War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  Sleep was a long time coming. The cave was generally uncomfortable; the floor under her was unbending, and the rock that was her pillow left her aching through her neck and shoulders. The cold settled in very quickly, cave walls not being conducive to heat. The shadows of bats above them flickered from perch to perch, irked at the small fire and its smoke. She shivered with her legs drawn against her for what she assumed was hours; it felt even longer when her stomach started to grumble audibly. She snuggled herself into Jon’s back and buried her head between his shoulder blades. The warmth was a substantial improvement. He smelled of the river, native and fresh, and his skin was as damp and cool as her own. He stirred and turned over, taking her head into his chest and wrapping her in his arms. She marveled at the warmth that spread through her chest and knew it to be more than physical. After several moments of breathing him in, listening to the steady thump of his heart, she drifted into dreamless slumber.

  When she awoke, her head lay against his outstretched arm, her face in his chest. She looked up at him to find him still sleeping, except that his breathing was not as deep as it should have been.

  “Are you feigning sleep?” she asked quietly.

  A small grin appeared through his untrimmed beard, though he didn’t open his eyes. “Aye.”

  “Hmm,” she purred. “Trying to get out of work?” He laughed as she pushed him away and sat up. Light came from the cave entrance, and what she could see of the river seemed mildly tempered.

  “Aye,” he said. He lazily pushed himself up and started to pull the last of the logs together with what remained of the tattered cloak. “I would say ‘let’s go fishing,’ but we are not in a good spot. The river is deep where we are. I had to swim out with an arm on the cave entrance just to gather what wood we have here.”

  “How long will it take get to the port?”

  “Not as long as you’d think, but longer than we’re going to like.” He put together the last of the wood. On end it stood taller than a man and nearly as wide. He had fitted the larger pieces on either end, using the strips from her cloak to bind the whole structure end to end.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked. He dragged the raft to the cave entrance.

  “Because this water is cold as fuck.”

  With his help, she put her boots on carefully to cover the wound and limped to the pool. The water was indeed as cold as fuck. The boy slowly pulled the floating craft to her. With a great deal of concentration and balance, and the boy’s hand, she was able to board.

  “Keep your weight in the center for now. This bastard’s likely to tip at the first provocation,” he said. He grasped her wrist and ungracefully rolled onto the raft. She shifted her weight to one side to compensate for his and mimicked his position, rolling onto her stomach next to him.

  “Well,” he looked at her, and smiled at her obvious uncertainty. “Nothing to do but…do it.” They started paddling slowly. Upon exiting the cave, the river swept them away. Her breath was taken, not by the speed, but by the river’s unpredictability. They bounced and weaved through ragged waves. Jon used his hands and feet to push away from rocks and steer them toward the middle of the current. She, on the other hand, wedged the fingers of both her hands in between the tied timbers and gripped them tightly. Their speed increased as they rounded a bend, their course taking a downward trek. The gorge walls to either side prevented the idea of rest.

  The water ran over the wood with abandon, soaking everything that was not her back. They crested a ridge and landed in a splash that nearly took them under. She spit out what had gotten past her tightly clenched teeth.

  “This. Is. Not. Fun,” she grated.

  “I must admit,” responded the boy, “I’ve shown girls better times.”

  Her eyes darted to him—she dared not move her neck for fear of the slightest movement—as she felt a pang of jealousy. “What. Girls?”

  “Not important. Lean right!” She leaned into him as he paddled enthusiastically to move away from the rock on their left. The left side of their craft rose out of the water before it scrapped hard against the sharp surface, causing them to rock violently when the raft came crashing back down. With his body, the boy shoved her back center and the rocking stopped. He put a hand over hers.

  “See? Nothing to worry abo—”

  The raft broke apart beneath them and the boy went under immediately. Ana clung desperately to the half of raft that had not broken, praying to Hope that it would hold together as it spun about in the current uncontrollably. She looked behind her trying to find any sign of the boy’s head breaking the surface.

