisable; tonight she became Fist Mother, Zui-Kashra-Zha, daughter of the Wind and Rain.

Shadarii knelt and bowed before the council, her heart pounding in her breast. Fail and she was finished; Zhukora had made it all too plain. The council settled back to watch and judge, their eyes hard and unforgiving.

A ritual dance required at least two dancers, yet no other dancer had offered to give Shadarii aid. None of the dancing girls would risk the displeasure of Zhukora or the Priesthood. Even so, little Kïtashii had come to Shadarii’s rescue. The children had flocked into Shadarii’s arms, and with their help, Shadarii might just triumph yet.

Shadarii had chosen tonight’s tale with loving care. It was a story of her own invention; the legend of First Mother and the coming of the flowers.

The expectant hush was broken by a distant trill of sound. Gourd flutes made a haunting, dreamy melody. First Mother looked about and wondered at the beauty of her world, then stretched up to thank the Wind and Rain for the gift of life.

Shadarii’s interpretation of the character felt strangely soft and gentle; the First Mother seemed like a little child left to run and play. She thrilled to the feel of life within her wings, marveling at the forest air and the soft caress of ïsha. First Mother drank from clean, pure streams and danced in golden sunshine.

Shadarii lost herself within a reverie of love. Each pose and motion held a world of meaning; each tilt of head and glint of fur told a tale all of its own. Where Shadarii danced the ïsha swirled with wondrous subtle hues.

First Mother ate the bounty of the forest. She supped on fruits and ate eggs straight from the shells. Someone in the audience laughed as Shadarii rubbed her belly fur. For once Shadarii’s weight became an asset.

The novelty of food began to wane, and First Mother grew bored with her tasteless fare. The girl sighed and slowly let her eating cease as a supple creature slithered from the shadows.

The newcomer had the figure a little girl, skinny as an eel and strangely alien. She had fur as grey as swirling ash and hair the pale silver of a drifting winter moon.

Kïtashii made Shadarii’s heart swell up with pride! The girl’s naked body seemed as eerie as a mantis creeping on a leaf. The Fire spirit made a mocking dance and turned to address the world’s first mortal.

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Fire posed in thought, a sudden sly tint of craftiness stealing through its ïsha field.

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First Mother looked up in hope, and her stomach growled in anticipation.

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The audience bit their lips as Fire sidled closer.

<me a penalty.>>

<> First mother crept cautiously closer.
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First Mother snatched up her tail in shock! She clasped it hard against her breast and stared in accusation.

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She backed away from Fire in horror.
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Fire looked with greed at First Mother’s broad backside, then sidled closer, crooning in her ear.

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Zui-Kashra-Zha hesitantly lifted her antennae.

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It all seemed fair. Zui-Kashra-Zha licked her lips and thought about the lure of food.

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The audience were spellbound; Shadarii’s gift for theatre had snared them in her web. Kïtashii played her part with waggish style, and what she lacked in skill she made up for with enthusiasm. Shadarii faded out into the background as the Fire spirit swirled off on its wicked quest; First Mother’s beautiful soft tail would soon be in Fire’s grasp!

The spirit flew until it reached the sparkling lodges of the stars. The five starlets of the Southern Cross were played by tiny girls from Shadarii’s magic class. They sat and twinkled as best they could, putting on a brave show before their grinning audience. Fire approached the stars with an elaborate air of innocence.

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The stars eagerly snatched the honeycombs. Although each now had a comb, an extra piece still lay before them; the Stars fell to quarreling bitterly over the delicious titbit until Fire intervened to calm their feud.

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