When the Wind Speaks (Starstone Prophecies Book 1)

by Corinne Kilgore

  She cast her gaze past the fields to the horizon, where the Axe Blade Mountains stood as a jagged foreground to the vanishing sun. She had the freedom to go anywhere now. To do anything. To become anyone. An apothecary, a forester, a bathhouse keeper or a traveling trader. Endless were the possibilities, all there, laid before her in an unknown world.

  Her foot touched the next stone. The quiet breeze tugged her cloak backwards. She stopped, not but a single step forward, daunted by the unknown.

  She did not know this world. She knew its gods, its stories, the flora and fauna, but she didn’t know the world, the way of men and their trading, their soldiers, their burning of farms, or the threat of the blight. In a word, she knew nothing. Nothing that mattered.

  She wouldn’t last a day in a world not written in an outdated book she hadn’t been allowed to read in the first place. With another sigh aimed at the moon, she turned back to the cottage. Her bladder then made her turn the other way and follow the path to the outhouse. After fixing that problem, she washed her hands in the tiny brook running past the oak tree and headed back to the cottage so she could begin dealing with all the other ones.

  As she rounded the front corner of the cottage, a cloaked figure waited for her return. Startled, she paused at the corner and peered past the shadows. Athan lowered his hood and pushed off the wall, the relief in his eyes highlighted by the low lamplight shining through the cabin’s small front window.

  Dnara stepped closer, his relief at her reappearance filling her heart with appreciation. “Worried I may not return?”

  His relief melted into chagrin as his hand raised to the back of his neck. “You were gone a while, but I thought it might be... inappropriate to actually go seek you out at the toilet.”

  “I don’t know much of this world,” she said, her own lips twitching in a want to smile. “But yes, I think that would be inappropriate.”

  He nodded at that with a muted chuckle, hand lowering and thumbing his pants pocket. After a pause filled with cricket song, he let out an audible breath that puffed white in the increasing cold of night. “I did consider it, though. You, not returning. I’m glad you did.”

  His words sent tingling spirals up her arms and into her chest. She had not considered that, in her thoughts to leave, that she would be missed, that someone waited for her return. Her feet took a step closer, her fingers moving to touch his sleeve but splaying against the cool cobblestone wall instead. “Sorry I took so long. I just needed a moment to myself, to think, to take...” She raised her arm, the strange scars once again fully healed. “To take all this in.”

  Athan closed the remaining distance between them and took her arm in hand. “Fully healed again?” His thumb moved over the thinnest of the scars jaggedly etched on the underside of her wrist. “It must be some form of magic.”

  “I don’t want it to be,” she whispered in earnest reply, her voice shaken by his gentle touch.

  His eyes rose to meet hers. “Truly? You wouldn’t want to have magic? The mageborne live in luxury, above the law and answering only to their own covenant and the king himself. You would need not live in fear, as long as you registered with the Red Covenant and followed their doctrine.”

  “Another collar,” she replied, making his eyes widen as they glanced down to her neck. “The only mageborne I have known were cruel and cold, who kept slaves and meddled in dangerous things. They tempted fate to gain more power, and for their unquenchable hunger, they died.”

  She slipped her wrist free of his grasp and held it to her chest. “No, Athan, I want no part of that.” She reached out and touched the cobblestone. “I would rather live free, as any other, in a cottage like this, tending the land, taking joy in each sunset,...being part of a family.”

  Hand upon the wall of white plaster and river stone, she could almost picture it, that wish of another life. Of a warm hearth, a field full of hearty crops, sheep in the barn and children- Her skin warmed with such thoughts, impossible thoughts no longer feeling so impossible. But, then her eyes refocused on the scars. Something had happened to her, something she didn’t understand, something she must discover if she ever hoped to have the life she had begun to wish for herself.

  “You’re not what I expected,” he said softly, a thought slipping through the cracks.

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  He sucked in a breath and blinked away the rest of his unspoken thoughts. “When I found out you had magic... You’re right, about covenant mages. Beothen’s sister doesn’t sound so bad, I guess, but I’ve never met one I liked, either. They seem to think themselves above the rest of us, chosen by the gods to lord over us like a herd of cattle.”

