Chapter 9

Ruxson finds that the Windlord may be too lost for his own good, and leads a party of allies old and new out of Whisperwinds in search of answers and hope.

Chapter 9

            Ruxson never wanted for much in his life, and so it worked out for the best that he was Captain of Windhaven. His home was small, and sparsely furnished, and not at all decorated. He more often found himself in the manse, by his lord’s side, ensuring his well-being. The truth of it was he didn’t like seeing Evest overindulge. The Windlord did so regularly, but Ruxson always felt his presence deterred him at least a little bit. Life in the Whisperwinds was slow and rather dull, Ruxson understood. Some people had a harder time accepting that than others and thus tried to fill their voids with vices. It was unfortunate that one of those people was the Lord of Whisperwinds.

            Almost every morning Ruxson rose with the sun. He was one of the very few residents of Windhaven that kept his windows open and uncovered, letting the sun and moon and stars shine through and the winds blow in as they pleased. There was nothing in his life to hide, and even if there was, he knew it would be in vain. Such was the case everywhere, but especially in Whisperwinds. Word traveled with the winds. People knew things about other people who they had never even met, from village to village, from the river north to the mountains south. Everyone knew that Ruxson was the strong and reliable mage, always having played second fiddle to Guyanno. Everyone knew Guyanno was the best wind mage, the reason the Whisperwinds were still at peace and protected by the might of the Greatmage. And everyone knew Evest was a lush, a great mage who could probably blow down the gate of the strongest castle if he rediscovered the focus that made him lord in the first place. Very few people knew the three of them were cousins. They were cousins who never met until they all came to Windhaven as teenagers in the same year to begin their Mageship.

            Every morning Ruxson thought of his mother. He only had a few memories of her, the woman who died of a small plague that spread through their region of Whisperwinds when Ruxson was seven. He remembered her curly brown hair, always pulled back with a grassbraid. Her teeth were crooked and off-white, but she was always smiling, and it was infectious, and the creases around her mouth and eyes were beautiful. He remembered them, letting his fingers run over them as they lay in bed together. His father was strong, and tough, and distant, and dead. He died in battle just before Ruxson left his village. For seven years his mother raised him with tenderness and spoils. For the seven years after that his father raised him with sternness and tough love. From fifteen on Ruxson looked at Tempestia as his guardian, and everything he had learned from his parents made him the man he was. He was a man of bittersweet honor, true to himself and his land and his element.

            His mother’s was the life of all women in Whisperwinds. Yet he was the only one to lose his mother so young. Guyanno’s mother had died recently of old age, and Evest’s mother was still alive, though cooped up somewhere in the upper levels of Windhaven’s great manse. They were sisters, the three mothers, pawned away to villages to serve as wives. Tradition took Guyanno’s mother first, and she felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. She did nothing up to then except remain pure until a man from another village arranged for her to marry his son. She performed her duties to a fault, living her days for nothing but the approval of her husband. His leaving crushed her, and she became lost, even more so when the Greatmage next plucked Guyanno out of the picture. Ruxson went to see her in her last days. She was alone, save the kindness of neighbors who occasionally checked in on her. She hadn’t seen Greywind or Guyanno in years. Her longing for them was pitiable. Guyanno was the only thing she spoke of that wasn’t gibberish. Little did she know what she had instilled in her boy. Guyanno lived with the idea that reaching ahead for power was far more important than holding onto what was behind for strength.

            When Evest’s mother was courted she was reluctant, cold and bitter towards her new mate. That changed as the years passed. Evest’s father, Errion, was a leader amongst his peers, even at a young age. He told his wife of his plans to one day rule Whisperwinds, and she forgot her roots and let vanity consume her. She allowed Errion Enzio to send their firstborn daughter to a Highmage of Blazelands as a gift of goodwill and gratitude. Neither he, nor his wife, nor their second-born Evest heard from her again. But that mattered not to them. Through this move Errion secured Leonia’s support in his quest for lordship. It took little effort after that, as the Blazelands then had more sway on Whisperwinds than the wind itself. Perhaps it still did.

