Sky of Wind by Emily Deady

Chapter 2

Sol tilted his head back, gulping down the refreshing liquid from the soft waterskin. He hadn’t slaked his thirst since midday. The merciless sun had been a constant companion as he traveled on foot.

Though the waterskin was barely half full, Sol resisted his desire to empty its contents. The older man standing next to him was also thirsty and the soldier standing over them did not look patient.

Five other Quotidian soldiers were setting up camp for the night in the small glade they’d found off the main road. The soldiers were dressed like woodsmen to hide their true profession from passing travelers. Standing under the guard’s grim stare, Sol thought the shallow cruelty in his eyes was a far cry from the man’s disguise. Perhaps all Quotidian men had the same shallow stare.

Sol, too, was dressed as a woodsman, but he was no soldier. The cowl around his neck not only increased the effects of the sun, it also hid the small gemstone tied snuggly around his neck. The soldiers knew it was there, of course. They had placed it around his neck and they wanted it to remain out of sight.

What the soldiers didn’t know, however, was that the gemstone around his neck was a counterfeit.

With a strength of will he prided himself on, Sol swallowed and passed the remaining water to his fellow prisoner.

Neven took the waterskin and quickly raised it to his lips. Just as the first drops of water spilled from the spout, however, the soldier standing guard over them snatched it from his hands.

Sol curled his hands into fists as his clenched jaw pressed forward. Literally biting back his tongue, he forced himself to hold in the curses he wished to spew. Six weeks of self-control had made his tongue rather raw, but the pain reminded him to stay still despite his tense body.

Tipping the waterskin upside down, the soldier let the remaining liquid pour onto the mossy ground at their feet. “Just thought you might want a taste of what’s to come.” His face held a smile, but it was not one of happiness.

“A parched throat?” Neven spat.

Sol tilted his face forward to hide his hatred and disdain from the soldier. Their captors enjoyed tormenting them, especially when Neven or Sol responded with emotion. At the moment, Neven was giving the man exactly what he wanted.

The soldier twisted the waterskin, wringing the last few drops of water from it. “Squeezed. Drained. Depleted.” He forced another drop from the waterskin. “The mages in Chendas will eke out every drop of magic in your carcass, day after day.” The soldier dropped the now-empty waterskin at his feet.

Neven made the motion of spitting at the soldier’s feet, but his mouth was too dry to complete his defiant action.

A light breeze fluttered through the forest around Sol, and he bristled his shoulders as it tickled his neck. A strong desire spiraled through his core. He breathed in deeply, smelling the fresh scent of the wind as he inhaled it. His throat longed to open, to release the soothing vibration of a powerful song. He could bend the wind to his submission and use it to distract the soldiers while he and Neven escaped into the forest.

He was a hated stranger in an unknown land. His time was near. He forced his body to remain still despite the pulsing rage which pounded from his feet to his fists.

The other soldiers laughed at the guard’s cleverness. Neven’s tormenter turned to join them, lifting his shoulders in pride.

Sol turned away from their glee in disgust, refocusing his attention to the older man beside him.

Neven looked drained already, and they hadn’t even arrived at their destination.

Sol wanted to kick himself. The water had eased the burning in his throat, but he would have survived the night without it. He should have passed the waterskin to his elder immediately, before their Quotidian captors had thought up another way to demonstrate their power.

Neven dropped to the ground.

Sol sat down as well, easing the tension in his legs. He had no words of comfort for the older man and even if he did, he would not have been able to utter them. The gem tied at his throat was designed to silence him, cutting off his ability to speak and thereby rendering his magic inaccessible.

He’d never met Neven before they were both taken from the island of Istroya. Their shared plight had brought them together, but the shame of their situation also kept them apart. Not that Sol had tried particularly hard to connect with his fellow Majis.

Friends were a risk Sol couldn’t afford.

