A Whisper of Wings

by Paul Kidd

  “Fer skreg’s sake, girl, cheer up! Not still moping, are you?”

  Shadarii gave the other girl a hurt, resentful look. Hatïkaa wiped her nose and sniffed in disgust.

  “Oh stop looking at me with those bloody awful eyes! If you can’t change it, don’t worry about it. There’s nought you’ll get from fretting but a set of wrinkles.”

  Hatïkaa jammed her brush into the paint and babbled on, ignoring Shadarii’s silence.

  “Your sister’s the talk of the tribe. Been like this long, has she? Regular tigercat, they reckon! Still, my younger sister’s heard her talk - says the girl speaks sense. She’s off to listen to her again tonight. There’s some sort of meeting every evening now; hundreds of folk come to see her!” Hatïkaa gave a shrug. “I don’t know why anyone bothers. Keep away from ‘em, that’s what I told my sister. She called me a ‘reactionary’! Said a ‘new age of justice’ was about to dawn. Ha! Do you get that?” The woman gave a snort. “Justice? There isn’t any justice in this world ‘cept what we make ourselves! Keep friends in high places and try to play the game.”

  Hatïkaa scratched herself in a most unseemly fashion, then pointed her dripping brush straight at Shadarii’s nose.

  “Take your problem, now. Is that justice? No! But there’s bugger-all you can do about it ‘cause you’ve let them walk all over you! Now if it were me, I’d tell ‘em all to stuff it! There’s ways and means of disqualifying yourself for the priestly life, if you get my meaning.”

  Shadarii didn’t understand at all; she scowled and tried to concentrate on her work.

  Her companion rudely looked Shadarii up and down.

  “Pretty little wretch, aren’t you? You’re a quiet one, but ye’ve got a backside that some guys I know would die for.”

  Hatïkaa stopped and changed her thoughts midstream.

  “Hey, do you have any blue? I’ve let the brown mix in with mine.”

  Shadarii sighed and passed the paint; she had long ago switched off to Hatïkaa’s prattle, and barely heard a single word the other girl had said. Feeling strangely tired, Shadarii rolled up her eyes as Hatïkaa started up her dialogue once more.

  “I like the storyline for the dance. You do a good job when you get moving. Mother Rain fights Poison for the love of Father Wind, eh?” The woman shook her head in admiration. “Pure magic! We’ll show ‘em a fight like they’ve never seen before! Scare the loin cloths off ‘em, so we will!”

  The woman adjusted her breasts, comparing them against Shadarii’s with a scowl.

  “Don’t fancy playing beside you if you’re shakin’ it in the buff. Maybe we should both wear body armour?”

  Shadarii primly straightened up; most certainly not! There was a proper way of doing things. Had the woman lost all sense of decorum?

  Hatïkaa shrugged and made a face.

  “Aaah who cares. I suppose you’re right - it’s a chance to air the fleas in anycase.” She gave a snort. “I’ll play the bad guy. You’re soft and cuddly, definitely a Mother Rain if e’er I saw one.”

  Shadarii began to beam in sudden pleasure.

  “You’re as fat as a pregnant woodmouse anyway! Get ‘em all thinking about mother’s fresh made bread. Good image, eh?”

  Shadarii angrily went back to her painting and glared resentfully at Hatïkaa, wishing the creature would shut up or go away. Hatïkaa had no intentions of doing either one.

  “I thought this dao dancing would come in useful! After I was expelled from my deportment class my father reckoned I should be a dancer. Said anything I wanted to do would be just fine as long as I did it far away from home. So I takes up dancing. Lots of folk to talk to. Oh I talked myself hoarse, I did! They hadn’t heard good gossip in years! We talked and talked… No dancing done, but you can’t have everything, now can you? ‘Course, some of the girls got their noses out of joint; I mean there’s no one else to blame if you let other people see your private life, now is there? Anyway, we had some fun. Then all of a sudden the Dancing Mistress comes over all bright and eager and asks me to go play with knives - waaaaay out in private where no one else could see me. My very own secret task!”

  Shadarii silently applauded the Bird-wing’s Dancing Mistress. The woman was a genius! Unfortunately that didn’t help to bring Shadarii any peace. She set her mask aside to dry, carefully propping it on a stick beside the stream; Mother Rain seemed to glow with life all of her own.

