Regina rubbed her eyes, blinked back the stars that twinkled before her. She flinched again when Astral shifted closer to console her confusion as to what had just taken place.
“Why – no harm will come to you while I am near,” he said. “Trust me, Regina Lepue – all will be made right.”
“H – how do you know?” she asked as he picked her up under the arms.
Astral’s old hog face, wrinkled and weathered by time’s endless touch, melted into a gentle smile. He placed her upon Phalanx’s saddle and chuckled.
“Why, it is destiny,” he said.
5. The Hollow
The woods were ominous with trees so high they staved away the rising of the mother moon. Phalanx treaded along a winding path with tired, deliberate clops while Astral squinted into the shadows for things he dared not speak of, with the aid of an active oil lamp fastened to his wheat scythe. The flickering glow brought passing illumination upon the road. Leaves hissed like rattlesnakes. The night wind, a host to shrieking banshees. This made the Keeton Woods all the more dark and fearsome, and only added to poor Regina’s dismay.
“Mister Ages, please, we must go back!” she begged. “We must go back for Dwain!”
Astral snorted. “And why are you so certain he awaits your return? Nothing back there but donkey droppings.”
“But—”
“Oh, bother. Trust, Regina Lepue. Have trust – and patience – of the wider world as it unfolds all around you. All will be made right. Trust!”
Regina furrowed her brow, confused into silence. She nestled against the small of Astral’s back, clinging to his robes so not to fall off of Phalanx’s saddle. With each screech and crack and shiver the forest emitted, Regina’s stomach knotted into further trepidation.
Dwain … please come back. Please, oh, please…
She buried her face against Astral’s robes and started to hum the Song of the Harvest, like her mama often did, to lull her to sleep. But the cackle of crows from somewhere out in the night frightened Regina, breaking her concentration. She saw their beady eyes flash in the wooded darkness of high-up sycamore branches, like malice-minded vandal-hearts in wait to strike.
“Nothing to fear, child,” said Astral. “Phalanx knows these lost roads as well as he does his feeding trough.”
They rode further along the deep path until Phalanx nudged through a thicket off the main road. Astral weaved his body around the poking, scratching, tendrils of sycamore branches in an almost automatic manner, unknown even to him. He let out a great yawn, tapped the ashes of his duskroot pipe out into the dirt as they passed along.
The sycamore branches parted to reveal a splintered field gate connected to frail wooden cross fences that went the rest of the way up the hill. They were grey, weathered from the age of many seasons passed. The gate itself was tied shut to a rickety frame with a simple manila rope knot.
“Hold steady a moment, Regina,” Astral said. He dismounted Phalanx and sauntered up towards the gate, pushing the long, loose sleeves of his dark blue cloak up his sweaty hog arms. He untied the rope, placed both cloven hooves upon the rickety wood, and pushed with all his might. The gate was slow to move, but it bounced unsteady on creaky hinges and swung inward in a great arc. Astral clapped his hooves of grit and splinters as he shambled back towards Regina.
They rode on through the gate just as it begun to swing back towards them. Regina prayed it wouldn’t strike their flank, and as soon as they were completely through, the gate slapped shut with a thunderous bang.
At the top of the hill, several dimly-glowing lights greeted them. Through the dense coverage of sycamore trees, the rotten field fences led towards an old cabin. It was only a single story, with walls made of planked chestnut wood just as grey and unkempt as the cross fences. The roof itself was made with half logs and sagged with rot in places from improper care after many winters past. Several paper wasp nests clung smattered beneath an ailing eaves trough. But great wide rectangular windows looked in on a warmly-lit study under the throb of candlelight.
The smell of carrots and onions and other delicious root vegetables hooked Regina’s attention from somewhere on the other side of the property. Fresh hunger pangs tore up her stomach.
Phalanx led them along a dirt path towards a rickety-looking hooded stall adjacent to the battered cabin. Astral dismounted and helped Regina down with a laboured snort. When she touched ground, the feel of the grass was a Goddess-send as it massaged her worn and aching heels. Her toe-digits instinctively dug into the dirt.
