What of the girl? What will happen to her when we leave this place? Surely, we cannot just…
A dim glow bloomed in the corner of Regina’s eye. She swung around, prepared to face the wrath of a lamp-wielding heretic – but saw only the stolen saddlebag left neglected near the eating area’s table and chairs.
Regina took a deep breath. Just a trick of the moon.
But the glow returned, a hair brighter this time, pulsing through the durable leather that encased the Crystal of the Wind. Regina found herself paralyzed with the night air whistling through all the joints of her armour. The saddlebag emitted an even stronger pulse of radiance then, that almost seemed as though it was beckoning her near.
A grunt from the heretic called for a wary glance. He rolled heavily onto one side to face the dying fire pit, pulled his blankets up to his ears, and didn’t stir again.
The floorboards let their grip go of Regina’s ankles. She let out a soundless exhale and started to hedge careful, cringing, steps across creaky wood planks, all the while mentally shushing their sudden sentience as though it would do any good.
The saddlebag radiated stronger and stronger the closer she drew until a solid glow settled dimly within it. Regina sank to her knees in front of the saddlebag and nudged the flap, careful not to fill the whole room with the Crystal’s radiance.
Despite this, a brilliant luminescence filled the room. Regina threw up her paws to shield blinding rays. When the room fell to darkness, moments later, she found the Crystal of the Wind shining up at her, its edges glinting in the silver lining of the moonlight.
She tugged away the confines of the saddlebag to get a better look at the Crystal. It was the biggest gemstone she’d ever seen, over a hundred times the size of any teg in the world, she gathered. The Crystal was filled with a dull golden glow that throbbed in its very core – a heart beat.
“What do you want of me?” Regina whispered to it. “Why was it I you called to, back in the woods?”
She awaited with intensity for any kind of response – expected her mind to fill with disembodied voices, like before. But none came. Regina sighed.
“What’s so special about me?” she wondered. “Why was I a vessel for you in the temple, when there are others far more capable…?”
Another rustle from the heretic caused her to throw a cautious look over one shoulder. She started to wrangle the mouth of the saddlebag back up around the Crystal when another, fainter, glow illuminated from one of the bag’s smaller pockets.
Curious, Regina thought. She hedged a paw towards the pocket, popped open its flap, and reached inside.
Jagged iciness found its way into her grasp. What she withdrew brought forth memories of the Stone Zephyr, of Sergeant Aruto and his sudden ability to invoke the power of the Wind, itself. The sheer fear she felt when forceful nothingness swept her up like a chair and brought her to sit before him on the temple’s altar, his eyes burning like smouldering arrow flints.
I can feel it – the essence of the Crystal – it fills my veins with all of Galheist’s power!
Regina could feel it too – the icy wisps of raw elemental Mana crawling up her arm, flowing throughout her veins. Sergeant Aruto’s words haunted her soul.
Regina flicked a worried gaze down into the throb of light that came from her palm. The broken shard, a perfect fit in the cleft of its Crystal, pulsed a dull heartbeat of its very own.
Why steal the whole thing, if only a silver grants so much? What sort of evil was planned for you in Doblah?
Another long yowl of anguish from outside shook away Regina’s thoughts. She bolted to a sudden stand. The dull glow within the shard solidified – but for only as long as the kitten’s diseased cries went on for.
Regina found this strange, and carried the shard over to the open window – but the Crystal didn’t react to the wail of the cold night winds, nor to the faint hiss of fresh rain. The dull light within it had stabilized to a steady pulse.
But then, a third, longer, yowl. One of dire straits. The Crystal shard reacted accordingly.
Regina … Regina Lepue …
… You can help her …
Regina swallowed hard, regarded the Crystal shard.
“How?” she whispered.
As Mana flows … so too does Life … Everlasting Life. Infinite Mana … Only you can do it …
Regina’s eyes widened. Astral had said those very words. A long-forgotten memory flashed before her very eyes then: “Regina … please … take my hoof – Please … please … your help … I need…” Blood-spittle flecked the air from Astral’s porcine mouth as he struggled to speak. “… Only you can … do it … Take my hoof – None … none of us has to s-suffer…”
Take my hoof.
