Wind Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  Mordon and those who had been in the market longer set to speaking about people I didn't know and using a short form to refer to various procedures. I drifted off, noting words like 'exit point', 'portal', 'assembly point', 'emergency staff', but not necessarily joining the phrases into a cohesive whole. I wondered what form the killing would take. A toxic gas? A mass-area spell? Hired goons pretending to be 'militant extremist Creatures'? What would we do in any of those cases?

  The steady thrum of voices became background noise. Methodically, I traced the outline of my thumb with a fingernail. My thoughts drifted away from the plans and spiraled around the mating flight. How different I'd felt then. Free, powerful, challenged. I liked the struggle. I liked the victory. Would I feel the same way if Firan had been less honorable, though? Doubtful. Still, I remembered the flight with a level of excitement.

  I glanced at Mordon, catching him in a moment when he was running his hands though red mane. The conversation had dropped off and people were quiet. Time had slid by without my notice.

  “I'm afraid I nodded off. What's up?” I asked.

  Barnes said, “Mordon will tell you in the morning. We have a few people to talk to, the best thing you can do at the moment is rest. You're pale. You need your strength if you're to be any good to us.”

  “I'm not that tired.”

  Barnes shrugged. “There's nothing for you to do right now. I have people to see. Lilly has work to attend. We'll meet up at nine-twenty tomorrow morning with the details.”

  I wanted to ask about Leif, but one pained expression from Lilly kept me silent. Barnes got up, gathered his coat. With the intent to show him out, I stood up. Dizziness hit, followed immediately by fatigue. I slumped back into my seat.

  No one said anything, Mordon and Lilly were in the process of leaving. Lilly put her hand on my good shoulder and said, “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” I said, relieved that Mordon was escorting them out.

  Once they stopped to talk by the french doors, I withdrew the Drink Me paper and scrawled a quick note. It was sloppy, but I didn't want them to see it. I rolled it up, stuffed the scroll into the bottle Leif had given me. It disappeared. I replaced the bottle back under my shirt. My stomach churned.

  I hoped I'd been right to give Leif a heads-up.

  The voices softened, ended with the click of a door. Mordon returned. I hurried to finish the tea, recalling his complaint earlier that I wasn't drinking enough. Time slipped through my fingers and before I knew it, even the pot was cold to the touch. Mordon himself seemed caught in the lull after all the chaos. He’d been standing by the kitchen counter for a long time without either one of us realizing it.

  His footsteps scuffed over the floor and he came to a stop near my young ginger plant, ran his finger along its narrow leaves and ever-growing stalk. A squirrel chattered from a tree outside, bringing to mind how very still the house had become.

  The warm post-afternoon sun made me feel droopy again, reflecting on the mating flight and what had happened in it. I tried to shake the mood off unsuccessfully. Mordon was there, and something about the sight of him with his red curls and those dextrous ringed fingers made my pulse increase.

  “You're quiet,” I accused, a sly grin teasing one corner of my mouth as I wondered how hard I would have to work to spread this hazy euphoria to him.

  “Hmm?” Mordon emerged from absently stroking his beard. He gave me a half smile. “I'm sorry.”

  I snorted. “You're the one always telling me not to apologize for things beyond my control.”

  “True.” He sat down beside me, took my hand, and kissed the tender wrist. He looked at me. His lionlike eyes were dilated, the reddish flecks flared so his irises seemed less green. I stilled, not sure what to make of his expression.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked at last.

  He cocked his head to the side. “About you.”

  “What about me?” A blush crept up my neck. “You aren’t getting second thoughts about taking me home with you, are you?”

  A smile, warm and inviting. “I’m thinking of finalizing our union.”

  A shiver ran through my belly. His hand cupped my cheek, long fingers stroked the soft underside of my jaw. I wondered if he meant it this time, and some part deep within me knew that he did. Lips pressed against mine. He smelled faintly of campfire and sweat and the open sky. He tasted of tart apples and the peppery glaze off the ham we’d had for lunch.

