The Wind Riders

by Kris Kramer

  Chapter 2 - Farewell

  Galen carefully studied the items set out in front of him in the little tent he shared with his cousin, Gelanir. He'd convinced himself that something was missing, something critical to their survival that he wouldn’t remember until three days out of camp. He’d laid everything out on the floor from left to right - his cloak, a couple assorted tunics and pants, a water bag, a food bag with dried meats and bread, a thick blanket rolled up and tied, a money pouch, a small stack of papers, and two small bags stuffed full of something resembling rocks. He took the cloak, pants and tunics and put them into his shoulder-pack, figuring that once they were packed away, he wouldn’t have to think about them anymore. He put the blanket next to the pack also, since it would be tied down to the top of it, and then took the food and water bags and hooked the straps on each of them through the strap of his pack.

  He ran through a mental checklist in his head. The basic necessities would be clothes, food, water, and tools. Iago would bring some of his Landers, who would be equipped with tools, both camp and cooking. He would bring his own clothes, and the group would stock up on water before they left, plus they would never travel far from the Mirken River so water wasn't a concern. He had some of his own food, and they could certainly hunt anything else they needed.

  Galen frowned. Everything seemed to be taken care of, but what about once they reached the city? The money would cover lodgings and food, about two weeks’ worth according to Iago, more than enough time to carry out their mission. Some of the papers he’d packed were notes given to him by Avina, so that he could practice his Air Magics while on the trip. The rest were blank papers for Galen’s own amusement. He thought he might be able to keep a journal of the trip, for his own record, since he'd never visited such a large city in his life.

  The two small, stuffed bags were especially important, though. Galen never let those escape his notice because they were packed full of unrefined Mergoran crystals. Those would be material to give any potential refiners in town to test their work and their worth. He knew the crystals were valuable, but that’s not what had him worried. Mergoran crystals were illegal in this part of the world. Anyone who carried them in the vicinity of an Anzarin city, without express permission from the Clerics, could be executed. Not to mention that if word got out that he had them, they’d be targets of every bandit, thief and guard near the city. Galen had been made very aware of that fact by Avina, Arigin and Iago during their meeting.

  Galen sighed and tried to let go of his packing anxiety. He was nervous, obviously, and more than a little out of sorts since being chosen to lead this mission. Actually, that wasn’t true. He’d been scared for over a week now, ever since being chosen as the new Junior member of the Pilot’s Council. He hadn’t even completed his training, and now people in camp looked to him for leadership. He didn’t even know to what to say or how to act most of the time, and now he was expected to save the Wind Riders.

  His world had been turned upside down since the Tyran attack, in more ways than one. He'd lost a lot of friends that day. He'd almost lost his only family. And any sense of innocence he'd held on to since joining the Wind Riders had been chased away by a Tyran airship, a weapon they shouldn't even have. His training was over. No longer would he and the rest of the camp be protected by a cadre of experienced and knowledgeable Pilots that would teach him and tell him when he was ready. Except for Avina and Arigin, all the experienced ones were dead. Now he would have to shoulder that load himself, ready or not. Capable or not.

  He caught himself wondering several times today if that’s why he’d been chosen for this trip. Arigin was much better suited to go to Tyr with Iago and his Landers, and it struck him as odd that he wouldn't be going on such an important mission. Avina herself said that the future of the Wind Riders depended on their success. So why send the one member of the Council who could easily screw it up due to inexperience? The only reason he could think of is that they'd decided to throw him into the fire, to see what kind of leader they had in him. The Tyran attack decimated their numbers. Those that remained either stepped up, or people died, and Galen supposed this was his one and only chance to show his worth. So making sure he was packed correctly would be a good start.

  Galen moved his pack and the bags to one corner of the tent, next to a small lockbox, so he would be ready to leave first thing in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, and then took one last look around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Even though he wasn’t anywhere close to satisfied, he turned around and walked out of the tent.

  The sun had long since passed over the crest of the hills on the west side of the valley, leaving an orange glow that filled the late afternoon sky. The sun would be setting anytime now and he could already smell roasted meat being served for dinner near the main tents. Galen’s stomach rumbled; he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But he would come back for food later. He had one last stop to make.

  He strolled past the center campfires, and around his fellow Riders who were cooking and handing out food. There were no tables set out so everyone ate on the ground, circled around some of the campfires. He moved towards a long, rectangular tent set off to the side of the center, easily twice as large as any other tent in camp. Inside, three rows of pallets lay on the ground, extending to the back. Most of the pallets were occupied by Wind Riders injured in some way from the recent attack, while a few who had survived unscathed wandered around checking bandages, taking blankets or food, and administering to any needs the injured had. Before the attack this tent had been used as a mess hall, or a meeting place. Now it held almost sixty injured Wind Riders, some far worse than others.