  Masks were always worn with reverance and pride; the wearer lost identity, giving themselves utterly to their role. The dancer rose above the world of flesh and became one with a greater whole…

  Shadarii’s moment of artistic reverie was all too short. Hatïkaa tossed down her brush and wiped her hands off in the grass.

  “Hey red-tail! Come on, shake it honey! We’ve only got two more nights to get the sequence right.” She snatched up Shadarii’s heavy dao and twirled them nimbly around her fingertips. With a careless toss she threw them to Shadarii, who caught both weapons with a thoughtless ease.

  The two dancers rehearsed their choreography of blows and parries. The weapons slashed and chopped in graceful arcs, steel ringing as the knifeblades crashed and glittered in the air. Points and handles, butts and edge all had astounding, lethal possibilities.

  Shadarii span out in a graceful kick, her foot scything just above Hatïkaa’s nose. Blades sang as a double cut was blocked. The women see-sawed back and forth in perfect concentration, their weapons moving gracefully inside a building swirl of ïsha.

  A duck, a kick, a savage slash. Blades blurred as the tempo moved into blinding speed. Hatïkaa let herself take a very convincing kick straight to the stomach. With a sudden flourish she let her knives be knocked clean from her hand. She fell down to her knees and threw wide her hands, laughing as Shadarii leapt into her arms.

  “That’s it, we’ll knock ‘em dead! Shadarii, you and I have got it made!”

  A musical sing-song voice pealed out from the trees beside them.

  “I say lassies! Would y’ any idea where the Katakanii tribe might be hidin’?”

  The women whirled to find fantastic blue-clad creatures clinging to the trees. The strangers gazed in unashamed amazement, tilting their beaks this way and that to marvel at the Katakanii girls.

  Armour; the blue clothes were Jiteng armour! It seemed as though a flock of marvelous birds had descended from the sky. Shadarii blinked up into the boughs and smiled in delight.

  A pair of elegant Kashran noblemen bowed before them. The eldest of the pair, a burly black old man, spoke in an accent that rumbled like a waterfall.

  “Forgive our startlin’ you, dear ladies. We had no wish to disturb such a magnificent performance. I am Chief Batookii of the Vakïdurii Bird-Wing clan. I have the honour to present Prince Tekï’taa-kai-Latikai of the Vakïdurii tribe. We are emissaries come hither to participate in the Totenïha ceremonies, and we’ve traveled three hundred swoops to be here¹. We’d be grateful if you’d point out out the way to your encampment!”

  A single jiteng player leapt onto a closer branch, peering down through the foliage at Shadarii’s mask. Meanwhile the old nobleman straightened up and eyed Shadarii’s knives.

  “That’s-aaah-that’s an unusual hobby you’d be havin’ there. Is it fashionable or somethin’? It looks damned dangerous!”

  Hatïkaa finally found her tongue. She looked down at her dao and grinned.

  “What, the dance dangerous? Oh no my lord! Not until we sharpen up the knives! Once that’s done it’s time to watch your tail.” She planted her fist upon her hip. “So you’re all Vakïdurii, eh? Well that’s a switch! I’ll show you to the village, sire. T’is a pleasure to be of service to you.” The girl tugged Shadarii’s tail. “Come on Shadarii. Can’t you see the gossip? We’ll be the talk of the tribe!”

  Shadarii never even heard; she sensed an aura - a delicious tang of something wild and precious. The girl began to shiver, her hands trembling in excitement.

  The strangers began to mov
e away, leaving a single figure in their wake. The remaining jiteng player hesitantly moved towards Shadarii. Hatïkaa was already a dozen yards down the path, her arm linked firmly through Lord Batooki’s own. She looked back at Shadarii and gave an impatient whistle.

  “Hey pudding, are you coming? Shake it girl! We’re not waiting for you!”

  Shadarii never even turned, but instead stared at the waiting stranger, her heart suddenly pounding in her breast. Somewhere in the background, Hatïkaa’s voice faded off into the trees.

  Shadarii slowly took away her mask, letting the light stream down across her face. Long red hair tumbled down her shoulders, her mass of curls flashing like a sea of liquid fire.

