War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  “The Ambassador.”

  Ham and Rom cursed together.

  Hersh and Beeter shared another look. Beeter blinked through a haze, “Wha…what’s going on Ham?”

  Rom finished his beer. “Arne’s been kidnapping the girls under the Ambassador’s direction in order to perform some sort of blood rite. Me and Ham wandered in there, found him in the middle of it, and he killed us.” Hersh and Beeter remained silent. Hersh looked from Rom to Ham as Beeter grabbed the empty mug in Rom’s hand and gave it a suspicious sniff.

  Hersh smacked his lips as he recouped his wits. “So…what was that like?”

  “Painful,” said Rom. “We need to help Jon.”

  Hersh and Beeter shared a drunken glance. “With wha’? ’nt he ’bout to be married?” Beeter asked.

  Hersh came to a sudden realization. “Oh gods, he’s ’bout to be married! You’re right! We gotta stop ’em!”

  “No, no—” started Rom.

  “That’s absolutely right,” interrupted Ham. He winked at Rom. “We have to ‘save’ Jon from…marriage. The whole institution is a right disaster, it is.”

  Beeter licked his lips, “I’m in. What’d I do? You wan’ me to take a pass at her? I’m irresistible.”

  “Nothing like that, I’m afraid. We’ll save your manly charms for another day,” said Ham, “What we need is something more…dramatic.”

  Beeter staggered to his feet and clapped Rom on the shoulder, sending a cloud of dirt flying into the air. “I seri-yelp-seriously doubt there’s somefin’ out there more dramatic than me.”

  The night was falling as the sun made its final moments linger upon the horizon. Noah marveled at the sight of it and breathed in its diminishing light. The circle he had drawn would keep the power contained while the candles would grant him enough light to draw what he needed. He had set the trinkets from his room around him. Each one harbored a large amount of power that he had continued to invest and coerce over millennia and would sustain him throughout the night. The wineskin was for drinking. He took a long draught now; he preferred bourbon, but wine was symbolic of blood and remembrance and ideal for the workings of magic.

  The Wise had established themselves around him, drawing circles of their own. The goddesses gathering what power they had to reinvigorate the circle should the energies gathered become too much—breaking both the bearer and. possibly. the world.

  Noah set down the wineskin and uttered words he had not spoken in centuries. The spell was much the same as the one he had held over their household to remain out of Anu’s sight. The first element was darkness, taken from the shadow of a sheaf of grass (the most unobserved piece of flora). The second was evasion, dried droppings of Dax, a common animal—something that would turn away the nose or senses of gods and would leave an air of something to be avoided. This magic worked well on gods but allowed humans to observe and interact at will. Tonight, Noah scrapped the first two elements and imbedded two more. Wood and glass. Wood from the oak that they had felled to make the barn, to harden the shield, and glass from one of the windows in the old man’s room, to allow them to be seen. However, should the shield be broken and the gods come down in their might, the old man tied together strands of Jon and Ana’s hair wrapped in lavender and coated in horse piss (the strongest scents he could find that were both sweet and terrible) and laid it before him so as to lure their enemy here. Or at least split their forces.

  The wedding was moments away, and if the Lord of Fate was still interested in collecting his prize, he would surely intervene. The question remained, how would he?

  “How did you survive, Niandithir?” asked the Black behind him.

  The old man granted her a look. “Very carefully.”

  “To have stayed hidden for so long,” mused the White, “must have drained you considerably.”

  “It was you who stole Arthen away and hid him on Earth,” added the Red.

  “Did the Wolf know it was you the whole time? You were his contact…so secretive that one,” said the Black.

  “And yet, Arienaethin could not recognize you. I wonder if you concealed yourself from her on purpose?” pondered the White.

  “Almost as if you do not fully trust her,” said the Red.

  “Does he trust us I wonder?” asked the White.

  “And the god in the forest—who is he?” posed the Black.

  “Enough,” Noah barked. “Your questions serve no purpose here.”

