A Whisper of Wings (34 page)
Read A Whisper of Wings Online
Authors: Paul Kidd
“So now where are we supposed to stand? Javïra is missing, but she wants to be missing! The Vakïdurii will think poorly of us if we take her back, but if we fail to act they might think us weak. Whatever shall we do?”
Zhukora gave a wise nod as she listened to his words, then slowly raised a finger as though touching on an inspiration.
“I have it! I recommend the creation of a sub-committee at once. We shall carefully examine every option.”
A capital idea! The elders were delighted. Finally their young firebrand was speaking sense! Nochorku-Zha gave a nod of approval.
“Order! Order! The motion is before the council. All in favour - all against?” He swiftly counted hands. “Done. The sub committee will be organised by Zhukora-kai-Nochorku. With the tribe dispersed, we have six months until our next tribal gathering. I require a committee report before us at that time.”
Zhukora gave a gracious bow. The council moved on to other business, never once disturbed by Zhukora’s silent smile.
Nochorku-Zha seemed well pleased; the Totenïha had ended, and after a week’s relaxation, the tribe’s wings had regrown. With the other clans dispersed back to their territories, the strain on local food supplies had eased. All was well and peace reigned - even that little fight during the ceremonies seemed to have been forgotten.
Oh yes, The fight… Nochorku-Zha suddenly managed to focus upon a memory.
“Zhukora! How is what’s-her-name? The fat one?”
“Shadarii?” Zhukora sadly folded up her hands. “Still despondent, I’m afraid. We really can’t give her to the priesthood until she’s thrown off her stomach flu. I’m sure she’ll be quite recovered in a week or so.”
“Bah. Useless little wretch. Her mother will have a thing or two to say to her!”
Zhukora’s eyes suddenly went cold.
“Aye father. I suppose she shall.”
Zhukora slowly rose up from her place and graciously inclined her head towards the council.
“I shall take my leave and tend to her now, Father. With Shadari ill, the household duties are all mine.”
“Eh? Who’s ill? Oh - Yes, quite. Well off you go, then. And remember, I want no roots for supper!”
Zhukora turned on her heel and slowly left the council lodge. She flicked her wings out with an imperious snap and waved them in the sun.
Daimïru’s slender figure speared down from the canopy above. The girl landed in a stream of long blonde hair, bowed, and raised her face up to report.
“Shadarii has been attended to, Zhukora. I checked on her myself. The poison roots are working perfectly.”
“Good. Good…” Zhukora took her companion by the arm. Far below them the village prepared for evening. “I take it she’s quiet?”
“Oh aye. Quiet as a baby. She’ll be fast asleep by now.”
“Excellent!” Zhukora’s ïsha flared. “Then let us go and see her, shall we? It’s time to let our friend Serpent have another little chat.”
The two women grinned together. With a flash of wings they sped off into the trees.
Little Kïtashii sat in the grass, warming-up for her dance rehearsal. She bowed her head down onto one straightened leg, gritting fangs against the painful stretch. The other girls all made their moves with effortless grace. Why was she the only one incapable of bending? The skinny little creature blinked back tears and tried again, pushing herself far past her limitations.
Without Shadarii to look after her, Kïtashii felt alone. She was surrounded by noble girls; caustic, superficial bitches whose only joy in life came from slashing one another down. Their greatest wish was to see Kïtashii hurtled from the dancing class.
Kïtashii’s days bloomed into a nightmare. She worked on chores around the lodge, caring for the baby when her mother went away. She did the family’s cooking, tended the garden plots and wove mats to trade for food. Each day she grew more tired - a little less able to keep up with the strain. Her mother sat back and waited for Kïtashii to bow down and admit defeat.
She would never give in! Never! It was her only chance to be a dancer; if she gave up now, her dreams were finished. The girl switched legs and tried to hold another stretch, the physical strain proving almost more than she could bear.
