Wind Over Bone: The Estralony Cycle #2 (Young Adult Fantasy Romance)

by E D Ebeling

  In all this weird mess a wizened man was walking, kicking the creatures from his path. He stopped just short of Sarid. Have you got lost in the wood, child? he sneered.

  Here must be one of those foolish humans who had strayed one step too far––he was possessed. His face changed, and another voice came from his mouth: Idiot, here is Aleksei’s daughter.

  There were two, then. But his face changed again: Pity. We should have liked to suck at her.

  Sarid thought with horror what it must be like to have three bludi fighting in your head, and the man’s face changed again.

  His white hair became thick as a wolf’s coat, and his fragile back straightened and broadened. His craggy face filled out and became handsome, and his mouth spoke in Lorilan: “Blockheads. Orphans. One more word and I’ll cast you out.”

  He said to Sarid, “I’d no idea you were coming to visit.”

  “Father.” She admonished herself for feeling surprised. “Who were they?”

  “Vagrants.”

  “Has everyone gone mad except me?” she muttered to herself.

  “Madness is the rule here, darling,” said Aleksei.

  “Silly me.” Sarid watched a fern-like mavka gnaw through its own ankle. Green-tinted water sprayed the rocks. “Already forgetting. Father”––she nudged a feathery saebel away from her skirts––“what is Yelse doing at Charevost? Am I right––she took a troop of saebels up to Reglian?”

  Aleksei scratched his neck and shrugged. He wasn’t naked, at least. He was dressed in an old-fashioned kaftan, edges so tattered they could have been trimmed with lace. “She’s grown. I have little control over her.”

  Sarid sighed. “Don’t you tire of this?” She gestured at the saebels.

  He smiled warmly. “They are the only folk who will have me.”

  “They’re wicked,” said Sarid. “They’ve put mad ideas into my sister’s head.”

  Her father’s face changed and one of his vagrant incubi said, We did our part, certainly.

  Another said: We were the encouragement, sure enough.

  “Silence, Baigtha, Uorn,” said her father. “You are weary, I think,” he said to his daughter. “We should discuss this over supper.”

  There was a small, dead stump sticking up from the stones at their left. Aleksei sang a low, barely audible tune. The stump split and grew three slender trunks, which sprouted branches and twigs that wove and fused together into a tabletop.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” said Aleksei. “I have some experience after your mother––” He frowned in thought. “I could never make a chair, though.” He clapped his hands and some of the little saebels disappeared.

  There came a snapping, whipping noise, and Sarid turned and saw two ancient, mossy chairs crashing through the woods.

  When they broke through the leaves Sarid saw the saebels that carried them. They were human-sized. The first had hair of curling smoke and skin glowing red like hot charcoal. The chairs smoldered under his arms. The next was a frog-like vodyanoi, skin mottled, fingers long and webbed with red knobs at the tips. He’d two old, porcelain plates sticking to his fingers. The third––a vodlak, with blue-white eyes and six dugs that swung down like a she-wolf’s––was holding two gobs of something sticky and red.

  The charcoal saebel raised his arms and dropped the chairs on either side of Aleksei’s table. The vodyanoi shook his fingers loose of the plates. They both landed on the tabletop and shattered. He croaked ruefully, his throat stretching out like a water-bladder. He picked the pieces up and stuck them together with the slime on his finger knobs, and Sarid thought with trepidation about what she was going to eat.

  The wolf saebel dropped her red gobs on the plates. Deer, she said mockingly, for the proud children of Paronna.

  Sarid wondered how her father had forced this one into his service––wolves liked her father even less then they liked her.

  “Don’t mind Lob,” said Aleksei, sitting down, and motioning for Sarid to do the same. “She hunts as well as she sneers.”

  “So long as it’s not human.” Sarid took a seat.

  Imagine wasting human flesh on you! said Lob, the wolf-girl.

  Better than human flesh, here, said the vodyanoi, uncurling his lascivious red tongue. Fancy relieving us of our hunger, warm heart?

  Her legs are twined like a two-trunked-tree, said the charcoal-man. He leaned close and breathed his fiery breath on her neck.