  The Wise maintained their distance from him, settling into a contented silence. The Wolf was not wrong when he had told Noah they smelled of fear. He did not think, however, that it was the Lord of Fate they feared.

  Ana twirled in the mirror, the dress around her billowing and swirling enough to cause her a moment of giddiness. The Women’s Council had outdone themselves; white cotton laced with black and gold accentuated her curves and settled just above her ankles. There was enough room in the dress to allow for movement and dancing and, while it was modest in its appropriations, it was not so demure as to keep her from being sought out by every man, or woman, at the gathering. The ladies in company squealed in joy as she and the mirror danced in sync.

  Evie practically leapt in laughter and rushed to her. The older woman began making slight adjustments with her needle and thread as several others, nobles and otherwise, planted flowers in her hair in and all over her dress. Wine was poured as they celebrated and danced by the large fire in the mantle. Though the sun had faded, the light from a thousand torches and lamps on strings hanging between buildings lit the street outside in a blaze of flickering light that chased away the cold of winter. Ana ignored the merrymaking and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Jon will like this.

  The mayor’s wife—Ana could not remember her name—burst through the door. “Moon’s on the rise ladies!”

  Evie stood from her hemming and clapped.

  Ana asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Means it’s almost time, love,” Evie responded. “Jon’ll be makin’ his way to the dance floor. You two will be going last. Got two other couples getting’ hitched before the big event.”

  Ana looked from the mirror to Evie. “Jon and I are the ‘big’ event?”

  “Oh, yes. The Ambassador was quite thrilled. Insisted on arriving with your carriage himself.”

  “Welp,” Beeter belched, “I stand corrected.”

  The four of them crouched behind the barricade that led into the makeshift dock housing the airship. They watched as Maddogs loaded cannons and ammunition and fuel for the ship’s great balloon. Two men stood guard, holding long gunpowder rifles of a make that had not been seen this far out from the center of the Empire, while a single squad loaded the supplies.

  “They’re planning on getting that thing in the air,” said Rom.

  Hersh puffed. “I must admit to some slight confusion.”

  “Oh, do tell, Hersh,” remarked Ham. “Do you mean to pose the query regarding loading and manning an Imperial gunship on the night of Harvest Moon, a night filled with drinking and fucking that most would find is not an established threat to the Empire?”

  “You’re talking really fast, but I think you have in fact, illuminated my confusion.”

  “I don’t feel better at all,” said Beeter.

  “I said illuminated, not alleviated,” said Hersh.

  “All right, here’s the plan,” interrupted Rom. “It looks like they’re about halfway done with loading. We’re gonna need a distraction. Beeter, let the horses out of the garrison stable and light the barn on fire. Come back over here, and when they’re good and distracted, we sneak around the back, take the pilot hostage, and take off.”

  “Rom,” started Hersh, “has it occurred to you that this is an awful lot of trouble just to stop one of our good friends from getting married? You know, the pain and exhilaration of arrest and possible execution notwithstanding?”

  Rom looked at him. “You bowing out then?”

  “On the contrary, I’
m drunk enough to agree to anything, but I do find myself somewhat nervous that there is something else going on here than meets the eye.”

  Ham rolled his eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Hersh, you don’t say.”

  Jon walked out of the Gentlemen’s House, dressed in a lavish suit that did not fit his style but made the mayor and his drunk band of rich farmers happy. He wore his sword at his side, convincing the others that it was merely a piece of finery from his ancestry. Out the door and down the stairs amid the bands of folk dancing and drinking by light of the lamps, a squad of Imperial soldiers waited for him. A man he did not know stepped forward with a placid smile beneath his helm and extended his hand.

  “Jon West,” the soldier said. “Lancer Killian at your service. I understand congratulations are in order. We’re to be your escort to the stage.”

  “Did the other grooms see such…attention?” Jon asked. The troopers mimicked the same unnatural smile. Their hands remained on their swords or pikes and their armor was not ceremonial.

