The Book of Wind:

by E. E. Blackwood

  These ships were of the Alliance’s military forces – the Ministry of Peace. But their protection over the lands and the skies that stretched beyond sight knew not of the Hollow, nor of those who happily lived there.

  The sky-vessels cruised across the Keeton Forest, each carried through the air by tireless horizontal-aimed propellers and great flapping sails attached to vertical masts, as though the cloudless skies were an ocean. Their shadows seeped into the folds of the sycamores, below. The mid-pitched hum faded into the distance.

  And then they were gone.

  ~

  Regina Lepue awoke to the distant drone of Alliance airships outside her bedroom window. Across from where she slept, Regina saw what looked like about a dozen birds migrate south over the high trees beyond the Hollow’s perimeter fences. The young skunk wondered in partial wakefulness if all the skies in the world were purring.

  Summer morning air gusted in through the window, called to her. She could hear the exterior shutters shiver against hooks that held them open to the outside wall. Slowly, Regina crawled out of bed and started to cross the dimness of her bedroom.

  Her footpad slid against something on the floor. A warm gale tousled the fur upon her face and brought her drowsy skunk mind to dull awareness.

  She found her pair of wire spectacles laying to one side of her night table and put them on. Natural blurriness focused into unnatural clarity that revealed a piece of folded parchment that had fallen from her grasp during the night. Regina picked the parchment up off the spotless hardwood and pressed it to her chest.

  …Father’s map…

  Icy warmth bloomed between her lungs. She sighed and took in the fading aroma of lavender and duskroot before slipping the parchment back beneath the safety of her pillow.

  ~

  “Come along, Master Astral, it’s time to wake. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

  Radiant dawn pierced the stuffy darkness of the cluttered study from now open louvers. Regina cleared away the books and scrolls that acted as a surrogate pillow to her mentor, where he slept at one of the research-laden harvest tables. He snorted awake, used a cloak sleeve to shield squinting, bloodstained eyes from the onslaught of wretched morning. “Oh … Oh, bother … let me sleep ‘til then, will you?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Regina. “The vegetables for Mister Pendry and the elixirs for Apothecary Jaenus are all ready.”

  Astral waved her off and pushed his hat brim down over his eyes. “So then if everything is ready, why are you keeping me from further moments of needed rest? Wake me when my tea has steeped.”

  Regina sighed and wandered over to the fireplace to rekindle the dormant flames to boil some water with. “What were you reading of last night?”

  Astral grumbled, turned his face away from her upon folded elbows. “Mm … errf … the moon star, again. Legends…” He let out a healthy yawn, and nestled his cheek into his robe sleeves. “Will you put on some turkey slabs, my dear?”

  “Dwain will simply have to build you a bed. I keep saying it, and you won’t let him, but Master Astral, it’s no wonder your back is so weak with how you sleep slouched over your research.”

  “That has nothing to do with it!” Astral finally pushed himself up by the arms and struggled to hop down from the unpadded stool that had kept him aloft all night. He winced in great pain and decided to remain where he sat, instead. “Old age is but a bane to a mammal’s existence, Regina. Never grow old. Wise, yes! Always strive to better your intellect. But promise an old porcine you will never drink of the cup of elderliness!”

  Regina ignored him and took the kettle over the fireplace outside to draw water from the well. The wind greeted her like an old friend as soon as she stepped out onto the front porch. She took in a deep inhale of the new day.

  From beneath the overhang she watched the distant sycamores beyond the perimeter fences weave in the gale. Some chickadees sang and flitted about the dirt in search of grubs and remnants of mustard seed Regina had scattered the day before. A sudden raven encroached upon the other birds from the stealth of the branches and gobbled up an unearned breakfast of grubs and mustard seeds, while the rightful hunters hastily took flight.

  “Oh, shoo!” Regina raced down the steps with her oversized poncho fluttering at her bare footpads. She tossed a stone at the little thief from the moat of azaleas around the front of the cabin. “Shoo, you nasty thing!”

