When the Wind Speaks (Starstone Prophecies Book 1)

by Corinne Kilgore

  “What kind of bird is that?” she asked Penna, her voice kept quiet as if afraid the birds could understand her questioning their existence.

  Penna shielded her eyes from the sun and peered to where Dnara pointed. “Them? Why, ain’t you ever seen a raven before?”

  “No.” And she felt stupid for uncovering yet another unknown in this world. A common bird, if Penna’s surprise were an indication, and not worth the uneasy feeling pooling in her stomach. Then she remembered the bathhouse attendant’s words, about her hair looking like raven’s feathers. Now, she had her answer, and she couldn’t disagree. The ravens’ feathers were darker than a deep shadow, as if cloaked in a night without stars. But, as they moved their heads in their strange, low conversation, a shimmering of dark purples and blues caught the light, like the gem embellishing her keeper’s fancy silver quill.

  “There were none where I lived before,” she said on an absentminded thought, her attention drawn back to the way her keeper’s hand would move in graceful strokes as he spent hours writing in a book she’d never managed to read.

  “Oh, well, they’s clever, ravens,” Penna said. “Too clever for their own good, some say. Carriers of the blight, others warn, but that’s just fear driven nonsense. And, would you believe, they can talk like people, too. A few words at least, if you train them. Had a man in town with a talking raven, would do shows for the kids...” Her voice trailed off and a sadness entered her eyes. “Back when there were children,” she finished more quietly.

  Dnara let the conversation die, not wanting to open the wound further. Penna and Tobin once had a baby, she’d learned, twenty years ago before the blight became so dangerous. The baby had lived for three seasons, never once crying. On the night of the baby’s sudden death, Penna developed the cough. Theirs had been the last baby born on their dirt road of cottages into town. Five winters later, no children were born in all of Lee’s Mill that survived. Now, Lee’s Mill had only a handful of children under fifteen, and none under ten. It made her own fantasy of having a cottage with a family seem that much more impossible.

  Her gaze moved to Athan of its own accord, but his eyes were locked squarely on the gathering ravens. He had an uneasy look on his face, and even Treven seemed anxious by their presence. Neither relaxed until the cottage fell over the horizon behind them, and Dnara, too, let out a relieved breath when sight of the ravens was lost. Something about those large, inky colored birds with their sharp beaks and glassy black eyes unnerved her, too. Although, she was curious to hear them speak, as Penna had said they could.

  “Look there,” Tobin said as they approached the south gate into Lee’s Mill. “Looks like the festival is happening despite the fire shortage.”

  “In spite of it, you mean,” Penna said indignantly. “We’ve not let the blight stop the festival in all these hard years, so I’m not at all surprised folks won’t let a lack of fire stop them, neither.”

  “Festival?” Dnara looked to the gate, surprised to find it decorated with colorful cloth banners of yellow.

  “Faedra’s Blessing,” Penna answered cheerily as the wagon traveled underneath the banners and Dnara craned her neck back to watch them flutter with the wind. Each banner had intricate embroidery in green thread; a border of leaves surrounding a harvested bounty of various crops set under a pair of lovers, the woman’s stomach round with child. “We offer our songs, dance, and what little else we can in the hopes Faedra will bless us with a bountiful growing season and a harvest that will get us through the winter. The opening ceremony is tonight, leading to a full night and day of celebration followed by another ceremony tomorrow at sunset. The sunset will line up with the temple’s spire, marking the equinox and the start of spring.”

  “It’s certainly something to see,” Tobin said. “It’s why we’re moving into town for a while. Well, that and so we can finally have a hot meal and cook more bread to sell.”

  The back of the wagon had a few personal items buried under a mound of uncooked corn that had been preserved from last year’s harvest. At the cottage, Penna had been unable to cook her cornbread for Tobin to sell. There were still fires in town, though Beothen’s daily report had the number steadily dwindling. There were fears in the town, too, Athan had said. Fears that soon Lee’s Mill would be trapped within darkness and unable to survive the cold winter to come. The yellow banners overhead flapped defiantly with the wind, touting how some hope yet remained that the gods were real and that they were listening to the growing desperation within the prayers of men.

