There are three of us, I explained, in my loftiest manner: the one they called The Shadow in the Low Countries, quashing what remains of their rebellion. The other one, whom I’d never met, they called The Flame; she’d been sent across the channel with the longboats. That only left me, The Wind, to confront the brikanji conflict and put an end to their people. My spells had already sent most of them running: some to death at the hands of my army, others, into slavery or miserable exile. Either way, their lands would be purged and the Three would unite the kingdom as One once more.
The girl listened with a cocked head, a sarcastic grin on her lips.
“You’re called The Wind? Your mother named you this?” she asked.
Quite bold of her, I thought, though she wasn’t much to look at. Just a small brikanji child, her clothes tattered, her face dirty, a look of hunger about her eyes. Yet, when I looked closer, I noticed her braided hair coiled like a noose around her ears. And beneath the hunger, a clever stare that took in everything in without fear. She wasn’t scared of me, because she knew I wouldn’t hurt her. How she knew this, when I had every intention of following orders, was anyone’s guess.
“No, not my mother. The King,” I explained. “And what’s yours?”
“Vishyeldahlklata,” she said. “But Dahlka for short.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“The wind.”
“You’re joking.”
She nodded, with a grin. “Why are you so sad?”
“Sad? I’m not sad. That is, I take no pity or delight in my work; I merely go where the king commands.”
“But you’ve killed so many people. My city,” she said, looking around at the burning fields.
“Not me, your disobedience,” I clarified, without rancor. “I am no more than the King’s sword, his malice. Like a terrible rainstorm, I am carried on the winds, flooding here, relenting there. It’s beyond my control.”
“So you’re the wind and the rain?” she smirked.
“It’s just a metaphor,” I sniffed.
“Then why are you so sad? That’s how I found you…I was hiding and I felt your tears.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“Inside,” she said, gesturing to her head.
Inside. When I saw her, I had been alone for the first time in days. Straying through the ruins in a daze as the seed-trance tapered off. As I slowly came to myself, I fought emotions that are usually kept at bay. Most of them I halted, ignored; but a few slipped through. That’s when she found me. I still had the packet of seed in my hands, fingers gliding over them while my tongue went dry. Why didn’t I take more? I would have to, sooner or later.
But not yet.
“The others are hiding. They won’t come out; you won’t find them,” she said, breaking my trance.
“We’ll find them. The king told me he wants proof that their resistance is shattered. Heads, if possible.”
“He talks to you?”
“It’s all written here,” I replied, patting my chest, where his letter, still sealed, sat secure in a pocket.
“And what are those?” she asked, pointing to the seeds.
“Medicine.”
“For your sadness?”
“There’s no sadness. I have no tears for the likes of you,” I hissed.
“What happened to you?” she persisted. “Before this…you weren’t always this way. I can tell.”
I almost answered her question, but wisely pulled back, not taking the bait. My mind, of course, plunged feet-first in the trap.
I was once a simple astrologer, plotting the movement of the heavens in the seclusion of hallowed halls. We were safe, protected. Until the wars came, and the king demanded that we be put to use. I remember my Superior arguing that the heavens were beyond war and bloodshed, beyond man and beast. However, if we didn’t protect those who understood their secrets we would be no more than beasts…and so much less than we should be.
I was taken to a remote labor camp with a dozen or so others who betrayed the Order (the rest, I believe, were killed outright). There we met a necromancer who said a few of us would advance to greatness, while the others…
I watched most of them die in torment. Somehow I survived the endless round of training and torture, though I often prayed for death (typically, it never comes when you ask). In the end, only three of us remained, or what became the Three: those who could unlock their minds through seed-projection. The other astrologers’ bodies rejected it, but we learned to take it, in small doses, until it became like water or blood. The more we took, the more we could see, not just about spells, but the earth, the heavens, and the stars beyond.
