The Book of Wind:

by E. E. Blackwood

  “Yes…” Regina said. “But it makes me wonder, despite the logical flaw: Does – does that make you – Are you a – a Retainer?”

  The heretic worked his muzzle in a fruitless attempt not to burst into more laughter. “A Retainer? No one’s stupid enough to revolt like that again. Any case, the Retainers hated the Zuut for letting canines back ashore. Went against everything their ancestors fought for, two hundred years ago.”

  “You mean the fall of the Canine Empire,” Regina said.

  “What else?”

  “Then why do you oppose the Alliance?”

  She expected him to threaten her again – but instead, a pensive expression quivered across the heretic’s face. He caressed his forehead under wilting fox ears.

  “Not by choice,” he replied, and put away the Crystal and its shard. “You ask far too many questions for a kidnapped skunk. Don’t give me a headache. I don’t like going to sleep with a headache. I awake quite cross.”

  “Will you cut my tongue out, then?”

  “Don’t tempt me – I just might.”

  Regina stared at him for a time. She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you will.”

  “All right.” The heretic rose to a stand. The Alliance knife at his hip gleamed free from its sheath. “Shiver, little one. Let’s see how long it takes before the fear for death kicks in.”

  “I fear you and the Alliance far greater than I do, death.”

  This captivated the heretic. His vulpine features glowed with what appeared to be devilish glee against the flicker of the bonfire. He plopped back down into the dirt.

  “Every mammal fears death,” he said. “Death is weakness. Death is dishonour. Death is the relinquishment of what we strive to protect: our livelihood, our legacy – our place in the order of tribal hierarchy. Once upon a time, these lands were not so kind to skunks. Though the Canine Empire no longer stands, the very tenants of its foundation still very much exist today: only those with the will and wits to survive unto another day matter. The fear that death brings is innate within all of us.”

  “I haven’t a legacy to leave,” said Regina. “Nor do I owe myself to any sort of ancient caste system. The law of alchemy states that life and death are fluid in nature. We are born of the dirt, only to return to the dirt, and from that – rebirth.” The song of the Harvest hummed in the back of her mind.

  “There’s wisdom in your nonsense, unlike any romantic novice your age,” said the heretic. Mild surprise flashed across his face. “You’ve seen it, then – first hand.”

  She nodded, eyes upon the dancing fire pit flames.

  “Tell me of it.”

  Regina hesitated, but gave in to the request. “A half decade ago, just before the Retainer War ended. Canines burned my village to the ground. My parents died. Most everyone died. Dwain and I escaped, but … how we made it away from Altus without running into any of them is beyond me.”

  “…Altus?” The heretic’s face hardened as he studied invisible thoughts that lay out before him. He looked up at Regina. “Altus Village, where Retainers plotted against the Zuut?”

  Regina sighed. “That’s the rumour.”

  The heretic snorted, falling back against his arms. “Not a rumour if it’s true.”

  Regina looked his way. A flash of pain crossed her heart.

  “The whole fill was soaked with sin,” the heretic continued. “The ghosts of your parents would spit on you, knowing how you’ve betrayed them.”

  This caught Regina off guard. She rose with sudden anger. “Damn your wicked tongue, vandal-heart!”

  “Were your tribe alive today, you and your Alliance lover would find yourselves drawn, quartered, and scattered across the Altusian crop fields to ready the Harvest. A loving farming community in your nostalgic mind, but in truth, a faction of a crazed, blood-lusting, cult in anybody else’s memory.”

  Regina glared at him. “You didn’t know my parents. You didn’t know any of them.”

  “Didn’t need to,” the heretic said with a sneer. “Saw what the Retainers were capable of with my own eyes. They nursed you, they raised you, they’d slit your belly and hang you from the highest branch not a second after discovery that you chose to oppose them! You call yourself a scholar, go and look it up!”

  Regina’s lips peeled back, ready for a venom-laden reply.

  Just then, a branch snapped.

  The heretic spat away the twig. A ready paw went for the Alliance hunting knife at his hip.

  The anger in Regina cooled in an instant. “What’s wr—”

  “Shut up.” He sniffed the air, growled. “We’re not alone.”