Regina gasped. In that moment, she knew the Crystal shard was right.
She fled the farmhouse with the shard in tow. A distant flash of lightning clawed across the purple skies at blustery cypress trees that were far beyond the horizon. Regina fought to wrangle her poncho’s hood free out from under her armour’s collar plate while she darted out the rain. Harsh and icy wind followed, pushed at her backside and tugged at her limbs, leading her towards the barn where disease waited. The ponies were terrified, now of the angry skies, but Regina kept far away from them as she passed. Her thoughts were on the child. Only the child.
I can save her. It’s not too late!
Please, Master … help me to remember the words…
She dashed inside the barn and went straight to the stable where the kitten had been locked away for safety’s sake. Sudden fear stopped her like a wall. Regina gathered up all the courage within her soul, unhooked the stable door, and rolled it aside on slow, heavy, wheels.
She faced a rancid wall of sickness and hours’ old mammal waste. Even in the semidarkness provided by the glow of the shard, a wild yellow gaze appeared in the shadows, locked on Regina from the far corner of the stall. The child lay in the hay, still and silent. But her eyes were upon Regina, and didn’t flick away.
“I – I’m here to help you,” Regina said. What attempt at loud confidence over the pounding rain overhead wavered with obvious fear. She took a few timid steps towards the girl.
The kitten uttered a low growl, flecking thick froth from her maw.
Regina stopped short with a small cry, but she soon realized the kitten was incapacitated, totally unable to move her limbs, though she tried with every ounce to roll onto one side. It was clear that paralysis had overcome her since their time in the garden. Death was soon to come, Regina feared.
The words … the spell … what was it?!
She regained her composure and hedged inside the stall with the Crystal shard brandished like a dagger. It reacted with inner pulsations throbbing radiance until the whole barn was filled, emitting a low hum Regina wasn’t sure had been with her the whole time.
She kneeled down into the hay and pointed the shard at the child’s heart with trembling paws. She closed her eyes. Swallowed hard. Thought of the intent behind the spell that had saved her life – Astral’s life – and now that would hopefully save this child’s life. Regina dug deep through her memories, desperate to find the words she had uttered that fateful day, five years before … she prayed for the Crystal shard to fill her with its power, to allow her to use it as a vessel to heal the afflicted – just as Astral had, her.
Please, Regina begged. Please let this be her cure…
Runes formed in her mind. They were fuzzy. Distant. She saw the memory – the soundless images of her lips moving – Astral’s lips moving – uttering the spell.
But what were the words?!
And then they came. The glow of the Crystal shard throbbed even brighter.
Regina gasped. “Eydra Mey—”
Somebody grabbed her from behind, wheeled her around so fast her brain barely caught up with the rest of her body. Fierce grey eyes pierced her. The strong musk of damp canine wreaked her nostrils.
“What are you doing?!”
The heretic demanded.
“Oww! You’re hurting me!” Regina winced. He’d clutched her by the arms so tight, her chainmail dug into flesh.
“What are you doing?!” he asked again, then wrenched the Crystal shard from Regina’s tight grip and promptly hauled her out of the stall by the scruff of the neck.
“No, stop it! Let me go!”
“Curse’d, foolish, skunk. Going about to get yourself killed – what part of madness don’t you understand?! It’s uncontainable—”
“No, you don’t understand!”
“—It’s uncurable! Damned if I let you out of my sight for a single night, and—”
“No! We could have helped — the Crystal—”
“Shut up!”
The heretic dragged her kicking and pleading across the barn floor, back towards the rainy outdoors without even stopping to lock the stall back up. Regina twisted around and caught sight of the Crystal shard as it swung back and forth in the heretic’s iron-clad grip. The further they went from the stall, the dimmer the shard’s radiance became. Her heart dropped, and she watched helplessly until all but a dull throb of a steady beat remained.
