The Fight

My way back up begins with a proper search.

If I want to, I can just send Kotengu upwards to scout ahead and get myself a picture of how far down I really Fell, but I can think of a few problems with that. First, and foremost, I don’t want to lose Kotengu. I believe I Fell pretty far, so Kotengu would probably be gone for a long time if he has to scout ahead and return. I’ve never separated from Kotengu for that long, and I don’t plan to change that.

Not only that, I still don’t know how I’d fight the cyocaluses guarding the village. They always say that there’s only one way in and out of Takamatsu Village (the Precipice doesn’t count since people don’t come back that way), but if—just like the Precipice—there’s another way in, having the villagers see Kotengu will let them know I’m alive. I don’t want that.

I want to see their faces when they find out I’m still alive.

There’s also the issue of not knowing which Tree stem I should go with. So many different stems go through the strata in different positions of the Tree, making up different grounds and various different habitats. As I’ve said: different habitats mean different beasts. If I’m not careful, I could end up someplace I don’t want to be. Not that this is a place I want to be, either … wait, that’s not entirely true. In some ways, this place seems better than the village. I feel like I’d wince a lot less when seeing winged beasts than winged people. At least winged beasts only hurt things when they have to.

That still doesn’t change my goal.

I need to go up. All in all, I decide to begin by asking Kotengu if he knows for sure that there are more edible things on this stratum. Just to be safe. I feel an agreement in my head. “What about water?”

I focus on the thirst I feel in my throat, followed by Kotengu flying towards a direction deeper into the Tree before coming back just a second later. I nod.

“Alright. Shall we?”

I said that, but it’s not like I know where to begin. If I can’t find safe routes, maybe I can begin by doing the opposite? I should try to keep in mind as much as I know from the juhi tablets, decide whether things look familiar or not, and avoid areas that I know are dangerous or areas with more things I don’t know about. Either way, it must all start with a single step, so that’s where I begin.

Oh, wait—there’s one more thing I need to take care of before we really start. “Kotengu,” I call. “Do you know where can I find tripvines?”

The bird nods at me, takes flight, and slowly leads me into the Tree.

Tripvines are plants that make their way around larger trees. They have one main greenish body that seems to grow quickly, and trees that they hug usually fail to grow into heights that their fellow trees without the vines could reach. The vine only has small elliptical leaves—probably two fingers wide each—and nothing else to mark its features. It does, however, often grow a branch where its leaves get broken off. The new branch would grow to hug the Tree, too, as if becoming a whole new body on its own. The farmers in Takamatsu Village were always warned about handling tripvines, because if we cut it wrong, it just grows worse.

However, if we cut it right, not only do we save our trees, we get a strong material that can be used to keep things together. My class learned weaving using dried tripvines, and it was actually this knowledge of weaving that I used to study sewing when the adults started making faces at me for—in their own words—being ‘naked’.

I was never naked, mind you. My parents had always given me clothes since I was young, the same clothes they gave to my brothers and sisters, the same clothes they gave to Gekka. However, these clothes were just a simple piece of clothing that wrapped around my torso with straps over my shoulders, and there were holes on the back that were meant for wings to come out of. It’s not like I would suddenly grow wings, so I’ve sewn my wing holes shut.

Those were the only clothes I got. A top and a pair of short pants. Oh, and the climbing sandals customary to the Kunoi. At least these sandals are actually useful, because they have spikes under them that could help me keep my ground when climbing uneven grounds, like Tree stems that ascend or descend. I never understood why the Kunoi winged people decided to make these sandals customary—since they already have the claws to climb the Tree to begin with—but I won’t complain.

Apart from these clothes, the average Kunoi winged person covers their body up using their wings, which they only open when they need to fly. That’s half the time, usually, but that’s already half a day’s more wing coverage than I could ever have.

With no wings, I was basically naked to them.

So, in one of my first ever acts of defiance, I decided to make myself seem even more naked to their eyes.

No, not by taking my clothes off or anything. I just made sure they could see the two wing holes I’ve sewn shut. I wanted them to see it, as clearly as they could, as plain as the village pluck fields in broad daylight.

They’ve already called me naked for something I couldn’t ever change, so why not show them exactly what they wanted to see?

To do that, I had to manage my long hair a little. That was when I stole a simple strand of dried tripvine from class and practiced knotting like no tomorrow. I made knots after knots, day after day, as long as the school had tripvines to spare. When I’ve gotten good enough to make knots without even looking, I finally took one last strand to tie my hair up.

