A Whisper of Wings Read Free

treetrunks held aloft the forest roof, so tradition formed the bones of Katakanii life. Shadarii’s people hunted the rainforests for their food. They dug the tubers from the dark old soil and reaped the wild grains from the riversides. They were the Kashra, the folk of Father Wind and Mother Rain, timeless and unchanging.
    Tribal dancers preserved the stories of the past. Each tale had been recorded as a complex formal play. The centuries had refined the art into exquisite delicacy. To learn the Katakanii’s repertoire of ritual dance became the love-task of a lifetime.
    Shadarii burned with one shining, simple need. She sought to tap the wonder that she felt within her soul, and so she gave herself to the magic of her craft. When she danced, she felt set free into a world of beauty, and her supple body spoke the tales that her tongue could never tell.
    The dream of knowledge burned bright within Shadarii’s heart, and so she glumly suffered Mistress Traveesha’s scorn; for the sake of knowledge, Shadarii would endure.
    Mistress Traveesha paused in thought before sending her dancers scurrying off into the bushes.
    “Shadarii, you shall lead the chorus dancers. Javïra my dove, to your place! Everyone attend the cues and listen for the harmonies. Come along, the day is wasting!”
    Shadarii’s great orange wings flipped out to catch the ïsha, and she swirled high up into the air, taking her place in the branches of a silver eucalyptus tree. Far below her, the dance seemed ready to begin. Mistress Traveesha briskly flitted to the sidelines, and with a sharp clap of her hands she signalled the rehearsal to begin.
    It was a simple tale of creation; the meeting of “First Mother” with the spirits of the forest world. For the dancers of clan Swallow-Tail of the Katakanii tribe, the dance should be an easy task. One by one the girls fell quiet - poised like graceful, precious flowers high above the forest floor.
    Music rose to brush across the air; breath by breath the rhythm grew, while the trees stirred gently to the ebb and sway of sound.
    A naked dancer preened herself at the centre of the clearing. Javïra was a creature of perfect, pristine beauty - a beauty that could hurt with all the malice of a wildcat’s claws. The sun shone from her pure white fur, tracing icy highlights across her flanks. The painted mask across her face merely emphasised the cool perfection of her form. The music surged - Javïra swayed… The girl shamelessly indulged herself, stretching out her solo dance for all that it was worth. The music seemed to wilt and groan, dragged far past any memory of its initial charm.
    High up in the trees, Shadarii’s ears flattened, her tail thrashing as she shared the dance’s agony. Javïra was the darling of the clan; the first choice for any solo part, she had become the most sought after woman in the tribe. The Dancing Mistress doted on her, applauding the “perfection” of Javïra’s talents.
    Javïra also happened to be Mistress Traveesha’s niece…
    Far below, Javïra threw out her arms and turned yet another pirouette, tossing out her snow-white hair and dancing beneath a streaming shaft of sun. She paused, looked slowly up into the treetops… And whirled about to start her solo dance again.
    Enough was enough! Shadarii suddenly set her jaw and dove head first towards the ground, great wings sweeping out to guide her fall. She banked and made a dizzy curve past Javïra’s astonished face, then looped triumphantly up into the sky.
    Shadarii reached out to touch the ïsha flow, winging through the currents as she flipped over in another dive. All around her the other dancing girls came tumbling from their perches, laughing brightly as they hurtled through the air.
    Javïra flapped her mouth open like a landed fish, then slowly swelled, her fur going stiff with anger. Finally she hurtled her mask down to the ground and stamped in wanton fury.
    “NO!”
    Far up in the air the dancers dipped