A Whisper of Wings (54 page)

A saucy piece of mischief detached itself from the bushes. Namïlii’s mother was no better than her offspring; Namïlah lowered her lashes and gave a low, delicious smile.

“Work? Why I’ve others to do it for me. There was Gendegh, Kejemah, Benthalin… all such energetic boys! But then I’m sure you remember what it was like to be young and pretty.”

Nurïman glared narrowly at her opponent. Namïlah-jakana was past the better side of thirty. Still, a lazy lifestyle gave her full time to shore up her resources. Her hands were soft and her breasts were full; the woman hadn’t done an honest days work in all her life.

Work? Huh! She was sitting on a fortune! Men paid for what she had beneath that tail. Namïlah had reaped a rich reward and passed her dubious habits to her daughter. Lord Ingatïl should have hurtled them from the village years ago!

“I’m a year younger than you are! If you spent more time on your feet and less time on your back you might have a few honest wrinkles too! My daughter has her own business. I suggest you go mind yours.”

“Mmmmmmm - I hear she’s trying to get someone else to tend to her business right now.” Namïlah glanced coyly sidewise at her companion. “I should say Lord Keketál has enough enthusiasm to fill Harïsh’s interest…”

Namïlah’s painted face disappeared beneath an almighty splash of water. Nurïman swirled her empty jug and crowed with glee. She was still laughing as something shoved her from behind.

Nurïman gave a little cough and staggered slightly forwards. Her face lit with dawning wonder as she touched a bloody shaft that jutted out beneath her ribs. She felt it without understanding what it really was.

The woman’s eyes went wide. Nurïman’s mind went blank as she felt herself being pulled down to her knees. She blinked as a howling skeleton sliced Namïlah’s head clean from her shoulders. The headless body flopped and jerked just like a landed fish; she spread her legs and arched her back as eagerly as she had ever done in life…

A storm of demons blasted through the quiet streets of River-Bend. Women splashed against the ground in writhing, stinking fragments. Lord Ingatïl’s wife was hacked across the middle by a gleaming metal knife. Villagers screamed and tried to flee. A pregnant girl streaked through the huts, blood streaming from her butchered wings. She ran clean onto an outstretched spear, sobbing as the steel ripped through her womb.

Nurïman watched it all. She saw her village die before her very eyes. The mothers and the matrons, the hussies and the brides; all gone beneath a screaming cloud of wings. Nurïman curled into a ball and wept for the children she would never see again. She wept for a husband lost somewhere in the flames, and died with tears filling up her eyes.

Fire ripped at Keketál’s wings as he exploded through the nightmare wall of flame. Hupshu burst out from the firewall behind him, and both men came sliding down into the crowd of village men.

“Fly! Get to the village! Get your families and flee! The savages attack!”

Keketál somersaulted to the ground. He dragged men to their feet and shoved them frantically towards the village.

“Iss an attack! Savages. Hundreds of savages hidings in the fire! They’re heading for the village.” Keketál spat to clear his mouth and desperately fought for breath. “Keketál needs the single men to stay beside him. Get the axes, branches, rocks; anything to usings as a weapon. The rest must go! We try to slow them down for you!”

The villagers remained locked in bewilderment until the fire wall began to swirl. It shivered as though being moulded by some almighty hand, then lightning cracked as the flames hurtled themselves apart.

A storm of alpine warriors thundered through the sky. The mob of villagers broke and fled. Men shrieked as spears caught them in the back, and dao rose and fell as the hindmost were butchered into fragments. Savages drove the village men like sheep into the slaughter.

Keketál took a group of villagers and led them off beneath a wave of flames. The other men careered off trees and ripped through bushes, fighting one another in their mindless panic to escape.

A lightning bolt ripped out through the trees, and two villagers screeched as white light blasted them to ashes. Keketál clutched against a tree and stared at them in horror.

“They’re driving them! They’re driving the men towards the meadow!”

The lightning blazed again as Keketál rolled his eyes and tried to form a plan. His duty to the village was to save as many lives as he could. The noble clenched his fists and blinked to clear his eyes.

“Keketál will take you East towards the herds. We must find the shep and shepherds. After that, we have to keep the savages away from the river! The children are still hidden on the banks.”

Keketál ripped away his crossbelts, then tore the bands into strips and hurtled them back towards the other men.

“Quickly! Here, make slings. Get stones, branches, anything! When we fight, get height, get speed! Try to cripple their wings. Don’t go for a kill unless it won’t slow you down.”

He knew. Keketál somehow knew it all, like something he had lived through time and time again. He shook the thought away and sat down to help his men.

Keketál had saved six men from disaster. He had given them a purpose, he had given them courage.

Now Rain help them, they were going to attack.

Notes:

1) “Fist captain”: Commander of twenty teams of twelve warriors. He is assisted by four “Hand captains”, each controlling five teams.

