by Paul Kidd
“We’ll come back to finish her tomorrow. I’ll conquer her if I have to burn her mind out like a husk! Double the dosage - and double the guards! I want nothing to go wrong tomorrow night.”
The two women whirled and left Shadarii to her sleep. Shadarii jerked fitfully on the floor, her body battling furiously against the pull of drugs. The girl dragged memories from their hiding places and swelled them out with power; finally Shadarii had a name - a face - a feeling.
Kotaru…
The girl’s hands clenched into fists as her dreams drove on.
Zhukora and Daimïru whirred through the night skies. Kïtashii emerged from cover and watched them go, then looked around herself and felt the stillness of the night. There would never be a better time than now.
Kïtashii bent to pick up her heavy bellypack. With her tongue slyly touched against her lips, the little girl fearfully began to edge through the shadows of her mother’s lodge.
“So! A little nighttime stroll, Kïtashii?”
The little girl gave a convulsive jerk of fright and whirled around in shock.
Mistress Traveesha!
The dancing Mistress loomed above her like a storm. Kïtashii blinked as she saw her mother standing in the background. She felt her knees tremble as her bladder clenched in fear.
“Well Kïtashii? Have you nothing to say?”
Kïtashii helplessly tried to open up her mouth. Mistress Traveesha’s eyes narrowed as she glared down at her victim.
“Well since you’re so active tonight, perhaps we should have a little talk. It seems your dancing career is not as important to you as we all thought! We shall have a little chat about your future as a gardener or a weaver, shall we?”
Kïtashii sobbed, tears streaming down her eyes, and tried to back away. Traveesha caught a fistful of silver hair and twisted it until Kïtashii squealed.
“Yes, a little talk will benefit us all. First I think your mother wants a word or two about stealing from the family larder.”
Her mother scythed a jagged cane through the air, then started towards her weeping daughter. Kïtashii sobbed and jerked in terror. Traveesha dragged her down across a log and ripped away her skirt. The cane began to slash; Kïtashii hurtled back her head and wept in silence, too proud to let them hear her scream.
Traveesha watched in sickly fascination. If she couldn’t have Shadarii, then she’d have this skinny little wretch instead! The Mistress laughed in the darkness as the punishment went on.
Notes:
1) Despite the presence of healing magics, Kashran wings still tend to accumulate damage in the course of an active life. The yearly shedding is thus a necessary replenishment. The wings drop away, to be re-grown in approximately on week’s time.
The discarded wings are burned as a pledge of thanks to the Fire Spirit - although brightly coloured wing scales are collected for use in paints, contributing much to the splendour of alpine jiteng costumes and ceremonial garb.
Chapter Thirteen
The world swooped and span as Shadarii tried to bring her senses back beneath control. She reeled and shook her head, furiously fighting off a fog across her brain.
Where was she?
Shadarii blinked and screwed her eyes shut tight, then tried to focus once again. Something had hit her head - she remembered it. Shadarii put her hand up to her skull, finding no lump, no pain, and no sign of a wound. The girl dragged in a breath and tried to still her whirling mind. Something felt wrong - something was missing.
Kotaru!
The dancer drew a breath. Kotaru! Where was he? What had happened? Zhukora must have found them at the cave. What then? Shadarii had memories of Kïtashii whispering to her in the gloom. She stared around the empty lodge in sudden understanding; Kïtashii must have risked herself to speak to her. Something… something about escape. So they were back at the village.
Where was Kotaru? Kïtashii would know! Shadarii whirled to face the door, her green eyes flashing fire. She had been attacked, drugged, betrayed! Pity help any being fool enough to come between her and her love.
Shadarii lowered her head and spread her hands, looking clean through the walls of her prison and out into the currents of the world. It was dawn; there were two guards outside the house and a lock upon the door. The guards were coming closer, with a box of food and a bucket of water swinging from their hands.
Breakfast time.
Shadarii took stock of her prison, seeing a lavatory bucket, an empty food box, and a heavy wooden water pail… She curled up beside the water bucket and softly closed her eyes,
Locks grated as the door swung open. Shadarii feigned sleep with the ability of a master dancer. She felt her guards as they plodded across the floor.
“Hey cripple! Breakfast!”
A girl’s voice sneered cruelly.
“Aaaah she’ll never hear you. They doubled her dosage. She’s out like a lamp.”
“She’s filthy! Her ladyship Shadarii-Zho. So much for the mighty!”
The female voice spoke again - A thin, high voice that held a strange ring of fanaticism.
“My mother whored herself to nobles to find the food to feed us! I listened to her squealing in the bed like a pig in rut!” She kicked Shadarii in the ribs. “They’ve preyed on us like larvae burrowing through flesh. Priests - Chiefs, Kings. We’ll pour their blood across the ground like rivers. Zhukora shall lead us on into an age of justice!”
The first voice gave a snort.
“We should be out there training. Instead we’re stuck here wiping some damned cripple’s arse.”
“We serve The Dream. And if this trash will help make it live, then I’ll wipe its arse and blow its nose or kill it if I have to. Remember our instructions; look after her, but kill her rather than let the girl be found!”