I spent more and more of my time out there, in the no-man’s land of existence. It made me strong, yes, but I began to have trouble getting back. I felt unmoored from my body, waking up in terror, feeling trapped. Gradually, the fear subsided, replaced by a vague emptiness—or what she called sadness. The seed generally silenced such thoughts, and it was very rare, typically when the trance was at its lowest ebb, that I remembered it at all.
I didn’t tell her any of this, but as she watched me, I could see she understood, or gleaned the general shape of my thoughts. Like the moon on a cloudless night, she seemed to be everywhere I looked, from every angle, impossible to distance.
“Why are you here?” I asked her.
“I’ve been hiding since the invasion.”
“Your parents?”
She shrugged. Then added, “They died long ago. I live with those who protect me.”
“And where are they? Dead, too?”
Another shrug, more distant than the first. Clearly she had her own sadness to hide.
“Why didn’t you keep hiding? You might have been safe.”
“I couldn’t help it. I’ve never seen anyone like you.”
“You were afraid?”
“No. I’ve seen death before.”
“I can’t protect you. You’re just one brikanji among many,” I explained.
“Then maybe I can help you?”
I burst out laughing. In the distance, a few soldiers on patrol looked over, concerned, but I waved them away.
“You really think you’re in a position to help me?”
“If you let me,” she said, her eyes wide, truthful.
“I have my orders…you’re to live the life of a slave. If you had just kept hidden…”
“I can run faster than you.”
“Where would you run?” I gestured.
She took a playful step backwards. Still not serious, still playing games. How could she live among war and starvation and think I would spare her? After what I’ve already done to her people?
“I have to report you. My orders. Otherwise, I might have spared the entire city, shown true mercy,” I gestured, seeing the destruction vividly before me. Fire and debris, and in the distance, bodies.
“I know. The kings spares no one,” she nodded.
No, he doesn’t, I thought to myself.
“The nearest camp is at least five miles distant. So you can travel under my protection. It’s the most I can offer you.”
“And Koshka?”
“Who?”
She made a series of calls until a black cat with a furry, erect tail trotted out of the debris.
“You have a cat?”
“Yes,” she smiled, kneeling to receive him.
I looked around, fearing the soldiers would have a laugh at my expense. But no one could see us. She looked up at me pitifully, like a daughter imploring her father for a favor long denied. I felt quite foolish, wondering how The Shadow would respond in my place. Thankfully we work alone.
“Yes, he can come along. For tonight.”
The cat purred as it brushed against her cheeks. She looked up at me inquisitively, but I didn’t smile or encourage her in any way. I only felt a suffocating wave of…something.
“Come along,” I gestured.
# # #
I rode to the encampment with Dahlka, who was hidden both by darkness and the folds of my cloak. The soldiers saluted and lead me to my tent, by far the largest in the camp. I normally disliked the attention, but with her, I needed the extra space and lack of oversight. I dismounted and scuttled her into the tent, taking care to see that we hadn’t been watched. Nothing but shadows. I called for the servant to take my horse; he snapped awake and said that the lieutenant was looking for me, as my absence was noticed. I paid him extra to send word that I’m quite well, that nothing happened, and I’m not to be disturbed.
“A woman, your grace?” he grinned.
Normally I would have spat in his face. The disgusting presumption. For now, however, it served my purpose. I parted with another coin.
I ducked inside and saw Dahlka playing on the fur-strewn floor with her cat. The cat was batting an apple to and fro while she watched, giggling. It astonished me. How could she cavort like a child after the chaos and carnage outside? I would have dismissed her as simple—or simply mad—if I hadn’t looked in her eyes and seen for myself. A fiercely intelligent creature inhabited her ragamuffin frame. Yet the darker part of her, the one that survived death at every turn, slept at ease for the moment. The only question was why.
“Made yourself at home?” I asked, removing my cloak and hanging it over a chair.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, absorbed in the cat.
The fire burned warmly, stoked with the best wood of the camp, not from local branches (which are threadbare after the campaign) but hauled from home, from the king’s mighty forests. I warmed my chapped hands before looking back at her.
