Feathers
Page 1
To my mother,
Karen Mannering,
I would never have written anything if it weren’t for you
Copyright © 2016 by Georgia-Karena Mannering
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
Cover design by Sarah Brody
Cover photo credit Ryan Jorgensen / Arcangel
Map of the Western Realm illustrated by Danielle Ceccolini
Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-165-1
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-614-4
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Part One
CHAPTER ONE The Boy
CHAPTER TWO The Chief’s Real Son
CHAPTER THREE The Storm
CHAPTER FOUR The Boy Birther
CHAPTER FIVE The Teaching of Magic
CHAPTER SIX The White Bird
CHAPTER SEVEN The Initiation
CHAPTER EIGHT The Shift
CHAPTER NINE The Savages
CHAPTER TEN The Battle
Part Two
CHAPTER ELEVEN The Blood
CHAPTER TWELVE The New People
CHAPTER THIRTEEN The Traitor
CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Betrayal
CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Banishment
Part Three
CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Wandering
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Red Cloak
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Great Great Lake
CHAPTER NINETEEN The Journey
CHAPTER TWENTY The Temple on the Mountain
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE The Killings
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The Kiness
Part Four
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE The Night Shift
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR The Changing
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE The Man Birther
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The Command
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN The High-Kiness’s Secret
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT The Warning
Part Five
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE The Official
CHAPTER THIRTY The Curse
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Part One
Feathers fell like rain from the sky. They fluttered around the couple at the center of the dancing ring, brushing their bare arms and kissing their crowns. Feathers caught the ash from the fires, creating a haze that drifted through the rose-gold twilight of midsummer and disappeared into the faraway forests and plains of the Wild Lands.
The women in the outer circles threw feathers into the sky, chanting as they grabbed fistfuls of silver, black, brown, and tawny plumes. They spun and stamped their feet, following the beat of the drums that shook the ground with a steady rhythm. They danced on, as they had been dancing all day, to mark the union of their chief and his chosen partner.
Sunset By Forest shivered as she felt the first breeze of evening. With the dancing and the chanting, she had not noticed the fading light. It had been a long day.
Feeling his new partner’s tremor, Gray Morning squeezed the tips of her fingers, which were held in his large, creased hands. Then he turned to the circling tribesmen, breaking their trance.
All fell still, even the babies in the mothers’ shoulder pouches. Only the feathers continued to float and whirl in gusts of air.
“Welcome, my people, new and old,” called Gray Morning, his voice reaching across the flat land. “The Taone and the Walcha have been enemies forever, but now we become one. Together, we will live peacefully between the winding river and the gaping lake, and the warring will end.”
He bent and took a fistful of earth churned by the heels of the dancers. As was the custom, he threw some of it into the nearest fire, muttering chants, and then he took the rest to his new partner.
Sunset By Forest stood still as he dipped his thumb in the earth and pressed it to her cheeks in arced patterns. Tomorrow, an etcher woman would carve marks into her skin over the smears in lasting ink.
As her new partner worked, Sunset By Forest took the opportunity to look at him. Though they had stood facing each other most of the day, she had kept her head bowed in respect and had only caught glimpses of his dark hair tucked behind the wolf fur that circled his brow. Now she could see that he was older than she, perhaps even as old as her father. His black eyes were lined at the corners, but his body was tall, broad, and strong. Blue patterns traced his thick biceps and trailed down his chest.
“The time for feasting is almost upon us,” said Gray Morning, finishing her markings. “But as the last ray of the sun disappears, let us have our birther blessing.”
Sunset By Forest frowned. She had never heard of such a thing.
The crowd parted and a dark figure approached. It was covered from head to foot in animal pelts so that Sunset By Forest could not see if it was a man or a woman. The figure walked slowly, almost regally, and stopped before the chief without hesitation or fear.
“Let us see,” it said in a strange accent that was harsh and thick. From the high tone, Sunset By Forest assumed that the figure beneath the animal furs was a woman. If it was a human at all.
“Tell me about my firstborn,” said Gray Morning.
The figure in furs shuffled to the nearest fire and the people melted away. It held out a hand smothered in the skin of a swift fox and caught a white feather that sailed past on a gentle breeze.
“Your firstborn?” the figure in furs muttered. “Let us see.”
It bent and took a fistful of earth, throwing it into the fire. Then it took another fistful and mashed the feather into a muddy ball, rolling the mass around in its palms. It chanted, stroking the fire with its hands. The hood of its pelt coat slipped back, and Sunset By Forest saw a glimpse of a dark face with glittering eyes.
“What do you see?” asked Gray Morning, as the smoke curled and slithered into the sky.
The figure in furs turned to its chief and its eyes glowed like the moon.
“Is it a warrior?” asked Gray Morning. “A warrior son?”
