A Whisper of Wings (60 page)

***

The representatives of the Ochitzli tribe gathered to pay their homage to the demon queen, each man dressed in all his formal finery. Speakers and guildsmen, shepherds and priests, they waited in silence as the sun broke out above the forest eaves.

In the small hours of the dawn, the rainbow people came.

At first it seemed just a sound, like a distant rustling in the leaves. Slowly it grew until the ïsha thrummed with power; piece by piece the air filled with wheeling, dancing shapes. Every tree and branch dripped beneath a rain of colours.

The mass surged forwards like a flood and spilled onto the plains. It washed across the meadows and splashed against the trees while spirits looped and chittered in the sun. And over it all, behind the colour and the relentless bubbling motion, there burned a brilliant joy.

The people of the mountains threw out their arms and sang.

Plainsmen stared up in amazement as naked women in brilliant masks whirled through the air. There was laughter and dancing, music and delight. The wave crashed across the villagers and swept them up into its heart; carpenters and shepherds were kissed by naked dancing girls, while old noblemen found themselves knee deep in laughing children. Drums hammered like the pulse beat of the world, and villagers laughed as the gongs rang out into a final glorious crescendo.

Suddenly the music stopped. All eyes turned towards the slender figure standing at the dance’s heart. Power flooded out of her to set the skies ablaze with joy.

“To Mother Rain we make this promise! One land, one folk, one will! Mountain and forest, grass and plains shall finally be united. The Kashran race will be whole at last!”

Lightning flashed, and Zhukora stood wreathed in a blazing sphere of light. The people sank down to their knees and gazed at her in awe.

Slim curves shimmered as Zhukora’s naked figure slowly emerged onto the grass. She stood unveiled before the people in absolute perfection, as pure and beautiful as morning dew.

“Look upon me and rejoice, for I am yours! I give myself to you and cast aside all mortal trappings. I am the spirit of the people, and a spirit hides from no one’s eyes! I am the mountains and the plains, the rivers and the valleys. Join with me and share within The Dream!”

She walked amongst them, revealed and uncaring, sheathed within a power that reached out to clench the heart. When Zhukora walked, the mortals bowed; where her gaze fell, the villagers lost themselves in love. She was unreachable and perfect; the virgin queen of power. She had passed beyond the chains that held mere flesh.

She had become the spirit of the Dream…

Daimïru looked up at Zhukora with tears spilling freely down her face. Zhukora bent and kissed her on the mouth, sending the blonde girl reeling backwards in a swoon. The plainsmen rose and began to sing her name; Zhukora turned and rewarded them with the love inside her eyes.

The Dream had taken her. Zhukora felt the worship of her people all around her and walked on into the arms of destiny.

***

Deep within the world of green, something small and beautiful squealed in delight. The tiny flower Ka burst up into the air, wheeling past a glittering waterfall. It flung itself into the arms of love and sang in delirious glee.

Shadarii held the creature in her aura as the forest suddenly erupted into joy. The love had finally returned! The forest soul was back where it belonged. The tiny orchid span and danced as a rain of spirits rushed dizzily down between the leaves.

With Ka looping wildly past her wings, Shadarii swirled around and round beneath a waterfall, ïsha glowing as her power spilled out into the woods. Dry brown ferns suddenly glowed with growth, while mosses spread and flourished all across the broken rocks. Shadarii embraced the world she loved and lost herself within a joyous dance.

Behind her, faces peered at the vast grandeur of the forest roof. The smell of forest soil had struck the pilgrims like an axe. Ferns and orchids, leaf and bark; the pilgrims lost themselves within a dream, slowly rediscovering the gentle gifts of home.

The sea-people edged cautiously down into the trees, awed by the discovery of a strange new world. They blinked as Kïtashii hurtled aside her tiny skirt and launched into the pool, then joyously followed her down into the shade,

Little Kïtashii broke the surface with a roar. Half a ton of sand and dust had suddenly drained off her fur. The girl snatched a bunch of soap leaf and furiously scrubbed her back. Her lips curled up in pleasure as she scratched, her wings drumming at the water as she scoured her itches clean. Tingtraka giggled as a little water Ka danced beneath her tail.

“Paradise! Skreggin’ paradise! I never knew how much I missed the sound of leaves. It feels like I’m back inside my mother’s womb!”

Kïtashii smiled as she watched Shadarii twining auras with an orchid Ka. The skinny girl scratched herself beneath one little teacup breast and flicked her long antennae in glee.

“It’s so good to see her home again! This is where she’s needed. She was right to come. We’ll make the forest green again! We’ll teach the people peace. There’ll be picture-words and stories! New ways of doing old, old things. The sea peoples and the forest will share in hope and love!”

Kïtashii spoke with fanatical belief shining in her eyes. She somehow saw a world of peace and happiness; a place where every thought would be treasured like a priceless jewel. Tingtraka envied her that sense of utter certainty. She posed naked in the pool as she cocked her head in thought.

