This is a short story I wrote a few months ago because the idea popped into my head. :)
Ceremony of Wings
4/20/2013
I
stood before my family in the gathering room of our home, trying to
ignore the inflamed itching on my back. In just a few minutes I
would get relief, but for right now all I could think about was
wanting to tear into my wing pouches – to let my wings free and end
the torment of my back. My new dress had gaps just big enough for my
wings when they were released, but even the cool air did nothing to
lessen the itch.
Please
Grandma, hurry! I silently pleaded. My plea came at the right
time, for she intoned the last words a mere second after.
“And
thus, Zallafay was born.” Her eyes connected with mine and I tried
to stand a little straighter. She stepped towards me and laid a worn
hand against my cheek. “Now she is ready to stand among us, an
adult.”
My
father dipped his head at me, a brief look of approval crossing his
face, while my mother beamed with obvious joy. Kalla and Treav, the
next oldest after me, had barely disguised looks of envy on their
faces, though I knew they were happy for me. My littlest brother, not
even old enough to show signs of his wing pouches, poked an
inquisitive finger at a bug on the slated floor with the unconcern of
a child.
From
a sheathe at her waist Grandmother withdrew the ceremonial knife and
walked behind me, her black wings brushing my shoulders lightly. One
hand touched the left-side sac, causing ripples of itchy agony to
crawl across the surface. A slight pressure, then the blade slashed
through the bulging wing sacs and I bit my tongue to keep from crying
out. Liquid from within them slid down my back in slick warm trails.
The itching was gone, replaced by a stinging sensation that even now
faded.
Grandmother
came back around to face me. “Release your wings, Zallafay.”
The
muscles in my back flexed and I strained to extend my wings. There
was a wet, slightly squelchy sound, and they came out all the way.
My
family's eyes widened, almost as one. My mother squeezed my father's
hand and exchanged looks, their black wings brushing against each
other. Grandmother inhaled sharply. I fought the urge to turn around
and look at my wings, for tradition forbade it.
Were
they badly twisted? A boy I knew, Len, his wings had come out twisted
on his wing day. He claimed it didn't bother him, since they would've
been broken anyway, but I couldn't think like that. Everyone knew
that deformed wings lessened your chances to be on Warrior's Way, for
many still believed they were a sign of a curse from Elondi.
Ha.
When our whole race is cursed, what are a few twisted wings? I
thought, bitterly.
Grandmother
swallowed and her face took on a look of calm, though I could still
see her gaze flicking to my wings. She opened her mouth to begin the
end of the ceremony.
The
place of our tribe – I knew it by by heart, and what she would say,
for I had memorized it and whispered it to myself many nights... on
the nights when I cried that Fate, (or Elondi, as Grandmother still
believed) had chosen me to be of this tribe.
I
clenched my jaw and let the words play over in my mind:
'Zallafay,
you are a daughter of the darkness. The dark calls to you and
blackness clings to your feathers. While you live, you are to atone
for the evil of your ancestors for destroying a tribe and bringing
darkness to the Hervn lands. Your wings shall be broken and torn, for
none among the Yekwa shall fly when they still have blood guilt
within their hearts.'
This
was the curse of our tribe. When those last words were spoken, they
would break my wings and cut the main muscles, so I would never fly.
For the past one-hundred and fifty years we had been paying for the
evil of Gern, leader of the tribe in those years, who had lead our
tribe into battle. In his conquest to rule, thousands had died... and
the entire tribe of Nellestaz had been wiped out. The other tribes
rose up in protest and he, and almost every Yekwa, was slaughtered
and the land was plunged into darkness. Those left alive, repented,
and swore before Elondi to pay atonement... All these years later and
our land still hung in a state of twilight, and none of us had once
flown... We used to be people with the strength and endurance of the
mountains, but now struggled to pick out an existence in the
impoverished land.
Grandmother
startled me out of my thoughts as she began to speak. “Zallafay,”
she stopped abruptly, her voice cracking at the end of my name.
I
gave her an odd look. What was wrong?
She
cleared her throat and began again. “Zallafay... You are a daughter
of the light.” Her voice wavered, but she took a deep breath and
continued on, “The sun calls to you and the morning whispers in
your feathers. While you live, you are to bring joy with your music,
and shine the reflection of the songs of Elondi. Your strength shall
lie in the glow of the sun and the warmth of the firelight.”
For
a moment I was frozen, but somehow the words I'd practiced so many
times rolled off my tongue.
“I
shall stand among the people of my flock, and bring strength to their
lands.” Then, I turned my head to look at my wings. Though still
damp and bedraggled, the feathers glistened in bright golden hues.
I was of the light.
My
wings were that of the Nellestaz tribe that had been dead for over
one-hundred years.
~Ophelia - Marie
Copyright © 2013 Ophelia M. Flowers
