The sun beat on exposed flesh. She swallowed, again tasting her own blood as she licked her tongue over her dry mouth. Each breath seemed a struggle, as if her body rejected the hot Incendin air.
In spite of her misery, she felt an overwhelming need to find the girl.
Zephra wondered about the compulsion, the need to help the Aeta girl. Was it natural or something else?
Pain rolled through her as she moved, pushing away other thoughts. Zephra vomited suddenly, cursing herself as she did. No moisture could be wasted, not even the water needed to wash down the acid left in her throat.
A scraping sounded behind her and she spun, her back screaming as she did. A blast of nausea threatened to blow through her, but passed. Zephra pulled frantically on the wind to prepare a shaping. It did not answer.
Panic surged through her and her heart pounded.
On the rock, keeled over one of the clumps of grasses, lay the girl. She stirred, making the scraping noise she had heard, and moaned softly before falling still.
Zephra scrambled up the slope to the girl. She had a soft face and delicate features. Dirt smeared across her cheeks and her sun blonde hair was matted and dirty. The welts on her arms and stomach looked more painful up close. Blisters already formed along the edges, some which had certainly been damaged by the wind travel and wept openly.
A small scrub bush caught one of her arms and legs, the pointed needles poking into already raw and damaged skin. Zephra carefully pulled the girl away, fearful that it was one of the shooting types. A few thick needles stayed within her flesh and she plucked them out and threw them to the side, quickly wiping her hands on her pants.
She considered the girl’s injuries. The burns were extensive and appeared painful. Zephra had no way of knowing if she suffered any other injury as well. There was no telling what the shaper had done to her and the others before she arrived. The girl would need healing, preferably from a water shaper.
But she was in Incendin and no longer knew where in the waste she was. She had tried to guide them toward Doma, but how far were they from the border? Accurate wind travel was possible, just not for her.
The only hope for healing was Doma. Or returning to the kingdoms.
Zephra let her eyes drift as she looked at the burnt orange sky. Returning now would be to admit failure. And weakness. Too many already considered her weak by appearance alone. She did not need this failure to confirm those suspicions.
Zephra had always struggled against her size. Even the fire shaper had tried to use it against her. Growing up in Vette Ver along the coast of Doma, she had been too small to work the docks, too weak to help with the catch, and too stubborn to weave as her mother taught. When Tellander discovered her shaping talent and brought her to the university, she thought those days over. Instead, at the university, her size created new challenges.
Finding her wind was supposed to help, but even that seemed beyond her.
The girl moaned again.
Zephra stroked her hair and she settled slowly. The girl needed help she could not offer. She needed to get her to Doma, find her help. Even a simple healer would suffice. Doing so meant they had to walk and Zephra did not have the strength or the shaping capacity to carry her. That meant she must awaken.
The waterskin remained strapped to her back. Thankfully it had survived the encounter with the fire shaper and the wind travel. She unslung it and poured a few precious drops of water into the girl’s mouth, careful not to spill any. There was no telling when she might next find a source of water. She had to coax the girl to swallow.
They would need shade while the girl recovered. And food. More water would help, but at least her waterskin was mostly full. How much time could she spare? Surely the fire shaper would chase them.
“You saved me.”
Zephra jumped at the sound. The Aeta girl’s voice was weak and thin and she coughed as she spoke, bringing up pinkish saliva. Her pale eyes opened, flickering around from Zephra to the waste around them.
“Where is the Mother?” the girl asked, coughing again.
When the coughing subsided, Zephra poured a little more water into the girl’s mouth. “I don’t know where your mother is,” she said. “I don’t even know where we are. I was lucky enough to save you.”
“Not my mother. Not luck either.” The girl met her eyes. Unexpected wisdom and compassion shone from them.
Zephra could not pull away from the gaze. Her mind seemed to fail her suddenly. “What is your name?” she managed to ask.
