Page 1 of Glass Wings
PROLOGUE
There was no moon in the sky that night. The elders had said to expect its absence when a new protector bore wings for the first time. It would be the first time Emere would see a wing ceremony. The new protector, marked from birth, was her nineteen-year-old brother.
Emere did not bear the Kinnari mark on her shoulder blades as her brother did. Sometimes, she would get jealous of the attention he received from the elders. Sometimes, she yearned to have the mark, too. That night, however, she felt thankful that she had only the smallest drop of magic in her blood.
The crimson color that pulsed through her veins reminded her that she was still, in some way, less than. Yet the magic she did have allowed her to live when many infants were torn away from their mothers, which she was thankful for. She didn’t complain.
Salted volcanic ash water dripped from her toes as she stared out into the horizon, chewing on her fingernails while her other hand clasped tightly over a smooth stone. Seven winters, she had survived thus far. She tucked her dark hair behind her ear, blending in withthe shades of tree bark surrounding her, and skipped the stone into the ocean waters.
As she turned back toward the forest, the voices of her elders echoed through the trees as they began the ceremony chants and songs. Her feet gathered dirt and mud, still wet from the shore, as she headed towards the warmth of her village.
Darkness engulfed her as she felt her way there, climbing through branches, and heading towards the light of the ceremony fire. She was not afraid of this place, as the lore taught her that she had once survived an attack from the glowing red eyes that haunted the wooded surroundings. When she could have been the feed for the monsters that plagued their dreams, she was spared. An infant in a bassinet untouched, easy prey that was picked up by human-like hands, and slipped carefully back into her family’s hut.
She would visit the forest as she grew, her curiosity unrivaled, her youth making her foolish, and she would catch glimpses of him. The man who protected her, the monster that sometimes looked like a man with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. He would talk to her sometimes, offering her sweets she had never seen before, warning her to stay away from his kind.
She had already known that, though.
Emere snagged her leg on a thick stump and fell, drops of blood pooling on the surface of her skin. The child continued moving quickly, worried she might miss something important. Her cut stung in the night air, and she was unaware of the multiple pairs of bright red eyes watching and waiting, awoken by the smell of her blood.
The chant she heard from the village reflected the legend of the ceremony. She had heard the story often enough throughout her youth, though now she winced, knowing the pain her brother would endure.
“Winged god, fell in love's embrace,
Left divine tribe for mortal grace.
Wings unfold, in shadows they dance,
Magic in blood, a mystical trance.
Centuries lived, protectors of kin,
Waihema rises, and new life begins.
Children grow with wings unfurled,
Guardians born in an ancient world.
Tonight, we meet, under no moon's glow,
Mortal god Waihema's new arrow.”
Emere stepped onto a man-made dirt path, finally illuminated, and pulled herself out of the darkness of the forest. Embers from the ceremony fire had started to creep onto her skin, searing and making her hiss. She stared in wonder at the size of the flames. There were still twenty or so huts between her and the ceremony circle.
A few of her neighbors jumped out of the doorless, cheerless dwellings partially sunken into the earth. There was nothing luxurious about them. Despite a very modern world that lived just beyond this forest, the tribe lived as their ancestors had, to protect what was sacred. To preserve the magic in their blood.
Emere bent down to enter her hut, the fourth one on the right side of the path. The interior floor was covered with a hand-woven rug dyed with deep indigos and greens. There were only four walls. Her household shared a small space. A bed for her mother was pushed in the north corner, and two smaller single beds existed against the southern wall for Emere and her brother. Her mother told her stories of her father, of the powerful creature with wings who had sired half the children that she played with, but she had yet to meet him. She wondered if she would.
Hunu was sitting on his bed, hunched over. He was so large that, in comparison, the bed looked like it was made for Emere's dolls. His dark, tan skin made him seem like a shadow since the space held little light. He rocked back and forth, panting, with his head in his hands. Small triangular shapes of raised flesh lay on each of his shoulder blades. The Kinnari mark that their father had gifted him. These marks signaled where there would soon be wings.
Hunu would be strong, large, and made for fighting. Though not immortal, his wings would grant him centuries of natural life. InEmere’s village, Hunu would serve as their salvation from the stories she heard of the creatures that lived in the forest.
A shout of pain escaped Hunu’s lips. He wrapped his arms around himself so his hands could grasp his shoulder blades. Someone outside had jumped to attention, their footsteps thudding up to the dwelling in haste. A familiar, lovely face dipped under the door to study Hunu. Emere's mother looked plagued with worry, a deep line forming between her brows.
“Come into the light.”
Emere bounced into the small strip of light framed by the door while Hunu stumbled and dragged himself upright. He stepped into view, blood, thick and dark blue, streaked down the sides of his body.
Hunu’s eyes stung with tears. It was clear that his body had been deteriorating with every exhale as he trembled from pain.
