Page 2 of Glass Wings
“You’re ready. It’s time.” Their mother nodded, her face withered from years of labor and service to her village. If she had any feelings of pride or panic for her firstborn, she did not let her eyes reveal them. Their mother would be his rock tonight.
Hunu puffed out his chest, holding back a whimper, keeping his jaw clenched tight. He ducked his head under the dwelling door and followed his mother into the village. Not wanting to be left behind, Emere followed, while counting the dark blue droplets of blood that speckled the ground behind her brother's trail.
The small family walked in silence along the pathway that led up to the ceremony circle. A modest wooden stage was illuminated by the fire, waiting for her brother.
Fellow tribe members gathered and watched as others performed with pride. Women stood on one side, singing up towards the sky. Opposite them stood a group of men moving through a series of warrior poses in rhythm with the song.
A shadow passed over the crowd, a silhouette of large wings as if it had quickly flown above them. As if it were fleeing.
“Did you see that?” she shouted, but no one heard over the roar of the festivities.
“Take your place.” Hunu’s mother ushered her son through thecrowd and up to the steps of the stage. He obeyed, revealing his bloodied shoulders to all who were there to watch. The chanting grew louder, deeper.
Emere stood and watched her brother on the stage as he slumped into a low squat, humming with the song that floated in the air. A small pool of blood gathered under him. His eyes were closed, and he bared his teeth. His hands trembled at his sides from pain. He turned around and yelled, from deep within his core, to the heavens above. The yell was both a call for help and a song, melodic yet murderous, his aggression inching its way up from beneath his skin.
Bone became visible, sticking out from his shoulder blades. It looked flexible and inched out slowly, shredding more of Hunu's skin as it grew wider and thicker. The color turned from white to onyx, as dark as Hunu’s eyes, as he prayed into the night sky for mercy.
A mix of high-pitched screaming and deep bellows blended to create a feeling of deafening fright. This was Waihema pride. Emere took a step back, hands over her ears as her brother shouted again and again. Agony pulsed through his body as more of his skin was ripped apart at his shoulder blades.
She regretted coming. She was not ready for this. Emere wished she were back on the shore as the water calmly rinsed the sand off of her toes.
“Sorry,” she yelped, startled. Emere whirled around after she realized that she had stepped on a small foot. It was a young girl with no more than three years of life. The child looked at her with big, bright eyes that were also terrified. The young girl clenched tightly to her doll, woven from old, repurposed baskets. Emere kneeled to her level and scooped her in towards her body into a hug.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you now,” she whispered to her, thankful for the distraction. If she couldn’t be strong for herself, she could be strong while protecting someone else.
“That’s my brother up there; his name is Hunu,” she explained. “We must be thankful that some of our villagers develop to protect us from anything that hides in the shadows. My momma told me thatwe have not had a protector since the last one died thirty years ago. For the first time in both of our lives, we will sleep safely tonight.”
Emere looked back up at the stage, startled by an instant quieting. Everyone around her was still, their faces like stone.
An elderly woman given the most respected position in their village, known through the generations as Mother Waihema, let out a long raspy moan of mellisonant breath to signal a new chapter of the ceremony. Emere watched as next, her mother stepped up to the stage, holding a headdress that seemed larger than its carrier. It boasted yellow, teal, and black feathers with carved soft stone and gems.
Hunu, panting with his hands and feet touching the stage floor, did his best not to move. He waited, trembling. The headdress was lifted high for all to see as Emere’s mother placed it on her son’s head, signaling the ceremony's completion.
“Rise, rise for all of Waihema,” Mother Waihema called out. The rest of the village obeyed, chanting louder.
Hunu gathered his strength. His body shook as if weighed down by hundreds of pounds, yet he pushed through and rose to a full standing position.
He opened his arms out to his sides. It was slow work, like a newborn being pulled from the womb, but Hunu released the full width of his new wings. They were powerful, an onyx black with dark notes of green. They measured four times the length of his body, heavy with muscle and skin that had not existed only moments ago.
The village members began applauding and praying, a stagnant weight lifted from the air. Emere looked at the little girl still in her arms and giggled in victory. He had survived.
The two girls both began to dance to the clapping rhythm that the entire village now came together to create. Big smiles and relief showed on every villager's face. The faint smell of a feast being prepared floated through the air.
Emere watched her brother clumsily descend the stairs of the stage. His legs struggled under the weight, bowing with each step. It would take a few days, but he would grow his strength. He wouldeven soon learn to be airborne, something that Emere had been hearing about in bedtime stories since she could remember. It was real, all of this magic. She finally got to see it.
Though no one heard it at first, a high-pitched scream sounded in the distance over the celebration. Then there was another. Then another.
Emere alone noticed it and turned towards the huts, putting down the toddler and heading towards the call of distress. Her feet carried her, her round cheeks low with worry. Women were too often giving birth in this village, and she assumed a new mother had gone into labor utterly alone.
She continued to follow the scream, which grew weaker yet sounded nearer. She passed three huts and peered over into the shadows between them.
Emere choked, trying to suppress her scream.
There was something there in the shadows. She could see little of it other than red glowing eyes in the dark shadows. The dirt and grass it stood over was covered in blood as it tore into flesh, the body of a woman.
Emere kept her hand over her mouth, afraid to breathe too loudly. She tip-toed out of the creature's view and then turned to run at full speed. Her eyes searched for her mother.
To her horror, she was too late.