  Regina let her nostrils wander, but only a stewy scent filled her nose.

  Just then, the campsite came to life with rustling leaves and trembling shrubbery. A small army of rodents seeped out of the foliage and surrounded the site with staffs and daggers pointed ready. They stood half the size of Regina and the heretic – give or take – and wore rags of the forest’s colors to help them hunt and thieve in stealth.

  “We thought we smelled Alliance manure,” declared the leader – a grubby, orange-furred rat. He balanced a hefty short sword across his shoulders. “Lost your outpost, did ye?”

  Regina flashed frantic eyes at the heretic. He’d risen to his boots. The Alliance knife was still sheathed at his side.

  “We’re no threat to you,” he said to them in a calm voice. “It will be a bloody night if you insist robbing us.”

  “Any sucker of the Zuut’s heel is a threat on his own!” the rat snarled.

  One of the rodents behind him noticed Regina and squealed jitters of laughter. “Toecutter, that one’s just a kit!”

  “Beg pardon—” Regina, started, but the heretic interrupted her.

  “Not now,” the heretic growled at her. He turned his attention back to the band of rodents. “Leave this place! No harm will come to any of you tonight.”

  Toecutter, the lead rat, hedged closer with his troupe until they were a tight circle of skewers around the campsite. “They’re inducting infants now, are they?” he said. “Such a waste. Then boys we’ll have to let her bleed out quicker than the other, here. No child shall suffer the scourge of the Alliance!”

  “We camp here in peace!” the heretic said. “No Alliance soldier has come to claim your lives tonight!”

  “Then our killing you will be at half effort!” Toecutter exclaimed over the jeers and snickers of his fellow bandits.

  Two mice leapt out at the heretic from the sidelines. He clobbered one between the ears the other in the jaw.

  Regina tried to get away from the reaching fingers of three rodents behind her, but the encumbrance of the Alliance armour sent her tumbling to the dirt. Despite her bonds, she wrangled Dwain’s walking staff from beside her rock and warded off the attackers, swatting at two, and bopping the third right between the eyes. Another appeared, grappled the end of the staff before Regina had a chance to deflect him.

  “No!” she cried. “Let go!”

  The heretic leapt over the fire – knocking over the spit and its cooking-helmet – and punted away the offending rat. He grabbed her wrists and tore the ropes free with a swift tug. “Alchemist, don’t let them swarm you – you have a weapon, use it!”

  “…What?” Regina blinked, looked up at the outline of the heretic’s silhouette against the bonfire’s flames. Out the corner of her eye, a trio of rodents raced single-file at his flank with Toecutter at the rear, dragging his short sword in the dirt.

  “Watch out!” she cried.

  But it was too late. The heretic swung around just as they came at him, hopping onto each other’s shoulders one by one until their weapon-wielding leader was atop the lot of them. Toecutter swung a deft blow at the heretic. The blade seared clean through his jugular with a single decapitating swipe.

  “No!” Regina screamed.

  The heretic stared at Toecutter, stone-faced. The slash healed over, seamlessly. So fast, in fact, that it had
sealed beginning-to-end, trailing directly behind the blade’s edge.

  Toecutter blinked, wobbling with disbelief upon the two other rodents who floundered back and forth, struggling to maintain balance despite the perplexity of what just happened.

  “That’s quite enough,” said the heretic. He plucked up Toecutter by the arms and head-butted him square in the face.

  Frightened silence filled the campsite.

  “Leave,” said the heretic.

  The rats backed off immediately, shivering with their weapons readied, gathered in a protective unit around their unconscious leader laying spread eagle in the dirt. The rodent the heretic had kicked away before struggled to its paws and knees, dry heaving.

  Regina’s insides were on fire. She’d seen it clear as day. The point of Toecutter’s blade seared right through his neck – she’d seen it! And yet – and yet the heretic was standing. Breathing. Head still attached like nothing had even happened. Regina climbed to her feet, head swimming with confusion, visions of the failed decapitation playing over and over. The arrow that struck him back at the Stone Zephyr – that was no trick of the eye. He had been shot. And he pulled the arrow out like it were nothing.