Astral hung his oil lamp on a hook beside the stall’s gate and led Phalanx inside. Afterwards, he took up an empty wood bucket and hobbled out of sight around the corner of the building.
Regina gazed around, quietly stroking her tail in both paws. The stall was lopsided and looked defenceless against the earlier storm as collected rain droplets fell into various pails placed knowingly beneath the ceiling’s problem areas.
She shivered.
“Dwain, where did you go to? … Did you find your way to Keeto Town after all?” Regina met Phalanx’s gaze. “If he did, help is on its way, right?”
Phalanx bowed his head over the top of the gate and tenderly licked at a tuft of fur between Regina’s ears, like an attempt to soothe her.
Regina offered him a weak smile, patting now damp fur back into place. “Th – thank you, mister Andromedon.”
Phalanx wobbled his head proudly. Then, a errant raindrop the size of an olive splashed between his eyes. He soured totally then, reeling into the safety of the stall before letting out a perturbed grunt.
Astral returned with the bucket bumping against his thighs, filled to the brim with oats. At this, Phalanx promptly forgot his annoyance, squealing and braying with the vivacity of a decades-starved ruler.
“Get back, Phalanx – Get back!” Astral nudged Regina out of harm’s way and banged a hoof against the stable bars to ward off gnashing, grass-stained teeth. He reached over the top of the gate and settled the bucket’s handle upon a hook just inside. Phalanx was upon it before Astral’s hoofs were even safely away. “There! Feast, milord. Indulge!”
Phalanx chewed in silence for a time until sour reality jerked his head up. He shook his mane about with severe displeasure, stuck his tongue out to showcase field mushrooms, rotted carrot peelings, and muddy grass plastered amidst mashed oats.
“I told you! I told you to watch yourself!” Astral warned. “Swat the swine who feeds you! No – No! I’ll have no whining from you, foul jackass! Eat up or starve! Those are your wretched options!”
~
When he finished feeding Phalanx, Astral shooed Regina inside his cabin so that she could find a change of clothes and something to eat. The intoxicating aroma of vegetables and spices led her along a dust-caked hardwood floor cluttered with tomes and journals stacked to great heights. She weaved beyond two harvest tables strewn with scrolls and maps surrounded by stacks of textbooks that served as wax-covered pedestals to the many pillar candles melted to their hard-backed covers. She headed past a wicker rocker that swayed beneath the burden of haphazardly-stacked volumes. Finally, her nose brought her towards a fireplace that crackled solemnity behind a wire shield, where a lidded stewing pot found itself vulnerable to lapping flames just as starving as she.
“Oh, bother, don’t let all the warmth out, child!” The cabin door swung shut and Astral’s deep blue garb appeared. To Regina, he was a giant against the candle-lit shadows as radiant eyes spied her beneath his wide hat brim. He turned away to hang his wheat scythe on hooks above a bench overflowing with hoods, ponchos, scarves, capes and various bags, sacks, and packs. He didn’t remove his hat.
Regina watched him, too shy to speak or to even move from where she stood by the fireplace. Astral threw a side-long glance at her, pulled free a hooded poncho from off a hook at his side. He crossed the room to her on slow, unsteady hooves.
“Here.” He passed the poncho into her arms, nodded to the ruined nightgown that s
till clung to her frail body. “Get out of that filthy, disgusting, thing that used to be sleepwear and put this on for now.”
The poncho was cool to the touch from the draft of the door. Regina lifted the material before her to inspect its design. It was of white cotton with red trim all around the hem and hood – and seemed about the size of somebody three times Regina’s own height. She carefully placed the poncho over some books and peeled herself free of her ruined nightgown. It was then that her papa’s map fluttered to the floor next to some open tomes piled nearby. She didn’t notice due to the clutter, and tossed the nightgown on top of it.
“Say, what’s that brand upon your fur?” Astral asked. “That wasn’t by the hand of – of those vandal-hearts, was it?”
Regina twisted and peered down past her right shoulder at a pale tuft of fur that looked almost like a star within a crescent moon. “Huh? Oh, no, Mister Ages, it’s only a birthmark.”
