A Whisper of Wings Page 38

  She turned to Daimïru and filled her with her power. Daimïru worshipfully pressed her face down to the ground, then soared forth to lead the team. The crowd raised a roar as they saw her come. Zhukora watched her beloved go, her eyes flashing bright as stars.

  “Wings spread, ball high!”

  “First attack group - dive!”

  Skull-Wings surged towards their prey; Daimïru pumped her fist and sent a shock-team smashing down into the enemy, and the air shivered with the thunderous crash of impact. Armour splintered, bones cracked; Skull-Wings snarled and slashed at Mantis’ wings. All around the field the audience were shrieking in an orgy of approval. The crowd fed on the violence and drove itself into a foaming rage.

  Daimïru felt the breath burn in her lungs. The Wrens had been a challenge, but mere noblemen were barely worth the trouble. She whirled around to find her own elite reserves and brought them her gift of rage.

  “Their Captain’s mine! Follow me!”

  Daimïru gave a scream and split the enemy formation. Mantis masks yelled up at her as she shattered them in two. She span and rolled between a snarling pair of Mantis guards, shrieking out in victory as she broke a victim’s wings.

  The Mantis captain whirled in shock as Daimïru plunged down from above, having barely time to scream; Daimïru’s boots smashed clean into Mantis mask, snapping teeth and crushing bone. Daimïru arched in climax as her victim’s body spiraled to the ground.

  Daimïru swayed as she felt the audience howling out in ecstasy. Her boots dripped with blood - sweet and fresh and smoking hot! Daimïru looked down at the corpse and let out a scream of victory. She shook her staff towards Zhukora and howled out her leader’s holy name. The cry was taken up by thousands, and then by tens of thousands, until the whole world trembled to the sound of adoration. Daimïru wheeled across her fallen enemy and flung Zhukora’s name up to the sky.

  “Dear Rain! It-it’s turning into a riot!”

  “Is that player unconscious? Sweet Wind, what did that girl do to her?”

  “They-they’re animals!”

  Crowds surged around the Royal stand, the air thundering with their demented rage. Vast waves of people screamed out Zhukora’s name, shaking at the branches and the trees. Zhukora breathed it in like a delicious breeze, her slim young body gleaming as she turned towards the storm.

  “Terrifying, isn’t it? Power! Pure, raw power! It needs only a hand to shape it, to guide it along a chosen path!”

  The girl’s terrifying eyes gazed across the elders.

  “How does your power compare against this, my lords? Surely there is a rule against it? Will no one quote a law to the crowd?” She looked into their fear and gave a laugh. “What? Has your control faded so soon? When did it go, I wonder? Did you feel it as it slipped so swiftly through your hands?”

  Nochorku-Zha had his hands clapped across his ears. His eyes rolled in terror as he stared towards his daughter.

  “Stop it! For Rain’s sake stop it! You started it, now end it before it goes too far!”

  “Oh Father, I don’t want to stop it! I have worked so long towards this moment. Old fools! You have sat so long atop your tree you have forgotten to look down.”

  She looked out across the shrieking mob and slowly closed her eyes.

  “My power! My people! United in a single will. We shall set a fire inside this forest that will change the world forever! The rot will be burned away, the cluttered wood seared clean! The new growth will be strong and wild and free!”

  “You-you’re mad!” Tekï’taa reached for his dao. “I’ll have you exiled! I’ll have you killed! Guards! Guards, take this creature away!”

  “I don’t think so. Rooshïkii, please ensure our guests remain in their places.”

  A silent guard of Skull-Wings instantly rose out from the leaves, and the tribal elders shrank into a panting knot of terror.

  Tekï’taa reeled in panic. He saw Rooshïkii’s calm eyes beneath her snarling mask. The spear in the girl’s small hands never left his throat, and she slowly let it pierce his sobbing hide.

  “You won’t get away with this! We have laws and customs! The tribes will stone thee into pulp! It will take more than a mere sports team to bring us down!”

  Zhukora looked sadly down into Tekï’taa’s face.