The wiped an arm across her mouth. “Lia. But that’s not the question you want to ask.”
Zephra swallowed. The bleeding had stopped and she found her mouth now dry. “No,” she agreed. “And I’m Zephra.”
“You are from the kingdoms.”
Clearly the girl knew something about shapers. There had been no surprise from her by the sudden shaping. “I am.”
“A long way from Ethea,” she said. Her soft voice spoke the name of the capital city with a lilt, making the sound almost musical.
Zephra felt a rising anxiety. Had she misunderstood what had been taking place upon that rock? “It is,” she agreed.
“You are from the university.”
She took a small step back. Her heart fluttered a moment in her chest. Had the wind any life, she would have grabbed at it. And likely failed. “Why were you captured?” she asked. The words came out more forceful than she had intended.
Lia tilted her head, watching Zephra with an uncomfortable wisdom for a girl that appeared so young.
Of course, many thought her younger than she was too.
“I am fortunate you traveled through the waste,” Lia said. An unasked question drifted in the hot air.
“To Doma,” Zephra said. “My home.” She swallowed, but did not explain more. How to explain that she needed to catch the wind? That Tellander thought her unlikely to succeed in the kingdoms until she mastered her own wind? That she knew she had potential to be a powerful shaper but no consistency to be of any use? Even Grethan did not know her deepest fears.
“Doma has a wonderful sea breeze,” Lia said, her words soft.
Zephra froze. Had Lia known what she was thinking? Her heart flickered more rapidly and a tightness rose into her throat.
Then the girl blinked and Zephra felt her anxiety suddenly released. A tingling warmth washed through her. Lia watched, waiting for her next question. “Why were you captured?” she asked again. “Who was that fire shaper? Where is your caravan?”
Lia shifted and grimaced as she did. “I’m not sure I have many answers,” she started. Another fit of coughing hit her and she pointed to the waterskin.
Zephra handed it over, feeling how light it suddenly felt. She considered holding it back, but pushed the thought away guiltily. Lia needed it more than she did.
Lia took a slow drink, steadying her breathing as the coughing abated. “The shaper came across my caravan near the border of Doma. We rarely travel through Incendin, and then only along the outer edges. Never into the waste.” Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. She took another sip of water before sitting up, moving slowly. “He destroyed two of our wagons. Captured the Mother. Calin. Me. I don’t know what happened to the rest of the caravan.”
“I rescued the other two first,” Zephra said. She did not know if it mattered to the girl, but knowing others survived might help. Likely the rest of the caravan was destroyed. She knew little of the Aeta, but knew they traveled in family caravans. Fierce traders, they had no land of their own, relying instead on the generosity of their hosts. Incendin was not known for its hospitality, but what Lia described was almost more than Zephra could comprehend.
“Thank you.”
Zephra nodded. She wondered what happened to them after she freed them. Did they still live or had the shaper caught them? “Why you?” she asked, unable to get the image of the girl splayed across the rock out of her mind. “What did the shaper want with you?”
Lia shook her head. “I don’t know.”
The words felt evasive, but Zephra let it go. There would be time to learn more later. “Can you walk?” she asked.
“During the day?” Lia asked.
Zephra nodded. “It’s safer than at night. Too many things can kill at night.”
Lia surveyed the land before turning to look up at the sun. “Seems much can kill in the day as well.”
“At least you can see them. Do you think you can walk?” she asked again.
Lia flexed her legs and shrugged. Passing the waterskin back to Zephra, she held out her hands for help. Once standing, she took a few limping steps and nodded.
Zephra started off, turning occasionally as she walked to make sure that Lia still followed. Her initial stiffness seemed to fade and the slight limp eased the more they walked. She led them up a rocky slope, hoping for a higher vantage, anything to let her get her bearings. High enough and she might be able to see the finger of rock they had just escaped from. At least then Zephra would have a better idea of direction.