I’ve seen the women of the village do this when they had to draw up some additional water from the potfruits. They didn’t go as far as using whole cloths to cover their hair like during the usual potfruit water harvest, because they clearly didn’t plan to pick up more water at that point, so they just made a quick fix—they tied their hair up. I learned later that the hairstyle had a name that I forgot; something-something-tail, named after the tail of an animal that looks just like that. It was my favorite hairstyle since, and I always dress my hair up like that after.

It felt weird to have my hair feel like it’s being pulled at first, but I quickly got used to the sensation. Not having my hair cover my back also made me feel somewhat free, like I didn’t have to worry about my own hair being blown by the wind or getting in the way when I try to eat. It made me see more clearly. It was nice.

The looks on the adults’ faces as they saw me strut around the village with my wingless back in full display, for years on end, were even nicer.

It’s so nice that it feels so weird to not have my hair tied up in that style right now, and that’s exactly why I really need Kotengu to help me get some tripvines.

“Miyako,” my mother warily asked me back when I started wearing my hair this way, “are you sure?”

“About what?” I innocently asked.

“That … hair,” she cautiously continued. “Putting it up like that. Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

I shook my head. “It’s fine.”

“And won’t the other kids…?”

“It’s fine,” I insisted.

My mother gave me a very conflicted look. I didn’t know what she thought at the time, and frankly, I still don’t.

It wouldn’t have changed a thing, anyway.

My father called her to help prepare our lunch, and that was the end of that talk.

In the end, I keep tying my hair up and sewing my wing holes shut.

In the end, I wear this exact same thing all the time. Even now.

Kotengu caws, and I turn my attention forward—oh, that’s a very big tripvine wrapping around that red tree. I think that’s also a tree that grows fruits? Tripvines tend to like trees with larger stems like this. Must be tastier for them. I don’t really need a vine this big. Tripvines don’t just simply appear, though, so if there’s a big, mature tripvine here, that should mean that … there it is.

Right around the timber, just on the other side, the tripvine sees a growing branch—seems like its leaf just got cut recently, maybe by the wind or some animal. I carefully pull the young branch until its rooting tendrils stretch their farthest. The vine clasps onto trees this way, by digging their rooting tendrils in—as long as they have these tendrils, they can always keep regrowing. I cut each tendril from the branch, one by one with my nails, until I can pull the branch entirely off the tree. The tendrils themselves cannot regrow the branch, but as long as the large vine stem is there, it will probably regrow.

I peek a quick look behind me—nothing here.

It's not my position to care about whether this tripvine grows again, so I just take the young branch I just cut and start scratching on its surface.

Tripvines should have a very wet, very fibrous flesh. However, once taken off their host tree, these bodies dry up very quickly, as long as they were given a way to disperse all the water inside. I just need to create enough of a cut along its length, leave it for a bit, and I should have a dried tripvine ready.

Oh. I just remember. While there are tripvines here….

*

In the end, it took a whole other day until I have three perfectly dry tripvine strands. I ate more fruits from the tree Kotengu led me to just the previous morning, but I could feel the need to pick flowers coming on more strongly as the sun descended into the deep horizon. I’ll need to start finding some meat before my stomach starts hurting more.

As the day was ending, I decided that the three strands were good enough and went to sleep. That night was moonless, like most nights on the Tree. I shouldn’t be up at night. Not with my eyes incapable of seeing in the dark. Same faces in my dreams again, and I don’t even remember what the dreams were about.

The morning comes. I can find my way to the dropping hollow and the edible fruit tree on my own at this point, so after getting my affairs in order, I decide that it’s time to get serious—and it begins with finally tying up my hair.

One loop. A tie-up. Another loop. Tie it further up. I’m good.

Ah, that’s more refreshing than I expected.

I sigh.

Okay. Hair is up. That’s one obstacle gone. Now the issue at hand—well, two of them.

“Kotengu, can you get me some fruits, any fruit … maybe about this size?” I make a circle with my pointy and my thumb. The cute jet-black raven caws, as if to agree, and flies away.

Issue number one: I haven’t come across any beasts at all.

Issue number two: I keep seeing the faces of Oboro, Benimaru, and Akashi in my dreams. Oboro’s slanted eyes and serpentine grin, Benimaru’s indifferent expression, Akashi’s outward laughter as she held me up and out the Precipice—

I sharply draw breath.

Gekka’s terrified look … as she did exactly nothing to help her own sister from the torment of her friends.