“Would you like something to eat? Besides the apple?”
“If you like.”
I glanced at the larder which stood prominently on one side of the tent. Cured meats, bread, cheese, all for the taking. I gestured to it, lest in her innocence (or timidity) she didn’t notice, but she didn’t look up. Just kept playing with her blasted cat. Surely she doesn’t expect me to serve her?
“Please, take what you want,” I insisted.
“Thank you,” she responded.
“Well? Are you hungry or aren’t you? When was the last time you had a meal?”
“I eat when I need to. We find enough.”
I gave a sigh of impatience and flung open the larder, taking bread and meat and three hunks of cheese. I took a few bites and then tossed the rest on the floor, near enough for her to reach. She took a piece of meat and fed it piecemeal to her cat. The cat’s purrs filled up the tent in the absolute gloom of midnight.
“I can’t hide you here forever. In the morning, the camp will take notice. I’ll have to send you away.”
“I won’t be a problem. You’ll see.”
I laughed at her insolence. In a stronger mood I would have tossed her out of the tent, cat and all. Without the seed I felt indulgent, almost protective of her. My hands instinctively reached for the seed; yes, there it was, still within reach. There’s no reason not to take it, I wasn’t proving anything by restraint, especially at this hour. And yet…
“I have a charm to help you sleep,” she said, looking up at me. “To ward off dreams.”
“Not necessary. I don’t need much sleep. In fact, I avoid it.”
“Because of your dreams?”
“What dreams?”
“The kind that keep you awake.”
“Nonsense.”
“Like last night.”
“How can you know my dreams? I shouted, forgetting to check my voice. “I’ve never even seen you before, and you presume to call me sad and sleepless! Yes, I’m tired from marching fifty miles across your blasted country to kill the whole of your misbegotten race! But I would call that weariness, exhaustion. I can’t feel sad for people I don’t pity or understand.”
“The other ones do.”
Other ones? The way she said it unnerved me. She’s right, they do feel pity…they don’t want to kill anymore. But how could she or I know that?
“What other ones?”
“The ones like you.”
“But you don’t even know them, or me, or any of us! You’re just a girl—an exile. A slave.”
“I can feel it,” she said, crossing her legs on the floor, staring intently. “You feel the same things, too. The one you know, The Shadow, stopped killing three days ago. And the other one, The Flame? She jumped off the boat.”
“Impossible.”
“I only see what you see,” she said, touching her head. “You’re on the same path.”
“Yes, we share the path of obedience and destruction,” I snarled, standing to tower over her. “Whatever you think you can see, I can assure you, the Three are following orders. The Shadow blots out our enemies. The Flame burns down their hope. And I…I sweep the board clean until nothing remains. That is our path, and long may we live to serve His Majesty!”
There was no fear in her eyes. Nothing. Like a mirror, she reflected my emotions back to me, and instead of fury I saw confusion and surprise. And the familiar fear that poisoned my thoughts. The cat settled in her lap, and she cuddled it, seemingly unaware of her danger. My impulse was to ask her to leave, tell her I couldn’t help her. It was too risky. Someone was bound to find out. And what good would it come to?
If I took the seed none of this would matter. Waiting a few more minutes or hours proved nothing. What was I afraid of?
“You should sleep now. Here, take this,” she said, placing a packet on the floor. Herbs, and rank ones at that.
She picked up the cat and scooted closer to the fire. Then, like a cat herself, she curled up into a ball and was soundless. Anger subsided into a far more delicate emotion. To my surprise I called it pity. I suddenly feared for the morning when they would take her; when I would have to watch her go. My hand reached for the seed again. The morning’s activities demanded it. I would be better prepared if I slept through the first flush of madness.
I knelt down and draped the blanket over her tiny frame; she shuddered with warmth, but remained still. I then took up the bag and emptied its contents into my palm. A handful of leaves, no larger than clover. Not the seed. Sleep never came without the seed. I chewed the leaves, wincing from the bitter, earthy flavor. I still felt the seed close, its call just as great as before. There is no magic, no life, without the seed. His Majesty has given you both. It is not your place to deny him. Take the seed. Be strong; be well.