Lia did not question her, simply following as well as she could. Zephra led them on a slow path up the side of the rock. She moved slowly, pointing to small spiny shrubs and clumps of grasses. Lia followed her directions and avoided them diligently. In spite of her apparent injuries, she moved easily and did not struggle to keep up.
At the summit of the rocky prominence, Zephra stopped. Scanning the horizon, she saw nothing but the vast Incendin waste spread out before her: rock, twisted and spindly trees, ground covered with brush, and above it, a soft shimmering heat haze cast a soft distortion. Nothing seemed to move.
“What are you looking for?” Lia asked.
Zephra watched as the girl coughed once and spit out bloody phlegm. It sat atop the rock, pooling and congealing. Lia hid her pain well, she realized. The girl was obviously more injured than Zephra had suspected. “Bearings,” Zephra said.
Lia frowned and looked around. “He chases us,” she whispered. She spoke with a strange certainty.
“How do you know?”
Lia shook her head. “I just do.”
“Can you tell where he is?”
“No.” She coughed again. “Close, I think.”
Zephra feared she was right. She did not understand what the fire shaper had been doing, but felt the power behind his shaping. Somehow Lia had been a part of it, of that she was confident. She turned and looked out across the waste, staring through the haze. Taking a slow drink of water, she tried to force a shaping. For a moment there was a flutter, barely the softest tug of a breeze, then it slipped away in a sigh.
Now more than ever she needed to get to Doma. Lia needed a healer, but more than that, she needed to feel the cool ocean breeze as it washed across her face and whipped through her hair. She needed to smell the tang of the grasses and alden trees. She needed to command the wind.
Until then, she could not return to the kingdoms. Not until she no longer simply chased the wind.
She had no choice but to move. But where? The sun hid from view, only a hazy glow visible, so that she couldn’t get her bearings. Distantly, she was almost aware of Ethea and the university. Closing her eyes, she turned away and started down the rock and deeper into the waste.
She offered a silent prayer that the Great Mother would guide her to Doma.
* * *
The night air remained hot. They sat leaning against a large rock and retained heat simmered off of it. Zephra would have preferred another resting spot for the night but she had learned early on to have an escape planned. These rocks provided some protection, but more than that, gave her a chance to climb away if attacked.
Near complete blackness enveloped them. Only a tiny sliver of moon gave off light. Even the stars seemed to have disappeared, hiding behind an opaque haze. Zephra remained on edge, straining her senses to hear any noises in the night. Nearby, small feet scurried across the rocky ground. She shifted her knife, pulling it from the sheath. Anything small could be food. An occasional howl echoed, but distant enough that she did not feel threatened. The air was otherwise silent.
Lia slept next to her. The girl had slipped away almost as soon as they had stopped. For whatever reason, Lia trusted her. They had spoken little as they moved through the hot sun, the girl seeming to understand the need to avoid wasting moisture on mere words. Zephra was glad she slept, wondering when her injuries would catch up to her.
There was no telling how far they were from Doma and healing. As the day progressed, she saw nothing other than continued expanse of the waste. Zephra began to wonder if Lia would even make it through the waste.
If she did, then what? Would she be able to find water shapers in Doma? Probably not along the border, and reaching deeper into Doma, making it as far as Falsheim, would take several days once she reached Doma. As far as she knew, the kingdoms were closer than Doma anyway. Would she abandon her journey to take Lia to the kingdoms?
Zephra did not want to consider the implication if she did. Tellander would learn that she failed in even reaching Doma. Never mind catching her wind. What then? Expulsion? Tellander had grown increasingly frustrated with her over the last year and Zephra had the distinct sense that this was his last attempt at getting through to her. Without a mentor, she could not stay at the university. She had no delusions that another wind shaper would take her on. Few enough bothered to teach. Fewer still offered to mentor a fledgling shaper, especially one as hard headed as she had proven to be. The university would see her returned to her home safely where a life of working the nets, finally mastering her mother’s weave, awaited.