  His hands balled into tight fists, a deeply seeded anger brewing within his eyes but kept anchored under the surface. She let go of the grounding cobblestone and reached for something less tangible, a way to rid him of the anguish rising from him and bring back his carefree smile. “Athan-”

  A commotion from inside the cottage refocused both their attentions. Tobin gave a worried shout as a horrible, hacking cough rose. Athan and Dnara shared a worried glance as Athan gave voice to their shared concern.

  “Penna,” he said then rushed inside with Dnara quick on his heels.

  “Oh, thank the stars, you’re back,” Tobin greeted Athan with hands wrung in apprehension. “Penna can’t breathe. I gave her your medicine, but it don’t seem to be working this time. I think it made it worse!”

  “What?” Athan sounded just as concerned as he took the small pouch from Tobin and spilled some of its contents into his palm. Horror filled his eyes at what he saw. “It’s been blighted.”

  “Brodan’s balls!” Beothen grumbled as he peered over Athan’s shoulder. Then, he pulled his own pouch off his belt and shook some into his meaty hand. “Mine, too, forester, though I swear it was fine when you gave it to me. Chewed some right away, I did.”

  “What’s that there?” Jenny asked, adding to the growing chaos in the tiny cabin. “Blighted balls, you say?”

  Dnara went to Penna, who stood stooped over the fireplace, steaming teakettle hanging from an iron hook. The woman breathed in the steam as deeply as she could but ended in a violent coughing fit that sounded like her lungs held more water than air. Unsure how to help, Dnara rubbed Penna’s back in a gentle circle. Between coughs, Penna lifted her head to give Dnara a weary smile, showing her appreciation for not being left alone as the men continued to discuss what to do. Feeling helpless, Dnara leaned her forehead against Penna’s shoulder and continued moving her palm in a slow circle, wishing she could do more to alleviate Penna’s suffering.

  Then, between inhales, Dnara felt it. Something stirred within Penna’s wheezing. Dnara’s hand stopped and flatly palmed Penna’s back. A ragged inhale. A stuttering exhale. A heartbeat.

  A...second heartbeat?

  Dnara closed her eyes, trying to block out the men’s voices behind her; trying to listen, to hear what existed beneath what could be seen. A hollow echo rebounded from her palm, up her arm, into her chest and back again. Penna stiffened. Dnara’s arms tingled, then burned, then...

  There.

  Dnara’s eyes snapped open just as the force cascaded down her arm and slammed into Penna’s back. The woman arched upwards at a disturbing angle, a starved gasp sucking in past her lips like a howling wind. Her mouth hung open and her eyes bulged, then her hands began clawing at her throat.

  “Oh, gods!” Dnara screamed. “What have I done?”

  “What?” Athan asked all the men finally looked up from their palms full of blighted herbs.

  “Penna!” Tobin rushed to his wife, knocking Dnara aside.

  Dnara fell into Athan’s arms and tumbled to the floor with him, and he asked her a question she couldn’t answer. “What did you do?”

  “I don’t know!” Dnara watched as Penna writhed, hands upon her throat, body twisting with a need for air. “I only... I only wished to help!”

  “Gods be merciful,”
Beothen muttered a prayer as he tried to help Tobin restrain Penna’s wild trashing.

  “What have you done?!” Tobin yelled at Dnara. “What have you done to my wife?!”

  “I don’t know!” She truly knew nothing.

  A gurgling growl bubbled up from Penna’s mouth. Her body doubled over, her head nearly touching the floor in front of her feet. A hacking, wet cacophony erupted, followed by vomiting, then heart wrenching silence.

  “Retgar’s axe smite you,” Tobin cried. “You’ve killed her!”

  “No, please,” Dnara begged to anyone, anything that would listen.

  A small cough. A long inhale. Penna stood up straight and exhaled with a clear, unhindered breath.

  “Penna?” Tobin asked past a slobbering sniffle.

