War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  Too late, now.

  He turned from the clearing and made his way back to the house. His memories had dulled with time, but nothing had stayed so fresh as those final moments. The old man insisted they too would fade, but their impression would never die.

  “Hello, Jon.”

  The wood spirit waited for him where he always did, sitting on the decaying stump of a dead tree covered in green and clothed in hemp. At his feet grew flowers that were not in season. His white bearded face reminded Jon of his father. When they had first met, Jon had thought the spirit was his father’s ghost. Careful queries proved it to be just another woodling sprite.

  “The dead have no need for vengeance,” said the spirit.

  “So, you’ve told me,” Jon replied. “I’m not dead.”

  The spirit had pried into his past time and again, and Jon had been annoyed enough to reveal only a little. With the gods taking an unusual interest in the lives of those around him, Jon had decided to take reserved caution with even this harmless haunting.

  “You’re different,” the spirit said. His lips curled in a half smile.

  “Oh?”

  “Aye.” The sprite took up a spirited walk beside the boy. “Everything well on the home front?”

  Jon did not know how the spirit always seemed to know his mind, but his questions had always been answered with riddles and phrases that made no sense. “You already know the answer to that,” said Jon.

  “She’s pretty.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Come now, Jon.” Jon had never told the spirit his name, and yet he clearly knew. “You’re not being any fun today.”

  “There’s a lot on my mind.”

  “Oh.” The sprite seemed to think. “Do you think whatever it is she’s running from will find you here?”

  “I suppose that depends on what it is she’s running from.”

  “Can’t be good. She fled to Evanna in a great ball of fire. Even the gods tend to have more subtlety.”

  “One day you might have to tell me how you know the things you know.”

  “I know what I know because I know it,” he replied. “When I don’t know it is when you should worry.”

  “You knowing what you know already has me worried.”

  The dark man laughed. “Sorry to distress you. I should tell you however, it would be best if she did not use her powers. Your farm is well hidden; but should Anu’s hunters even catch a wisp of a scent, they’ll bring all kinds of hell upon your head.”

  Jon stopped and looked at the spirit’s aged face in annoyance. “What are you? A fly on the wall? Don’t you have a squirrel to chase up a tree or something?”

  “I am no dog, good sir! I am—”

  Jon waited apprehensively, thinking he might finally get a clue as to what it actually was.

  “Merely a spirit of this forest,” he concluded.

  Jon grunted and continued his trek home. “How vague of you.” The sprite’s wealth of knowledge was both disconcerting and a bit frightening. The dark-skinned spirit had intimate knowledge of the farm and the forest. Jon had not looked for a way to exorcise the damn thing, for as of the last ten years he had not seemed a threat. However, for the last ten years, there had not been anything worth knowing regarding Jon and the old man.

  Jon looked at the sprite and found him smiling. “Do you have something you wish to ask me, Jon?” it said.

  Jon considered. “The affairs of my home—”

  “Are your affairs and will be left at that.” It made to pat Jon on the shoulder. “You’ve not to fear that they will stay that way.”

  Again, Jon wondered about the spirit’s actual origin. “You know, Jon,” he continued, “I cannot say that I know the future, but things do seem to be moving along rather rapidly suddenly. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Jon sighed. “Are they?”

  The spirit bobbed its head, as though it is trying to imitate a human nod. “Oh, yes. I fear the Arienaethin’s appearance may have brought your enemies closer than ever.”

  Arienaethin? “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll do something rash, and you won’t have someone to annoy?”

  “That is worrisome, yes, but I think I am more worried about the swift cascade of events. Lords dead in their heavenly homes, Ladies are falling from the sky, old enemies arrive at your door, and all the while the forest stirs as wolves circle your homestead.”

  Jon stopped and looked at the spirit. “What do you know?”

  “All that I’ve said. You and I have always had a somewhat one-sided relationship, but I’ve thought of us as friends, and as friends I’ll tell you that I am worried about all this unexpected attention.”

  “Would it help if I told you it was all part of the plan?”

  “Quite the opposite. Gods and men have always had a very violent history.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  The spirit tilted its head to the sky and arched its back in a contemplative gesture. “I suppose one has always been envious of the other. Can’t tell you who is who, however.”

  Jon’s laugh was forced. “So philosophical today. Are you sure you don’t have any other friends?”

  “Squirrels make such poor conversationalists, I’m afraid.”

  Noah waited at the table for Ana to wake. The boy was off, practicing his father’s art as he did every morning, leaving the old man relatively alone. The cup of coffee in front of him had stopped steaming, taking on the warmth of the room, and the wood stove burned politely as it heated a pot of oatmeal. Finally, Ana crept down the stairs, her steps surer than the day before, and wandered into the kitchen. Her head hung low, and her eyes were red rimmed, as though sleep had not come easily, nor stayed long. She took the seat across from him but did not meet his eyes.