            Ruxson’s mother was the youngest, and most logical. She was sent south, to the most remote region of Whisperwinds, furthest from the reaching flames of Blazelands. She was reluctant, too, knowing that once her sisters left, they never came back. But she, unlike the others, held onto that reluctance. She never loved her husband. Ruxson learned that from his father just before he went off to his last battle. He spilled everything out to him in that last conversation, from the pride he found in his son’s choice to attain Mageship to the fact that Ruxson was the one thing his mother was proud of in life. His mother had the sense to push Ruxson forward while staying rooted to herself and her reality. It was no coincidence that he lived his life the same way. He was proud of Guyanno for his position, but pitied his existence, and now, especially, his fate. He was proud of Evest, too, though his accomplishments and means to success were far less valiant than Guyanno’s. Ruxson was content with his position. He always thought he belonged somewhere in the middle, memorable but not accountable.

            This morning he woke to more noise outside than usual. Each village of repute in Whisperwinds had sent a representative to attend Lord Enzio’s court, and those representatives would be guests for a few days at the least. Ruxson would watch as the lord answered questions and presented solutions to the problems of all the inhabitants of Whisperwinds. But only Ruxson would notice the disdain in Evest’s voice and understand the inconvenience for which he saw it. The lord saw it as a huge waste of his time, and with the recent developments to the north, questions would lead to a subject that would surely pester Lord Enzio. Guyanno Greatwind was set to condemnation in the Great Chasm, and his family kidnapped and imprisoned at the hands of the Greatmage under suspicion of defection and non-belief.

            It had been some time since Ruxson had seen his cousin Guyanno, or his wife and their children, but he felt the sentencing was rushed and unfair, and the abductions were harsh and unnecessary. Guyanno was the best connection Whisperwinds had to Blazelands, and he was also the most level head amongst all the great leaders of the mages. Now the levelheadedness was gone, and things were sure to head in a direction that would make Ruxson uncomfortable. But he had to keep those thoughts to himself, and he had to keep his mouth shut and his face emotionless, no matter what was said or done. He was a pawn, as he had been for years, and he would continue as such.

            The fire in Ruxson’s hearth had gone out just before he woke. Smoke escaped through the window as he dressed for the day, first in his cloths and then in his armor. He was nearly ready to put on his helm when there was a knock at the door. The hour was early, and visits were rare, but he strode to the door without hesitation or alarm. Grandseer Onvolio stood outside, wrapped in his periwinkle robes from head to toe. Onvolio served as the Grandseer of Whisperwinds, and therefore the most known and skilled seer in all the lands. He was an advisor to Lord Evest Enzio, a pest to him in truth, a voice of reason in an otherwise unreasonable world, but a dear friend and mentor to Ruxson Chadwick.

            “A fair morning,” Onvolio said as he stepped inside. “But the wind will bring in dark clouds and it will drizzle into the night.”

            “Another starless night?”

            “Clouds hide the stars. They don’t destroy them. And we just may be in court until the sun rises again,” Onvolio joked. “There seems to be more matters to address than usual, or so I’ve overheard on my way here. You should dress more comfortably, Ruxson.”

            “This is my required garb. If things were to get out of hand and escalate towards�"”

            “Violence? No. Not today. I know only of things that are certain, set in stone with no chance of the wind changing them, and I know there will be no violence in Lord Enzio’s court today. But that is not why I came today, to talk of this court.”

            “You always come with something of importance. I’ve learned that about you.”

            “Can we sit? The sun has only just risen. Surely your presence is not needed yet.”

            “Please, sit. I haven’t any food or drink ready.”

            “It is not necessary. There will be tables of food inside the manse.”

            The two men sat at Ruxson’s small wooden table, in his wooden chairs with their uneven legs that invited the sitter to tip back and forth. They creaked under the weight, although Onvolio was old and somewhat feeble. He was strong of mind and spirit his entire life, but never of body.

            “What brings you, Onvolio?”

            “The winds are changing.”

            “The winds are always changing.”

            “But have I ever visited your home at daybreak to tell you so?”