  The heretic could not die.

  “Take the meat and go,” the heretic ordered the bandits. He pointed to the main path about a yard away from the site. “There’s a stream ahead your comrade can use to rinse his mouth with if he vomits on the way.”

  In that instant, Regina made a break for it. She fled the campsite, towards where their ponies grazed obliviously beneath some trees. Memories of the fall of Altus flashed into view as she ran. The sounds of the dead and dying played in her ears. Snarling canine teeth and wild canine eyes appeared all around her.

  Oh Goddess. Oh, Goddess, the canines cannot die. The canines cannot die! Oh—

  A loud chop cut the air by Regina’s ear. She came face-to-face with a knife’s leather hilt sticking out of a sycamore just off her left shoulder.

  “Get back here,” the heretic rumbled.

  Regina slowly turned to meet the fox’s dark gaze. His piercing grey eyes stabbed her deeply. He lowered his throwing arm and said, “Dare you to run any further, and I’ll be at your throat before you’d ever realize you were dead. How safe would your betrothed be from my blade, if you’re not breathing to warn him of my coming?”

  Regina swallowed hard again, remained where she stood. Trembling paw digits found the Alliance hunting knife at her hip. She fumbled for it, wielded it in both gauntlets, arms pointing straight out at the heretic. Her eyes widened with fright like the ghosts of Altus’s past stood scowling before her. “St – stay away from me, dog.”

  “Put the knife away, you silly bint, it won’t do you any good.” For a moment, the savage bravado the fox had worn this whole time gave way to tenderness. He lifted his paws, presenting only peace. His tail swished to one side. “Alchemist. There is nothing to fear.”

  But she feared him. Regina didn’t budge, save for her own tail starting to raise. The knife trembled in her grasp. “What … what on Vida … are you?”

  “In no need of your herbs and spices – for good reason. One of the Zuut’s many gifts.”

  “I – I – I – I saw those rats – they cut your head off! I saw it!” Regina declared. “I saw it with my own eyes! You took an arrow to the shoulder! You – you – you threw a knife at the archer—”

  “ ‘Tis how the Alliance keeps the peace,” said the heretic. “The Zuut grants us Life. In return, we maintain order. Even amidst corruption.”

  “No. Wait. It doesn’t make any sense. How – how are you able to kill the others…?” Regina’s brain cranked away between sudden inconsistency. It was then that she remembered Nimbus. The heretic had only ever killed, using Nimbus. She met his eyes again.

  “The sword,” she whispered. “The sword takes away the Life that the Zuut has given you? But, how…?”

  “Astute observation,” said the heretic.

  Regina shook away the stars that danced before her, though a dazed numbness fed through her wholeness. She blinked, looked around and realized they were completely alone. Slowly, she lowered the knife. Her tail followed suit. “You … you didn’t kill them.”

  “I suppose that’s what you expect from me, what you’ve seen so far today.” The heretic dropped his gaze to the spilled pool of partly-boiled water, mushrooms, and meat. He slid his heel across the damp dirt. “I hope you’re not too hungry. Supper will be sparse tonight.”

  38. Those Who Never Relinquish Grudges

  The Altusian Moors were dusted by the chill of predawn. For Lieutenant Sara Uriost, the ride to Keeto Town was filled with the brooding silence of a thousand angry thoughts. Nothing was more abundant in her mind than the consistent onslaught of repeated memories, torment and internal heckles to that of loss and humiliation, rumour and slander.

  High stone retaining walls greeted her, that kept the renowned City of Merchants secluded from the dire recklessness from evil-eyed bandits and vandal-hearts who stalked the hills and meadows across the countryside. A trio of guards that marched the parapets hailed to her, made silent by the wailing winds against their helm-covered ears. Udiost did not see them, however. Her tired eyes remained focused on the barred archway into the city.

  One of two Keeton gateshounds came forward with a raised paw as soon as she rode near enough. He was an older fellow, a breed of collie. “Hold. What is your business in Keeto Town, soldier?”

  The question irritated Uriost’s ego. She tilted her visor up to stare yellow-eyed annoyance into the gatekeeper’s very mortal fibre. “What do you think is my business here? Let me through.”

