Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  ‘My mum and dad were war heroes!’ Evelyn spat. ‘My dad was an officer in the Dalthean Army, led his men to victory. Your parents were filthy refugees who came on a boat from Gods-know-where!’

  In truth, Serena didn’t know her mum and dad—but that didn’t mean Evelyn was going to get away with that.

  Serena took another step forward, arm muscles shaking.

  ‘What?’ Evelyn asked. ‘What are you going to do, freak?’

  The room turned silent. Kids stopped playing, chalk stopped scribbling upon slate.

  And Serena punched Evelyn’s face.

  Evelyn staggered back, blood flooding from her nose. Zara and Cecily could only stare at each other, wordless.

  ‘Every time you torment Marrin, or anyone else,’ Serena roared, ‘expect worse.’

  Serena couldn’t remember when she’d felt this strong—this powerful—before. Fire filled her chest, and she felt like she’d grown a foot taller. Maybe later on she’d feel embarrassed or guilty—but not right now.

  ‘Serena!’

  The bark came from behind her. Sister Ingrid.

  ‘Sister Petrakis’ office. Now.’

  ‘Kringla swirls! Get fresh kringla swirls here! Better than the Ryndarans make, an’ no mistake!’

  Gallows glared down at the tray of baked sweet rolls. They smelled of cinnamon and looked golden and fresh… just about. The thin arms that carried them struggled.

  ‘Every day, Milo, you ask me if I want one of these.’

  Milo beamed, though his frame was drawn and weak. His tattered clothes displayed a pattern of stains, but compared to some of the boys his age over in Dustwynd, he looked like a prince. ‘An’ one day you’ll wise up and buy one. I bake ’em myself, me mum showed me. Better than the Ryndarans make.’

  ‘I dunno, Milo, Ryndarans are famous for their kringla swirls.’

  ‘And for marrying their cousins.’

  Gallows chuckled. ‘Fair point. But not today.’

  ‘Paper then?’

  Tucked between his arm were reams of newspapers, at least second-hand.

  DALTHEA VIATOR—REMEMBRANCE SPECIAL!

  Prime Councillor Thackeray To Make Special Announcement!

  Junior Councillor Alspeth tal Simara To Announce Leadership Bid—But Can She Handle The Pressure?

  Gallows reached into his pocket and slipped a few copper coins into Milo’s hand. ‘Go on then,’ Gallows said. ‘Tell your mum I said hey. And don’t let me catch you out past curfew.’ Gallows winked and turned onto Elmwood Arcade, glancing at the headline on The Viator, Dalthea’s state-run newspaper. The propaganda it spat shamed even the Information Towers.

  He flicked the cheap, stained paper to the King’s Quill section:

  From King Owain

  By Auros tal Qur, Editor & Kingscribe

  Citizens, preparations for the Second Annual Triumph Day Remembrance are almost complete. The Council, with my favour, have commissioned the construction of a monument at the foot of Queen Iona Bridge. As an extension to the War Memorial Museum, the Tower of Remembrance—as it will be known—will be inscribed with the names of the thousands of brave men and women who sacrificed their lives in protection of Dalthea during the two-year conflict with the Idari Empire. While this is a debt we cannot hope to ever repay, their memory will be honoured for generations to come—just as the Eleventh Day of Terros will be remembered forevermore as the day on which hostilities formally ended. May each of us pray to Eiro, God of Life and Peace, that this accord with the Idari peoples will be observed forevermore. Construction of the Tower of Remembrance is expected to be completed six months hence.

  While our great Kingdom is still in the process of recovering from the destruction of our natural water supplies, operations to locate new sources of water are continuing daily. I would like every man, woman and child to acknowledge in their prayers the great burden the Royal Sky Fleet undertake to provide us with fresh water. The expeditions to gather rainwater provided by our Spires is dangerous work. I know I speak for every one of you when I say I am deeply humbled by the strength, loyalty and courage the men and women of the RSF demonstrate, and that of our Raincatchers’ Guild.

  However, it is with my deepest regrets that I inform you that I shall not be in attendance at the Remembrance parade. Please rest assured that the affliction which has plagued me is well under control. The Royal Physicians assure me that I will be fit once again for public forums soon. Know that I am in discourse with the Prime Councillor every day, and that he carries out my commands with unwavering loyalty, honour and dedication.

