by Paul Kidd
Zhukora felt a rising sense of panic.
“Father, I am a huntress. The game is running out! The hunting zones empty quicker every year!”
“We shall soon be moving to our summer villages. The game will be plentiful and the garden groves shall all be full.”
“Father…”
“Hush child. You shall be present at the council tomorrow to help me to my place. You may stay and listen to the wise decisions of the elders.”
Zhukora’s ears flattened.
“Yes sire. As you say.”
At a hundred and ten years of age, Nochorku stood as a pillar of the clan society. Even so, his inner strength had faded; since the loss of his wife in childbirth, a spark had slowly died within him. Nochorku had slipped into a strange, vague world of self involvement, and the only glories of his life were precedent and tradition.
Zhukora glared down at the ground, her eyes glittering with bitterness. Would he have ruled against the interests of his own eldest daughter? Would he have shamed her before the whole assembled clan?
Oh yes. Oh yes indeed…
Time passed, but the old man felt no need to speak. He asked no questions about Zhukora’s life. It was a dull pain that she had almost grown used to. Zhukora finally stood and smoothed her gleaming hair.
“I shall fetch your jewellry, father. Someone might come to visit us during dinner. It would be wise to be prepared.”
“Yes. Well hurry on, then!”
Zhukora knelt dutifully behind her father, tying gleaming belts and headbands into place. Suddenly the old man chose to speak once more.
“I dreamed your mother’s Ka again last night. She came just after midnight when the moon was full. She always did love the moon; it always brought the red out in her fur…
“It was so nice to see her once again. I do love her so. Sometimes it’s so hard to be without her. So very hard…”
One eye suddenly opened, suddenly gleaming sharp and lucid.
“How is Shadarii?”
Zhukora made a face, tugging grimly at a leather thong.
“She’s disgraced herself again! The Dancing Mistress came to me with yet another complaint about her! She refuses to toe the line and work with other girls.”
Her father seemed not even to have heard. His thin, long face nodded slowly up and down.
“Yes, a strange girl. So very strange. A certain beauty, though. So very like her mother…”
Zhukora’s hands froze, and pain sparked deep inside her eyes. The girl stiffly stood and walked over to the lodgehouse door.
“We shall be waiting below, father. Please come down when you are ready.”
With that, she stepped out into space and plunged towards the ground. Dark wings flicked out to deftly slow her fall. The huntress landed silently, her face poisoned by a welling tide of bitterness.
Shadarii emerged from the hearth shelter, a bowl of water balanced in her hands. Zhukora gave the girl a vicious shove, sending Shadarii sprawling in the dirt.
“Get out of my way! You useless little cripple! You slew my mother with your cursed birth! You bring shame upon my mother’s soul and shame upon our house!” Zhukora’s voice cracked with hate. “Keep away from me! Take your fat arse and go eat where we won’t have to look at you!”
Shadarii hunched beneath the onslaught, her antennae bowed. Pale ïsha fields of pain flailed brokenly about her. Zhukora stared down at her in fury, her chest heaving, thenith a sudden lurch the elder woman turned and stormed away.
Shadarii wept in silence, covering her face in shame.
Overhead, laughter rose to tear at her in spite. Javïra whirred past with a giggling stream of girls behind her. They were sneaking off into the night - off to meet their sweethearts in the forest bracken.
The laughter bubbled on. Shadarii crushed her ears crushed between her hands and fled, launching herself out into the dark.
She flew in vain. No matter where she went, her pain followed close behind.
Notes:
1) ïsha: The background aura or magical field generated by Ka (spirits). Kashran antennae sense the subtle ïsha flow around them, interpreting the changing character of the fields. ïsha perception shall be rendered as seeing “colours” or reading “tastes”, although the actual sensations are radically different. The Kashran sensitivity to ïsha is one of their most delicate, discriminating senses.
2) Kashra: Contracted from the words Ka –shis Shatra Ramuuh - “Children of the Wind and Rain”.