  “Would you like something to eat?” the old man asked. She shook her head. She folded her arms on the table in front of her and laid her head down, staring blankly at the far wall. The old man grunted.

  “Your divinity is not gone.” He saw her eyes flicker toward him. “Nor is it leaving. This is an…adjustment period.”

  Ana’s head rose from her arms and she looked at him cautiously. “What does that mean?”

  “Here, the rules are different. Your form is not meant to hold a god’s likeness. It will take time for you to learn how to manage it.”

  She considered. “You can teach me this?”

  He sipped his coffee. “Yes.”

  She perked at that, her hands fell to her lap and her eyes sparked with anticipation. “When can we—”

  “It’s not so simple,” interrupted the old man. “I can teach you, and I agree it must be taught, but should you…express yourself with abandon, then they will surely find you. That would put both me and the boy at risk, and that I cannot allow.”

  She thought a moment before nodding, “Who is Jon?” The old man held a dead stare and did not answer. “Why is he so important to you?”

  Noah did not answer right away. He stood and took his breakfast dishes from the table. “He is important to all of us.”

  She propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward as though to prod him further, but the boy entered through the kitchen door wearing a parka and holding his sheathed sword. Noah watched the boy as he washed his face in the basin. Ana cocked her head, her eyes roaming over the boy’s muscled frame. Near a dozen scars crossed his back and torso before they gave way to a patchwork of tightened skin a shade lighter than the boy’s complexion. Burns.

  The boy dried his face and looked at them both. “Something the matter?”

  The old man continued to clean his bowl and said nothing, but Ana took no such cue. “I was asking who you are.”

  The boy walked to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  Jon shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  Ana leaned into her chair, throwing a questioning glare to the old man. “Let’s start with you
r full name.”

  The boy took his seat next to her. “Here, we go by West.”

  “Jon West? Is that your true name?”

  “No. It’s close enough.”

  “Are you of Natheran lineage?”

  “Could be, I suppose. Heard they all died out.”

  “You wouldn’t have heard that unless you’d been there. The gods themselves made sure.”

  “I hear they’re having some problems, too.”

  Ana grimaced and Noah chuckled. “Are you always this flippant?” she asked.

  “Always,” Noah answered. The boy grinned unrepentantly.

  Ana grunted in frustration. “From where do you hail then, Jon West?”

  Jon’s irritating smile stayed where it was. “West.”

  “As far west as Nathera, perhaps?”

  “Thought that was to the north.”

  She threw up her hands and turned back to the old man. “This is the one you deem so important?”

  The old man dried his bowl and growled. Ana huffed and made for the door. When she was gone, the old man admonished the boy with a glare.

  The boy poured himself a cup of coffee. “What?”

  5

  A Hasty Deception

  The general, now a commander, held to his chest the last letter his wife had written. He knew the words by heart, and though he always kept it close to him, he still could not bear to read the words.

  Dear Ivan…

  He hurriedly put the note back into his pocket, knowing its presence to be a knife in his gut but one that he could not bear to part with. She had died years ago of some wasting disease they could not cure, and despite its slow process it had not prepared him for the inevitable. His son must have felt the same; he had not returned to their home since the day she passed, having now found a life of his own. And just what would she think of me now? Hunting down a woman at the behest of a creature Lamen itself did not want.

  A knock at the door tore him from his thoughts and he looked across the office, forgetting for a moment that he was not at home. He grunted loudly and the door opened to admit Tao Magrin, Captain of the Maddogs advanced infantry. In the days of the war, the general had known them through reputation as the Emperor’s personal hit squad. All rumor, of course. Captain Magrin was not an imposing man but his eyes were hard, and his experience spoke volumes. His character was one of unquestioning loyalty, but the mind of a quiet tactician lurked beneath his gaze.

  “Captain,” Emersin greeted.

  “Commander,” Magrin returned.

  “Your assessment?”

  “Farmers with pitchforks in paper armor. Most of them still drunk from last night.”

  Emersin looked at the clock above the door. Early afternoon. “Do what you must. We will need the manpower.”

  “Have you read the list I provided?” Magrin asked.

  “Yes. As far as new arrivals: the merchants seem unlikely. Most of them are well known, but we should check them first before expanding our search. And if she is hiding in the wilds…well, let’s hope she’s not hiding in the wilds.”

  The captain grew quiet with a knowing smile as he waited at attention.

  “Speak your mind, Captain.”

  Magrin bristled almost imperceptibly. “The source of our information, the ambassador, has been fraternizing with the troops and townsfolk.”

  Emersin waited.

  “I am concerned.”

  Emersin nodded his assent, “Your concern is noted.”

  “He is not natural.”

  “Agreed.”