Two issues. Both issues have exactly one thing in common, and it was the one thing I’ve been trying to fix as soon as I realize that I could compare my postures with the pictures in some juhi tablets hidden in the articularium by looking at my own shadows: I lack a way to fight. Animals are animals, they’re geared for survival … and winged people are winged. They all have clear advantages over little old me. I tried to study as many combat moves as I could just from the tablets, but they’re only supposed to help in close quarters.

That, and those moves were made for the Karura, the brave soldiers patrolling and keeping Kunoi Cluster safe. They’re all meant to be used by winged people, usable mid-flight, and even involving the use of their wings in some stances.

I thought I got pretty good at adapting the moves for someone without wings, but last time I tried to land a hit with my fists, it just shook me off balance. Akashi was holding me out the Precipice, laughing in my face. Oboro and Benimaru were flying next to him, ready to move on cue. I could tell that they were just there in case Akashi decided to try something like throwing me around—they don’t usually have the strength to keep flying while carrying me, but if it’s just a quick burst like passing me in one shove, they can more than manage that.

That day was not a good day, so in my second ever act of defiance, I decided to throw a fist at Akashi. I had no ground to stand on, nothing to make my stance, but I remembered the very basic lesson about throwing around momentum. Using my own collar that Akashi was hanging as my pivot, I made the heaviest, sharpest jab I could manage with my entire body weight, aimed straight at Akashi’s ribs.

She was clearly not ready.

CRACK!

I didn’t even get the chance to see what face she was making as her grip loosened from the shock.

I Fell thanks to a combination of exactly two things, only one of which I could control.

It’s exactly the thing I must try to control now.

I gathered tripvines for two purposes. The first, of course, is to tie my hair back up. I use the smaller, younger tripvines for this—they stretch a little without breaking, and they don’t really smell. The second, however, is something I discovered entirely by accident.

It was when a cagefowl accidentally got itself caught on a couple of tripvines. Somebody forgot to clean up the farm one day, letting the tripvines grow. That’s why they were named tripvines, by the way: when they’re big enough, they’re all over the trees; but when they were still very young, they have to slowly climb up from the ground, so they easily trip people over. People weren’t their only victims.

It just so happened that the cagefowl got caught on tripvines wrapping around the poles that made up the canopy of the farm. One day of no farm cleaning, and during my race away from the pluck to get to the articularium before the other kids got to me, I saw one of the greatest things ever: the cagefowl, jumping at full speed to free itself, only got caught even further by the vine.

Finding itself swinging around the pole at even faster speeds than it would have gone if it had flown straight.

My head was a mess at the time—I was panicking, and my priority was getting to the articularium as fast as I could—but the sight of it was so funny that it burned itself into my mind.

I still don’t know what they ended up doing with the cagefowl. Probably cooked for food, like the other mature cagefowls? But either way, it was when I realized the power of swinging things around. If I could get something to spin with enough speed, and then let it sling away, wouldn’t I be able to make something fly faster than if I throw it by hand?

So that’s exactly what I’m making with the rest of my dried tripvines: a sling. Well, name pending.

A few problems with this idea. I don’t know how long of a tripvine I’ll need, for example. If it’s too long, it may get in the way of me climbing up later, since I’ll still need to carry the thing. If it’s too short, maybe the spin won’t be enough to make whatever it is I throw go fast enough … or maybe I can’t even use it at all.

It’s going to take some practicing to use, too, if it even works at all. I mean, I can see what I want to do in my head, but figuring out how to actually use it, for real, especially in danger, is a whole different thing. I should know, I had to learn how to sew to survive, of all things.

Then, the most important question of all, what do I throw with this thing? Healthy cagefowls are heavy to begin with, which should explain why the one I saw spun very quickly, but I don’t see many cagefowls to throw around here. Maybe I can go with fruits? There are lots of them around, but wouldn’t that mean I must eat into my food supply just to have a weapon?

I tie together several layers of good, elongated leaves to a pair of dried tripvine strings. One of the juhi tablets I found on the darkened, back corner of the articularium stated that the Karura are given armor made from the skin of backbiters layered on sheets upon sheets of larger, elongated leaves, which they stick together using sticky, fermented gum. The juhi record says this makes their armor very light—light enough to still be usable for flight—but also very sturdy. I don’t have gum glue or backbiter skin, but I figured maybe at least a few layers of leaves should make the sling sturdy enough. When I swing something, that thing would go to the farthest point away from me before I let go, right? If I don’t make that point sturdy, my tripvine string could break right there.

