Culpability

Swiping the knife rhythmically against the thick woollen cloth, Bebero stroked her thin, sensitive fingers against the material, feeling every tiny bump, every hair, every cut she had made and, dragging her fingertips tentatively to the corner of the cuts, she cautiously put the knife down to the surface of the table, only satisfied in herself when she heard the distinctive noise of metal against wood. Keeping one hand attentive to the cut fabric, she dipped her thumb into the sticky mikuku sap and wiped it around the edges of the cuts, careful to coat it evenly and with precision, attentive of the sound of impatient feathers rustling, and a laboured breathing by her ear.

“Hold out your arm,” Bebero commanded. She turned to where her patient sat, in a roughly cut wooden stool that Kakara had placed there carefully only half an hour before and heard the swoosh of the sleeve of her patient. She reached out and carefully felt for the edge of his hand, then working his way up to his wrist to roll up the silk sleeve. Expensive, she thought to herself and then upon noticing the texture of intricate lace, she added with disdain, not to mention extravagant and flamboyant. A combination of amusement and disgust burned in her chest and her wings flapped ever-so-slightly on her back.

The pluvient felt for the wound on her patient’s arm, and the familiar rough texture of a scorch mark met her gentle palm. With a disapproving sniff, she swiftly wrapped the freshly-cut bandage around the wound, occasionally feeling the gluey texture of mikuku sap between the light trickle of safre water dripping from the damp cloth. Winding it around the arm and ripping away the leftovers, she felt for the cuts, their positions fresh and familiar in her mind, and turned her left hand palm-upwards, lightly grazing the bandage with the ring on her index finger.

She pressed her bare toes harder into the earthen floor and felt the recognizable, if dreadfully faint, warmth of magic flow up her elderly body, then beckoning the magic with her mind, she felt energy delicately flowed out from ring on her finger. She could imagine the reaction perfectly in her mind’s eye as she worked the healing magic with ease – the mikuku sap soundlessly leaking into the wounds, the healing productivity of the herb heightened and made faster by the forces of her magic. She felt a smug smile spread across her lined face as the other pluvient breathed a sigh of relief. She knew it well. The pain had eased across the burn, the safre water had sunk in and deadened the pain - whilst the mikuku sap worked its way quickly and easily across the surface of the skin, providing a coating whilst the skin grew back and the wound faded away into nothing.

Turning away from the other pluvient, she dipped her hands into the basin of clear, clean water beside her and scrubbed her hands, a thousand different questions spinning away inside her head.

”Thank you Bebero,” Ava said suddenly. Bebero dipped her head silently as she pretended to be paying extra attention to squeezing a lid over the pot of mikuku sap on her workbench. Despite this, she was well aware Ava would know that, despite her blindness, she didn’t need to be that attentive to such a menial task and yet the words wouldn’t slip out of her mouth. The weight in her chest kept them held back, and the quiet dread gripping her stomach kept her fingers occupied with silently packing away her medicines.

Finding no other task left to occupy herself, Bebero breathed a heavy sigh and clasped her hands together, trying to find any coherent words she could utter. Anything she could say that would get all the answers, but not incur the anger, the fear and the sorrow that came with them.

She had never approved of her daughter’s choice in a husband, and yet she had never suspected that this man would ever become what he was. But for all that she had against him, all that occupied her mind and made her want to strike him down with all her wrath and all the magic of Datté, her own nature had overcame the anger when he had arrived at her modest home, panting and bearing burns that she didn’t need her vision to realise were terrible and painful...and with unusual roots. It had prompted questions, many questions, and suddenly Bebero had become unsure of who was to blame.

“So…” she began slowly, closing her eyes and steadily breathing, her feet moved against the earth below her, and she felt herself drawing a comforting trickle of magic from the soil. It was wasteful, she knew, but it eased her anxiety and gave her more strength – made her feel younger, “These…allegations…are they true?”

A pause. The insects buzzed outside and the birds twittered in the trees around her, she felt a centipede scamper across her bare foot but overpowering all of that, was the metallic tang of blood still hanging in the air. She closed her mouth tighter, trying to keep the scent off her tongue.

“No,” Ava said, “They’re not Bebero. Please…please believe that.”

She sighed and her fingers clasped her hands together tighter and together – what answer was she suspecting? A murderer wouldn’t admit to what they did…but an innocent wouldn’t admit to doing something they hadn’t. She swallowed the lump in her throat – his voice sounded truthful…but who really knew? Ava was one of those pluvients that she just couldn’t trust, a man who had abandoned all the instinct, pride, tradition and nature that had come with his species to try and live a citizen’s life, to live in a stone house, walking with only cobbled streets beneath their feet rather than the grass and only lifting his wings to fly to his destination and back – never for the sheer exhilaration of flight, or the liberation that came with swooping, soaring and diving in ways that humans and chifaks could only dream of, and that benu didn’t have the mind to understand.