“A birthmark, you say? Its design is familiar to me,” said Astral. “Where now have I seen … oh, bother, what am I speaking of? How does the poncho fit, my dear?”
Regina shrugged into her new attire and felt like the weight of a thousand mile-long blankets saddled her shoulders. She frowned, lifted her arms at her sides.
“I feel like a fruit bat.”
“Nonsense. You’re a skunk, not a winged rodent.” Astral said as he picked up her nightgown off the dusty hardwood floor. “Any case, you’ll grow into it, I’m sure. Hmm? What’s this, then?”
Astral found the folded sheet of parchment stuck to the underside of Regina’s nightgown. He separated the items and unceremoniously tossed the nightgown over the fireplace screen. He shivered. “The flames are healthy, the candles are lit … why is it still so frigid in this—oh, bother, the bloody window’s open!”
He placed the parchment atop some other clutter strewn across the nearest harvest table. Regina noticed this at once, and as soon as Astral hobbled away, she scurried up one of the stools and stuffed her treasured map down the front of the poncho.
Astral didn’t even notice, too busy trying to yank down a high-up window frame by aid of an errant cane. “Blasted thing – come on you stupid … Goddess, I never should have chased off that roadside repair-cat – Aggh!!”
Regina decided to take the opportunity of sudden independence to explore the rest of the cabin. She scuttled out of the study, into an adjacent kitchen off the opposite side of the fireplace. There, a small round table housed a single seating, already set with a wooden bowl and spoon for the coming supper.
Regina’s tummy rumbled to life. The stew smelled ready enough to eat, and Astral had sent her inside with the purpose to eat. She licked her lips, took the bowl off the table, started to head back towards the fireplace. But paused when another more familiar scent suddenly entered her nostrils.
She sniffed around until the scent brought her to a door off in the far corner of the kitchen. It had been left ajar to let the deep shadows from within spill out.
Regina’s heart thudded with each step she took closer.
She knew this smell.
It couldn’t be … could it?
She slipped past the doorway. The first thing she noticed was the bed. It was the biggest bed Regina had ever seen, even bigger than her parents’, adorned with a sturdy wood frame and ornately-designed boards. A large patched quilt lay over the hay-stuffed mattress. She remembered the empty bowl in her care and placed it on the hardwood floor so that she could climb up onto the edge of the bed frame.
And as soon as she did, Regina gasped.
Dwain’s gentle hedgehog face glowed beneath the shine of the mother moon through a window behind Regina. Wide strips of gauze looped around his forehead and doubled over one ear, pinned beneath the other. Dark speckles of long-since dried blood glowed through the bandaging above his brow. A sling around his shoulder bound his wounded paw safely to his heart. It was only the subtle rise and fall of his chest that assured Regina that Dwain was in fact sleeping, and the wisdom of her nostrils that declared he was actually real.
Trust. That was what the wizard of the Keeton Woods said for Regina to keep in mind. Trust and patience. His promise that everything would be made right. This is what he meant.
Her chest tightened with relief, and fresh tears of renewed happiness spilled down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered. “By the Goddess, thank you…”
~
Regina refused to leave Dwain’s side, as the evening crept on into night. It was a miracle in and of itself that Astral had happened upon the both of them, lost and separated within the depths of the woods. Such a thing had to have been the work of Mother Azna, Regina thought.
The protection of the wind sang true as Dwain predicted, and it was through the Paw of the Goddess that they were reunited, safe and sound. It seemed that even though Alexia the Sage had failed to come protect them, a force much greater than any number of mammals combined had whisked the fates to align a happier course for the orphans.
Regina combed strands of stray fur away from Dwain’s brow, afraid they might tickle his eyes awake. He slept so soundly, stirred so little. The sounds of his breath were subtle gusts, expanding his little chest beneath the protection of heavy duvet blankets. But trepidation flashed for only a moment, and with it a light grunt of fear, uncertainty – the threat of nightmares no doubt, or pain from his injuries – but then he was again whisked into the deep comfort of warm and subconscious peace.