“It is to be a birther, like me,” the figure said, slowly.
Sunset By Forest glanced fearfully at her partner. She had whispered to the trees for a son—a son to make her new chief happy. All tribeswomen whispered for sons, but a chief’s partner all the more so. Who was this birther to know what her first child would be? Who was this birther wrapped in furs to bring shame on her?
“Not a … boy?” said Gray Morning, his jaw clenching.
The rest of the tribe watched, the fires throwing twirling shadows across their faces. The feathers were all gone now, carried away by the evening breeze.
“An important child,” said the figure in furs. “A very important child.”
“A girl who will become a birther,” Gray Morning corrected her.
There had been birthers in Sunset By Forest’s tribe, but they had never told fortunes, and they would not have dared to speak to a chief so boldly. She was confused by this creature before her, confused and scared.
“A warrior will follow,” said the figure in furs suddenly, and Gray Morning’s head arose again, a smile breaking his lips.
“A warrior to follow,” he repeated in a whisper, and he took Sunset By Forest’s hand in his own once more. “A warrior heir.”
“The first will be a birther, though,” the figure in furs reminded him.
In the light of the rising moon, Sunset By Forest could see that the figure was a woman, though she looked different and strange.
“A birther to be my apprentice,” the woman added.
But Gray Morning was scarcely listening, and he nodded his consent, since this first child would mean nothing to him.
CHAPTER ONE
The Boy
The first child was a boy.
Sunset By Forest lay on grass mats, her teeth clenched and her hands clasping her swollen stomach. Smoke from the fire clouded the roof of the tent, and despite the cold winter weather, her brow was slick with sweat. As another spasm of pain took her, she cried out.
“You need the birther,” said West River, squatting at her side. In the time since Sunset By Forest had entered the Taone tribe, the two women had become inseparable. West River had taught the chief’s partner where the Taone gathered their food and how to ride their mustang horses.
“No!” gasped Sunset By Forest. “I am fine.”
“Why don’t you trust the birther?”
“I do, I do,” said Sunset By Forest hurriedly, knowing how the Taone felt about their birther. “But I wish to do this alone. Already I have shamed myself and brought my labor into this tent.”
Sunset By Forest paused, the blue patterns of her face twisted by a contraction.
“This is not an easy birth,” said West River, her voice tinged with fear. “Gray Morning won’t be happy if you are harmed by this child.”
Sunset By Forest nodded. “He wants his second child,” she said. “His warrior son.”
“I should go and get—”
“No, it is becoming easier.”
West River squatted next to Sunset By Forest as the sun outside arced across the sky. She kept the fire strong to warm the chilling breezes that blew through the nooks and crannies of the tent and whispered soothing words. As evening drew in, the baby still showed no signs of coming, and Sunset By Forest’s belly seemed to writhe.
Tribeswomen had tried to enter throughout the day, but West River had chased them out. She knew they would think it a great weakness that Sunset By Forest was giving birth in her tent; she should be by herself in the forest or on the flatlands. A chief’s first child, even if it was a girl, should be born in the open air. The tribeswomen West River could easily get rid of, but the men were due back tonight from a hunting trip, and Gray Morning would want to see his partner. What would he think if he saw her lying on the floor of their tent, weak and incoherent?
Sunset By River lay in a trance of pain. Her amber eyes were glazed and distant, her lips whispering words that did not make sense.
“I must go and get the birther,” said West River.
Sunset By River shook her head. “No,” she croaked. “I am …”
Her words were lost in a deep groan of pain.
West River turned and ran to the door of the tent. Lifting the flap, she stopped short with a gasp for there stood the birther, her arms crossed as if she had been waiting.
“This birth is bad enough to be brought inside and yet I have not been called for?” said the birther in her harsh accent. “Did you think that you could manage it yourself?”
“No!”
“You have had three babes of your own, West River, but there are many things you do not know.”
“I wished to call for you right away, Cala.”
“But the chief’s partner did not?”
West River bowed her head and did not reply.
“I should take this as a snub,” said Cala. “I should refuse my help, but I care for this child, and Gray Morning would no doubt hold me responsible—not his stupid partner.”
Cala swept into the tent, closing the flap behind her with a snap, but not before West River caught sight of the many faces crowded outside in the gloom.
The birther marched over to Sunset By Forest, who was thrashing on the grass mats.
“You should have sent for me before,” she said. “And you shall pay for it now. This birth will take your strength, and you will not be able to bear another baby for many seasons.”
Sunset By Forest saw a dark face swim across her vision. Since her first night in the Taone tribe, she had seen the birther many times without her fur robes; yet the birther’s appearance always struck her with fear. Cala’s skin was darker than anybody Sunset By Forest had ever seen. Unlike the golden brown of the Taone, it was the color of wet earth. Her eyes were large and set wide apart on her face, and she was a head taller than the tallest tribeswoman; she was taller even than some of the men.
