The Book of Wind: (The Quest for the Crystals #1)

by E. E. Blackwood

  “Master Tetra.”

  He looked back at Uriost, breaking off mid-sentence with Officer Olivier as they both started down the temple steps, into the valley. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  She looked at him gravely, her heels rooted to the floor just inside the doorway. “I … I believe we may have a hostage situation on our paws.”

  Commander Blacktail slowed, turned at the waist to face her. “What?”

  “If General Barnard has been buried unclothed, then that can only mean the heretic has stolen his armour. Likely, his identification slip, as well. However, both General Barnard and the soldier he rode with failed to report into Captain Hobbs last night.”

  “Blazing whiskers, you’re right. But – why would he need a hostage, if he’s got the Crystal of the Wind? And where in the world would he go—” Commander Blacktail froze with realization. “—Warminister.”

  Uriost mulled this over. “Why the capitol? The Alliance is at its strongest there, and he wouldn’t dare risk the safety of the Wind Crystal…”

  “Think about it, Sara. Think like the heretic would. By law, everything must enter and leave Galheist through Warminister – including visitors from other provinces. Including all Alliance personnel. Our airships are not permitted landing anywhere else in Galheist—they’re just too big to maintain. Warminister may be fortified a thousand-fold, but if he had an airship—”

  “He could flee the continent!” Uriost gasped.

  Commander Blacktail snapped his digits. “If he feels the Crystal of the Wind is in danger, Warminister is where he’d go. By the Zuut, they can call him a heretic all they like, but our boy is only pursuing what he feels is justly – exactly how we were all trained! Come – there’s no time to waste.”

  But something didn’t sit right with Uriost.

  …If four rode through Arks Road, and two never reported in to Captain Hobbs...

  No Retainers had survived Sergeant Aruto’s assault, and all of Twigleaf Company’s soldiers had been essentially accounted for. If the heretic snuck past the Alliance with a hostage in tow, and the other body down in the Stone Zephyr valley turned out to be that of Officer Farnham…

  Then who was it that rode through Keeto Town with the heretic…?

  40. The Lonely Farmstead

  Regina squinted against the cold splatter of rain against her face. Raindrops pelted her hood with a thousand heavy thuds. A little ways ahead, the heretic rode tall, alert. He gently tugged her pony along a twisting gravel road that sprawled the middle of open high-grassed fields that seemed to go on towards the ends of the world. The sky was bleak under thick dark clouds that roved together like shifting plateaus.

  The rain – for some reason – made heretic reek. Regina cringed against the smell.

  It was almost nauseating.

  “How much farther ‘til Warminister?” she asked, trying not to breathe in his scent.

  “Impatient, are we?” said the heretic without looking back. “Perhaps if I let you ponder it, fantasize the moment you and your Alliance lover embrace, the longer you’ll remain quiet.”

  “It was a simple question – I’m getting rather tired of the way you speak to me,” Regina stated.

  “Not my problem,” said the heretic. “Stop asking questions, and I’ll stop speaking to you. A simple solution.”

  Regina sighed. She squinted through the narrow eye-slats of her visor, but nothing distinguishable lay ahead for miles. It’d been a lonely trek along this way. Days had passed since the deadly skirmish with the rats. A week, maybe a bit less. Regina had lost track of time some while ago, and hours felt like years since they’d entered the Sylvian Flatlands. The damned plains seemed to go on forever.

  Regina couldn’t remember the last time they’d come across a rare caravan. Even the skies were eerily absent of the purrs brought by overhead Alliance vessels. She closed her eyes, listened to the sound of her spectacles clacking against her chest plate.

  Master Astral – can you hear me?

  “Look.” The heretic pointed somewhere past the reach of the meadows. Off in the distance, a little farmstead appeared in a darkened field, protected by thin wooden fences that strained to remain in place against the strong gusts across the flatlands.

