Windwalker: Forbidden Flight Page 5

  Kiva was ravenous. She took an over-sized mouthful of bread. “What did you find out?” she asked, her words muffled by the food.

  “It’s bad,” he said, “but not as bad as it could be.”

  Kiva set down the bread. “Bad? What do you mean?”

  Mica’s expression was serious, but there was hope in his eyes. “I was hoping things would blow over…that people would dismiss the whole thing as a prank.”

  “It was not a prank!” she said, glaring.

  “Listen to me Kiva, you know how I feel, but there are many in the basin who do not share the sentiment. If you wish to avoid their wrath, you must abandon that line of thinking.”

  “Why should I care what they think? Let them seethe. I completed the trials. I have proven that I am worthy!” she argued.

  “If you want to remain in Madina Basin, then you will have to take their opinions into account,” he said somberly.

  “If I want to remain? Do you mean…” Kiva couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  Mica nodded gravely.

  Exile.

  It was like a punch to the gut. Her worst nightmare was coming true. No one as young as she had ever been exiled from the basin. How could the very people she hoped to protect renounce her so completely?

  She wilted, and Mica’s expression softened. “It is not likely to happen,” he said. “You are young, and haven’t caused any physical harm. There will be a council meeting in ten days. If you play it right, you will get off with a light punishment and nothing more.”

  Kiva put her face in her hands. There was no stopping the tears now.

  Mica put his arms around her and pulled her close. “It will be okay,” he said soothingly. “We will show them this was all just a big misunderstanding.”

  Inside, Kiva was a whirlwind of shame, fear, and anger. Most of all anger.

  She shoved Mica away. “No!” she glared at him. “You are acting like it is I that have done something wrong.”

  “Kiva, you broke the rules—”

  “The rules are wrong!”

  Mica took a deep breath. “That may be, but breaking them is not going to change that.”

  “And why not?” she argued. “Do you honestly think Jado would have accepted a challenge from me? He would have laughed and sent me to the weavers.”

  “You could have brought it to the council,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

  “Right, a group of wrinkly old qadims are going to change centuries of tradition because a sixteen-year-old girl asked them to? No,” Kiva said, shaking her head. “This was the only possible way. I have to show them I am worthy.”

  “It’s over, Kiva. It didn’t work. You must let go of this foolish dream. The only way the council will absolve you is if you admit it was a mistake.”

  “So that’s how it is then, is it? You would take their side?”

  “I am not taking their side!” he said, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “I am on your side. I just want what’s best for you, and our family.”

  “And I suppose you are the right person to decide what is best for me? You’re just like mother.”

  “If you can’t see that avoiding exile is the best thing for you, then yes! You need someone else deciding for you.”

  “I do not need your help. I will prove to them that they are wrong. If I am exiled…then so be it.”

  “Selfish girl! Do you not see what your actions do to those around you? Our family is shamed. They shout insults at us in the open. Amir’s place in the stonemelters is at risk.”

  Kiva looked away, attempting to hide the shame on her face. “Get out,” she muttered.

  “It is time to grow up, Kiva, and start thinking about people other than yourself.”

  “I said get out!” she reached for the closest object—the remainder of her bread—and threw it at him.

  Mica stood, clenching his jaw tightly, his fists balled up at his sides. After a tense moment, he stormed out, slamming the door.

  Kiva collapsed onto the bedding, sobbing. She hated to admit it, but he was right. The whole time she had been thinking of what she wanted; of the consequences she might face. She hadn’t considered the possibility that her family would pay for the risks she took.

  It is not fair! her mind shouted back with indignant rage. The firestorm of emotion battled with her shame as she wrestled with her limited options. Fight for her dream—what was rightfully hers—and ruin her family, or give in. Admit fault. Shame herself to the point where she could never look another in the eyes again.

  Kiva had never been one for humility. She saw it as weakness; something others would use for exploitation. She sat up and rested her forehead on the palms of her hands. Her heart ached fiercely, and her stomach filled with anxious butterflies as she realized the path she must take.

  There was no choice but to admit fault. Kiva could live with putting her own future in jeopardy, but not her family’s. Even so, she would rather die than face her people again, after seeing the hate in their eyes. Following the council trial, no matter the outcome, she would choose a life of exile. The conclusion was a great weight that rested upon her shoulders, but there was some relief in having come to a decision.

  After the trial, she would never see her parents, Mica, ever again. A tear rolled down her cheek as she realized that she would even miss Amir’s complaints.

  What’s done is done, she told herself in an effort to remain strong.

  She looked down at the tray of fruit and dried meat, and pushed it away.

