The Book of Wind:

by E. E. Blackwood

  “Dwain…! Mister Ages! Dwain!!”

  But no one answered.

  Regina sat there amidst the pile of linens, frozen in place with her gaze locked past a wide-open bedroom door that gave view into the centre of the kitchen, but her eyes refused to focus on anything past the foot of the bed.

  Where are they? Did – did the canines come, and—?

  Regina stifled a cry of horror and immediately threw the covers away from her. She dropped to the floorboards with a dense thud and rushed out into an empty kitchen. The table was bare, its seats tucked neatly into place. Atop the kitchen counter, a lone tin cup rested by the sink, with a teabag string matted and tangled round the handle. Little puffs of steam rose from the rim, barely noticeable except for the catch of the sunlight past the window directly above the sink.

  Regina spun around, threw herself into the study, and was greeted only by a mess of musty-smelling books and harvest tables home to shrines of pillar candles, a darkened fireplace, and the sounds of summer through the other open window.

  She rushed back into the kitchen, took one of the table chairs, and skidded it across the hardwood floor until its unpadded backrest bumped against the edge of the countertop. She scurried up onto the chair and threw a searching glare out the window, scanning the Hollow’s property for Dwain and Mister Ages, for anybody. A muffled donkey bray brought her attention to the hooded stall, peeking out the edge of the windowpane. Regina crawled across the counter, nearly knocking over the teacup, and pushed her nose and paw pads against the glass to see if she could get a better look.

  Phalanx was there making a racket, neck stretched past the bars of the stall door, swaying back and forth in a grand address to whatever wildlife scuttled or flitted by.

  “Oh, give it a rest, old boy.” Regina’s ears perked just as Astral shuffled into view from around the corner of the stall with a gardening hoe in tow and the hem of his dark blue robes splattered with mud. He stopped before the mule and gently patted him on the nose. “We’ll stretch our legs soon enough.”

  Regina pushed away from the window, nearly toppled to the floor as she leapt off the chair. In a mad dash through the study, she threw herself out the cabin door, causing a crowd of chickadees to explode into the air from their feast of mustard seeds at the dirt path adjacent the porch.

  “Mister Ages! Mister Ages!”

  Astral turned in Regina’s direction as she bounded along the dirt road towards the hooded stall. He set the garden hoe against a lone barrel and caught her in both arms before she could topple them both to the dirt.

  “Oof! Child, what’s the matter? You look as though you’ve seen the dead!”

  “Dwain! He’s—”

  “He’s fine, my dear. Oh, haha. Poor thing, sorry to have frightened you so.” Astral brushed back her matted headfur, smiling into her gaze. “You were up most of the night, didn’t feel right to wake you just yet – oh, did you see? There’s a ginger tea steeping in the kitchen for you.”

  “Reggie!”

  Regina’s heart thumped against her ribcage. She looked back at the cabin as the touch of Astral’s hooves slid away from her body. Her eyes widened.

  And there he was, whole and alive, safe and sound, hobbling on a single crutch towards her from the edge of the cabin. Dwain Spikeclaw broke out into a grin brighter than the golden sun that hung above the Hollow.

  “Dwain!” Regina gasped. She bounded across the property as he stabbed the crutches into the soft ground in attempts to hasten his broken pace. When they were near enough, she threw herself at him with arms wide open. “Dwaaaain!!”

  “Whoa, careful then!” Dwain braced himself in time to catch Regina before she knocked them both to the grass. She didn’t care if they had. She didn’t care that Astral was now shouting at her, a distant voice on the wind. She didn’t care that they were safe and sound in the Hollow, nor that her long-lost friend looked little more banged up than before, thanks to the bandages around his head, and the sling that secured his injured arm to his chest.

  None of it mattered.

  He was here. He was alive. He was in her arms, and the only thing that mattered in the world right in that moment was that the horror of Altus hadn’t separated them, after all. They were together again at last.

  ~

  “Mister Ages, then, so that’s his name,” Dwain said with cheeks stuffed with stew and bread. “He knows our plight, then! Tell me, yeah, that he helped others to escape!”

  Regina sighed. She didn’t know, and frankly didn’t care. But the way Astral had stared into her eyes and saw all that she had experienced, felt all that she endured, understood the gravity of the burning Harvest.