  The property inched nearer and nearer as the heretic and Regina continued along the road, giving off the illusion that it crawled across the high grass to meet them. Bales of hay stood in an unattended field, like watchers of the road. The house itself looked about a storey-and-a-half, with bleached stone walls and a thatched roof constructed in a way that the front section protruded past the upper windows, curling towards the heavens as though the house were licked at by a giant cow. The windows appeared dark and empty with vibrant red shutters that flapped in the air, helpless to the whimsy of the wind.

  When they rounded a bend in the road, a path opened up to a crumbling gated stone archway that sealed the property from the rest of the countryside. Regina glanced around for any sign of life, caught sight of a cloud of crows that billowed from a large cypress tree at the edge of the property.

  The heretic slowed their ponies and dismounted to inspect the gate. It was rusted shut, and came loose with a few swift stomps to the centre of its frame.

  “We’re staying here tonight, then?” Regina asked.

  With a snort of indignation, he led their team up the road towards the house, where the front door lay wide open with invitation. “There a problem, precious? Don’t see any grand central hotels in our future, do you? Swig of ale, lass? Wyvern’s waste, perhaps? Play us some darts and cards, yes? I bet you’ve some great tales of love and lust for life under your bonnet.”

  Regina glared daggers at the heretic, lips pursed with curse words she struggled to keep restrained.

  The heretic sneered at her. “You’re a skunk of the earth, a place like this should rekindle nostalgic thoughts of the Harvest – Hrm, looks like nobody’s lived here awhile. Been ages since I’ve slept with both eyes shut.”

  When they reached the house, the heretic tied their ponies to a fence post attached to a small shed nearby. His wary eyes glanced around the property for unseen shadows. Ears twitched to crows off in the distance, while nostrils flexed for possible scents otherwise invisible to Regina. All she could smell was the moist heaviness of the field soil, the rich vibrancy of the flatland high grass.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check things out.” He reached for Nimbus, hidden safely with the Wind Crystal inside of the saddlebag slung over his steed, but retracted with the realization that wielding such power wasn’t necessary here. Instead, the heretic patted the pony’s flank and plucked free the hunting knife from his hip.

  Regina frowned against the patter of rain against her exposed face. “And what am I supposed to do? It’s weeping willows out here!”

  “Don’t care.” With that, he hedged cunning steps up the farmhouse’s creaky porch and vanished within the darkened depths of its wide-open entrance.

  Regina sighed again. She gazed about the surroundings with fleeting thoughts of escape. The flatlands were vast, without sight of respite, save for the cover of high grass. But even if she tried, there’d be no way to outrun the heretic’s chase.

  She gazed back towards the farmhouse. The heretic was nowhere in sight within the darkened opened doorway. Regina wasted no time to chew free of the rope securing her gauntlets to her pony’s saddle horn.

  Regina had never ridden a pony before her trek with the heretic, but gathered the mechanics were more or less all the same as riding Phalanx. But unlike old and weary Phalanx, the Alliance ponies were large, and bold, young, and wielded a lust for fight in their eyes.

  Regina swallowed hard, gazing down at the wet dirt so far below her heels. Dismounting would be an adventure, all on its own. Leaping off of old Phalanx’s saddle was something different altogether, however. Especially without the burden of armour and chainmail weighing down her little
skunk body.

  Regina attempted to dismount her pony, finding only fear and struggle to do so, and ended up falling sidelong out of the saddle. She landed in the dirt with a heavy thud that rippled agony through her whole flank. Regina cringed through the pain, pushed up on her arms.

  I’m free, she realized. I’m really free, now!

  She started towards a barn on the other side of the yard, when the smell of flowers and vegetables caught her nostrils. Regina followed the scents round the back of the house. There, she found a small garden, walled in by a low stone enclosure that came up to about eye-level for a girl her height – likely meant to protect the crops from fierce winds the farm was forced to endure.

  There were carrots, turnips, potatoes, galore! Romaine, cucumber, as well as bell peppers and a patch of baby pumpkins. Regina snooped around for anything useful, trying to ignore the grumble of her tummy, and kept a tally in mind for what they could eat that night. There was likely enough to bring along for the rest of the journey to Warminister, she thought.

