The Dead Wind

by Dennis Monaghan

  The room she was in was at the southeast corner of the shrine. The large exterior panels on either side of the corner post were open; Jana could see the hills of the estates and parts of the City Bay. There was a man standing next to a low table near a corner of the room. His head was covered with a hood, and nothing could be seen of his features. Then he flipped back the hood, and Hoodeye became Master Aiken. He stepped forward and hugged Jana, he said, “I am so happy you are alive.”

  She returned his embrace, then she pulled away. “I fear I am the only scout still living,” she said. “I feel Big Red is alive, but I have no proof.”

  Master Aiken nodded. “I too believe she is alive.” He led Jana to some sitting pillows, and once she’d sat, he served them both tea. When he was settled, Master Aiken said, “Soon those who died in the Dead Wind will be cleared from the City. Bartok seems likely to push for speaker. There is no one to run against him. There would be no talking Ronzal into the task; he loathes politics. You have had dealings with Bartok. Tell me, what is your opinion? Will he make a good leader?”

  “He is ambitious,” Jana said. “Something about him makes me uncomfortable. I can’t pinpoint why. Aside from that, he has been open enough to take some of my suggestions and canny enough to see how they would work in his favor. He seems to have some talent with the One Wave. I believe he can feel emotions and uses that to further his own ends. My concern is that with the support of the City Troop and without the scouts as a balance, Bartok could become a dictator.”

  “I agree. We must rebuild the City Scouts as quickly as we can. I am beginning to train the children in the Way of the Tanan with the idea to turn the willing ones into scouts.”

  “We will have to abandon for the moment the traditional scout training where a young scout is paired with different, accomplished scouts and learns while doing,” Jana said. “We will have to approach the task as a school. I fear we need more teachers than just you and I, master.” Jana shook her head.

  “And more students,” Master Aiken added. “But I do know some skilled men and women who survived the Dead Wind and might be willing to help as instructors. I’ll send the messengers to contact them.”

  “I know one student I would like to have,” Jana said, standing. “Cobb and Maggie’s girl, Olive. She is old enough, and the times I have met her at the Oak Vine Inn I’ve been impressed. Other candidates may be available from the outlying areas. Some may be arriving in the City having left devastated homes and looking for a change.”

  “I will be able to spot any suitable prospects as Hoodeye.” Master Aiken said as he walked Jana down the hall and into the shrine, “And I will contact Cobb and Maggie about Olive.”

  They walked to the Altar Stone. Master Aiken said, “The Altar Stone became alive at my touch after the Dead Wind. The Winking God has opened his eye; the primal vibration of the One Wave has been altered, which allows those who survive the Dead Wind to experience union with the One Wave. The problem lies in that we have lost much of the meaning of the Way of the Tanan during the time when the twin sun was hidden from view, and people lost their ability to be in the One Wave. So, it seems this set of subtle skills is all brand new, and we will need to learn as we go.”

  “We must hope for the best,” Jana said. With a smile, she waved goodbye.

  The City

  “Nance!” Bartok yelled from the speakers’ suite.

  “Yes, Captain?” Nance arrived, papers in his hands.

  “We need to get the machinery of government moving again. Send out a call for all those who worked for the City before the Dead Wind. Let’s get them back to work.”

  “That is just the job for the messengers, Captain. They’re able to find anyone. They probably already know precisely which people this message should go to.”

  “Good. Get the messengers for that. And when you have a Public Works crew together, pick the best and have them report to you. Do that personally, Nance, no messengers for this part. I want to put your idea into action.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Nance responded and then recited his idea: “Use the best workers to form a company that contracts to the City for public projects. With the amount of rebuilding needed, we stand to make a tidy profit. Of course,” Nance added with a smile, “the company’s ownership will be shrouded in paper work”

  “How is the removal of the dead going?”

