Toward the center of town, they encountered another barrier, forming an inner line of defense. They broke through that as they had the outer barrier. Kyla dusted herself off and looked back at Claid. His size and appearance had reverted to that of the small child he’d been when she brought him to Waddams.
As they approached the village square, a crowd charged toward them, shouting and brandishing clubs and whips and pitchforks. It seemed the whole village was bearing down on them, enraged and dangerous as the ferebeast herd.
“Witch!” She recognized Turley Beal’s voice. “Have you come back to gloat?”
“As I predicted, mistress,” Claid said, stepping in front of her and drawing himself up so his head reached her waist. “They blame you for the ferebeasts destroying their crops.”
Someone in the crowd hurled a stone. It fell to one side of Kyla, but others in the group quickly copied the action, and some had better aim. A large rock barely missed Kyla’s head; a smaller one struck her shoulder, the blow bringing an involuntary yelp.
“Stop!” she shouted. “I came to warn you. Mindstealers.” She ducked. A rock whizzed by her ear. “Coming toward the town. A horde. You have to—” A rock struck her chest, knocking her backwards. Pain radiated through her body. She fought for breath. A black fog closed in around her.
Through it and over the hammering of her pulse came the incongruous sound of a childish voice chanting a rhyme.
The chant stopped, and in the eerie silence Claid helped her sit up. “You’ll be all right, mistress. No broken bones. Bad bruises, painful, I know, but we have to get away. The freezing spell I cast won’t hold long.”
She blinked and stared through the clearing mist. The townspeople stood motionless, some with arms uplifted, hands gripping rocks.
Kyla coughed and struggled to her feet. “Can they hear me?”
“Yes, but we’ve no time for speech. Let’s go.” He tugged at her tunic.
She pulled free and addressed the frozen mob. “Mindstealers are coming through the valley. We saw at least a hundred. I had nothing to do with the ferebeast herd. I risked my life getting through it so I could warn you. Be ready to defend yourselves.”
In the front of the crowd Turley Beal’s face twitched. Someone near him blinked. A rock thudded to the ground, released by relaxing fingers.
“Hurry, mistress. I can’t hold the spell much longer.” Claid’s voice held an edge of panic.
Kyla let him lead her at a run back to and over the barricades. Distant shouts told her Claid’s spell had failed. Chest aching, lungs straining, she drove herself to the limit and reached the outer barricade in a desperate burst of speed. Claid helped her over it, panting as hard as she, and bent under the bag of books as though feeling its weight for the first time.
“I’ve spent my strength on the spells,” he said. “I’ve none left for controlling the ferebeasts. We can’t get back the way we came.”
The ferebeasts were gone, melted into a thundering cloud of dust that was sweeping east out of the valley and into the hills beyond.
The reason for the herd’s change in direction was terrifyingly clear.
Like a huge black snake, the line of mindstealers wound toward them, its head less than two stadia distant and moving rapidly closer.
Claid lowered his sack of books to the ground and sagged against Kyla. “I’ve little strength left, but I’ll try one more spell. Take care of the books.”
He straightened and sprinted toward the mindstealers.
“Claid, no! Come back!”
A sheet of fire erupted in front of him. High flames shot toward the mindstealers, driving them back. Claid’s spell. If only he could maintain it.
The flames wavered, flickered, faded. Claid backed away, but the creatures sprang toward him. “Run, mistress,” he bellowed. “Get away.”
Kyla stood rooted, helpless, watching the long, black, multi-jointed arms clutch at Claid, lift him, and pass him back through their ranks.
“Go. Get help,” he yelled. “Go to Alair. Pull loose the chain that binds me.”
As the black horrors closed in around him, blocking him from her sight, he called, “Save the books!”
She snatched up the bag of books and staggered toward the bridge, blinded by tears. Burdened by the heavy sack, she expected at any moment to feel bony fingers grasp her arms, long talons thrust into her ears.