  She shuddered and looked away into her stew bowl. Carrots swam amidst bergs of cubed poultry. A hardy breakfast for sure, but any hunger that had clawed her stomach to ribbons was but an empty sickness now. She pushed the bowl away and gazed over into the study, where Astral was entrenched in a fortress made of thick leather textbooks at the farthest of the two harvest tables. Nearby candlelight illuminated his sweaty porcine face as he pored over some research.

  “Why did you go away?” Regina asked.

  Dwain caught her eye, slowed his chewing. He took his time to sit upright, though processing the question like it were something in an ancient language.

  “I woke up – and you – you weren’t there,” said Regina. She fought to keep brimming tears away. “And I was so scared that you had gotten lost or eaten, or – or – or…”

  A sober expression stiffened Dwain’s face.

  “Listen,” he said. “I didn’t mean t’ leave ye there for very long. I—”

  “I thought you were dead!” Regina cried out at him.

  Dwain put down his spoon and averted his gaze from her. “…Don’t be like that. I ain’t dead, and I ain’t about to leave ye lost and alone. Listen, I found the old field boar o’r there, and he saved ye, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Don’t go blamin’ me for droppin’s I ain’t done no harm about. Now eat up.”

  Regina fell quiet, folded her arms over the table, and sighed.

  “Reggie, please – eat up,” Dwain said, more gently. He used a half dinner roll to sop up broth from his bowl. “We’re gonna need our strength if’n we’re to make it all the way to Keeto Town tomorrow. Please! Do it fer me, ‘fore ye fall comatose.”

  “He’s right, my dear.” Astral’s shadow appeared against the flicker of the fireplace. “Your Life and Mana pools must replenish – only rest and nutrition will allow for that.”

  Regina ignored these words, not familiar with any pools of water or life or whatever it was Astral had mentioned. She peered into her bowl of stew. A sad, rippling, reflection of a war-torn skunk orphan sighed in unison with her.

  Astral sat down at the table and regarded Dwain. He withdrew his pipe from within his robes and readied some duskroot into it. “When I discovered you, you were left for dead beneath a huckleberry bush to the side of the road – a long ways from the culvert where you hid Regina. When she awoke after your trek through the ruins of Altus, you weren’t there to protect her, as your pact would have suggested.”

  This got Dwain’s attention. He produced a vicious sneer. “Why am I on trial, then, yeah? Bash me head on some rocks and as soon as I wake I’m bein’ prodded at both ends by flamin’ skewers!”

  “No one at this table is judging you,” said Astral. “You need not explain your motives to me – I know already and understand. However, Regina’s inquiry of your disappearance is justified. I believe she deserves the truth.”

  Regina lifted her chin, gazed at Dwain with a forlorn expression. Please just be honest.

  Faint alarm flashed across his face. “Well – Thought it best when I woke to scout ahead and see if’n I couldn’t find where that road went to. Forage some, since Goddess knew the last time we had eaten, yeah, and we’d need all the strength Azna willin’ to make it to Keeto Town.” He let a smirk flash. “What I tell ye though, Reggie? Follow the wind and she
will guide ye to where ye need to get. Ma ain’t no goof, she weren’t.”

  Regina shrugged, settled her chin back into the crooks of her elbows, and said no more of the incident.

  Astral stared at Dwain with a disbelieving frown that suggested there most definitely was more to the story. But he too said nothing else that could pry free an honest answer.

  Dwain seemed to sense this, and changed the subject to matters of greater importance, shovelling spoonfuls of broth and poultry down his gullet. “In any case, Mister Ages, I take it we’ll be settin’ out for Keeto Town by afternoon, no doubt.”

  “Perhaps. I haven’t yet decided.”

  Regina lifted her head completely at this, confused.

  Dwain slowed his feast and stared at the old swine with a raised brow, also befuddled by the vagueness of Astral’s answer. “What do you mean you haven’t yet decided?” he asked, enunciating each word slowly.

  Astral squinted at him between puffs off his pipe. “I mean I haven’t yet decided.”

  “We got family waitin’ for us there, yeah!”

  “Do you know this for sure, lad?”

  “O’course I’s sure!” said Dwain in disbelief. “A good lot of us were wise to heed the words of Alexia the Sage! Half of Altus is grouped at Keeto Town right now I muster – with her wise preachin’ to rally the reclamation of our crops and destruction of our enemies!”

