The Man In The Wind

by Wise, Sorenna

  “Like you?” He’d meant it as a joke, but Iris chewed the inside of her lip, agitated.

  “No. We’re going to the other building so that you look like a normal person instead of some insufferable nouveau riche.” She couldn’t say why his comment had made her bristle like that; it was obvious that he was only teasing, Her mind dwelled on the woman in the carriage, her string of sea stones, her thick, expensive makeup. The look that woman had given Rai was one of vainglorious pity. Despite her outward display of kindness, Iris loathed her, and she found herself surprisingly insulted to be lumped into the same category. She was silent as they took a sharp left down a wide, plainly painted hallway. A set of glass doors stood at the end, flanked by dual entrances to a large department store. Iris marched her companion straight toward the doors, not even affording the store a perfunctory glance.

  “I was kidding,” Rai said gently.

  She gave him a withering flash of her eyes. “Out,” she said sternly. He decided it would be prudent not to say anything else.

  The sidewalk outside of the mall had been salted, and the ice had turned to a watery slush. It splashed on his boots as he walked, soaking through the cheap material in dark, spreading patches. He had just cleared a puddle when he stepped on something else. The crackle of creasing paper drew his attention. He plucked it carefully from the ground, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. There was something dreadfully familiar upon the dirty sheet. “Hey, Iris.”

  She hadn’t noticed him stop. “What are you doing?” Turning on her heel, she walked back to him. “What is that?” Wordlessly, he turned the soiled poster toward her so she could see the giant photograph of his face. She blanched, just for a second, and then her face became unperturbed.

  “Do you know what this means?” he asked. He kept his intonation perfectly level. The smile that appeared on her lips was uncharacteristically tight.

  “Yeah,” she said. “We need to get you a hat.”

  “Your Majesty.” Steward Tarnslen stood on the threshold of the throne room, his nonplussed gaze directed toward the brittle figure on the throne. “There’s been a sighting.”

  Serberos’ head snapped up so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Hand on his neck, he regarded the steward with an expression that was equal parts dazed and disbelieving. “Already?” he asked. His voice was alarmingly weak.

  “Yes, my lord.” Tarnslen did his best to hide his consternation as he strode down the aisle toward the king’s chair. “He is in Olyn. The girl is with him.”

  Serberos let out his breath. “That’s as far as he went?” It was incomprehensible to him that the boy had been mere miles from the castle all this time, that he had been brazen enough not to flee farther.

  “Yes. What would you like to do?” The ancient sovereign’s gaze wandered from Tarnslen’s face, sliding over the ornate carvings on the walls. He looked distant, unfocused. “Sir?” Tarnslen wondered if the old man’s mind was finally slipping beyond recovery. But suddenly, Serberos’ cloudy irises sharpened.

  “Collect them both,” he declared. The words left him with all their former grave authority restored. “Return them to the castle.” He hesitated, thinking. “Make sure you do not kill her.” A sneer bloomed on his previously addled face. “I want the boy to have the honors.”

  It had been a long time since Steward Tarnslen had last felt the clammy hand of revulsion on his heart, but it arrived with Serberos’ last statement, creeping through his chest like an infection. The king’s spiral down into borderline senility had made Tarnslen forget the boundless capacity of his cruelty. He swallowed and bowed his head in subordination. “As you wish, my liege. I will notify our captains.”

  King Serberos waved him impatiently away. “Go. Do not let them escape.” He kept his eyes trained on his servant’s back as the steward left the room. The fire had rekindled in his aged eye. The boy had made a clever play, but not quite clever enough. Soon, he would be back where he belonged…and he would never see the light of day again.

  Chapter 7

  Neither of them spoke as they moved through the shopping center, but they walked with a renewed sense of purpose, no longer pretending nonchalance. When they entered the store of Iris’ choosing, she did not allow the attendants to help Rai, frightening them off with a well-timed glare. She took his measurements herself with a tape she’d pulled from a pocket of her pack. He submitted without complaint.

