War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  The young man nodded, and Noah turned and walked away. She watched the old man leave before she and the younger man regarded one another. His green eyes held long memories of laughter and pain, and he looked at her fondly. She was sure that she had never met this man, but there was something in his gaze that was oddly familiar. He walked to her and held out his hand.

  “My name is Jon,” he said.

  She took his hand and shook it tentatively. “I am…Ana.”

  “Why did he pick that name?”

  She shrugged.

  Jon nodded and let go of her hand. “Follow me.”

  He led her to the other side of the yard. The barn was smaller than the house, but not by a lot. The sounds of animals, grunting and stomping could be heard within. And there was the smell. It was not completely unpleasant, though it was overbearing. Chewed cud, ground manure, sweat, and urine politely assaulted her nostrils, so much that she could taste it. Inside the barn, it was worse. Old hay and laden timber gave the sense that the building was as much of nature as it was of man. Curious four-legged animals eyed her in their stalls. They flickered their ears for only a moment in her direction before returning to their food.

  Jon pointed to a creature with wide eyes and a spotted coat. “Cow,” he explained before he turned to another. “Horse. The cows are usually kept out in the pasture, but these need milking in the morning. We’ll feed the horses and let them out shortly. Do you ride?”

  “No.”

  A small furry thing came up out of the hay and approached her with enthusiasm. She backed away at first, unsure of its intentions.

  “That’s Dax. He’s a dog.” The boy moved on to the back of the barn and took a heavy bag from the corner. The dog eyed her now as warily as she had him. She took a slow step forward, grateful for the returning strength in her legs. She knew of dogs. She knew of cows and horses. They resided in Anu, as all things did. There were Lords and Ladies for each of them, but here they were…different. Tangible. Unpredictable. Each new thing she encountered seemed poised with unknown intention. Even Jon and his dangerous eyes gave her pause. She did not let herself show fear, but caution did not seem inappropriate. The dog, Dax, seemed to sense her unease, and kept his distance.

  “He’ll not hurt you,” said the young man. He moved past Dax, who did not take his eyes off the woman, grabbed a large pail and handed it to her. It was in her hands before she could protest, and she nearly fell from the weight. She looked down into the pail, which held oats and grains that smelled almost sickly sweet. Jon handed her a ladle the size of a large man’s palm.

  “One scoop each.” He motioned to the metal buckets inside the animal’s cages.

  She spared one look at the bucket and looked again at the stock. “These are animals.”

  The boy climbed an old ladder leading to the loft. “Is that a question?”

  She watched him climb the ladder deftly and winced at every creak in the rungs. “But…don’t animals feed themselves?”

  He reached the top and disappeared from her sight. “They could if they had to.”

  She dropped both pail and ladle. “Then why are we feeding them?”

  Jon reappeared at the top with a bale of hay bound in twine. He threw it to the barn floor with a muted crash and descended the ladder. He eyed the dropped pail with annoyance and approached carefully. “How very mature of you. Do you want to help or not?”

  Was that a trick question? “It seems…unnecessary,” she said, managing to make her voice sound firm.

  “We feed that horse; he lets me ride. We feed the cow; she gives us milk. Sow the fields, plant the crops, harvest, sell, eat, whatever, then do it again. If you don’t want to help, that’s fine, but you’ll be a burden, and you strike me as someone who doesn’t much like owing anyone anything. True?”

  She paused, then nodded. He picked up the pail and the ladle and held it out to her. “Then one scoop each.”

  She returned his glare, though she found it hard to put much fire behind it. She took the pail with a begrudging look. Jon went to his bale of hay and broke the twine. He threw handfuls to the creatures waiting eagerly in their stalls. She took her time ladling oats into buckets, not caring what she spilled, and nearly lost a hand to hungry mouths.

  The Wolf admired the woman from the tree line. The boy showed her the farm and the work that accompanied it, and she followed willingly…almost. She had taken the form of a woman, albeit more beautiful than any other that walked the earth. Men’s clothing and a farm would not hide her from the eyes of the Pantheon. It would take something more: a deft hand at concealment. The Wolf sniffed the air and could clearly discern the sweat of the boy, the soap on the woman, the leavings of the stock, but of the old man, there was only the barest whiff of tobacco. Then again, he never did leave a trace.

  “You did not tell me who she was,” said the old man. He appeared beside the Wolf, out of the forest, as unassuming and deadly as a viper in a boot.

  The Wolf did not answer right away. He looked to the old man and took in his appearance. Every bit the farmer, but his eyes longed for the hunt. Ancient anger hunched his weary shoulders.

  “She wasn’t supposed to come alone,” said the Wolf.

  “Something must have happened.”

  “Yes,” the Wolf replied, “They’re either dead or wishing they were. He’ll know she’s fled to Earth now. It is not something He can ignore.”

  The old man nodded.

  “Had you not told me of this place, I would not have known it existed,” said the Wolf, “He will not find her here. At least, not easily.”

  “I have never enjoyed undue attention,” replied the old man.

  “You’ll have your peace for a moment longer.” The Wolf turned to go, padding away slowly before he turned to look at the old man. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

  The old man nodded.