  A sudden light clack came from her left, and Kiva looked up to find that the moonlight streaming through her window was completely blocked. She immediately stood, furrowing her brow. Something small dropped in through the round hole in the stone wall, and whatever had been blocking the light was suddenly gone.

  I am hundreds of feet up, she thought. What could have…

  There was something on the floor below the window. Kiva walked over and found a rolled lizard skin, tied with a small cord. She cautiously knelt down and picked it up, turning it over.

  5

  Out and Up

  Kiva poked her head out of the window, and found only the vast, open desert. The rocky walls of Madina Basin stretched vertically above and below, lit by pale moonlight. Kiva untied the cord, and the skin unraveled. A black iridescent feather floated out from it, sailing back and forth as it drifted to the ground.

  Kiva bent down and picked it up. A chill ran down her spine. Who would—

  There was something scratched into the animal skin. Kiva held it up to the moonlight.

  out and up

  Out and up? Kiva re-read it several times, then looked back toward the window. It was large enough for her to fit through…barely. But we’re on the desert side, she thought. There was no telling how treacherous or high a climb would be.

  She began to climb out, then paused, remembering her decision to be responsible, for the sake of her family. She pulled her head back in, and looked down at the feather in her hand, remembering that feeling of flight she’d experienced during the windfaith trial.

  Her eyes switched focus from the feather to the plush rug beneath her feet, the same one that bore her mother’s favorite pattern.

  No, she thought. I will not allow my family to suffer because of me.

  With great regret, Kiva tossed the skin out the window, along with the kiraeen feather.

  She then walked back to her bedding and sat down on it, crossing her legs. Meditation had never done anything for her in the past, but there wasn’t much else to do at the moment. Kiva closed her eyes, resting her hands on her knees, and tried to be at peace with what was to come.

  She was just beginning to find a hint of inner calm when a rustling came from the window. Kiva opened one eye to see the animal skin on the rug. She opened the other and saw the feather, once again sailing back and forth on its journey to the floor.

  Kiva frowned. Who do you think you are? she thought, annoyed at
the brazen act.

  She stood, intending to throw them back out again, when a knock came at the door.

  “Who is it?” she asked after a moment, hiding the skin and feather beneath her bedding.

  Three more knocks came at the door.

  Kiva remembered the terrifying man climbing the stage and grabbing her hair, and immediately scanned the room for anything she might use as a weapon.

  “Kivanya Fariq, you open the door this instant!” the unmistakable, muffled voice of her mother came from the other side.

  Kiva rushed over and unlocked it, and her mother stepped in, closing the door behind.

  Ismaela Fariq looked her daughter over sternly, and Kiva stared at the floor, suddenly conscious of her red eyes and tear stained cheeks. She braced herself for the inevitable barrage that would issue from her mother’s mouth.

  Then, without another word, her mother did something she never would never have expected. Kivanya felt her mother’s arms wrap around her as if she were a small child again, hanging from her apron strings.

  Kiva stiffened, unsure how to respond to the unusual show of affection, but her mother only hugged her tighter. She was suddenly hit by the realization that she was not alone. Her mother, at least, had not abandoned her. She collapsed into her arms, hugging back just as fiercely. They finally released, and Kiva felt fresh tears welling in her eyes. She saw the same in her mother’s.

  “I’m so sorry mama,” she said. “I never meant to cause trouble for you and Papa.”

  Her mother pursed her lips together. “Come, let us sit.”

  They walked over to the floor pillows and seated themselves across from each other.

  “You must think me so foolish,” said Kiva.

  “At first, yes. I did,” her mother answered. “But while everyone else was watching those who were shocked and angry, I was busy observing those who were not…No woman has ever accomplished what you did today.”

  Kiva was surprised to find a sense of pride stirring within her.

  “The looks on the faces of the young girls in the crowd—those who would soon face their own proving—was not one of outrage, but wide-eyed wonder and hope. Before today, none of them had ever dreamed they could accomplish what you did. They saw themselves in you, Kivanya.”

  Kiva was unsure how to react. She’d never seen her mother like this before. It was as if something within her, something long forgotten, had awakened.

  “But our family’s reputation…Amir’s proving—”

  “We will be fine. The stonemelters are lucky to have your father and Amir, and they know it.”

  “And what about you?” Kiva asked, looking up into her mother’s eyes.

  “Pah!” she said, flicking her hand dismissively. “On the surface, the weavers share the men’s outrage, but within the circles, there is talk of change. I will play the part of a mother shamed, but the truth is, I am proud of you, Kivanya. What you did, and even more so Jado’s reaction to it, have drawn attention to what many Sahra’ women have been feeling for a long while.”

