The Man In The Wind

by Wise, Sorenna

  He shrugged. “A while.”

  The girl rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time. “You could have gotten me up.”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  She clambered over the opposite side of the cushion. For all its comparative luxury, the tent had no real bathroom, only a “drainage gap” in the far back corner. Hunting around in her pack for something to pee in, she became acutely aware of just how weird the situation was. “Don’t look over here,” she told Rai. “And don’t listen.” Obediently, he covered his ears. She suspected he was making fun of her, but that didn’t stop nature from calling. Once she was done, she sealed the container and put it on the floor, scowling. “Sorry if that was weird.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She returned to the bed and sat behind him. “Sure you don’t want to lie down for a while? I’ll feel less guilty if we take shifts.”

  He looked around at her. “All right.” Places were switched, and Iris listened to him settle down. The moment he stopped moving, the quiet closed in. It was suffocating.

  The snow insulation was so adequate that Iris could practically feel the hush against her lips, preventing the sound from leaving her mouth. She made a valiant effort to listen, but she had no magical senses like Rai, and she doubted she could have heard an air horn through the barrier. Slowly, the minutes turned into hours. She began to feel a queer, creeping loneliness, despite the fact that Rai was close enough to touch. Was this what his life was like before now? She sincerely hoped not. If he was telling the truth about having no biological obligations, that meant that he hardly ever left the tiny room where she’d found him, unless Serberos needed him to do his devil’s work. The girl shuddered, suddenly cold. How had he not become a monster? She tilted her head to one side, and then she realized for the first time that she couldn’t hear him breathing.

  “Rai?” The tremor in her voice was unmistakable.

  “What?” He sat up. “Do you hear something?”

  “No,” she said. She was alarmingly pale. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes.” He noted that she did not look him in the eyes when she spoke.

  “Are you dead?” The concern on his face faded into thoughtful perplexity.

  “Not really,” he said. “Why?”

  “I was just…curious.” Presented with his frank and not at all uncomfortable response, Iris felt more embarrassed than anything. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” She tried to smile.

  “It wasn’t,” he said, mostly to reassure her. Clearly, she had been shaken by something. He felt bad for her. “It’s easy to forget after so many years that there are people out there who don’t know your story. Or that there are other people at all.” She nodded, and he reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. “We won’t be stuck here for long. As soon as they feel like they can say for sure we’re not here, it’ll be safer to travel.”

  “Okay.” She was plainly unconvinced. He wondered what was having such an effect on her. The quiet? The isolation? Her own thoughts?

  “Come up here,” he said. She blinked, startled. “Stay close to me. It’ll make it easier.”

  “I don’t know why this is so tough.” He gave her the blanket and she pulled it up over her knees, bunching it under her chin.

  “It was hard for me, too, in the beginning.” He lowered his voice a little. “If all goes well, you won’t get accustomed to it like I did.”

  The stirring note of sadness in his words made her want to touch his hand.

  ---

  The wind ran its frigid witch’s fingers through King Serberos’ thinning hair as he stood on the stone court at the top of his castle, watching the search for his necromancer begin. Long ago, in times he could only vaguely remember, he had presided over the austere landscape of his nation with a sense of triumph and purpose. Now, he felt lost, defenseless. It angered him that so much of his arsenal depended upon the child he had stolen when he himself was still relatively young. The boy had since become a man, but unlike his master, the handsome youthfulness had never left his face. Perhaps he was eerie, perhaps a bit unsettling, but he was eternal. And it had been Serberos who had made him that way.

  Such a powerful gift—and this was the thanks the king received. His flinty eyes darkened in anger. Had he not, in his own strange way, provided for the boy? Yes, there had been a death, but only so that he could come back stronger. Did he not see that it was because of him that Volikar’s army was unstoppable? Was there no draw to power? It was beyond Serberos’ comprehension, for he had never known anything except for a gnawing, hungry greed. Even when there was enough, he needed more. Beneath the earth, his coffers were ever expanding. Until the day he died, he would conquer whatever there was to conquer. He would beat down all who strayed across his path.

  Or at least, that had been the plan. Alone against the cutting gale, reality was like a slap in his frail, sour face. He was nothing without the necromancer. By himself, he was completely inconsequential. A spring of self-loathing erupted within the king’s hard breast, and he frantically searched for someone on which to turn the focus of his contempt.

  “Sir.” His ruminations were interrupted by a captain coming from behind. “We’ve concluded that there was an outside party. A window in the Queen’s bedroom was broken.” The old sovereign’s lips tightened. His wife had been gone for ages, and her former quarters were now not much more than a dilapidated storage area, but the notion of someone disturbing them only increased Serberos’ ire.

  “Is that all?” he demanded.

  “No, sir. The hole was pretty small. Too small to fit a man’s hand.” Serberos’ eyes gleamed.

  “A child?” he mused. “Interesting.”

  The officer could hardly believe what he’d just heard. Did the king of Volikar really think a kid had weathered the snowstorm, scaled the wall, and managed to disappear without very much of a trace? There may be no hope for a nation ruled by a man like this. He coughed, concealing his opinions behind a placid, subservient mask. “Actually, Your Majesty, we believe it was a woman.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” muttered the king. “A woman is capable of devious thoughts, but not actions.”