  The smells of the garden soothed Regina’s nerves with the familiarity of that which she grew up with in the Hollow. She used the Alliance knife at her hip to cut free some basil and marigold planted along the perimeter and pocketed them in one of the many pouches sewn into her belt line. A familiar scent turned her attention to a patch of lavender hidden in the shade of the garden’s far retaining wall.

  You did this.

  His faded, lifeless, eyes flashed before her. His scent drowned by downpour, greasy fur matted to his face as he lay in the Altusian streets, a listless stare upon Regina from where she sat upon the lip of the village’s water well.

  You have let us here to the silence of the wetlands. For without our testimony, the Evil in the Mountains spreads, spreads, its reach wide...

  Regina found herself transfixed by the patch of lavender, wispy and ominous in the rainy wind’s touch.

  The rites of our tribe have deemed your soul a curse’d wanderer. Southward you shall walk, until the Four become the One…

  Overwhelming sadness consumed Regina in that moment. She removed one of her gauntlets to wipe away the tears that tried to fall for guilt’s sake. Whatever the curse had meant, she wouldn’t have it.

  I’ll weep for what has been lost, but never shall I weep for misplaced contempt. Be gone, foul spirits. Find rest with Mother Azna, now. She prayed this with all her heart, and cut free some of the lavender for alchemical use.

  Her ears twitched to the sound of somebody shuffling towards her from behind. Regina let out a heavy sigh, pocketed the lavender, and started to rise. “All right then. Is it safe to go inside? I’m awfully tired, and—”

  The response she got was that of a gurgle, a stiff moan.

  Regina turned around on slow heels and found a small mammal appear from around the other side of the house. She pushed her spectacles up her nose and found a little girl heading towards her – a feline kitten – likely no older than seven or eight. She wore only a grimy nightgown, soaked and matted to her body from the rain. The kitten came forward almost drunkenly, without much sense of balance, stumbling to and fro between the rocks and high grass, swaying in such a way that Regina was sure the wind could knock the girl down, if she were caught up in its gust for long enough.

  Regina started forward when the child uttered another strange yowl. With it came a frothiness so thick it clung to her fur, dripped down the front of her nightgown, and left a path across the wet ground as she tried to find her way towards the garden. Her eyes were wild and vacant, nothing Regina had ever seen in her whole life.

  Yet, she recognized the affliction in an instant.

  “Madness,” she gasped.

  A chill of death stole Regina’s breath. Never before had she seen it up close – only ever having heard stories of its destruction – fairy tales, the few murmurs among Altusian villagers when the threat of it claimed those who wandered beyond the crop fields on their own, too adventurous and prideful for their own good. It was a curse from the heavens; seemingly incurable and contagious – a blight that could wipe out whole tribes who defiled the laws of Mother Azna. Is that what’s happened here to this farm? Oh, no…

  Vegetable roots ripped free around Regina’s heels as she backed away through the muddy soil. But the kitten kept stumbling, weaving forward with hollow, frothing, hatred in her soulless eyes. Regina swallowed hard – she gauged that she and the kitten were about the same height – give or take. If the child dared to attack her, Regina didn’t know if she’d be strong enough to defend herself, or fast enough to run away…

  “Alchemist!”

  Regina dared to look past the kitten’s shoulder and found the heretic rushing out onto the back deck, from a screen door into the rear of the farmhouse. His helmet had been since removed and the prairie wind blustered through a patch of fur between his twitching ears. He started for the stairs down into the yard when Regina shouted for him to stop. “Stay where you are! You’ll provoke her more than she already is!”

  The suddenness in Regina’s voice caused the heretic to freeze in mid-stride. “Get away from her, alchemist! Don’t let her come near – don’t let her touch you! She’s—”

  “I know!” Regina retorted. “I know what I’m doing, trust me!”

