The Unfinished Song (Book 5): Wing

by Tara Maya

  “And this is the loom Spider Woman gave us, that whoever should reach the age where she can top her loom shall be called a woman and recognized by all the tribe.”

  As she said it, she kicked the loom.

  The crash when it hit the ground reverberated throughout the lodge. But Umbral had done his job well. The loom did not break. It now stood on four stubby legs, like a table a handsbreadth off the ground.

  The watching throng, who had been lulled into breathless absorption with her dance and story, gasped collectively. In an eyeblink, half the room jumped to their feet, some worried, some furious, depending on whether they realized Dindi had knocked the loom down on purpose.

  Dindi let her voice boom without shouting, a neat Tavaedi trick. Her voice carried over the crowd.

  “Farla! Stand next to your loom!”

  Startled, Farla hobbled up to the stage. Dindi spread her arms to the crowd.

  “Behold, Farla is taller than her loom. She is a woman, by the customs of your clan and tribe and from this day forward must be accorded such honor.”

  “Fa!” shouted Essi. “No loom will work if it is on the floor!”

  But the others in the room already saw what Essi could not. Traditionally, the upright looms in Spider Weaver clanhold did not have a wooden bar on the bottom; the vertical threads were held down by stone weights. Umbral had changed the design, adding a bottom bar, and tying the threads around the bar. Both warp and weft were tightly secured and the loom could be used from a sitting position.

  The elders crowded onto the stage. They examined the horizontal loom. They scratched their white hair. They looked at Dindi, and at Farla.

  The Matriarch of the clan cleared her throat. “No one outside our clan knows the secret story of Spider Woman, or that we are descendants of an Aelfae. Truly, your powers must be great, and you must be favored by her memory. We will honor Farla. And we will honor you.”

  She knelt to Dindi. The other elders knelt as well. A ripple spread through the room as one after another bent knee and bowed head to her. Even Farla and Essi knelt. Farla wept openly. Every person in the lodge went down on their knees.

  Almost every person.

  Umbral stood at the farthest end of the lodge, near the door. Dindi was sure he had not been there during most of her dance, but he had seen the climax, including when she knocked over the loom.

  Neither praise nor respect shone in his eyes. His arms were crossed and the expression on his face promised stone cold murder.

  Dindi didn’t understand until she saw what he clenched in one fist.

  The corncob doll.

  He knows.

  Umbral

  Umbral returned to the Lodge just as Dindi was finishing the dance of Spider Woman. The brilliance of the Orange glow around her disturbed him. Another Presence filled her, overflowed from her, weaving a Vision of another life, an ancient world, a Vision that all in the crowd could see. Even blind Essi, who stood near the back of the Lodge near him, was gazing raptly at the stage, as if the Chromas pierced her white eyes.

  He had never seen a tama like this. Dindi had danced her own story. She had also opened herself up to the colors of the loom. Somehow her own story had found an echo of the ancient one, and the lingering memory of Spider Lady, still alive in her loom, had stepped into Dindi’s body. It was more than a Vision. It was as if she had become Spider Lady.

  “What has she done?”

  He wasn’t aware he’d asked the question out loud until Essi answered him.

  “It’s said that Spider Lady’s bite could unweave a man or woman’s memory Pattern, and with her webs, she could reweave that memory, either restoring it, or replacing it with another person’s Pattern. But I have never seen her do it until now.”

  “But she is dead. How can the dead reweave the Chromas of the living?”

  “The Deathsworn thought that they destroyed the Aelfae. But did they? Souls are larger than mere selves. The souls of the Aelfae were the widest of all, like Spider Lady’s web, woven into everything they touched. They spun their loves from the bowels of the earth to the bowl of the sky. To love something is to take it into yourself, and leave yourself knotted inside it. The Aelfae are not gone. They are all around us. Unraveled, like threads torn off a loom, like strands plucked out of a rug. But who may say when some Great Weaver might find a way to string them back onto the world loom?

  “I know what you are,” Essi whispered to him. “The blind are not blinded by the dark. But I also know there is more than darkness in you. There is something else, another Pattern, struggling inside you.”