  “Hold up there,” a gate guard instructed and the wagon stopped. Dnara glanced over her shoulder to see Mikos approaching. The guard spotted Dnara eyeing him and gave the wagon a wide berth as he walked to Athan. “Beothen’s looking for you, and the...and her. Wants you to head over to the temple as soon as you pass the gate, he said.”

  Athan cursed under his breath. “I told him she’s not ready. Her arms are still-”

  “Ready for what?” Dnara asked as she hopped off the wagon and walked over.

  Mikos took a step back, his eyes immediately looking to her bandaged arms then to his boots and staying there. The unsettled fear in his eyes told the truth of it; Beothen had told him of what happened at the cottage. “Not my business, Mageraetas,” he muttered the formal title of the mageborne, sending a shiver of repulsion up her spine. “I’m just the messenger.”

  “Well,” Athan said with irritation lacing his words. “You can messenger right back to Beothen that she’s not ready,”

  “Ready for what?” she asked Athan again, this time with more demand in her voice. Her arms did hurt under the bandages, but they no longer bled and all the blisters had nearly healed over.

  “It’s nothing,” Athan tried to dismiss. “Beothen’s told a few people about what happened, after I’d asked him not to.”

  “He’s only told me,” Mikos argued, raising his heated gaze to meet Athan’s.

  “Only you?” Athan questioned with a cross of his arms.

  “Well...” Mikos backed down slightly. “Me, and the head priest, and...and the mayor. But, that’s out of duty, that is, not out of wanting to betray you, forester. All of us has since sworn to secrecy for her sake. We ain’t had a mageborne our way in years, registered with the Red Covenant or not. Maybe she can help.”

  “Help?” Dnara asked Mikos, since Athan seemed reluctant to answer her straightly. “With what?”

  Mikos wouldn’t look at her, and she’d seen that kind of bowed supplication before. It turned her stomach, but she didn’t know how to make him stop. His head dipped lower, but she saw the way his hand fisted, too. Supplication often brought with it resentment, same as she’d bowed her head to the mages at her keeper’s tower while privately cursing them.

  “Mageraetas,” he said, quieter than before as another wagon pulled up within the gate’s gaping maw. “The mayor’s desperate, with his daughter ill, the beer and wine souring, and now the fires going out. Beothen only hoped... He meant no wrong to you, m’lady, I swear it.”

  “I know,” she said, hoping to end his worry, then she turned her attention back to Athan. “Beothen’s asked for my help and you didn’t tell me?”

  “You’re still healing,” he argued. “I didn’t...” He broke eye contact and looked to the side. “You could be hurt worse than last time.”

  Taking a deep breath, she cooled her temper. He thought only to protect her from more harm, and it did explain why it seemed he’d been avoiding her the past few days. She’d thought it had been because she’d clung too closely to him. In a way, him hiding Beothen’s request from her came as a small relief. “I know you mean to protect me, but I’d like to help if I can.”

  “Good on you,” Penna tutted from the back of the wagon. “Told you, I did,” she directed to Athan in a chiding tone. “Let that be the last of the secrets between you. Tobin and I will go on to the market square while you head up to the temple. Come by when you’re done.”

  “Why don�
�t you come with us, Jenny?” Tobin said from the front of the wagon. “Could use your help in the market.”

  “All right.” Jenny tipped her straw hat at Dnara then rode Rupert alongside the wagon. “What’s a market?” she asked as Tobin slapped the reins and his wagon lurched forward.

  “Wow,” Mikos said as they departed. “Beothen said the woman’s mind had been muddled, but...” He cleared his throat, glanced at Dnara then lowered his gaze again. “I’m sure you had good reason for it, Mageraetas.”

  “It was an accident,” she said, but doubted it made a difference. “And, I’m not a-” She looked to the large man sitting at his wagon, impatiently watching the three remaining people standing between him and the market. Tired of arguing whether she was a mageborne or not, she decided to simply go with it. “We’ll head to the temple. Thank you for relaying the message.”