One of the other soldiers left the fireside, carrying a long length of thin chain. The man’s pale skin and trimmed hair looked out of place with his ragged woodcutter’s disguise. He dropped one end of the chain to the ground and began to walk in a loop around Sol and Neven while intoning a high chant. The melody was deceptively pleasant, each note rising and falling only a few steps apart from each other, keeping the song in a high register.

Sol braced himself. He had become well acquainted with this ritual. At any moment, the mage would unpredictably drop his cadence to a dissonant set of notes.

The mage kept his melody pleasant as he finished circling the two prisoners. He reconnected the ends of the chain to create an unbroken loop around them.

Sol braced himself.

The mage’s voice dropped from his higher pitched head notes to a dissonant note deep in his chest.

As the melody became unpredictable and sporadic, Sol felt his mind slip into panic. A burning emptiness seeped into his lungs and he struggled to draw in a breath.

The mage continued to sing, his voice slipping effortlessly between melody and dissonance, as though he was replying to his own song, intent on tearing it apart.

Sol tried to breathe. He tried to ignore the sounds which washed over his body, seeping into his mind. No matter how hard he fought, the burning in his lungs only increased.

The mage began to move his hands, pinching the air in front of Sol and pulling it back to himself.

Sol felt the air drain from his lungs, as though the mage had literally pulled it out of him. His body froze, immobile under an unseen weight. His mind panicked further as his body refused to respond to his directives. His chest began to tremble from the lack of air, and he reminded himself that he would not actually die. This was a magical assault, not a physical one.

The mage continued, his quiet voice softly humming.

The burning inside Sol’s chest spread out toward his frozen arms and legs. He tried to imagine himself breathing, tried to ignore the pain. This would be over soon. As the burning continued, he felt energy leaving his body. That small reserve of self-control and hope disappeared as the mage drew it out of him.

Sol tightened his throat. His body screamed at him to sob in despair and shout his pain. Sol refused to give them satisfaction of hearing him crumble to their torment.

More importantly, he could not let them know the gem around his neck was a fake.

Though it felt like hours, Sol knew that only a few moments had passed. Using the only bit of remaining strength he had left, Sol lowered his eyes to the chain at his feet. The gems embedded in the metal strand had begun to glow. That was a good sign. It would be over soon.

After a few more moments, the mage dropped his hands and abruptly stopped the song.

Released from the spell, Sol felt his whole body sag toward the ground. He tried to fight the instinct, but his muscles were too sore to hold himself up and he fell to his knees, gasping in air as his bright flashes of light seemed to pop in the corner of his vision.

While his lungs were once again filled with air, Sol still felt empty inside.

Drained.

Squeezed.

The mage examined the chain. “Fully charged in record time,” he muttered to himself. “They will be pleased with this one.”

“They’ll never know me,” Sol spoke the words soundlessly, still treasuring every breath.

The mage had already returned to the fire with the other soldiers.

Sol stretched his hand forward, moving it slowly to reach over the chain on the ground. Just as his fingertips hovered over the chain, they instantly felt an intense burning sensation which quickly spread up his arm and into his chest. It was the same pain that he had felt moments earlier as the mage drained his magic, only now it was attacking him from the outside rather than emanating from his core. Barely containing the yelp that formed in his throat, he yanked his hand back to the relative safety of his prison.

The chain had created an invisible barrier around him, using his own magic to imprison him.

Sol clenched his fist, gritting his teeth through the burning pain that slowly dissipated.

He was not broken.

He would not fall to their games.

His body felt weak and empty, but he clung to each breath he took. They were playing his game.

Tonight was the last night.

Letting his muscles relax in his seated position, Sol closed his eyes. If he blocked the light of the small campfire, his vision would better adjust to the growing darkness in the forest behind him. He pretended to relax into sleep, but his ears remained alert, listening to every crackle of flame and rustle of leaves.

An owl hooted in the distance. Once. Twice.

Sol stopped his breath, waiting for the agreed upon signal.

Only silence.

He exhaled through his nose. It was just an owl.

A cool wind wrapped around his face, soothing his overheated body. Sol breathed in the scent of the fresh forest around him, willing his body to rest but refusing to let his mind relax into sleep.