  The Wolf returned to the forest. The old man looked on.

  3

  Only Human

  General Ivan Emersin dressed as the sun split the smoky haze of the city sky, minding every crease and dimple in his uniform. Rays of morning light lazily lit his overly decorated bed chamber; a large bed hid away from the parted curtains, immaculately made and looking unused, the chairs and dressers pristinely cleaned and minding their places in dark corners. A plush armchair sat by an unused fireplace, quietly collecting dust. Emersin stood in front of a polished mirror, carefully and slowly donning his dress coat in practiced ritual, delicately soothing imagined ruffles. He admired his pale chin in the mirror and deemed it unnecessary to shave again. He smoothed a stray hair on the side of his head and took one last look at his visage. He grimaced. Old, he thought. The lines under his eyes could no longer be soothed away, and the sagging of his chest and belly were becoming harder to hide. He grunted and turned away.

  From his stateroom he followed the elaborate marble staircase downward to his private dining hall and sat alone by a large bay window. Breakfast was brought as soon as he sat: cut fruit, glazed pastries, and sugared oatmeal with a cup of herbal tea. Outside, the city was waking as pedestrians, horses, and gas-powered carts crowded the walkways and bridges of the towering structures making up the heart of Midtown. The city was a product of both artist and engineer; the structures presented curving lines and arches filled with windows and balconies blooming in carefully manicured sky gardens. Airships, both the pride of the Imperial Navy and those of the Merchant’s Guild, bobbed lazily through the morning fog. But even now, the fog was just starting to burn off as the glowing sunlight reached down into the depths of the city. The lights of the gas lanterns lining the streets dimmed and faded entirely from some master switch in an engineering bay deep below street level. In the last fifty years, the capital had grown exponentially in terms of industry and culture as the Imperial Expansion continued.

  An assistant in a minor officer’s uniform walked up to him as the general admired the view. He stood silently until the general acknowledged him w
ith the smallest of nods. The officer took the folder of ledgers from under the crook of his arm, placed it gingerly on the general’s table, and left as quickly as he had appeared. Emersin ignored the ledgers at first, deigning instead to finish his breakfast. When the last fruit left the plate, the general sat back in his chair and leafed through the folder, sipping his cooling tea. Some reports were logistical, the state of troop deployments in the eastern reaches, reports of bandits in the mountains, and the current whereabouts of popular political figures in the council. The other missives were more personal. His son sent a letter from the Martial College, the sister of his dead wife was asking for a loan to weather the winter, and there was an encouraging notice to attend a meeting from the local chapter of the Veteran’s Coalition.

  The general stuck the stack of mail back into the folder and sighed. He sipped his tea and stared out the window until he determined enough time had passed. With as much grace as he could muster, the general rose from his seat with the strain that came with aging joints and signaled for the driver to bring his carriage around. The servants responded quickly and cleared away the remnants of his breakfast. The general tucked his mail in the crook of his arm and marched straight backed to the front foyer. The door was opened for him and his carriage awaited. A small feat of military precision. He smiled at the thought and approached the open door, gratefully accepting the small stepstool provided. The gas-powered carriage lumbered through the streets of Midtown, taking him over bridges and through manmade tunnels deep in the military complex near the Imperial Palace.

  The Martial Headquarters were nearly as grand as the palace itself, boasting thousands of offices, from minor errand boys, like the officer in the dining room, to the Commander General at the very top. The general had once held to such lofty goals as to command from the top office, however, the events during the Expansion had left the thought of leadership a sour taste. His position now was one of luxury, designed for one on the brink of retirement, a reward for service well rendered. His primary job was overlooking the most minor of logistical details in the expansion effort, a job almost entirely done by more competent and eager men far below his station. He was, in truth, merely a figurehead, something for the younger officers to either admire or blame when something went right or wrong. Part of him was well sated; he would not deny his enjoyment in his own luxurious title. Other parts, however, longed for something else.

  His carriage stopped at the entrance to the Martial Headquarters where another young officer greeted him at the entrance with a salute that the general halfheartedly returned. He passed through the checkpoints, his face well known, and took to the steam powered elevator at the end of the hall. His office relaxed in a snug corner halfway to the top of the building.

  “Fair morning to you, sir,” said the officer when they were alone in the elevator.

  “Aye,” he replied.

  “There’s a messenger awaiting you in your office, sir. He would not tell me why.”

  The general cocked an eyebrow. “You let him in to my office?”

  “My apologies, sir. He pulled rank.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes, sir. Said he was an ambassador of some sort. Here on palace business. Even has papers.”

  Emersin went cold. “I see.” He pondered in silence for a moment. “Why don’t you take a moment and have a coffee, Lieutenant. I should like to see this man alone.”

  “Of course, sir.” When the elevator doors opened, the two men parted ways. The general’s office lay at the end of a long hallway lined with smaller doors to other offices. Portraits of former generals who had held his position over the long years of the Empire decorated the walls between windows. The general reached his office and found the door slightly ajar. He paused only briefly before walking in. The two walls adjacent his desk sported large windows with a view of the sprawling city. Towers of steel and cold beauty stretched far into the horizon, their great visages blurred by plumes of pollution from the refinery district and the thousand chimneys spilling the exhaust of steam and gas engines below the city. The rest of the office was decorated sparsely; a family portrait of his wife and son adorned one wall, and a shelf full of files and books occupied the other. Two straight-backed chairs faced his desk. The “ambassador” sat in the one closest to the window.