  In other news, I am informed that progress with the telegram lines continues at pace. It is my intention that we will restore communication with the rest of the world—from Ryndara to Phadros, Tarevia to Val Candria—within the next year. I meet with delegates from every corner of the world monthly to keep appraised of world events and make sure our needs are heard.

  Citizens, it is with a heavy heart that I must remind you that vandalism of the Information Towers is strictly prohibited. These towers were constructed with my full consent and are used to distribute news to my subjects and—should the dark shadow of war be once again cast over our lands—warnings. Prime Councillor Thackeray informs me that there has been an increase in anti-government activity of late; as such, I have granted Arch Vigil Verimedes and the City Watch the right to now hold suspects for up to 72 hours before charges are sought. Additionally, I must remind you that the midnight curfew is for your safety. Any subject found roaming the streets without the correct papers will be subject to immediate arrest and questioning. Minors under the age of seventeen are reminded to be indoors by nine o’clock or risk arrest and a spell in juvenile detention.

  I know these incidents are borne from a minority of subjects, but it is my command that all citizens take heed, adhere to the law, and report anything suspicious to the City Watch.

  Thank you. May Aerulus guide us all.

  King Owain Tontoros Dalthea II, Guardian of the Realm, Keeper of the Kingdom and Scion of the Great Gods and the Lesser.

  ‘Usual shit then,’ said Gallows, then strode across Elmwood Arcade.

  The thoroughfare was busy today. Old, withered horses dragged carts along the road, their owner pulling them to the side when a motorcarriage swerved across their path. The windows of the ornate townhouses and villas glinted in the sunlight. For years they were office blocks and boutiques. Now most of ’em lay empty, reminders of the Arcade’s former status as one of the prime merchant hubs in the kingdom.

  But not all of them had been forced out of business; a queue formed outside the tailor’s shop next door to Damien’s office. Gallows’ stomach turned at the sight. People spending beyond their means to purchase clothes, no doubt for the Remembrance.

  Remembrance. And what was there to remember but pain and loss?

  Gallows shoved the tall doors of the office open. Most of the solicitors, clerks and property owners who occupied the office block put extra effort into making sure they didn’t notice Gallows as he wended his way up the steps towards the uppermost floor. A man who showed skin and wore leather armour and a sword on his belt wasn’t welcome in a place like this.

  ‘Tyson. Good morning,’ greeted Damien.

  ‘Yeah,’ Gallows yawned, throwing the Viator into the trash can and himself into a chair. ‘What noble work does the Guild have for us today?’

  ‘We’re to travel to Hessian Homestead and remove a nest of vipers.’

  ‘Thrilling. Ain’t that a job for the Watch?’

  ‘Strictly speaking, but it’s on our worksheet and the money’s good.’

  ‘I’m sure that matters to you.’

  ‘Then in the afternoon,’ Damien continued, ‘your presence has been requested at the garrison in Musa’s Harp. I don’t have any further detail on that, just a note from Guildmaster Kirivanti.’

  Gallows waved a hand. ‘It’s just Fallon again. Ignore it.’

  ‘Our licence needs renewing
. And we need to finalise arrangements for the Remembrance parade.’

  ‘Again? How much? And screw the parade.’

  ‘A hundred and twenty aerons. And no.’ Damien stood and straightened his dark purple waistcoat, decorated in the Ryndaran fashion with embroidered, swirling gold patterns. He adjusted his crisp, high-collared, white shirt.

  ‘You know,’ Gallows began, ‘I’m not sure the vipers we’re valiantly being sent to exterminate will appreciate you dressing up for ’em.’

  ‘I’ll dress in appropriate attire for the job. I know you don’t enjoy what we do, Tyson, but we do good work.’

  Gallows rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, I polish my rat-killing sword and Shit Shifting medal every night before I sleep.’

  Damien strode towards the wide bay window that looked out onto Elmwood Arcade. The window ushered in the sunlight, painting the office in golden fire. ‘You mock it yet take pride in your work,’ Damien said. ‘You deride the nature of the service we provide yet not once have you missed a day of work. You speak of leaving this city yet never do.’ He turned to face his partner. ‘You’re a complicated man, Mister Gallows.’

  Gallows chose his next words carefully. ‘Funny hearing that from you, Mister Fieri.’

