Page 47 of Glass Wings
Djoser | New Zealand | Late 1900s
The mother sat therein the clearing, tears streaming down her face while holding a purple-tinted newborn with healthy lungs. The child's screams put an edge in the air, quiet but filled with distress.
Djoser stood there among Arryn, Amis, and Reign, still surrounded by the old woman and her council of pregnant women. All eyes of the council nervously shifted between the infant and Amis, some of the ladies anxiously fidgeting with their clothing.
“You’re not often here when there is a birth. The mother should have more time with the infant,” Mother Waihema said, putting her hand to her own heart and nodding her head towards Amis respectfully.
“More time for what?” Reign asked.
Amis put his hand on Mother Waihema’s shoulder before walking towards the clearing, the woman who had given birth now very aware of his proximity. Fear filled her eyes as she brought herinfant to her chest, kissing its head and shushing, rocking. More tears streamed freely down her face as her visible fight to control her shaking was lost.
“Please,” she panted as Amis reached her, kneeling to bring his body leveled with theirs.
“This is tradition,” Mother Waihema said, her eyes meeting Reign’s.
Djoser watched as Amis took the infant from its mother’s hands, the woman losing the battle to control her sobs. He turned the baby around, noting the unmarked skin on its back. He then took the baby’s finger into his mouth, and the infant began to panic. Amis’s face was that of disappointment as he spit the finger back out.
“This child is human,” he announced, letting his head hang.
“No, no, you can’t. He’s my child, you can’t take him from me!” The new mother shakily stood, screaming and clawing in attempts to take the rattled infant back from Amis’s arms.
Amis stood strong. His eyes were stone cold as he turned away from the new mother’s pleas and began to walk toward Djoser and the others.
“Her last child was a full protector,” one of the pregnant council women whispered to the group. “This experience will be new and painful for her.”
“What experience?” Djoser asked.
“Do you not know?” the councilwoman asked in surprise. “We are bred to foster magic. If the child is human, then our tribe is out of balance. It can grow into adulthood, breed and dilute the magical bloodlines even more within our tribe as well. The only solution is to let the child be taken by death.”
The new mother continued to cry, falling to all fours and crawling behind Amis. Djoser caught eyes with Amis and watched in horror as his hand moved up to the child’s head.
“No—” Djoser shouted, his hands outstretched to intervene but too slow as Amis snapped the infant's neck. The child went limp and lifeless in Amis’ arms, its hands dangling, heavy.
The new mother screamed as if someone had stabbed her, andthe council of women rushed towards her to comfort and restrain her.
“You’re a monster. You’re a murderer,” she shouted out before the group gagged her out of respect for their leader, their god. Their faces were horrified, apologetic and pleading as they waited for Amis’s reaction to the words of disrespect. Amis only stood staring, his eyes hard, fists by his side.
Djoser felt sick. His entire existence had been based on hating himself, hating that he had the power to take away life, to disassemble atoms. He had convinced himself that he was awful, and the murders he committed at command of the gods, the Life Gifter, laid heavily on his conscience. He knew that the orders were given to create a better world, to improve mankind, but he had never, never killed a child, not directly. His bare hands had never stolen a last breath in the same way, with skin to skin contact. It felt so personal.
“Mother,” Amis said, holding out the corpse towards Mother Waihema. She walked up and accepted the body, taking it into her arms.
“We will prepare the burial,” she assured the group and turned to walk back down the path that brought them all here alone.
“I can’t accept this. I don’t understand,” Djoser mustered out. Reign and Arryn stood rooted to their spots beside him, unable to meet his eyes.
“Come, family,” Amis said, pushing on the backs of Arryn and Reign, leaving Djoser to follow. “Let us discuss this in the communal area, away from the grieving behind us.”
Once they’d obliged and were sitting on long tree trunks cut horizontally in half in the common area, Djoser let his head hang low, taking deep breaths as the stench of death consumed him.
He was a monster and was learning that Amis was, too. How many children have died here?
The sound of youthful laughter filled Djoser’s ears. He looked up, Amis standing right before him with Arryn and Reign behind him in support.
“Those children that you hear playing,” Amis said, pointingtowards the huts where village children played tag, oblivious to the tragedy less than half a mile away from them. “Those children are the reason for Waihema. They carry varying amounts of Kinnari blood. Some of them even bear the Kinnari mark and, though not immortal, will grow wings around their twentieth birthdays. The tribe calls these children their protectors.”
“I can’t accept what you did,” Djoser said, standing. He towered over Amis, whose body looked frail in comparison.
“I believe you are here because you need what I breed,” Amis said, amused, turning to face Arryn.