  “Manners,” Aleksei barked, and gust of wind blew through charcoal-man’s hair, setting fire to his head. The fire grew explosively and the vodyanoi’s skin shriveled and blackened. He leaped into the lake, and charcoal-man snuffed out his burning head with his hands.

  “Now,” said Aleksei, “we’ll eat in a civilized way. Like they do in the south.” He pinched a gobbet from his hunk of deer and held it to his mouth. Then he looked at his daughter.

  “Oh,” said Aleksei. “Daeheva, Svara’s son, if you would do us the honor?”

  Aleksei dumped Sarid’s hunk of venison onto his own plate; and Charcoal-man opened his mouth and breathed fire, crisping the meat perfectly. He also left a terrific scorched pit in the table and shattered the plate into more pieces than frog-man could possibly glue back together.

  Aleksei buried his face in his hands.

  “It’s okay, Father,” said Sarid. “We can share my plate.”

  “It’s been so long,” said Aleksei.

  “I know.” She put the two hunks of roasted meat on her plate. “Maybe if we had some greens to balance the reds…”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, becoming cheerful. “Fire is a wondrous fertilizer.” He started singing a leafy song; and a sprout pushed from the scorch in the middle of the table and grew into a ruffled head of kale.

  Afterwards, Aleksei was nodding off, and Sarid decided she’d better broach the issue again, before he fell asleep for the night. “Has Yelse told you what she’s doing, at least? Are the saebelen helping her?”

  “I know nothing,” he said, looking drowsily at the darkening sky. “A natural and healthy state.”

  “Ridiculous.” She pulled a piece of kale to ribbons. “All right, if you know nothing, might I take the opportunity to question your, ah, friends?” She pointed at his head.

  He licked his fingers. “Can’t say they’ll be any help.”

  “Can I at least try?”

  “I’ll see if I can find a willing participant.” Aleksei grew quiet and made some profoundly strange faces.

  The old man with the wisps of white hair came back, and said, Go on.

  “What did you do,” said Sarid, leaning forward, “to make Yelse act as she did?”

  Yelse did this of her own volition.

  “You said you were the encouragement.”

  We prodded her along.

  “Why?”

  For the weaving of the enna.

  “What enna?”

  Lieaididharavadhaioearavadh, said the vodyanoi.

  Sarid gave up.

  ***

  The purple in the eastern sky was slipping downwards and melting the mountains together. “We’ll need a light soon,” Aleksei said.

  The vodyanoi eyed Daeheva. We can make a grand torch for you.

  “Perhaps something less brilliant,” said Aleksei quickly.

  Lob knows something of the art of people, said Daeheva.

  We don’t, said Lob, the wolf-girl.

  Lob was a person once, said Daeheva.

  Lob snarled and walked round in a circle, and a little breeze escaped Aleksei’s hand. We must remember, she said, and sat down to think. After she had done this for a while, she picked up a little saebel with tusks. It squealed and struggled. She bit off its head and plucked from it a thick bristle. She stuck the bristle in a crack in the tabletop, and then held the unfortunate saebel over the bristle and wrung it like a rag. Stuff dripped out, seeped around the bristle, and filled the crack.

  Lob ushered Daeheva over, and he dribbled a flame from his mouth and lit
the candle. Mercifully Sarid had finished her meal by this time.

  “One more thing,” she said to Aeksei. “Yelse’s gagged me with magic. I can’t tell anyone the truth. Problem is, I’m quite eager.”

  “How very sisterly.”

  “Well––?”

  “Well?”

  “Well, how do I get rid of it?”

  “Why should you need help throwing off a simple spell?” he said. “You have similar strengths.”

  “I can’t. I’ve tried, and I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Are you, ah––” He bobbled his head from side to side, as if to shake out the right words. “Having an emotional problem?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “There’s a boy.”

  “You’re in love?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.” He frowned and put his chin on his fist. “You’re uncertain,” he said. “Ambivalent. Of two minds. A great amount of confusion will make any spell-work useless. And love can beget uncertainty. Are you a jealous lover?”

  “No,” she said loudly. “But I’m confused, well enough. About everything.”