            Ruxson nodded. “A valid point.”

            “But not the most important,” Onvolio said, folding his hands on the table in front of him. His skin was spotted with old age, almost thin enough to see through to the bone. “Our fates are to be intertwined.”

           “They have been, for many years now. You and I serve as the brains and brawn of Evest, respectively, while we both know Whisperwinds would be better off with either of us as lord. Or Guyanno, for that matter, Tempestia guide him.”

           “Even the goddess’ winds don’t reach the depths to which Guyanno is to be condemned.”

           “It’s not right. Certain death, and for what? Wondering if there’s a wiser way?”

           “Perhaps this is the beginning of our fate, unwinding in your abode.”

           “You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you, Onvolio? Concerning me? Us?”

           “Your role in the fate of your land and its people will increase… greatly.”

           “In what way?”

           “That depends on the decisions you make. Not everything is set in stone yet. The winds that guide us are still susceptible to change.”

           “And our fates are intertwined?”

           “I sense I was meant to serve you, Ruxson, and to advise you if needed. Not Evest.”

           “Are you suggesting we put a coup into play?”

           “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying that some things are out of your control,” the old man said, looking out the small window above the bed. “It’s time we head to the temple, if you’re ready.”

           Ruxson stood instead of answering, and extended his arm to let Onvolio walk to the door first. Outside the high grasses along the paths danced in the winds. The sun had risen enough to light the way to the manse entirely. The long shadows of the early morning were gone. Village representatives were still making their ways through and around the temple, but the crowd was much thinner. These men were from the most outlying settlements. Their lives were even simpler than Ruxson’s. They came out of obligation. What few issues they had were of little concern to Evest, and it would make no difference to him if they hadn’t shown up at all.

           “The youths you brought back,” Onvolio said as the pair approached Tempestia’s statue. “The ones from Gale’s village, after it was destroyed…”

           “Jazella… and the boy. How are they?”

           “They are well. The boy, his name is Tatello. He is a quiet lad. But I would remember his name. He is wise, for his age, and reminds me of myself at that age, if not many years after.”

           “You think he has the gift?” Ruxson asked. They had reached the altar. Priestess Nassu scrubbed religiously at Tempestia’s bronze base. He couldn’t look away.

           “I’m almost certain. You’ve spotted the young priestess again. That is another name to remember, Ruxson.

           “It has been hard to think of much else.”

           “Perhaps speak to her as a man with a heart?”

           “She is tied to her duties to Tempestia.”

           “Aren’t we all?” Onvolio asked. “Why should that interfere with her fate?”

           A bell rang from above the manse, over and over as they climbed the steps and approached the outer edge of the gathered court. Ruxson and Onvolio were recognizable faces, so the men spread when they approached, and their walk to the front was simple. Evest sat at the center of the table his servants had situated at the end of the room, facing the mob. His steward sat behind him in a modest chair. Servants had moved most of the other furniture, relocated it to other places in the manse. Lord Enzio raised his hand to quiet the men before him. Ruxson looked over to meet Onvolio’s eyes when the room failed to fall into silence. The captain removed his whip from his side and cracked it. Off the marble floor and off the marble walls the snap resounded. Silence came quickly thereafter.

           Steward Danzio stood. “Respected representatives of the villages and dwellings of Whisperwinds, your Lord Evest Enzio welcomes you to the capitol of Windhaven. On this first morning of your visit, he will hear your grievances and judge as only he closest to Tempestia could. As always, your cooperation and acceptance of Lord Enzio’s decrees is expected. Please, let he who wishes to speak first step forward.”

           The room was quiet for some time. A man, old in his face but young in his body, cleared his throat and stepped forward. Every eye was on him. “The men and women of my village fear the same fate as Gale Greatwind. It is said that the entire village burned and no lives were spared.” Voices all over the room began muttering in agreement or whispering back and forth.

           “This is not an issue of the Whisperwinds, but rather the Greatmage,” Danzio said. “We have no reason to intervene. May Tempestia guide those lost.”