But before I could answer, I felt the darkness sweep over me and a welcoming voice lead me away, just like my mother guiding me through the market. This way, darling, don’t get lost. Keep up.
Sleep.
# # #
The dreams were warm and suffocating, fragments rather than stories. I woke with a longing to sleep again, to piece them together and learn their secrets. For the first time I forgot the seed. Or rather, it was there, but I could almost ignore it. But it was too late: the trumpets sounded, the march would begin in haste. I couldn’t cast the spells without them. They would soon strike the camp, exposing my weakness. I would have to explain why I brought her here and inevitably hand her over. Our time was spent.
“Are you up?” I whispered. “Dahlka?”
Silence. I turned over to find the blanket empty, the room absent of the girl or her purring cat.
“Dahlka!” I cried. “Where are you?”
Panic: had she ventured outside of the tent? If so, someone had seized her. Marched her away to join a rag-tag parade of exiles and miscreants. At best I might find the cat wandering alone in the woods, but I would never see her again. I wasn’t ready, I had more I needed to ask her, and she still hadn’t eaten; all this food, and not a single bite!
I stumbled out of the tent and looked madly for any sign of her presence. No tracks, nothing disturbed, the servant still sleeping by his fire. I scanned the horizon, watching the grim-gray clouds loom overhead, hiding her and everything else from my sight. I woke up the servant and asked him if he’s seen anything, waylaid any thieves or vagabonds. He yawned and peered through sleep-heavy eyes, making no sense of my babble. At length he muttered no; no sign of anyone, no reports.
For a moment I thought of the seed: take it and be done with her memory! You’re running out of time. No, I had to find out where she went and who took her. I raced through the camp, the soldiers leaping to attention, terrified by my presence. Most had never seen me before, as I travel far in advance of the line. A captain was alerted and came to assist me, fearing something was wrong or misplaced (and fearing for his head).
“I thought I saw a girl steal into my camp. A brikanji. She might be important to our mission. Have you seen her?”
He seemed confused and stammered a noncommittal response. He wasn’t sure what I wanted to hear, whether to lie and say he’s seen her (in which case, why didn’t he catch her?) or admit he knows nothing about it (in which case, why not?). I made it clear that I’m not interested in pointing fingers, but I wanted her found. The captain stirred up his men and they scoured the camp, asking questions, searching tents.
I watched a bird glide overhead, a mere pinprick in the sky, aloof from our human drama. Perspective changes everything…how tempting to see it as she did. But how could I trust one of them, and a child to boot? Had the Three truly disbanded as she suggested? And if so, why hadn’t I resisted? Why was I still here, marching to war, killing in the name of the King?
My hand reached for the seed; my fingers parted the bag to withdraw them. Not many, just enough to do my business. Fingers hesitated at my lips. If they find her I’ll resist a bit longer. I’ll talk with her first, make her tell me about the others. We’ll have a final meal together. Just the two of us. They can’t deny me.
The captain interrupted me, his face white with disappointment.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but we’ve found nothing…no one has reported any intruders or spies. We haven’t seen anyone since we marched out of the city. It’s complete desolation.”
I thanked him, giving the order to march at once. I slipped the seeds into my mouth. Within seconds it all seemed distant, the emotions blurred and blunted. What girl, what dreams? What does it matter what happened to her? As the soldiers struck the camp, I returned to my tent to collect my belongings. And there, on a table, I took up the tattered pages of spellcraft. Every day I had to add another verse, careful not to repeat the same words lest the spell deconstruct. For a spell, once used, can never be cast again, and to lose a spell of this magnitude would end my career. And with my career, my life.
The calm of the tent muted the cacophony outside. Here I could rest and reflect (and regret). As I sat down, I spied the lone apple on the floor. I stooped down to retrieve it; unblemished, no sign of being the cat’s plaything. Strange. I pocketed the fruit to eat on the journey north, and not, of course, for any sentimental attachment.
