Daughter of the Wind

8. Reckonings

Eighth of Harvest

When Belkai was six, her mother had told her a story about a fairy who could control the snow. She would create monuments and statues out of snow and ice in the most remote places in the mountains where no one but bears and wolves could appreciate them. When Belkai asked why she made them in such secret places, her mother had hugged her and told her that the most important, most beautiful things were always found where no one could see. And the most beautiful thing was your heart. Later that year, her mother had left her husband and daughter to chase a bard across Lustria. She'd learned at six that words were cheap.

Belkai thought about that as she unfurled her bedroll and lay beneath the stars. Her only shelter was an apple tree whose fruit was just becoming ripe. She plucked one and took a bite, savouring the juice and reflecting on her mother. What had she really been like? Would she have stayed if she'd known who her daughter would become? Fascinated by the idea of magic, Belkai had sought out the local mages and at age fifteen found an Order that was willing to take her in. Her father had objected at first, but after the first year of training accepted the joy that she'd found there. She'd kept touch with him, and he'd only gotten prouder of her over the years. She'd never heard a word from her mother. When she'd passed through Lustria on her way to Svaleta, she'd fought off the urge to search her out. She'd made that decision twenty years ago. By now it was on her own head, not Belkai's. Once again she found herself alone, unable to rely on anyone but herself.

She threw the apple away and closed her eyes to listen to the gentle breeze blowing through the leaves above her. Her mind reached out, and she felt the wind pushing the grass this way and that. She found peace in the random movements. You could learn much from the wind if you were willing to simply listen. She slowly fell into a peaceful sleep and dreamed that she was that fairy, creating ice monuments for bears to wonder at.

* * *

She woke to the sound of screams. Dawn was starting to break as she leapt to her feet and looked around. To the east she saw a farmer's ranch, a barn already on fire. She turned away and began to pack away her bedroll. It's not your concern, she told herself. A second thought stopped her cold. Isn't that what Mother thought? She strapped on her cloak and lifted her pack onto her shoulders, then began to run towards the ranch. The screams changed pitch, pain mixing with the earlier fear. She could hear a man yelling, protesting whatever was happening. The barn continued to burn, and as she drew closer she could make out a half dozen figures running across the compound. Bandits, she recognised. She'd found one of the infamous raiding parties. She knew enough about the Aliri to recognise an attempt to destabilise Svaleta's food supply, and by extension its economy. Geopolitics weren't her concern, but she didn't want to see innocent lives stolen when she could intervene. She slowed as she came to the outskirts of the ranch. The burning barn was off to her left. On her right was the main house, where the screams were coming from. Two men were moving through the stable killing the horses. Four others carried clothes and jewellery to a carriage. They stopped when they saw Belkai highlighted by the flames. She threw her pack to the side and reached under her cloak for her Aliri daggers. One of the men called out, and they were joined by the two men from the stable. Six on one, Belkai thought. A fair fight. All six men carried the distinctive curved blades of Aliri scimitars, but didn't carry themselves like soldiers. Equipped by the Aliri, but not trained. Some level of plausible deniability. She stood her ground as the men circled her. One stepped forward, clearly their leader. He was older, a long scar down one cheek a testimony to a violent past.

"What are you doing here?" he spat. "This is no place for a lady."

Belkai drew her hands out of her cloak, each holding a dagger with the blade facing down.