  Mordon’s fingers in my hair, his body drawn up against mine. Him, taking it slow and leisurely. Me, seeking the electric sparks. A wildfire spread life into my limbs, the oldest magic embraced in darkness. It wove a bond between us as strong as the currents in a river and just as easily swept away in.

  Hesitating a second, I wondered if I maybe should stop this now. This would lead to a commitment beyond marriage, a commitment to the risk of children, to the colony and their future. Being me alone was one matter, being a pair was another, but to bring another life into this world? What would this do to us? Mordon’s teeth nipped the shell of my ear, his breathing shallow. Swirling around us, my magic was scented of honeysuckle, black pepper, nutmeg and smoke, as heady as strong incense.

  “Wait,” I whispered in his ear. “Trade me places.”

  His fingers tensed in my hair, triggering happy little thrills along my spine, and he kissed my cheek. We went quietly to the bedroom where the drapes made it as dark as a moonlit night.

  Birds sang outside, a sweet warble to call their mates near. Honeysuckle clouded my mind and he started humming an ancient tune, low and rumbling, that vibrated against my skin and made me feel adrift in a hot pool. With him against the sheets, I took my time exploring his every scar. He was experienced, his back bore the nail marks of his practice. Over time, when the room had darkened so thoroughly that we had to open the curtains and drop the dampening spell in order to see each other, I added to those scratches with marks of my own. It was as if in a dream, fierce and luxurious, lasting forever, over too soon. When we were finally satiated and we lay side by side, the stars shone on our cooling sweat. The sheets stuck to my body when I rolled onto my side to press my head against his chest. The scent of our magic had mingled into a new scent altogether. No longer was it easily divisible into honeysuckle and spices, now it was sweet and green like tree sap and buds.

  Mordon stroked my shoulder and I heard him humming again. A few words drifted to the surface:

  Be heofon wit onemn,

  be heofoncandela wit déore,

  be windræse wit bewríð,

  be gesweorce wit beæwne.

  Wind moved within me, bringing our combined scents deep into my lungs then throughout my body. Warmth glowed into my entire body, a comfortable tingling that brought with it exhaustion and contentment. A rosy glow on my cheeks, I shut my eyes and heard his heartbeat pounding in my ears the to the same song as my own heart. I felt solid, secure, as if I would never again be alone, and a part of me dreamed lazily of lionlike eyes and a tiny swaddle with a shrill giggle.

  “What did you say?”

  Sleepy, he translated, “By the sky we two hold, by the moon we two love, by the wind we two bind, by the darkness we are wed.”

  Mordon tugged me in snug beneath his arm, and the last I felt was the heavy hand of the wind urging sleep.

  When I got up sometime in the still of the very early morning, Mordon was leaning on his elbows out a window while white moths dancing by the light of the moon and stars. Looking amazed and overwhelmed, he studied the creases in his hands with singular devotion of thought. I lingered there, all at once not knowing this man before me, if he would want me to disturb him from his reverie. The texture of the scars on his back met my fingers as I sidled under his arm.

  Wordless, he kissed my temple and folded me into his arms. We stood like that, watching the light flick and flicker off the fluttering wings of a moth. It landed on my outstretched palm, beating its wings with the flitting beat of a fast heart
. It kept the pace, neither speeding nor slowing, until a wisp of wind tickled it and it flew out into the night.

  I broke the silence. “You didn't tell me you were going to cast a binding spell.”

  It would bring us closer together, make it so that any grievous bodily injuries were a shared venture. Or so went the talk. The reality was that I’d never encountered anyone who had been hurt enough to draw on their partner’s strength, but there were stories. A man enduring a death spell. A woman slamming her head on the floor and surviving a fracture which ought to have killed her. The other partners being hurt in the same manner, to a lesser degree, sometimes with only a slight ache other times fainting.