3) Woomera: A spear thrower. A length of hardwood held in the spear hand to increase the effective length of the thrower’s arm.
*) Chaki-Zho: Literally “Honoured folk”. The upper strata of clan society. The Kashranii nobility are distinguished from commoners by their brightly coloured wings.
***) Zha: “Revered”, the suffix reserved for a clan chief or a tribal king.
By donning a mask, a dancer in effect becomes a housing for the Ka of the depicted deity. Nakedness is connected with the assumption of deific power - a deliberate abandonment of mere worldly things.
***) Skreg: Any unidentifiable gluey mass found adhering to the sole of a foot or mocassin.
Chapter Two
Once upon a time, there had been an age of Poison.
The earth had long been sore abused; the trees were thin and sickly, slowly dying from the toxins in the soil, and the seas and rivers flowed thick as pus across a tortured world.
The Wind had been seduced. He had taken the poison spirit as his lover - Our Lady of the Withering Hand. She was beautiful, and she was wanton. The evil spirit laughed and rolled in the destruction she had wrought, while the Wind lay trapped within her spell, shivering beneath the ecstasy of Poison’s touch.
The Rain wept, her heart torn by unrequited love. Without the Wind, her powers dulled, for no one came to bear her up into the skies. Rain languished on the ground and wept, trying to forget the love they once had shared. Finally the pain proved too much for Rain to bear, and so she burrowed into hiding far beneath the ground.
On the world above, the reign of Lady Poison raged unchecked. The forests dried and withered, and the few remaining creatures wandered lost within a haze of pain. Still the Wind sighed and whimpered in his lover’s arms, blind to the destruction he had helped to cause.
The animals finally raised up a wail of hopeless terror, their voices joined by a thousand Ka who still clung loyally to the earth. Their cry pierced the darkness where the Rain sat and shed her tears.
A world died, while far above it all Poison squealed for joy; Rain felt a terrible anger growing in her heart.
Deep inside the darkness, a strange light bloomed. The Fire spirit coiled hissing in the deeps, a thousand wicked plots glittering in its eyes. The creature stealthily crept closer to the Rain.
“Oh Rain, I have brought you a gift to serve your anger. Take it! Reach out and hold the precious thing I offer.”
Rain stretched out a trembling hand. Fire’s gift seemed to sigh and sing like a hungry animal crooning out for blood.
“Lord Fire, I fear to touch it! What will it do to me?”
“Why everything and nothing. It is only a tool; you will make of it whatever you wish. Only remember this; once your hand has touched it, the gift will never leave you. No matter how much you pretend, no matter how deep or far you hide it, the gift shall always be there when you secretly desire.”
Mother Rain suddenly reached out to snatch the gift. The Fire Spirit hissed in glee, then scuttled back into the gloom. The Rain held aloft the shining gift and felt her mind spin bright and new.
“Wait! Fire, what is this gift called? What have you given to me?”
“I call it blade…”
“How shall I pay you? What do you desire from the Rain?”
The Fire only hissed and faded back into the dark.
Rain felt her spirits soar. She sped up from the darkness with stars streaming from her tail, finally seeking to do battle with her enemy.
Lady Poison h
ad news of her coming, and as Rain stared at the withered world, her rival screamed into the attack. The two mighty Ka battled one against the other for the love of Father Wind. Clouds burned and earth trembled - wild energies boiled the waters of the rivers. Hour after hour the combat raged; piece by piece the Rain began to weaken, driven to despair by Poison’s strength.
Finally the Rain was almost spent. Poison lunged in for the kill, but she had not counted on the strength of love. The Wind shouted out in fear, finally seeing how he had been deceived. He hurtled his power to the Rain, giving her the gift of his might.
The Rain lashed out, striking Poison a devastating blow, and the evil Ka reeled back, her blood smoking on the ground. Rain took her and then bound her, trussing the shrieking demon in her own foul hair. Rain banished the evil creature to the cold, dead moon, there to languish in eternal bitterness.