Eventually, the harsh sound of the boasting voices around the campfire slowed as the soldiers drifted off to sleep.

The soft crunch of coals and light crackle of new flames told Sol that a fresh log had been thrown onto the fire. At least one Quotidian remained awake and on guard.

An owl hooted again. Once. Twice.

Sol inhaled.

A scream sounded from the main road, a small distance from the other side of the fire.

It was time.

Sol kept his face trained on the ground, even though every muscle in his body was ready to spring into action.

From beneath his half-closed eyelids, he watched the silhouette of the soldier guarding the fire. The Quotidian man straightened his back and swiveled his head, peering out into the darkness around him.

“Lox,” the soldier whispered, kicking a sleeping soldier on the ground at his feet. “Did you hear that?”

The sleeping soldier grunted.

Another scream sounded from the direction of the road, out of sight. “Give that back!” This time, the voice was very human, very feminine, and very distressed.

The guarding soldier kicked his sleeping comrade loud enough that Sol could hear the impact. “Something’s happening on the main road!”

The sounds of movement told Sol that most of the party had been awakened from slumber.

Sol immediately used the auditory distraction to start a slight hum in his throat. Slowly, he released the large breath he’d been holding, stringing together a low melody that was as familiar to him as his childhood.

A soft wind ruffled the loose curls behind his ear, tickling his neck. It wrapped around his body, cooling the heat of his muscles, and spiraled down toward the ground. The leaves around the chain rustled lightly as the wind circled the shape of the chain.

A third scream sounded.

“Let’s go see what’s happening,” one of the soldiers said. Sol heard the crisp sound of metal sliding from a sheath.

Sol slowed the pace of his song. He did not want the sound of the leaves to attract attention. Using a small motion of his hands, he directed the wind back into the forest behind him.

He tried to focus on the calming presence of the lightly dancing wind, but his ears could not ignore the conversation still taking place at the fireside.

“It could be a trap.” That was the voice of the mage.

“Or it could be an opportunity to see that the king’s justice is done.”

Sol wasn’t sure what the speaking soldier meant by justice, but he had a feeling they would disagree on the topic if they ever discussed it together.

As if a Quotidian soldier could have any concept of justice. Sol could not even jest about having such a conversation. The Quotidian taskers he’d known on Istroya would not even be capable of entering into a dialogue. It was better to remain silent.

As his thoughts swirled in growing anger, the wind he controlled with his magic increased its pace, spinning around him with a greater intensity. Sol pushed back against the resentment filling his chest. He needed to slow the pace of the wind before it grew out of his control and someone noticed. But the more he fought against the growing rage, the more it pushed back against him.

“Go do your justice. I’ll remain with the prisoners.” That was the mage again.

Sol stopped humming, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. This moment wasn’t about revenge. It was about getting free. It was about breaking away so he could re-establish justice. Keeping his mind focused on the active thoughts, he waited for the sound of the soldiers tramping away from the fire to cover his next few moments of humming.

The light glow of the gem at his feet flickered and went out.

Sol smiled in the darkness. The plan was working exactly as intended. He’d hoped a simple soldier would have remained with them instead of the mage, but at least they had argued long enough for him to drain the binding chain of its chaos magic.

Reaching out with his hand, he crossed the invisible barrier immediately above the chain. He flinched as a small spark crackled against his fingertip. No pain crawled up his arm and the tingling sensation disappeared immediately. The small crackle sounded deafening in the quiet glade.

The mage remained focused on the departing soldiers.

Sol repositioned his feet underneath him, so he was crouching over them instead of sitting on top of them, ready to spring up and move.

He did it. He freed himself. Almost.

The mage glanced back at the prisoners.

Sol froze in place, slumping his shoulders to appear as sullen as possible. He dropped closer to the ground so his active position would not be noticed.

The sound of a scuffle from the road drew the mage’s attention away from Sol. He turned back toward the fire and stared toward the road.