           “Lord Enzio, will you say nothing? Will the Greatmage burn my village?” the man asked. “I have a daughter of just�"”

           “Will you disobey your lord and Greatmage and prove yourself to be a non-believer?” Evest asked, cutting the man off and bringing the room to silence with his booming voice. “Guyanno Greatwind did, and our lord did what needed to be done, what has always been done.”

           “You… are our lord,” the man said tentatively. “And Gale and her daughter are guilty of nothing. They are people of Whisperwinds, and their capture is cause for concern. Will we do nothing to help them?”

           “Perhaps,” Onvolio started, “it would be wise to treat with the Greatmage on this matter. Guyanno’s fate is unfortunate, but the laws of the Blazelands, which also govern us, have sealed it. Gale is loved in these parts. Her children are destined for greatness. Lord Enzio, let me�"”

           “Let them burn!” came a voice from the middle of the crowd.

           “Heathens!” shouted another. “Destined to betray just as the man who planted the seeds!”

           Others voiced their agreement, while a few here and there started arguing with them. It was near to bursting into an unruly mob. Then Lord Enzio rose to his feet, and he watched as Jazella and Tatello moved to Onvolio’s right side. Ruxson hadn’t noticed them in the room, and he failed to spot them taking a place to his left until Evest pointed at them. This simple gesture quieted the room again and brought everyone’s attention to the youths.

           “Why are you here?” Evest asked. “You do not belong.”

           Tatello reluctantly let go of his sister’s hand as she stepped forward to speak. “My younger brother and I came to Windhaven from our village, after it was burnt from the highest thicket roof to the lowest muddy hovel. Captain Chadwick brought us here. He watched from the nearest hilltop as the flames consumed. We climbed that hill on horseback, void of hope with no direction. Our father ran from our hut to assess the commotion, and he hadn’t even gotten there before the fires started rising. They spread, and grew in intensity. I grabbed Tatello’s arm and pulled him from the window. We lived on the edge of the village, and our father returned only to rush us to the stables and send us on our way. But even as we fled, we still heard it all: men, with guttural screams of anger as hot as the flames that burned them; women, their cries of anguish and helpless terror; children, from the weak infants to the confused youths, shrieked and screeched. But the most terrifying noise, my lord, wasn’t all of that. The silence that followed was far scarier. We knew that there was not a living soul behind us, and we knew not what was ahead either. And then Captain Chadwick fell upon us, and brought us here, and I felt there could be some sort of justice. There’s still time.”

           “Ruxson, please,” Evest groaned, gesturing to his captain, who looked touched.

           “Yes, Lord, I will make the preparations. I’m glad you’ve come to understand this savagery and seek what is right for our people. What would you have me to do to make this�"”

           “Your duty, you fool!” Evest boomed. “You mistake my fatigue for sympathy. I wanted you to escort these children from the court, not show me your weakness. You are starting to think with your heart rather than your mind. We must tread carefully, as always, but more so now than ever. The fires of Deadflame and Leonia are spreading, and the Greatmage’s decisions are final! To question him is to ensure our demise.”

           “The wind has always been a follower,” Onvolio said, “but perhaps it’s following the wrong path. Perhaps it’s time we let Tempestia forge her own road, and show the true power of the wind.”

           “A fool you are as well! We have forever been the weakest of the elements. For all the wisdom you claim to bear, Onvolio, you have little sense. Fire shows the way. It will lead us to greatness. And if you do not see that… if you do not agree… I’d say you have no business here.”

            “Fire shows one way, yes, but only the most obvious. There are other ways.”

           “Others are weak! And slow! And for that I have no patience. I dismiss you, Onvolio!”

           Ruxson’s anger was rising through all of this. A fist clenched tightly around the pommel of his whip. He realized he had actually heard Onvolio, where as Evest only listened. Ruxson needed to make his own path.

           “I’ll accompany you, Onvolio,” Ruxson announced, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “My lord,” he said, meeting eyes with Evest. “Perhaps it would be wise of you to live not through fear and fealty, but through justice and honor.”

           “OUT!” Evest shouted loud enough that Jazella and Tatello jumped a bit. “Take the damned children with you, and get OUT of my manse! And STAY out!”

