A Whisper of Wings (47 page)

Everyone briskly went about their tasks, never once interrupting the smooth efficiency of their team work. Only one man seemed to be an exception; the locals shook their heads and left him to his own devices.

Right now, Keketál was engaged in “improving” on the traditional house design. He diligently added diagonal braces all across the structure. Hupshu, the husband-to-be and prospective owner of the house, watched him in bewilderment.

“Keketál, why are you doing that? It’s time to put the thatching on. You’re holding everything up!”

Keketál hovered erratically in the air, trying to talk through a mouthful of spare string. He gurgled something unintelligible in reply.

Hupshu scratched his head. Certainly the point was valid, only why bother? If the house fell down, they could simply make another.

“It is a waste of bloody time! There is a set method for building a house. Experimentation is counter-productive. Time is wasting and the maids are waiting!”

Keketál’s tail waggled merrily above them as he tested all his lashings.

“Ho Too’vaa! If problem is, why not to helping be?”

“Because it’s not my job, you dozy man! I am a thatcher, so I thatch! Yekïchi is a rope maker, so he makes the lashings. Each and every one of us has our own set task. There was no mention anywhere about extra bracings!”

Toonwaa stomped off to join the other thatchers. Hupshu gave the man a cold hard stare before fluttering up to aid Keketál. To both of their surprise, a group of youngsters left their other tasks to join them. They grinned through their sweat at Keketál, nodding at him as he smiled in grateful thanks.

Keketál fixed a final knot and tugged furiously at the house frame, and the wooden skeleton barely even moved. Satisfied at last, Keketál heaved a weary sigh and let himself fall back to the ground.

He landed clumsily, and pain suddenly stabbed through his guts. Keketál folded over in agony, bringing Hupshu racing over in alarm.

Hupshu led his friend across to a handy piece of shade. An old man sat watching the house take shape while chipping out flint knife blades on a stone. His craftsmanship was beautiful to behold. The old man dusted off his lap and pointed at Keketál’s nose.

“All this extra work. Y’ ought to pace yourselves better, else you’ll have no energy for tonight! Where’s the point in house raisin’ if y’ can’t enjoy what comes after?”

Enjoy it? Keketál felt his muscles tremble. It had damned near killed him! The villagers must have some strange fascination for heavy lifting. For the sake of fellowship, a whole village had dropped their work and had come to build a house for Hupshu’s bride.

It looked like there were some rewards in any case. The parents of the happy couple had laid on quite a feast. The delicious scent of roasted lamb sizzled through the evening air. Keketál gave an exhausted smile and thought about the coming pleasures of his dinner.

Young girls brought jugs of water for the thirsty workers, and the men made haste to seem at ease and nonchalant. Tired looks disappeared; all grumbling miraculously ceased.

Keketál stroked his nose in puzzlement. The girls seemed strangely different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something had changed. The girls’ eyes sparkled, their lashes fluttered prettily as they spoke coyly to the men. Tails waved little hints of perfume on the drowsy summer’s air.

Keketál felt his ears blush hot. The skirt hemlines seemed a trifle brief today! What on earth was going on?

A tall, slender village girl walked towards Keketál. Her eyes were filled with dark, delicious promise; each curve and valley gleamed in glorious harmony. She fixed her smouldering gaze on Keketál, melting her chosen victim to the spot.

The girl hefted a tall jug of water, and saliva broke out all across Keketál’s parched tongue. A drink! The girl must have been sent down by the spirits.

Keketál blinked in wonder as Harïsh cruised over in his direction, trying to move her hips just like the older girls. She looked at him with anxious eyes and suddenly faltered in her tracks.

Keketál stared at her in wonder - for the first time he really seemed to see her. Keketál blinked; Dear Rain - had she always been so… so pert?

The girl bent down to pour him a drink, her backside deliberately turned towards his astonished gaze. She met his eyes, jumped with fright, and then fled into the trees.

A warm voice broke in upon Keketál’s whirling thoughts. The sultry female that he had seen before stood offering her water jug, her voice husky with hinted promises.

“Are you satisfied so easily, handsome Lord? Perhaps I can slake your thirst far better. Once you dip into Namïlii’s well, you may lose interest in more common drink…”

She cocked her head, regarding him through lowered lashes. Keketál looked around himself in panic. Harïsh stared tearfully at him from afar, and Keketál hastily waved Namïlii away.

“My-uh-my drink is fine, thanking you! Is enough for me.”