Sol heard the dull thud of metal striking a wooden implement, perhaps a shield or staff.

Another scream sounded, this time significantly lower in pitch, but not in desperation. “Lox!”

“How many are there?” another soldier called.

“I can’t tell, it’s too dark.”

“Where is the woman?”

Sol’s grim smile returned as he noted the panic in their gruff voices.

“Curses,” the mage muttered. He immediately released a low hum in his throat. A small orb of light appeared in between his outstretched hands. With a gentle motion, he sent it into the forest toward the road. It shed light on everything it passed.

Taking advantage of their captors’ distraction, Sol turned toward Neven.

The older man had awoken at some point during the quickly escalating events, and his wide eyes reflected the flickering flames of the fire.

Sol didn’t have time to explain. He gave the man a quick nod before seamlessly dropping to his side and painlessly rolling over the chain barrier. Without waiting to see if Neven had followed him, Sol dove into the undergrowth of the dark forest as quietly as he could.

Once he was safely behind a thick tree trunk, Sol rolled back up to a standing position, leveraging his weight over his feet so that they sank into the soft forest floor. Istroya had been mainly comprised of sand, making soundless movement an easy feat. The mossy ground on the forest floor, however, was lush with new silverreign growth and he’d been learning how to move silently over the new terrain during their trip through the mainland.

A branch cracked behind him. Neven had followed him, but had not known to practice his stealth prior to this escape.

Sol’s body momentarily tensed. Neven had been one of the unfortunate ones chosen by the Quotidian. Sol, too, had been chosen, but he had carefully concocted a plan to be chosen.

While he and Neven had never shared a word, Sol knew that Neven could be trusted to support their escape. What he didn’t know was whether he could trust Neven’s already exhausted body to make the escape.

“Return!” the mage yelled. “It was a trap.”

They’d been found out.

Released from the necessity for silence, Sol dashed into the forest. His eyes could make out the black shadow of the tree trunks against the hazy gray of the bushes and undergrowth. Hopefully, that would give him an advantage over the mage.

A small orb of light shot over his shoulder, momentarily blinding his vision as it pushed into the forest around him. It might have revealed his location to the mage, but it also gave him a clearer view of the forest in front of him.

With the benefit of light, he quickened his pace. He didn’t have the luxury to glance behind him, but the sound of heavy footfalls told him that Neven was right behind him.

“Assemble!” The voice of the mage sounded distant over the pounding in Sol’s ears. With any luck, they’d had enough of a start to stay ahead.

He followed the glowing orb for a few more moments before it dissipated. The mage must not have created it to last long.

Suddenly, a familiar burn blossomed in his lungs, and his chest began to tighten. Sol skidded to a halt. Before his lungs emptied of air, he forced a small vibration through his throat. The motion immediately began to ease the grip on his lungs and poured more voice into his own song to combat the mage’s magic.

Now that he had stopped running, he could hear the mage once again singing in dissonant tones.

This time, however, Sol didn’t have to hide his voice. He could fight back.

He intoned a melody that flowed through him, tingling out to his toes and fingertips and releasing his body from the painful hold that the mage had begun. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused as much of his own magic as he could into his protective spell.

He felt empty. The mage had already drained him of his magic store so recently.

His throat, tickled from the vibration of his song, clenched involuntarily and he stopped to cough. His magic reserve was empty.

Hoping his protective spell would last for a few minutes, Sol pressed off from his back foot to continue his escape.

A strangled inhale from behind stopped him.

Neven.

The older man was standing some steps behind Sol, his head thrown back and his hands clenched. The mage was draining his power as well.

For a fraction of a second, Sol considered leaving the other Majis to his fate. The mage was occupied and the soldiers had not yet returned. With a few more moments he could escape deep enough in the forest to evade detection. She was supposed to meet him and show him an ideal hiding spot.

This plan was too important to risk.

The lives of his people were at stake.

Neven was his people.

Ignoring the muscles in his body which begged to carry him to safety, Sol dashed back to Neven.

