A Whisper of Wings (8 page)

Beside the bathing pool, Shadarii shot erect then searched the air with suspicious, twitching ears. No creature stirred, no furtive rustles sounded from the brush; with a shrug she turned back to her bath, wading out to lose herself beneath the steaming waters. Shadarii sighed in pure contentment, her thoughts drifting with the gentle flow of steam.

Kotaru reluctantly moved downhill to where a silent group of figures crouched in the watercourse. Sixty hunters of the Vakïdurii tribe¹ were ranged beneath the cliffs. Kotaru felt less and less happy about the expedition; the very thought of it left a foul taste in his mouth. If there had been any way to retreat without losing face before his peers…

The boy’s companion eagerly nudged him in the ribs.

“The scouts are back. Prince Tekï’taa was right! Rack after rack of drying fish. Enough to feed a tribe! The food’s down there and not a guard in sight. We’ll swipe it and be home before they even know it’s gone!”

The Prince gave a languid signal from the column’s front, and the raiders faded out into the shadows. Kotaru swallowed, looking helplessly back towards the bathing pool. With a heavy heart the hunter trailed after his companions.

Beneath a grove of ancient trees, far from the pressing worries of the village, the elders of the Swallow-Tails met in solemn council. The twelve Counselors sat and sipped their tea, listening to the distant cheering of the games crowd.

Nochorku-Zha breathed in the scent of his perfumed cup. Long whiskers twitched as he savoured the delightful wisps of steam.

“Aaaah. Always the best aspect of the summer village! The river wisset gives the tea such a mellowing aroma.” The clan lord idly swirled his cup. “Well then, what pressing business for today, eh?”

A plump woman of middle years gave an easy shrug.

“Nothing too important, lord. A certain sparsity of foodstuff. Last night’s revelries have exhausted all our current stocks. We might have problems finding sufficient food when the other clans arrive.”

“No need to worry. The problem will heal itself. Problems always do.”

The old man smiled, serene in his infallibile world. The elders quietly sipped their cups, their minds moving with the music of the woods.

A lean brown woman primly pulled her nose.

“I wish to raise the subject of this painting that has been commissioned. Does the clan lord really think the final work is suitable for presentation before the King?”

A distant wave of cheers drifted out across the trees. Toteniiha was coming - and with it the tribal jiteng championships. Ears twitched as the elders caught the sounds of the jiteng game, and a wheezing ancient rubbed his leathery hands together. He was so skinny that he looked like a piece of knotted string.

“Another year, another win for the Swallow-tails! Ohputa of the Bird-wings will be good for another bet. Last year I won three whole sacks of sugar candy!”

The old man smacked his lips in anticipation, while Fotoki carefully peered inside the iron teapot on the fire.

“Her Reverence has passed on an offer from Ohputa-Zha. He wishes to wager a hundred fingers of prime iron² that his team will win.”

“Ha, done!” The ancient cackled in glee. “The Orchids will pluck his mangy wings for sure!”

A ka had rather nicely decided to inhabit the council’s teapot, and the creature proved a great aid in keeping the brew fresh and warm. The tea was poured, bets were discussed, and the whole council turned slightly sleepy as the glade warmed in the sun.

More noise came across the trees to disturb the peace, and Nochorku-Zha irritably twiddled his antennae.

“What on earth is all that noise? The game can’t be done already? Surely what’s-her-name’s team put up some fight against the Orchids?”

“I doubt your daughter’s team made much of a show, my Lord. When it all comes down to it, style and experience are all that counts. The young have so much to learn.”

“Aye. Aye yes indeed.”

Nochorku-Zha seemed greatly pleased by the sentiment. Quite a peace with his world, he smiled and swirled his steaming cup of tea.

“
Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull!”

The chant roared through the crowd as Skull-wings hurtled down the field. Zhukora’s eyes blazed with energy; they were two goals up on the most powerful team in all the tribe!

The Skull-Wings moved like a single savage entity; each curt signal from Zhukora brought immediate response. They dove and flickered with a wicked malice, weaving tight formations about their dandified opponents.

The Orchids grew angry, and their fury swiftly unhinged their fragile teamwork. The ball sailed down left field, pursued by a churning cloud of players. Zhukora watched the melee pass and signalled with her fist. Her tight spearhead of players screamed out of the sun and stole the ball before the Orchids even realised it had gone. With her bodyguards beside her, Zhukora tore off down the field.

Speed blurred her to a streak of black; Orchid guards flapped after her, helpless to intercept. Zhukora lashed out with a whip of ïsha, hurtling her enemy aside. With a shrill call of delight she speared for the goals.