“Well take if from me, there’s nary a hair of a Kashra’s tail.” Tingtraka planted her fists upon her bony hips and stared around at empty air. “The ducks will be coming soon. Where’s all the nets and snares? I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

Without her coat of dust, Kïtashii seemed three shades lighter. The little girl hopped on a rock, drying herself inside a swirling ïsha cloud.

“No. Ah well, perhaps we have the seasons wrong. It’s been a long, long time you know. No one counted the days.” Kïtashii knocked out a broken-toothed old comb and passed it to her friend. Tingtraka obligingly began to drag the snarls from Kïtashii’s silver hair

“I’m worried, Kïtashii. Shadarii isn’t… She doesn’t care about herself.” The girl sadly looked at Mrrimïmei. “I fear for her. What chance has such gentleness against the powers of hate.”

Kïtashii lay in silence across Tingtraka’s lap, watching as Shadarii groomed an old fisherman’s back. Kïtashii’s eerie silver eyes grew hard.

Shadarii’s knives still safely lay inside Kïtashii’s pack. Tonight they must be polished bright; the little girl sank down to watch and wait.

Notes:

1) The souls of dead plainsfolk are very much a part of the community. A priesthood of Seance Singers keeps the living in a measure of contact with the dead.

Chapter Twenty Three

Sun beat down onto the mud as bullrushes sagged with heat, while between the roots, tadpoles waggled little tails and dreamed their froggy dreams. There were butterflies above and little fish below; despite the rancid smell, the wetlands seemed a place of perfect peace.

Kangaroos lounged bonelessly in a patch of dappled shade. The young males scratched their bellies while the oldsters snored. It was time for their siesta, and the world seemed a fine and sleepy place.

A plump female cropped her way towards the water’s edge, strong teeth snipping at tender shoots of wild wheat. The creature munched its meal and gazed out across the water as something tall and silly wagged its wings nearby.

Hupshu suddenly tripped and fell into the mud, and the kangaroo immediately bounded off into the brush. A hideous screaming noise instantly arose, and the entire herd of kangaroos exploded into flight.

Hupshu shook out his mud encrusted kilt, then fluttered hesitantly over the water. The Kangaroo lay dead at Keketál’s feet, and his spear made a liquid sucking sound as dragged from the creature’s chest. The kangaroo still thrashed in its death throes. Keketál coldly clubbed its skull with his new stone mace, and the sound sent shivers racing right through Hupshu’s soul.

Keketál took his captured metal dao and split the corpse’s skull, then poured energy into frightened Ka that slowly rose into the light.

“Hupshu! Quickly, bow and ask forgiveness. Hupshu must thank the prey for its meat.”

“Oh - really?”

“The kangaroo ancestor will be angry if we abuse her children. She will makings bad luck on our hunts. If we never take too much, if we always askings pardon for the taking of a life, then she will allow us what we need.” Keketál sighed and reached out for his knife. “Surely you must be knowing these things?”

Hupshu shied away from the bleeding kangaroo, his antennae quivering as he watched the creature’s Ka.

“Lord Keketál, I’m a brewer! I make beer and wines. I’ve never… I mean, some men do! My father just always said… He said we should respect life.”

“You can respect it. Keketál just wants to eat it too.” Keketál glanced sidewise at Hupshu. “Hupshu ate mutton at Harïsh’s jug-wobble dance. How you get meat if you not kill?”

“W-well the village butcher… You know. You don’t actually…”

Keketál gave a grunt to show the colour of his thoughts. Hupshu sighed and knelt down beside the prey; the fur felt warm and soft beneath his hand.

“Why should mister ‘Roo feel pain any less than Hupshu or Keketál? Poor thing. When Keketál must kill, he kills clean. No suffering. Quick!”

Hupshu tried to jerk his mind away from the memory of a maiden’s face - a maiden’s laugh; the bride that had died beneath a demon’s knife. He stared into the swamps and ran the grass beneath his hands.

“So how do you actually make an army? I mean, we can get the men and find some weapons. Is that all there is?”

“Training. Lots and lots. We learn to fly.” The hunter heaved an unhappy sigh. “Keketál still needs a weapon for his men. Flint spears iss no good; not sharp enough to poke through demon armour. We need something to back up the slings.” Keketál prodded irritably at the dirt. “We find a way. We have a thousand men now. Someone will think of something.”

Families. Hupshu’s bride was dead. He still had trouble believing she was lost. The man gazed out across the swamps and let Father Wind blow through his fur.

Keketál heaved the kill up across his shoulders and began the dreary trudge towards the camp. Hupshu stirred himself and duly followed.

“Keketál hopes so! Hunter never eats his own catch. Iss bad magic.” He handed his companion the spears and woomera. “See if you can hit a tree thiss time. Rocks bend the point.”