  “I can breathe,” Penna said, shocked by the revelation. She took in another giant breath to be sure then exhaled with a smile. “I can breathe!” She turned to Tobin and took the man into her arms with a bouncing step. “I can breathe, Tobin! Clear as a summer’s day in my youth, I can breathe!”

  “How?” Tobin asked through tears then laughed as Penna lifted his feet from the ground with a squeezing hug. “Gods, woman, put me down!”

  “Thank the gods,” Beothen sighed, his hand leaving the hilt of his sword as he stood over where Dnara had fallen to the floor within Athan’s arms. “We thought the Shadow King had come for you, sweet Penna.”

  “What’s that?” Jenny asked.

  “The Shadow King?” Beothen asked in an annoyed tone.

  “No, that!” Jenny pointed and all eyes followed her finger to the floor. “That there, on the floor.”

  “Sweet mercy!” Penna cried and jumped away from where she’d vomited.

  “Everyone back!” Beothen bellowed, his broadsword leaving its scabbard with a long metallic ring. Everyone formed a circle around the inky black gelatinous mass slowly crawling its way across the floor with equally gelatinous tendrils. “Brodan’s balls,” Beothen cursed and sliced off one tendril with his blade, only to have two tendrils grow back its place.

  “Don’t touch it,” Athan warned, his heels digging into the stone floor as he scooted himself and Dnara further back.

  “Athan?” Dnara could not take her eyes off the mass as it propelled itself with jittering, unnatural movements of long black strings flung from its body. It had no eyes nor mouth, but Dnara knew without a doubt that it was alive. “What is it?”

  “Blight,” Beothen spat the word. “The worst kind of it.”

  With cautious steps, the gatekeeper circled the dark mass. The mass stopped, its body throbbing like an ink filled heart, then it moved with sudden speed towards Beothen’s next footstep. He cursed at it and stepped faster, slicing its tendrils in practiced strokes that parried the blight’s attacks. Gaining no ground as more tendrils appeared, Beothen took the iron ash scoop from its rack on the fireplace and shoveled the mass up before flicking it into the fire. A deafening screech filled the cabin and everyone covered their ears, cowering away from the flames as they burned black and blue.

  “Demroth be damned!” Tobin shouted over the shriek.

  The wind roared through the raised roof hatch and fed the flames. They grew as hot as a blacksmith’s furnace, but not as hot as Dnara’s arms. She buried her face in Athan’s shirt, screaming with the blight and the flames as the flesh on her arms blistered. At their climax, the flames transformed from bright blue to a blazing white more brilliant than the sun. The screeching ended, the wind stopped and the fire died. The world fell silent as the cottage plunged into darkness.

  Part 2

  And the Fire Dies

  Retgar looked across Ellium and saw men in fields and forests, tirelessly toiling in hunger and misery. Retgar went to his brother-god, Brodan, seeking tools to lift man up from their despair.

  In the deep mountain did Brodan keep his anvil and forge. Hammer hit upon iron anvil like thundering heartbeats, and from the flames he wrought great works with inspired hand.

  For Retgar to protect his people, he crafted an axe like no other, sharp and unyielding, but light as the moonlight its shining blade reflected. For fair Faedra, Brodan’s blessed hands fashioned silver stars to set on her head a crown of grace and glory so she may inspire man to do great deeds.

  For Ishkar he made a quill that never ran dry, so the stories of man would be without end. For Thalisa he did craft a strong shield and sturdy rod, so she may protect forever Faedra’s Sacred Halls where the souls of man may rest in peace for eternity.

  For himself, Brodan formed a flaming sword that could cut through shadow with fiery wrath, lighting the way for man and cutting out evil from their hearts. And finally, for his beloved Valda, he constructed a necklace of sapphire tears, each one a wish for an eternity with her and a promise of man’s everlasting legacy.

  With these tools and adornments Brodan bestowed, the Red City of Carn rose from field and forest to guide the destiny of man. The land of Carnath prospered north and south of Eldin River, and the people knew three hundred years of peace.

  Then Demroth came to Brodan from the east, desiring a dagger that could pierce the veil between worlds. With promises to help further lift the lives of man did Demroth conspire, and Brodan with trusting heart did raise his hammer to shape the requested blade.