  “Are you having fun?” she asked. The question was almost painfully wry. He arched his eyebrows in response. Off to the side, the salesgirls hovered, whispering and shooting timid glances in Iris’ direction. She paid them no mind. “Here,” she said, handing him a lined leather jacket, a t-shirt, a sweater, and a pair of jeans, all in dark, unassuming colors. “What do you think of these?” He sensed that it wasn’t really a question of opinion.

  “They’re fine.” She nodded and headed directly for the group of girls, who scattered like dungeon mice under a bright light. He remained at a distance while the transaction took place. A bag was offered, which she refused, opting instead to turn around and thrust the pile of folded clothing into his arms. Over her shoulder, he saw one of the shop attendants actively grimace. It would have been comical if he didn’t have to worry about being recognized.

  “Go change,” Iris directed under her breath. “Right now. We have to get out of here as soon as possible.” On the way out, she flashed the clerks a brilliant smile. “Have a nice day, ladies.” They waved, utterly flummoxed.

  She was waiting in the convenience store across the hall when Rai came out of the bathroom. His old garments had been inelegantly dumped in the restroom garbage, all except for his boots. She looked him up and down, both impressed and attracted. “That’s much better.” His dark hair was still unkempt, but she had already decided it didn’t need fixing. She just used its messiness as an excuse to run her fingers through under the guise of fixing. “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s weird.” Fussily, she straightened the collar of the coat.

  “Well, you look very handsome. Now, let’s leave, okay? I don’t have a good feeling about that poster.” She had spent the last half an hour turning it over in her mind, wondering how long it had been there, who had placed it, who had seen it in passing. It was intensely troubling. She had no connections in Olyn. There was no place for them to hide. All they could really do was pray that there was still some time.

  But as soon as they got outside again, she knew it was too much to hope for. The air was full of a low, dull drone: the sound of airplanes. Immediately, she scanned the sky. “Do you think those are for us?” Rai didn’t answer. She shot him a quick, half-panicked glance. “Just so you know, I have no contingency for this,” she said.

  He shrugged and grabbed her hand. “I don’t see them yet. Let’s go.” Trotting briskly after him, Iris was surprised by the extent of her own fear. If there was one thing she didn’t like, it was to be caught. And if there was one thing she didn’t want, it was to die.

  She knew she’d be better off not knowing the answer, but she couldn’t suppress the query. “What will he do if he catches us?” Don’t tell me, she thought. I don’t actually want to know; I just had to ask.

  Rai did not slow, but he chose his words carefully. He had to make a choice: risk upsetting her deeply, or lie. He wasn’t eager to do either. At last, he decided that she deserved the truth, no matter how dark it was. She had to know what they were up against. “I suspect,” he said slowly, “that he will want me to kill you myself.”

  It was everything she’d been expecting, and everything she hadn’t wanted to hear. The stark reality of their situation shook her to the bone. This was supposed to be a fun, easy excursion, a simple favor for her father. There was nothing about a necromancer in her plans. I should be home by now, she mused bitterly. Life should be normal.

  She was beginning to see that life might never be normal again.

  The aircraft were circling; she coul
d hear the sound of the motors swelling and dimming in a maddening cycle. Rai’s grip on her hand was firm. She squeezed his fingers. He glanced back at her.

  “There’s nowhere to go,” she told him softly. “They’re going to find us.” He pressed his lips together for an instant, and then he drew closer to her.

  “Are you scared?” he asked. His tone was remarkably temperate, almost tender. She balked, but then she nodded. A tear slipped unbidden from her lower eyelid.

  “I don’t want to die.”

  He brushed the drop away with his thumb, resting his rough palm against the silky skin of her cheek. “Do you remember what I said the first night in the tent? You asked if they would find us.” She squinted, trying to remember. Somehow, the last days seemed an eternity away. “I told you I would protect you,” said Rai. “And I will.”