  The raven hopped out of the aim of the stone, rustled its feathers at Regina, and cawed a corvus hex at her before taking its leave back to the safety of the sycamore branches. Mere moments passed before the rightful birds returned with new and wary consideration for their surroundings.

  Regina’s ears perked to the bray of a freshly awakened Phalanx Andromedon, whose obtuse greetings to the morning sounded as though the very world were crumbling around him. Regina watched the birds for a time until Astral beckoned her back inside, so that he could have his tea.

  While preparing breakfast, she heard the water bucket began to squeal on its aluminum pulley. Regina’s heart swelled. Dwain. She parted the louvers over the kitchen sink and greeted him across the way with elbows folded over the windowsill. “Morning!”

  Dwain looked her way, a little surprised. As soon as he found Regina’s gaze, a warm smile bloomed across his hedgehog lips – a smile that made Regina’s full heart simply melt all down the front of her poncho. She beamed brightly at him.

  Dwain was well into adulthood now – seventeen years old – something Regina couldn’t quite fathom despite her ever-growing, changing, affection for him over the seasons.

  He lived above the barn, which had been constructed for Phalanx’s jubilee three years before to replace the unsightly hooded stall, and had taken the liberty of converting what was meant to be a hay loft into a small apartment. But with independence from Astral and Regina came the begrudged responsibility for the almighty Mule of the Hollow and all his demands.

  “So, Phalanx’s demeanour hasn’t put you at further odds yet today?” Regina asked. “I heard him wailing for his oats earlier.”

  “I’ll answer that once I’ve eaten,” said Dwain. “Woke too early and it’s left me sour. Dreamt me teeth fell out. Never a good sign, yeah.”

  Astral snorted from where he sat amongst his research. “All the times Phalanx has thrown him off, I’m amazed that lad’s got any teeth left in his head!”

  Regina glared at him over her shoulder.

  “He spat in me face this morning,” Dwain’s voice tickled her ears. “I think he’s starting to like me, yeah.”

  Regina looked back out the window. Dwain drew the bucket completely from the well. It bounced to and fro, splashing water all over the stone lip and on his tunic sleeves, already filthy with straw and sawdust. He scooped a paw into the bucket and splashed his face with cold water. She watched him dreamily. “I’ll always like you, toothless, spittle-faced, and all.”

  Dwain looked up at her, slightly taken aback by this. A small smile dared across his sullen expression. He then sucked his lips over his teeth to emulate an empty mouth. “Fanks, wuv.”

  Regina giggled and withdrew back into the kitchen, shutting the louvers, and focused on preparing tea and breakfast for them all.

  She couldn’t help but reflect on how much she and Dwain had grown during their stay with Astral. The past should have been long behind them now, but as Regina worked to repair her heart, Dwain worked to repair the Hollow. She knew that deep within him smouldered a mettle that burned with the constant drive to fight back and reclaim the honour of Altus.

  Five years had passed since that fateful night. The civil war had since come to an end. The Zuut had proven himself the true keeper of the world, and as though overnight, he rose from the ashes of that now known as The Retainer War.

  The influence of Alexia the Sage, whom the Retainers hoped would bring Vida’s continents together against the threat of canine tyranny, vanished without a trace – a coward in the night, as Dwain was
apt to say. Without her leadership, the Retainers imploded under the overwhelming reach of the Zuut’s militant forces.

  It was by the Zuut’s gospel that renewed ideals of tribal peace and unity became absolute law across the Gabriel Sea – taken from the very Aznain teachings desecrated by the Retainers in lieu of bloodshed. The tides of war, as anybody could ascertain, were but a thing of bedside tales.

  But for Dwain, there would be no justice.

  There would be no revenge.

  And without a way to seek the heads of the canines that made them orphans, Dwain had no other choice but to focus his fury into the solitude of maintaining the Hollow – what, to him, would always be a temporary shelter.

  Regina, however, grew to realize their permanency in Astral’s stead, and in time, came to accept the truth: that her mother and father were no longer.