  “Jon!” she shouted. “JON!”

  The old man set the tea to boil then walked slowly to his chair by the fire. His knees were starting to ache during the day as well as the night and groaned like rusty hinges. His back relaxed gratefully as he settled into the worn cushions. The pipe still smoked next to his chair, filling the room with the smell of his tobacco. He coughed before he put the stem to his lips. Getting old, he thought. He found the silence as disturbing as the boy’s incessant jokes.

  A knock at the door interrupted his reverie. He groaned, put the pipe to his mouth and went to open it. The Wolf greeted him.

  “It’s the Hunt,” he said without preamble.

  The old man kept still, and took the pipe from his mouth, “Shit.”

  Jon had neither much hair nor a shirt, so Ana put both hands around his jaw and pulled. Her fingernails dug into the sides of his neck and forced his eyes open.

  “Jon! Wake up!” Her voice rang his eardrums, and if he’d had enough breath he would have informed her that his hearing was just fine. The water was just as cold as previously advertised. He could not be sure, but he felt that he had been under longer than was healthy. His body was leaden, but he got a hand up to Ana’s half of the raft and managed to hold. She released his head, to great relief, and hauled him aboard.

  “Come on you heavy bastard!” she grunted.

  Should I take that as an insult? He had always thought himself rather fit, and to have a pretty girl chastise him for it felt deprecating. He would, of course, discuss this with her further once he figured out why he could not get warm. She was pretty though. Her eyes seemed to light up whenever she looked at him. Nice smile too…and breasts…and ass. He supposed he could forgive her this one grievance. She looked warm, possibly because she was so flustered. Her lips looked warm, too… gods, he was cold.

  Together, they managed to get his torso out of the water, the girl yelling at him all the way. “Jon, we’re in trouble!” Always so fiery, this one. Always yelling. At me, the old man, Irving, the plow, the stove. That vein in her head is going to burst if she’s not careful. He did not know why she was so upset; he was halfway out of the water, and the river did seem much calmer. He supposed the next question was…where did the river go? Oh, it’s a waterfall. Which made sense, he supposed. Rivers in gorges only got out of gorges by falling out.

  “Oh, this is a tall one.” He had not meant to say it out loud.

  “What?! What’s tall?” She was yelling again. Still pretty though. Her hair was coming in nicely, like a burnt gold or…burnt corn? His head hit the raft when she slapped him.

  “JON! What’s tall?”

  “The waterfall,” he said. Hey, that rhymed, he thought. His face hurt.

  The raft went over the ledge and dumped its contents into the spray. He lost sight of Ana as they fell, but gained a wonderful view of the valley, albeit upside down, and his stomach fled into his lungs. The sun in his eyes told him that it was nearly midday. Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, he thought. Sun on my face, I’m cooled off from a swim, the winds in my ears, and I’m hand in hand with a pretty girl…or…I was until I lost her.

  Arms wrapped around him as Ana tackled him. They flew out of the spray and their descent slowed as they made a fast spiral to the pool far below them.

  “Hold on!” Ana shouted. It sounded like a fine idea considering he was not currently h
olding onto anything. He tried to wrap his arms around her, however with the angle and the gravity, and the dark edges to his vision, he was barely able to find her waist before he slipped from her entirely. He plummeted quickly through the open air, the roar of the wind dwarfing that of the waterfall. The pool rushed to him and he hit the water shoulder first. There was great wrenching where his arm met chest before his vision went black.

