The Book of Wind:

by E. E. Blackwood

  No, in fact, it was just the opposite of that. A mammal could go through life simply existing. Meandering through daily life with his brain turned off for the most part, focused on all the mundane tasks in the world that were so important to his teeny tiny little meaningless life.

  But then the Goddess Mother Azna would come to decide: No, you are getting far too comfortable in your mundane existence, ol’ chap – let’s throw some interesting challenges your way, and see just how you decide to interpret and react.

  Astral mulled this over.

  Will you fall prone and expect others around you to pick up the slack and carry you to safety?

  Or will you find your balance and realize that whatever happens next in life is all in your own state of power?

  Whether a mammal succeeds, or fails, it is up to that very mammal to make a choice, to act or react, and no matter what happens, it was a mammal’s own choice all along: Hullo there! I’m about to push you out of your comfort zone. I don’t like how boring you’ve gotten, so I’m here to make your day a little interesting.

  That’s just how life worked.

  The children. This was their journey, and despite how much Astral had intercepted their journey, ultimately it was not his job to choose where along the path they would go, once life and fate would eventually present to Regina and Dwain a fork in the road.

  “Which path will you take, little, naïve souls?”

  That was not up to Astral to decide. He could only guide them so much.

  For Mother Azna had already chosen their destinies, and no matter which path the children decided to travel, they would eventually circle back and find themselves face to face with what they were meant to come face to face to, in the end – but with great strength from the bumps and bruises of knowledge and experience.

  Astral sighed. That’s just how life worked.

  Still. Something deep in his heart tugged at the pain and compassion he felt. Two children, younger than the dewy grass of morning, forced to navigate this brand new chapter in their lives, without aide, nor help, bolstered only by instinctually-bred stubbornness.

  Astral tilted his head back and gazed up into the full of the mother moon as she gazed down upon the forest between the breaks in the treetops. Phalanx let out a hearty fart, but Astral paid him no mind, except for a gently jerk of his reins to keep him steady on the path.

  Regina and Dwain were fast asleep in the back of the cart, cuddled up together like two peas in a pod – brother and sister, bundled and snuggled with the blanket that earlier that day had saved their very lives. If not for Dwain, who knew what fate Regina would face?

  Astral caught himself when the thought arrived. A wry smirk grew. But that was just how things worked. What happened today was what was meant to happen – no bones about it. The experiences they’d gained today – this is who they were, and life was merely abiding them.

  Overhead branches swallowed up the mother moon, and shadow fell over the road for a time. Astral withdrew his matchbook from inside his robes and struck a stick alight against the side of the cart. He then grabbed for his wheat scythe, fastened upright against the outside of the cart frame, and carefully opened the oil valve of the lantern that swung to and fro, hanging from the tip of the scythe’s curved blade. He placed the flaming matchstick within, and a glow of orange warmth bloomed in the darkness. With a flick of the wrist, Astral snuffed out the match and tossed it into the passing roadside shrubbery.

  Were the children to live with him for the rest of their lives? No. That didn’t make any sense at all. That was not their destiny, and Astral knew it completely.

  There was the Moon Star.

  The thought came to mind immediately then, and it confused Astral. There was something about a moon-star before, and he couldn’t quite put his hoof on why the memory felt so recent and yet so far out of his mind’s reach. Blasted old porcine memory – blasted damned thing, why he needed Regina’s help to remember a few simple words in order to save their very lives earlier that day. He sighed with a shake of his head.

  In any case, as far as destinies went, it was his turn to act as a guiding light into this brand new chapter of life. He was no fool; Mother Azna had bestowed him upon Dwain and Regina now, and he had an inkling of an idea why this was...

  It’s my responsibility to prepare them for whatever it is to come next.

  Astral took in a deep breath and nodded to himself.

  “I will do my very best, then,” he said.

  ~

  It was long into the night by the time Phalanx trotted up the secret path towards the Hollow. The mother moon slept cozy among soft blankets made of clouds under a blue of night. Astral strained his little porcine eyes, forced to rely on the soft orange glow off the lamp swaying from the chain that attached it to his wheat scythe.

