The Book of Wind:

by E. E. Blackwood

  After breakfast, Dwain took her to the barn, where he showed Regina how prepare Phalanx. Together, they fitted the old mule with a new set of hoof shoes, a jewelled bridle, and an ivory saddle-cloak that would protect his withering body during the long trek to Warminister and back. Astral gauged the journey would take just over a week, and insisted that his mule undertake the most necessary of pampering.

  Amidst Astral’s treasure trove of capes, scarves, cloaks, and ponchos, Dwain found a hood of thick indigo-coloured cotton with a silver clasp in the shape of an aspen leaf. It was a perfect fit. He packed only the base necessities and left behind the walking stick that helped him and Regina escape the blood hills – a token of their unbreakable bond.

  ~

  “It feels so strange now that the hour has come.” Dwain gripped Phalanx’s bridle, turned a look at Astral and Regina, where the four of them stood just outside of the cabin under the orange glow of early dawn. “A strong urge almost begs me t’ reconsider, yeah.”

  “Fear,” said Astral. “Fear, in its final throes of defeat, will often wield its deadliest of emotional weapons against us.”

  “I do fear,” Dwain admitted.

  “Fear not for us, if that’s where the arrow flints fly from.” Astral adjusted his crooked hat against the harsh gale that beat into the Hollow. “The decision is made – do not sacrifice your own destiny for the sake of any who would hold you back. To do so is suicide.”

  Dwain offered a grave nod, but said nothing. He found Regina’s eyes. She stared at him with great worry. Her lips parted to speak, but no words left her tongue.

  Please, don’t go. Please, do not abandon us…

  Dwain stroked Phalanx’s mane, drew across the edge of the dirt road to meet Regina. He caressed her jaw; she nuzzled her cheek against his palm.

  “This ain’t the last we’ll see o’ each other,” he promised her. “I’ll return whenever I can, yeah.”

  “Will you write?” Regina asked.

  Dwain smiled. “But o’course I’ll write. O’course I will, Reggie.”

  “Will you write us tonight? I want to know all about your travels and what you come to know and see!”

  Dwain chuckled. “I will. Tonight. Every night.”

  Regina smiled back at him. She touched her paw against his. Then, with a gentle squeeze of his digits, she let him go.

  Dwain faced Astral to shake paws with him.

  “Oh be gone, already.” Astral sniffed with indifference. He let out a shrill yelp when Dwain suddenly embraced him round the middle with great affection.

  “Ye’ve taught me so much, and so well,” Dwain whispered in his ear. “Thanks for all ye’ve done for us. It is a debt I can never repay, yeah.”

  At this, Astral snorted with humble laughter and slid his stubby porcine arms around Dwain’s body the best he could. He patted him with firm affirmation. “My lad, there is nothing to repay. This bank handed out its final loans eons ago...”

  Dwain parted from him, smirking. “Don’t say such lies. Ye’ve got many years of fight left in yer bones.”

  “My mind, maybe, but my bones beg to differ.”

  Without another word, Dwain turned away from them and mounted Phalanx’s saddle. He pulled his hood overhead, and took up his steed’s reins in both paws.

  “Be well, my family,” he said.

  “Be well, Dwain,” said Regina. Astral offered him a solitary wave goodbye.

  The new smile that broke across Dwain’s lips was weak, uncertain. But he wore it bravely, and with a nudge of Phalanx’s stirrups, said, “Until we dine together again.”

  Phalanx started down the path towards the gate into the forest, already open for their departure. Dwain dared not to look back at those he left behind. Instead, he rode tall with the cape of his hood fluttering fearlessly at one shoulder. When they were half way down the incline, Phalanx broke into a swift trot.

  “Be careful!” Astral shouted out across the property. “I intend to see that mule’s return, you know! Don’t wreck him before his date is due!”

  Dwain merely raised a paw to wave another, final, goodbye to them. At this, a fierce tightness swelled between Regina’s lungs. She suddenly broke away from Astral and raced down the road after Dwain and Phalanx.