  “That’s it, then.” He nodded. “So convince yourself otherwise for a moment. Forget you’re uncertain. Get confident. Go mad.”

  “No one can just go mad––”

  “Nonsense.” He swept a moth away from the candle. “People do it every day. There’s something threatening to rip your head off every minute. But that’s an uncomfortable thought, so you force yourself to look the other direction, to believe something else. Madness has its benefits, you know.”

  She leaned back in her chair, rubbing at her temples. “How do I go mad, then?”

  “Well, I suppose the easiest method is––” He knocked his knuckles against his teeth. “Physical aggression. Good way to forget you’re uncertain.”

  Sarid put her elbows on the table. “A fight?”

  “I’ve a hankering to come watch.”

  “Will it work?”

  “Should.”

  “What I don’t understand is how just last week I had it––” Sarid thought of Gryka, who she’d almost killed with a finger. Courtesy of Savvel.

  “You don’t necessarily have to drive yourself mad, do you?” she said slowly. “There’re people who’ll do it for you.” Of course, punching Yelse in the face might help, too…

  She looked about her and saw that stars had settled on the dark lake, bursts of them. “It’s late.” She got up. “I have to go.”

  Her father tutted. “Oh, stay the night––”

  “No.” She got to her feet. “Come back with me,” she said suddenly. “You’d know how to get her to leave.”

  He ran a finger over his chin. “They’d kill me as soon as look at me.”

  She sighed. “Goodbye, then, Father.”

  Seven

  By the time Sarid caught the smell of her herbs a feather of morning green had tinted the sky. She was set in her mind about what she was going to do, and set on doing it right now, while everyone was sleeping.

  She eased open her door and slipped into her chamber. Gryka barked, uncurling from Rischa’s legs. They’d been sleeping in the corner.

  “Bones?” said Rischa.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “You were gone all day. I waited––”

  “I went to talk to my father.”

  He got up, yawning. “I’m glad you’re back.” He walked over and pulled her into a hug. She realized she’d been clenching her body tight like a fist. She allowed herself to relax. Rischa tucked her head under his chin and said, “I thought you’d run away.” She wondered if he would ever hug her again when tonight was through.

  She pulled away. “Where’s the key to Savvel’s room?”

  “Bones, I––”

  “You have it somewhere, don’t you?”

  “Here.” It was small, bronze and dangling from his finger.

  “Can I give him a look over?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “No,” she said. “Stay here.”

  ***

  She unlocked Savvel’s door and gave it a light rap. She eased it open and slipped through, and Yoffin was first to rise. “Go back to bed, Yoffin.” She put strong words in his head. He hit the mattress and lay still.

  “What are you doing?” whispered Savvel.

  “I’m going to try telling you something.”

  “Alright,” he said, sitting up in his bed. “Try me.”

  “Not yet. I’m under enchantment.” She walked across to him. “I need you to make me mad, so I can undo it.”

  “You’re a riddle, Ida. How do I make you mad?”

  She sighed. “That’s the trouble. You’ll have to go mad yourself.”

  He laughed. “On command?”

  “With me in your head. Angry-mad, like the other day. And when I’m as mad as you, I’ll start a fight and become powerful enough to break the enchantment.”

  “I’m confused––”

  “Come on.” She leaned over him, and plucked the sheet off his legs. “We’re paying the Reglime princess a visit.”

  “You know what I think––” He heaved himself out of bed. “You don’t need my help. You’re mad enough.”

  All she could see was the white of his nightshirt. “Will you come?”

  “If they catch me up there they’ll put me away for good.”

  “You won’t be doing the choking.”

  “You’re being a bad girl,” he said, and followed her into the corridor, and Sarid, feeling a bit guilty, turned around.

  “You’re right. I’m putting you in danger. You don’t have to come with.”

  “Too late,” he said. “Madmen are supposed to seek danger out.”

  “I feel wretched, drawing you into this.” And she did.

  They walked for some time in silence.

  “Give me your hand,” she said. They’d reached the infirmary. Their hands twined together and she slipped into his mind, and a feeling like cold water came over her, and made her shiver. The infirmary was empty.

  Sarid cracked Yelse’s door. She was sleeping. Sarid and Savvel crept inside and Sarid shut the door behind them.