  Astral tilted his head to one side. “Alexia the who, lad?”

  Regina looked up at Astral, stunned. “A-Alexia the Sage,” she said, and glanced Dwain’s way in time to see her new friend scoop his jaw up from out of his bowl of stew.

  Astral frowned. “Say the name a thousand times, lass, and I still won’t know who it damn well belongs to.”

  “But—everybody knows who Alexia the Sage is,” Regina stated, firmly.

  “Greatest warrior there ever lived, yeah?” Dwain eyed him with a furrowed brow.

  Astral snorted. “Greater than Maximus Oridonté, the legendary wolf-slayer of the Gragon Isles? That story should be familiar to you, if not anything else.” When Regina and Dwain exchanged confused glances, he let out a deep sigh and waved them both off. “Oh, bother. All right. All right, then. Tell me who this Alexia the Sage is. Enlighten an old hog, then, won’t you?”

  7. Alexia the Sage

  Dwain eagerly leapt to the occasion: “Nobody knows where exactly she comes from. Some say she came from the forgotten Nasaite islands. Others say she is an inca—inca—incar-nar-ration—yeah—of the Goddess, Mother Azna, herself!”

  “Ooh. Impressive,” Astral muttered patiently.

  “It’s true!” Regina piped in.

  “Shht, Reggie, I’mma tellin’ it!” Dwain waved her off excitedly, now leaning over a quickly forgotten meal “–As I was saying, then – ah – Alexia the Sage came to these lands, declarin’ freedom for all, from He Who Walks With Dogs – as Da’ liked to call him. Alexia the Sage will come and lead us all to the Mountains in the South – and there, she will wash truth and justice across all of Vidian soil with the blood of our canine enemies, and the vile wheda who anchor with ‘em.”

  “I’m – I’m sorry, Dwain, my boy. I’m terribly confused.” Astral shook his head. “Who, pray tell, is this dog-walking fellow? You don’t mean—”

  “The Zuut,” Dwain scowled.

  “The Zuut?” Astral blinked. “Why, but, the Zuut governs Vida’s New World Order. He means us no harm. All he has ever proclaimed is peace and unification all mammalkind.”

  Darkness clouded Dwain’s eyes like a hatred no child should have ever known. The look even sent a chill down Regina’s spine, though in her soul, his words were true: “No great leader lets canines walk beside him, and the Zuut took ‘em all in like they were his own.”

  Astral balked at this. “Lad, unification of all mammalkind means just that. The Zuut pardoned all canines from their exile in the Zeephite Icelands, but the canines alive today are not the canines who ruled us centuries ago.”

  “You don’t know this.”

  “What are you – what? What?! Oh, bother! Seventy-one years old, I know more than you! The canines who attacked Altus Village are a rotten minority – be they bandits, or be them hired killers! But anyone who thinks no wheda is capable of evil hasn’t gone outside their home much!”

  Astral paused to take a deep breath before the anger in his tone could claw further up his throat. He took a long puff off his duskroot pipe, exhaled thick-smelling smoke, like his big wet nostrils were pluming chimney stacks, into the air above the kitchen table. A sheen of calmness drew over him, and he continued.

  “Most canines these days desire nothing but to be left alone, to peacefully reintegrate wherever world will allow them. So long as war persists, no canines live in Galhiest. No one in our province would accept their presence.”

  “You’re wrong, Mister Ages,” Dwain said. “It was canines that caused Altus to burn. The world is corrupt and must be purified. Goddess in my heart sings it true. Alexia the Sage swore to bring us freedom from such a tyranny. You’re wrong. Genocide is what they want. Control is what they desire. To rule again, that’s all any of them ever dreams of. To say otherwise must mean you a canine collaborator.”

  At this, Astral burst out laughing. “Dwain Spikeclaw, do you even hear yourself?! These are not the words of a twelve-year-old boy! Nonsense! Fear-laden nonsense! All of it! We are in the midst of a true civil war over such a debate, and you, a mere child, accuse me of something so preposterous!” He look at Regina, baffled. “Were you raised to know such hateful things, as well?”

  Regina stroked the fur of her tail to still the trembles of sorrow in her heart. She looked up into Astral’s eyes and nodded.