  “It’s not mine. It is the Pattern of a dead man.”

  “Beware the dead. They return through the crevices in shattered souls. And your soul is so very, very shattered, Deathsworn. If you don’t even know who you are, how can you protect yourself from becoming someone you aren’t?”

  Dindi kicked over the Loom and invited Farla on stage. This, Umbral had expected, her little trick to make Farla a woman. He had doubted it would convince the clan.

  That was before he—and the Spider Weaver clan—had seen the power and Presence in Dindi’s dance. She had brought their ancestor back to life. There was nothing they would deny her now. They crowded around her, praising and fawning over her. As well they should.

  She could do it. Dread cut him to the bone. She could bring them all back.

  He must slay her now.

  Tamio

  “Fool boy!” said Vumo. He sounded tired. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me kill you.”

  “You’re the one who will go down, old man!” Tamio shot back.

  Under the empty sky, surrounded by a circle of frowning mountain peaks, and a ring of nattering men and women, they faced off against each other. Each was armed with a short spear.

  “We can both back down,” said Vumo. “We were drunk last night. It was a mistake.”

  Back down? Never. I can take him. Beat him to the ground. He deserves it. Then when I have him smashed to the dirt, with my foot on his neck, I’ll spare his life. No explanation. I’ll just say, “Even killing you is a waste of my time.”

  “You’re a liar,” Tamio sneered at Vumo. “A womanizer. A cheat. A bastard...”

  “Sure,” said Vumo. “But what’s it to you?”

  “It’s everything to me, you fat piece of goat muck!”

  Tamio charged into the fight.

  Vumo wasn’t where he should have been. Muck and mercy. The old coot was fast. But solid as a tree. He didn’t fight like a Sheep Drover, either. He knew how to roll, how to flip, how to kick, how to be elsewhere whenever Tamio tried to land a blow.

  Vumo fought like a Zavaedi. Not just any Zavaedi; one trained in the Rainbow Labyrinth, where they started fighting and dancing when they were three and did nothing else for the next forty years. Probably Kavio could have taken him down. But Tamio quickly realized he could not.

  He stopped holding back. There wasn’t any point; Vumo was better than he was. He also gave in to his temper, though it didn’t help him. Fury felt good. He didn’t have to think anymore. Maybe he’d die. He didn’t care anymore.

  Vumo feinted and led Tamio into overreaching. That was all it took. Vumo brought his spear up and under, right at Tamio’s heart, and Tamio knew it would be the killing blow. He tried to do one last thing, bring out the conch shell to show his father before he died, but Vumo was too swift. The spear struck.

  The stone tip was deflected from Tamio’s heart by the conch shell. The spear still drove hard into Tamio’s body, piercing a shoulder rather than the heart. Blood soaked his leather tunic. He crumbled to the ground. He pulled out the conch. He had not intended to say anything to Vumo, but now he wanted him to know the truth. Since Tamio was dying, it couldn’t hurt him and it seemed important to say.

  “I’m your son.”

  Dindi

  The crowd had bowed to her. Now they all stood up again, to cheer her, and try to come near her to offer their thanks and gratitude
. They wanted her to know how awed they were by her dance. They wanted her to bless them and some requested she dance spells for their own problems.

  Dindi smiled and touched hands and kissed babies pressed up to her, but the whole time she was aware of Umbral beelining toward her with murder in his mien.

  Two groups of clansfolk fell into a noisy argument about who had first rights on Dindi’s next dance. She took advantage of the commotion to slip down the ladder through the hole in the stage.

  Only Farla noticed her escape. She followed Dindi down the ladder before Dindi could close the trap door.

  “Your master wants to kill you,” Farla said bluntly. “You’re a slave alone among enemies. You’re an idiot if you think you can escape.”

  Wonderful, Dindi thought. Farla would probably be the first to tell Umbral where she’d gone. Not that it mattered, since Farla was right. Umbral would find her. There was no place in the clanhold she could hide. There was no place outside the clanhold she could go.