Shadarii’s felt a chill ripple down her spine, and her fingers fastened about the handle of the empty water bucket.
“… well here’s a rag! You can give her a bath since you feel so keen. I say we should let her fester in her own muck until she…”
Shadarii erupted from the floor, the bucket lashing out to crash across the guardsman’s skull. She grabbed his throat and smashed his head against a post, feeling him turn slack beneath her claws. She ripped the dao out of his belt and span to face her other foe.
The room seemed stuck in time. Shadarii’s eyes blazed as she felt the rage reach out to take her once again. A girl snarled at her in hate, then hurtled a spear straight at Shadarii’s eyes. It clove slowly through the air - a smooth, dreamy arc that stood no chance of connecting. Shadarii let it fly past, feeling the flow of energy around her. She rode the streams and felt her whole soul come ablaze with brilliant colour.
Shadarii moved between the huntress and the door, blocking her escape. Her enemy reached out for a second spear. Shadarii whipped around in a circle and cracked the flat of her blade against the other woman’s skull, bowling her enemy down across the floor.
Kotaru.
Both enemies lay unconscious; Shadarii spread her wings and launched herself into the sky, a dozen spirits glittering at her tail.
Kïtashii wept, tears soaking down into her bed. Her backside leaked blood beneath a maze of scabs, and she sobbed in agony with every move. Kïtashii felt sickened - numbed by a horror she had never thought possible. Any parent who dared do such a crime would once have been hurtled from the tribe! Yet here she lay, torn to ribbons while Traveesha watched and laughed from the shadows.
Kïtashii clawed her bed in shame. She had failed Shadarii; her friend had needed her, and she had failed. Kïtashii trembled, her shocked mind frantically trying to make a plan.
A sudden scratching sound came from the door behind her. The little girl screwed shut her eyes and felt her spirits tremble. Rain - please don’t let her hit me once again! Kïtashii didn’t know if she could bite back the agony a second time. She cringed upon her bed and tried to hide beneath the covers, her whole world turning sickly grey with fear.
> A hand touched her. It was a caress like sighing music, stroking lovingly across her face, pouring care and comfort down into her soul. Kïtashii blinked in wonder; her mother had never touched her so in all her live-long days. Her antennae rose as she felt something pure dawn within her soul.
Shadarii!
A blessed flood of ïsha flowed across her flesh, washing away the memory of pain, and Kïtashii buried her face against a soft expanse of fur. She gave a sob and wound her fingers down into the warmth.
“I-I failed you. I tried to come and help you but I failed.”
The caress of healing never faltered, and the last of her pain began to fade. Still Kïtashii wept, her heart filled with shame and anger as she clutched her skinny arms about Shadarii’s waist.
“You’re going to go away again. You have to. Kotaru’s not here, so you have to go and find him.”
The little girl rested her face against Shadarii’s heart.
“I believe in you, Shadarii. You’re all I have. Take me with you. Let me help you find Kotaru. I want to be with you.”
Kïtashii felt herself being clothed, and soft hands combed the tangles from her hair. The little girl found herself looking up into Shadarii’s haunted eyes.
“I won’t ever fail you again. Not as long as I live, I swear!”
Shadarii reached out to take Kïtashii’s hand. Together they walked through the door and rose into the sky, flying off towards the distant Vakïdurii lands.
***
“Gone! Two guards are down.” With her wings spread as she made a formal bow, Daimïru’s body glittered in the nighttime firelight. “She has a day’s lead on us.”
Sitting cross-legged on a tree fern log, Zhukora seemed darker than the nightscape all about her; black fur gleamed like liquid silk as she regarded her beloved with cool blue eyes.
“Both guards are down?”
“Knocked unconscious, and the Ka inside the lodge tree refuses to speak! Shadarii may have had an accomplice who helped her to escape.”
“Or perhaps not. I begin to see why the priests were so avid to make her theirs.” Zhukora finished polishing her spear and stroked the chittering spirit in the weapon with her mind. The white tip of her tail switched slowly in the gloom behind her.
“The priests we can deal with - I shall neutralise them tomorrow. But Shadarii remains a problem. Her escape is inconvenient. She cannot be allowed to return.”
“I can find her, Zhukora. It’s not too hard to guess where she has gone. She cannot know that her lover is dead. She will eventually seek Kotaru at the cave where they made love.”
The Leader’s cool blue eyes looked out upon the stars. Zhukora sighed and let the forest breeze blow through her hair.
“You are my one, my only. You are the better half of me, Daimïru. I must ask you to kill for me again. Do you mind, my love? There is no one else that I can trust.”
“Ask and I shall give. I shall do it out of love for you.”
Zhukora’s gaze grew troubled; she turned away and slowly bowed her head.
“Kill her quickly, Daimïru. This is not her fault. She-she is still my sister. It would be a-a kindness to ensure she does not suffer…”
“Zhukora? Are you alright?”
Daimïru hesitantly approached Zhukora’s back. The black huntress squeezed shut her eyes and rubbed a hand across her brow.
“The first one was easy, Daimïru. But it just goes on and on! Each death seems to lead into another. Prakucha, Javïra, Kotaru. Now my own sister must die. She-she must! It’s the only way we can be safe.”