  “We’re only halfway up, and yet, such an astounding view,” the creature remarked. It wore the guise of a nobleman: a silk suit, a three-button vest, a wide plumed hat, and polished shoes. Its skin, however, sagged from a skeletal frame. Its face seemed to be stapled across the chin line, poorly, with holes in the façade revealing a dusty, fractured musculature beneath. Emersin gathered his courage and approached his desk, setting down the folder and taking his place in his chair. Red eyes regarded the general through the holes in its mask of skin. The creature folded its hands in its lap, its long fingers clinking softly together as though they were made of metal and shook its head with a smile.

  It chuckled, “Ivan Emersin, my my, you’ve grown so old.”

  “What are you doing here?” the general rasped.

  “Straight to business, as always.” It leaned forward. “We’ve a problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “The kind that doesn’t go away without a little…intervention.”

  The general met the creature’s eyes and did not flinch. “Use someone else.”

  The creature winced. “Oof, that’s not gonna do it for me. I need your expertise in the matter.”

  “I’m not interested in whatever games you’re playing.” Emersin turned from the creature and feigned flipping through the stack of files on his desk. The creature moved swiftly and stabbed the file in the general’s hands with one of its fingers. The skin around it slowly melted away, revealing a long, serrated knife. It took the file from the general’s hand and leaned back in its chair, eyeing the general over the file before inspecting for itself. A moment passed before the creature threw the file over its shoulder.

  “As I suspected, nothing exciting. You’re wasting away up here. It doesn’t look good on you. Not someone of your stature, with your record. Hells, you should be up there.” It pointed skyward. “Practically ruling the world. We all know the Emperor’s not doing it.”

  “Traitorous words. From an ambassador no less.”

  “Oh, I don’t actually work here.” It gestured to the suit. “I stole this, but I do like the color. It matches my eyes.” It propped an elbow on the armrest and brought a hand under its chin. Fingers that flashed silver in the light of the sun tapped the side of its cheek. Its red eyes narrowed. “Allow me to dispense with the pleasantries. We’ve lost something, someone really, and you, sir, are in the prime spot to help me find her.”

  Emersin did not speak, but inwardly he raged.

  The creature took the general’s silence as acceptance. “Ivan, this comes from on high. Can you imagine the rewards? No, I don’t think you can. But if you don’t cooperate…” It hummed a horrible tune. “I’ll take it out on your son, his wife, and the grandchild still in her belly.”

  The general gripped the arms of his chair as his rage turned to fear, then burned to hatred. He swallowed but remained silent.

  The creature slapped its knees. “We’ll have to start immediately, obviously. Time is a little different here, moves in a weird direction. Linear, I think. She may have a head start, or perhaps it’s we who have the advantage? Who can tell?”

  Emersin’s mouth was dry but somehow he found the will to speak. “I’m…not a field commander anymore. I can’t help. Even if I wanted to.”

  “You’re not much of anything now. But you will be.” It pulled a notice from its pocket, “Congratulations, you’ve been given a field commission on a temporary assignment.”

  The general regarded the crinkled piece of paper before taking it gingerly. He unfolded it and gazed at the words. He looked back to the creature.

  “This is signed by the Emperor,” Emersin said.

  “Yes.
Strange what you can accomplish with a sharp object and a little ink.”

  Atop her bed in the little light of a covered lantern, the woman now called Ana looked at her hands. Once beautiful, flawless skin was marred with blisters and welts. And the pain. She clenched and flexed her fingers slowly, expecting her body to heal or assuage the discomfort. From her sitting position she lay flat, wincing as her back groaned from the day’s ministrations. Can you do nothing for this? she asked the Wind.

  Can you?

  Typical answer. The wind cared not for humanly woes, and its goddess was at this point feeling very human indeed. Her power was severely diminished. She could feel it recoiling from the mortal world, while also protesting the confines of her frail form. She sighed. Not much longer, and they’ll make contact. She moaned. Please make contact. She would be free soon; however there then begged the question—what then? Her flight from the heavenly prison had been a thing years in the making, however, her arrival to Evanna had brokered unanticipated consequences. Why did I come as a human? Gods had favored the human form before, mostly to have sex with other humans, or simple curiosity…which normally ended with sex with other humans, but she had intended to maintain her heavenly form. Not this…heap of…bones? What are humans even made of anyway? No amount of planning could have foreseen this. And what of the others? The ones who had fled before her and those still awaiting their rescue would be expecting her, and now they were half a world away, and she with no viable means of reaching them in a timely fashion. Unless…it had happened to the others, and they’d had no way of warning the rest of us.

  A soft knock at the door. She turned her head, surprised she had not heard anyone coming, and more surprised when they did not come in. They knocked again.

  “Yes?” she queried.