The Wind looked in dismay at the wreckage of the world. Slowly, painfully over many weary years he laboured to set right the evils he had done. The Wind blew away the touch of Poison in the skies while Rain gently washed the burning venom from the earth. They laboured long and hard to make the world as beautiful as it once had been.
When their work was done, the Wind came and begged forgiveness of the Rain, and she gave her love to him without regret; for the Rain knew that man can be a foolish thing, and that the measure of true love is to forgive.
Rain and Wind softly wound together far above the forest heights and made love through a long and gentle evening, filling up the world with joy. To mark their joining, the sun shone out to bathe them both in warmth; and so each sunset marks the blending of the lovers in the sky.
From the glory of their loving, Mother Rain grew great with child. The egg lay in the fertile soil, cradled by the Wind and washed lovingly by Mother Rain. When the egg hatched, they named their lovechild Zui-Kashra-Zha, the “first mother” of the Kashra. They took their child and nurtured her, teaching her how to care for the wide green growing world.
And so the Kashra hold their sacred trust. They move within the forests, caring for the world. They dance eternally beneath the smiling Wind and Rain, the children of a perfect, timeless love.
So it is, so it was, and so it shall always be.
***
To the great tribes of the alpine forest, the seasons were a never changing round. The stately play of time was marked by many things. When cicadas sang in the willow trees, it would be time to gather lily tubers. Fish swarmed up the rivers when the wattles were in flower. As rosehips appeared amongst the brambles, the time came for storing seeds to make the winters bread.
As the first bright days of summer bloomed, it grew time for the totenïha ceremony: The yearly “shedding of the wings”. From all across the mountains, the clans of the Katakanii gathered; the Swallow-Tails and Bird-Wings, the Lacewings, Triangles and Sword-Tails. For one full month the scattered clans became a single tribe.
The Katakanii were an alpine people. Theirs was a world of mighty forests - of cold, clear nights and summers dreams. Far below them lay an untouched world of plains and valleys; an unknown wasteland where the sky glared above the open earth. The ancient laws forbade the alpine people to ever leave the sacred forest eaves. The tribes of plains and forest must never meet; it was the law of peace - the One Great Rule.
The alpine peoples lived in harmony with their precious world. As food resources waxed and waned, each clan moved between a series of permanent villages. The families swept the cobwebs from their houses, made repairs and preened the gardens. The hunters, gardeners and gatherers reaped the bounty that each new season bore.
The Swallow-tail’s move into their new season’s village was bothersome. In addition to the normal woes of moving house, the clan were to act as hosts for the totenïha. The village had to be swept spotlessly clean, great pit ovens must be dug and foods gathered in to greet the new arrivals. The Swallow-tails were charged with a great responsibility. When the tribe gathered for the rituals, their reception must be perfect. It was a matter of great “place”; the reputation of the clan depended on it.
***
Water roared along a frothing riverbed at the base of the summer village. Spray glittered like white points of fire in the morning sun as the river leapt in wild excitement, showering the world with sheets of glorious icy cold.
Fishermen swarmed through the forest, shimmering the river with the reflection of their wings. Deep down in the current, netmen ploughed though the foam, while overhead a glorious feral figure swooped and dove.
“Up! Keep that side up! Team two, stay set until my signal.”
Zhukora had been soaked from head to foot, water making slick runnels through her fur as she dashed through the icy spray to direct her fishing teams. Hundreds of hunters had converged on the riverside to obey the girl’s commands.
Zhukora had laid a wickedly clever trap. The rapids would tire the fish enough to take the sharp edge from their fight. Nets would close off the escape routes while spearsmen charged in from the banks. Rather than gathering fish in ones and twos, Zhukora would trap them in their thousands.
New faces swarmed through Zhukora’s hunting group. Young hunters flocked to her, eager for a single glance of her approval. Association with Zhukora held high rewards; her rebellious charisma had a growing reputation.