  Godsdammit, he’s heavy. Since she hadn’t had a chance for him to teach her to swim yet, she had to get creative. She used the wind to propel her upward and then into a dive in hopes she could get to him before he sank too deep. Her velocity suffered greatly when she hit the water, but she was able to wrap an arm through his shoulders. She kicked and flailed her way to the surface and spent the next several moments urging the wind to push them to shore. She lent a silent “thank you” to the old man for teaching her a better grasp of her abilities, but noted that she needed more practice. When she reached the muddied bank, she pulled the boy behind her and lay down next to him. His eyes were closed and his breathing, like hers, was ragged. At least he was breathing. The mountain water left her freezing and her muscles drained, but the sun was doing wonders to her skin. They would need shelter…and a fire. Her stomach reminded her of another issue, though that one she could ignore for the time being.

  She forced herself up onto her elbows and cast an eye down the riverbank. Past the pool and blurred in the distance were the makings of a wooden structure extending into the water—the dock the boy had mentioned. She sighed and lay back down. She looked to the man next to her. Gods bless the look of his muscles; however, the idea of hauling that hulk to the distant port made her think that perhaps it would be better if Hunt just found them and got it over with. Almost. She gathered her weary legs under her and took his arm in her hands. A few pulls convinced her that it would not work. The mud was too thick, the boy too big, and she not big enough. She dropped his arm and sat, overlooking the lazy water.

  Does he float? asked the Wind.

  Not well, she replied. But then, he doesn’t have to, she thought. The water near the bank was shallow enough for her to stand and deep enough where Jon could float on his back, were he so inclined. If she held him by his shoulders, she could pull him to the port with the current’s gentle push. She felt so excited at her discovery that she took the Jon’s feet and jerked him back into the water, which flowed quickly over his face and nose. A few moments’ struggle and she had him breathing air again, with some muttered apologies. She put his back to her stomach and her arms under his pits.

  Now we’re getting somewhere. They began their slow trudge to the port. The boy’s weight was less of an issue in the water, and the current worked well as a guide downstream. The sun had moved considerably when they reached the dock, and the building attached to it, the trading post, appeared dark and abandoned. She hollered for help as she began the wearying process of bringing the boy to shore.

  She lay the boy on the wooden planks near the structure and grasped the handrail to catch her breath. She was glad to find him still alive, though he had gone slightly pale. The water, she figured, was the most likely culprit and she prayed it was not something more sinister. The door to the building was open and full of webs, looking unused for quite some time. Dust and dirt carpeted the wood. Vines and green leafy things that had not yet fallen to autumn’s spell fell through the windows and roof, allowing the sun to light the inside. Bags of rotted grain and goods were stacked against the back wall far beyond usage. An age worth of soot and silt caked the fireplace, and the clerks’ counter had long since collapsed in on itself.

  She heaved the boy in and dragged him to a corner that looked dryer than the rest, then collapsed next to him. Gods, what a day. This would be the last time she suggested they spend some time in the wilderness. What I wouldn’t do for a warm bed and some bread. She looked at Jon to remark as such, but the sight of him stilled her. There was a spot on his head she had not noticed before. Blood caked the side of his scalp, and small red rivulets ran past his ear. She stared a moment longer before she hurriedly began looking for something to staunch the bleeding.

  Shit, she said in High Speech. Finding nothing worthwhile, she took off her pants, leaving her in a shirt and men’s undergarments, and pressed them to the boy’s head.

  What is it? asked the Wind.

  He’s bleeding. I don’t know for how long.

  Hm, humans need that.

  She rolled her eyes, Yes, thank you.

  He grimaced. Good, she thought, there is that at least. Ana kept pressure on his head until she felt she would fall from exhaustion. Cautiously she removed the assumed bandage and examined the wound. The bleeding had stopped. She touched the area probingly, and was alarmed to find his skin was cold, colder than it should have been. Again, she looked around the store for something to cover him, something to start a fire, anything that might be of use. Desperation suddenly filled her heart and flooded her lungs and she wanted to cry. This world and its beauty, all a canvas for grave threats that should give anyone cause to tread with feathered shoes. Fucking rivers and their fucking rocks! Fucking hunters and their fucking bows on this thrice damned world.

  “Fuck!” she cried.

