A Whisper of Wings (70 page)

Her husband held the dying woman in his arms; he stroked her brow and stared in horror at Harïsh’s eyes.

“What? We have magic! What is it?”

“Keketál, it’s gone through her heart! She can’t be alive! She just can’t. The-the blood is all still moving. ïsha’s pushing it. I just don’t understand!”

Tingtraka looked down the body stretched out in the mud. Kïtashii, Kotaru, all of them seemed to bow their heads and weep for Shadarii’s death; everyone accepted it, resigned themselves to it! Just like Shadarii; content to let a story come to an end.

The young scholar tore a path towards Shadarii’s breast. She snatched the teacher by the shoulders and dragged her up into her grasp.

“I won’t let you! You’re obsessed with creating your own damned myth. Live, you idiot! There’s too much work to do!”

Tingtraka drew a breath and blazed with light; a shockwave shot through the ground and burst up into Tingtraka’s soul. She hurtled herself into Shadarii and willed the girl to live.

Kïtashii threw back her head and gazed up at the sky. ïsha stabbed into her soul, the force of it ramming her back against the ground. One hand groped out for Tingtraka while the other searched for support.

Kotaru caught Kïtashii’s hand, and Harïsh fearfully moved to his side. One by one a circle formed; Zareemah and her little son, Totoru and the pilgrims - even the alpine girl Rooshïkii hesitantly came into the ring. Finally a single gap remained beside the creek.

Warriors leapt back from the riverside as something vast rose from the deeps. Yellow eyes glowed like moons as Grandfather Catfish slowly nosed onto the banks. ïsha pulsed as the spirit silently joined the ring and fed the flow.

Tingtraka shuddered as she tried to weld the energy together. She lacked a healer’s skill; she didn’t know what shapes to call into the broken flesh. She found herself locked deep into Harïsh’s gaze. Harïsh gulped and nodded; slowly the power passed through the sorceress into the healer’s mind.

Harïsh stared down at Shadarii’s breast in delirious amazement. With one flick of her mind she reached out, felt the woman’s heart and…

Hesitated.

Shadarii lay at her mercy. Keketál loved her, and Harïsh was losing him. The old life had finally returned to tear Harïsh’s husband from her arms.

She could kill the Silent Lady now. It would be so easy. Harïsh only had to close her eyes and let it be.

But Keketál loved her…

The power blazed into Shadarii’s heart, and then slowly fell away. Harïsh wept across Shadarii’s fur, begging for forgiveness. She wound her hands into Shadarii’s hair and cried as though her heart would break.

Shadarii’s small black hand rose up to stroke Harïsh’s hair. The healer slowly pulled away, her hand trailing down across Shadarii’s breast.

The wound had gone.

Kotaru lifted Shadarii in his arms, then reached down to kiss Harïsh and softly nuzzle through her hair. With gentle steps he bore the Teacher off towards the cool green trees of home.

Kïtashii hesitantly wandered over to Zhukora’s resting place. Daimïru still clung face to face against the corpse, and Zhukora lay at peace beneath soft sheets of golden hair. Daimïru never stirred from her hopeless embrace.

The little girl reached out her hand and drew away Daimïru’s hair. The warrior was locked gently in a kiss with Zhukora’s open lips. She held her lover tight against herself and lay in peace.

The spear joined them forever; Daimïru had deliberately run the blade through her own heart.

One last perfect kiss.

Kïtashii let Daimïru’s hair spill back down across her face. The girl held Rooshïkii’s hand as they wandered off in silence. One by one the people turned away; forest folk and plainsmen wandered side by side like pilgrims waking from a dream. They left the battlefield behind and let the nightmare fade away.

***

The sun sank towards the far horizon, and crimson shafts of light reached out to brush the clouds. They stained the lagoons with bars of steel and gold, making perfect mirrors for the subtle evening stars.

Two lovers lay locked in an embrace, black hair mingling with gold in a harmony of light. They clung together in an act of worship, held together by a bond that even death refused to break.

Deep within the corpses, something soft and beautiful began to stir. Daimïru’s fur rippled to the touch of unseen currents as a wild shape stole up into the ïsha to dance with delight. The Ka wheeled above its discarded shell, spreading out its glorious new wings.

Slowly, hesitantly, another light began to glow. A second Ka crept softly out to join the first; a stream of black to compliment the other creature’s gold. It reached hesitantly out to its companion, whimpering as it felt itself entwined and adored.

The black Ka cried. Its companion opened out and offered up a treasure to its love.

One simple gift; the blessing of forgiveness.

The creatures twined their auras into one. In a sudden blaze of joy they made love beneath the stars. The spirits mingled in a swirling dance that filled the skies with light, then raced across the grass and wheeled into the sky.

Free!

Together. Always together. Zhukora and Daimïru sped off into the night. With a final peal of laughter they were gone. The sun sank down, the bright stars shone. The Wind and Rain came forth to wash the whole world clean.

