Mistress of the Wind

by Michelle Diener

  They began edging closer to her, and the air shimmered in the heat, pulsed against her. Astrid ripped off her cloak and wrapped it like a massive scarf over her mouth. Her eyes stung and panic clawed like a leashed beast against her chest.

  She blinked, forced moisture into her eyes, as she caught sight of sprites dancing in the fire, their heads thrown back in glee.

  “Come join us,” one called as it leapt and spun, dizzy with joy.

  There was a wildness, an abandon to their dance, and Astrid found herself leaning forward, dangerously close to the heat. The smell of singed hair jerked her back.

  The sprites laughed harder, twirling closer and closer as they gave themselves up to the crackle and hiss, to the heat.

  “You can be wild as we are, our dearest one. Come join the dance.”

  Astrid had the clear image of Tomas blowing the bellows on the fire, the air feeding it, strengthening it.

  Fire needed air. They didn’t call her their dearest one for nothing.

  But air did not need fire. She would not obey.

  When do you ever? It was as if Bjorn had leaned over and whispered in her ear, and confidence surged through her. She smiled beneath the scarf her cloak made, at once sure of herself, and her strength.

  Her instinct was to draw the air to her. To blow this fire out in a gale of wind. The rush of air tugged the curtains at the windows inward, but the sprites fell upon her gale like starving wolves on fresh meat, leaping higher still.

  A sprite boldly fingered Astrid’s dress with a flame-tipped hand, and she slapped at it with the edge of her cloak.

  If air fed it, would no air kill it?

  Through the wool of her cloak, Astrid took a deep breath and sent the air away, imagined it flying out, a whirlwind in reverse, with her at the epicenter.

  There was sudden silence, as if a heavy door had slammed between her and a raucous party, and every flame was extinguished.

  She waited one more beat of her heart in the pitch dark to make sure every spark was dead, and then willed the air back.

  Expecting smoke, she took a breath through her cloak, but it was as if there had never been a fire. She could only smell the sweet oils in the candle wax.

  She stood in the room, in the dark, and waited.

  The candles suddenly relit, and the woman stepped into the cottage.

  “Welcome.” She looked Astrid straight in the eye, with no apology. “I am Dame Ild.” The corners of her mouth turned up when she said the word ‘Dame’, as if it amused her.

  “You wanted my power.” Astrid felt slightly apart from herself. Detached.

  “It was part of the test, but I’m sure Berge and Elv had misgivings leaving this one to me.” Dame Ild smiled suddenly, a genuine smile, and her face lit up, warm and inviting. “There is nothing more tempting on a freezing night than a fire, eh?” She laughed.

  “I am one of you.” Astrid spoke slowly, her whole body trembling at the revelation. “The four of us . . .” She looked absently for a chair and stumbled to one. Flopped down.

  “Hmmm. We’ve been wondering where you’ve been. Must be seventeen years since we saw the old one, at least.”

  “I . . . didn’t know.”

  “So we realized. Seems you’ve landed on your feet though. Caught the prince before he had a chance to work out what you were.” There was a slender thread of heat in her words. Of spite.

  Astrid shook off her daze. “Would that have made a difference? Why shouldn’t he love the Wind Hag?”

  “Do you see any of the three of us with a man in tow?” Dame Ild moved to her fireplace and Astrid saw for the first time a stew pot sat simmering there. “We’re too powerful. The men don’t like it.”

  “There aren’t many like Bjorn.” Astrid stood, and joined her hostess at the fire. They were sisters of sorts, and the youngest two of the four. She sensed they would have a long future together.

  Dame Ild’s face softened. “No. There are none like him. You found the only one strong enough to accept you as you are.”

  “And I lost him.” Astrid was surprised how stark her voice sounded. Shocked when she felt tears on her cheeks. The second time she’d cried in as many days.

  Dame Ild moved to the table near the fire and picked up a slim golden object lying there. “Here. This is all the help I can give you. That and the use of Stratus for your final day’s journey to the East Wind.”