           Onvolio led the children through the crowd, and Ruxson walked behind them. A few men whispered insults as they passed, but otherwise they left the court without a hitch. As they reached the door Steward Danzio was addressing the group once again, trying to move the focus onto more trivial things that would keep Evest from further frustration. The four made it outside, and in the grasses at the base of their lord’s manse, stood in a circle.

           “Why would you bring them into that setting?” Ruxson asked Onvolio.

           “To try and sway Evest’s mind to reason. It will soon be lost.”

           “Lost?”

           “From my visions, at least.”

           “He will die?”

           “Or lose his way entirely. The wind can’t hear where it can’t reach, and it can’t carry what it can’t lift.”

           “We’re more mature than you think,” Jazella interrupted. “And more willing to help than you’d want.”

           “Captain,” said a man from the top of the steps. He descended with two men flanking. “We are with you. I am Fengar. My men and I rode with you to the village.”

           “I remember. Of course. You were dismissed as well?”

           “We were in the back. It was easy enough to slip out of the madness on the coattails of sanity. Where do you intend to go?”

           “Go?”

           “Yes,” Fengar said. “If word of what just transpired reaches Leonia, surely you will suffer the same fate as Guyanno. A man of your rank and influence will not be tolerated if he continues to think and speak like that.”

           “I’m afraid he is right, Ruxson,” Onvolio said. “You may be made an enemy.”

           “And where are we to go?” Ruxson asked, confused. “Roam the grasses of Whisperwinds, travel from village to village like vagabonds? Or to the Blazelands, to suffer in the heat and oppression until we are found on those cracked, scorched lands?”

           “East,” Jazella said. “We should go east.”

           “East?” asked one of Fengar’s men. “Into the enemy’s grasp? To drown in their justice?”

           “Friends you may find,” Onvolio said, “in the enemies of your enemies, however new they may be.”

           “So we seek refuge at The Tear?” the same man asked.

           “If we can make it there alive,” scoffed another.

           “I don’t think we should so brashly abandon our lives here,” Ruxson said, his face a mangle of uncertainty.

           Onvolio looked at the small homes and shops passed the temple. They were dull and uniform. Men and women and children, commoners, walked in and out of them. Nearly all their garments matched, no matter who wore them. Wind blew against their faces, and that seemed to be all the comfort they had or wanted in life.

           “I’d like to think there’s more to life than this,” the old windseer said simply. He looked down at Jazella, who was only a couple of inches shorter than him, and Tatello, who was only a couple of inches shorter than her. They had hope in their eyes, but it was distant, and the rest of their faces were shrouded in doubt.

           Ruxson followed Onvolio’s eyes to the children. He saw much the same. Then they in turn looked at Lord Evest’s manse, and contemplated on the type of men who stood inside, their feet planted on the ground, stifling in a room too small with walls too thick and windows too few to let in the winds. He pitied them in that instant, and felt empowered simultaneously. Responsibility swelled within. It wasn’t the required kind he had carried his entire life, to a lord that offered little opportunity to admire or respect him. It was a rare and uninvited responsibility.

           “We will set out east,” Ruxson said. He looked at Fengar and his three men. “You can stay behind. I would only ask for discretion.”

           “I am with you,” Fengar said without hesitation, and he dropped his chin in a sign of respect before meeting the eyes of his men. The two who had spoken looked skeptical.

           “My sister,” said the fourth man, who had remained silent for the whole of the conversation. He stood outside the circle that had formed, and he was shorter than the others. But there was steel in his eyes. “She was courted to a weaver in the village that burned, not two moons ago. She was only fourteen. The last time I saw her there were tears in both our eyes. They fell down her face as the wagon took her north, and all I wanted to do was hold her. Even now, I wish I could have held her in the flames, and let the fire consume us both. That is my burden, and I will carry it east along with Tempestia’s hope.”

           The other two men nodded their consent.

           “Your name, soldier?” Ruxson asked, looking as touched as the rest of the group.

           “Archael.”