  “Please don’t kill me,” she said. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment. Her lip trembled, and he rested his finger against it.

  “Listen.” Rai’s voice was urgent and intense. “I want to tell you something.” There was a short, contemplative pause. “I am very fond of you. I think you’re pretty. Thank you for finding me.”

  “God,” she said, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. “Don’t tell me that now. What the hell is wrong with you?” Immediately after the words left her mouth, she regretted them deeply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” A sad smile found its way onto his face.

  “I need to tell you now. While I still can.” She put her hand on his wrist; he could feel her long, delicate fingers against the veins beneath his skin.

  “You know when I said I was scared?” she asked. “I lied. I’m terrified.”

  He held her face in his hands like she was holy, put his lips to her forehead. “It’s time to go.” The tears had returned to her eyes, but she clenched her jaw and nodded. “There’s an empty lot beyond these barricades. That’s where we’ll wait for them.”

  “How many do you think there are?” The trepidation was gone from her, replaced by a profound resignation. “Are we going to face them head on?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “They may be strong, but they aren’t strong like me.” He turned away. “I didn’t want you to have to see this. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t care.” She spoke with such sudden, determined force that it surprised him. “Do what you have to. I’m getting out of here alive.” In the background, the hum of the planes rose to a crescendo. Rai motioned her forward. Together, they climbed over the concrete barriers and ran into the middle of the deserted plot next door. Standing side by side, his hand sought hers again. She took it without meeting his eyes. “Don’t tell me you love me,” she said. “That’s stupid.”

  Rai laughed, at the same moment that the draft from the planes washed over the ground. The pair of fugitives looked up at the same time.

  The airships reminded Iris of insects, particularly the horseflies that used to hang around the stable, biting whenever they got the chance. Instinctively, she rested her free hand on the hilt of the knife at her belt, though she knew it would do no good. Circling like birds of prey, the planes pulled in tighter, until they were so close she thought she could look the pilots in the eyes. She wondered if they could see her trembling.

  But they didn’t open fire, like she was half-expecting. Instead, the landing gear popped open, and they touched down one by one in a neat semi-circle. She counted each one as it ground to a halt. Eight armored air vehicles just for one young man. “I didn’t know you were so popular,” she said to him, speaking out of the side of her mouth. He answered with a modest movement of his shoulders.

  As if in sync, eight cockpits sprung open, and eight fighter pilots vaulted smoothly to the ground. They surrounded Rai and Iris, guns drawn. “Don’t move!” one of them shouted. Rai’s eyes scoured the group until he located the one whose voice they had heard. They stared at each other. “There’s nowhere to run,” the pilot said.

  “No,” Rai answered. “Not for you.”

  Beside him, Iris crumpled to the ground.

  Right away, the captain’s face went slack. “What did you do to her?” he demanded. “What did you—” The sentence was never completed. Calmly, his face inscrutable, Rai raised the hand that had formerly been holding Iris’. The pilot captain made a choked sound. He dropped his gun, clutching madly at his throat. His officers stood around him, reeling. None of them had any idea what to do.

  “Didn’t you read the notice?” Rai said casually. “It says ‘DANGEROUS’ directly underneath the picture. Did you think that was a lie?” With a flick of his wrist, he lifted the man off his feet, allowing him to hang, squirming, in mid-air. He wasn’t sure what made him do that; he was positive it only made the captain’s suffering worse. Every now and then, the brutality which Serberos had worked so hard to engender in him reared its hideous head. Rai tightened his psychic grip. The man’s face had turned from ruddy to pale to a sickening bluish grey. When the sorcerer finally released his grip, the pilot, now a corpse, dropped heavily to the ground. “Who’s next?” Rai asked.

  “You’re one sick puppy, you know that?” Again, the necromancer identified the owner of the voice. This one was young, fresh-faced, impetuous. “Are we trophies to you? You think you’re just gonna march us home in a zombie conga line and hang our asses on the wall?”