  There were other advantages besides, things like easier energy transfer and being able to grasp the other’s element. I cupped my hand, felt it warm and there in my palm was a gas-blue teardrop of a flame. It quickly touched a breeze and died.

  He shrugged. “I had planned on doing it later.”

  “We could have just done normal passionate sex.”

  His rich, throaty chuckle rumbled through my back. “Could have.”

  “But?”

  “The elements were perfect. Your scent, the mating flight, the right constellations in the sky to bless the union. I just saw you and I knew it was time, even if it arrived earlier than I'd planned.”

  I smiled. “Is that what you were thinking about here, grieving your lost bachelorhood?”

  The breath shuddered out of him, an attempt at a laugh which failed.

  Concerned, I tried to face him, but he just held me tighter.

  “Not that.” He swallowed hard and his arms constricted, as if to keep me from running away, or to protect me from something which was coming up the stairs. “It's the timing, Fera. The timing I talked about and couldn't resist.” His voice faltered. He cleared his throat. “I am terrified and a hundred other things, because of the timing.”

  “You? Nothing terrifies you, particularly not little ol' me.”

  “Oh yes, you. Because if you know it or not, I know you are, almost without doubt, bearing my child.”

  My head spun. I cleared my throat. “That's....impossible so soon after...”

  “Then soon enough you will be.”

  My throat seized up. “We could...stop it from happening. If you want.”

  I felt guilty just saying the words, apprehensive of his reply, but also scared, no matter which way his answer would be. It'd alter who I was, forever, even if we two were the only ones who knew.

  “No, I want it.”

  I realized I'd been holding my breath, and I relaxed in his arms.

  “But that doesn't mean I'm not nervous at the prospect,” Mordon said.

  “Me, too.” Goosebumps covered my skin. “You said almost without doubt. There's still a chance I'm not...or, I won't be.”

  “True.”

  “So, neither of us had a clear head. Mistake made, right? We take whatever the fates have in store. But what about now, now that we're not in the throes of the binding spell? Do we want to let it happen, or...” my voice tapered off. “But how can we intentionally start a family in the midst of all this turmoil? Who knows what could happen.”

  “That's what I was thinking of when you came here. And I thought it was fair to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “If, and this is an important word, if I were to die later today, would you want my child growing here in your belly,” he stroked and held it, “to give birth without me, and raise it through the trials of this time and teach it and scold it and everything that a parent must do, all without my presence. To make the sacrifices that must be made, bear the hardships, everything, alone and with that little beastie reminding you of me every time it got into trouble? Do you want it or no? Tell me the first thing that's in your head.”

  “I want it,” I said, shaking now. “But the skies must know I'm mad and out of all reason.”

  “You and me both. I hoped that would be your answer.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and wrapped myself up in the warmth of his body, dreading the day when he might be gone.

  Mordon kissed my neck. “Fera?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stand up on tip-toe.”

  “Oookay?”

  His hands slid down to my hips. “Good. Unless you're feeling sore, I'm going to make love to you again.”

  I closed my eyes and felt the tremors go through my body. “Please, yes.”

  I wanted to feel him again. I wanted to devote this night into my memory, to etch it there forever, never to be forgotten, always to be cherished. He kissed the corner of my mouth, and I surrendered into him beneath the silver light of the distantly shining stars.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sunlight drenched the bedroom, finally stirring me out of a heavy sleep. It smelled sweaty, musky, and my entire upper body was stiff from shoulders to hips. Awake all at once, I bolted upright, smacking lips free of fuzzy cottonmouth, thinking that it must be close to nine AM. Mordon was already up.

  “Hey, why didn't you wake me, too?” I called out. Just like him to wait until last-minute before getting me out of bed.

  All quiet. Nothing sounded, except for the buzz of my own ears.

  The hazy dreaminess of last night evaporated in an urgent snap. Where were my clothes? I flung aside the covers, bounded out of bed, and felt a piercing pain zing through my shoulder accompanied by a pop. I yelped.

  No damage done to my arm, I realized, but that was a minor comfort compared to the reality of what had caused the pain.