“No…” she begged. “Please – no…”
~
The child’s howls ceased sometime in the night.
Come early morning, Regina and the heretic found her lifeless, draped within the corner shadows of the barn’s stall. There was nothing left to do now, but to bury her with what remained of her family.
The heretic saw to it. He didn’t burn her, like he did the others. Didn’t give a reason. He simply buried the kitten with the ashen remains of her family, beneath the cypress tree at the edge of the property.
And then that was it.
Fog was still thick upon the dawn-kissed flatlands when Regina and the heretic vacated the farm. They took no blankets, took no food, took only the stolen armour on their backs, and the things they’d brought when they met in the Keeton Woods.
The heretic pulled the rusted gate shut behind them. And then, without another word of what had happened the previous day, he and Regina departed south-east.
43. Warminister
Regina awoke to a hard shove. She roused to find the heretic trotting beside her and that they were once again in the depths of wooded seclusion. Maple trees lined their path at either side, leading the way through glowing warmth of sun rays rippling between the hiss of dewy leaves, above.
Regina yawned. “Where are we?”
“Nearly there,” said the heretic. He rode ahead, tugging on her pony’s reins. “Warminister is just across the Pithit River, not far from here.”
The trees soon parted to reveal a stone bridge that spanned across a great river, into a field where high walls of silver serpentstone touched the sky and protected whatever lay inside from not only the wind, but the undesirables it brought from the surrounding countryside. As they neared, Regina made out the sight of guards marching the parapets like old fashioned wind-up toys. A sign appeared in the road that read: WELCOME TO WARMINISTER.
“Keep your visor down,” said the heretic.
“What?”
“Just do it.” He reached to swat it into place, knocking Regina’s spectacles off her nose.
Huffing in protest, she set her spectacles back in place. It was no use though, as she could barely see a thing anyhow through the visor’s narrow eye slits.
When they neared, two gateshounds greeted them with crossed javelins barring access into the city. The guards were tall, proud, and sleek. Alert and of unquestionable discernment, unlike their Keeton counterparts, Regina mused.
One of them hailed out, “Hold – what is your business in Warminister?”
The heretic flipped back his navy cape and passed along their stolen identification slips. “Covert affairs, please understand.”
“O’course. O’course.” The gateshound uttered an irritated sigh. “What happened to your mail then, fellas? Fell down some hills, did ye? Ponies take ye for a ride, yeah?”
“We were ambushed by bandits a few days ago. Nothing a good smithy can’t repair. Concern yourself not with our scars, and more with your duty, if you would.”
The gateshound returned their slips with slight scorn. “Ride on in, soldiers. General Barnard. Enjoy your stay at Warminister.”
“Zuut be praised.”
From what Regina remembered of Keeton gossip, Galheist’s capitol was once a port city named Condor, reconstructed from Retainer-sympathized ruins sometime during the middle seasons of the Retainer War. All who sought glory among the Alliance ranks rode in from every shadow of the continent, with hopes to uphold the honour of their tribes and gain acknowledgement from the Zuut.
Late-afternoon shadows stretched across stone storefronts. Windows glinted with fierce glare, blinding all who tried to peer inside. The father sun was a fireball over the western walls as late afternoon took its toll on the world. Regina shielded her visor from its blazing stare, but hope fuelled her eyes in search for buildings donning the Alliance insignia.
They were finally here. Regina wanted the thought to fill her with excitement, for her heart to throb madly for thoughts of reunion with Dwain in the safety of the Alliance, to finally be free from the heretic and his fowl canine wickedness once and for all. But only heavy, sobering, relief hung in the pit of her heart. Relief that this awful journey would soon be over.
The heretic slowed so that he and Regina could ride side-by-side. He drew his cape tight to keep a secret paw upon Nimbus’s hilt. “Do you see him?”