  Astrid took the delicate golden flute, struck by its elegant simplicity. “Thank you. I am in your debt.”

  “Ah. The Wind Hag owes me a favor.” Dame Ild smiled. “Let us eat and drink to that.”

  “Dame Elv said something similar.” Astrid frowned. “What does it mean?”

  Ild shot her a wicked grin. “You’ll work it out soon enough.”

  Astrid turned the flute in her hand, her fingers tracing the smooth gold lines. “You owed the favors, before.”

  Dame Ild did not answer as she laid the bowls upon the table. Her eyes glinted in the firelight. And for a moment, Astrid saw her as she truly was. More powerful, more magical, than she could ever imagine being herself.

  And yet, Dame Ild once owed the Wind Hag so dearly, her delight at now having the balance in her favor made her smile like a child at a birthday celebration.

  Which meant Astrid could be as powerful as her one day, if not more so.

  And the question that kept bumping up against her mind, a small fishing boat against a storm-swept dock, was did she want that for herself?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Stratus sped on the back of the wind sprites, over rolling plains and low mountain ranges. As she clung to him, as the muscles in his legs and back bunched beneath her, Astrid felt a stab of nervousness at the thought of facing the East Wind. In theory, she was its mistress, yet who was she to command it?

  Bjorn would say if she was the Wind Hag, she must act like the Wind Hag. Be bold. But he had a right to his power. Had sacrificed himself for the greater good and shown himself worthy.

  What had she done?

  Perhaps it was not what she had done but what she could do? Astrid’s heart lurched as Stratus suddenly dived through the air, angling down toward the highest peak in the range before them.

  The time for vacillating was over.

  She was not capable of bluster and lies, of presenting herself as more than she was. Neither was she powerless—the dames had shown her that.

  An ‘oh’ escaped her lips as she took in the significance of her thought. Perhaps the tests were to help her control her winds as much as anything. What good was a Wind Hag otherwise?

  An eerie whistling rose and fell in the buffeting gale around the peak, low as a moan, high as a shriek.

  Stratus alighted on a wide stone ledge near the top of the mountain and Astrid slid reluctantly off his trembling back. With a snort, he broke free of her hands and ran straight off the far side of the ledge, banking in the air, his eyes wild.

  The sight of his terror chilled her. But fear and doubts had no place in her life. Time was wasting.

  She imagined Bjorn treading toward his waiting troll-bride in time with the seconds beating past.

  She set down her sack, smoothed her hair and straightened her back.

  “East Wind,” she called.

  “You have come at last.” The whisper was in her left ear, from behind, and every hair on her scalp and arms rose. Warm, humid air enveloped her, making her cold fingers and nose tingle.

  “I came as soon as I realized.”

  “Realized what?” the voice breathed.

  “Who I am.”

  An arm, solid, but solid as air becomes solid when channeled at speed, slid over her shoulder and came to rest just above her breast. Near her heart.

  “Do you understand what your absence has meant?”

  “Tell me.” Astrid turned, forcing down her fear, keeping her voice steady and her face calm.

  An image of a man stood before her, an outline of gray-blue cloud. A strong, hand
some face framed by hair so long, it flirted with his thighs. Long robes swirled around his feet, and she saw his hands were strong, his wrists thick. There was challenge in his eyes.

  “We have been left to fight among ourselves, to battle about who has reign over the lands. Without you to give orders, we have turned against each other.”

  “Did you not think to find me?” Astrid wondered now why they never had. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, the way he shimmered insubstantial as a mirage, yet the force of his presence was unmistakable.

  The East Wind lifted both his hands and shrugged. “We thought the Wind Hag had not passed her mantle on.”

  “But the air sprites knew where I was. They have been with me always.”

  The East Wind stilled, his hair and robes no longer moving in constant motion. “They would only have kept your location secret if . . .”

  Astrid watched his face change, saw a flash of hurt.

  “If what?” The answer came to her before he could reply. “If the Wind Hag bade them to do so?”