  “Of course, sir,” answered Killian. “It is our honor to be part of the ceremonial guard on a night such as this.”

  Jon nodded, noting the people in the streets did not seem to notice anything amiss. Or they were too drunk to do so. “And my horse?”

  “Being cared for most delicately, sir. In the stables behind the Rooster.” Jon was suddenly nervous. The Rooster was far from the town square.

  “Very well. Lead the way, Lancer.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Women’s Council chambers, driver and guardsman fully armed and armored. The door to the carriage opened, revealing only darkness. The women pushed and pulled Ana down the walkway with glee and practically shoved her into the cabin, punctuated with the slamming of the door behind her.

  “We’ll see you there, darling!” shouted Evie. She and the others disappeared from sight, running ahead to join the line of revelers that had not yet made their way to the stage in the town square. Above the light of the streetlamps, clouds gathered menacingly, shutting out the stars and colliding with one another, igniting sparks of lightning far above them.

  “Ominous, yes?” said a voice across from her.

  Ana had not yet turned to look at the Lord of Murder on purpose, fearing that she would loose her anger and strike too soon. “A shame,” she answered. “I was hoping for a clear night, but now I think it might snow.” The carriage started to roll, bumping and grinding between frozen cobbles and lumps of snow. The lights of the street flickered through the cabin, shedding some of the darkness between her and the thing in the other seat.

  “Oh, I think it’ll hold off a while yet,” Murder remarked. “After all, there’s a party to be had.”

  Ana looked at him now. With a face made of plaster and wearing dark tattered clothing, he sat with his legs crossed and the long knives he used for fingers balanced casually on his knee. “You know,” she said, “we could start it here. Why wait for the ceremony?”

  “Tsk tsk, I don’t think your future husband would approve. Human sensibilities and all that. But hey, he is a hardy one, isn’t he? Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if you and I became a little…cordial?” Ana must have let some anger slip into her face because it laughed heartily. When finished, he looked at her through a beaming smile of serrated teeth. “I have to say, he is one hard son of a bitch to find, and even when we finally did, the Lord of the Hunt loses his head. But it wasn’t him who did the deed, was it?”

  Ana remained silent.

  Murder leaned forward. “Who is the old man? Who is Noah West?”

  Realization dawned, and fear crept into her tensed muscles. “Fate was never looking for me.”

  “You?” Murder purred. “Why would he want something he already has?”

  A fearful gasp escaped her lips. “Jon…”

  “At first,” Murder corrected. “There was no way to know who the exile was with, certainty. It became abundantly clear your boy-toy was not the being of power when your thread completely disappeared from sight. Poof. Gone. As if you’d never existed. No descendant of Arthen could possibly still hold that much power.”

  Ana struggled to maintain her pose, but any sense of calm was quickly fading. “The wedding…” she managed.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a bad idea,” nodded Murder. “Bind your threads in the eyes of god and man, piss off your old lover enough to bring him down here himself. Except…it wasn’t your plan…was it?”

  Memory seeped into her mind.

  She witnessed the fall of the Revolution and stood in line to be beheaded, only to have her sentence stayed.

  The dungeon and its red light.

  The thousands of tables where gods and willing screamed in unison.

  She joined them.

  She slept.

  She woke.

  She and Fate shared their first kiss.

  They made love in the Tower of Ancients.

  Her psyche pounded the walls of her brain, all the while she moaned in ecstasy.

  He whispered, “I need you to do something for me…”

  She agreed.

  Ana gasped amidst tears and sits up bolt right with Galeblade surging along her wrist.

  “That’s enough,” said Murder. Ana found she could not move against him. Her will battered her muscles, and they only twitched in response.

  She growled. “Why the charade then? Let us be done with this!” Jon, run!

  “Because you don’t hunt someone in their own home. The old man, whoever he is, believes you to be our prey, and so it must remain. You, on the other hand, are going to do exactly as you are told, and soon you will be in your lover’s embrace before the night is done.” Murder leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “And I’m not speaking of the boy.”