  “Quite well, Captain. The people are working together; the job will be done sooner than we’d hoped. Tomorrow evening is the best estimate.” Nance added, “In the evenings at the City Bay Wall, people have started a torch ceremony honoring the dead.”

  Nance paused to shuffle through his papers and pull one from the pile. “We have a problem with the number of barges that are being burned. Without enough barges, the flow of trade on the bay is going to be hampered.”

  “There might be something we can do,” Bartok mused. “And another thing, Nance, see if you can find me a good tailor. You might ask Ronzal if he knows anyone.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nance made another note.

  “And where is the scout?”

  “By last report, she was seen riding to the Glassworks.”

  “See if you can keep tabs on her, Nance. I know it may be an impossible job, but do the best you can.”

  “Do you suspect her of anything, sir?”

  “No, but she is an important figure in the City. We don’t want her to begin to suspect us.”

  “Suspect us of what, sir? We have done nothing but our duty.”

  “And we will continue to do so until I've been elected speaker. The people have no thoughts beyond moving the dead, but soon enough talk of election will begin. Tonight we will attend the torch ceremony at the City Bay Wall, and I will announce the festival honoring the living and the dead.”

  “Festival, sir?”

  “By tomorrow all the dead will have been burned on the bay. The final burning will start the Festival of the Living and the Dead—and with this festival, peoples’ sorrow will be lifted. They’ll be reminded that they are alive and that being alive is good.

  “Tonight we will start a whisper, a whisper suggesting what a good speaker Bartok will make. We’ll score another trick as the Trickster.” The captain smiled grimly remembering his first trick: taking care of the old captain.

  “That is a brilliant plan, sir. I'll start to work at once. We had better consult with the artists—about the festival, I mean, not the whisper.”

  “Good idea, Nance, contact them.”

  “You have an hour to prepare for the torch ceremony, sir. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “No, not unless you have a tailor in your pocket.”

  Ten

  The City

  Bartok stood in the back of one of the emptied wagons and looked over the throng of people gathered at the City Bay Wall. They were solemn and mainly silent, though some talked in whispers. In the City Bay, the last barge was being rowed into place. Bartok could feel the crowd’s anticipation and knew he was positioned to draw their focus toward himself.

  He waited until the barge pulled into line. Then he held up an unlit torch and cried out, “People of the City! We are here to honor our dead. We can best honor them by remembering the skills they taught us and using these skills to mend our City.”

  Bartok felt the crowd respond with respect and pride. “We must each take our place and work for ourselves and for the life of the City.”

  Bartok held out his torch to a trooper, who lit it. Bartok then raised the burning brand. At the back of the crowd more lit torches appeared and were carried toward the City Bay Wall. Bartok turned to the bay and flung his torch high and far out into the water. Many torches followed. Suddenly flames shot up from one of the barges, then another, until all were burning. Moans and cries of sadness came from the people, who then watched the water-borne pyres in silence until the flames died.

  Bartok was drawn into the collective mourning, and his stomach clenched with the crowd’s grief. The
old captain’s twisted face came up in his mind’s eye as if to haunt him. Bartok tried to dispel the image. Finally, when the focus of the people began to shift away from the burning, the new captain was released from the grip of his vision.

  He collected himself and turned away from the bay and the burning barges and once again spoke to the crowd. “Our labor has been difficult and heartbreaking. But we must not give up now, for this City is about the living! We must finish this terrible task. Tomorrow evening when the last barge is burned, we will begin the Festival for the Living and the Dead, under the direction of the City artists. The day after the festival we will hold an emergency election for speaker and the vacant City Council seats. We must work hard to honor the dead, and then we will be free to honor those of us who are alive! Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind!”

  The crowd let out a cheer. Bartok waved once again and jumped down from the wagon. Several people gave him encouraging words before Nance shooed them away.

  “Captain, what have you done!” the assistant said. “The artists may not take kindly to having been volunteered.”