  She ran and ran, but couldn’t keep up. Dwain and Phalanx trotted straight through the open gate and vanished into the woods, swallowed up by the shadows that lay beyond the reach of sycamores.

  Regina slowed when she reached the gate, puffing for air. She gazed out into the uncertain darkness of the forest beyond the Hollow. A heavy sadness gripped around her heart.

  “Dwain … Please be safe…”

  ~

  A fortnight passed when Phalanx returned to the Hollow under the gaze of the mother moon. Astral saw his arrival from the study window and went out to meet his perturbed brays at the property gate.

  “Good to see you again, old fellow,” he said with a grin, caressing Phalanx’s nose. Phalanx let out a haughty, tired, bray, but gave in and nestled the side of his face against Astral’s caress.

  “Come, you have had such a long journey,” Astral said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed. Then, you can rest a thousand rests, my friend.”

  When they entered the barn, Astral took some time to groom out any knots and burs, and tended to any scratches Phalanx had picked up along the way, despite the ivory saddle cloak that was meant to protect him. They spent this time in comfortable silence under the glow of a single oil lamp.

  After Phalanx was once again beautiful, Astral stiffly sat down before him on a wood stool and began to dig out stones and dried mud caught in the mule’s hoof shoes. While Astral did this, Phalanx peered down at him and let out a bray of trepidation.

  Astral paused, blinked. He looked up into Phalanx’s sombre expression.

  “You’re right, my friend,” he said. “The winds have felt different these past few nights.”

  Phalanx brayed again, this time with an air of uncertainty. With a swing of his great neck, he looked up and gazed with thoughtful eyes out the barred window of his stall, where the mother moon glowed over the tops of the distant sycamores beyond the Hollow.

  Astral nodded. “There is a great darkness billowing in from the south. I can feel its coming. Ah, not much longer now until … until our little moon star is made to glimmer…”

  27. Ashes of the Past

  Life in the Hollow went on in its familiarity of wooded seclusion from the rest of the province. Though she missed Dwain dearly, Regina dove into the needs of her garden and distracted herself with studies and the responsibilities of maintaining the Hollow.

  Each ride to Keeto Town presented a teetering stack of letters in the post office, all for Regina, and all to Astral’s chagrin. Every letter told stories of Dwain’s studies with the Alliance, the friends he had made at the academy – the loss in his heart to be so distant from Regina, and how he promised to return whenever he could.

  Half a season passed since Dwain’s departure. And in the six months that had come and gone, Regina grew to blossom into a beautiful young bloomer – a vaguely-recalled prediction someone in her old life had made. There was no doubt – Regina had bloomed in many ways – her wits, her capabilities, her unabashed love for life and nature … She was a lily that had sprouted from the ashes of war, into something so completely beautiful amidst an ugly landscape.

  Regina’s thirteenth birthday fell on one of the coldest, wettest, nights of late summer. Throughout supper that evening, Astral had snuck peeks and glances at her beneath his hat’s brim, all while veiled in a constant whisk of duskroot smoke. Regina, who had pretended not to notice Astral until that point, finally looked up from the latest volume of Herbs of the Wilds Quarterly when he started to speak.

  “’Twas so long ago that I came across you upon that bridge. So long ago, that you were lost and forsaken … and now, look at you. My, how precious and resourceful you’ve become.”

  Regina folded her book cl
osed and smiled at him.

  Astral reclined in his seat, chewed on the stem of his pipe with deep thoughtfulness in his all-seeing eyes. “Regina. Today is your thirteenth birthday. Under the authority of Galheist, you are now an adult.”

  Regina’s smile widened.

  “Ah, me. Such as it is, these seasons that pass so quickly now. Soon you will come to know how quickly time fleets, the older you get. Ah–!” Astral sighed, lost in nostalgic memories of his own. His gaze settled deeply upon Regina again. “One cannot help but to try and fathom the sort of life you and your brother may have attempted, had we not crossed roads so many seasons ago. Coincidence is not a thing of absolutes, no, for there is no such thing when destiny of the star charts rules our very existence.”

