Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Three: The Sound of an Arrow

It was a long time before Aqie had finished hiccuping her sobs into Mom's spare dress and let out all the anger at the unfairness of everything. Her identiae was still making her mind tired when she was finished and Mom made her take a nap for the first time in years. All the songs that went through her head when she woke up were sad mourning laments from Mom and Dad's generation. They made a lot more sense now.

Mom didn't say anything for a long time, and Aqie was happy to stay quiet and try to sort out her thoughts. Larkwings were Adonai's people. They weren't supposed to fight anyone, and they didn't. But that led to the war and the killings and the Mongors hunting them and Mom and Dad's family dying and getting chased across the Chasm and so many other bad things, so had not fighting been a bad thing?

And if not fighting was a bad thing, why weren't the Larkwings fighting back now? Surely two generations was long enough to finish being angry and trying to kill them all? Revenge was something you were supposed to leave to Adonai, anyway. Unless the Taltithoang massacre was supposed to be Adonai's judgment on the Larkwings for being double agents in the war? That kind of sounded like something Adonai would do. That was how the exile went, right? Then how come the Mongors were still hunting Larkwings two generations later, long after the Màlskoth War had ended?

Everything made too much sense and no sense at all. Aqie sat up, rubbing her head, and went to get a drink from the pitcher. If not fighting was bad, then betrayal had been the wrong choice. She should probably do some intercession to say sorry her grandparents did that. But fighting meant killing and killing was ketaykngth, and the Mongors and the Pairins having a war meant the whole continent was bloody enough already.

All the songbirds inside of her squawked louder and louder until Aqie wanted to throw a pillow at the wall. If not fighting had been the wrong thing, how come Mom always stopped Dad from trying to attack the hunters when they came too close to their house? If fighting was the right thing, how come Dad had never taught her how? What was the right answer?

Aqie turned back toward Mom but didn't sit down, shifting from foot to foot. "What are you supposed to do when there's no right answer?" she blurted, grabbing some sunlight and squeezing it tightly enough her hand turned pale and it squirted between her fingers. "Should we fight the hunters or not?"

Mom shook her head. "No matter how the world screams, you know what the Scrolls say. He who spills blood defiles the land, and a murderer shall be paid by judgment." She smoothed the old dress in her lap and fingered the tears in the patched cloth. "I don't think we should fight them. What good will it do besides taking more lives? But Dad has different opinions. Different Larkwings agree with him, at least at the last Feast."

That didn't help at all! When Mom and Dad fought over things the whole valley felt quiet and tentative like ice on the pond that would shatter if she stepped on it. How could they fight about such a big question as this?

Aqie sniffled and tried to lock the tears back inside her eyes. They were hiding from hunters. Crying wouldn't do any good, and her kronais was supposed to be a happy day, even if the hunters had ruined it. The big questions could wait until later. She should at least listen to Dad, right? Even though she already knew he'd say it wasn't wrong to fight back if it meant protecting people you loved.

Mom gave her a reproving look as she pushed her sobs down, but Aqie shook her head. "I'm going to work on my kaprae now." She sat down by the puddle of threads and made sure to face away.

This time the silence felt heavy instead of comforting, and her thoughts wouldn't stop coming back to the right-or-wrongness of fighting and the Màlskoth War. Aqie wished Dad would come back already so they could focus on something else. They were supposed to sing all the kronais songs and tell stories about her family across the Strait and draw or paint and have a fire tonight to brew her favorite jam tea, but since the hunters were here they couldn't do the last part. But if Dad came back, at least they could do the drawing and painting together.