  “I’m sure the artists will be all right. They will jump at the chance. Anyway, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I could feel the need in the people. And look at them now—hopeful. I have the power of the Trickster … which reminds me, is the whisper ready, Nance?”

  “Yes, sir, it is. The first breath will be early this evening in the Cabbage common room. Later tonight it might be a good idea for you to make an appearance with a couple of the men for a steam beer.”

  “Yes.” Bartok was pleased. “Find out if Ronzal will be there. And you better get a message to the artists. Maybe they won't realize I am thinking of them after the fact.”

  “I sent a note by messenger before coming down. But I don’t think you can trick the artists.”

  Bartok laughed. “You can’t trick the tricksters—is that it? I'm going back to the City buildings. Carry on.”

  The captain mounted his horse and followed his guard through the dispersing crowd.

  Jana’s new rooms at the Glassworks overlooked the City and its bay. Through a long bank of windows, she watched the shadows of the City Hills creep east across the bay as the sun slid toward the ocean. The burning barges stood out against the dark of the water, but the evening fog that had gathered around the crests of the City hills was already rolling down over the water to hide Jana’s view.

  Refreshed and dressed in clean clothes, she went to the patio and brewed herself a cup of tea. She was sitting at the same table she had shared with Michael and Cara, when she heard a muffled laugh from the fog. Then like ghosts through a mist, several people appeared on the patio.

  “I think it was a set up so we couldn't refuse,” Michael was saying. “Although, he doesn't know us very well if he thought we would pass up throwing a City-wide party.”

  “I think he did it on the spur of the moment,” Cara said. “He seems to have a knack for knowing what the people want. He may have meant to ask us but couldn't pass up the opportunity.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Jana asked.

  “Bartok, his speech,” Michael waved his hand theatrically. “He announced a Festival for the Living and the Dead, starting tomorrow night after the last barge is burned.”

  “He said, and I quote, “under the direction of the City artists.” First we've heard of it,” Cara laughed and gave a little bow.

  “So you think Bartok was opportunistic, and Michael thinks he planned not to ask the artists?”

  Cara and Michael nodded.

  “My experience with Bartok would lead me to agree with you both. He is ambitious enough to plan, but at the same time I believe he does operate from whatever information comes to him in the moment.”

  “Now that we have been volunteered,” Michael said, “we’re going to my room to discuss a theme for the festival. Would you like to join us?”

  Before Jana could answer, Sart, the drummer, crossed the patio waving a piece of paper. “A message from Bartok,” he said. “The captain would like us to meet with him to discuss the festival.”

  “When is this meeting?” Michael asked.

  “Tomorrow, mid-morning.”

  Cara reiterated Michael’s invitation for Jana to join in the planning, but the scout realized she was exhausted.

  “I'm going to turn in,” she said. “It's been a long time since I've slept in such a fine bed.”

  “Sleep well.” Cara smiled at her. “We’ll see you in the morning.” She added, “And welcome to our family, Scout Jana.”

  When Jana climbed into bed, grateful for its comfort and for her new friends. As she drifted into sleep, she wondered if Cara and Michael were a couple.

  Bottom

  Startled, Iris turned over the Empty Well card from the reading deck. She laid the card over the Mistress of Cards, her signifier card. For the last two days her morning and evening readings had held this same pairing: the Empty Well, the obstacle, confronting the Mistress of Cards. The Empty Well meant loss, disappearance, sorrow, perhaps even death. Iris knew she must be in danger, but from what? Or whom?

  The City

  The music died away as Bartok entered the Cabbage with Lieutenant Stev and Trooper Ides. Coming out of the cool night fog, they found the crowded room sweltering. There were men and women there from all parts of the City. Someone at a table close to the door called out, “Hey, Captain Bartok!”

  People started hailing him from all parts of the room then, and Bartok waved to several as he walked to a table being cleared for him near the private rooms. The serving girl gave the table a final swipe under the eye of a young man in the proprietor's apron.