  “Yelse,” she said. Yelse sat up and eyed them warily. Her hair fell unruffled behind her. She looked incredibly composed for having just woken up. “Don’t you tire of being in bed?” Sarid asked.

  “What do you want?” said Yelse. “You brought the madman.” She folded the counterpane from her lap.

  Sarid heard a creak from the door.

  “Do you mean to threaten me?” said Yelse.

  “I mean to show you what I’ve learned this past night,” said Sarid, and she half turned and glanced at the door. It had opened slightly. Someone was peering through.

  “You’re telling me tales.” Yelse twisted a lock of her hair. “Why are you here?”

  “Savvel is under my protection,” said Sarid, “and you can’t hurt him.”

  The eavesdropper opened the door a bit wider––Sarid hoped it was Rischa. Better to show him than to tell him that Yelse was dangerous. A gust of wind ruffled Sarid’s hair.

  “You want me to try?” Yelse said idly. “I could scream instead.”

  “I don’t think you could,” Savvel said, and his hand went up to his neck. He hadn’t noticed the door. “With my hands around your neck.” Whether he was trying to rile Yelse or really meant it, Sarid couldn’t tell. “They’ll say you died in your sleep.”

  The wind outside picked up, sucking at the window. Yelse leaned forward, half-smiling. “Really? Is that what they’ll say?”

  “Witch,” said Savvel, and Sarid felt his mind going away. The room stretched upward, became cavernous. “I’ll tear out your throat, your tongue.”

  The wind rammed against the window, again and again, and then it burst open. A flurry of
leaves blew into the room, and Savvel threw himself at her.

  “You won’t touch me,” Yelse said, and the wind pushed Savvel against the wall. Leaves battered around him like hail. Yelse’s face sloughed its skin until only shreds clung to her bones. “You’ll be locked away,” she said to him. “Withering in a dark cellar, raped by your wardens and fed fish heads, while I tear Lorila apart, tree from earth, child from mother, testicle from groin.”

  Spit blew from Savvel’s mouth. His rage was palpable, stronger than the wind. It thrummed in Sarid.

  Pushing leaves from her face, she grabbed a bedpost and scrambled onto the bed. She raised a hand, and with all the force she could muster, slammed it against her sister’s mouth. Yelse’s eyes rolled up in shock. The wind slackened. So it works, thought Sarid vaguely, and she raised her hand again, but Yelse was ready this time. She punched Sarid in the stomach. Sarid fell back, and Yelse dug into her mouth with an elbow. Then she opened her mouth and screamed. Sarid drew her legs up, grabbed Yelse by the hair, and kicked her in the stomach. The wind slackened again, and the geas around her neck loosened.

  “Savvel,” said Sarid, still kicking.

  “I’ll kill her.” Savvel crawled towards the bed. “I swear on Ayevur, I’ll kill her.”

  “She’s––” Yelse pushed Sarid off and rained blows on her with feet and fists. The geas tightened. Sarid broke through Yelse’s arms, lowered her head, and bit roundly into Yelse’s left breast. The geas fluttered like a lame bird and fell off Sarid’s neck.

  “She’s my sister,” shouted Sarid. Yelse clenched her breast and stared at Sarid in hatred. “She’s no princess, she has something foul planned––She––”

  Leva burst through the door. Yelse grabbed a candlestick from her night dresser, and Leva dove and pushed Savvel out of the way just as Yelse flung it at his head. The metal rang out like a gong on the floor.

  Leva stood up. “You can’t kill us both,” she said. “Look odd, wouldn’t it?” Leva turned to Sarid. “Sisters?”

  Two male medics ran through the open door. One pulled Savvel’s arms behind his back and forced him to his knees. The other stopped and stared at the blood soaking through Yelse’s nightshirt. He shut the window and called out of the room for soap and water. Leva backed away, letting it pass without a word. Sarid could see her thinking through the list of who would believe her and who wouldn’t. The latter must’ve been longer: though her jaw worked and her eyes fairly flamed, Leva drew into a corner and kept silent. Other people filled the doorway, woken by the noise, and Sarid heard Rischa’s name whispered among them.