  “With all due respect, my liege,” said the captain, “I must strongly advise that a woman committed this grave injustice against your kingdom.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Should the culprit turn out to be a minor, you will not be able to prosecute without facing enormous backlash from the other regions.” Serberos scowled, and the captain pressed on without allowing him to answer. “A war would be astronomically ill-conceived at this time.”

  “What if we kept it a secret?” Even as the king suggested this, he understood it was out of the question. It was only a matter of time before the rumor mill started up; soon, the truth would be widespread, disguised as hearsay. The King of Volikar, crippled by a thief! I heard it was a woman. I heard she was never found. It was enough to blind him with fury.

  “Your necromancer is not a secret, sir. If you want the help of your allies, you will have to tell them what happened.” All of Serberos’ ranking officers were masters of patience, and this one was no exception. He stood perfectly upright, hands clasped behind his back, regarding his leader with a look of knowing resignation. The king had become notoriously difficult in his old age, and many in the company were taking bets on the hour of his death. Gradually, the vicelike grip of fear he had exacted upon his subordinates was lessening as his mind weakened. He was only a threat to the uninitiated and uninformed.

  No one told him this, of course. So long as King Serberos was moderately content, he did not throw the legendary fits for which he had been known in the past. The onset of senility had made him sedate, and he had taken to exercising the majority of his power through the living puppet that was his necromancer. Without that tall, imposing figure at his disposal, it was like the king had lost an arm. His presence was weak, his commands lacking. The captain sensed that all of this was known
to Serberos, and that there would be every effort to recapture the glory he had lost. Perhaps, the soldier thought, this will be his last.

  “You’re convinced it was a woman?” Serberos said gruffly. The captain snapped immediately back to attention.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There is no doubt in your mind? Then find her. Bring her to me. If she is so enamored of the boy, there’s no reason she can’t stay with him forever.”

  A quick, slightly cruel smile quirked the officer’s lip. “Romance, Your Majesty? I like it.”

  ---

  The hours dragged inside their snow bunker. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. Iris took fitful catnaps and struggled to find a comfortable spot on the mattress. She leafed through pages of her books without reading. The fear and loneliness that had earlier consumed her was gone, replaced by a crushing boredom. She told Rai about it, her voice drawn out and petulant.

  “Maybe if you actually read those books, you wouldn’t be suffering so much.”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’ve read them all already. I just keep them in here so it feels less like a barracks. I keep meaning to change them out for new ones, but I always forget until it’s too late.”

  He chuckled. “How much time do you spend away from home, that you worry about being able to take one with you?”

  “Not as much as it sounds like.” She leaned back against the pillow. “Usually I’m helping my father run his business, but occasionally it calls for a little detour. Some stuff you just can’t put a price on.”

  Rai inclined his head, his interest piqued. “What’s the business?”

  “He’s an auctioneer,” she said. “Florien Deleone, founder of the Calypso House.”

  “Huh.” Gazing at the reclining girl, Rai supposed he could see her opulent upbringing. For a thief, she had perfectly kept fingernails, and her porcelain complexion spoke more to days spent attending her father’s business functions than crawling through the back alley shadows. His days with Serberos had shown him many thieves, none of whom were as poised as she. Iris did not seem to have rough edges, or unsavory habits, or bad acquaintances. It was as if she had simply stepped out of her storybook life and assumed a necessary criminal role, after which she would re-assimilate back into the world where she belonged.

  “Do you know him?” she asked, hearing the undertone of recognition in his voice.

  He did indeed know of Florien Delone, as did every living person across five worlds. The Calypso House was so famous for its strange and wonderful collections that word of it had reached him even in his isolated chamber in Volikar’s castle. Serberos himself sometimes talked of the auctions, or mentioned his desire to obtain some rare item. And then the auctioneer’s daughter had come to add the contents of the royal treasure to their inventory. The irony made Rai smile. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I guess they do.” She stretched, and he heard her spine crackle. “Did you hear that? My bones are already atrophying.”

  Rai looked down at his own hand, flexing the fingers. “That’s the one good thing about the way I am. My body can never fail.” Iris shifted toward him.

  “You’re going to outlast the rest of us, that’s for sure.” Right after she’d said it, the thought occurred to her that he might take offense, and she held her breath. When am I going to learn to think before I speak?

  Her remark didn’t bother him, though, or if it did, he didn’t show it. He touched his thumb to the tip of each finger, his gestures slow and deliberate. “I don’t think I want to live forever,” he said absently. “It seems…depressing.”

  Iris nodded in agreement. She chose, wisely, not to vocalize her speculations on the subject. If she was honest, it chilled her to the bone to think about remaining suspended in time while the rest of the world spun on. To see her family age and die, to see empires fall and new ones rise—and ultimately, to be unable to do a single thing about it. Decisions, no matter how great or small, changed circumstance; they did not change time, and helplessness was her one great terror. She would rather die early than be forced to witness the decay of everything close to her heart.

