As the season of the blossoms passed, and
stomachs were soon replete again, the call went up from eyrie to eyrie.
‘The trials! The time for the trial-flights of
the Mawharhipi is come! Where are the
Windlords? Where are the warriors?’
‘Yes!’ the Windlords agreed as they assembled
at the Crag of Meeting. ‘It is time for the trials to begin.’
Messengers were sent to all champions and
Perpetual Champions to make preparations. Warriors began their first trials
under the watchful eyes of erstwhile champions. The winners of these progressed
to the greater trials, overseen by the Perpetual Champions. These winners were
called to the greatest race of them all.
ThunderWing watched from his cave as many
young warriors sped by, practising their wing-strokes, dipping and twisting
through practice courses as he had done countless times in the previous season.
When he finally stood upon the Champion’s Stone with the Twig-of-Victory in his
beak, the winner’s wreath around his neck and the crowds cheering hysterically
around him, he thought he was equal to anything.
He sadly looked at himself in the drinking
pool. Carefully, he tried flapping his slowly healing wing and sighed.
The day of the great race finally came, and
excitement filled the air.
The younger eaglets crowded along the ledges and
crags that lined Mawharhipa valley,
with the older eagles behind them. The best positions, of course, were soon
taken by the officiating Windlords who soon arrived. The eaglets who had
previously taken these hastily made way or were hustled away by their parents,
but this privilege was not the least begrudged.
As the great ones arrived, a chorus
of welcoming cries and rustling wings arose.
‘Hail, Windlord StrongFeather, beloved father-of-many!
Hail, Windlord WeatherWing the Wise, healer and prophet! Hail, Windlord FarSight,
the Seer! Hail Windlord SwiftSlayer, mightiest of warriors! Hail Windlord BraveWing,
Victor in Battle! Hail Windlord StormRider, Conqueror of the Tempest…….’ And
the list went on.
When the Windlords had settled in their positions
down the length of the course, the remotest Windlord, passed his signalling cry
onto the next, and it continued down the course to Windlord StormRider, youngest
of all Windlords, to whom the honour of officiating Mawharhipi WingTake was given that season.
StormRider was highly honoured amongst all the
eyries, and songs of his Windlord Flight over the summit were sung at many
feasts. It was said that an early storm had come when he was making his attempt
upon the peak. Rather than retreat, he actually rode the upper winds of the
storm, fulfilling the prophecy of FarSight the Seer who named him at birth.
Escaping the storm, StormRider ascended over
the peak, escaping the clutches of dark Mawharikhὺn, who cowered from the threat of the warrior-storm below. But it had
almost cost StormRider his life. Descending through the storm, he had been so
badly buffeted and broken, he plummeted into the wooded valley below.
He landed
among the bushes and it was a full day before his friends, braving the
unpredictable storm season, could find him – almost dead. Succoured by
WeatherWing in Healing Cave, he eventually improved enough to fly again, but
never fully recovered. One of his talons no longer functioned properly, and
impeded his ability to hunt.
Much to his chagrin, he had to be fed by the
hunters and gatherers like StrongHand, son of HighSoarer.
Nevertheless, he was
considered a hero by all the young warriors, prompting him to warn them all
against trying to emulate his exploit. This, however, did not stop him from
relishing the challenge of storm-riding, when it was fairly safe to do so.
Remarkably, his exploits never went to his
head.
He was one of those who often agitated for justice to all the Mawh’eyri folk at Windlord council,
which added to his popularity.
StormRider now perched a little awkwardly on
the crag that overlooked WingTake Mesa, the starting and finishing point for
the race. He spread his wings and sang the Song of Summoning, soon taken up by
the spectators.
Come O
warrior tried and true!
Honour
and glory awaits for you!
Spread
now your wings, show forth your great skill,
That you
may stand upon Champion’s Hill.
And the young warriors appeared from all
directions. They were strong, proud and often seasoned warriors, all hopeful of
winning honour for their eyries – maybe even bearing the greatest honour of all
one day: a Windlord’s mark upon his beak.
They alighted upon the Mesa, one by one from
the youngest to the oldest, loudly proclaiming their lineage, their exploits
and their eyrie’s war cry.
Last of all came NightFlyer, son of Windlord
SwiftSlayer, and paraded himself around the edge of the mesa with his handsome
wings fully stretched, proclaiming himself as “….fairest of warriors, greatest
of hunters, swiftest in the mountains and Windlord-to-be!”
The other warriors muttered among themselves
at these boasts, furious at his presumption. It had been recognized that StrongHand,
son of HighSoarer the Fallen, had become recognized as the best and most
cunning hunter. Eyes turned toward NightFlyer’s father, Windlord SwiftSlayer,
but he stood in his position, proud and aloof. There was little love lost
between father and son, but the father did not show any emotion at all.