  The collie gatekeeper frowned at her. “What is your business in Keeto Town, soldier? I’ll not ask again.”

  “Official matters,” said Uriost in a curt tone. “I must speak with Captain Hobbs – it is of grave urgency.”

  “Hey, you’re Lieutenant Yer-ee-oast, ain’t che?” The soldier to Uriost’s left gave her a nod from his post. He smelled of and looked to be of coyote descent, leaned up against the Keeto’s outer wall. He gnawed on a roasted granny smith with arms folded. Uriost hated when people mispronounced her name. She growled at him, but remained silent as he blathered on between sloppy chomps. “Yeah, ye’ is! You went out with that big platoon this afternoon.”

  “Where the rest of your platoon, soldier?” asked the collie.

  “We were ambushed,” said Uriost. She noticed that the coyote’s javelin was against the other side of the torch pillar, out of reach, as he chomped away on his apple – like an idiot. “I must speak to Captain Hobbs at once.”

  “I’m going to have to see some identification,” said the collie.

  “You think anyone would be foolish enough to impersonate a peace officer?” Uriost demanded. Her yellow wolf eyes flashed further annoyance against the glint of the gate torches.

  “Bastion, it’s fine, mate. Let ‘er on through,” said the coyote.

  But the collie gestured for Uriost to comply. She sighed and dug around her hip pouches, careful not to disturb the slips of those who had fallen in battle that day, and found her own identification in an opposite pouch on the other side of her belt. She presented it unfolded and ready for scrutiny.

  The collie took out a pair of loose-armed spectacles from his hip pouch and took Uriost’s papers over to the nearest torch to inspect in proper light. After a moment, he returned to her with identification folded into a neat square. “All right, here you go. You may pass through, Lieutenant Yer-ee-oast.”

  “Oo-de-uhst,” she corrected him.

  “A few others from your platoon rode through earlier,” said the coyote. This caught Uriost’s attention. “They’ll be glad to see ye, I imagine.”

  “Was Sergeant Rudolph Aruto among them?” she asked.

  “He might’ve been,” said coyote. He tossed away the apple core and cranked the nearby lever that lifted the barrier into Arcs Road. “Don’t remember. Might have
, on me break, but I don’t recall ever seeing him. Lots of officers pass through Keeto day-in-day-out. But I do remember those other riders you were with them this morning. The Twigleaf emblem on their armour was hard to forget. Whatever you all went out to do today, they sure came back worse for wear.”

  Uriost turned a searching stare upon the collie, but he offered only a shrug. “I’ve only been on-duty since after sunset. They must have come through before then.”

  “General Barnard, I think ‘twas,” said the coyote. “Came back with another. Their helmets all battered and chainmail all busted up. One of the archers – I think an archer, anyway – she had a huge gash right in her cuirass, like someone swung an axe at her!”

  Uriost narrowed her eyes at them both. “Do a better job at staying aware of who enters and leaves this city.” Without another word, she rode through Keeto Town’s gates.

  Rebus’s hooves echoed hollow clacks against wet cobblestone. Arks Road was dark, empty of commerce. The venders had gone home and those they attracted had returned to the trails of the moor and the countryside. Through second storey and attic windows, Uriost spied flickering candle light, where sleepy mammals lay their kin down to rest.

  Keeto was safe for yet another moonrise.

  She guided Rebus through cobblestone streets crowded with all those who knew they were the best of all else across the land, as they were residents, merchants, and warriors of the upper echelon. The city gave to them as much as they offered back to the Alliance and the taxmen who were minstrels alongside their valiant march.

  But not even the walls, though high as any giant and as fortified as the Zuut’s holy conviction, could protect Keeto Town from he who had been condemned from the rest of the world.

  As far as Uriost was concerned, the Crystal of the Wind was but a lost artefact, now fallen into the treacherous clutch of the heretic. He, who had defiled the Blade of the Unicorn – Nimbus. He, whose very paws dripped with sin. He, who had forsaken everything the Alliance stood for.

  He, whom Sara Uriost, Junior Lieutenant of the Company of the Phoenix, hated most.