By the pockmarked gods! A vision arrived with incredible force: I gasped for breath and fell to my knees, reaching out for support. At the last second I caught the chair and clung to it weakly, reeling from the sensations. I saw marshes…a castle. A distant land in the Low Country. I also saw him. The Storm. Not as he was, but the way he must be now, sickly, corrupted from within. Faintly, I even heard his voice:
I waited too long to escape him. And yet I’m free, even though I wander into darkness. Alone.
One more glimpse—I saw him running. No more. Whether he was alive or dead, or the seed was concocting nightmares, I had no idea. If only I could ask her! Though maybe she, too, was a fever dream. I spent so much time apart I no longer know when I’ve come back, or what the world was supposed to feel like. Had it always felt and looked like this? Or had I become lost in the folds of time as the necromancer predicted? He warned us that our spells, if we delved too deep, would swallow us whole. It was only a matter of time.
I thanked him for the warning–and then I killed him. That’s why there are only Three. He didn’t live long enough to create any others. Only now, I feared, we might be only Two. But I wouldn’t fail his majesty. I was The Wind, and I would blow where he bids, scattering his enemies like smoke.
# # #
We spent the morning setting fire to another village, rooting out the resistance, which amounted to little more than a dozen fighters. Yet they were surprisingly well-trained: they leapt out of the flames to attack us, only to disappear into the maelstrom where no one could follow. One of the captains was stabbed in the back and fell to the earth, howling orders. Soldiers panicked.
I retreated to a safer spot just south of the village to plan our response. They wielded a magic far beyond the brikanji or any of their allies. Nothing I couldn’t overcome, naturally, but it gave me pause. I expected their submission long ago, as did His Majesty. The longer I kept him waiting the stricter my allowance of seed…and the greater the likelihood of failing him again.
Arrows whistled past. I spurred my horse to the protection of the forest; too late. The pain quickly spread throughout my entire left side, paralyzing me, forcing a scream that churned my stomach. The horse was easily spooked and I tumbled off into a thicket, the fire boiling flesh and worming its way inside. I rolled over and saw the arrow lancing my arm. Poisoned, I’m sure, and unlikely to have a cure.
I crawled deeper into the foliage and tried to clear my mind when the footfalls surrounded me. Arrows fired indiscriminately into the brush, one striking my leg, another glancing off my ear. The spells danced away as the fear took hold. I knew what came next: death, or being tortured until only the dregs remain. I deserved no less. And where were my men? The captains? My guard?
All dead, I realized. We’ve been completely routed. I saw the brikanji mere feet away, lowering bows, unsheathing swords and daggers. They couldn’t see me exactly but they knew where I was. They planned to make a proper meal of me. The fire spread, searing my arms, hobbling my legs. Only with incredible focus could I retain a single thought, the merest shred of clarity. I must kill them and save myself. If they only knew who I was…they would pray to their gods for deliverance. And their gods would tell them: we are powerless against The Three. Only death can save you now.
I focused on a word, the first word of the spell. Failing that, the first letter of the first word. Then the first sound. But even that failed me. I heard their voices, barking strange words with a clear meaning. They advanced slowly, confidently. They could smell the blood, my defeat in the air; they would soon have a great prize to show their leader. The head of one of our greatest astrologers. That would only leave him with one, the final One of the Three.
Something came trampling through the brush, a small figure making a great noise. The men stopped. A child ran between us, shouting in the brikanji tongue, pointing frantically in the distance. Terror rang from her lips. The men shouted questions in response, but she ignored them. She screamed and pushed them in the other direction, pleading with every ounce of her being. They conferred and two of them sheathed their swords and went running to the north; the third remained, already starting after me. For whatever reason she’s bought me some time, but not enough. The fire burned ice cold, as the ground sank under me and I slid into the frozen deep.