  He nodded, and warm air rippled over her. “How old were you when the Wind Hag died?”

  “Three years old.”

  “Too young to exert your will over us.”

  “And if one of you no longer wished to be commanded by your mistress . . .” There was a hitch in her throat, a tremble within for her younger, vulnerable self.

  “Kill the new Wind Hag?” The East Wind’s eyes seemed to blaze, even though they were made of nothing but smoky cloud, and heat radiated off him. “Never.”

  “Yet she thought there was a chance of it,” Astrid said. “And why would she if she didn’t already suspect one of you did want to be rid of her?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her mind tracing all the threads.

  “How did Norga find the Wind Hag? How did she come to kill her?” She’d thought, from Bjorn’s story, that Norga had seen the Wind Hag take him and had followed her, but what if she’d been told by someone else? By one of the Winds.

  “She was killed taking the boy, wasn’t she?” The East Wind spoke bitterly. “She was obsessed with him.”

  “Did she really mean to keep him?” She couldn’t imagine it.

  “She thought he would consent to stay. To marry her, when he got older.” He said the words like he was swearing.

  “What would a husband have meant to you?” Astrid asked. Nothing good, by the sound of it.

  The East Wind’s hair flew out around his head, humid air radiating out with it. “A master as well as a mistress. As if we were not enough for her. She looked at the human world and longed for the love of man and wife. Longed for beauty.”

  Despite the heat, his words chilled Astrid. Was she no longer human? Had the Wind Hag’s gift changed her that much? Then she thought of Ild’s jealousy of her love for Bjorn, and saw in it a reflection of the Wind Hag’s need.

  “Who of you had most cause to feel aggrieved?” She needed to know if one of her Winds wished her ill.

  The East Wind pondered the question, his hair lowering and swirling around his shoulders. “The North Wind. The Wind Hag liked to walk the earth looking for a husband, and she liked to do it in warm weather. Which meant either me, or South or West carried her. North rarely had a turn.”

  “Would he have tried to kill the Wind Hag?”

  The East Wind shook his head. “I cannot believe any one of us would have.” There was a thread of iron certainty in his voice.

  Astrid grimaced. She had no time to uncover a possible plot against her. “This is something I will have to sort out later. I need to know if you can tell me where the place is that is east of the sun and west of the moon.”

  The East Wind shook his head. “I have never heard of such a place. Why do you need to know?”

  Astrid swallowed down her panic. “The troll who killed the Wind Hag has taken my lover there. I would defeat her and get him back.”

  “Always this one troll, interfering with us.” The East Wind’s fists clenched. “And always the Wind Hag searches for a lover or a husband.”

  And in this one thing, she and the old Wind Hag shared the same object of affection. Astrid tossed her head, her hair flying back in the East Wind’s angry blowing. She would not apologize for her love. And she would not give it up for her Winds.

  “Would the West Wind know where this place is?” Her heart thundered in her chest. Desperate for any chance.

  “West of the moon?” He nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Would you carry me to the West Wind?”

  “You do not command me to take you?” The East Wind held her gaze and they stood for a long moment saying nothing.

  Should she command him? She was not used to this indecision. She was out of her depth.

  “Until I have your respect, I have no right to command you,” Astrid said at last.

  “The West Wind and I have fought for dominance over each other for the last seventeen years. You ask me to carry you to my enemy.”

  Astrid knew the simple clarity of fear. She needed his help at any cost or her quest to save Bjorn was doomed. “I promise I will do everything in my power to reconcile you with your brother. Consider this a favor to me and the first step to regaining the balance.”

  “A favor? Beware, mistress, of putting yourself in my debt. Of being beholden to one of us, and not the others.” He turned from her and looked west.

  Astrid realized the mistake she could have made and shivered. All she wanted was to get to Bjorn, but she would not find him unless she set her house in order first. Only if the winds were hers to command could she receive the aid she needed.