  He gazed into the cart, over his shoulder, to spy the children. They were both snoozing soundly, curled up in each others arms. Dwain made a noise, and as if almost instinctually, Regina pulled him close like a mother to her cub, and nuzzled her chin carefully between his ears, before dozing back off completely.

  Astral let a gentle smile pass.

  For now, there was only peace. There was the peaceful sounds of their gentle snoozing. There was the peaceful hum of cicadas and the chitter of crickets, and that was good enough to fill Astral’s twitching ears and put him at ease as Phalanx huffed and uttered guttural little brays of effort as he dragged the cart and all those who rode within it, up towards the Hollow’s gate.

  Astral dismounted the bench seat and landed in the soft dirt with a heavy thud that rippled pain all the way up his frail legs. With a wince, he took a moment to rock on his hoofs, letting the pain subside, and then 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 let out a deep sigh as he dusted his hoofs off against his robes. He headed back towards Phalanx, who’d stopped completely to graze. He took up Phalanx’s reins and with a gentle nudge – which turned into a rough pull when Phalanx brayed haughtily at him, not wishing to be pulled away from his meal – together they walked side-by-side through the gate.

  The day had rung its toll on Astral, as well. There was too much rushing through his mind now, reflections of the earlier altercation on the road – then that of letting the children roam the streets on their own to find the answers they did not wish to find – he didn’t quite know what the next move was, and quite frankly, he was much too tired to even consider that far ahead.

  He took Phalanx to his stall, leaving the cart off to the side with its wheels firmly secured with wedges of wood, so the thing wouldn’t roll back down the hill and cleave straight through the old perimetre gate. He climbed up the back of the cart and gazed upon the sleeping kits once more.

  He nudged Dwain awake, scooped a snoozing Regina Lepue into his arms, careful not to wake her. He set her against his shoulder and guided her dozy-eyed brother by the paw, inside the hut.

  “I’m so sleepy…” Dwain murmured. The almost infantile surprised Astral.

  “I know, lad. We’ll all go to bed soon.” Astral set Regina down on the kitchen table, where she curled up in foetal position. He crossed the kitchen and took a large cast-iron pot from one of the cupboards. He left the kits for just a moment to fill it from the well, and returned, only to hook it over the long-dead embers of the fireplace. He put on some fresh wood and let the children sleep some more while the water took its time to heat up.

  In the meantime, Astral prepared a potion for Dwain to consume. He took a miniature mortar and pestle from a shelf above the preparation counter, where fresh herbs and jarred spices rested. He wiped it out with a nearby rag and grabbed for some ingredients to prepare: ears of duskroot; some peppermint; root of plantain; devil’s nettle –
and some cinnamon, for taste. The thought of casting healing spells tickled Astral’s thoughts. He could easily set the same spell upon Dwain that he and Regina had cast together back in the Keeton Woods that day … But that moment was different.

  That was a moment of dire urgency.

  Magic, Astral thought, should only be used in rare instances. In times of darkness – when all other options have been used up – or are simply unavailable. Like when death was near, and far too early. Astral’s lips pursed as he ground the ingredients all up into a fine dust. When a mammal who is capable of magic relies on the arcane forces of Mana Energy far too much, that mammal’s sense of grounding, of humility, begins to fade.

  Alchemical healing, in this case, was the better option. It was what he’d used thus far for Dwain – and it was what was repairing his Altusian wounds, best.

  Astral broke away from the preparation of the potion to check on the water, just before it started to boil. He lifted the pot and tested to see if the water was just warm enough. It was perfect. He took the cast iron pot off the flames and carefully poured the water into a large ceramic bathing tub, off to the corner of the kitchen. Whatever was left in the pot, he let hang back over the fire to let come to a complete boil.