All around Kïtashii, the other dancing students whispered back and forth. The girl felt a sly glow of delight; by now Shadarii’s disappearance must be known. A noble girl had taken a commoner as a husband! The scandal was too delicious to ignore.
“Girls girls girls, gather round!” Mistress Traveesha swept through the clearing as if a storm brewed beneath her tail. “Girls! Come here please. I have a most upsetting announcement.”
Traveesha pressed her fingers up against her face. The girls rose from their exercises and silently gathered around.
“My dears, I have the most dreadful news. Absolutely dreadful! The council have officially announced that one of our sisters of the tribe is missing. Gone! She’s run off with the Vakïdurii team. Gallivanting around with a commoner for a lover!” Traveesha suddenly looked down at Kïtashii and clapped her hand across her mouth. “Oh I do beg your pardon child. Still, it’s just not done. It simply isn’t done! There are rules of conduct we all must follow. Girls, let this be a warning to us all! We must never, ever allow our passions to over rule our common sense. Now one poor girl has lost everything that matters in her life!”
Kïtashii gave a little smirk as she thought about Shadarii’s joy.
That’s what you think!
“Oh girls, I just can’t think of what our poor Javïra could have been thinking of…”
Kïtashii’s face fell; her jaw almost hit the ground in shock.
“Javïra? You mean Shadarii!”
“What? Don’t be foolish child! T’is our beloved Javïra who’s been spirited off by those Vakïdurii beasts.” The tall old dancer wrung her hands. “She was unbalanced! The fights had cracked her mind! Now some villain’s taken advantage of her - made her all sorts of unspeakable promises to drag her off into his filthy hovel.”
“Shadarii! What about Shadarii?”
“Shadarii?” Mistress Traveesha couldn’t have cared less. “Wretched little freak! She’s the one responsible for this! Driving my poor Javïra clean from her senses. Well I’ll have no mercy on her this time. She’s finished in this clan as far as I’m…”
“Mistress! Shadarii - Where is she?”
“Oh she’s shut away ill somewhere. Ashamed to show her face now that she knows just what she’s done. Her sister’s looking after her until she recovers.”
Kïtashii whirled and made to race into the bushes, only to be grabbed by the wing-roots and hauled back into line.
“Not so fast, young miss! There’s a dance to rehearse.”
“But…”
“I never want to hear of you consorting with that-that creature Shadarii ever again! She is an evil, twisted girl and we have had enough. You will not seek her out. You will not speak with her. You will not speak of her. That is my direct order.”
Kïtashii rolled her eyes in panic. Mistress Traveesha held the little creature off the ground.
“I will be watching you, young lady. Every minute of the day, every moment of the night. You do want to be a dancer, don’t you girl? Make your choice. Follow orders or go right back to what you were.”
Traveesha dropped her victim in the grass. The little girl gave a sob, and her hand trembled as she pressed it to her mouth.
When the other girls moved back to class, Kïtashii turned and followed close behind.
It was cold - so very cold. Shadarii shivered, curling down into a fearful little ball as she felt the stir of icy winds against her fur. A vast emptiness stretched all around her, soaring off into the dark. Shadarii looked around herself and felt afraid.
Winds moaned; the ïsha creaked and splintered in the dark. Shadarii quivered as she felt an evil presence slithering nearby.
*Daughter…*
Shadarii gave a convulsive jerk and tried to hide as the evil voice swirled beside her like a polluted stream.
*Thou art alone, daughter. So alone. It is how it was always meant to be. Alone within the darkness…*
Shadarii sobbed for breath, her hands jammed tight against her ears.
~ No! There was someone! Someone who cared! Someone who loved me…~
*No. There never was! See? Look into your mind and try to find the memories.*
The presence coiled closer as Shadarii desperately sought for memories of love. She snatched them from her mind like pictures scored on ice. Even as she tried to hold them, they melted clean away.
*See? No unsightly memories. Nothing but the emptiness.*
Shadarii reeled, clawing at her skull.