  “I know why your master wants to kill you,” Farla said. “You showed him your power. And now he’s afraid. Why would you do it? And of all people, why would you risk your life to help me?”

  Dindi had no answer, but Farla shrugged.

  “Never mind, I know why. You said it all in the dance. I saw you in the Vision, you know. Not just Spider Woman but you.”

  “You saw a Vision when I danced?” Dindi asked.

  “Yes. I don’t know if the others did or not. But I saw your Initiation. I saw the Duck Hunt.”

  Dindi felt her face heat with shame. “Yes. That was me. The Duck. I’m still being hunted, and too stupid to find a way out. Only this time it will cost me my life.”

  “Yes, if you try to escape alone,” said Farla. “But if I help you, you might, just might survive. There’s a secret road that few outside our clan know. I can show it to you. Help me move these jars, they’re too heavy for me.”

  Dindi wondered if this were some kind of prank, but she played along. To her surprise, after she helped Farla move the heavy jars of potatoes, she saw a tiny door in the wall. It was about right for Farla, and a bit tight for Dindi, unless she crawled.

  “Come along, then!” snapped Farla. “We haven’t much time!”

  Bemused, Dindi followed her. The door led through a moldy dirt tunnel held up with logs

  The tunnel was not long. It let out past the wooden stockade around the clanhold. For once there was nothing spastic in Farla’s moves. Every step was smooth, swift, deliberate. This was no prank.

  “There is a way you can escape him.” Farla’s devious grin never more welcome. “A secret path. I will show you. I will save your life.”

  “I can’t ask that of you.”

  “You can’t refuse me,” said Farla. “You gave me more than my loom. You tied me to you. Look.”

  Farla paused and aura shimmered around her, deep and pure Orange, and she spread a few strands between her fingers, as if playing a child’s game of cat’s cradle. Dindi saw that the glowing threads connected to threads in her own aura.

  “Because you drew me into your Vision, and for a moment, I became you and felt everything you felt, a life thread connects us,” said Farla. “It can never be broken.”

  “I didn’t mean to endanger you,” said Dindi. She knew Umbral wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt Farla, but neither would he allow anything to stop him from fulfilling his duty as he saw it, not even killing an innocent.

  They walked a way in silence, except for Farla’s noisy huffs. Farla led Dindi up the rocky slope until they reached the frozen river at the head of the valley.

  “The hollow mountain where the Aelfae locked Spider Woman still exists,” said Farla. “It is the mountain under the tribehold and we live at the base of it. But to reach the entrance to the caves during the winter, you must travel the Ice Snake.”

  “The Ice Snake?”

  “The river. Be careful of thin ice. Spring is near. This is the most dangerous time of year to travel. If you had any other choice, I would tell you do not dare it.

  Dindi stared at the river.

  The Ice Snake was aptly named. Slippery and serpentine, as soon as it left the valley, it traversed a series of switchbacks through canyons so narrow and high they allowed no footage even to sheep. Wind howled from a thousand directions, bouncing off the canyon walls, like a hungry wolf pack. Dindi had a premonition as strong any Vision, though there was no visual component, only dread. Her bones themselves shivered. This road will swallow me.

  “Take my cloak and my boots,” said Farla. “I should not have let you come in that ridiculous rag.”

  Dindi still wore her Aelfae gown. Her feet were bare. But she tried to push Farla’s warm offerings back at her. “I can’t take these. You’ll need them more than I.”

  Since I’ll probably die anyway, Dindi added silently, cloak or not.

  Farla insisted. “We are of one cloth now, remember?”

  So Dindi put them on. Farla had big feet for her size, and Dindi’s were petite for hers, so the boots fit surprisingly well. The fleece delighted her toes. The outside of the boots were oiled and waterproof, so even when she crossed onto the ice into the center of the river, she could not feel the ice through the soles.

  Dindi looked back at Farla, who stood barefoot on the shore. Who would have guessed that Farla of all people would give up her only winter clothes to save an enemy outtriber runaway slave? In the great pattern of things, would Farla’s sacrifice make any difference? Probably not. Probably it would not even save Dindi from Umbral. Nothing would; he was too relentless. But it mattered to Dindi that Farla had tried to do one small, good thing. It mattered.