  Galen walked down the left row, halfway to the back. His cousin, Gelanir, lay on his side on one of the pallets, chatting with the man next to him, Avgir, while an older woman named Ilsa took away their dinner plates. Both were Landers, injured in the attack. Gelanir had been on the Goldenhawk when it took a powerful direct hit from the Tyran airship, and then crashed upon landing. The impact sent Gelanir flying from the vessel, breaking his leg and arm, and opening large gashes on his side. He was in much better shape now, but Galen had spent those first two weeks wondering if his cousin would even survive.

  Gelanir was a few years younger, and the only family he had left in the world, so Galen looked after him as an older brother would. When they were young, their family had been uprooted by the White Horsemen invasion and forced across the Lore Mountains and into the Valley, a trek called the Great Journey. Half their families had died on that march through the treacherous mountains, and the rest were lost soon after, when they were scattered by the Anzarins.

  When Galen’s father died in those mountains ten years ago, Galen and Gelanir were all that was left of their branch of the Corovin clan. They wandered the hills for weeks, starving and near death, before some lucky Wind Riders stumbled upon them and took them in. That was a day Galen would be forever grateful for. And that’s why he would not let these people, his new family, down.

  Galen smiled as he approached. “Good evening, Avgir.”

  Avgir nodded back. “Good evening to you, Pilot.”

  He turned to his cousin. “How are you feeling?”

  Gelanir had the same Corovin clan mark on his face that Galen had, although at a glance he seemed to have fewer overall markings. Gelanir did not keep up with the traditional Assarin practices as rigorously as Galen. “Tired. I wish I could walk already. I need to stretch my legs.”

  “You will. Maybe by the time I get back.”

  “I hope so. I can’t stare at the inside of this tent anymore. I need to get out, and get back on a ship.” Gelanir frowned, a strange sight from him. Gelanir was a lot more easy-going than Galen could ever be. He was sure his little cousin was in here all day laughing and joking with everyone, keeping everyone else’s spirits up. “How long are you gone?”

  “Three or four weeks, I think. Hopefully we spend very little of that time in the city." Galen sat down on the floor
next to his cousin. "I’m not comfortable knowing what they would do to me if they caught me.”

  Gelanir nodded. “Be careful. I’m not looking to be the last of this family.”

  Galen furrowed his brow. He expected himself to say something pessimistic like that, not his cousin. “Don’t worry. I won’t be leaving you alone.”

  “So you came here just to say goodbye, then?”

  “I did.”

  “No, you didn’t. You want me to take care of the Records Book. In case you don’t make it back.”

  Galen smirked, not at all surprised that his intent had been so obvious. “It’s important. I just want you to know that it falls on us as the last two members of this family to make sure it’s taken care of. That’s all I ask.”

  Assarins had a practice of recording their history however and whenever they could, thus the body tattoos marking significant events in their life. When an Assarin died, however, it was the responsibility of the family to record all those markings for posterity in a family Records Book. Each marking was duplicated exactly in the book, so that the events of each person’s life would be recorded for all history. As portions of each book were filled, they were taken to a library in the main city that stored all the Records for every clan in Assar. When the White Horsemen attacked, the library had been emptied and the records taken north as part of the Great Journey. Galen didn’t know for sure, but he hoped that the new Assarin lands in the west had a library for him to take his Records Book to someday, so that they would be remembered.

  Gelanir nodded. “I will. I still have to Record all this,” Gelanir motioned to his injuries, “whenever I can take the bandages off for good. Hopefully, before you get back.”

  Galen smiled as realization hit him. He hadn’t meant to bring his Recording kit, which contained all of the blades and inks he used for his markings, because he didn’t think he’d have a chance to do much of it on the trip. But working on his markings was one of the few things in this world that calmed him and gave him focus. That’s exactly what he would need on this journey. Perhaps that's what his mind was trying to tell him earlier.

  “No, it will have to be after I get back. I’ll be taking all of that with me. But thank you for reminding me.”

  “See, even lying useless in bed I'm still the smart one.” Gelanir smiled.

  "I don't think smart Assarins get thrown off of flying ships."

  "That's because they're not as adventurous as I am."

  Galen smiled and grasped his cousin's shoulder. "I'd take you with me if I could. I'd feel better with you around."

  "I'll be there for the next one," Gelanir said, tempering his joviality.

  "Let's hope we don't need that," Galen replied, feeling nervous again. He wasn't sure he'd sleep well tonight. Or for the next few weeks.