He didn’t have any more magic to release the man with. He would have to defeat the mage without it.

“Resist, Neven,” he called, keeping his voice low. “Don’t let them take what little you have left.”

A soothing breeze rustled across Sol’s overheated face.

The wind.

Grabbing his friend by the shoulders, Sol closed his eyes, remembering the feeling moments prior when he’d asked the wind to wrap around him and softly carry away the magic embedded in the stones.

Feeling the wind around his face once more, he exhaled, letting the air run out of him in the smallest, faintest sigh. The wind had dissipated his magic earlier, perhaps it could bring some of it back?

His barely intelligible sigh disappeared in the air around him. He could feel the slightest energy travel from his throat and vibrate down his underarm and through his hands which still rested on Neven’s shoulder.

Neven’s shoulders were tight as his body tensed under the onslaught of the mage’s chaos magic.

The wind gently wrapped around his ear again, tickling his cheek, then disappeared.

Sol could hear the mage intoning his dissonant chant from the edge of the forest a short distance away. Frantic footsteps from the road told him the other soldiers were heading back toward the camp.

“What’s going on?” A soldier yelled.

The mage, still intoning his dissonant chaos magic, did not stop to respond.

Sol hoped his unseen allies would be able to distract the rest of the soldiers for a few moments longer.

Inhaling against the panic that rose in his chest, Sol reached inside himself for any remaining thread of magic. Each moment, each breath restored his reserve, but not quickly.

Gripping Neven’s shoulders, he tried to stop hearing the noises outside of himself and listened instead for the sounds of the forest leaves rustling around him. Sol exhaled as slowly as he could, relaxing his throat so the air moving through it caused a low, deep note.

Again, the pitch of the vibration traveled down out from his throat, reverberating through his chest and tingling down his arms to his fingertips. He relaxed his grip on Neven’s shoulders as the breath continued to leave his body.

His fellow prisoner was in pain and Sol focused his entire being into wishing his friend to be well.

Finally, the breath in his lungs wavered. He squeezed his chest, forcing out every last drop of air he could muster. The vibration in his chest turned into a tremor as his lungs emptied. The final wave of energy tingled down his arms to his fingertips.

He was spent. His magic was gone. He could do nothing to help his immobile friend.

The sound of the mage’s voice grew louder. He was walking toward them. Other footsteps followed.

Sol had to leave. Immediately. It was likely too late.

As the final tremor of energy flickered through his fingertips, Sol felt a heavy wind whip through his hair, stinging against his cheek.

The power of the wind increased, pressing against Sol’s entire body.

He increased his grip on Neven’s shoulders to keep himself from doubling over.

A new strength returned to his arms, flowing through him and wrapping around him, seeping into Neven.

Bolstered, Sol stood back up. The wind was still moving fiercely, but it no longer pushed against him, rather it seemed to be supporting him.

Neven slumped forward, gasping for air. He was released from the mage’s grip.

Relieved, Sol immediately supported his friend with an arm, but his ears and eyes immediately returned to the situation outside him.

The wind had picked up everything in its path, creating a wash of moving shadows in the leaves and dust it had gathered. Sol could see nothing.

But he could hear the curses of the soldiers barely a few steps away.

“After them,” the mage yelled.

“I can’t see,” a soldier yelled.

Sol grabbed Neven’s arm and moved fearlessly into the spinning wind, away from the voices chasing them.

“Try opening your eyes, you fool,” the mage said. “I’m lighting your way.”

“I can’t,” a soldier replied.

“This dust is worse than a sandstorm.” That was another soldier.

The torrent of wind parted for Sol and Neven, opening in front of them and gently pushing them from behind, guiding them through the dark forest.

The last thing Sol heard from their pursuers was the angry voice of the mage. “This dust storm is not natural, fools, they’ve unlocked their magic.”

Sol felt a glow of accomplishment in his chest, though it wasn’t big enough to bring a full smile to his face. If his plan worked out, he would never let his magic be locked again.