  “The men have been holding us back,” Kiva said.

  “No,” her mother said sternly. “Adversarial sentiments will lead only to resentment and strife.” She breathed a short laugh. “Funny, it would seem your father has rubbed off on me after all these years.” She returned her focus to Kiva and said, “We will not claim to be better, but we will claim the right to challenge. This is the path to change.”

  Kiva resisted the urge to pinch herself. Her mother, her traditional, strict, controlling mother, was speaking of revolution. She thought back to what her brother had said. “Mica believes I should claim that what I did was a mistake…a joke.”

  “Of course he does. He is a man,” her mother said with a half-smile. “He wants what he thinks is best for you. As you know, Lalla Netaniah is on the council of seven. I have spoken with her, and she believes the women of the council will support you in your challenge.”

  Kiva’s heart leapt in excitement, then once again sank. “But there are only three women on the council. They won’t be enough to offset the men.”

  “Which is why it is imperative that all Sahra’ women—wives, daughters, sisters—all stand united to demand equal representation on the council.”

  “You mean…”

  “A council of eight. Four men, four women.”

  Kiva’s jaw dropped. The council of seven had been enshrined in tradition since Madina Basin was first settled. It was as solid and unchanging as the towering buttes of the Miralaja.

  “You think…I should stand my ground?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I think that what you do is your decision, Kivanya. Even with everything that’s going on, there is still a chance this may result in exile. You now stand at the center of something far greater than yourself.”

  Kiva took a deep breath, attempting to come to terms with the responsibility implied in her mother’s words. “If you are successful…If we are successful,” Kiva corrected, “and there are four men and four women on the council, what will happen if there is a tie?”

  “A good question. Either there will have to be a compromise, or a deciding vote from another.”

  “Who?”

  “Some have suggested the eldest of the sect of mystics.”

  “But the eldest is also a man,” Kiva said, recalling the gnarled old figure who spoke at the proving ceremony commencement.

  Her mother nodded. “Yehiel is the eldest, but it will not always be so. His sister, Suriel is the next in line. She would succeed him in the position once he passes.”

  Kiva nodded. Yehiel deciding would not necessarily help her situation, but the change would be a massive victory for future generations of Sahra’ women. “A male tie-breaker will make the councilmen more agreeable,” she acknowledged.

  Her mother smiled with pride. “Precisely.”

  Kiva gazed at the window, up toward the sky, then turned back to face her mother. She had rejected the idea of fighting for her own selfish reasons, but this was no longer just about her.

  “Alright,” she said. “I will stand my ground,” she said firmly. “Even if it means exile.”

  Her mother’s smile faded, and was replaced with serious determination. She reached out and took Kiva’s hand. “I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. You have my support, and that of the weavers.”

  Kiva once again felt tears fighting to reach her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, for reminding me that there are more important things in life than propriety and tradition.”

  Her mother reached into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a folded black headscarf. “This is for you.”

  She handed it to Kiva, who took it gently. A red symbol had been embroidered onto its surface. Kiva traced it with her fingertip. It was a kiraeen, all four of its wings spread wide, surrounded by a circle.

  “I…thank you.” She was too moved to say more.

  “Before long, every woman in Madina Basin will be wearing that symbol.”

  “Mama…I don’t know what to say,” she looked into her mother’s turquoise eyes, and found a new light there.

  “You needn’t say a thing,” she answered.

  Kiva leapt into her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You have my love, child, and that of your father. You are not alone.”

  After a long moment, they released each other, and stood.

  “I will try to come back and give you an update,” her mother said. “But getting in here was not easy, and might not happen again before you stand before the council.”

  Kiva realized suddenly, that this could be the last time she saw her mother. “Can you not stay a while longer?” she asked.

  Her mother smiled fondly. “Would that I could, but there is work to be done, and only ten days to do it.”

  Kiva nodded, doing her best to mask her disappointment. “I understand.”

  Her mother smiled, placing a hand t
o her cheek. “Stay strong, Skyhunter.”

  With that, she turned and walked out of the room.

  Kiva immediately hurried over to the bedding. She lifted the covers, revealing the lizard skin and kiraeen feather. She held the feather up to the moonlight, watching as turquoise, green and blue colors danced across it. She looked again at the lizard skin in her hand.

  out and up

  She tucked it into her shirt, and the feather under her belt, before pulling herself up through the window. Above, the craggy face of the basin’s outer wall loomed. Kiva chose a path, and began to climb.