Regina but did her best to search the many steel-clad bodies that swam past. The crowded air was dense with a thousand scents laced with the poison of steel. “I – I can’t be sure. There’s so many – to tell who is who, with their visors all lowered…”
“Look for the short ones, with quivering spines poking out of their collar plates and chainmail.”
Regina beat back a blush. “Let me raise this confounded thing and I might be able to—”
“Don’t. No matter, I know where to go.”
Her shoulders lurched forward when he gave a hard tug on her pony’s reins.
Dark conical spires appeared against the blaze of the setting skyline, tall and proud above all other buildings that surrounded the area. They followed the spires to a wrought-iron gate that protected what appeared to be a stone cathedral. Great green-black flags mounted to the pillars and eaves flapped with slow finesse, emblazoned with Alliance’s horned stallion insignia.
The sight of the place filled Regina’s little existence with pure awe.
Is this … the academy?
“That’s it,” said the heretic. “That’s where we need to be.”
“It’s so beautiful.”
“Yes, yes, masterful architecture, stuff of Zuut-like divinity, and all that. Stay quiet and keep your eyes peeled.”
When they entered the compound, the heretic tied their ponies to the livery just inside the gates. He slung the straps of Uriost’s saddlebag over his shoulders and led Regina to a stone enclosure by the steps up to the academy, where a shrewish registrar dressed in civil service garb greeted them through a long rectangular slat in the wall.
“Welcome to the Galheist-Doblah chapter Embassy. Is this your first time visiting War—”
“Hullo, comrade. We’re in some hurry…” The heretic presented their identification slips, to which the registrar flashed an uncouth glare. She inspected the slips, nonetheless, while he continued. “…I was hoping maybe you can help us.”
“Hmph. What’s your business in Warminister, General Barnard?”
“Actual details are covert, but we’re—”
“Well I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what it is you need help with.”
“I was about to say, we’re looking for a peace officer named Dwain Spikeclaw. That’s what we need your help with.”
The murmur of other mammals brought Regina’s attention to the academy’s yard, where a circle of four soldiers be
neath the shade of a maple tree busied over a card game with their weapons laying neglected in the grass.
“Did you hear about what happened to Rudolph Aruto?” Regina heard one of them say. “Found dead at some shrine in the Keeton Woods, with a litter of Retainer scum.”
The soldier beside him scoffed, brushing through some grass blades without much interest in the game at paw. “No less a fitting end to a drunken fisticuff. Suffered from bloat of the mind, that one did. No surprise his first mission out came to be his last, lads.”
Another soldier laid a hand of cards between them. “Catch your tongue, Glover. Rudie was a good fellow, no matter his ego. Doblah find the beggar who did it and slit his gullet. A run of three and a set of five, poppet.”
Anger flared Regina’s cheeks. “They’re not scum.”
The heretic nudged her. “What was that, Farnham?”
“Those foul soldiers over there said – they said the temple-keepers murdered at the Stone Zephyr were scum. They’re celebrating Sergeant Aruto’s slaughter of them!”
“Word travels fast,” the heretic murmured, somewhat surprised.
Regina shook her head. “They were … they were farmers. They were mothers and fathers, siblings ... elders and … children.”
The registrar wrinkled her nose at Regina and said in a curt tone, “And blood-lusting terrorists. I’d mind my muzzle if I were you. Has this soldier gone mad, Barnard?”
Regina protested. “But it’s not true—”
“Please don’t mind Farnham,” said the heretic. “Still new to the outfit.”
“Clearly,” said the registrar. She wrinkled her little shrew nose and went back to studying countless Sa’suiden runes that gleamed against nosy father sun rays from a rather large tome at her disposal. “Spikeclaw … Spikeclaw…”
Regina pulled herself up to peer over the edge of the registry desk, with gauntlet-clad digits clutching the edge. The various runes dictated a number of names and platoon ranks, with the date of arrivals and departures marked in a side column. The tome seemed to be a guestbook of sorts.
The Book of Wind: Page 32