  “Come on Regina, it’s time to take your bath.” He gently nudged at her shoulder in passing, as he crossed back over to the counter to fetch the alchemical ingredients. “Regina—” Astral nudged her again when he passed by a second time – this time she uncurled herself, stretching.

  “Where are we…?” she mumbled. “Are we home…?”

  Home. Astral, about to pour the ingredients into the cast-iron pot over the fireplace, immediately paused. He looked over at Regina, squinting and rubbing her eyes where she sat on the table.

  Dwain spoke up. “Yeah, Reggie. We home, now…”

  Home. Astral’s heart bloomed. He cleared his throat from the sting of tears that dared to creep behind his eyes. He grabbed for his favourite tin cup off the kitchen’s windowsill and poured the alchemical tea from the pot.

  “Oh, not this again…!” Dwain moaned when Astral forced the concoction into his paws. “It smells like death!”

  “On the contrary,” said Astral, “drink that, and it will replenish your Life Energy a thousand-fold. You’re still not quite over your injuries remember, and you had quite the strenuous day.”

  Dwain grimaced from the smell. “But all we did is ride around in your cart, then, yeah. Strenuous, how?”

  Astral hesitated when the truth tickled his tongue. He regained composure, pushed the truth back down his throat, and asked, “You – you ran, too. Did you not?”

  “Oh. Yeah. And had me backside thrown down against a table when me life were threatened, yeah. That, too, I remember now, then.”

  “What?” Astral did a double take at him.

  “Never mind,” Dwain murmured behind the rim of the bowl. He took a sip and nearly gagged it all back up. “Ugh, wot, no!”

  “Drink it all up!” Astral commanded him with a pointed hoof, from where he stood at the table, beside a dozy Regina. “Come on, my dear. Let’s get you all cleaned up…”

  Astral took Regina by the armpits and set her standing wobbly and still mostly asleep, upon the floor. “Arms up! There we go…” He helped her get out of her poncho, and guided her dozy little self into the tub of warm water. He handed her off a bar of goats milk soap and a clean rag from beside the sink, and then turned back towards the pantry to make Regina something to eat as she bathed.

  “So I guess this is it then, yeah,” said Dwain between forceful mouthfuls of his potion tea. “Yech…”

  “Drink it up,” Astral reminded him, with his back turned to both the kits. “You’re a brave lad, Dwain Spikeclaw. You’ve been through far more arduous things – a cup of foul tea is like a sliver in your paw at this point. Go on, drink the last of it up and get undressed. Your turn to bathe is next, lad. You’re the filthiest of the lot, and I won’t have you climbing into bed until your fur’s squeaking, you’re that clean.”

  “A sliver in me paw still kills like a rapier point to the heart, yeah.” Dwain muttered. He choked down another gulp of the stuff.

  Astral left the little hedgehog’s words to ring on the silent air as he chopped up cheese and vegetables. He listened as Regina sloshed away in the bathtub, with Dwain slurping and gulping, making noises of exaggerated displeasure.

  An almost domestic feeling came over Astral, then. This was who they were now, and a breath of some content and relief came through him then. The Hollow was their home, now. And from this point on, they were to be his family.

  Astral turned away from the chopping block with a plate of cut cheese and vegetables for both the children to share. As he faced the kitchen table, Regina’s backside came into view.

  Moon Star.

  Her birthmark – a crescent moon with a little star in the centre – a little tuft of white fur just below her right shoulder blade glowed radiantly amidst dark skunk fur as her matted tail beat back and forth in the water, splashing droplets out across the hardwood floor.

  The Moon Star. The sight of the thing hit Astral like a bag of rocks. He scratched his eyebrows just at where they met the wide brim of his crookedly-pointed hat. There was something so definite about the mark … something that called back to memories unwilling to become unearthed from the deepest parts of Astral’s subconscious.

  He flexed the thought deep against his mind’s eye, but all that cropped up was vague recognition. Inconclusive familiarity … Something – harrowing, however. Something – world-ending.