CHAPTER NINE
FLIGHT
Kyla reached the hills and found the tree where she had stowed her pack. Sinking to the ground beneath it, she dropped the sack of books beside her and wondered why she heard no sound of pursuit.
She had never known mindstealers to appear in such numbers and attack so boldly. Unless Claid had managed another distraction, the creatures had turned to attack Waddams. Most likely the evil creatures had first taken Claid’s mind. She could do nothing to save him.
Go to Alair. Get help. Pull loose the chain that binds me. Claid’s frantic plea must mean that the chain he’d told her of was real.
Alair lived on Starwind Peak, a journey of many days. She couldn’t reach it in time to help Claid.
Yet he had told her to go, and she owed him that for saving her life.
She sighed. Such a long and difficult trail. Far wiser to press on toward the fishing villages. She had to build a new life, a goal that would be easier without Claid.
Claid was gone. Her former life was gone. She must forge her own destiny, with no more thought for Alair.
Night was drawing near. She retrieved her pack from the tree. She’d go up to the wooleree lair to camp. In the morning she’d speak the wind and strike out for the coast.
She struggled into the backpack and bent to pick up the sack of books.
She straightened without touching it, struck with the pain of Claid’s loss. The books! She couldn’t leave them behind, but neither could she look at them without being reminded of Claid.
His regard for them shamed her. They were all she had left to remind her of her father. She’d neglected them, had been willing to abandon them. Claid had seen them as a treasure beyond price.
She glared at the lumpy sack. Each volume within it seemed to call out Claid’s name. She could not bear the twelvefold reproach. Though she longed to turn toward the coast, she had to set out on the long trail to Starwind Peak.
Hunched in the cramped space of the wooleree lair, Kyla redistributed the goods in her pack to fit some of the books into it. Even nested, the three cooking pots took up too much room. She’d leave the two largest along with all the utensils except two spoons and one bowl. Nor would she need more spare clothing than a single tunic. When she reached the mountains, she would need her woolen cloak and her fleece-lined boots.
What she removed let her fit eight books into the pack. Four still sat in a stack beside her—the ones she considered least likely to be of value in her new life. They’d have to be left behind with the pots and clothes. Claid wouldn’t approve, he but would never know.
The Record of Deeds and Transfers of Ownership of All Plots of Land In and Adjacent to Waddams was a historical record that her father had written and guarded with special care. She’d recorded her sale of her parents’ home but had made no other entries, so the record was no longer current. She felt no obligation to the people of Waddams after their treatment of her, and if they hadn’t heeded her warning, they’d have no need of the book.
The Poems of Tarant of Hilpret That He Wrote on Divers Subjects and Dedicated to Mistress Filene with Chaste Honour and Respekt. She had no idea who Tarant was and had never thought the poems particularly good. Claid had taken great interest in the book, perhaps hoping to discover some poetic spells, but the poems dealt with trivial matters. Mistress Filene had probably been disappointed to find the poems empty of ardor and as chaste as the title declared the poet’s “respekt” for the lady to be.
With deep regret Kyla set out A History of Those Wonderful Beastes, Bothe Natural and Unnatural, That Run, Walk or Cree
p Upon the Land or Flye Through the Air or Swim in the Waters of the Sea. The book was her personal favorite; she loved the sketches of the animals, particularly the “unnatural beastes” whose fanciful portrayal provoked both laughter and horror. But it was the largest and heaviest book, and its abandonment would make it easier to carry the rest.
Finally, she put aside On Mastering the Intricacies of Mathematical Theory, a book she little understood and for which she saw no practical application.
Her choices made, she drank the last of the water in her water skin. She’d eaten nothing all day and felt light-headed, but she was too tired and unhappy to think about food. Tomorrow she’d find nuts and berries; they abounded in the hills this autumn.
~
Shortly before dawn she climbed the hill, where she flattened again the space she’d selected the previous day. This time she brought her cloak and spread it over the crushed weeds.
She knelt on it. Prickly stalks stabbed her through the soft wool, but the garment offered protection against the cold, damp ground. The session would be a long one. She had to win the wind back, gain its help for her journey.