~They will come back! They will!~
*They were never there, daughter. Only fantasy. And fantasy is best left in the dust to die.*
~I hate you! I am light. Light withers darkness!~
*Light can never reach all of the darkness, little fool. All light eventually must fail…*
The presence rattled through the husks of empty dreams and then was gone.
Zhukora opened up her eyes and smiled, drawing in a smooth, deep sigh. Lord Serpent seemed to purr as he coiled above Shadarii’s sleeping form.
*It is done! The creature’s memories of love are all but gone.*
“Good. You have done well, my friend. We have all done extremely well.” The huntress opened up her arms and gathered Serpent in against her heart. “And how may I reward you for your skill?”
*Let us fly! Go with the girl of gold and soar high into the sky.*
Zhukora laughed, then turned to Daimïru and reached out to take her hand. Daimïru brushed a trailing lock of hair from Zhukora’s eyes.
“Is he speaking to you? What does he say?”
“Nothing of consequence. Senses still delight him. He is like a child with a new toy.”
“What’s it like? How does it feel to have that-that thing inside you? Does he read your mind?”
“No, not really. I don’t even know he’s there until he speaks. He can only hear me when I decide to call on him.”
“I fear for you, Zhukora. Be very, very sure you can control him.”
“He’ll not harm me. We share the same needs - the same desires. Serpent is in my thrall.”
Zhukora knelt down by Shadarii. The plump little dancer lay huddled in a ball, her fur dulled by drugs and long neglect. Zhukora stroked her fingers through Shadarii’s tangled hair.
“Love… Physical love is so ephemeral. Already she has forgotten his face, his smell, the sound of his voice. One by one we shall slice the memories from her mind.”
“Will she still be useful? The High Priestess will fast for three more days. When she returns, she’ll expect her prize. What happens if we hand her a dreaming idiot?”
“Oh my sister will be whole in mind. We’ll just wall away a few memories which might be embarrassing to us.”
Daimïru looked down at the forlorn little figure on the floor. The last rays of the evening sun lingered on Shadarii’s softness.
“A shame really. She’s quite beautiful in her way.”
Zhukora gave a derisive snort as she contemptuously shoved the sleeper with her foot.
“Beautiful? No. Too soft! No strength, no will, no vision! Beauty? No. You are beautiful. Your passion rings out like a glorious song! But this - this pudding?” Zhukora gave Shadarii another brutal kick. “Dust beneath our boots! A tool to use - no more.” Zhukora swept back her hair. “Come. T’is time we were gone. We don’t want anyone to find our little prize.”
The two women retreated from the lodge and firmly barred the door. Behind them, the sleeper whimpered, and a single tear slid down into her fur.
***
A heavy drumbeat pounded though the darkness, and the air thundered as an entire tribe shook the trees with mourning. Feeling drained from a long hard march, Mrrimïmei hung on Totoru’s arm as the horizon glowed with fires.
“A funeral dirge - and so big? Now who warrants that kinda send off?”
Prince Tekï’taa’s ears lifted as he pondered the distant music. He then smiled and waved one hand towards the Vakïdurii village.
“Come along, my little Wrens. It seems we are almost late. Do try to show some of that agility you’re all famous for.”
The group of travellers emerged from the forest night at the edges of a Jiteng field. A vast funeral pyre blazed at the centre of the clearing. Smoke boiled furiously up into the air while hundreds of dancers leapt and swirled across the flames. Dust hung heavy in the air as the world trembled to the crash and boom of mighty drums.
Prince Tekï’taa wandered through the crowds, pushing forward to the ring of priests who knelt solemnly before the blaze. The man hung a suitably grieving expression on his face as he stared towards his father’s funeral pyre.
The High Priest of the Vakïdurii came to stand beside him, leaning down to whisper in the Prince’s ear.
“Thy father died two nights ago, quietly in his sleep. We are now a tribe without a king.”
“How tragic!” Tekï’taa placed a hand across his heart. “He died without warning, I suppose.”
“Quite suddenly. Ah well, he was always overweight. The healers had warned him of the dangers to his heart.”