One bold and budding young warrior sang out from
among the spectators:
‘But where is ThunderWing Mawharhipi? Is he not among you all?’
He was hushed by his mother, but much
fluttering of wings among the gathering followed, indicating that the question
needed an answer.
‘ThunderWing, son of HighSoarer, has declined
to fly in the trials.’ announced StormRider, looking annoyed at the breach of
protocol. ‘His fall at the Great Mountain has impaired his flight, and he
surrenders his title as Mawharhipi this
season. He wishes all warriors well, that the Spirit-Wind may be with your
wings.’
A ripple of disappointment went through the
crowd. NightFlyer glowered.
None had ever forgotten the thrilling finish
in the previous season’s race when the young eagle seemed to drop from the sky.
He snatched the Twig of Victory from right under NightFlyer’s open beak. The
lay was sung in every eyrie (except SwiftSlayer’s) and many feasts for many
moons following.
The proceedings continued, and the traditional
Singer of Ceremonies was summoned.
It was GoldSinger, daughter of StrongFeather
who came forward and alighted next to StormRider. Another rustle of
astonishment went through the crowd. None more so than the disapproval among
the competitors.
‘But where is SilverSong the Fair, daughter of
Windlord StrongFeather, and greatest of singers?’ NightFlyer called out,
totally disregarding all etiquette.
‘We shall have no more flouting of the
traditions, young warrior!’ came the stern reply from the crag. StormRider
glanced hesitatingly, almost in embarrassment, up the valley where he could
just make out StrongFeather’s outline on one of the furthest crags.
‘SilverSong, daughter of Windlord
StrongFeather cannot come,’ he informed them all, ‘for she teaches many eaglets
in the ways of the WindSong in the Northern Mountains. GoldSinger, her sister,
has consented to take her place at our request.’
A collective sigh of disappointment went up
from all the warriors. SilverSong was considered the favourite, partly because
of her transcendent beauty, and her lively, laughing style of performance was
more appealing to any eyrion.
However, most of the civilian spectators considered that GoldSinger had the
better voice. Nor were they disappointed.
GoldSinger did not envy her sister’s beauty,
for the family of that eyrie was a close-knit community. She had learned
everything SilverSong could teach her of the ways of the WindSong, and had
surpassed her in technical quality at least. She was surprised at her sister’s
reluctance, but considered it an honour to take her place.
Spreading back her wings, she attuned her
voice to the breeze and began to sing. She sang the traditional ballad sung at
the beginning of every formal gathering of the Mawh’eyri.
It was the tale of the coming of their tribe
to the mountains at the bidding of the great Spirit-Wind. She sang of their
third lord-chieftain, WideWing the Wanderer and his nest-mate MotherWind the
Wise who tamed the feuding of the Mawh’eyri
warriors, bringing the eyries together under a common law.
She sang of the
rise of the Windlords, who took over responsibilities from the traditional
chieftains, reformed and enforced the laws and scratched them on the Stones of
Judgment.
She sang of the rise of the warrior class, and the united battles
against the invasions of the wild eagles, the Hrah’eyri , who outnumbered them but were defeated by the Mawh’eyri under Windlord BrightWing the
Brave. The enemy had seldom returned since, except on raids on the outlying
eyries. But the local warriors were vigilant.
She also sang of the terrible Storm Season, of
the coming of the Great Black Storm and his minions, most of whom were slain by
the pursuing White Winds. All the people of the Mawh’eyri hid in their
eyries in fear as the war raged all around them, and even in those later days,
they shudder at its memory.
The Black Storm finally found refuge in the caves
of the Great Mountain, even though he was constantly under siege by the mighty
servants of the Great Spirit Wind, especially at the waning of the year. The
dark one was renamed Mawharikhὺn, dark prisoner of the mountain, even though he himself considered
it his domain when the White Warrior Winds were far away.
But the darkest times passed, and the Mawh’eyri came to accept the dangers of
their perilous neighbour. It was even considered a greater honour for a
champion eyrion to conquer the
Mountain and outwit its terrifying resident as well. For many seasons it seemed
as if he slept, leaving them all in peace.
On that note, GoldSinger ended her song.
A hushed and reverent silence followed.
GoldSinger then lifted her head, and struck up
the Anthem of the Mawh’eyri. Soon they
all joined in, with the harmonies flowing all the way down the valley and
echoing throughout the mountains.
None of them noticed the lonely and ragged young
eagle behind the crowds as he quietly took wing, wearily, awkwardly and sadly labouring
his way toward Healing Cave.