So, I need to layer them, tie them up, keep them together, layer them, tie them up, keep them—

“AAAAAAAAAAAAA—!”

A deafening scream echoes from right beside me.

I jump, my barely-complete sling in hand, and immediately look around—Kotengu. Where’s Kotengu? I need Kotengu safe—where is he? “Kotengu!”

Right—left—nothing. Nothing that seems like a person. No sign of a woman, no hint of a chick, nothing that resembles a baby. Nothing.

There is also no reply from Kotengu. No rush of emotions, no sound of flapping, no signature caws. Nothing.

BLAM!

There is, however, a very strong impact.

And it’s close.

There’s finally the sound of very loud flapping, and it was then I realized that the scream wasn’t a scream at all: it was the growl of an animal.

Flapping.

Cawing.

“Kotengu!” The loud flapping going around and the defensive cawing are unmistakably Kotengu’s. I make my way directly to the source of the noise—no extra emotions so far, but—

There, chasing around the panicking dark blot that is my raven, is a great lapwing.

This time, I don’t have to rely on the juhi tablets. I’ve seen them on the far outskirts of Takamatsu Village, coming a little too close for comfort, and getting struck down and brutally mauled by the cyocaluses.

The great lapwing is as great as its name—a whole bit taller than I am, crawling their white-feathered body on all fours. Their two massive birdlike wings also double as their forelimbs, and from the fold of each of their wings, a subtle spur peeks out from under the feathers. That’s one thing I need to pay attention to.

The other is its sharp, pointed beak, under the folds of its naked, yellow skin.

Both the venomous spurs and the beak are currently trying to kill Kotengu, who desperately tries to dodge the attacks.

Kotengu.

Kotengu flaps his wings like his life depends on it, avoiding every forceful strike and hungry blow. A maneuver to the left. A swift turn to the right—a quick blow upwards, and an immediate dive when the lapwing catches up.

Kotengu.

Kotengu is there, fighting for his life, trying to come out of this unscathed so I don’t have to feel his pain.

I throw my leg in front of the other before even realizing what happens. I need to get in the way. I need to make sure Kotengu doesn’t get hit. I need to make sure Kotengu doesn’t take the brunt of the attacks of this wild beast that for some reason tries to—

The lapwing turns its attention to my deafening scream, my feeble attempt at whatever battle cry I can muster from my lungs. It takes only a second, but that’s more than enough for Kotengu to create a distance.

I drew the lapwing’s attention, which means Kotengu is safe.

Which means I’m not.

My left leg somehow finds a way to break my run towards the lapwing, and as my sandal’s spikes dig themselves into the bark of the Tree under my feet, the lapwing makes its decision to go after the bigger meal.

Back in Takamatsu Village, before I learned to read and write, Father and Mother used to tell me a story to make sure I didn’t stay out late at night. They had told this story to Amane nee-san, to Tsubasa nii-san, to Sora nee-san, and to Tobi nii-san as well, back when they were my age. Then, it was my turn with Gekka to hear the story.

First, they told us to keep still and quiet. Not a hair raised, not a feather ruffled. Then, when we were perfectly still, perfectly quiet, they told us to sharpen our ears and listen: the whistling of the night wind, the sound of house lights being cut off from the fireways … and the distant screaming, echoing faintly.

Very faintly, but there.

My parents would tell me that it’s the scream of something less than natural, a very sad woman from beyond our world nicknamed the Calling Woman. The Calling Woman was a woman originally from a stratum below the village, they said, and she used to live in her own village down there. The villagers hated her because she looked different from everyone else: her skin was dark, as dark as the night, and her feathers black as a pit. They could only see her when she called out to them, hence her nickname.

Because of this, the villagers would pick on her and break her eggs. One day, however, the Calling Woman found true love in a neighboring village. That love did not last because the man was later felled by a beast during a hunt, but the love they shared was true. For once, the eggs she laid weren’t empty; they were the eggs that proved to her that even she was wanted, that even she was desirable. They were the eggs that proved to her that her beloved was real.

The villagers did not know that. All they knew was that she laid eggs, again, and as usual, they would come pick on her and break her eggs.

Father said this was to be the last thing the villagers ever did.

The Calling Woman broke. In her grief, she screamed as hard as she could, so hard and so wrathful that her villagers all froze in sheer terror when her voice reached their ears. With all the villagers unmoving, the Calling Woman took her time devouring them all. That night, the village was no more; the Calling Woman exacted her revenge, balefully, explosively, and very slowly. The village was beyond sparing. However, even the death of the villagers did not bring her eggs back. So she cried, and she cried; she screamed, and she screamed; her lament would not end, and even way after the time death knocked on her door, her cry had never stopped.

