Wings of Wrath

by C. S. Friedman

  As for the orphaned riders, if they had not been driven mad already by the months of close confinement, losing their winged consorts in the spring frenzy completed the job. Some would stagger along the bloodstained slopes howling like wounded animals, a sound more empty and terrible than anything Nyuku would have imagined might come from a human throat. Others turned their gleaming iridescent knives upon themselves, preferring to die than live with only half a soul. A precious few—not wholly mad, but not wholly sane either—wandered off into the wasteland where others could not see them, and somehow managed to survive until the blooding of the next clutch. Then and only then they would return to the colony and try to win the favor of a newly blooded male. If they succeeded, then their spirits might be made whole again. If not, then they ended their life as food, the same as every other rejected creature in the barren landscape. The harsh northern climate allowed for no other options.

  Once it had been otherwise.

  Once (the eldest members of the colony told him) the ikati had ruled the skies of the southlands. The air was so warm there that they were able to fly freely even after the Sun set, not needing its rays upon their wings to heat their blood. And the Sun rose every morning, no matter what the season, to heat the earth anew. There was even a place where snow never fell at all (or so he was told), and herd beasts could graze in the fields whenever they liked! Born to a world of ice and snow, his entire existence circumscribed by the narrow margins of a Sun Stone’s heat, Nyuku could not even imagine such a place. Indeed, when the eldest first told him it existed, he had thought it no more than a wild dream. How could such a place be real?

  But then one day at the height of summer he had flown southward for many days, far enough to see the mysterious barrier that marked the end of the world, and to feel its power. The half of him that was ikati knew with certain animal instinct that his ancestors had indeed come from the far side of that cursed barrier and that he was destined to return there, to a world neither Nyuku nor the ikati had ever seen, but that both now hungered for with every fiber of their joint being.

  It was their birthright.

  Now. Now. The ikati’s need, fiery and terrible, pounded into him with each new wingstroke. They must follow the Sun. They must do it now. The drive was so powerful he could not resist it—he did not want to resist it—and he screamed out his defiance to the ancient witches who had erected the barrier, daring them to do their worst to him. Bloodless cowards all of them, who had enchanted this stretch of ground so that no living creature could cross it, then gone back to the warm and welcoming lands of the south to live in comfort! He cursed them with all his strength as his ikati picked up speed, energized by his hatred. Soon he would break through to the other side, then those mewling cowards of the south would pay the price for their handiwork!

  Others of the colony had attempted the same feat and come back with their tails against their bellies, he knew that. But those others had not been born to this icy land, nor had they been tempered in their youth by its harshness. Now he would show the elders of the colony what a true son of the ice was capable of. Then they would have to eat every word of disdain they had ever directed at him. He would prove himself better than any of them!

  Closer and closer the ikati flew to the great barrier, his great wings casting blue and violet shadows along the snow. From this close to the barrier Nyuku could see individual whorls and eddies of power rippling through it, like streamers of the aurora rippling across a midnight sky. It seemed to him he could hear a distant screaming, too, and the sound of it sent shivers down his spine. Other had come this far and turned back, he knew. But he would not stop. Nothing mattered now but the fact that the Sun would soon set on the far side of that barrier, and he—they—must follow it. From the moment he had been born, he understood now, that this was his destiny.

  The screaming grew louder as they approached. And louder. It filled the frozen air around them, a terrible agonized wailing; the sheer pressure of it sent sparks of pain lancing through Nyuku’s head, as if his skull were about to explode. In its wake came a storm of fearsome emotions, raw and unfettered, that assailed not only his ears but his mind, crowding out all rational thought. Blinding terror. Starvation. Despair. The sensations curled over him like black, frothing waves, their depths suffocating; he gripped the ikati with all his might while his spirit struggled to surface. Suffocation. Starvation. Fear. Beneath him he could feel his consort’s back muscles tighten as he, too, reeled before the onslaught. Raw, bestial panic from the ikati poured into his brain, threatening to drown out the last fragments of his human sanity.

  Then the creature faltered in his flight, his wingstrokes losing their synchronicity; for one gut-wrenching moment it was as if the air beneath them had suddenly ceased to exist and they began to plummet downward. Squeezing his eyes shut, focusing all his concentration inward, Nyuku struggled to lend his ikati strength. It worked for a handful of seconds—the creature regained his composure long enough for a dozen wingstrokes, then two—and then the witchery of the barrier overcame them both. The great wings faltered and they began to fall once more. The snow-covered landscape rushed up to meet them and Nyuku knew with dread certainty that if they fell to earth within range of the dreaded barrier they would never be able to rise again. They would be trapped here forever, while all the power of that ancient witchery poured into their heads.

  Trapped here forever!

  What madness had driven him to come here, to test himself against a curse so powerful that it had effectively divided the world in two? Even if his consort could have remained airborne long enough to breach the barrier, they would both have been doomed the minute they crossed it. Their bodies might pass through to the other side but their souls would surely be sucked out of their skins and bound to this place, their screams added to the chorus of spirits already trapped here. Other men, sensing their presence, would recoil in horror and turn back before it was too late.