Suddenly the man cried out and collapsed face-first in the shadows. I could no longer hear his breathing. The silhouette of the child appeared, stepping through the brush. She meant to kill me herself, for whatever I’ve done to her people, her family. Then I saw a cat dance off her shoulders and onto a branch, where its tail swished above my head.
“Dahlka!” I cried.
It must be the end: I conjured up the phantom-child to guide me. She knelt over me, touching my face, inspecting the arrow jutting out like an exclamation. I shivered as I try to speak, but she urged me to relax, be silent.
“You’re here—I’ve found you at last! Too late,” I rasped.
“I was always with you,” she said. “You think I’m a dream now? A vision?”
“What else? You were never in the camp.”
“Take this,” she said, placing something in my mouth. “Chew. Swallow it all.”
I did as she asked, unable to register the taste, my tongue meeting a sticky, slimy substance. It went down easily enough.
“I’ll remove the arrows now,” she said, her eyes darting with fear. “Take my hand.”
The pain is a medicine in itself. The coldness burned away in the searing white-heat of agony. I screamed and saw the entire forest with new eyes, took in every hair and freckle on her face, her sweet, musky scent as she leaned over me. She tossed the arrows over her head and began whispering spells over the wound.
“But I thought…the medicine you gave me…”
“That wasn’t for the wounds,” she whispersed. “That’s what cured me. Cured us. But I came too late to save him.”
“Him? I don’t understand…”
“The one you call The Shadow. Andrei.”
I gasped, trying to sit up only to fall back from a jolt of flame. Yes, that was his name, I had met him before, many years before the camps.
“I cured us both of the seed,” she continued. “He died free, but I couldn’t save him. I found you sooner. Though maybe not soon enough.”
“But you’re one of them…a brikanji. I found you in the ruins. You lost your family—”
“Yes, I lost everything, but not to you. I was born in the camps. I had greater powers than my parents, both astrologers. I grew up with their tests and experiments. They called me The Flame.”
I seized her arm and stared at her madly, mouth open in terror and gratitude. She smiled back, squeezing my hand.
“Get rid of these,” she said, patting the bag of seeds in my pocket. “Never take them again, or the cure will be naught. I’ll have no power to help you.”
“Is that what happened…to Andrei?”
“No, but he was more ambitious than you. He delved into the darkest spellcraft. He lost himself.”
I understood everything; it all made sense. The visions showed him lost, running desperately away—or towards—something. Something he couldn’t possibly avoid or discover.
“I need your help. Together we can survive, maybe long enough to escape the kingdom. But you have to find me. I’ve made it as far as Pennyroyal on my own, but marshes and mountains divide us. I might get lost.”
“Then where—how can I find you?”
“Travel east and avoid the main roads. I’ll guide you.”
Faint voices carried in the wind. The sound of marching.
“Your people. Go with them for now. But remember,” she said, backing away.
“Dahlka, wait!” I cried.
She stopped long enough to scoop her cat out of the branches.
“Is this really you? Are you really…this child? With a cat?”
“Everything except the cat. She’s actually a lion,” she answered.
I mouthed the word until she giggled and shook her head. Then vanished into the advancing soldiers.
“My lord, are you hurt?” a captain cried, offering his hand.
“Nothing serious…nothing I can’t walk off,” I said, taking it.
Standing up, I surveyed the remains of the once-great army, now beaten and threadbare. It gave me hope.
“We’ve regrouped by the river, though we’ve taken considerable losses. Your orders, sir?”
“I think I’ve found their leader. I’m going to ride ahead to scout her location, sniff out a potential ambush. The rest of you stay here and await my return,” I instructed.
The captain thanked me, gave a signal to his men.
“Oh—and take this,” I said, handing over the bag of seed. “Contraband. I want you to send it directly to the king. Tell him…that it will never be used again. Understand?”
The captain took the bag with an obedient bow. Cries of long live the king! boomed across the valley.
May he live long indeed, I seconded. Long enough to see the Three become One, and The Wind stoke The Flame into a fire to engulf his kingdom.