Chapter Twenty

Harïsh cursed and muttered as she fought through a tangled clump of blackberries. She had a headache, her feet were ripped and torn, and all over a stupid lamb!

The creature thrashed and bleated as it struggled in the thorns, brown eyes gleaming with the guttering light of stupidity. Harïsh hacked at brambles with her shepherd’s staff, spitting venom as the lamb lunged even further from her reach.

“Come here! Come here you stupid bastard!”

A thorn jabbed Harïsh’s foot, and the lamb bleated as it wriggled ever deeper through the thicket. Harïsh bared her fangs and lunged out for the creature’s throat. Neck - nice thin neck! She could almost feel the bones splintering beneath her hands; eyes bulging, arteries bursting…

“You little woolly shit! Come here! I’m going to twist your bloody head off!”

Harïsh made a snatch. The lamb gave a little squeal of fright and leapt clean out of the thorns, then sped across the grass and ran whimpering to its mother. Harïsh fought back to open ground and glared pure murder at the elusive little beast.

It wasn’t even her damned lamb! It belonged to Haripettii. The ear-tag was red on blue.

Bugger it!

Haripettii lounged back against a tree and laughed. He was a handsome lad of fourteen years or so. Harïsh glared at him and picked jagged leaves out of her fur.

The fire seemed much, much closer. Harïsh scowled as she stared off towards her home; surely the fire must be under control by now? If not, then standing inside a thicket of dry thorn would be suicide. The safest course would be to move downriver. Harïsh slowly backed away, wiping her hands against her filthy skirt.

“People, get your things! We’re moving the flocks out of here. Come on, lets get them down the watercourse.”

Haripettii turned his back and ignored her. Less than a third of the shepherds were male, and they were all the difficult ones. The girls had taken one look at the fires and had already packed their bags to go. Harïsh stalked over to Haripetti and nudged him with her foot.

Girls grow faster than boys, and Harïsh had more muscles than any of the males. She landed an almighty kick on Haripettii’s rear. The boy tumbled to his feet and swung at her with his fist. Harïsh tripped him over with an efficient foot and landed him hard upon a great bum-piercing thistle. Harïsh whirled on another boy, her eyes glaring like an angry golden hawk.

“Up! All of you, up! The fire’s crossed the creek. We’re leaving.” She pointed at a gawky, leggy girl who sat binding on her sandals. “Pachetta, you’re our fastest. Go back to the village and tell them where we’ve gone. I’ll take your sheep with mine.”

Pachetta gave a stylish salute and swirled up through the air, brown wings whirring as she shot off towards the village. Meanwhile, with fliers swooping back and forth to rattle up the strays, the village flocks moved slowly south towards the river.

Harïsh sighed. The day was too hot for all this nonsense. There were sheep to move and lambs to find. So much for the peaceful life of herding. Harïsh plodded wearily along behind her sheep, tapping up the laggards with her staff.

Three weeks. Three weeks and she would be moving to the healers’ school at Emu Point. She would leave behind everything she loved to start her big adventure. Day by day the date drew closer, and now all of a sudden she had found reasons to stay right here at home.

Keketál.

Without him, her life would be over. He loved her. She could see it sometimes shining in his eyes. And then-then he would go and ruin everything by treating her just like a child. Would he ever come right out and kiss her? How obvious did she have to get? How could any man be so clever, so lovable and so dim?

Pachetta hurtled herself down into the gully, and something black and hideous came screaming in her wake. Pachetta staggered as an ïsha bolt ripped out to gouge her wings.

The monster exploded from the bushes and shrieked out for her blood. Hurt and reeling, Pachetta span out of control and crashed into the creek.

The girl clawed at the ground. Her left wing had broken and one arm hung crooked from her shoulder as she dragged herself across the dirt and whimpered for her friends.

An evil, predatory hiss came from behind her. Pachetta turned, life draining from her face; she watched a demon come for her, shaking her head in disbelief.

Blood gouted through the air; Pachetta shrieked as something sticky vomited across her face. She went on screaming even after hands and bodies crowded in panic all around her.

Harïsh grabbed Pachetta’s hand, shoved a foot inside her armpit and clicked the bones back into place. Pachetta squealed, her whole body shivering with pain. Her work already done, Harïsh held her tight and whispered calm words inside her ears.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. It’s alright now. It’s over. You’re safe.”

The demon lay sprawled across the ground with a stream of blood still seeping from its skull. Harïsh ignored the creature as she slowly smoothed back Pachetta’s hair.

Pachetta giggled and closed her eyes. Harïsh ripped the leaf tips from an overhanging paperbark and vigorously rubbed the buds beneath Pachetta’s nose.

“No. Not until we know if there’s more demons here. They’d smell the magic. Just stay calm and quiet. You’re all alright with me.”

Harïsh spoke with a healer’s soothing voice. The others felt their terror bleed away as the fifteen-year-old reached out to take them with a mother’s guiding hand.