  “By the Goddess!” Astral exclaimed. “Madness! Racial madness, for the sake of needless bloodshed! Who taught you both such terrible things?! There is no difference between canine and wheda! We are all mammals! All of us! As far as I can tell, your sage Alexia is a simple legend bred from ignorance and fear for change, and nothing more. Wartime propaganda, at best!”

  “Alexia is a great leader!” Dwain blared at him. “She is a true hero for all that is right and just in these lands! She’ll come to our aide against those canine mongrels who sought our devastation! Anyone who steps in her way will die a traitor to all whedakind!”

  “Stop this!” Astral begged him. “Listen to reason! Is there any proof she actually exists outside of what’s been passed down among your poor little village? Have you actually met the mammal, lad? Either of you?”

  Regina looked to Dwain. He met her eyes, chewing on his tongue. They returned their gazes back to Astral, and in unison, shook their heads no.

  “Well then, there we have it,” Astral said with a shrug. “Your Alexia the Sage is but war-time propaganda, and the Zuut is flesh and blood. The Vidian Civil Alliance means to keep these lands safe and free; but in a way you both are right: if any mammal is to rule over any mammal, then as the Zuut’s own laws decree, it is a mammal’s duty to rule over their own existence. That is all. That’s all there ever is, and will be. Take hope in that, I suppose.”

  Dwain started to protest. “But my Da’ said Alexia—”

  “Oh, come now. Really.” Astral snorted indifference; pungent smoke plumed out his large wet nostrils again. “I’m too old for fairy tales. And quite frankly, so are you.”

  Dwain erupted from the table in a volcanic rage. Little black eyes shone with flames of absolute hatred against the gleam of kitchen table candlelight. Balled fists clenched, flexed spastically, as though they debated telepathically which would strike Astral first – even if one of them needed to break free from a particular sling.

  “Oh, bother, sit down.” Astral said with a sigh. “Hate me all you’d like for saying it, but I’d never lie to you, nor would I ever have reason to. A hermit in the woods bears no threat to any greater order of the world. ”

  “Take it back,” said Dwain.

  “Take back what? The truth?
Sit down, and eat your stew.”

  “Take it back first, you guffin’ boar.”

  Astral paused, blinked. A wry smirk formed beneath his snout. He took another long puff off his pipe and asked, “Do you wish to strike me – in front of the girl? Is that what you’ve been taught to do? Is that how your people faced true diversity of thought and worldly differences from you? Freedom of expression?”

  Dwain shifted on his heels, scowling.

  “Are you going to strike me, or not?” Astral pressed him.

  “…Maybe.”

  “And … what resolution would that bring, Dwain Spikeclaw?”

  “It would make me feel better.”

  Astral considered this for a time. “Would it? And would that help your cause to reach Keeto Town? Remember now, you both are strangers to these woods. If you wish to be forever lost and exposed to danger, go ahead and do what your wild emotions command.” He pointed to his glistening snout. “Go ahead, boy. Make an old hog, just trying to help, bleed.”

  “Dwain…” Regina’s wavering voice took his attention off of Astral for just a moment. The Spikeclaws were not a family known for peaceful resolutions. All three boys – and even Dwain’s sister, the youngest of the lot – were infamous for street-wide brawls with other kits. Even Mrs. Spikeclaw scrapped, having once thrown an overtly flirtatious minstrel from Hewittstown through a shuttered window – from inside the general store. Regina shook her head no at him, staving off the threat of fresh tears that bubbled behind her eyes. “Please…”

  The violence in Dwain’s eyes cooled, but an ever present snarl bloomed across his lips. He slowly lowered himself back into his seat. “You can’t hold us prisoner here.”

  “I don’t plan to,” said Astral, astounded. “Goodness, not all the world is out to get you, Dwain Spikeclaw. Now, eat up. Not much will break you completely if you decide to leave my Hollow so soon.”

  The trio fell into silence for a little while, their minds heavy with deep, burning, reflection. Regina gazed sadly into her bowl as she listened to the clink of Dwain’s spoon while he ate. The broth’s steam in her nose was rich with black peppercorn, oregano, and cooked vegetables. Her sad reflection rippled back into view amidst a swath of colliding carrots and poultry chunks. But nourishment was the last thing her body craved.