  The carriage stopped and Murder opened the door. “Go on now, get married and have some fun while you’re at it!”

  “The fucking barn’s aflame, and these dimwits are just fucking staring at it!” Ham whispered harshly.

  “I swear I did it right,” said Beeter.

  “We fucking know you did. We can literally see the motherfucker burning down, but these assholes are just standing there like they just smoked a whole fucking keel of crabdashes!”

  “Fuck’s sake, Ham,” said Rom, “shut up! We need a new plan.”

  “I got a plan. We run in there and fuck ‘em up ourselves.”

  “That’s not a plan, that suicide!”

  “Oh yeah? Is it suicide if you’re already fucking dead?”

  Rom, Hersh, and Beeter stared at him.

  “Wait,” said Hersh. “Are we fucking dead?”

  “No,” answered Rom, “but we are. Ham…lets fuck ‘em up.”

  A wolf howled, and the old man nodded. “Now.” He and the Wise flung their hands into motion and the shroud that he had maintained for twenty years dropped.

  The high priest of the Four stood at the podium and greeted Jon with welcoming arms, one of which held a large glass of wine. He was very drunk. Jon took a small sip from the cup that was offered, as tradition dictated, but he wanted his nerves exactly where they were. The guardsmen had only just allowed him space enough to draw his sword should he need to and provided a wall between him and cheering mass of townsfolk. He knew in passing nearly all the faces in the crowd; their smiles were congratulatory and laden with alcohol. Layers of clothing had already been shed as the night of debauchery had not begun with the start of the weddings. Jon smiled at them in envy.

  The crowd parted as the carriage approached and reared their cheers anew as the door opened and out stepped his wife of a single night. Her dress was lovely and flowing, her shoulders bare, her hair done up in small braids and roses that bloomed in winter. She held before her a bouquet of wrapped flowers. She gained her footing in the muddy snow and walked to him slowly while thunder rumbled overhead. The jeering mass threw small slivers of parchment, snow, alcohol, anything they could get their hands on, over her head as she passed t
hem. As he watched her, he grew even more uneasy; her back and gait were too rigid, her smile too fixed, and her eyes were locked on him. There was no joy in her gaze. Shit, thought Jon.

  A man in noble clothing stepped out of the carriage behind her. Rail thin and unnaturally disjointed, the man walked a few steps behind the bride to be like a predator stalking prey. His glare was also locked on Jon. The façade must not have been easy to maintain; a shimmer of air moved in and around the false noble as though he were expelling a large amount of heat. Ana and the noble walked into the circle of guardsmen. The man took his place next to the guards as Ana walked to Jon. The Aden on her bare arms were starting to glow with fierce light when she reached out to him pleadingly. They joined hands.

  You have to run. This trap is not for me, it’s for you and the old man!

  Jon squeezed his eyes shut and struggled as her voice slipped into his mind and assailed his senses. This is new… The priest began to speak but Jon did not hear him.

  Jon! Listen please. Jon opened his eyes and found hers wide and full of fear. Fate wants the old man. Lightning cracked and wolves howled.

  Why? Jon managed.

  I don’t know, but they have me already.

  What? How?

  I…I think he always did. Jon stared at his wife as his world cracked.

  “I’m sorry,” Ana whispered, “I love you. More than anything, but you have to run. Now.”

  Knowing that he was on the edge of panic, he closed his eyes and breathed. The strings he had felt pulling him were taught as a fishing line leading somewhere above the surface of the water where he could not see. But he could see the line. An awareness from where their hands touched allowed him to see into her, and he realized that it was not he that was caught on the end.

  It was her.

  A thread of Fate, he thought, twisted with my own. They were using her…to find us. The priest pronounced them husband and wife. The crowd threw up their voices and applause. Jon blew out the breath he had been holding through his nose and stepped to Ana. He placed a hand around her back and his lips on hers. She trembled as he touched her, but soon she leaned into him and—