  ‘On the contrary. We both know exactly what I am.’

  After a moment, Gallows leapt to his feet. ‘All right. Hessian Homestead, snakes, derring-do. Let’s get to it.’

  ‘Indeed. Oh, I purchased a supply of anti-venom from Barra’s Bazaar. You owe me five aerons.’

  Gallows grabbed Damien by the shoulder, one corner of his mouth curling. ‘I don’t intend on needing it.’

  ‘Shit!’ said Gallows as the fangs buried into his shoulder.

  The viper squirmed in his hands as Gallows thrashed and twisted on the dirt, struggling to pry it from him. ‘Urrghhh…’

  Blood spurted from the two punctures in his skin. The snake hissed, mandibles snapping.

  ‘Come on, you little bastard…’ Gallows tightened his grip around the viper’s throat. Its tail lashed at his legs and its fangs dripped with pearly venom. ‘Come on, come on…’ Blood raging, Gallows rolled onto his front, pinning the snake’s rigid, taut body into the dirt with his forearm. ‘Shit!’ Its tail whipped upward at him. His free hand scrambled to the smaller sheath at his side, grasping for the knife.

  His fingers curled around its hilt. ‘Hah!’ He drew the blade towards the viper—but its tail darted out and whipped it from his hand.

  Keeping his arm on the snake, Gallows slithered to the side, the tail striking his face. ‘I’ve actually eaten snake.’ Gallows’ fingers found the knife. As the viper lashed again, he flicked his wrist, cutting its tail clean off. He stabbed the snake’s belly, the point bursting through and scoring into the earth. He sheared downwards, splitting the creature in two. ‘But I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of shitting you out.’

  He got to his feet, the sprawling, baking desert stretching out forever, the horizon quivering in a shimmering haze. He wiped the blood on his trousers. Most of the hilt’s lettering had rubbed off, but he could still make out ‘B-KNIFE’ running along its shaft. Can’t count the number of times it’s saved my ass.

  A lightning Spire stretched out in the distance, a grey smudge reaching for the sky. Hessian Homestead. The only cattle farm left. In years gone by, irrigation made for plentiful cattle farming here. They had all withered and died along with the water. Most of the farmers who managed to survive took what savings they had and left for Mercuria and Phadros.

  But not Regina Hessian.

  Gallows faced her. She stood in a cattle pen, glaring out at him beneath a tattered parasol that did little to shield her from the sun. She wore an ancient but well-kept overall, and was flanked by cattle that had seen better days.

  ‘Yeah, hey there,’ he said under his breath, offering a limp wave. ‘Let’s act like you didn’t see me get my ass kicked by a worm.’

  The Hunters’ Guild horses stood tethered to a post by her house. Galileo was a black Tarevian Thoroughbred, and Sunbeam a chestnut Aludanian Clydesider with a fringe of white hair on his legs. They both looked bored.

  Gallows choked down a lungful of air and padded to the mouth of a nearby rock cave. ‘Damn it.’ He lowered himself to his haunches and called into the yawning mouth of the cave. ‘Damien! Hey, you there? Goddamn typical. Last one, always the last one.’ Silence. ‘Hey! Damien! I might be dying here!’

  Damien’s face materialised from the blackness of the cavern. He climbed out and unhooked himself from his rope and harness. He’d swapped his fancy attire for more practical khaki trousers, light shirt, boots and light leather armour. He clutched a bag in his hands. ‘Tyson, hello. Status?’

  ‘Injured, tired and poisoned. Give me the anti-venom.’

  ‘Let me look… Doesn’t seem serious. The venom of the dalthic viperidae is only deadly if left untreated for seven or eight hours.’

  ‘Reassuring as that is—not including your obsession with poisons—I’d rather not wait.’

  Damien produced a vial and syringe from his supply belt, and used the needle to pierce the foil lid of the container. He drew the milk-white anti-venom into the chamber, examined the needle and nodded. ‘This will sting, but I suspect not as much as viper fangs.’

  ‘Here, I’ll do it myself.’

  ‘As you wish. Any vein in the left arm will suffice. Also, use a salve on the wound and-’

  ‘And bandage it, yeah. Not my first stabbing.’ Gallows tapped his arm to draw a vein and injected the anti-venom. He winced as the needle entered him. ‘Damn it. And thanks.’