  “Dwain is no more a brother to me than … than … than Phalanx is, an uncle.” Regina blushed and rose from the table to go fetch some steeped tea for them to have with the carrot-and-cheese cake she’d made earlier that day.

  “Oh, bother. Do you not think of me as your father, as I think of you as my own kin?”

  “Of course I do.” Regina placed everything onto a wooden cutting board and returned to the table. She lay the board between them and put Astral’s tea down first. She let a shy smile pass as she poured milk for him. “But it’s different. Dwain and I are different.”

  Thoughts of him flooded her heart. Sadness and regret tightened between her lungs.

  “I wish he was here now. Master, I miss him so much, but – today … today, I become an adult, and my Dwain isn’t here to celebrate the occasion.”

  “Did you get his letters?”

  “Letters mean nothing, compared to the real thing,” Regina muttered. It was a nasty thing to say, despite how much truth came from it, and she felt badly in an instant. But still, her feelings were honest: “I wish he was here, right now. Sitting across from us at this table. I want to see the smile in his eyes. I want to hear his voice – I-I-I want to hear him laugh. I want to feel his paws around mine again, feel the beat of his heart against my cheek…”

  She sniffled, wiped away a small tear.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “This should be a joyous occasion. Let’s have some cake.”

  A sober expression flushed Astral’s smile. He watched Regina with quiet thoughts as she sliced the carrot-and-cheese cake into equal portions and doled a thick piece out onto a tin plate for him. He looked up at her with darkness in his starry eyes.

  “I realize how difficult this day must be for you,” he said in a gentle whisper. “How … how difficult every day must be for you.”

  Regina cleared her throat, and in an attempt to ignore her present feelings, started humming away quietly while she shimmied a piece of cake onto a second plate, allowing the homemade delicacy to plop onto one side. She poured herself a cup of tea, without milk. “I’ve added crushed almonds and shaved chocolate this time – let me know what you think.”

  “I think,” said Astral slowly, “ that it is time to consider where your path in life must start, Regina.”

  She blinked at him, setting the teapot carefully down.

  Astral nudged aside his plate, folded his hoofs across the table as he regarded Regina with deep contemplation, concern in his starry porcine eyes. “It is time you move on from the Hollow, my dear. It is time for you to carve a new path. A new life.”

  Regina furrowed her brow at him as she sat. “Master, I have a life. Here. With you and Phalanx…”

  Astral snorted. “Phalanx and I will not live much longer to see many moons and suns. Trust me, young one, our closure is soon upon this Hollow.”

  “Master, don’t—”

  “Regina, I am nearly eighty years old. I am an old hog, much older than when you children first met me. Our little farm is not immune from the gaze of mortality. I asked Dwain this question when he was your age, and now I ask the same of you.”

  Regina shook her head. “Master, just because Dwain has gone off on his own to explore the world, doesn’t mean—”

  Astral shook his head. “Your training is complete, Regina. There is nothing left I can teach you. The art of alchemical healing is a powerful practice, not meant for secret groves where hermits hide themselves away. The wider world – yes – that’s where such a thing belongs. That’s where such a thing is benefited.”

  “The wider world…?” Regina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Master Astral, please do not push such expectations upon me, simply because Dwain has gone from us to search his soul. Where I am now is where I wish to be. This is my home, this is my life. With you and Phalanx, and when Dwain returns I wish to be here to welcome him back.”

  Astral dipped his chin and said, “Just do not let what you have here become your only legacy, my child.”

  “Master Astral—”

  “No – There is greatness in you that shall not be kept from the grander fields and seas and mountains beyond the Hollow. Beyond Galheist, even. I will not see the rest of my days to you flitting about in my gardens without purpose. For you to adopt a sedentary life … it would be a disgrace to Mother Azna’s very purpose.”

  Regina frowned at him. “But what if what I want isn’t what Mother Azna wants?”

  A veil of knowing sadness sagged through Astral’s wrinkled face.

  “The choice is not yours,” he whispered sadly.

  Regina balked at this. “You spoke at great lengths to Dwain about destinies and how life was his own to live – but you say my life is not my own, after all?”