Head bowed, eyes closed, she composed her mind, emptying it of every thought save of the wind and the song she must sing to it. Her eyes opened to a shower of light from the rising sun. Beyond, in shadow, where she had seen him before, again she thought she saw Claid. This time he did not leer. This time blood ran down his head and over his shoulders, and his eyes were closed.
She leaped up and ran to him.
Only a bush, its outer leaves dyed autumn red.
Shaken, she returned to her place. Twice she’d seen a vision of Claid in that same spot. Could it be a plea for help? She had to reach Starwind Peak quickly. If she rode the wind …
At times in its raptures the wind had lifted her high, but never carried her any great distance. Could it lift her into the mountains and transport her over the intervening peaks all the way to Starwind? It was her only hope of reaching Alair quickly. Arms uplifted, she began her song.
Her cadences rose and fell and soared higher. The wind nibbled at the edges of the song, allowed itself to be drawn down to sough around her, its storm-tinged green brightening to gold.
Stifling her sense of urgency, refusing to manifest her impatience, she relaxed and let the wind play. It turned rose, then deepened to red as she let it sweep her up, invade her, and spend its passion on her.
When it gentled to a soft pink, she sat up. “Wait here,” she whispered, and crooned promises until the wind slept and all the leaves were still.
She scrambled down to the wooleree lair, changed into her journey clothes, stuffed her shift into the top of her pack, over the books, and got the pack onto her back. She looked at the four rejected books stacked beside the kettle and skillet. By the time she returned, they’d be covered with mold, bored and tunneled by insects, probably even gnawed by animals.
Thinking of Claid, she reached around and pulled the shift from the top of the pack, snatched up the books, wrapped the shift around them, and knotted it into a sling. Carrying it over one arm, she clambered up the slope to the waiting wind.
She spread her cloak out on the ground and sat cross-legged on it with her pack on her back and the sling of books in her lap. She sang softly at first, but as the wind joined in, her song grew louder and wilder. Never had she poured so much effort and intensity into her singing. Her music blended with the wind’s until the voices swelled and exploded in a thunderous crescendo.
The wind, deepening to a rich violet, swirled around her. It tugged at the edges of the cloak until it burrowed beneath it and lifted it off the ground.
As she was swirled into the sky, Kyla grabbed at the cloak with both hands and continued to sing, praying her voice would not give out.
Storm clouds formed around her. The wind purpled. In a rush it soared above the trees and skirled over the hilltops. Swathed in clouds, Kyla lost all sense of height. She merged with the wind, free of earth’s bonds. The tempest raged in her and through her; her song became defiant laughter, eddying and circling with the wind.
The clouds lightened, slowed. She drifted gently toward the snow-covered slopes of a high mountain. Softly the wind set her down in front of a modest stone house near the summit. Could this mountain cottage be Alair’s reputed castle?
Pale blue now, the wind fluffed her hair and sped away, leaving her standing knee deep in snow.
Shivering, she retrieved her cloak, wet from its snow bath, and put it over her shoulders. Her pack heavy on her back, the additional packet of books in her hand, she slogged through the drifts to the house.
CHAPTER TEN
MAGE HOME
Kyla stamped her feet to shake the snow from her boots. She made heavy-handed use of the brass knocker adorned with the glaring face of some evil creature. Scowling back at it, she shifted her burden of books. A fine thing if she’d come all this distance to an empty house. She’d freeze if she had to stand out here much longer. She grasped the knocker with numb fingers and slammed it against the heavy wood door several more times.
The door swung open, revealing a short, rotund woman in a lumpy dress, sagging stockings, and shapeless shoes, all the same dull shade of gray.
“You might give a body time to get to the door without banging so,” the woman scolded, hands on hips, gray eyes frowning beneath the halo of wispy gray hair encircling an equally gray lace cap. “Young people have no patience these days.” She cast a suspicious eye on the bundle hanging from Kyla’s arm. “If you’re here to sell something, merchants are to use the side door.”