  The proprietor pulled a chair out for Bartok. “Welcome to the Cabbage, Captain Bartok. I am Holman, son of the former owner. Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind.”

  “Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind, Holman, and thank you for the table.” Bartok sat down. “Would you please bring us a round of your fine steam beer?” Bartok put some coins on the table.

  “Your money is no good tonight, captain,” Holman said, waving the bartender to fetch the beer. “Word is, captain, you should run for speaker when the elections are set. I'd bet my money on your success.”

  The beer arrived, and Holman poured. Bartok raised his glass in salute before taking a sip. “Thank you for your confidence, Holman, but I have no time for such thoughts with the City still in trouble.”

  “I understand, Captain,” Holman bowed. “Enjoy your evening. I must return to my duties.”

  Bartok continued sipping his beer as he looked around the bustling room. Once a warehouse for the old market, the Cabbage had been converted to an inn when Market Square was built. The common room occupied the southeast corner of the original building. Tall, lead glass windows lined the exterior wall. Each window depicted vegetables rendered in a colorful style. An elaborate stone fireplace had replaced one of the building’s wooden corners. More leaded windows were embedded into the rock on both sides of the mantle, proudly displaying the cabbage in all its glory. The long redwood bar stood on the interior wall. Huge mirrors, their borders etched with vines and cabbage leaves, hung behind the bar. At the far end of the bar, double doors led to the kitchen. Serving people passed in and out like bees in a hive. Chandeliers, wrought like hanging vines, cast a festive light.

  Bartok was pleased with the support he felt from the people. The whisper Nance started was having the desired effect. He must be cautious, however, and not appear to seek the office of speaker too soon.

  Lieutenant Stev leaned toward Bartok. “Ronzal's man is approaching, sir.”

  The young man bowed when he reached the table. “Merchant Ronzal requests your company, Captain Bartok.”

  Bartok nodded and stood, motioning to Lieutenants Stev and Ides to stay. But Stev followed him and placed himself outside Ronzal's door.

  “Welcome, Captain. Please sit down.” Ronzal was standing by the same table as before.
/>   Bartok gave a slight bow and sat at the table.

  “Would you care for some steam beer?” Bartok nodded. Ronzal poured a glass for them both before sitting. “Your name is on everyone's lips, Captain. Congratulations.”

  “I am gratified,” Bartok said. “I wonder, however if I should trust public opinion.”

  “In this case, I think you should.”

  Bartok changed the subject. “I applaud your civic-mindedness, in donating so many barges to burn the dead. But this means you bear most of the burden of this loss.” Bartok paused for a moment, before adding, “I think this may be taking civic duty too far.” Bartok could feel Ronzal's curiosity begin to rise.

  “The barges will be missed until they are replaced,” Ronzal said with a nod. “Trade will be slow on the bay. Prices may go up.” He shrugged. “It seems inevitable.”

  Bartok leaned toward his companion. “If I were to be made a silent partner in the barge works,” he said, his voice lowered, “I could arrange for the City to buy you new barges to replace, let's say, a third of the ones lost.”

  Ronzal studied Bartok for a moment. “With most people, Captain, I would bargain. I'd ask for half of the barges lost or offer only a third of the barge works. We could go on for an entire evening of negotiation. But because of my civic pride, I will accept your terms. All I ask is when will you accomplish this?”

  “When?” Bartok was surprised. “Not how?”

  “I don't need to know your methods,” Ronzal said, “any more than you need to know mine. But the question of when is vital if the barge works is to be set in motion.”

  “I understand if you set to work now, it will be easier to compensate for the lack of barges. But I have not been elected speaker and cannot insure City money.” Bartok stood. “Can you wait for a deferred payment?”

  “That will be satisfactory,” Ronzal said, walking Bartok to the door. “I will start building at once. I do, after all, need the barges.” He added, “Thank you for stopping in, Captain.”

  “Thank you. I thought you might be one to envision a prosperous future. And thank you for the steam beer.”