  As he should have done.

  “Go back!” he gasped. It took every ounce of strength he had to form the human words; the best he could manage was a hoarse whisper. But the ikati heard him. A shudder passed through his long body as he struggled to focus on Nyuku’s voice, to drive back the tide of madness. For a moment Nyuku thought they would hit the ground before the creature could regain control of himself, but at the last moment the broad wings fell into an ordered pattern once more and the snow just beneath them was beaten into whirlwinds as the ikati struggled to pull out of his fall. Against all odds, he succeeded. Struggling for each wingbeat, he managed to rise up a few feet and turn himself back north. Putting the barrier behind him seemed to help him focus. Inch by inch he regained altitude, until the ground was a safe distance beneath them. Slowly but surely he carried Nyuku northward, away from the dreaded barrier and certain destruction.

  Trapped here! the voices screamed inside him. Taste the pain! Taste the fear! Be one with our dying!

  But the sensations that had almost overwhelmed him were fading now, and after a few minutes of flight the volume of the voices began to fade. Nyuku’s hands, white-knuckled, finally released their death grip on the ikati’s spine ridge. But in his heart a black resentment burned and he knew from the tension in the great creature’s back that his consort shared it.

  That thing had defeated them.

  Not a man. Not a beast. Not any other respectable sort of enemy. Simply a human creation. Words spoken over a line in the snow, witchery used to mark a location.

  Defeated him!

  Between his legs he could feel the ikati’s seething frustration. All his bestial instincts demanded that he go back and confront his enemy, not turn tail and run. But the trickle of human intelligence he absorbed from Nyuku cautioned that such a move would be suicidal and that they must flee instead. Flee! Did the ikati flee from his rivals when the queen took flight? Did he flee those who challenged him for rank, or territory, or a choice bit of meat? Lifting his long throat into the wind, the ikati bellowed
his defiance.

  And he was answered.

  Startled, Nyuku and his mount looked around for the source. It was in the distance, outlined against the redness of the sunset: another ikati. Hot rage surged through them both at the sight; it did not matter in that moment who the strangers were, or what they wanted; the mere fact that they had seen them in their moment of weakness was offense enough.

  Nyuku’s ikati screamed out his challenge to the skies, and was answered.

  It began to fly toward the intruder.

  Dimly, as if in another world, Nyuku realized he should be afraid. When the ikati challenged one another they usually did so as beasts and beasts alone, leaving their fragile human companions safely on the ground. But hatred and rage were pounding in the ikati’s veins now, and from there into Nyuku’s own, discouraging all rational thought. A strange, distant part of Nyuku knew that he needed to exert some kind of control over his mount or he would surely be crushed to death between feuding ikati. But it was only a distant instinct, a human instinct, and right now he was not wholly human.

  Nyuku could not see his opponent’s face clearly in the dying light, but he recognized the ikati he was riding, and that told him all he needed to know. The man seated between those wings was one of the original members of the colony, a quiet but cunning man who had frustrated Nyuku’s ambitions on more than one occasion. His mount was fast and flexible and truly fearsome in combat; more than once Nyuku’s own had been forced to give way to him in mating season. The wounds that he had received on such occasions might have healed since then, but the wounds to his pride never had.

  Nyuku’s ikati bellowed again, this time in pure hatred, and Nyuku screamed with him. All that mattered now was how he would cry his triumph to the winds when his rival was finally torn to pieces. Loudly he would scream it out; loudly enough for his rivals to hear, that they might fear him; loudly enough for the queen of their kind to hear from her hiding place, so that she might desire him. Images of heat and hunger surged through their merged consciousness and Nyuku’s groin stiffened in response. Pressed against the ikati’s tough hide, he flinched in pleasure and pain at each rhythmic thrust of the powerful wing muscles beneath him. The small wings at the base of the ikati’s neck flared briefly—a sexual display—then folded back tightly over him, pinning him in place. The musky odor of the creature filled his nostrils, drowning out the last of his human resistance. A heady drug, powerfully addictive. How could any man ever have enough of it?

  Now they were truly one.

  Backlit by crimson skies, the ikati faced off against each other. They had come as close as they dared in their approach and now circled each other restlessly, seeking an opening to strike. In mating season they might have spread their display wings wide, enhancing their size and fierceness tenfold, each trying to cow the other into retreat. But with the men on their backs such tactics were not possible. Nor could they afford to waste much time in ritual posturing. The air was cold and the Sun was already low in the heavens, near to setting; the energy required for sustained combat was simply not available. Not unless the ikati devoured their riders for strength—an unspeakable crime that the colony would never accept.

  The intruder struck.

  His movements were a blur, violet wings beating against the frigid winds as he twisted suddenly, reaching out with his razor-sharp talons. But the movement was merely a feint to drive them where the intruder wanted them, and even as they dodged the blow, his long tail came whipping toward them with a force that cracked in the air, cutting off their retreat. Nyuku’s mount dropped down—straight down—barely fast enough to save himself. The tail tip passed between his wing layers, deadly blades just missing their target.