  The general’s curtness gave the Captain Magrin a visible pause. A silent conversation happened then that ended with the captain nodding and turning quickly to the door. The Ambassador would be under the captain’s careful gaze, and every movement would be reported. The general watched him go, the edge of his finger tapping the letter in his pocket. Emersin stood and looked through the window. The garrison was already showing signs of improvement with the Maddogs efficiently clearing space for their own supplies and training areas. Magrin’s displeasure with the Ambassador, while not allaying any fears, did present a bare glimmer of hope that Ivan was not alone after all.

  Ana heaved what breakfast still lingered in her stomach off the porch, as the sight of skinned rabbits did not agree with her stomach. Jon continued his work with a wry grin. A month had passed; the leaves of autumn that had burned so brightly now fell in heaps. The fields had been harvested, leaving Jon with the grudging admission that Ana had been more helpful than not. The old man had taken the first of their trove down the road and sold most to their neighbors at a discount. Their quiet agreement had been reached years ago, allowing Jon and the old man to remain mostly unnoticed, requiring only a few trips a year into town for the most basic of supplies. At least, that was true of the old man. Jon had seen fit to share drinks and trade tales at the local tavern. The old man did not like the idea garnering attention no matter how small; over time, however, he did acknowledge that such small gestures alleviated some of their mystery, keeping them for curious eyes and out of the circles of town gossip.

  “Perhaps this is one of the chores you can skip out on,” he said to her. Despite her initial grumblings, there was actually very little that she was unwilling to do. The blisters on her hands turned to calluses, and her newly formed muscles began to develop quickly. What time she did not spend with Jon she spent with the old man, sitting quietly staring at each other and Jon assumed she was learning something he could not discern. He thought for sure she’d balk when he suggested that they clean the stalls, or that she should try her hand at kneading bread, but she had done all he had asked with minimal complaint. Until now.

  Skin and blood and bone filled the bucket beside his stool. The remaining meat was plucked from the carcass and put aside in a wooden bowl. Jon wiped his skinning knife on his trousers and walked to where Ana stood. His backside found the front stair of the porch, and he admired her backside as she continued to dry heave. Jon took out his pipe and stuffed it with tobacco, struck a match, and puffed quietly as he waited for her to finish.

  She spat the last of her insides on the ground and sat down on the wooden floor with a heavy sigh.

  “No rabbits in Anu?” Jon asked.

  Ana eyed the boy with irritation. “There are rabbits.”

  “I’m guessing someone else skins them for you?”

  “I do not eat in Anu,” she answered. “Rabbits run wild and free and have no fear of men and their…knives.”

  “Wait till you see what we have to do with the cows.” A had month passed, and yet this was the first she had seen a rabbit’s fate.

  “You only have the one cow,” she protested.

  He grinned wickedly. “There used to be more.”

  Ana shook her head in disgust. “What did the rabbits and the cows ever do to you?”

  “Nothing,” said Jon through his smoke, “but a man has to eat.”

  “Anu forbid that cows and rabbits find a taste for man meat.”

  Jon nodded agreement. “Aye.”

  Ana straightened and stood. She walked over to him and leaned out over the porch’s railing with a sigh.

  “So much space,” she said. Jon nodded minutely. She closed her eyes as a breeze passed, ruffling distant leaves and tall grass. “What do you plan to do with it all?”

  Jon considered a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. “Farm it.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Like I said, man’s got to eat.”

  “Seems a lot for two men.”

  “And a woman.” He flashed a smile.

  She looked at him before stepping away from the railing. “And how long do you plan to keep farming?”

  “Until we are no longer hungry,” Jon responded. “Why do you ask?”

  She descended the stair and walked to the barrel of rainwater, palmed a handful, drank, and spat. She wiped her chin on the edge of her shirt and came to sit next to him. “They’re coming. You m
ust know this, yes?” she asked.

  “I don’t know anything other than what you and the old man have alluded to. If you say they’re coming, then so they are.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” she asked.

  Jon smiled. “No, I’m being honest.”

  “And you’ve no fear of them?”

  Jon puffed his pipe and held out his hands, “What good would come of it?”

  Ana quietly stared across the fields as she pondered his question. He suspected she no longer thought him entirely ignorant. At least, not so much as he gathered she had originally assumed. The old man had clearly prepared for her coming, but Jon didn’t know how far they would go should the worst come to pass. Whatever the worst might be.

  “Do you still plan on leaving?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. She turned to him and grinned. “Trying to get rid of me?”

  He shrugged with a sly smile. “Nah.”

  “Hm.”

  Jon watched her as she subconsciously ran a hand through the fuzz on her head. “Wouldn’t hurt to let that grow out a bit, before you leave,” he remarked.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Nothing. It’s nice, but its short. Your Aden come to the back of your neck.”

  She reflexively put a hand to where he had indicated. She eyed Jon before she sighed and leaned forward placing her elbow on her knees, the heel of her right foot tapping with nervous energy. And maybe a little dehydration. They shared a moment without speaking, looking out to the rolling hills admiring the winds playfulness among the fields.

  “I don’t even know where I would go,” Ana admitted quietly.