A Whisper of Wings (55 page)
Read A Whisper of Wings Online
Authors: Paul Kidd
“H-Harïsh. What about home? What Pachetta said, about the village…”
“Shhhhh, we don’t know about the village. We’ll find out where we stand before we go rushing off anywhere, alright? We stay together”
Lyrilla hissed down from her perch high in a tree.
“Harïsh! Harïsh, there’s three more of them. I think they saw you kill the other one!”
Harïsh never once looked up from her patient.
“How far away?”
“Huh?”
“I asked how far away they are.”
The girl took another look, her knees nearly hammering in fright.
“F-fifty spans maybe. They’re just squatting in the grass keeping low.”
Harïsh carefully eased Pachetta’s head back onto the ground. The potter’s girl dusted off her hands, slipping her sling into her fingers.
“Everybody find smooth stones, as many as you can. Quickly now. Put them in your pouches.”
A dozen anxious faces gulped up at her in shock.
“What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to open fire and drive them off. We must chase them all away.”
“Harïsh! We can’t just shoot at somebody!”
“Yes we can” The Healer girl spoke with infinite patience - infinite calm. “I don’t know what these people are, but they’ve tried to hurt Pachetta. Now they’re going to try and hurt us. So I’m going to keep you all safe, but first we need to drive these things away so we can go and hide. Do you all understand?”
Lyrilla looked almost ready to cry as she turned a rock over in her hand.
“Do-do you believe what she said about her mama? About the village?”
“Yes. I believe her.”
The children suddenly turned and scoured the gully bed for rocks, and fine egg-shaped stones almost fell into their hands. Harïsh gently chivvied them along, striding along behind everyone and carefully keeping watch.
She could see them now; three black shapes crouching in the grass. They held their grotesque heads together in council as they decided what next to do.
Harïsh signalled the other teenagers to rise.
“Alright everybody, they’re nicely grouped together. Remember the wasps nest we shot down over Lord Ingatekh’s table last feasting day? We’re the best shots on the river. We’ll all fire together so they cannot dodge.”
Harïsh rose slowly to her knees and tensed herself to fire.
“Alright everybody. Ready? Set? Go!”
Slings cracked as the young marksmen sped their missiles home. Over in the meadow the demons whirled in shock. A black shape span and tumbled back in pain.
“Keep firing! Fast as you can!”
Father Wind sped the sling bullets through the air. The demons fled in panic, a last rain of stones hacking through the branches all around them. The shepherds gave a cheer, the boys leaping up the gully walls to fire a final shot.
Harïsh dragged the others back down into cover. She tossed one girl her shepherd’s staff and gathered her equipment.
“Alright everyone, we’re going to abandon all the sheep. We can find them again later. We’re moving down to Wattle Creek where the banks overhang the water.”
Haripetti toyed unhappily with his sling.
“Harïsh, what about the village? My mama’s there!”
Harïsh’s golden eyes were strangely soft and sad.
“I know, my friend. My mama’s there as well.”
She led them down the watercourse and out into the trees. The shepherds softly flitted through the bushes and left their homes behind.
A black shape knelt briskly in the dust before Daimïru and cracked his wings out in salute.
“War-Leader, team seven has encountered enemy resistance. One man dead, one injured. The injury is serious.”
“How bad is your casualty? Who was injured?”
“Myself. My elbow has been broken.”
He said it without the slightest hint of emotion. The man’s arm dripped blood onto the ground as he held his formal pose of submission.
“One enemy female was discovered spying on the village, and team seven flew in pursuit. The prey lost us in the brambles behind the village meadow. The team split in three to comb the brush. Our detachment discovered the target fleeing down a dry watercourse. Team leader Frakaki gave chase and was attacked by plainsmen armed with missile weapons. He was slain instantly.”
“How many enemy?”
“Approximately twelve, War-Chief. Mostly immature females.”
Daimïru slowly paced across the ground. She trod through a patch of glistening blood, stirring up a cloud of bloated flies.
“Why did you flee? Are children so terrifying to you?”
“Our officer was dead. We were outnumbered three to one. My orders were to scout and report. I held the team in place only until we had assessed the lethality of their weapons. I considered my report to be of value.”
“Would you do it again? Would you make that decision again if you faced such a situation.”
The man blinked.
“I… It would depend upon the situation, leader. I would carry out my duty as I saw fit.”
“Good. You are promoted to team leader.”
Daimïru glared out across the shattered ruin of the village, staring at the corpses with savage, hungry eyes.
“So you’ve found aggressive females? Ha! So they are not entirely without honour. What weapons did they have?”
“The creatures use a strip of cloth to hurtle stones with tremendous force. Our man was killed by a single blow to the skull at twenty spans. At a fifty spans they are still too accurate for comfort.”
Daimïru caressed the skull-shaped pommels of her dao and paused in thought.
”We must develop combat tactics against their weapons. Take your full squad. The odds must be approximately even. We must see how well you fare against these stone flinging warriors. Bring us back a victory.”
“Yes leader!”
Daimïru snapped her fingers and brought a tiny demon gliding to her side.
“Rooshïkii, you will follow team seven and observe. Under no circumstances are you to engage. I require your full report on the engagement.”
The little girl snapped her wings across her face in salute, then followed team seven on its mission. Daimïru watched them go and gave a smile.
“They were here. Harïsh’s ïsha trail is fresh.”
Keketál knelt above a tiny patch of scuffled ground, reaching down to touch a handful of crushed paperbark leaves. The nobleman somehow read a whole story from a few scuffles in the soil.
A corpse lay bonelessly sprawled beneath a redgum tree, and Keketál rolled it over with his foot. The demon had been dead for less than half an hour. The noble retrieved a blood-stained pebble from the muck and gave a frown.