Pain ripped through Zhukora’s wing, and Prakucha dove past, laughing savagely as Zhukora screamed and fell. He had smashed her wing, deliberately going for an injury. Daimïru snatched her leader’s belt and desperately tried to slow Zhukora’s fall.

Down on the ground, Zhukora rolled in agony. The wing muscle had been only barely healed from yesterday in the river, and her great soft wing spasmed as pain twisted through it like a knife. Somewhere in the distance the game went on as Skull-wing guards clubbed Prakucha to the turf.

“Raiders!”

The wildly cheering crowd began to falter as a terrified youngster erupted through the trees. He flew as though all Poison’s demons were chasing on his tail.

“Raiders! Raiders in the village!” The boy skidded to a halt, clawing frantically at friends and neighbours. “They’re taking it! Taking it all!”

Villagers milled in confusion, and the two jiteng teams clattered to a halt. Zhukora rocked in Daimïru’s arms with fangs gritted as a Skull-wing came racing to her side.

“Get the team! Get our hunt group! If they can’t find spears they can grab stones from the riverbanks.” The skull mask snarled for blood. “Kill anything that stands in your way. Move!”

Daimïru rose and yelled out the hunt group’s rallying cry. Zhukora’s fangs flashed as thirty hunters stormed into the air at her command, and the huntress pumped her fist towards their prey.

“Double spearhead formation. My lead, wing guards high!”

Zhukora staggered up into the air, ïsha sheeting all around her like a storm.

“Stop it! Put it down! That’s someone else’s property!”

Kotaru’s voice cracked in horror. His fellow tribesmen screeched like animals; old hunting mates, nest kin… They had all turned into something Kotaru couldn’t understand.

Men whooped and tossed laquered boxes through the air. Each box was a stunning work of art, carved and painted by an artists caring hand. With a splintering crash the masterpieces tumbled to the ground.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

Kotaru cried out in vain. It had all started going wrong; it should have been so-so simple. The Katakanii tribe were wealthy, everybody knew that. When someone had suggested raiding the Katakanii larders the idea had seemed so good. Even when the raiders had first set out, it had all felt like a childish prank.

It was a Katakanii holy day, and that meant jiteng. A game of jiteng meant no screen of hunters roaming through the woods. The idea to strike on such a day had been Kotaru’s. It was all his fault! Plain armour - blank facemasks. The Katakanii were never to have known who had even done the deed, but now they would search. By Fire and poison, how they’d search! No forest would be wide enough to hide in…

A female shriek ripped through the air. Kotaru froze, and the scream came again, a jagged sound of mindless terror. The young hunter threw out his wings and raced across the forest floor, smashing through a grove of ferns to find a pair of raiders tearing at a weeping twelve year old girl. She flailed out with a huge burst of ïsha power, spilling one man from his feet as Kotaru burst though the fern fronds up above.

“Leave her alone!”

Kotaru’s spear butt cracked across a tribesman’s face; his victim’s head snapped back, blood spraying from his shattered teeth. The girl cringed away, sobbing weakly as Kotaru’s spear point jabbed against the other man.

Men drew back as a suave figure cruised serenely from the ferns. Prince Tekï’taa slowly looked around the glade, and one eyebrow raised as he saw the warrior held at spearpoint on the ground.

“There is… a problem?”

The injured man moaned, blood spilling from his broken teeth. Kotaru stared in fascination, mesmerised by the violence he had done. The second raider panted, his eyes nervously measuring Kotaru’s weaving spearpoint.

“To rape her? Why of course they were.” The Prince explained himself patiently, as if speaking to a child. “And what of that? You are acting like a fool.”

Kotaru stared up at his liege lord, amazement slowly dawning in his eyes as the nobleman wearily spoke on.

“We came here for a raid, Kotaru. Did you think I’d led us here merely to fill the bellies of some squealing villagers? - We came her for a set of reasons; reasons that you clearly are not capable of understanding.”

Kotaru contemptuously turned away. The little girl cringed as Kotaru knelt to take her hand; he took her safely in his arms and bore her off into the forest

The alpine tribes virtually knew no violent crime. Now Kotaru found himself involved in theft, destruction and anger. He swallowed hard, trying to hide from the horror that he felt, then squatted down to tenderly stroke the weeping girl.

“Are you alright girlie?”

She was skinny as an insect, with silver fur, silver hair and pearl grey wings. The girl nodded, staring at him in fright until Kotaru stripped away his facemask and dropped his helmet to the ground.

“Sssssh, it’s alright now. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

She wept against his chest, her whole body quivering in shock. Kotaru rocked her gently back and forth, murmured softly in her ear. Finally he drew away, holding the tearful child at arms length.