  20. The Way of the Alchemist

  “We, each and every one of us, are allowed access to the Energies,” said Astral. He sat beneath the shade of the cabin’s sagging overhang, on the porch’s lowest step. An open leather tome balanced between splayed knees, while afternoon gusts danced with its page edges. Regina sat on the grass before him, embracing the warm kisses of summer rays, as she devoured every word Astral spoke. “There is nothing mystical about the Energies of Life and Mana. They are as natural as the beat of our hearts and the changing of the seasons. We all know Life for what it is – Life Energy is quite literally what allows us to move and to breathe! But Mana Energy … Mana runs deep, like a cleft in the river.”

  “Mister Ages, you said that before!”

  Astral wrinkled his nose at her. “Excuse me?”

  “You said that before!” Regina repeated. “About Life being inside us and Mana like a river. On our way to Keeto Town. You said it before!”

  “Ah. Yes. Yes, I suppose I did. Still, the analogy bears repeating. Ahem. Where was I…? Ah. Yes. As Life is within us, Mana is all around us! The air in our lungs, the rest we take in, to the food we eat—”

  “You said that, too,” Regina stated, frowning. “But I still don’t know what you mean.”

  “How do you not know what I mean, child, you’ve seen the utilization of Mana Energy in its rawest form,” Astral said. He swatted away sparring flies from his wet snout and took another deep inhale from his curved pipe.

  “I did?”

  “Yes! When I – when we—”

  Fresh sounds turned Astral’s attention across the yard, to Phalanx’s wreck of a hooded stall, where Dwain busied himself at a work bench he’d constructed the previous day with Regina’s help. He was focused, lost deep in the process of carpentry, sawing with relative ease through fresh planks needed to repair a section of weathered cross fences down by the Hollow’s gate.

  “Oh, bother.” Astral sighed. He lowered his voice to a whisper, just enough to make Regina’s ears twitch. “Yes. You did. But that’s all right. We mustn’t speak so loud of it, with your brother so near. We’ll have to use a new example, I suppose. All right – I know – the sight of your brother just offered me one.” Astral’s voice then raised to normalcy. “Regina, tell me – in my garden, there are duskroot herbs. If we boil some duskroot in hot water and squash them with warm butter and then pepper th
em with garlic, what do we have?”

  “…Mashed duskroot,” said Regina, like it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Mashed duskroot,” said Astral. “A fine delicacy, of which most mammals are forced to rely on, come winterfall. The most basic form of alchemy is in the meals we make. Remember that. All right then. If, say, I take the ears that we cut off those duskroot herbs and grind them up with some peppermint, and devil’s nettle, and plantain root—”

  Regina’s eyes illuminated. She bounced on her tail and shouted, “Medicine! The medicine you gave to Dwain!”

  Astral laughed. “Precisely! We make medicine – potions, elixirs.” His teeth clicked against the stem of his pipe. “This is very basis of alchemical healing. In this way, Life and Mana flourish in a natural cycle, my dear. Try to understand: Mana Energy is used to create that which replenishes Life Energy. Life Energy, in turn, helps to replenish Mana Energy.”

  “Are ye talkin’ about that again, yeah?” Regina looked over at Dwain while he carried a pile of fresh wooden planks past the front of the cabin. “Eat an apple and save the world with magics, yeah? Sod on all that wizardy nonsense. Ye don’t save the world by feedin’ it none.”

  “And what does save the world then, my lad?” Astral asked.

  Dwain sniffed as he wandered off towards where the property fence was worn most, down the incline a bit. He didn’t answer right away – focused on not dropping the planks of wood on his footpads, or stalling because he was caught in an impulsive trap of intellectual debate. He leaned the wood up against a bare gap in the fence, where he’d earlier pried free the rotted parts.

  “Ye burn it down,”Dwain said, panting. He wiped his belly of sweat. “Right to the soil and clay, yeah. Plant fresh seeds and start new. Do it right from there. Dig out the weeds and transplant what’s salvageable. The rest burns.”

  “That’s an interesting notion,” Astral said.