  A fine silver chain bound my wrist to a bar of the headboard. Disbelieving, I tugged on it. A jolt of pain raced down my arm.

  I felt the links on the chain, picking up a faint iridescent coating.

  A fairy chain. Exactly like the one which had held Death, which could not be broken, their enchantment made it so only the person who had put the chain on could take it off again.

  “Mordon!”

  There was no answer.

  I yanked at the chain. It didn't budge.

  “Mordon, what did you do!”

  My voice sounded strange in my ears. Hysterical.

  Thinking frantically, I dug at the place the chain was looped about the headboard. It, too, was melded together as if it had been forced that way. Unbreakable.

  Numb, I sank onto the bed.

  Shit.

  A note on Mordon's pillow.

  With shaking hands, I read:

  It weighs less on my conscious to keep you and our unborn safe than to waste time on a prolonged argument. I know you will not appreciate this and my actions will betray your trust in me.

  That is why I apologized.

  Before, I said sorry because I drugged you for sleep. The drug did not influence your capability to make rational decisions, it simply made you sleep longer.

  I am sorry I leave you here, but I could not endanger you or our future young.

  Nest will arrive around noon.

  Once I read it, I wanted to scream that I wasn't pregnant yet. But that was his point. After the mating flight, I could choose to be. Or not. As a human, this was not so. And that was what he saw himself protecting.

  I put the note down, trembling with the aftershock of so many emotions that I couldn't even name them all.

  Breathe out. In, out. Focus.

  I snatched Mordon's note off the crumpled comforter. Hands shaking, I tried to read it again. Ink blurred my vision. One thing remained painfully clear:

  Mordon had left without me.

  I gave a muffled shriek of rage, hurt, and felt tears well up in my eyes. The traitor. The big, arrogant, stupid man.

  Crunching paper sounded in my ears. I wanted to take this letter and stuff it down his entitled throat. I wanted to let him know—I smelled smoke.

  My hand was on fire.

  When I uncurled my fist, the letter was gone. Cleanly, perfectly. No ash.

  Stupefied, I stayed put, staring at my hand in empty aston
ishment. Jubilation kicked in. “Yes!”

  I had made fire.

  If I could do that, I could do anything.

  I wanted free.

  And then I wanted to kick his ass.

  The first thing was to find a way out. I couldn't damage the chain with anything close at hand. However, the headboard rail was secured in one place to the bed itself with a pair of screws.

  I searched around the floor for a coin, knowing I had no tools handy.

  The whole width of the coin would not fit into the slotted top of the screw, however I could wedge an edge into it. The first few twists failed to do anything except wear on the coin, but within minutes, the screw made its first advance. Once loosened, it was easy to keep up the pace until I could use my fingers to spin the screw. One more screw held the corner of the headboard to the frame, and this one gave way even faster than the first. Hands shaking, heart pounding, I guided the chain down the bar of the headboard, then off the end of the tube.

  I was free. Not from the chain, but whatever. I checked a clock. Not too much time lost, but would I already be too late?

  I raced through the house, tossing on clothes as I found them. Emerging from a rattail of necklaces in the jewelery drawer, I sorted out my trinket necklace and put it on. At my wrist, I wore the silver fey chain as a stacked bracelet. A random watch told me the time: eleven-eleven.

  A great time for a double dose of unlucky double numbers.

  It also meant the party had already started.

  Damn, Mordon, I thought as I yanked on a very locked french door. On a whim, I tested the back door which led onto the deck. Locked.

  Double damn.

  I sprinted to the wall with the barn painted on it and jerked to a stop. Tentatively, I reached out for the portal. I tried to touch the wind, to smell it, but felt nothing. Cutting off a cry of despair, I reminded myself that I wasn’t wholly awake yet, that sometimes the wind decided not to work with me. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. My element would return to me, as it always had in the past. Nervous nonetheless, I extended my hand to the wall. My fingertip met no resistance.