  Rai did not think this at all. In fact, he had derived no real pleasure from killing the captain, and he would feel no better about any of the others. But the young airman’s blustery accusations bored him. He was numb to the righteous anger.

  “The real question,” he said quietly, “is why you won’t shoot me if you all have guns.” Simultaneously, with all the synchronization of clockwork, the remaining men dropped their eyes to the weapons they cradled in their hands. “You’ve been instructed to take me alive. Both of us, probably.” He nodded absently to Iris’ prostrate form. “That would explain why your leader was so upset when she fell.”

  In front of him, the group exchanged hasty glances. Not one of them wished to go against the king’s direct orders and risk his wrath, but it was clear to them that the necromancer was not going to surrender peacefully. Enraged by the death of his superior, the young soldier with the loud mouth made the first move. “Screw it,” he said, raising his gun. “If the king kills me, I’ll see this bastard in hell.”

  Rai was looking down the barrel of the gun when it was fired. The bullets struck his chest and shoulder, rocking him back a little—but only a little. That was when he knew for sure that these troops had not been informed of all the details; they simply did not know that death was not an option. Slightly regretfully, he shifted his eyes to the holes the gunshots had torn in the sweater Iris had bought. The young recruit stared too.

  “You’re not bleeding,” he said. His mouth gaped. “Why aren’t you bleeding? What are you?”

  Rai thought about that for a moment. “I’ve been told that I’m a nightmare. Do you want to see why?” The youth was paper white, watching him with wide, wary eyes.

  “What do you want from us?” he asked. His cocksure voice quivered. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I want you to understand,” Rai told him. “I was a child when King Serberos took me prisoner.” The expressions on the soldiers’ faces switched from sick uneasiness to mystification. “I doubt he ever told you how he made an abomination out of me.” Slowly, they all shook their heads. “He killed me. I was thirteen.” He gestured to the burnt gaps in his sweater. “This is why I do not bleed.”

  “You’re…dead.” The cast in the youthful officer’s eyes was a mix of horror and fascination. “And the king killed you.”

  “Then he kept me alone in a tower room for who knows how many years. How do you think he got me to do his bidding? The army of the dead was his conception, not mine. He was the mind, I was the vessel.”

  Another of the squad spoke up. “So you’re a slave,” he said. “That’s what you’re saying.”

  “
That’s correct.” The soldiers looked uncomfortably at each other. “Then…” The second man pointed at Iris. “…where does she come in?”

  “She broke into the castle on the night I left,” said Rai. “She was planning to steal from the royal treasure.” Several of the men whistled. “Instead, she found me and decided to take me with her.”

  “And then you murdered her?” they asked, incredulous.

  Rai sighed. “She’s not dead. I’m protecting her…from me.” He looked at the twisted form of the captain on the asphalt. “Speaking of, would you like your compatriot back? I’ll revive him on one condition.”

  “You can bring people back to life?”

  The utter ignorance of this pack of militants really surprised him. “These powers would be fairly useless if I couldn’t employ both sides,” he explained patiently. He elected not to tell them of any possible side effects, reasoning that a shorter life was a suitable price to pay for spending years in the service of a man like Serberos. “Now, do you want him back or not?”

  “Yes.” The first man spoke with a serious face. “What are your terms?”

  “Go away,” Rai said. “I don’t want to harm you or anyone else. Tell the king I was destroyed. He will not be able to refute you.”

  “That’s all you want?” The soldier seemed genuinely surprised.

  “That’s all I want,” Rai confirmed. “I do not intend to ever show my face in Volikar again.”

  The young man nodded sympathetically. It was a sentiment he could understand.

  “Hey, uh, I’m sorry I shot you,” he said awkwardly. “I just…you know how it is.”

  Rai shook his head. “That’s of no concern to me. Let me keep my end of the deal.” Obligingly, the men stepped back, and Rai raised his hand. A beat passed in silence. Then the commanding pilot gasped.