  “Do you still not understand? It is not a team, my Lord; it is a way of existance. The Skull-Wings are a moral elite.” She smiled out at her followers, filling them with her love. “Each of us has made a single pure decision. The deliberate choice to die for our beliefs.

  “We are already dead. Don’t you see? No fear, no other cause to live for. Once we made the choice to die, we finally became free. The ultimate liberation!”

  Tekï’taa wept in fright. Everywhere he looked, the faces of the dead stared coldly back at him. Zhukora gazed at him and slowly shook her head.

  “You will die, King Tekï’taa. There is no escape for you. The people are mine now; their power has passed to me. I shall scour your filth away and make the world anew.”

  The Vakïdurii King gave a dreadful, broken sob. He had wet himself in fright; Zhukora almost felt pity for him.

  “Oh you will not die yet. Not quite yet. There is a game to win, you see? I do have a sense of theatre. We shall all be part of one last dance together; the final performance of your lives…”

  Her father snarled and spat down at her feet.

  “Traitorous bitch! I curse the day your mother bore you! I wish she’d died rather than lay your egg into this world! May her soul… Aaaaaaugh!”

  The old man stared in disbelief at the spear jutting from his chest. He croaked and spilled down to his knees, his eyes gazing up in horror at his daughter.

  Mad with hate, Zhukora clenched the hand that had thrown the spear and gleefully watched him die.

  “You were never worthy of her! She was all that is perfect! You have defiled me with your blood inside my veins. Die! Die old man! Let your soul go screaming in the dark!”

  Zhukora reached out to fling Lord Serpent at her father’s soul, and his Ka screamed as her demon began to feed. Zhukora wept and laughed, staring down in triumph at her father’s twitching corpse.

  The crowd gave another roar; another goal down - Zhukora whirled and stared out across the playing field, shining like a god.

  The jiteng game ended in a frenzy as the teams sought each others blood. The two formations hurtled together in a horrifying blast of force. In a single dreadful instant the Mantis team simply ceased to be. Daimïru span past a rain of screaming, crumpled figures and shot home the final goal.

  Daimïru swooped high across the field, breaking open the sacred circle. The crowd danced with her, wildly shrieking out Zhukora’s name. A living ocean thundered across the grass, sweeping up the few small particles that fought against the flow. The wave exploded forward, gathering momentum as it foamed about the trees. The air turned black beneath the roar of thrashing wings.

  The living tide crashed against the royal platform, blasting all about Zhukora’s feet. The girl held up her hands to force the torrent back. Zhukora let her hair fly free into the wind. She stood before them, virginal and magnificent, then opened out her arms in blessing, thrilling to the power in their adoring eyes.

  Silence spread like ripples in a pond, radiating out from the slender goddess at the centre of the mob. The people held their breaths and craned up to hear her words.

  “My people! Vakïdurii and Katakanii! We have our Skull-Wing victory!”

  The air cringed to the victory scream of sixty thousand voices. Zhukora calmly rode the waves of love.

  “We have seen the Mantises defeated! It is your victory, not ours. We have fought so that you might win. We have fought to save you from the leaders who have betrayed your sacred trust!”

  The crowd seemed to jerk in shock. Like a great, formless living thing it turned towards the Chiefs and Kings and howled in rage.

  “Had you not heard? To solve our differences, yo
ur Chiefs and Priests made an arrangement! A victory was to cost one tribe or the other fields of yams. Food snatched from the mouths of your children to pay for your leaders’ greed!”

  Zhukora’s voice had risen. The crowd’s power poured into her hands.

  “The Skull-Wings have fought, not to tear food from the mouths of our comrades, but to save the people from their Kings.

  “One race! One will! One destiny! Nobles, cast aside your privileges and join with me in my struggle! People, reach out in brotherhood to your neighbours. No Vakïdurii! No Katakanii! I say waste no time fighting one another! Fight the leaders who have betrayed you into starvation!”

  Zhukora hurtled herself into her words. She clenched her fists and howled in an ecstasy of rage.

  “Death to the betrayers! Long live the Kashran race!”

