Chasing The Wind (Novella) (3 page)

She offered a silent prayer that the Great Mother would guide her to Doma.

T
he night air remained hot
. They sat leaning against a large rock and retained heat simmered off of it. Zephra would have preferred another resting spot for the night but she had learned early on to have an escape planned. These rocks provided some protection, but more than that, gave her a chance to climb away if attacked.

Near complete blackness enveloped them. Only a tiny sliver of moon gave off light. Even the stars seemed to have disappeared, hiding behind an opaque haze. Zephra remained on edge, straining her senses to hear any noises in the night. Nearby, small feet scurried across the rocky ground. She shifted her knife, pulling it from the sheath. Anything small could be food. An occasional howl echoed, but distant enough that she did not feel threatened. The air was otherwise silent.

Lia slept next to her. The girl had slipped away almost as soon as they had stopped. For whatever reason, Lia trusted her. They had spoken little as they moved through the hot sun, the girl seeming to understand the need to avoid wasting moisture on mere words. Zephra was glad she slept, wondering when her injuries would catch up to her.

There was no telling how far they were from Doma and healing. As the day progressed, she saw nothing other than continued expanse of the waste. Zephra began to wonder if Lia would even make it through the waste.

If she did, then what? Would she be able to find water shapers in Doma? Probably not along the border, and reaching deeper into Doma, making it as far as Falsheim, would take several days once she reached Doma. As far as she knew, the kingdoms were closer than Doma anyway. Would she abandon her journey to take Lia to the kingdoms?

Zephra did not want to consider the implication if she did. Tellander would learn that she failed in even reaching Doma. Never mind catching her wind. What then? Expulsion? Tellander had grown increasingly frustrated with her over the last year and Zephra had the distinct sense that this was his last attempt at getting through to her. Without a mentor, she could not stay at the university. She had no delusions that another wind shaper would take her on. Few enough bothered to teach. Fewer still offered to mentor a fledgling shaper, especially one as hard headed as she had proven to be. The university would see her returned to her home safely where a life of working the nets, finally mastering her mother’s weave, awaited.

She swallowed, closing her eyes and letting her breath out in a frustrated sigh. Not back to the kingdoms, at least not until she proved herself worthy.

In spite of the risk, Zephra felt a deep drive to help this girl. Perhaps it was only a kinship with her. Zephra knew loss as well, though certainly nothing like the Aeta. But why did the idea of failing her get her heart to racing?

Another matter worried her more than Lia’s health. The fire shaper was out in the waste, looking for them. And angry with her. Clearly powerful, Zephra knew she could not overpower him. The only reason she had survived was because she had a shaping prepared. With the dead air of Incendin resisting every attempt at her shaping, their best hope was to outrun him. Even that might not be enough. In so many ways, these were his lands.

As she began to drift, she let her sensing stretch into the night. Distantly she heard quiet scratching of a desert mouse, the flap of wings somewhere high above, and even the coarse chirp of crikkas. All soothed her as she felt the pull of sleep.

Suddenly, she heard a soft shuffling nearby. Footsteps. Her heart hammering shook her to full alertness.

She sat up silently and listened, watching Lia for any movement that might give away their position. Lia slept soundly, back resting at an awkward angle against the rock. Her breathing was regular and soft. She considered waking her, but decided against it.

Slipping an arm around the girl’s waist, she hauled her up the rock. Lia barely moved, only shifting to nestle her head into Zephra’s side. At the top, she slid Lia down and let her rest on the uneven peak of the rock. She did not stir, sleeping like one already dead.

Zephra frowned at that. Could she be so far gone already?

The soft sound of footsteps was closer now.

Zephra slipped down the edge of the rock in the darkness. She had thought the fire shaper unlikely to move at night, preferring the heat of the sun, but what if she was wrong? The knife would do little against him in a fair fight, but could be of use if she managed to surprise him.

Darkness quickly engulfed her as she moved away from the base of the rock, slowly circling around toward the direction of the sound. The hint of light from the moon barely lit her way. She prayed to the Great Mother that she did not stumble.

She paused to listen again. The night fell silent around her, as if holding its breath. No sound came.