           “We move east, for your sister, and their parents,” Ruxson said, looking at the young ones. “And for Gale, and young Zephyra, and the other souls, Tempestia guide them.”

           “Further from them, but closer to a resolution,” Onvolio noted.

           “Gather your things, quickly,” Ruxson took charge. “Meet at Eastlake at noon.”

           “We will raid the stables,” Fengar contributed.

           “No,” Ruxson said with a pointed stare. “We will all leave Windhaven separately, at different times, in different ways, under as little scrutiny as possible. Taking all the horses together will only draw more unwanted attention and put them on our tails faster.”

           “So we walk?” asked one of the nameless men, his eyes squinting.

           “And live off the lands, yes,” Onvolio said. “It is the wisest way. Pack lightly.”

           “I only need my whip and my sword,” Archael said, and was the first to separate from the group, heading to his quarters.

           “I’ll prepare the children,” Onvolio said, putting a hand on Jazella’s shoulder.

           “Is it wise to bring them? Lord Enzio’s scorn shouldn’t affect them.” Fengar asked.

           “Realize, Fengar, that even by having this conversation, Evest is no longer your lord. And it is wiser to bring them than to leave them here to his devices,” Onvolio said. “They will slow us down no more than I will.”

           “We will not be a burden. If I could carry the same as Archael, I would, in a heartbeat,” Jazella said firmly as she took her brother’s hand and turned from the group. Onvolio gave the four men a curious look and moved to follow them.

           “Three hours ‘til noon, captain,” Fengar said, looking at the sun ascending higher into the sky. It was beaming down on them.

           “I will not require that much time,” Ruxson answered. “And I am no longer your captain. I am Ruxson, and our fates are now intertwined as equals. Move swiftly, Fengar, men.”

           The three nodded, and Ruxson did the same before they went their separate ways. Ruxson was alone in having to pass Tempestia’s dwelling. Priestess Nassu swept out the last corner of the stone floor as he passed. She spotted him and advanced, meeting him in his path, letting her broom rest in the dirt as she held the stick against her body.

           “Court ends so early?” she asked innocently. “Why don’t you stay for food and drink?”

           “It only ended for a few,” Ruxson said cryptically.

           “Ah,” she said, understanding. “I am sure it will pass, as menial as the weakest breeze.”

           Ruxson only nodded. “Have you many duties left before prayer?”

           “No,” she said, studying him. “Your eyes tell me there is more. The winds within are shifting, quite drastically.”

           “Are you priestess, or seer?”

           “I know the heart and soul of a man, especially in matters of Tempestia.”

           A heavy gust bellowed through, so strong it bit into Ruxson’s eyes and forced him to point them down. The wind lifted the bottom of Nassu’s garments, showing her smooth white calves, lean and tender. As his eyes scanned back up to meet hers, he noticed the broom handle pressing in between her breasts, normally hidden beneath. They were small, but pert. He realized he lingered for too long, not only with his eyes but also with his mission.

           “I must go,” he said curtly. “Tempestia guide you.”

           “Where must you go?” she said, wanting more. He stared into her eyes, longer than he had at her legs or her chest. They were a sea of innocence, but the waves were churning, and she swam endlessly within. Perhaps she needed something new to hang on to, much like he did. Perhaps knowing would be enough, for a woman of heart and soul.

           “East.”

           “To what end?”

           “A new one.”

           “Alone?”

           “Aren’t we all?”

           “I could come with you.”

           “Your place is here. Tempestia needs you.”

           “You say that mockingly.” She dropped her head, dejected.

           “Whisperwinds needs you,” he said, more stern.

           She found something in that. “I will pray for you, Ruxson Chadwick.”

           She leaned in and pecked his cheek, the stubble tickling her lips. He caught her scent, honey and windpetal, the scent of untainted beauty. He smiled, and nodded, and passed her.

           “I will sway the winds of fury away from you, for as long as I can,” she whispered after him. “For you are Whisperwinds, now.”

           “Do you think I may have bit off more than I can chew, Onvolio?” Ruxson asked the old man as they headed towards the eastern border of Whisperwinds.