  She stood there waiting, hardly daring to draw a breath. The Jiteng player slowly raised his hands. His mask and helmet slipped away, and brown eyes shone like forest pools, reaching out to bathe Shadarii’s soul.

  “It’s you! Mother Rain, I’d hoped so much!” The poor man stumbled over his own words. “Shadarii? Is that your name, Shadarii?”

  The girl nodded, her hair spilling down in copper curls around her face.

  “Shadarii…” He sighed her name as though it were a song. “I - My name’s Kotaru. I’m a hunter. A-a jiteng player. We came all this way… I mean, what I thought was - well, a chance to find you. To-to thank you. Just-just to see you once again!”

  He caught himself before he began to babble. He’d had this planned! Over dreamy days and restless nights Kotaru had lived this meeting through and through; they would see each other through a crowd; she would look deep into his eyes and slowly walk towards him, her hair streaming in the wind. Suddenly the girl would be there in his arms. Her mouth would reach up to take his kiss, her green eyes closed as both their senses swam in ecstasy…

  An imperious voice suddenly bellowed through the woods.

  “Kotaru! Where’ve you gone, you dozy beggar! There’s work to be done!”

  Kotaru reluctantly began to back away. Shadarii followed, somehow reaching out to take his hand. Their fingers intertwined; Kotaru stared at her in shock, seeing the adoration in her eyes. Suddenly Kotaru found his courage.

  “Tonight! Can you look for me at the council fire tonight? Please? There’s something special I want to say!”

  Shadarii nodded helplessly, her pulse hammering in her throat. Kotaru reluctantly let her go, his fingers slipping through her own. He backed away into the ferns and quickly dashed away into the forest.

  Shadarii whirled, her eyes dancing with a thousand stars, then threw her head back and let the sun stream into her upturned face. She danced in joy, the ïsha blazing with the soaring colours of delight.

  He was here, he was really here! Hope was still alive! Suddenly the world seemed wild and beautiful.

  ***

  That evening the council fires blazed high, but the meal seemed a pale shadow of the feasts of yesteryear. Food had grown scarce and the cooks made do with whatever they could find. Still, the tribe had fellowship, song and laughter. Javïra and Srihoonii danced before the fire, the light licking longingly across their naked fur. Beside the royal fire the highest nobles were arrayed in luxury. They ate and spoke with rigid protocol, completely segregated from the free and easy lifestyle of their subjects.

  King Saitookii crouched like a withered spider in its web, his ancient eyes glaring out across the crowds. He had ruled the Katakanii for two hundred years, rarely noticing whether his subjects lived or died. He cared for nothing except the Katakanii’s unbending code of tradition. No matter what the cost, the rituals were maintained; even now, staring in the face of famine, the rules took precedence over need. A huge portion of food had been laid out in the centre of the meadow, enough meat and fish to feed an entire clan. It was a ritual offering to the Spirit of the Fire. The whole huge meal would be burned; crisped in an instant while the people filled their bellies with treefern pith and worms.

  Zhukora had gone off about her own affairs, and in her place, Shadarii knelt to serve her father’s needs. The old man barely even knew her name. There were more important things upon his mind than useless daughters, and he never once noticed the nervous trembling of Shadarii’s hands.

  The High Priestess watched the girl in puzzlement. Shadarii gave a guilty duck of her head, trying to avoid the woman’s eyes. Rain - if she were to find out… The Priests would lock her away. She’d never get to see Kotaru ever again! Never discover if the kiss… the kiss was still there on both their lips…

  Would he want her? Had the kiss meant what she thought it did? Had it been the same for him as it had for her? What if he didn’t want to love her - or what if he did! Shadarii’s brain whirled like a cloud of butterflies.

  “Shadarii dear, don’t jitter so. Do try to sit quietly. You shall have to learn how to deal with royalty once you become a Priestess. We have great plans for you, my dear.”

  Shadarii shrank back from the Priestess’ line of view. Thankfully the old woman grew preoccupied with Prince Tekï’taa.

  Shadarii brought the teapot over to the Prince. The long, lean youth lounged bonelessly beside Prakucha, and both men seemed to be enjoying one another’s company. Kotaru had been trapped by a busy circle of jiteng officials. Shadarii watched him anxiously, seeing him look in her direction with a helpless gaze of love.