  She cultivated a passion for what her mentor named alchemical healing – the combination of herbs and Mana Energy to create elixirs to enrich Life Energy. She applied what was gleaned from her studies to the meals and medicines she learned to prepare, using ingredients from the vegetable garden.

  However, she often became distracted from her studies to watch Dwain hard at work around the property. When she found herself lost in sight of him, a single line of scripture came to mind: As Mother Azna nurtures these lands and those who inhabit them, it is an alchemical healer who acts as her direct paw in matters of mending the wounds and spirits of those who seek solace.

  But though Regina was determined, and tried to on many occasions, she couldn’t mend Dwain’s wounds. He wouldn’t let her.

  Despite his need for justice, despite his distaste for the Hollow, Dwain never dared to abandon Regina. Their pact for survival – his promise to her of a bond, unbroken – had stayed true all these seasons, and only caused their bond to blossom deeper.

  Regina may not have been able to mend Dwain’s heart of any anguish or restlessness, but she adored him, and his flaws, with all her soul. And she knew, deep down even though he never said it – she knew Dwain felt the same way about her.

  23. The Vidian Civil Alliance

  Altus Village, by sheer proximity, had at one time been Keeto Town’s main source of farming trade. This was due to the fact that most other tribes willing to travel the distance were unable to keep their own wares fresh enough without the unreliable and often damaging aid of packed ice.

  Over the seasons, those who were not governmental conspiracy theorists pondered whether the strength of Altus’s crop trade with Keeto Town was what led to the farming tribe’s demise. Greed and envy seemed the most likely reason, unlike the stories of vandal-hearted canines in which Dwain was often ostracized for spreading as fact.

  However, it was the Hollow that now provided such fresh fruits and vegetables to Keeto’s marketplace – a fact Regina often reflected on during their monthly trek to the high-walled City of Merchants. It was a revelation that sometimes filled her with sombre thoughts.

  Today was no different.

  But as she rode through the busy Keeton streets with Astral and Dwain that morning, it seemed market history and geography no longer seemed to matter.

  “I can’t take these.” Moren Pendry nestled a balled fist into his slender ferret cheek. Before him, three sacks of turnips lay sprawled upon his outdoor market table. “I’m sorry, Ages, but your wares are no good here any longer.”

  “W – w – what do you mean you can’t take – These turnips are of prime condition!” Astral exclaimed. “Picked – just this morning, for Goddess’ sake! Check them yourself! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with these turnips!”

  “I can see that,” said Pendry.

  “Why, all the years I’ve traded my wares for your goods,” Astral continued, “never before have you turned away such exquisite examples of – of – of—”

  “I’ve been telling you for months now, each month we’ve done business, the last six months, about this,” said Pendry. He shrugged heavy shoulders. “I’m unsure why you’re so surprised.”

  “Mister Pendry, no other mammal provides this town such bountiful produce! If I am not to trade my goods with you, then I shall take my business—” Astral stopped and blinked at him. “–Months? Months? What’s this about … Telling me what for months?!”

  Pendry cleared his throat and reached into a box beneath his vendors table. He presented a pawful of small, orb-shaped gems into Astral’s sight. They were of different colors – each which matched a different sized orb.

  “The Civil Alliance calls it Teg,” he said.

  “What are these, then?”

  “New currency. Trading’s no good anymore.”

  “Why? But, these resemble a child’s marbles – simple vase fill!” Astral plucked a red one, about a half inch in size and diameter, out of Pendry’s palm and inspected it between the wedge in his hoof. “Of all cursed things, why are they round?”

  “The small green ones are the least amount at five—”

  “Five what?” Astral asked.

  “Teg,” said Pendry. “Five teg.”

  “So, five green ones equal five teg?”

  “No. One green one equals five teg.”

  “What? Nonsense. But there’s just one of them. Why isn’t it worth one teg?”

  “Because it’s worth five. Now then, blues are worth ten teg. Yellow at twenty, so on and so on. That red one you have there equals fifty, goes up to purple which equate about five-hundred,” said Pendry. “Worth a pretty sight, mind you.”