Zephra exhaled softly and turned. There, barely a dozen feet from her, lurked a figure shadowed against the rock.

Her heart thudded wildly. Was it the fire shaper? Why would he stand there, silent, almost as if listening for something?

She steadied herself and inched forward, letting her feet fall delicately. Only as she was almost upon the figure did she realize that she’d missed something else.

There came a flurry of motion behind her and then a cool hand gripped her wrist. The darkened figure stepped away from the rock and moved toward her.

Zephra dropped to the ground and spun away.

Panic tore through her. She clawed at her focus, struggling to touch the wind, but it resisted her. She held the knife in front of her, hand shaking.

“Zephra.”

She frowned, recognizing the soft voice. “Lia?”

The girl stepped forward and touched her arm again. Cool fingers left a soft tingle on her skin and Zephra felt her body relax. “This is Calin,” she said, pointing to the other figure.

Zephra squinted, slowly recognizing the man from the attack earlier in the day. “Where is the other?” she asked. “The woman?”

“She did not make it. Fur caught her. She delayed him long enough to let me escape,” Calin said. His voice was hoarse and ragged.

Lia stepped away from Zephra and took Calin’s hand. “I am the Mother now,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“You are not Aeta.”

Zephra stared at her. Lia seemed suddenly different. More composed, if possible. And then she coughed, fading back into the sick girl she had helped cross the waste all day.

“Come, Mother. We must find the family.” Calin stepped forward, trying to move between Lia and Zephra.

Even in the pale light, Zephra saw Lia’s concern. “Not at night,” Zephra said. “And she needs a healer first. We will find your family only after she is well.”

Calin spun on her. “We must move at night! Fur hunts in the daylight! If she is caught again—”

Zephra drew up to her full height, still barely up to Calin’s chin. “Then I will protect her.”

Calin did not get the chance to respond. Lia placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back. He nodded respectfully to her but glared at Zephra. “Zephra saved me, Calin. We must trust her to lead us to safety.” Lia watched Zephra as she spoke.

The words caused a surge of emotion within Zephra. She would see Lia to safety. Whatever it took. Even if it meant returning to the kingdoms.

“Where does she lead you, Mother?” Calin asked. The heat from his voice had faded.

“Doma,” Zephra said. “We travel to Doma.”

Calin tilted his head and nodded once. “You promise you mean the Mother no harm?”

Zephra looked from him to Lia. Uncertainty about why he referred to her as the Mother was replaced by surprise that Calin thought her a threat. Few ever saw her that way. “I promise.”

“You will lead her to safety?”

“I will do my best.”

“You will protect her?” This last asked with renewed urgency.

Zephra looked at Lia and saw only a child’s face. An injured one at that. “I will protect her.”

Calin watched her before sighing. Then he sagged to the ground in a heap.

L
ia shook
her awake with a trembling hand. “We must go,” she said.

Zephra blinked the sleep from her eyes, glancing at the burnt orange sky. The sun barely crested the horizon but hot air already pushed upon her with a suffocating touch. For a moment she smiled at the first breeze she’d felt since she’d been in Incendin. Then she realized that something about it seemed off.

“The shaper nears,” she said.

Lia nodded. “To the east,” she said, pointing weakly toward the rising sun.

Zephra faced the hot breath of air gusting out of the east. It was stale and forced, not the natural eddy she expected. Hotter than it should be as well. The air was not wind shaped, but shaped nonetheless. Few fire shapers had enough command or power to generate such wind.

Calin crouched at the base of the rock, eyes alert and roving the expanse of the waste with nervous energy. She was glad he was up; she didn’t think she could drag him.

Lia coughed, spitting blood-tinged phlegm toward brown rock. The young Aeta appeared to have aged overnight, lines of worry now creased the corners of eyes that seemed even older than before.

“You will find her healing, Shaper?” Calin asked. The last was said as a title and with unexpected respect.

The girl shook just standing next to her. How could she walk? “I will do what is needed,” Zephra answered, forcing confidence into her words that she did not feel.

“Not Doma.” Lia nodded toward the east.