  Zhukora rammed her fist towards the terrified Chiefs, and her answer came a maddened storm of hate. The earth shook, the forest trembled; trees disintegrated as a formless monster surged towards its prey. Chiefs and elders were drowned beneath the flood, and Zhukora shrieked with laughter as the people howled her name.

  Little Rooshïkii dragged a prisoner before Zhukora’s feet and threw him to the ground. Tekï’taa stared at the screaming mass of people all around him and wept with gratitude.

  “Oh Rain - oh thank Rain! You saved me! Oh Rain…”

  Zhukora looked at him, her mad eyes strangely calm and wise.

  “Saved you? No. I made Rooshïkii a promise. I told her your life was hers to take. She is not a really vengeful girl. She merely has a sense of justice.

  “You took something from her, you see. You spilled her blood and took away her maidenhood. Now Rooshïkii wants to take something from you in return. Do you see how simple justice is?”

  Tekï’taa whirled around in fear. Rooshïkii held a glittering knife. The little girl slowly drew away her mask to reveal a face as dead and mad as any skull; she advanced towards the sobbing King with hunger glittering in her eyes.

  Rooshïkii laughed as she took him in her claws. Tekï’taa screamed as the crowd ripped him from his clothes.

  “NO! No, Zhukora, I beg thee! Rooshïkii, please!

  “Nooooo!”

  Zhukora smiled as blood spurted on her fur. The screaming went on and on until it drowned against the crowd. Rooshïkii was laughing in her madness; the little girl laid her offerings at her leader’s feet. Zhukora clasped her acolyte against her heart as the people gripped her with their gift of screaming love.

  A young man scrabbled forward from the storm and flung himself into a bow.

  “Zhukora-Zha! Zhukora, be our Queen!”

  The mob took up the cry; the power of it thundered through the air. Zhukora shook her head and tried to wave the screaming people down.

  “No! The age of Kings and Queens is done! We, the people now control our own destinies!”

  Women lunged towards her, holding out their bloody hands. Zhukora’s name was screamed up to the heavens like a raging magic spell. Zhukora’s name shook the very stars; they howled it until the leaves stripped from the trees. They begged her, they implored her. How could she refuse the ones she loved? The girl let tears stream from her eyes as she wandered through their dream. The people lifted her into their arms and carried her in triumph.

  The gift was made; the power was hers. The age of Zhukora finally had come.

  ***

  The pilgrims stood stiff with shock and gazed at the horizon with wide, bewildered eyes. The sight before them numbed their very souls, and Tingtraka shivered as the ïsha breeze rippled through her fur.

  “Sweet Mother Rain! Look at it, it’s beautiful!”

  Waves stretched from horizon to horizon. Water glittered further than mere mortal eyes could see. Bright white birds dipped and wheeled through the sky above, shrieking out in welcome to the children of the trees.

  For the first time in her life, Shadarii saw the ocean. She reached out with her mind to feel the endless flow and wonder of it. Waves surged and pounded on the shore while sand hissed and bubbled in the froth. The ïsha trembled to the pulsebeat of a world.

  Kïtashii splashed and danced along the shore, her skinny little feet leaving puddles in the sand. It was the first time anyone could remember seeing her so happy. She turned a delighted barrel-roll high above the waves.

  “Shadarii-Zha, you should feel the ïsha lift! So strong and free. It’s like being in a storm!”

  Tingtraka took a little step towards the sea.

  “Kïtashii, do be careful! Don’t go fallin’ in!”

  “What?”

  “I said don’t fall in! You don’t know how the ïsha currents flow!”

  Kïtashii swept low above the waves, glancing haughtily back across her shoulder.

  “I can handle myself quite well, thank you very much! Just because I’m twelve doesn’t mean - Awk!”

  Tingtraka never heard the rest; Kïtashii plunged herself clean into an enormous wave. The breaker exploded into foam, tossing its victim high onto the beach. Totoru led the pilgrims in a gleeful hoot of laughter.

  Shadarii moved off down the beach, the wind ruffling through her naked fur. Her eyes were held spellbound by the sea. Lady Starshine leapt and wheeled in the ïsha all around her, drinking in the dancer’s sweet delight.