  Love!

  Shadarii felt herself grow weak as her world swayed dizzily all around her.

  “My dear, if you must pour tea, for Fire’s sake let it be inside the cup!”

  Shadarii gave a guilty jump as Prakucha scowled at her, his empty cup proffered in one enormous fist. The girl swiftly poured the man a drink.

  Prakucha sprawled at ease and watched Javïra dancing. He assessed each line and curve with the air of a connoisseur.

  “And so Prince Tekï’taa! Do you find our little tribe to your liking?”

  Javïra danced closer, the light lingering on her naked loins. She stared at Prince Tekï’taa with a hungry glitter in her eyes. Tekï’taa leaned forward, his eyes riveted on Javïra’s charms.

  “To my liking, Lord Prakucha? Oh aye! One could say that. You seem well stocked with dainty sweets…”

  Prakucha gave an oily smile.

  “I shall see to it that some “sweets” are sent for you to sample later. I’m certain Javïra can serve you delicacies to your liking.”

  A snort came from somewhere behind him; Prakucha turned, but saw no one except the dumb girl Shadarii. He irritably signed for her to serve the Prince some tea.

  Tekï’taa held out his cup and idly watched Shadarii.

  “The Katakanii seem a most well appointed tribe.” His eyes lingered thoughtfully upon Shadarii’s ample breasts. “Very well appointed indeed…”

  “Ha! That we are, my lord, that we are! I am sure we shall all get on together famously.”

  Down beside the dancing circle a disturbance had arisen. Zhukora argued bitterly with an umpire, ramming the man slowly back into a corner. The man writhed and tried to struggle free until Zhukora backed him up against the fires. Tekï’taa watched with interest as the game officials reluctantly gave in.

  “A veritable taipan! Who is she?”

  “No one of consequence. Damn! I believe our plans to keep her team out of the jiteng finals have just failed. How tedious. I suppose I’ll have to face my dear fiancé in battle once again.”

  “Fiancé? How terribly interesting!” Tekï’taa stared at Zhukora’s lean, exquisite figure. “She has a certain savage charm.”

  “Of a kind, of a kind. Breaking her promises to be a challenge.”

  Shadarii closed her ears to their mindless prattle. Kotaru had edged free of the crowds and was searching for her. Shadarii set her tray aside and edged stealthily back into the bushes.

  “Shadarii!”

  Shadarii froze as the Priestess’ voice cracked through the air.

  “And just where are you going now, girl? Well? I’m waiting!”

  The girl gulped, then held out her hands and mi
micked the motions of grinding tea, and the Priestess curtly waved the girl away.

  “Alright, alright - don’t take all night about it! Go and get to bed! Your performance is only two days hence. You must make sure it’s a good one.”

  Shadarii hastily gave a bow and scampered off into the dark. She began to search anxiously through the bushes, her tail curling high behind her. Antennae quivered as she tried to find Kotaru’s rosy aura.

  There!

  She felt him; Shadarii spread her wings and cruised silently across the ferns, then landed softly behind a tall shape that hid uncertainly in the shadows. Kotaru was looking anxiously towards the royal fire, trying to catch sight of Shadarii.

  She softly tapped him on the shoulder, and Kotaru gave a yelp, leaping high into the air. He crashed down into the bushes in a thrashing pile of wings. The High Priestess whirled, her nose sniffing suspiciously as she searched the dark. Shadarii swiftly dove behind a bush.

  Kotaru’s head popped out of the grass.

  “It’s you! You nearly scared the life out of me!”

  The girl frantically motioned him to be quiet. She cringed beneath the bushes, desperately hoping that the High Priestess hadn’t seen.

  “What’s wrong? I only - awk!”

  She grabbed the man and yanked him down. Shadarii blew her forelock out of her eyes and motioned him to follow her, shuffling off into the shadows with an undignified crawl. Her great soft tail waved in Kotaru’s face, tickling his senses with her delicious smell.

  Once through the bushes, Shadarii rose into a crouch. With her finger to her lips she slowly rose into the air, leading the way high up into the tallest trees. The girl alighted softly on a treebranch high above the ground, her wings fanning as she tried to still her racing heart.