  Nyuku’s ikati lunged upward. It was all that Nyuku could do to hold onto the spine ridge as they came up under their opponent, daring a vertical assault. It was a maneuver that made Nyuku’s heart lurch in his chest, but the risk paid off. His mount’s great jaws snapped shut on the lower edge of the intruder’s neck, dragging him downward until his own wings failed. Then the ikati were in freefall, riders clinging desperately to their backs, spiraling about each other as each tried to reclaim the skies at the other’s expense.

  Many times Nyuku had watched while the ikati fought, admiring the grace of their combat. How like a dance it had all seemed then, great serpentine bodies twisting about each other in endlessly changing patterns, each striving to gain an advantageous position for the split second it would take to launch the perfect strike. Their bodies might be well armored but their wings were vulnerable in combat and nature had outfitted them accordingly; a single cut from a tail tip, a single slice from a talon, might end an ikati’s flying for a season—or forever.

  It was not a dance this time. Not with men right in the middle of it. Not with claws and teeth passing mere inches from their backs and the sharp blades at the end of those long, whiplike tails whistling just past their heads. Nature had equipped the ikati to tear each other to pieces and human survival was not necessarily part of that equation.

  Suddenly the intruder slashed at the forward wing of Nyuku’s mount, gashing it deeply before the ikati could pull free. Sympathetic pain shot through Nyuku’s right arm as his winged brother struggled to steady his flight, blood seeping from the wound. The wing membrane was still holding its shape, but for how long? The moment the skin began to separate from the delicate framework that supported it they would lose their mobility, and with it any hope of winning this deadly contest. Nyuku felt the powerful muscles beneath him tighten in sudden anticipation, and then suddenly they were twisting in a spiral, but headed upward instead of downward. His ikati reared back, driving him up and into the wings of his opponent. The force of the impact stunned Nyuku and for a few terrifying seconds the entire world spun madly about his head. Desperately he gripped the ikati’s spine ridge, flattening himself against the creature’s back. If he lost hold now, he thought, nothing would be able to save him.

  Heart pounding, a cold sweat covering his forehead, it took him several long seconds to realize that the combat had ended.

  The intruder was gone.

  His ikati struggled to steady his flight, favoring his damaged wing. Nyuku looked out over the sunset-reddened landscape to find the intruder. He was some distance from them now, and badly wounded. Apparently Nyuku’s mount had driven himself straight into his opponent’s wingspan, sharp spinal spikes tearing his rival’s wings to pieces, ripping membrane from bone. Now as the creature struggled, his lopsided wingstroke was bringing him down in a tight spiral—directly toward the cursed barrier.

  Nyuku watched in horrified fascination, wondering at what point the terrible voices would start to scream to them, bringing madness in their wake. The ikati seemed to convulse as he fell, muscles spasming down the length of his body as he fought for control, but with two wings torn to pieces there was little hope. With a final desperate thrust of his remaining wings the great beast lunged upward one last time, as if sheer force of will could hold gravity in abeyance. The forward wings lost their strength then, falling suddenly open, and a small, dark shape fell from the creature’s back. Was it by chance or intent that the rider had abandoned his mount? Did he deem it a better fate to fall to earth on his own, or had the madness of the barrier’s curse weakened his grip so that nothing else was possible? Nyuku watched in horrified fascination as the man plummeted to the earth, unable to save himself. What was it like to see death coming so very clearly and yet be unable to escape it?

  That could have been me.

  The ikati struck the ground with an impact that shook the earth. His neck was doubled at an unnatural angle and his wings were crushed beneath his torso. If he was not dead yet, he would be soon enough. The rider, on the other hand, had landed in a deep snow bank, and it was possible some spark of life still clung to him. But he was within range of the barrier’s witchery now, and the spirits would be moving in to claim him. Soon he might well regret that he had not died cleanly in the fall. It
was not the kind of end that Nyuku would have wished upon anyone, but there was no denying the rush of elation he felt to see him dying thus. Soon he would have one less rival to deal with.

  His consort clearly wanted to get close enough to the man’s body to claim the last sparks of his life-essence. Ikati did not normally feed on the humans who served their kind—such an act would stress their fragile society to the breaking point—but an orphaned rider was fair game. With the sun setting for the last time in months, and the air chilled by the coming winter, the ikati had little energy to spare right now and needed every fresh drop he could gather. But the man’s body was too close to the barrier for them to approach safely, and in the end the ikati had to withdraw. At full strength he might have dared the approach and tried to face down the madness that the barrier would pour into his brain, but with his wing torn and bleeding and pain attending every movement, he dared not take such a risk. Already Nyuku could feel a deadly chill creeping into his consort’s flesh and he knew they had very little time before the last of his strength was gone and winter’s lethargy began to set in. They had to get within range of the Sun Stone’s heat before that happened; the wing would never heal properly otherwise.

  But this year there would be one less rider wintering in the crowded caverns, he thought with elation. One less elder to frustrate his ambitions come spring. That was surely worth a little pain, yes?

  Slowly, carefully, the wounded ikati turned north once more and began the long flight home. While behind his back the shadows of the Long Night crept in from the edges of the sky, eager to devour the icelands and all who were too weak to survive them.