  *Little sister, did I lie? Is this not a wonder?*

  ~It’s beautiful! I thank you, Lady Starshine. This is a gift indeed!~

  Shadarii stopped beside Kïtashii and dried her dripping fur. Hand in hand they wandered down the shore while pilgrims plunged into the waves. The men played a boisterous game of catch with Mrrimïmei’s clothes. Tingtraka contented herself with walking naked along the beach, turning over pieces of cuttlebone and wondering what they were.

  Shadarii felt a delicious wave of peace. Her children were laughing and content, and weeks of empty wandering were quite suddenly forgotten. Shadarii smiled her gentle smile and slitted up her eyes.

  Kïtashii industriously scratched her skinny ribs while staring out across the far horizon.

  “I wonder if it rains here? What would it sound like, do you think? All that water hissing down across the waves.”

  Tingtraka bent and retrieved a tiny seashell from the sand. Smooth and beautiful, the cowrie shell gleamed with swirling depths of colour.

  “Look at these! How beautiful! Like little beads.” She placed it against her breast and gave a smile. “There’s more! We could make a necklace.”

  Shadarii squeezed Tingtraka’s hand, and the huntress looked calmly out across the ocean.

  “Where do we go now, Revered One? Left or right? Or will you take us onward out across the water?”

  She was serious; Tingtraka would fly out into all that emptiness if Shadarii only asked. Shadarii gave the girl a loving smile and pointed westwards down the shore.

  Far, far off in the distance, a tiny plume of smoke rose in the sky. Shadarii had found a village.

  The little teacher wandered off to gather sticks of driftwood from the sand. Kïtashii watched her go, her bright eyes full of love.

  “She knew it would be there. I think she saw it in a dream. She wants us to find a village by tonight.”

  Tingtraka’s slender ears rose.

  “Why?”

  “Mrrimïmei. She will lay her egg soon. It will be a male child with soft grey hair.”

  “Oh come now! How could you know that?”

  “She told me. Shadarii-Zha always knows. It will be born at midnight tonight. Mrrimïmei will have a difficult time in labour. Shadarii-Zha wants her to have a roof above her head.”

  Tingtraka looked over at the other pilgrims cavorting in the surf, then sighed and began to search for shells.

  “Come along. There’s no hurry. Rain knows, we all need a little rest.” The tall huntress flipped over a piece of wood and blinked as she found a tiny purple crab. “Yes, a nice day in the water will do us all a world of good!

  “You know, I really think that life is
looking better all the time!”

  ***

  “Zareemah-Kha. We must take the boy now. He cannot die inside the house. His spirit would be trapped by these cold, hard walls.”

  “Come, my lady. We must take him to the ocean. Let his soul fly into the arms of Father Wind.”

  The noblewoman only cried all the harder as she clutched her little son against her breast. The boy hung still and limp inside her arms; the fever had almost done its work, and his soul had nearly fled.

  Three “dream walkers” stood respectfully by the bedside, each dressed in their ritual masks. Brother Fish, Brother Gull and Sister Mouse. Each one had entered into the dreaming. Each one had touched the heart of a primal spirit guide. They were the holy ones of the Heshtanii, the Peoples of the Sea.

  Sister Mouse wept as though her heart would break. Little Zareemii-Chi had been her student; almost her own child. Eight years old was too young to die. He had hardly even begun to live.

  The mask hid her tears from the world. Brother fish turned towards her and then faced the weeping mother.

  “Zareemah-Kha? My lady, there is nothing we can do now for his body. Please let us tend his soul. Sister Mouse will be Zareemii’s spirit guide.”

  Time grew short, and they must do their duty to the child. Brother Fish sighed and signed for his companions, and somehow they broke the mother’s frantic grasp. Gull and Fish lifted up the little bed, carefully cradling Zareemii in his blankets. Sister Mouse trembled as she took Zareemah by the arm. She tried to be controlled; she really tried! But it was Zareemii - her own little Zareemii…

  “It-it will be alright. He-He can’t feel the pain anymore, Zareemah. Just remember that. No more pain…”