  To cast such a blade, Brodan required each of the gods to give unto Demroth a gift. Retgar shed his blood into Faedra’s chalice, mixed with ink from Ishkar’s pen. They spilled their secrets onto the flames of Brodan’s furnace, and the flame burned white and hot as the sun.

  Retgar bade Faedra to give up one star to help the plight of man, and so with tears, she cast one of her children down to earth. Brodan took the child and molded it into a black blade of night-sky steel.

  Thalisa did cut in half her rod, and with it Brodan cast the handle and hilt. And from his beloved Valda, he asked one sapphire, a single drop from eternity to embellish the dagger’s pommel.

  Eight years and twelve nights it took for Brodan to forge the blade, all while Carnath’s people still lived in peace with Elvan and Orc. When Brodan’s final hammer strike fell, a shadow eclipsed the moon and Demroth smiled at what Brodan’s hands had created.

  Demroth took the blade, bowed his head low to Brodan and the other gods, then slipped back east where the shadows met the sands. With the sapphire embellished dagger, as promised, Demroth sliced open the veil of shadows, spilling magic into the world of man.

  But to Brodan’s despair, Demroth kept this magic for himself. The Elvan lamented in dire warnings, and the Orc’kothi turned away, for they knew what man and their gods did not – magic came with a price.

  From the veil came greed, envy and anger that seeped into the hearts of man. It split Carnath in two, giving birth to Orynthis, and the Eldin River ran red. The Elvan built a great wall to hold back the spreading sickness, and the Orc’kothi retreated to their mountain steppes.

  Brodan and Retgar begged their brother god Demroth to repair the shadow’s veil and save their people. Demroth looked upon the chaos and smiled, then he used Brodan’s gift for one last betrayal.

  Demroth raised his blade and struck Valda’s heart, shattering the necklace and stealing her gifted eternity for himself. All the world went dark for five hundred years when Brodan’s forge died alongside his heart.

  -Retgar’s Saga, Chapter 3

  Verses 22 - 38

  14

  The Sovereign

  A swirl of dust danced between sunbeams split apart by three-story buildings lining either side of the narrow alleyway. A cough echoed along the cracked, white plastered walls from an old man resting stooped in a shadowed doorway, his body curled protectively away from the growing heat of what was to be another day much too warm in the city of Ka’veshi for this early in the year. The lands of Orynthis, they said, would soon be a barren wasteland scorched by the sun, if the blight spreading over Carnath didn’t reach them first.

  Two children darted from another shadowed doorway
with laughter and a length of rope between them, the only toy needed for most games in the neglected streets of the Ha’tamshi, the Washerwoman’s district. A woman called after them, yelling about chores before play and an order that needed running to a home in the Um’matshi Upper Cleft, a district of opulence that would take the children all day to reach on foot. The two children groaned but headed back inside at a shuffling pace. The old man coughed again. The dancing dust disappeared between the buildings.

  From three stories up, Naomi perched on the raised ledge of a flat roofed building that matched all those around it in size, shape and state of disrepair. Her own ‘house’, a lean-to of precariously balanced wood poles and various fabric scraps that was somehow more sturdy than it looked, billowed in the rising wind behind her as she peered down at the alley below. She did not envy those two children who would soon be lugging heavy baskets full of laundry upon their heads as they slowly made their way up the stone cut steps to Upper Cleft.

  Years ago, that would’ve been her making the climb for a few half-tics in earnings that could only be traded for overpriced goods at the local guildhouse. Soon enough, and much too soon at that, those two children would find themselves bearing the weight of their family’s debts to their guildhouse, adding to the ledger with their own shortcomings as their pitiful earnings for a hard day’s work could be stretched no further than a handful of lentil, stale bread, soup bones and the soap required for the next day’s washing.

  Naomi glanced back to her self-built rooftop tent, a small sovereign territory sequestered within a city of slaves. The tent may leak when it rained, and the wind may threaten to blow it over the roof’s edge with her still in it as she slept, but it was one of the few things in Ka’veshi that did not belong to a guild. That, and herself.