  She looked to the ceiling as if she were going to plead to the gods for relief when she eyed the broken roof. With it she received a swift inspiration. She grabbed the boy and dragged him to the where the sun spilled to the ground. She had another thought and took her shirt off, lay next to him bare chested, and hugged him tightly. She used her shirt as a cover, hoping that time and light would dry it efficiently.

  “Jon,” she said softly, “Please wake up.”

  She held him until her breathing slowed and the sunlight waned from its spot on the floor. The light of her Aden softly glowed where she held him, and she felt some power leave her. She fell asleep just as some color returned to his cheeks.

  11

  Love and Arrows

  Jon awoke with a headache, though to call it so would be to give the pain a disservice. He felt as though someone had mistaken his scalp for a log and decided to split it. His vision cleared after several moments of blinking. The sun was long gone, and the silver light of the moon gave just enough to see through the dark. Wherever he was, he did not recall anything of how they got there, though it seemed they must have crawled through a field of razors to accomplish such. He groaned as the cuts on his back quickly made their presence felt. Ana shifted next to him in her sleep, and the top of her head rubbed his chin.

  Her man-sized shirt covered the two of them, which, he realized, meant she was not wearing it. Were his head less muddled, his thoughts would have turned elsewhere—and indeed parts of him acknowledged the woman pressed against his skin—but for the moment he found it hard to think at all. He tore his eyes away from her, looked to the hole in the ceiling of their little shelter, and pondered at the possibility of rain. He hoped it would not; he had had enough of water, even though he found himself profoundly thirsty. Brandy would do, but that was a far cry in their current predicament. He longed to sit up and get his bruised muscles off the ground, but he could not bring himself to wake the sleeping woman.

  His thoughts began the gradual process of resurfacing, and he closed his eyes to the pain they brought. The cave, the raft, the river. He had fallen at some point, then fallen again in grander fashion. He could not remember anything after that. He admitted to himself he had forgotten there was a waterfall there, but to be fair, he and the old man had never traveled that way before. It would seem Ana had found the trading post, after all. She must have found some sled dogs or something to get him here…which must be how she found the aforementioned field of razors. Why would you use sled dogs in a place with no snow? He grunted again and attempted to shift slightly to even out the pressure on his backside. He accomplished little.

  He looked to see if he had disturbed the woman and found her looking back at him. Blue eyes, the color of a clear day, sighed with r
elief upon seeing him awake. He felt his heart beat a little faster, and all previously ignored thoughts came rushing back, causing blood to rush in places that would soon be noticeable.

  “So,” he said quietly, “you found the dock?”

  She smiled and rested her head back on his shoulder. “Yes, I found the dock.”

  “And…the giant who beat me. You kill him, or did he get away?”

  Her gaze did not leave his. “Sorry, he seems to have escaped me. It’s good to see you awake.” She was closer than she had been. He could see every line of her lips, and every darkened freckle of her eye.

  “It’s…very good to be awake.” He glanced downward. “It behooves my manhood to ask, but…why are you naked?”

  “You were cold,” she said.

  “Ah, yes I seem to remember something about that now.” She was even closer now. He took her chin in his hand and raised her face gently to his lips. Soft and full and slightly salty, as though she had been crying. She leaned into him.

  He released their embrace slowly and put his head to hers. “Thank you. I owe you my life.” Her eyes danced across his face before she pulled him to her. She kissed him passionately, her tongue slipping past his teeth. Within moments she was astride him, and his hands were on her waist. Smooth and soft, she moved against him, her breath quickening, her hips moving pleasantly. His hands moved to the small of her back and pulled her closer. Her heart beat at his chest, and when she pulled away to gaze upon him, he felt a surge of strength. He braced with one arm, gathered her in the other, and rolled. She hit the floorboards with a gasp. The surprise in her eyes lasted mere seconds before they sparked approval. She opened her legs to him, wrapping his outer thighs.