  A bald-faced lie. But she needed the heretic to stay back. Madness was a nasty way to go. It was slow, agonizing. Without cure. Madness feasted upon a mammal’s mind, then at the soul. From what Regina understood, the disease made the inflicted unable to eat, to drink. Turned its victims blind with feral rage, made them wild enough to gnaw chain. Caused them to go totally berserk until there was nothing left except to succumb to a paralyzing, feverish, death. The disease caused vivid hallucinations, too. The kitten probably didn’t even know Regina was standing before her; could have been a monster of the mind she was after this whole time.

  But Regina needed the heretic to stay away. If he got himself bitten, who knew if even the Zuut’s gift of Life could protect him from the infection. It was a risk she was unwilling to take, despite what the odds might have been.

  But then again – what was her plan?

  “What am I supposed to do?” Regina whispered. “Mother Azna, please tell me what it is I’m supposed to do to help her…”

  The sound of the screen door slamming shut brought Regina’s attention back towards the back of the house, briefly. The heretic was nowhere to be seen.

  The kitten emitted another horrible yowl. She lunged at Regina on all fours.

  With a shriek sharp enough to shatter the skies, Regina fell into the garden, filling the air with noxious fear-scent, with the child on top of her. Foaming saliva splattered the ground as the kitten tried unsuccessfully to bite through Regina’s armour, splashing the flowers, and potatoes, and peppers, tomatoes, and even some pumpkins.

  “Nng—noooo!!” Regina turned her head to the side, eyes clenched, lips pursed tight as she pushed and fought against the raw strength of the feral child.

  “Alchemist!!”

  The smell of canine was near. Regina opened her eyes, gasping with fright. In an instant, the heretic had wrangled the kitten free from her like a clinging field burr.

  Regina struggled to a stand, gasping for breath as she watched the scuffle. The heretic had wrapped the child up with a blanket from inside the house, struggling to keep her from leaping out of his arms. He wrestled the kitten to the ground, securing the blanket like a cocoon against any thrashing limbs. He threw an alarmed look Regina’s way. “Are you all right?!”

  Regina hesitated. “I…”

  “Were you bitten?!”

  “N-no. No. I’m all right. Just shaken up.”

  “Let me look you over.”

  “I’m fine,” Regina assured him, frowning.

  The heretic rose to a stand with the kitten cradled against his body, screeching and struggling to break free from his hold on her.

  “What are you going to do with her?” Regina asked.

&n
bsp; “Don’t worry about it.” The heretic turned away with the kitten in tow and headed off back towards the house.

  “What are you going to do with her?!” Regina followed at a quicker pace, encircled him round the front like a blockade. The heretic regarded her with an almost bored look. The kitten gnawed angrily at his shoulder mail.

  “I said don’t worry about it. Now get out of my pelt.” He brushed past Regina without a second glance.

  “It’s not too late!” Regina cried out after him. “We can – we can … there has to be a cure!”

  “No cure for madness, alchemist. You know that.”

  “Please! You can’t – She’s just a child!” Regina cried. “We can help her! There’s no need to kill everything that threatens—” But her words fell on deaf ears, and she found herself rooted in place, watching as the kitten be carried off to meet her fate. The heretic vanishing round the edge of the farmhouse. “…There has to be another way...”

  Regina broke into a run to keep up, but the heretic’s strides were too quick. He wavered past the ponies – who instinctively turned wild with fear at the smell of disease – and vanished within the shadows of the barn at the edge of the property.

  When Regina finally caught up, she found him laying the kitten down in an empty stall. He took a moment to murmur something under-breath to the child. He signed the air over her body with an invisible insignia Regina didn’t recognize. He then got up to roll the stall door shut. It locked in place.

  His ear twitched at the sound of Regina’s halting footfalls. His head turned to one side to regard her, nostrils instinctively flexing at her scent. “A comrade of mine once got the madness. Back before the Alliance. Was so desperate to get the infection out of his arm, he chewed right down to the bone.”

  Regina stood with this for a time. She braced a paw against her heart. “I…I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “As am I,” said the heretic. His ear twitched again, this time to the sound of the kitten’s quiet growls. “She’s getting tired, I can feel it. Paralysis will set in soon.”