  “You’re welcome, m’lady.” Mikos bowed his head and stepped back before heading for the next wagon waiting to be inspected.

  Sighing at his bow as he departed, Dnara began walking towards the street beyond the gate only to remember she didn’t know how to get to the temple. She’d never even been to a temple. She assumed it would be some grand building dedicated to the gods. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to spot. As she took a hesitant step left out of the gate, a throat cleared behind her.

  Athan waited for her to turn to him, then he gave her a deep, exaggerated bow and extended his arm to the right. “Shall I show you the way, m’lady?”

  “Oh, don’t you start,” she huffed.

  He chuckled and righted himself before leading Treven to the right. Dnara quickened her steps to catch up and gave Treven’s neck a friendly pat as it bobbed between her and Athan. They walked in silence past two alleyways before Athan ducked under Treven’s head, moving to Dnara’s side. Treven protested Athan’s cutting in by yanking on Athan’s lowered hood, much to Dnara’s amusement. Athan placated the mule with a few whispered words and a carrot.

  They passed another street corner before Athan spoke. “Not too mad at me, I hope?”

  “Not too mad,” she jested while watching two women hang a string of multicolored, knotted fabric remnants from one two story window to a second story window across the street. “But, I do wish you had told me.”

  “I only thought-” He stopped and sighed, his hand raising to rub the back of his neck. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?”

  “I appreciate your concern for my well-being,” she said as they came to a stop to let a cart of wood planks roll through the intersection. “You have been nothing but kind to me. It’s just...” Her hands fidgeted with her bandages, trying to put feelings to words.

  “Please, tell me,” he said as they crossed the intersection. “I did upset you,” he pressed. “I can tell.”

  A heat rose to her cheeks at his observations but she tampered it down. “Athan, I have spent my life having choices made for me. I may not make the best decisions, but now that I can, I wish to make them for myself.” The truth sprung from her lips, revealing unexpressed feelings as she said it. She hoped he didn’t take her words too harshly, but they needed to be said.

  “I didn’t even think about that,” he grimaced then went quiet. They stopped together at the next corner to watch more decorations being hung and people walking by. Treven nudged Athan hard enough in the back to make him stumble forward. After righting himself and pushing Treven’s nose with a harassed smirk, Athan stepped in front of her and waited for her to meet his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as people and carts continued to move around them. His words carried over the noise, blocking it out until she could hear only him. He took her hand in his, and the world around her disappeared until there remained only him. “I am truly sorry, Dnara.”

  The way he looked at her... She couldn’t be certain, but she believed no one had ever looked at her like that before, like she mattered more than she could understand; like he saw her as something else, something intangible yet real in the same indescribable word. A whisper on the wind buzzed through her nerves, from neck to fingertips, giving her the strangest sense of connection to him. If she could just hold onto that feeling, if they were to meet in the middle of this new world forming within her heart, then she could understand it all and give it a name.

  With one timid hand raising towards his face, she stepped closer in a want to understand. His eyes widened, thoughts blooming within, and he stepped closer to accept the connection she offered. The energy pulsing through her body increased and the wind grew more insistent. Fear of the unknown sank away, replaced by the promise of hope, and she knew he felt it, too.

  “You’re crazy!” A voice shouting in the distance broke the spell.

  She sucked in a sharp breath and lowered her hand, offering a smile instead. “Apology accepted.”

  Athan returned her smile and opened his mouth to speak, but more loud yelling from down the street refocused his attention. “Sounds like trouble near the temple.”

  With the connection shattered and the wind now silent, an uneasy feeling crawled its way up her blistered arms. To her, it sounded like voices were raised in desperation. Pushing her unease aside, she followed Athan as he led Treven onward.

  At the end of the widening street, they entered a small courtyard with well-tended greenery, a tall fountain and a large set of white stone steps leading up to the grand building Dnara had expected for a temple. The temple’s white stone almost glowed in the sunlight, its facade carved with words, symbols and large rectangular murals depicting scenes from well-known stories involving the gods of Ellium. Even the hitching post to which Athan looped Treven’s reins had delicate carvings and phrases from the sacred stories. The growing commotion, however, drew her awed gaze away from the closest mural and down to a crowd gathered in the courtyard.