  “Regina, that’s not what I am saying—”

  “That’s exactly what you’re saying!” She rose with a clap of lightening and pushed away from the table under the deafening roar of thunder.

  “Regina – where are you going?” Astral demanded, but she ignored him, instead vanishing into the darkness of her bedroom with great immediacy. Any beckon for her return fell on stubborn ears, until she reappeared with her papa’s folded map pressed to her chest. She crossed the kitchen with great strides and towered over Astral with the parchment held so close, angry heart beats could thump visibly against the crinkled folds.

  “Goodness, daren't you present me another Alliance banner,” Astral said with a sigh.

  Regina frowned at him. “I realize this might not seem relevant to the situation, but hear me out.”

  “I’m listening,” Astral said, patiently.

  “The only thing I have left of my old life is Dwain and this map … This map – it belonged to Thomas Lepue. He was a cartographer and great mammal; a devoted husband and father, and he died gallantly trying to protect not only my mother and me, but the gates to our village. He is a martyr of Altus, and this is the only piece of his existence that survived that terrible night. He died so that I could live a life of my own choosing – and I have made my choice.”

  Astral regarded her, puffing away off his pipe.

  Regina glared right back at him, her father’s map trembling crumbled against her chest.

  They stared at each other for a long and silent time. A silence that stewed and boiled with mounting discomfort. Slowly, surely, Regina started to doubt. Maybe Astral was right. But this was her home … But she was an adult, now – and perhaps it was time she made some serious choices.

  …But…

  Using the death of her father – the slaughter of Altus to make such a point…?

  Regina tried to stave off the sense of guilt that tried to form in her heart. But it was no use. Her constitution waned under the slow-burning doubt that now smouldered within her. She was still so young, naïve. Astral – Astral knew the world in ways she could never, ever, comprehend…

  Regina slumped defeated into place at the table, her papa's map still pressed to her body. She sighed, staring ahead into cold, invisible, thoughts. “I’ve been an adult only mere hours, and already I am pressured to decide what to do with the rest of my life.”

  “Such is the way of the world. Best face the damnation now, before it is too late.” Duskro
ot smoke filled the little kitchen with each successive puff Astral took. “So, your father was a cartographer in your old life. An interesting profession for a field skunk so devoted to the ways of earthliness, the Harvest. Although, I suppose it shouldn't be so surprising. Mm, yes. Yes, I can see how it would make sense. Might I see?”

  Regina blinked, looked at him as though the request were something totally unheard of. When Astral clicked his hooves, a gesture for her to pass it over, she gave in with slight hesitance.

  Astral unfolded the parchment and regarded its contents with squinting eyes. “Hrm … erm … let’s see, here. Mmm, the Altusian Moors, hrmm … and there’s Keeto – the Stone Zephyr? But … why, this is a map of the whole ...” His gaze flicked to Regina over the top edge of the parchment. Then it dawned on him what exactly he held, what Regina had hidden so sacred from him this whole time.

  “By the Goddess … It was true…”

  Astral’s pipe clattered to the tabletop, spilling forth smouldering duskroot everywhere as he rose to a sudden stand.

  “What was true?” Regina asked, confused.

  Astral swallowed hard. The map rustled between sudden fearful hoofs as horrified eyes feasted upon the map’s every detail, every runic legend. “Oh … this isn’t good. Oh, bother, this is terrible – terrible, indeed…”

  “What is it? Master, what’s wrong?”

  But he didn’t even hear her, consumed with thundering thoughts, rambling under his breath, overcome by a listless trance that carried him limping into the study, where a shrine of research lay smeared and piled under the glow of pillar candles.

  Regina rose to a slow stand. “Master Astral, what’s the matter?”

  “Hunches, yes. Altus. Alexia the Sage. Ponderings, true – but – actual proof, now. How did she keep this secret for so long?” he wondered aloud. “But – but of course … of course … it’s no wonder, now… What a foolish hog I’ve been! In grave danger – always have I known, but here – and – now – here it is! The Retainers…”