Kyla glanced around, trying to imagine a merchant peddling goods to this isolated and snow-covered peak. “I have urgent business with the Mage Alair,” she said. “This is his house, isn’t it?”
“It is, and I’m his housekeeper.” The woman made no move to allow Kyla inside. “Anyone who wants to see him must state their purpose to me. The mage is a busy man. He hasn’t time to see every soul who comes clamoring for a love philter or a good luck charm.”
The housekeeper spoke as if she had to fend off a steady stream of supplicants. Who but a person in desperate need would climb Starwind Peak? “I told you, my business with Alair is urgent. Let me in.” Kyla tried to push past her.
The small gray woman stood firm, immovable as the rock she resembled. “That’s what they all say. I’ll judge whether your errand is worth troubling the master for.”
Beyond the stubborn housekeeper Kyla saw the glow of a hearth fire, heard the cheery crackle of the flames, and breathed in the balmy aroma of burning pine. If only she could bask in its heat.
“I have to see him about Claid,” she said.
“That scapegrace! You’d be the young woman Alair foisted him onto.” The woman took a step back, allowing Kyla to ease inside the door. “What’s the imp done?”
“Probably got himself killed saving my life. Will you please get Alair.”
“Humph. Snippy thing, aren’t you? But I suppose he’ll speak to you.” After closing the front door, she turned and stumped across the room and through another door, which she shut behind her.
Kyla hurried to the fireplace. She put down the bundled books, shrugged off her cloak and heavy pack, and thrust her hands near the flames until they tingled from the warmth. Turning to warm her back, she surveyed the room. It gave no hint of its owner’s reputed wealth. The walls were rough unpainted stone. Three wooden armchairs with cushioned seats surrounded a table cluttered with writing materials and a plain oil lamp, unlit. Between the table and the door, a braided rag rug covered a small portion of the otherwise bare hardwood floor. To one side of the front door a single uncurtained window showed her the snow falling outside.
Alair must be deliberately making her wait, testing her patience. She dragged a chair near the fire, sat down, and began to tug off her boots so she could warm her icy feet. She had the first one off when Alair strode into the room.
The mage loomed over her. H
e wore a woolen tunic of soft purple over tight-fitting black breeches. His hair fell in warm chestnut waves that brushed his shoulders. His hazel eyes shone gold with reflected firelight. She caught her breath. Her heart climbed into her throat.
He gazed down his long straight nose at her. “What’s this nonsense about Claid?”
Her heart slid back where it belonged. Rising up on the toes of her bare foot to balance the booted one, she matched his arrogant tone. “It’s not nonsense. He needs your help, if it isn’t too late. He told me to come to you.”
“Too late! For Claid?” A corner of his lips curled upward in a smirk. “You’ve yet to learn anything at all about him, I see.”
First the rude housekeeper, and now this! It was too much for Kyla’s frayed nerves. “It was a mistake to come here.” She snatched up her boot. Teetering on one foot, she worked the other into the boot.
“Are all windspeakers as quick-tempered and changeable as the wind?” he asked, watching her with amusement.
“Are all mages so arrogant and patronizing?” She picked up her backpack and bundle and headed toward the door. “I’ll not stay and listen to your insults. It’s clear you care nothing about Claid.”
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Alair said, laughing. “You don’t want to go blundering about in a snowstorm.”
Her hand on the latch, she turned and glared. “I’d rather get lost in a blizzard than endure your insufferable rudeness.” She jerked open the door and flung herself into cold air laced with snow flurries.
She’d made a grave mistake in abandoning Claid to come on this fool’s errand. To correct it she’d have to summon the wind and persuade it to carry her back to the valley, where she’d try to rescue him herself.
A large black dog, snow melting on his back, bounded in front of her, barring her way with flattened ears and a menacing growl, but at the same time he wagged his tail wildly.
Mistress of the Wind (Arucadi Series Book 1) Page 9