“I understand, my Lord. Still, the evening is long and hot. I am always there should you ever need to slake your thirst…”

Namïlii flung a triumphant smile towards Harïsh, and the potter’s girl fixed a bitter glare on Keketál. Hupshu boisterously slapped Keketál between the wings.

“Ha! See, I told you it can get interesting!” He gestured with his cup towards the waiting womenfolk. “That’s two aiming for you. Rain help you if Harïsh sees you eyeing off Namïlii again. And Rain help Harïsh if her father finds out she’s serving water!”

Keketál seemed to be missing the point. He blinked in confusion and scratched his addled head.

“Why can’t Harïsh serve water?”

“Cause she’s only fifteen, that’s why not! There’ll be blood to pay if old man Totli catches her!” The man heaved an admiring sigh. “Aaaah what it must be to have a noble’s wings!”

A wild storm of applause broke out as the last strips of thatching were hauled up into place. Hupshu dragged Keketál to his feet.

“Come on! It’s starting. Don’t keep ‘em waiting too long or the girls might start to fight. They did that when we built Pochtli’s place last summer. Clothes ripping, hair torn out…” The young man pulled his chin in thought. “One of them was the bride, too. Funny thing life, eh?”

“But-but why? Why girls fight?”

“Because, OK. Just-just go get into line.”

Keketál scuttled off towards the feasting tables where Lord Ingatïl, his wife and son were already blessing the new house. As chief noble of the village, Ingatïl had welcomed Keketál into the community with open arms. Fascinated by his prize marrows, flute music and fishing, the old man seemed delighted to have another noble close at hand.

“Aaaah Keketál! So here you are, boy! Here you are. A splendid job on the house, eh. Absolutely splendid! Not normally the done thing for a noble to get his hands dirty, but then we must all move with the times. I suppose labour is terribly modern, what?”

Keketál blushed and nodded, embarrassed by the old man’s love. Ingatïl and his wife had made Keketál welcome in their midst without a murmur of complaint. They left him largely in the hands of Harïsh and her family, content to invite him to dinner once in a while and talk to him of “noble’s business” such as alliances and marrow growing.

The feast had drawn in the entire village. Hupshu laughed and served his guests with meat, dealing out the food with a lavish hand. The village girls demurely clustered in the shadows, coyly sheltering behind their wings. The house builders were on the far side of the clearing, whispering excitedly as they eyed the womenfolk. Hupshu wiped his greasy hands and drew Keketál near.

“Look, it’s the payment for helping to build a house. Tradition, you see! Everyone who helps can claim a kiss from one maiden of the village. That’s what gets the girls in such a state! You can only chose one, so if you could choose any woman to kiss, and you knew she couldn’t refuse you, who would you take?”

Aaaaah! Finally the light dawned! Keketál mentally applauded the audacity of the man who’d invented this one; making men eager to do hard work had been a feat of pure genius. One had to admit, the custom had a certain charm…

A hush fell across the bystanders as the fun began. A young house builder stepped forward and curled a finger towards a blushing shepherdess.

“Kürimal! I claim my boon!”

The girl dashed out and stood on tippie-toe to take her kiss. The young herdsman shyly brushed her lips, and the crowd made sound of appreciation the girl pressed deeper into her partner’s arms.

A stifled snarl of rage came from amongst the other girls. Keketál saw a young woman brushing tears back from her eyes as she fled for home. Hupshu’s warning rang suddenly all too clear; this game was dangerous.

“Namïlii, I claim a boon of you!”

A tall fisherman called triumphantly out across the field, and Namïlii came forth to give the man his due. She took him and devoured him with a sizzling kiss. Namïlii left her victim dazed, eyeing Keketál as she sauntered back towards the other girls.

One by one the workers claimed their prizes, and the women met the choices with delight or with disgust. Slowly the little ceremony drew to a close, until Keketál found himself finally thrust out into the open.

The little group of maidens seemed to draw a breath. Keketál stared from one face to the other, his ears flushing as he saw the women gaze at him with desire. The man tried to beat a hasty retreat, but Hupshu steered him firmly back in place.

Suddenly Keketál met a pair of frightened, hopeful eyes. Harïsh had hidden back behind the other girls. The girl jerked away, trying not to show him the yearning in her gaze.

“Keketál will claim his boon. He asks a kiss of sweet Harïsh.”

Harïsh! The girl nearly swooned as joy seemed to pour into her like a stream of light. She came into his arms, craning up to offer him the gift she craved to give. She closed her eyes, trembling as he slowly bent to kiss her parting lips.

Harïsh flew straight for her enemy’s throat, and Keketál frantically dragged her back by the heels. Suddenly the air seemed full of thrashing wings and tearing claws.