“How can I?” she asked, her voice sounding so old and feeble she felt a surge of disgust at herself, “You stole my young Leisi away from me…stole her away from her culture, took away her pride as a pluvient to live your ways and now you stand charged for dashing her brains out against the walls of your house. How am I expected to believe a man like you?”

Another pause. Bebero couldn’t help but feel a tiny swelling of satisfaction in having left him without a word to say. The anger was returning quickly. Very quickly. The quiet sound of Kakara’s youthful sobs echoed in her mind, as the once very cheerful and gentle child had come to her nest, too young to understand but old enough to know that something was wrong - she had been so terrified, and she had only ever known the locked door, the foul smell, the tiny glimpse of blood from under the door and her mother’s sudden, solemn silence throughout the afternoon. She rubbed the ring on her finger, trying to resist the urge to summon all the power she could into it – to strike this foul man down before the trial even began but with a great inhale, she steeled herself.

“I came to you,” Ava said quietly, “I needed help. The soldiers had attacked me with magic when I tried to escape, and only through begging and pleading could I be allowed to taken to you – my wife’s mother…where my daughter was hiding.”

“She is not hiding,” Bebero snapped back angrily, slamming her hands angrily on the roughly-cut table and hoping that Kakara was still asleep, but if she listened faintly she could hear the girl’s gentle snoring from deeper within the tent, “Not from you, not from anybody. She’s a frightened little girl…who needed a family member she could trust. She tells me that you have been appearing less and less in her life. That the meals are getting sparser and sparser.”

It was true. Years ago, Kakara had been a very healthy young pluvient, and her father, should would grudgingly admit, had always been good to her and attentive. A few nights ago though, a child with a quavering voice had came to her nest asking for help. She had brought her mother’s staff, longer than she was tall, for protection against the invisible forces that were terrorizing her and Bebero had discovered upon touching the child’s skin that she was far too bony and thin to be healthy. The nurse shuddered and another fierce outburst of hatred flared in her chest for the man standing by her.

Over the years, she had heard less and less from her only daughter. Leisi had become quieter and more subservient, Bebero had to wonder at how many times before her death Leisi had stretched her wings and took flight. Ava had always condoned such acts, always said that if the pluvients hoped to achieve their status as a citizen race of Datté, they couldn’t be seen to be flying around with no particular purpose like brainless pigeons.

A quiet voice at the back of her mind cursed her daughter for ever falling in love with such a pluvient, and for letting her young child live under his rules and his oppression for so long.

”Are you done yet?” the rough voice of the guard yelled impatiently from the outside of the tent, “Don’t be tryin’ to wing it, we’ve got the entire ground covered.”

“Kakara will stay with me,” Bebero said in a business-like manner, standing up straight all of a sudden and paying attention to the snores of the young girl curled up asleep nearby, “She has been through much – far too much.”

“Oh and I suppose a blind old women will be able to take care of a child!” Ava hissed, his voice suddenly lined with malice and anger. She folded her wiry arms against her chest and nodded firmly – a blind old woman would make a far better guardian than a murderer, or a pluvient in that foul city. This was only proof of what she had known from the beginning – living in a place like that was bad for a pluvient. She had always needed to feel room to stretch her wings out, she had always needed trees and hills and the sound of rivers and waterfalls. Something had made Ava turn. She was sure of it.

“Hurry up in there!” the guard barked from outside the tent. Bebero’s lips tightened into a thin line of annoyance.

“You should leave,” she said coldly, hoping that the murderer would catch the full sting of her words.

All doubt of his guilt had been quickly cast aside by the memory of feeling Kakara’s light bones poking out from under her skin, and the echo of her weak, once very spirited, voice in her mind. She did not know what had happened, a part of her hoped she would never have to find out. All she knew was that she could be nowhere near the city anymore. Once Kakara was at her full strength they would leave. She did not know where, but anywhere without imposing stone walls and where the sky would always be over them.

“I hope you enjoy seeing a young girl cry over her father,” he hissed and she heard his footsteps head over to where Kakara lay sleeping and she followed carefully, knowing fine well the positions of everything in the tent and groped forward with her hand until she felt expensive fabric beneath her fingers.

“Leave.” She felt his sleeve leave her hand and his footsteps thudded against the ground. Outside, the guards chided and jibed him. She breathed a deep, heavy sigh and once again, turned her pointed ears to where the young girl lay, sleeping on peaceful, ignorant of what her father had done and what he would face. Her chest ached as she realised that she may not have the strength to keep her alive if Kakara knew what had happened. She’d tell her, certainly, but not before she could fend for herself. As long as she was old enough to take care of herself in case anything should happen to Bebero, she would be allowed to sleep.

With that, the old woman sunk to her knees and wrapped her wings around her, letting herself drift away into a sleep, dreading what the next day may entail.