  “Have you ever been in love?” she asked him now. Part of her sincerely hoped that he would say no, so that he would never endure the pain on which she’d just been reflecting, but she was still a little bit sad for him when he did.

  “No.” A short interlude came up between them, and then he went on. “There was a woman once—” Here he stopped.

  She watched him expectantly. “A woman?”

  “Yeah.” Rai stared fixedly at the roof of the tent. “She was a Seer the king brought in from some other country. She didn’t believe he had a necromancer, so he got her to the castle and made me demonstrate for her. She tried to seduce me that night.”

  Iris chewed her lip. “Did you let her?”

  He gave her a dry look. “Serberos found her out before she got too far. He thought she was planning to kidnap me. But I think she thought that if we slept together it would give her the same abilities I had. That’s not how it works, by the way.”

  She was amused by how quickly he had added the last sentence. “I take it that wasn’t the only time you’ve gotten that proposition.”

  “That was the only time someone ever actually tried, but no. You’d be surprised at what some people are into.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know much about those things. I was young when he killed me. I never went through any of that.”

  “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” The girl twisted a lock of hair around her index finger. “You want to assume that people are a certain way, but it’s never—or rarely—true.”

  “I think that’s universal,” Rai said, his voice tinged with bitterness. She took his hand and squeezed it.

  ---

  The troop of Seers joined the king on his overlook. They circled around him like sentries, fur-lined white cloaks billowing. The leader was a wizened, ancient woman whose frail frame was lost in her robes. She stood at Serberos’ right hand, her almighty gaze scouring the snowfields below.

  “What news?” the magnate asked. He had little faith that she would come up with anything useful. It was no secret that the Seers’ gift was most useful with regard to past events, not future ones. They passed off this inadequacy by claiming that the future was shifting, ever changeable, and that there was no way to accurately predict any given scenario without instantly changing it. Among the more serious spiritual dignitaries, the Seers had largely been scorned for what was commonly seen as an admission of weakness, but Serberos’ faith in them remained strong. If anyone could tell him precisely what had happened, it was them.

  Or so he thought.

  The Priestess, as she was called, or Moma Eden, shook her head. “I’m sorry, my liege,” she murmured. “Today…we cannot aid you.” The king turned to her in shock.

  “What is the meaning of this?!” he implored.

  “It’s the sorcerer,” she said. “You must know that a power as great as his comes with an even stronger psychic field. It is impenetrable to us. Even me.”

  “What about the other?” he asked, exasperated. Moma Eden took a second to dwell on it.

  “She is a thief,” she said. “She had come to steal from your treasure room, and instead she found the boy. She followed footprints in the dust.”

  Serberos swore under his breath. “I’d rather she’d taken all the gold in the vaults.” The Priestess did not reply. “No matter. She is but a human being. They will find her, and then I shall add her to my immortal legion of warriors. The thief will serve her time.”

  “Perhaps it is so,” Moma said softly. Other thoughts had already taken precedence over the king’s missing necromancer. A dark and imminent eventuality rolled around her mind, slipping just out of her grasp every time she felt she was about to pin it down. Beside her, Serberos was talking still, but she was no longer aware of his voice, consumed by the effort of defining this premonition. At last, during a lu
ll in the king’s monologue, the nebulous foresight began to take shape.

  She gasped.

  ---

  The bone-aching chill in the tent made it apparent that the second night had fallen outside. Iris curled up under the blankets, shivering. Her breath puffed out before her in little clouds. “It is below freezing in here,” she said, through the chattering of her teeth.

  Rai raised his eyebrows. Immune to the temperature, he hadn’t noticed the change. He looked at her sympathetically. She glared back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I can do for you.”

  “Do you generate body heat?” she asked tersely. The question honestly took him by surprise and he didn’t respond right away. She darted a hand out from under the covers and touched his arm. The skin was cooler than normal, but not frigid. “Get the hell over here.”

  A moment later, they were both wrapped up in her bedclothes, her back pressed close to his chest. He sat calmly, but she couldn’t settle down. “Stop,” Rai said mildly. “You’ll let out all the heat.” The girl pivoted until they were nearly face to face. She took the front of his threadbare shirt in her hands.

  “Take this off,” she commanded. “Body heat will transfer better if it’s skin to skin.”

  “I…didn’t know that.” Suddenly, Rai felt uneasy. As someone who had spent the majority of his life deprived entirely of human contact, this experience was new and daunting. He couldn’t explain why, but he was struck by a desire to stall for time.

  “Now you do. And if you don’t take off your shirt, I’m going to freeze to death and you’ll be stuck in here with my corpse until they stop looking for you.”

  “I could bring you back.”

  Iris narrowed her eyes. “That is not the point.” Abruptly, she seized the shirt and pulled up, forcing him to lift his arms and let her yank it over his head. He was too startled to make any sort of move other than to stare at her, bewildered. She gave him a reflexive once-over from the waist up. He was just as pale, and just as chiseled, like a sculpture. Her line of vision traced the edge of his broad shoulders, the curve of his neck, the slight rise of his exceptionally defined clavicle. God, she thought, how long has it been since I’ve had a boyfriend? Long enough that Rai’s bare flesh was an acting temptation.