“I don’t think she can hear you,” said West River.
Cala did not reply. Instead, she ordered that the fire be put out and all the smoke flaps opened. At first, West River hesitated, but the orders were barked again, and she complied. Cool air rushed through the open ceiling of the tent, and Sunset By Forest’s choking breaths became smoky clouds.
“Look at the stars,” said Cala. “Watch them as you have this child.”
Sunset By Forest watched the glowing speckles of light and thought of soaring high to touch them. She thought of flying.
“What are you doing?” asked West River as Cala ran her hands across Sunset By Forest’s stomach.
“Quiet!”
Sunset By Forest yelped in agony as Cala pressed and pushed her belly, moving the baby inside. Despite the whistling wind that chilled the air, beads of sweat gathered on Cala’s brow. She gave the swollen stomach one last heave, and then rested her hands across the shivering skin, spreading her fingers wide.
Suddenly, the baby came. West River rushed up to help wash and dry the newborn, cooing with affection and relief. Sunset By Forest lay motionless on the grass mats, her breathing wheezy.
“It’s a boy!” said West River with a frown.
Sunset By Forest’s eyes snapped open, and she struggled to sit up.
“A boy!” she gasped. “A boy who will be a warrior!”
West River shook her head. Her friend still did not understand the traditions of the Taone tribe.
“The boy will be a birther like me. His destiny has already been spoken for,” said Cala.
Sunset By River shook her head. “No!” she said. “No, you said it would be a girl, but it is a boy. A boy warrior for my chief.”
“I never said it would be a girl.”
Something about Cala’s tone made Sunset By Forest pause.
“A boy does not become a birther,” she tried to say lightly, but her voice was tinged with fear.
The thunder of hoofbeats and the babble of voices sounded outside. The men returning from their hunting trip beat their drums and yelled their greetings with high-pitched gurgles.
“Hya–Hya–Hya!” they roared.
“The chief is back,” said Sunset By Forest, reaching to grab her baby. “I want to show him his warrior son.” She thought that Gray Morning would put the birther in her place. She was sure that the chief would be so pleased to have a son.
The flap of the tent opened, and Gray Morning strode inside. Behind him, faces of tribesmen and tribeswomen could be seen watching curiously.
“A boy!” gasped Sunset By Forest as soon as she saw him, forgetting the proper way to greet her returning chief.
Gray Morning stopped still and stared at the baby mewing in furs.
West River knelt quickly at the chief’s feet to show her respect, and then disappeared out of the tent to escape whatever would happen next.
Gray Morning’s eyes found Cala in the shadows.
“A boy?” he said.
“A birther,” she replied.
“No!” interrupted Sunset
By Forest. “It’s a boy! A boy cannot be a birther.”
Gray Morning’s gaze fell upon the bundle held to his partner’s chest, and Cala saw the temptation flicker across his face.
“I spoke for the destiny of this child before it was even conceived,” she said. “This child is not a warrior; he is a birther, and I saw it in the fire.”
Gray Morning’s hands clenched into fists.
“No warrior should be born inside a tent,” added Cala.
Gray Morning saw the signs of birth on the grass mats beside his partner, and his lip curled.
“It was so cold outside,” whispered Sunset By Forest in shame. “I had to come in.”
Gray Morning turned his back on the child.
“You are right, birther,” he said.
“But—”
Gray Morning pointed his finger at his partner and shook his head. “Do not shame me further!” he growled.
Sunset By Forest normally cowered in his fits of rage, but this time she wrapped her arms protectively around the baby and shook her head. “Please,” she whimpered. “I want to keep my child.”
“You shall raise him until your next baby,” said Cala, her tone softening. “Then you shall pass him into my care.”
For a moment, Sunset By Forest looked as though she might protest, but she knew that she was beaten.
“I shall call him—” she began.
“No!” roared Gray Morning. “It shall have no tribe name!”
He stormed out of the tent, forcing the eavesdroppers to scatter. In order to try to please their chief, the tribesmen and tribeswomen hurriedly lit fires and brought out some of the meat caught on the hunting trip. Sunset By Forest could hear them chanting feast songs from inside.
She cradled the child in her arms, looking at the perfect smoothness of his cheeks, and then she cried bitterly.
“My poor, nameless babe,” she wailed.
“He shall be called Ode,” said Cala from the shadows. “For like me, he is not of the tribe.”
Sunset By Forest jumped at the sound of her voice. She had forgotten that she was not alone.
“Ode?” she echoed.
“Yes, he shall be called Ode,” Cala repeated.
Sunset By Forest simply nodded.