Regina, herself, was so tired and hungry but dared not to break away from Dwain’s side, not even to eat. She pushed back the duvets and replaced the cold cloth on his belly, as per Astral’s instruction, to help abate fever. It was a terrible balance she found, having to shift the blankets back and forth to balance Dwain’s body temperature, as to beat back his fever, and make sure chills didn’t set in. But she did so dutifully, without complaint. Dwain had used all the energy he had left to care for Regina; it was her turn to do the same.
With a sigh, she nestled her cheek into folded elbows off the edge of Dwain’s pillow and watched him sleep for a time. He looked so peaceful, his pale hedgehog face illuminated by the sweet healing kisses of the mother moon’s rays that came in through the bedroom window.
“Why? … Why did you go away?” Regina whispered.
There wasn’t an answer to it. No logical explanation in her little skull. There was only the pain in her heart that it happened. And there was nothing she could do, except watch her new friend succumb to the folds of regenerative sleep.
She wiped away fresh tears. All they had was each other, it seemed, and their journey was still so far from over. Keeto Town lay somewhere beyond the stretch of the woods, and without Dwain’s wistfulness of the world, Regina wasn’t sure how she would be able to make it there on her own.
Drowsiness settled over Regina, much like the heavy duvet that kept Dwain warm and safe. She nestled in against his cheek, using the edge of the wooden bed frame to kneel on for support. The fatigue of their journey, the stressors of the living nightmare that was the destruction of Altus Village, simply weighed too much on her shoulders to try and fight off. Regina closed her eyes and let her mind begin to drift away.
“Don’t go away again,” she said. “Please, promise we’ll stay together, now on – okay, Dwain?”
Something brushed against her nose. Then, soft, warm, breaths hit her cheek in a way that let her imagination stew up a sight of a lone seagull, beating its wings against the glint of sun-kissed summer skies.
…Woosh…
Ahhh
…Woosh…
Ahhh…
“I won’t leave you,” she mumbled sleepily against the crook of her elbows. “Just get better … okay?"
Regina balanced on the razor’s edge of wakefulness, so dangerously close to a deep dive from a seagull’s wings, and into a headlong splash of an awaiting velvety slumber. The waters opened up for her waning consciousness. A heavy sigh tousled the fur on her face; it was the summer�
��s kisses, a blessing of Galheist’s winds.
…Reggie…
The waters whispered for her. The sound of their waves lapping, tumbling together were so loud in her ears. Dark waves sloshed against each other, like in a battle of which would aim to catch her. Regina closed her eyes and awaited the embrace of the sea.
Reggie … I’m sorry…
6. Guardians of the Harvest
Regina awoke with a start. It was a jolt from lucid nightmare that left her breaching consciousness piercing past the oily surface of deep and choking darkness, gasping for breath. Warm, safe, linens and downy pillows embraced her little body now. She found the edge of the blankets and rolled onto one side, pulling the heavy sheets tight around herself, and pretended the embrace was that of her mother’s embrace.
Wakefulness grew into heavy sadness in the pit of her heart. Regina sniffled. She could almost feel her mother’s body snuggled up against her. Could almost hear the gust of breaths, feel the slow and subtle expansion of lungs against her backside. Hear the gentle song of the Harvest in her ear.
“Mama…”
She buried her face into the blankets and did her best to block out the rest of the world. But behind closed eyelids awaited loss and destruction, canines and the deaths of loved ones.
Regina’s eyes opened and focused on where bright morning rays cast a deep silhouette of the window’s decorative bars against the bare wall, on the other side of the bed. It took a moment for her to remember where she was: Astral’s cabin – the bedroom. He’d brought her to his little cabin in the woods after she’d gotten separated from Dwain.
…Dwain.
“Dwain!” Regina shot up, throwing the blankets off of her completely. He wasn’t in the bed with her, where she’d left him the night before. His scent was faint – no thanks to the light wind that came in through the open window. Instead, the smell of dewy summertime filled her nostrils as the sounds of distant bird-song over cicada buzzing filled her twitching ears. She glanced about the sparsely-cluttered bedroom and found no sight of her injured friend.
The Book of Wind: (The Quest for the Crystals #1) Page 4