A Whisper of Wings Read Online Free Page A

irritable sigh.
    “Oh give it to the cook! Just go and fetch water for the tea.”
    Shadarii silently surrendered up the tortoise, then spread her wings and fluttered off into the gloom. Zhukora poured herself more tea from the iron pot. She glowered across one shoulder, cradling her pottery cup, watching as her sister’s tail dwindled in the gloom. Zhukora sipped her tea and made a face, then irritably stood and hurtled the dregs into the ashes.
    With a brisk flick of her feet she sprang aloft, fading silently into the black, sharp shadows of the evening.
     
     
    “Father?”
    The inside of the lodge always seemed dark. Zhukora’s tail lashed, her spine prickling to emotions that she dare not recognise.
    Here the regime of tradition lay enshrined in all its glory. The room was austere and restrained, with decoration carefully pared down to a minimum. Zhukora smoothly knelt down at the edges of the shadow, her wings sweeping out to shade her impassive face.
    “Honoured father, it is almost time to eat. Counsellor Kïkorï and his wife are joining us tonight. They bring news of the famines in the western tribal lands.”
    The room remained frozen in unmoving, aimless darkness; Zhukora kept her gaze firmly riveted to the floor.
    “Sire, the elders of the clan will meet tomorrow to discuss the coming toteniha festival. We must review the topics they will raise. You must decide upon your policies.”
    Something in the shadows stirred, and a deep, smooth voice whispered in the silence.
    “Yes… Policies…”
    Zhukora’s wings quivered.
    “Father - It’s important.”
    “Yes… But no hurry. It will all still be there tomorrow. The young always place so much credence upon haste…”
    Zhukora rose and trimmed the lamp, and the shadows swam and fled. There, beneath paired masks of Father Wind and Mother Rain, sat the high lord of the Katakanii’s clan Swallow-Tail.
    Nochorku-Zha had bones that jutted hard like struts of steel. His jet black fur glittered with a sheen of grey - hair once as black and straight as his daughter’s now shone pure white with age. Long antennae stirred as he sat in the shadows of his empty home.
    His eldest daughter’s face remained frozen in a cold, hard mask of duty.
    “Father, I must talk to you. Something - something happened today. I was in the forest hunting. My kill! Prakucha stole from me!”
    Her father simply smiled.
    “Prakucha cannot steal from you. He is a hunter of a higher tier. He would never act in such a way. To do so is unthinkable.”
    Zhukora clenched her fists, frustration piercing her voice.
    “My spear struck first! He stole from me!”
    “His spear takes precedence. He is an older man. His rights must be upheld.”
    “Rights?” The girl’s lithe body seethed with hate. “The kill was mine. Mine! It isn’t fair. He is guilty of a crime!”
    “He cannot commit a crime against you. He is higher in status than you. His own claim therefore must be the correct claim.” The old man’s wings stirred softly in the gloom. “This is the forest, child! Nothing ever changes. All is as it must be. In the perfect order, all creatures have their place. This is the divine necessity of stasis.”
    “Father! Things are happening!”
    “Nothing is happening. All troubles pass. We know this because our troubles have always passed. The forest is eternal; the Kashra are eternal. We bask beneath the Wind and Rain in the one-world of the earth.”
    Zhukora felt a rising sense of panic.
    “Father, I am a huntress. The game is running out! The hunting zones empty quicker every year!”
    “We shall soon be moving to our summer villages. The game will be plentiful and the garden groves shall all be full.”
    “Father…”
    “Hush child. You shall be present at the council tomorrow to help me to my place. You may stay and listen to the wise decisions of the elders.”
    Zhukora’s ears flattened.
    “Yes sire. As you say.”
    At a hundred and ten years of age, Nochorku stood