           “No, no, my lad,” the windseer said reassuringly.

           The sun was well passed its midpoint. Their small band of journeymen walked along the least traversed paths, sometimes cutting through fields of overgrown tallgrass to avoid villages and mindless winding routes. Onvolio knew the lands well, though it took little knowledge to point east and keep going. It didn’t take long for Eastlake to fade out of the distance. For some time, all they saw around them was grass and dirt. The occasional plumes of smoke from villages in the distance let them know that there was still humanity around them. No one knew exactly how long it would be until they started upon the unpredictable veins and tributaries that marked the border of Lightwater. They would be tough to cross and still stay due east.

           But everyone was hopeful, or so they showed on the exterior. Onvolio and Ruxson took the lead. Behind them, at varying speeds, were the children and the two nameless wind mages. Fengar and Archael took up the rear. Ruxson looked behind himself often. He wanted to make sure the group was keeping together and there was nothing coming up on them from behind. If Archael and Fengar weren’t performing the same duty, they met eyes with Ruxson, and communicated a respectful nod. Onvolio and Jazella kept their eyes forward, ever east. Tatello and the other two looked behind themselves often, too. Ruxson could see something different in their eyes. They weren’t looking behind them. They were looking back, questioning everything.

           “And you’re sure this was the right choice? Was it wise for me to bring all of these people? What if we fail? Should they not have stayed behind where it was safe?” Ruxson riddled these questions off in a quick whisper as to not be heard by the children and mages.

           Onvolio pondered a moment, scanning the horizon, tracking the path of a blackbird as it danced in the sky. “Do you remember when your father spilled his heart out to you? Just before he went off to his last battle?”

           “Yes? How do you�"?”

           “It was a foolish campaign on the part of the Greatmage who ruled then. He wanted our forces to forge their way across the borders we ourselves soon seek to cross. The enemy had no idea of our plan until we crossed into their lands. Still, the losses we suffered were too great to count. Adepts simply drowned and electrocuted mages, pulled them into the cold water or doused them in charged, falling torrents. We were in their domain, and there was no way back.”

           “This is not reassuring,” Ruxson said, looking down at the ground for the first time.

           “I’m not trying to reassure you. I’m trying to teach you. Now…” Onvolio took a deep breath. “I told your father he was going to die on that day. He was a stern man, I know, and I was young at the time, still coming into my Seership. But he believed me. He trusted me, and asked me what he should do. So I told him the same thing that I’m about to tell you. You can go wherever you want in life.”

           Ruxson felt shortchanged. “That is what you tell a child.”

           “I am not done,” Onvolio snapped back. “Your mother, Ruxson, was a woman of whom I have more memories than you do. She often did more than was her duty, as far as performing the tasks of a man, or at least trying to before being reprimanded. One night, under a veil of stars, she hurried north. Word had traveled on the wind that her mother, long widowed, was on her deathbed. Your mother escaped, and moved in secret across the Whisperwinds to the village she knew as a girl.”

           “My father told me that story,” Ruxson said, exhausted.

           “Did he tell you that when she arrived on the outskirts of the village, the pyre was already lit and the winds of Tempestia were blowing your grandmother’s ashes into the next life?”

           “No,” Ruxson said, shocked and heartbroken.

           “Did your mother fail, Ruxson?”

           “In that,” he paused. “Yes.”

           “No,” Onvolio said, shaking his head vehemently. “You ask me if this is the right choice. What will happen if we fail? Remember, Ruxson. You can do anything you want in life. You can rewrite your fate and go on the most incredible journeys, whether they’re for good or evil, whether they serve a purpose or fancy a whim. What matters is that you return to the place from where you came.”

           “My mother didn’t get to say goodbye to hers.”

           “No, she did not,” Onvolio nodded slowly. “But she returned in here… and here.”

           Ruxson looked over at the weathered windseer, and one hand was over his heart while the other pointed at a temple. The wind had been whipping in every which direction since they set out. But at that, a strong gust from west to east nearly knocked them all into the tallgrass.

           Onvolio whispered a few more words after the wind passed. “If you ask me, she never really left.”