Since then, she had spent her nights crying, stalking other villages, finding other hatchlings to carry to her nest, out there in the dark mists of the horizon where the dead lie waiting. Her nickname remained because of how she called for kids to come to her and replace her broken eggs.

Only her cries remain to haunt the night as children tuck themselves into sleep.

Except, those cries? The screams?

That was no ghost lament. Those were lapwing growls.

And the reason our parents told us to avoid those cries at night, as I found out later in the tablets, was because lapwings are very aggressive.

One such animal is now coming at me.

What was a dive into danger immediately turns into an escapade. The lapwing rears its ugly face at me, flapping around its wattles as it opens up exactly one wing to stop its movement and instantly change directions.

Its eyes, beady and dead as if it has not slept for years on end, fixated entirely on me.

Scratch scratch scratch—

The claw on its spur finally catches the ground, and it blasts itself at me, full speed.

I barely have the time to throw myself to the side.

Kotengu caws from above, and I feel his surge of feelings—something about quick? Plan? Attack? It’s an odd mix of reassurance and panic. My head throbs a bit as I bring myself back up to my feet—the lapwing has already pounced for another attack.

BAM!

Kotengu crashes onto me, pushing me out of the way of the pounce. I somehow land squarely on my feet. The noises tell me that the lapwing is already adjusting its position again for another pounce—I won’t make it in time—

Kawk!

… was that catch?

I let my body take control, responding to Kotengu’s emotion on its own, and find myself holding my left hand out with the palm open.

And, on it, lands a fruit.

It’s a small fruit. Just about the size of the circle I’d make if I put my curved pointy and thumb together. It’s small, but quite hefty.

… oh.

Keeping the fruit in my grasp, I dodge another strike entirely by reflex.

It’s do or die. I can’t believe I have to test it out like this.

I run ahead, trying to make a distance between myself and the lapwing. The angry beast continues pursuit, making leaps after leaps that catch up to me immediately—no, I need to—

First, I need to load the fruit. I move it from the palm of my hand to the layers of leaf padding I made between the tripvine strings. I dodge another attack. I start swinging my sling, this time with a fruit lodged in there.

The lapwing strikes.

With all my strength and the swing of my whole body, I smash the fruit-loaded sling onto its coming head.

Smack!

I did not expect it to hit that hard.

There’s this very particular moment when my heart is thumping so hard it feels like my chest is going to burst—when every drip of sweat seems to freeze in place, where I feel like I could not stop inhaling air because of how quickly my lungs run out of it. This moment makes everything feel slow, as if I can have the time to capture every detail and burn them into my eyes, and this moment gives me the ability to realize that the lapwing was not harmed by that smack.

Not harmed, maybe, but still hit pretty hard. Hard enough that the creature bends its neck in the wrong direction and entirely loses its footing.

“GWACK—!”

The interrupted cry seems to shock the lapwing a little—it tumbles on its own wing, struggling to balance itself back up, and shakes its head once, and then twice, and then rapidly before trying to find focus again.

It tries to focus on me, but its eyes are still slightly dazed.

Kawk!

Kotengu snaps me right back to the moment. The large crow is already flying away, and just like that, I know he meant me to follow him—if I can’t kill this beast, I have to at least survive it.

Thanks to the lapwing failing to refocus quickly, as I make my way through the branches and the vines, I finally get the time to truly think about the things I read on the juhi tablets.

Lapwings. Specifically, great lapwings. Each one grows to three and a half forearms tall minus the tail—not particularly big like the cyocaluses towering at four to five forearms, neither were they small like Kotengu at just a little over one, maybe around one and half forearms long. For comparison, I myself stand around three forearms tall. They eat both plants and animals, sometimes mushrooms too. They love animals more, however, and they tend to hunt bigger animals so that they can save on the hunts. They would capture one big prey, hide that prey on a tree they decide was their nest, eat that prey over the duration of a few days before the meat goes bad, rest for a good number of days while their body processes the food, and—after taking a huge dump in places that mark their territory—they would continue hunting. They sleep for long when it gets cold, and feast again when the warmth returns.

They can fly long and fast, but require a long run along the ground before they can fly high.

… meaning, if I want to be safe from this thing….

I can still feel my heart close to exploding in my chest. I can’t think of any other way. “Kotengu!”

The raven looks at me inquisitively. I nod at him.

“Find me some more of those fruits!”

*