Zephra shook her head, looking east, feeling the hot breeze on her face. How had it grown warmer in such a short time? “Not Doma,” she agreed. Zephra blinked slowly, swiveling to look to the west, feeling the pull of Ethea, as if the city itself knew she would return. “If the shaper comes from the east, there is only one other option.” She hated that it came to this.

“The kingdoms,” Lia said.

Zephra nodded, her mind already spinning through how best to approach. The kingdoms were vast, each kingdom challenging in its own way. Though she had entered Incendin through Nara, Galen was likely closest. At least the winds there might welcome her. From there, she could escort Lia to Ethea and the university.

If she could cross the border. And if they lasted that long.

“Can you walk?” she asked.

Lia took a staggering step forward before falling. Calin was there in a flash, arms under her, cradling her, and then lifting her to his shoulder. Suddenly she looked so small.

“I will carry the Mother,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

Calin frowned at her, a hurt expression flashing across his face. “I may not have your strength, Shaper, but I am strong enough.” He turned and started toward the west, his back stiff.

Zephra stared after him, his words having triggered a memory of Grethan. A powerful earth shaper, but ever so humble. That may be his most endearing trait. Never one to boast of his abilities, she remembered the time she came across him in the training yard at university, shaping a huge boulder aside as if nothing.

“That looks heavy,” she had said.

Grethan had grunted and shrugged, shifting his feet to look at her but did not lose his concentration. Not like she would have. “Just takes practice,” he said. The bead of sweat at the corner of his brow gave away his effort.

“I wish I had your focus,” she had said. “Or your strength.”

Grethan had turned to her fully and let the shaping slip away gently, barely a rumble of earth. He slid over to her and she remembered the deep smell of him, earthy and sweet. “Never doubt that you are strong enough,” he had said.

That had been the day Zephra realized the depths of her feeling for Grethan. Though he probably remembered nothing of that day, she had hoped to master her own control before sharing those feeling with him. She still did.

Zephra shook her head, placing the memory away to think about later. If she survived Incendin and the shaper, she would think about Grethan again. Only then.

Calin led as they made their way across the waste, never faltering as he carried Lia, his steps sure-footed and careful to avoid the dangerous vegetation. Occasionally he would pause and turn to her, waiting for direction. Using a sense of the wind, Zephra traced it toward Ethea. The sense became more pronounced the longer they walked.

The day grew hotter around them and soon even the hard rock baked their feet as they walked. The air became stifling and unpleasant to breathe. She felt herself wilting, only the occasional drag on the waterskin kept her moving.

The vegetation around her seemed invigorated. Spiny brush stood taller than she remembered. The clumps of sharp weeds stabbed thorns into their feet and ankles if they stepped too close. The shooting nettles fired with the smallest of motion, sending their barbs farther than she’d ever seen.

Zephra knew the heat not completely natural, but said nothing, simply awed by the sustained strength the shaper demonstrated.

Over time, Calin began to slow. Even he, solid as he was, could not move endlessly through the rising heat without stopping. Lia stirred occasionally only to cough. Bloody spittle dotted the corners of her mouth. Healing seemed a lifetime away.

“I don’t know how much more of the waste we have to travel,” she said. They were the first words she had spoken in hours and her voice cracked, croaking out the sounds.

Calin grunted and turned. Dirt smeared his face and eyes wrinkled in concentration. How much longer could he maintain such dedication to Lia? What would happen to her when he failed?

She held the water skin to his lips and let him drink, careful to avoid losing any drops. After barely wetting his mouth, he nodded toward Lia. Zephra tipped open the girl’s mouth, letting water trickle into her throat. She swallowed instinctively.

“We cannot outrun him,” Calin said, his voice still strong.

Zephra shook her head. The wall of heat had pressed on them all morning, the gusts of painful air growing more powerful. “Not like this.”

“Take her, then. Save the Mother.”

Zephra frowned, unsure what he meant until realizing that he must have seen her shape the wind travel. “Too dangerous. No controlling it, not for me at least. We could end up blown back to the center of the waste.” She didn’t tell him that she doubted that she could even catch the wind. Saving Lia had been simply a fluke.