“I shall do it, Zhukora. I promise you it will be quick.”
“Sacrifices must be made if great dreams are to be achieved. I must take the guilt upon myself so that our people can be free.” Zhukora reeled and wiped at her lashes. “Guilt must… It must be mine. In the end, it must be only I…”
Zhukora hesitantly raised her eyes.
“Stay with me tonight, just for a little while? Stay a time and watch the stars. I sleep better when I know that you are near.”
“I shall fetch my pipes and we shall sing just like we always used to.”
“Thank you Daimïru. Thank you for your kindness.”
The two hunters sighed and looked back up at the moon.
Somewhere in the forest, the prey was waiting.
***
Kïtashii pushed her way between the bushes, quickly brushed her skirt in an effort to remove a thick layer of travel stains. The skinny girl then walked boldly through the Vakïdurii village, approached a washer woman and gave a solemn little bow.
“Pray excuse me madam. I am looking for a hunter called Kotaru. Do you know where I might find him?”
The woman scrubbed her wet hand across her cheek, blinking in surprise.
“Kotaru? Kotaru? Rain no child! E’s no relative of mine!”
“Please madam, it’s very important that I find him. He’s a jiteng player for the Wrens.”
“Wrens eh?” The woman peered suspiciously at the child. “You don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”
“I’m from another village. Please, I have a message for Kotaru.”
“Ha! Well if it’s jiteng players you’re after, the royal village is the one to try. Our fine new King’s been holding games and feasts for the best part of a week!”
“I shall bid you a good day, madam. I thank you for your help.”
Kïtashii turned to go; the washer woman calmly put away her chores.
“Katakanii by the look of you. And not a scrap of food’s been past thy lips for the best part of a week. By yer “ma’am’s and manners” I’d say you were a dancer. You have a the look about you.” She wrung out her dripping laundry, her eyes fixed upon Kïtashii’s face. “Now what brings a wee girlie so many days from home?”
Kïtashii began to walk away, and the washer woman propped her hand upon her chin.
“Going already lass? And what if I were to tell our hunters there are Katakanii poaching on our land?”
“It would be a lie, and it would do you no good in any case. It would take more than mere hunters to find us.”
“Us? Aaah so there’s more than one of you. I thought I saw a pair of green eyes watching from them trees.”
The washer woman poked a finger at Kïtashii’s nose.
“You’re skinny as a snake! When did you last eat. Come on, out with it!”
Kïtashii gulped.
“We-We ate… Maybe the day before yesterday. Shadarii found us eggs. I think Shadarii hadn’t eaten for a day before we left.”
“Sweet Rain girl! Get your friend and come along. The Wind’s clean passing between your ribs.” The woman thrust at Kïtashii’s skinny rump. “Well go on, go on! I’ll not have a pair of corpses on my conscience. I’ll swap thee a meal for a smile - I never seen such a grim wee face. Go on!”
Sometime later the travelers slumped beside a fire. The sensations of warmth and food wove a drowsy spell; Shadarii blinked her eyes and let Kïtashii drag the knots out of her filthy fur. Kïtashii worked on in silence, tending to Shadarii’s needs.
The washer woman had spared nothing for her guests. Tea bubbled on the hearth while yams steamed in the ashes. Warm sleeping robes were piled beneath Shadarii’s rump. The dancer hung her head and felt her world spin dizzily around her. Hope blazed within her heart; she had escaped her sister, she had broken through the dreams and darkness. Kotaru might be only a hundred spans away! Shadarii smiled even while her head nodded to her chest.
Kïtashii dragged a ball of fluff out of her comb and went on with her grooming. The Vakïdurii woman looked at Shadarii’s face and pulled her chin.
“She looks tired. She doesn’t say much, does she?”
Kïtashii’s voice rang strangely soft and cool.
“No. No, she doesn’t say much.”
“She looks a strange one. Eyes like a poet, soul of a healer.”
“She’s not like you and I, Pekaka. She’s not quite the sa
me as anybody.”
The comb moved in hypnotic patterns down Shadarii’s fur, and Kïtashii stared at the even furrows left gleaming in its wake. She sighed as Pekaka reached out to touch her hair. Strong hands lowered her down onto a sleeping mat and tucked her beneath a robe. The little girl fell asleep before her head even touched the ground.
Shadarii dozed where she sat. Pekaka went back to tending her hearth fire, hardly sparing either of her guests a glance.
An old woman sat across the coals, her arms firmly locked across her scrawny breast.
“I don’t like it! We ought to tell the chief. Rag-tag foreigners sittin’ on our doorstep? It just ain’t done!”
Pekaka shot a sour glance at her mother.
“We keep ‘em here. There’s more to all this than meets the eye. They’ve come running, and they’re welcome beneath my roof until I say otherwise.”
The old woman scuttled closer and pawed at Shadarii’s wings until Pekaka slapped her hands away.
“Get your damned hands off!”
“I weren’t doin’ nothin’!”
“Well see that you don’t! That girl’s quality, she is, so keep your mitts to yerself!”
“I was just seein’ if the colour rubs off! How do you know she’s quality? She might be havin’ us on.”