  Damien nodded. ‘You said that was the last of them?’

  Gallows smeared a healing salve from his supply kit onto his wound. ‘Yeah, yeah. Did you find the nest?’

  ‘Indeed. There were unhatched eggs behind the cave here. Some inside but not many. All gone, but I’ve set a small ignium charge to go off in ten minutes to seal the cave entrance. The Watch should have performed safety checks. Still, I’m surprised a small number of weak vipers gave Miss Hessian cause to seek the Guild’s help.’

  ‘Maybe she’s lazy.’

  ‘Lazy people don’t run cattle farms by themselves. Drink whatever water you have left. It’s in our contract for the client to replenish our supply.’

  ‘Generous.’ Gallows wiped the grime from his face with the bandana hanging around his neck.

  Damien strode towards Miss Hessian, Gallows trailing behind.

  ‘Miss Hessian,’ said Damien.

  ‘Misters Fieri and Gallows.’ Hessian sounded like she ate gravel for breakfast every morning. ‘Some weird-ass names you got.’ She was pushing seventy, but her eyes were sharp, her face hard.

  It would be, Gallows thought. The work, the climate, the conditions—not to mention having five sons go off to war and not one of them coming home.

  ‘You get ’em all?’ The words carried more than a note of scepticism.

  ‘Indeed,’ answered Damien. ‘One nest destroyed and the ones in and around your premises killed. Might I suggest bolstering your barbed wire fence?’

  Her lips curved. ‘Come with me.’ She strolled past the farmhouse towards the barn. ‘In there.’

  Gallows stepped inside first, and the rotten smell punched him. It carried a tinge of sweetness. ‘Aerulus, what the hell is that?’ He clenched the bandana against his mouth.

  The mountainous red-brown remains of a large cow lay in a heap in the corner, hounded by a whirlwind of flies.

  Damien examined the room in silence. ‘Was that one of your cattle?’ he asked.

  ‘Three,’ she replied. ‘These are the bits that weren’t eaten.’

  ‘What the hell ate three living cows?’

  ‘Snake, boy. Big ’un too. Most of ’em was swallowed whole. Took my new cow I was fixing to make a tidy profit on too. That’s three hundred aerons I won’t be seeing again. Prime condition she was. Not four days later, disappears with the others. Scared my other beas
ts shitless too. Them Watch boys in town didn’t give half a shit when I asked ’em to go into that cave. I been pissing money every day waitin’.’

  Damien peered down. ‘The dalthic viperidae couldn’t do this.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Regina.

  ‘Didn’t you say it was snakes?’ asked Gallows.

  ‘Snake,’ she snapped. ‘Start listenin’ better.’

  ‘One snake couldn’t do this. Did you see those things? They’re what, three, four feet long?’

  ‘Big enough to best you, I noticed.’

  ‘Still,’ said Damien. He stalked around the pile of gore. ‘To swallow three adult cows whole, leaving almost no trace of struggle… Forgive me, Miss Hessian. Is it possible your livestock was simply stolen, with these being butchered and left behind to account for the remains?’

  A twinge of a smile flashed on Hessian’s face again. She thumbed a switch on the wall, sparking an overhead ignium lamp into life. It made the stinking remains look worse. ‘Look in the left corner, boy. See it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Damien confirmed.

  Half the wall had been ripped away, split and jagged and stained with gore. Sand swirled through the gap. ‘How many bandits you reckon sneak into a place by hammering through walls?’

  ‘Point taken,’ said Gallows. ‘Whatever crashed through here was powerful. You get wild dogs around here, or a pack of coyotes maybe?’

  ‘I goddamned told you more’n once. It was a snake. Don’t look at me like that boy, I might be old but I ain’t gone senile yet.’

  ‘Apologies,’ said Damien. ‘It’s a little hard to comprehend.’

  ‘Well it ain’t for me,’ she rasped. ‘I saw it and I shot it and I been waiting for it to come back. Before that happens, I want you two lunkheads to find it, catch it an’ kill it. Ain’t that what hunters do?’

  ‘We shall investigate further, Miss Hessian,’ said Damien. ‘Apologies.’

  ‘I oughta withhold my fee.’ She walked around the stinking remains and growled. ‘Gone in one. Prize beast she was, too. Shame.’