Zhukora remained unaware of the opinion others held of her. She was a creature who utterly despised anyone less motivated than herself. She saw no difference between male or female, nobleman or commoner. She valued only talent and ability. Her chosen ones were the elite; hunters, thinkers, rebels, poets - anyone who had found the courage to be angry.
Todays challenge seemed a simple one; the tribe screamed out for meat. Something strange was happening to the world. Ten years of wondrous bounty had suddenly come to an end, and the swollen population no longer had enough to eat, and so children hungered and babies cried.
Year by year less catfish seemed to come. The Kashra were predators; the young and old would sicken without fresh meat inside their bellies. This year there could be no failure. Zhukora would make sure that not a single fish slipped past her claws.
The hunting teams were ready. Blonde, slim and serious, Daimïru hung at her station once again as Zhukora’s self-appointed body guard. Daimïru kept a squad of trusted netmen close at hand to swiftly patch up accidents before they became disasters.
“There! Coming around the second bend!”
The shout came from far down river as the first fat catfish hurtled itself into the air, flinging itself skywards as it leapt across the river rocks. With an almighty splash the catfish struck the water and dove clean out of view.
There was another, and another. In the blinking of an eye the river suddenly came alive as hundreds of fish swarmed up between the riverbanks.
“Keep back! Keep down. No one spread wingshadow across the water!”
Zhukora pumped her fist and sent her teams into action. As the school of catfish thundered past the rapids, nets instantly snapped into place, and with a whoop of joy the spearsmen wheeled into the air. The water exploded into fury as harpoons whirred and stuck, transfixing scaly shapes that writhed in torment. The catfish were exterminated with terrifying speed; pregnant females, breeding stock - Zhukora’s henchmen swept the river clean.
Suddenly something exploded from the deeps. A nightmarish, monstrous fish blasted up across the rapids and charged towards the killing zone. A solid ton of horror rose into the sky, smacking down across the nets like a gigantic falling moon. Fishermen screamed and dove aside while pregnant catfish dashed frantically upstream to safety. Zhukora turned about in clear mid air, bellowing out across the chaos.
“Mother of… SEAL THAT BREACH!”
Snapping into action, Daimïru folded up her wings and dove onto the monster’s back, snarling in a frenzy as she stabbed home with her knife. The titan bucked and thrashed, and Daimïru span off into the water, landing tangled in folds of net. The last of the catfish crop fled
past her to safety, and with a sudden surge of foam, the monster catfish turned and dove. The net snapped tight around Daimïru’s throat, dragging the shrieking girl beneath the foam.
“Daimïru!”
Zhukora’s scream ripped through the air as she folded up her wings and dove. She smashed into the river at horrific speed, disappearing utterly from view. Seconds stretched, but of Zhukora and Daimïru there was no sign. Anxious figures wheeled back and forth above the surface. Time passed with sickening slowness. Eyes flicked from face to face as the watching hunters licked their lips in growing fear.
With a mighty roar the water broke. Zhukora burst out into the light, a limp figure gripped beneath her arm. She sobbed with effort, hauling Daimïru towards the banks. Other hunters floundered forwards, reaching out to drag the pair ashore. Knives flashed as they tore the net from Daimïru’s bloody throat; the girl lay still, her chest suspiciously unmoving.
“No!”
With a roar of rage Zhukora flung herself across her friend and crammed breath into Daimïru’s lungs. ïsha flared and roared as their auras merged.
Zhukora’s eyes were wild; one wing hung broken, shattered by her impact with the water. The huntress ignored the pain as she poured energy down into her patient.
“Come on, breathe damnit! Breathe!”
Water trickled from Daimïru’s mouth while Zhukora listened for a heartbeat, her teeth set in a snarl.
“Up! Get up! Don’t you dare give out on me! Damnit, I need you!”
Zhukora furiously gathered power, and a searing bolt of ïsha rammed into Daimïru’s heart. The patient bucked in agony, then dragged one awful, ragged breath, her eyes opening in wild astonishment. She clung against Zhukora’s breast, spewing water through her mouth and nose. The girls clenched tight together, fighting off Daimïru’s pain.