  She drew herself up. “Take me to the West Wind.” She bent and took up her sack full of precious gifts, stepped to join the East Wind on the very edge of the ledge.

  “You have decided to command me, after all?” He looked at her, a slanting, probing look. She held his gaze and nodded.

  “Your wish, Mistress,” he said solemnly, turning to bow low on one knee. “Let us fly.”

  He expanded, becoming three, four times larger than he had been. He reached out and scooped Astrid up in his hand, turned back to the ledge, and leapt off.

  * * *

  If she thought the wind steeds were fast, the East Wind was lightning. The air fought them as they whipped through it, ripping at Astrid’s clothes and forcing her to close her eyes, cover her head with her hands.

  Like she was cowering.

  When she realized what she was doing, when she remembered who she was, her cheeks burned. What kind of Wind Hag was she?

  She fought the buffering, lifted her head and then, with eyes still closed, willed a shield of calm around her body. When she opened her eyes, all resistance had faded.

  Now she could look ahead with the East Wind, his face determined and solemn, as he sped toward the brother who had become his enemy.

  They flew high, far higher than the wind steeds, and the earth lay mapped out below her, a patchwork of valleys, mountains and twisting rivers gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

  After many hours they came to a plateau, a long escarpment ending in a massive ridge of peaks. The East Wind gripped her a little tighter, and Astrid felt the familiar clutch of fear in her throat.

  She saw a shimmer in the air far ahead, a moving mirage, and peered forward.

  “What is it?”

  “The fore-guard,” the East Wind said, and brought his other hand across, to hold Astrid more securely.

  “They’re attacking us?” She leaned even further forward.

  Attacked? By her own subject? She didn’t have time for this.

  She saw them coming, fast as the East Wind, speeding toward a headlong collision.

  “What will they try to do?”

  “Force me back.”

  At last Astrid could see the shields in the approaching air sprites’ hands. They were going to smack into the East Wind and drive him back.

  “I could send out air sprites of my own?” The Eas
t Wind lifted an eyebrow, and Astrid shook her head.

  “I will deal with this. We’re wasting time.” She imagined the air around her, completely under her control. The air sprites sped closer and closer, until they were only a field away.

  With a firm nod of her head, a projection of will, she threw up a solid wall of air before them, and watched them slam against it.

  “Fly over them,” she called to the East Wind, and dropped the wall.

  He lifted up over the sprites as he sped past, then began to dive, almost in freefall through the pale blue sky.

  Astrid looked back, and saw the sprites trailing them, their shields no longer raised.

  “Brother,” the East Wind shouted over the shrieking gale as they came to the West Wind’s mountain top. “I bring the Wind Hag—”

  Before he’d finished his sentence, something smashed into them, knocking Astrid out of the East Wind’s careful hands.

  She fell downwards, tumbling, her scream echoing against the sheer cliffs of the mountains.

  Sharp rocks and outcrops flew past, and below, growing larger and closer, a narrow river, edged with trees.

  She needed to do something at once or she would die.

  If she could create a vertical wall of air, she could create a horizontal one. Astrid focused on the air beneath her, created a cushion of it, and bounced to a stop just short of the tree tops. She lay, weak with relief, then dragged herself to standing, shaking with fear and rage.

  “Up,” she commanded her platform. She rose fast, giving it a spin so she spiraled up, looking on all sides so nothing could take her by surprise again.

  The two winds twisted and fought each other over the edge of a sheer-faced cliff, the West Wind’s smoky mirage clearly whiter against the East Wind’s gray. Clouds boiled above them and the West Wind drew back a hammer’s fist.

  “You!” Fury burned in her, her dress and cloak billowing as the agitated air around her spun and twisted. She imagined the air as an extension of her own hand, grabbed the West Wind by his long hair and jerked him back. Smacked him into the ground.

  He lay, stunned, for a moment. “Wind Hag?”

  As he rose, his sharp etched face was comical in its surprise and disbelief, as if he’d had no idea it was his mistress he’d just thrown down the side of a mountain.