  “We should take you to the gate and hang you by your feet from it,” one angry voice yelled.

  “Now, now, let us not be hasty, friends!” a familiar voice pleaded.

  Athan cursed under his breath. “Idiot.”

  “Isn’t that the wine merchant?” Dnara asked.

  “Phineaus peddles more than wine,” Athan replied as the crowd grew increasingly unsettled. “People put up with him because he’s usually worth a good laugh, and sometimes his prices can be reasonable, if you haggle like your life depends on it.”

  “It’s a fair price!” Phineaus held up his hands, asking for calm. “Surely, having a light in your homes at night is worth a meager twelve dol!?”

  “Twelve dol?” Athan balked as they reached the back of the crowd. He stood on his tip-toes, trying to see over some of the taller people standing in front. “What could he possibly be trying to sell for twelve dol?”

  “A lamp,” a man in front of Athan said over his shoulder. “It still lights when others have stopped working, so he thinks he can ask a king’s ransom for it.”

  “Shameful!” a woman next to him added, then yelled it louder towards the front. “Shame on you!”

  “Demroth take you!” another woman shouted.

  “I ain’t even got one dol to my name, much less twelve,” a man nearby muttered.

  “That’s true for most folks,” the woman near Athan said.

  “I’ve never even seen a dol,” said another man. “I’ll give you twelve ginny!” he shouted to the front, and the crowd simmered from angered yelling to heckling chuckles.

  “Come now,” Phineaus said, and he too tried to laugh it off. “My lamp is worth more than a few pewter ginnatae.”

  “But not twelve dol,” Athan shouted over the laughter, and the crowd turned his way. “Have you gone blight mad, Phineaus? You might as well be asking for twelve crowns. People in Lee’s Mill are lucky to earn a sliver in a month, and you’re asking for dols?”

  “The forester has the right of it!” a man agreed. “Last month, I didn’t even earn a sliver. It’s nellys and ginnys around here. You want dols, then you best take your crooke
d prices to Carn!”

  “Yeah!” a woman heckled and tossed something at Phineaus’s head. “Off to The Red City with you!”

  Phineaus dodged the apple core and frowned at Athan. “But friend, I’m just a humble merchant trying to feed his family.”

  “You don’t have a family,” Athan said back.

  “Well, I might have one someday?” Phineaus shrugged and the crowd laughed. Phineaus sighed, his large stomach deflating beneath a burgundy robe that may have once been lavish but now looked worn thin by years of travel and poor earnings. He rubbed his chin beneath its cover of curly beard. “All right, all right. Twelve slivers for an Everbright Lamp.” He dodged another round of heckling and an ear of corn. “Fine! Twelve nelltae.”

  “Six nelly,” Athan shouted over the crowd. “Reasonable for a family to share, if it does stay lit.”

  “Of that, I swear,” Phineaus guaranteed. “Each lamp is blessed by Elvan magic from beyond Lath’limneir’s Wall.”

  A woman skeptically clucked her tongue. “As if them sharp-ears would let a pompous fool like you into the Greenwood.”

  “No, not me,” Phineaus agreed, shedding his pride. “But, I do have a contact within the Dale. I bought these lamps from him three seasons ago, a deal too good to pass up, I thought. But, the realm of men prefers firelight, I’ve discovered, so they’ve been collecting dust in my wagon. Perhaps this is a boon of the gods, that I would not have sold the lamps until today. I only thought to help bring light into the unfortunate darkness that has come to the good people of Lee’s Mill!”

  “Brodan’s balls,” Athan muttered and rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you ten nelly for two of them, if you stop being so dramatic.”

  Phineaus’s lips pursed and he scratched his curly brown beard as the crowd chuckled. “All right, deal, but only because I like you, forester, and you gave me a good deal on those pelts.”