Hupshu licked his lips and leaned in closer to his friend.
“M-my lord? What is it?”
“A rose quartz slingstone. Harïsh’s stone. She shot the demon while he held a captive by the hair. She was standings over there beside the banks.”
“That’s twenty spans away! To shoot one man and let another stay untouched? My lord, it isn’t possible!”
“Harïsh can do it. The rock has her ïsha scent. She’s killed our first enemy.”
Lord Keketál scowled as he sifted through the grass for signs. The six villagers watched uncomfortably, completely mystified by their leader’s preoccupation
The nobleman finally finished his examination. He drew a long, bent stick out of the corpse’s belt and tucked it through his own, then retrieved the demon’s spears and tools.
“The shep and shepherds were here. Eight to twelve children carrying one injured.” Keketal kept one spear and passed another pair back amongst his men. “They must have gone on foot to hide their ïsha spoor. Clever. They must know of somewhere close to hide.”
One boy looked from the empty ground and up into Lord Keketál’s hard eyes.
”My Lord, how do you know? You-you can’t possibly know all that!”
“Keketál knows.”
Hupshu retrieved a metal knife from the dust and thrust through his belt.
“Where to now, Lord? Where have the shepherds gone?”
“Wattle Creek. Harïsh teach Keketál to shoot slings there. Beneath banks is cover place. Good place to hide.”
Armed with spear and woomera, the nobleman led the other villagers up into the air, and they disappeared with a blur of wings.
In the gully, silence reigned until the first demons drifted through the trees.
Deep in the shadows of Wattle Creek, the shepherds lay fearfully down to hide. Harïsh and Haripettii stayed on watch beneath the overhang while the other teenagers tended to Pachetta’s wounds. The eerie silence of the woods made their fur crawl with alarm. Harïsh anxiously scanned the wilderness of tangled leaves above her, hardly daring to let herself breathe.
There was a feeling; a crawling sense of something wrong. Twigs creaked in the breeze, and dead blackberry bushes rattled their old dry thorns. Harïsh gripped her sling and blinked out into the unknown.
Haripettii stiffened as he saw a stealthy something edging through the ferns. The boy leaned close to breathe into Harïsh’s ear.
“Look there, over by the tea tree. I think it’s a tail.”
He was right. Harïsh rose slowly up onto her haunches with her slingshot held out tight as the tip of a wet black nose slid cautiously around a tree. Harïsh immediately opened fire. The shot went wide, and her target gave a pathetic yelp and immediately fell into a blackberry bush.
Only one man in the world was that consistently unlucky.
“Help! No shoot! Is me! Is Keketál!
“Keketál!”
Harïsh joyously threw herself from cover and pulled at Keketál’s long tail. With a squawk he came free from the prickle bush and was smothered in her arms.
Six more village men rose into view; men with axes, sticks and knives. They were the most beautiful sight Harïsh had ever seen.
“Oh Keketál, I knew you’d come! I knew!”
There were tears on her cheeks. Keketál brushed them away and kissed her once again. Harïsh! His girl of gold. The nobleman grinned down at her and gave a waggle of his ears.
“Keketál makes lookings. He is clever! We find you quick. There is one person hurt with you, yes?”
“Pachetta has a broken wing. How did you guess?”
“Ha! Keketál does not guess, Keketál know! Keketál is clever!”
The other shepherds spilled out into the light as. Keketál’s men raced across the creek. Brothers and sisters hurtled themselves into each other’s arms. Keketál grinned and clutched Harïsh against his heart. He had escaped the hunt and found his girl; the demons were vulnerable after all.
The nobleman suddenly held out his hand to still the babbling villagers. The men and women shot puzzled glances towards Keketál; his caution seemed absurd. The bushes were still, and the enemy had gone - even the cicadas had suddenly ceased their song…
As one the villagers sank into the ferns. Keketál glared at a distant tree, slowly drawing out his captured throwing stick. Without even seeming to aim, the noble suddenly hurtled the stick into the sky.
The weapon whirred, curved around in a savage arc and sliced behind the tree. A black shape screeched and tumbled out from hiding. Keketál whirled, the alien woomera flipping forward as his spear flashed and struck. The black figure shrieked in agony, and dozens of savage demons immediately burst out from the trees.
“Fall back! Fall back and shoot!”
Keketál’s orders galvanised the villagers into action. The savages had sprung their ambush too soon, and the open gully gave the slingers a perfect field of fire. Shepherds scythed the bushes and drove the creatures back. Two demons fell, jerking like puppets as they clutched their broken skulls.
The savages reacted with blinding speed. Orders snapped out in their warbling tongue, and black demons melted instantly into cover. They tore through the dead ground behind the banks and furiously closed the range.
Spears flew; a young girl dragged herself across the stream with a shaft impaled clean through her thigh. Harïsh fired and blew apart a demon’s jaw as the remaining savages ripped into the village ranks.
The menfolk surged forward with their clubs and staves, buying Harïsh’s friends the time to escape. Keketál roared as he rammed a demon back across the stream. The savages’ armour shrugged off every blow. Still Harïsh and her shepherds tried to hover near the fight. Keketál sought his beloved’s eyes and bellowed out across the bloody stream.
“Harïsh, split the slingers left! Get onto the high ground!”
Villagers died beneath the dripping metal knives. The savages fought like madmen! One demon barely even grunted as a spear rammed through its chest, then stalked forward into battle like an impaled forest bug.
“Keketál, get down!”
The menfolk hurtled themselves flat, and the air hissed with slingstones. Demons staggered back and died.
“Up! Kill the bastards!”