  “Remember me when I’m gone,” Dindi begged her. No one else would know how she died.

  “I will weave your story into a new tapestry, Dindi. I will teach it to my clan and all will teach it to their daughters and to their daughters’ daughters, to the utmost generation. You will not be forgotten.”

  Umbral

  Essi blocked his way when Umbral tried to follow Dindi down into the pit beneath the stage.

  “I see you.” Essi jabbed a bony finger at his chest. “I see the shadow in you.”

  “This is not the day to stand between me and my prey, Essi,” he warned in a low growl.

  “You are woven with all the wrong colors,” she said, indifferent to his threat. “All wrong. And so many of the threads are broken or missing. But the pattern is there in the weave. I see you, shadow man. I see your true colors. And so does she.”

  “Where is she? Tell me!”

  “Gone by now, shadow. Long gone.” Essi cackled.

  Furious, Umbral turned and ran from the lodge. He would have shoved aside anyone in his way, but he didn’t need to. The crowd parted from him as sheep darting away from a dog.

  Outside, he stood in the center of the clanhold, eyes shut. He tasted the threads of magic around him, until he found the strand of sweetness. She could run, but she could never escape him.

  Hate was as strong a bond as love. They were tied together now and would be ever more.

  He followed her thread.

  Hadi

  When Hadi heard Tamio had challenged Zavaedi Vumo to a duel, he couldn’t believe it. Sure, the geezer was a blowhard and a lush, but he was still a ZAVAEDI, for mercy’s sake. No sane person challenged Zavaedies to duels. Tamio was crazy but even he wasn’t that crazy.

  Except when he was.

  “Can’t you stop this fight?” Hadi begged Kemla when the crowd gathered to watch the fight.

  “It’s something he has to do,” she said.

  She looked unusually grim, even given the circumstances. As if she knew more than she wanted to say.

  Hadi wondered wildly what could have compelled Tamio to fight.

  Not a single possibility flew into his mind. Empty sky.

  While he was blanking out, the fight began. He snapped back to attention.

  All he could do was watch anxiously
, hands clutching his own spear tightly, as if he could jump into the fight and help. He couldn’t and maybe there was a cowardly part of him that was glad of that, but still. He held on tight. His lips moved with silent words of encouragement. All around him, the crowd shouted and cheered and jeered, but Hadi didn’t want to distract Tamio. Not for one blink of the eye. The least mistake…

  And there it was.

  Tamio crumpled to the dirt beneath Vumo’s spear. Blood soaked the earth.

  “No!” cried Hadi. He broke free of the circle of onlookers and heedless of taboos or consequences, ran to his friend.

  Tamio had a slightly bewildered expression on his face, which under any other circumstances, would have been rather funny to Hadi. Now it only broke his heart.

  Hadi shouted some curse at Vumo, but the older man had an almost identical expression of bewilderment. He knelt beside Tamio.

  “Get your hands off him!” shouted Hadi.

  Vumo ignored him. He took Hadi’s hands and positioned them over the hole in Tamio’s chest.

  “Press here,” ordered Vumo. “My spear did not touch his heart. If it also missed his lung, he may survive.”

  Vumo pulled something from Tamio’s vest. “This is what saved him.”

  It was a conch shell. Hadi could not think of any reason Tamio would have brought a shell with him into a duel. Right now, the shell was shiny red with blood. Tamio’s blood.

  Oh muck, oh muck, oh muck, Hadi thought. He held the hole closed, but blood seeped between his fingers. “I’ve already lost too many friends, Tamio. You better not leave me too.”

  Kemla was there. Hadi hadn’t seen her approach, but she bent over Tamio long enough to say, “I will find you a healer, Tamio. I won’t let you die.”

  She kissed his forehead. Then she stood up, to go look for a healer, presumably, but she had no chance.

  A shadow passed over the ground. Hadi knew that shadow. The shape of spread wings, the sheer size.