She swallowed, closing her eyes and letting her breath out in a frustrated sigh. Not back to the kingdoms, at least not until she proved herself worthy.
In spite of the risk, Zephra felt a deep drive to help this girl. Perhaps it was only a kinship with her. Zephra knew loss as well, though certainly nothing like the Aeta. But why did the idea of failing her get her heart to racing?
Another matter worried her more than Lia’s health. The fire shaper was out in the waste, looking for them. And angry with her. Clearly powerful, Zephra knew she could not overpower him. The only reason she had survived was because she had a shaping prepared. With the dead air of Incendin resisting every attempt at her shaping, their best hope was to outrun him. Even that might not be enough. In so many ways, these were his lands.
As she began to drift, she let her sensing stretch into the night. Distantly she heard quiet scratching of a desert mouse, the flap of wings somewhere high above, and even the coarse chirp of crikkas. All soothed her as she felt the pull of sleep.
Suddenly, she heard a soft shuffling nearby. Footsteps. Her heart hammering shook her to full alertness.
She sat up silently and listened, watching Lia for any movement that might give away their position. Lia slept soundly, back resting at an awkward angle against the rock. Her breathing was regular and soft. She considered waking her, but decided against it.
Slipping an arm around the girl’s waist, she hauled her up the rock. Lia barely moved, only shifting to nestle her head into Zephra’s side. At the top, she slid Lia down and let her rest on the uneven peak of the rock. She did not stir, sleeping like one already dead.
Zephra frowned at that. Could she be so far gone already?
The soft sound of footsteps was closer now.
Zephra slipped down the edge of the rock in the darkness. She had thought the fire shaper unlikely to move at night, preferring the heat of the sun, but what if she was wrong? The knife would do little against him in a fair fight, but could be of use if she managed to surprise him.
Darkness quickly engulfed her as she moved away from the base of the rock, slowly circling around toward the direction of the sound. The hint of light from the moon barely lit her way. She prayed to the Great Mother that she did not stumble.
She paused to listen again. The night fell silent around her, as if holding its breath. No sound came.
&n
bsp; Zephra exhaled softly and turned. There, barely a dozen feet from her, lurked a figure shadowed against the rock.
Her heart thudded wildly. Was it the fire shaper? Why would he stand there, silent, almost as if listening for something?
She steadied herself and inched forward, letting her feet fall delicately. Only as she was almost upon the figure did she realize that she’d missed something else.
There came a flurry of motion behind her and then a cool hand gripped her wrist. The darkened figure stepped away from the rock and moved toward her.
Zephra dropped to the ground and spun away.
Panic tore through her. She clawed at her focus, struggling to touch the wind, but it resisted her. She held the knife in front of her, hand shaking.
“Zephra.”
She frowned, recognizing the soft voice. “Lia?”
The girl stepped forward and touched her arm again. Cool fingers left a soft tingle on her skin and Zephra felt her body relax. “This is Calin,” she said, pointing to the other figure.
Zephra squinted, slowly recognizing the man from the attack earlier in the day. “Where is the other?” she asked. “The woman?”
“She did not make it. Fur caught her. She delayed him long enough to let me escape,” Calin said. His voice was hoarse and ragged.
Lia stepped away from Zephra and took Calin’s hand. “I am the Mother now,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
“You are not Aeta.”
Zephra stared at her. Lia seemed suddenly different. More composed, if possible. And then she coughed, fading back into the sick girl she had helped cross the waste all day.
“Come, Mother. We must find the family.” Calin stepped forward, trying to move between Lia and Zephra.
Even in the pale light, Zephra saw Lia’s concern. “Not at night,” Zephra said. “And she needs a healer first. We will find your family only after she is well.”
Calin spun on her. “We must move at night! Fur hunts in the daylight! If she is caught again—”
Chasing The Wind (Novella) Page 2