Somewhere in the ïsha, a new Dream shone with love.

Epilogue

The Leader-Elect of the United Tribes paced up and down before an attentive group of students. As elected ruler of the Kashran race, the dignity of the government was his alone to burnish and uphold. Kotaru marched grandly back and forth before his audience, pondering the important lessons he was about to share.

A tiny creature followed in Kotaru’s wake, wagging dainty yellow wings as he tugged his father’s tail. The fuzzy toddler was dressed in miniature leathers just like his father’s own; there were moccasins on his tiny feet and fine new leggings for his shins. Kotaru had made the clothes himself, and he felt inordinately proud of his own handiwork; the first hunting outfit for his son.

His son!

Kotaru still couldn’t quite believe it. A child - his child! Small, perfect, and as golden as a buttercup; the very image of his mother. Kokïku-chi¹ was the bright star shining in his father’s sky. Kotaru swept his son into his arms and tickled the giggling child across the belly.

“I was coming. I merely wished to make sure Kokïku understands. This is his first hunting trip, and he must learn to pay attention.”

“Quite. Well we can tickle his tummy later after breakfast.”

Hupshu hoisted the furry little bundle up between his wings. The toddler laughed and clenched his fists in his favourite uncle’s hair.

Hupshu looked just fine. Marriage had matured him, and the new wings suited him; they suited everyone! Kotaru stretched his own pinions and felt a stab of guilt. They were an inexcusable vanity for a hunter. The old browns and greys had been easier to hide. Still, a leader was expected to have a bit of colour about him; no one wore drab wings any more.

Nobility had not worked as a system, but new hope had arisen with a system of elected officers and chiefs. Zhukora had left her mark upon posterity; there were no social classes anymore. No one cared about clans and tribes, mountains plains or sea; three cultures bloomed and grew beneath the Silent Lady’s loving gaze.

“Keketál! There’s a hundred jugs of my best beer needed for today. If you don’t get a wriggle on, we’ll never get them bottled up in time. Now shake your tail or Harïsh will have us both for breakfast!”

Kotaru grumbled and got down on his belly, spears and woomera clattering as he pushed his way beneath the brush. His long tail waggled slowly left to right as he began to search for prey.

Fifty spans away a waterhole shone like burnished steel. Cockatoos argued bitterly as they picked the grass for seeds, and a pair of goannas dozed peacefully in the sun. And there, right at the water’s edge, sat the prey Kotaru’s mouth watered for.

Emu!

The two gigantic birds stalked past the waterhole. One bird curled its neck around to stare at Kotaru’s bush, mad eyes glaring above a frog-mouthed beak as the creature gave its warning boom.

Kotaru gave a laugh; aware of him? Ridiculous! It wasn’t as if anyone had been making any noise. Kotaru reemerged from beneath the bush and sought his little son.

“Psst! Fluffbucket, what’s that down there, eh? There, d’ you see? What’s that?”

Kokïku-chi seemed far more interested in a butterfly that flew between his father’s ears. Kotaru patiently tried again, turning the little two-year-old towards the prey.

“Right, now pay attention. Your Emu has no sense of smell, so there’s no need to mask scent like you do with kangaroos. Easy prey! Cooked with herbs and butter there’s nothing like it on this earth.” Kotaru passed Kokïku over to his uncle and collected all his spears. “You just watch, Kokïku! I’ll shoot first, and the second one can be yours.”

Emu for supper, and a triumphant entrance through Tingtraka’s doors with meat across his back! They could all stare in envy at their Elected Leader’s skill. Kotaru crawled merrily through the bushes, already savouring his evening meal…

***

In the early hours of the morning, Kotaru-Keketál came home to a little house beside the forest. The High Priestess of the united tribes rose from her door to meet him. Tingtraka had been making bread, and flour had dusted all across her woollen skirt. Still so newly wed to Hupshu that she found each day an adventure, Tingtraka waved her fine new orange wings and gave a smile.

“Harïsh is inside helping bottle Hupshu’s beer.” The woman wiped her face, accidentally streaking flour across her nose. “What’s wrong with your tail? Is that an emu bite?”

Kotaru mustered what little dignity still remained and tugged his loincloth into place. He carefully lowered his son into Tingtraka’s arms.

“We’ve been hunting. Kokïku has brought his hosts a gift of meat. It’s never too soon for a man to be learning his responsibilities.”

“You’ve brought us an emu?”

“Um… Well not as such…”

Kotaru brought a hand out from behind his back. He held a scrawny goanna dangling by its tail. Tingtraka serenely took it from him and laid the meat beside the fire.

Harïsh appeared in the garden carrying a basket of yams. At eighteen, the girl seemed more beautiful than ever before. The white beads of a full surgeon gleamed about her slender throat. Motherhood had brought maturity to her golden eyes. She looked silently towards her husband before giving him a peaceful smile. Harïsh nodded to Kotaru and motioned him to go on his way.