  Astral let out a snort of indignation, lay the gem on the vendors table and let it roll straight off the edge, where it bounced away into the busy street.

  “I’ll be needing that back, then!” said Pendry with wide, disbelieving eyes. He stuck out an expectant paw.

  “You listen to me!” Astral brandished his cane and struck the bags of turnips with several swift swats, causing a number to roll out and fall behind Pendry’s side of the table. “I am a hard-working mammal, who will not be trifled with the ‘assets’ of a home designer’s adolescent. What – what then am I supposed to do with these?!”

  Pendry was getting angry now. He leaned over the table, pointed out into the street. “You go over to the Alliance outpost – it’s that big building down on Drury Street. You can see it from here! You go over there with your turnips and you trade them in for teg. Then you come back this way and you trade your teg here for whatever you need from me.”

  “But – but – why would I do that?! What’s the point?! I’m right here with my turnips – I can plainly see the rope and the nails and the barley I need from you right across your shoulder. I’m fully prepared and ready to trade with you right here, right now! Why must I deal in the nature of middle-mammals in order to fulfill what should be a simple and mutual transaction between two business operators? Just give me what I need and I shall be on my way!”

  Pendry sighed. “Listen, old boy. I know. I get it. Things have changed since you’ve retired from the merchant’s scene. You’re not the first trader to complain and I certainly empathize with you. But things’ve changed now. The gavel came down back six months, and this new law’s only been in effect a couple weeks, now. Not the way I’d run things, you know me. But that’s how the Civil Alliance wants it, and unfortunately, those of us in business are directly impacted. If we want to make a profit, we got to play by the sway of the market. You know this!”

  Astral grumbled. “All right. Fine. Fine, fine, fine. Whatever you say, Pendry, just don’t go trading my goods on me while I’m gone to convert this – this – this – whatever the blazes it is I’m supposed to barter with you.”

  Pendry leaned across the bags of turnips. “I’ll do you better and keep your usual order on the side. And if you don’t have enough teg to pay for it all, don’t worry about it this time.”

  Astral shook Pendry’s paw with both hoofs. “…Thank you. I appreciate that. You’re an upstanding mammal, Moren.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”
Pendry placed a close sign on his table and exited the booth to go find the piece of teg that rolled far and away out of sight. “Just look at the bright side, you got more turnips to snack on, now.”

  “HAW, indeed!” Astral hobbled back out towards the municipal livery beyond the stretch of the market, where Dwain and Regina cared for Phalanx in wait for their master’s return. He whistled to them and gestured Dwain to help load the sacks of turnips back onto Phalanx’s saddle cart. “We’re done here.”

  “But we don’t have the supplies we need,” Regina noted. “Master—”

  “Don’t even ask. We’re leaving.”

  “Astral, what’s gotten into you?” Dwain asked. Regina climbed back into the cart, blinking at Astral, confused.

  “Bureaucracy is what’s gotten into me!” Astral declared. “Is what’s gotten into this whole damned continent!” He struggled into Phalanx’s cart with snorts and grunts of effort. “…Take it – take it straight to Doblah! Root my hoof right – right up that Zuut’s nose!”

  “It’s all right,” Dwain assured Astral, climbing into the bench seat, beside him. “It’s not a big deal, yeah. Come on. Let’s get to our other errands, yeah, and come back to this, later.”

  With a grumble, Astral snapped Phalanx’s reins – and then they were off, rumbling through the busy street, away from the market. “Extra turnips … Oh, bother. I don’t even like turnips!”

  ~

  “Ah, no new mail – precisely to my liking!” Astral turned away from the clerk behind the post office counter, dusting his hoofs together like a deed well done. He moved out of the way of a curvaceous, large-eared, mouse in line after him, and shambled on slow cane jabs back towards his apprentices.

  Regina, who sat upon a bench near the double door entrance, smiled brightly and rose to a stand to meet him. “Shall we be off then, Master Astral?”