Free A Whisper of Wings by Paul Kidd

that noise? The game can’t be done already? Surely what’s-her-name’s team put up some fight against the Orchids?”
    “I doubt your daughter’s team made much of a show, my Lord. When it all comes down to it, style and experience are all that counts. The young have so much to learn.”
    “Aye. Aye yes indeed.”
    Nochorku-Zha seemed greatly pleased by the sentiment. Quite a peace with his world, he smiled and swirled his steaming cup of tea.
     
     
    “ Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull! Skull!”
    The chant roared through the crowd as Skull-wings hurtled down the field. Zhukora’s eyes blazed with energy; they were two goals up on the most powerful team in all the tribe!
    The Skull-Wings moved like a single savage entity; each curt signal from Zhukora brought immediate response. They dove and flickered with a wicked malice, weaving tight formations about their dandified opponents.
    The Orchids grew angry, and their fury swiftly unhinged their fragile teamwork. The ball sailed down left field, pursued by a churning cloud of players. Zhukora watched the melee pass and signalled with her fist. Her tight spearhead of players screamed out of the sun and stole the ball before the Orchids even realised it had gone. With her bodyguards beside her, Zhukora tore off down the field.
    Speed blurred her to a streak of black; Orchid guards flapped after her, helpless to intercept. Zhukora lashed out with a whip of ïsha, hurtling her enemy aside. With a shrill call of delight she speared for the goals.
    Pain ripped through Zhukora’s wing, and Prakucha dove past, laughing savagely as Zhukora screamed and fell. He had smashed her wing, deliberately going for an injury. Daimïru snatched her leader’s belt and desperately tried to slow Zhukora’s fall.
    Down on the ground, Zhukora rolled in agony. The wing muscle had been only barely healed from yesterday in the river, and her great soft wing spasmed as pain twisted through it like a knife. Somewhere in the distance the game went on as Skull-wing guards clubbed Prakucha to the turf.
    “Raiders!”
    The wildly cheering crowd began to falter as a terrified youngster erupted through the trees. He flew as though all Poison’s demons were chasing on his tail.
    “Raiders! Raiders in the village!” The boy skidded to a halt, clawing frantically at friends and neighbours. “They’re taking it! Taking it all!”
    Villagers milled in confusion, and the two jiteng teams clattered to a halt. Zhukora rocked in Daimïru’s arms with fangs gritted as a Skull-wing came racing to her side.
    “Zhukora, there’s raiders in the village! Warriors with spears!”
    “R-report! How-how many?”
    “Fifty, maybe sixty!”
    “Who-who says?” Speech seemed difficult; her wing hurt like Fire and Poison.
    “A lad saw them. Says they’re sacking all the lodges!”
    Zhukora hissed and brutally straightened out her wing, her fangs clenched against the dreadful pain.
    “Get the team! Get our hunt group! If they can’t find spears they can grab stones from the riverbanks.” The skull mask snarled for blood. “Kill anything that stands in your way. Move!”
    Daimïru rose and yelled out the hunt group’s rallying cry. Zhukora’s fangs flashed as thirty hunters stormed into the air at her command, and the huntress pumped her fist towards their prey.
    “Double spearhead formation. My lead, wing guards high!”
    Zhukora staggered up into the air, ïsha sheeting all around her like a storm.
     
     
    “Stop it! Put it down! That’s someone else’s property!”
    Kotaru’s voice cracked in horror. His fellow tribesmen screeched like animals; old hunting mates, nest kin… They had all turned into something Kotaru couldn’t understand.
    Men whooped and tossed laquered boxes through the air. Each box was a stunning work of art, carved and painted by an artists caring hand. With a splintering crash the masterpieces tumbled to the ground.
    “Stop it! Stop it!”
    Kotaru cried out in