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Wind. Daniel Mello
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Leaning against his desk, the king glanced toward his Steward; Lotharius nodded slightly, encouraging his Lord onward. “We find them all, and we kill them.”
Nielius glared at his Consul, waiting for their objections. However, none came. In fact, to his surprise, the five remaining members looked somewhat pleased with the idea.
“You wish to hunt down the entire McCloud bloodline and exterminate it?” Mriori asked with as subtle an inquisitiveness as he could muster. He thought it best not to disturb a raging king.
“Yes, I do,” Nielius calmly answered, “this is the Decree of Purification that I announce commencing hence forth: anyone pulsing with the blood of any McCloud ancestry will be considered a threat to the entire kingdom and eliminated at once. Age and gender are no exception to the decree, as anyone can be a threat. Along with direct descendants, indirect descendants will also be considered a threat and dealt with accordingly. Cooperatives of the conspiratorial McClouds are no exception as well. Death is to be administered by public execution, and all citizens of Hyrendell are commanded to attended. Anyone who fails to attend the executions will be considered in allegiance with the conspirators and will be dealt with accordingly.” The king glanced over the eyes of his privy council. “Any questions?”
Everyone held their breath as the words seeped into their thoughts. A kingdom-wide extermination of all traitors? No more conspirators against the crown? Erinol had just finished scribbling down the decree onto a roll of parchment when Amicus stood up and began to applaud. And within seconds, all of the Consul members stood to cheer for the magnificence of their ruler, the brilliance of their king.
“Enact the Decree at once!”
4. Madness
The Forgotten Sea was calm that day, gently lapping at the sides of Lythina’s dinghy as she rowed out toward the open ocean. The sun was glowing high in the western sky, allowing her to soak up its warmth before she would eventually descend into the impenetrable fog that gave the sea its name. Every now and then she would turn to glance at the fog, adjusting her course as necessary until she was heading perpendicular to the coast, straight on toward the misty wall.
The fog was far enough from land that Lythina had time to reflect upon the past two days before she would have to concentrate solely upon her direction. A sudden rush of warmth coursed through her body as she remembered what it felt like to wake up the next morning after learning about her parents and meeting a relative she never knew she had. That whole day was spent helping her grandmother tend her garden behind the Inn until the right amount of herbs and vegetables were sourced for her voyage. They had laughed and played in the dirt together, and Hildabrand had showed Lythina a few tricks about turning the earth
“Planting a garden is far more than just plopping a few seeds into the ground,” her grandmother had said. “There are little spirits in the earth that help the veggies grow. They nourish and care for them when we are away, and help push them out of the soil towards the sunlight.”
Lythina remembered how she questioned her grandmother’s wisdom, “but God says he is the only deity, and that there is no one else. Only he can make the vegetables grow.”
“Oh, you’re very right, love,” Hildabrand had responded. “He is the Light, but he also created other beings to help him around the earth.” She had watched as her granddaughter concentrated on this.
“Like angels,” Lythina had concluded.
“Yes, like angels; though angels help humans, while fairies help plants and animals. If you’re still and quiet enough, you might be able to see them flittering about throughout the trees and bushes, like sparkles in the brush. They only let you see them if they feel it’s safe, like angles do.”
Remembering that conversation brought a smile to Lythina’s face. Her grandmother was so wise that it had a way of humbling her instantly.
She adjusted her course again and continued to row toward the fog. The young lady felt the sea breeze brush against her cheeks, glistening them with salt, before it heaved against the stern of her craft; it was as if the wind itself was urging her onward. A glimmer of intuition sparkled a confirmation inside her heart. She reflected a moment about how it must’ve been her imagination because she was heading west; due to the constant direction of airflow over Hyrendell, she should be encountering a headwind, not a tailwind. Curious…
But the thought of her grandmother crept into her mind once more. Again, she recalled her visit.
The day after learning about fairies, Lythina had helped Hildabrand tidy up the Inn. That night, she noticed her grandmother pulling an old book from one of the dusty shelves that lined the living room. They sat down in their two favorite over-stuffed rocking chairs near the fireplace and sipped some tea as Hildabrand explained further about the sealight, as she now called it, and how she had documented its appearances. The book contained several drawings that Hildabrand had made, marking the light’s location relative to the sunset, the moon’s position, and the stars. There were inscriptions and diagrams plotting the moon’s path, and sky charts so in-depth that it almost looked like the night sky itself. Lythina remembered being extremely impressed at the detail that her grandmother had put into the pictures.
“Here we are,” her grandmother began. “I’ve been tracking the sealight for so long that I’ve noticed a pattern in its appearance. See here,” and she moved closer so Lythina could better view her charts. “This was the very first year that the light arrived.”
Hildabrand pointed to a long chronological chart that was broken into months. Each month looked like the night sky, with the stars slowly rotating their position throughout the year. The full moons each had a different location in the sky, and in the center of each month, balanced on a thin, straight line, was a small pictogram of fire, some larger than others.
Hildabrand continued, “as you can see, the light never moves relative to the horizon, but it does vary in intensity. Although it follows the full moon exactly, approximately every eleven years it repeats the same cycle.” She flipped to a page near the end of the book. It showed a graphic timeline of all the maps that she had made. Each year was placed in ascending order, with an obvious trend in the sealight’s luminescence; together, all of the years tracked the light’s intensity in the shape of a large W. “The brightness of the sealight peaked when it first appeared, then again about eleven years ago, and it will again sometime during this year.”
Following the curve with her finger, Lythina began when the light first appeared, gliding to its trough, then back up again to where it peaked. She followed the trend back down again, and up to the end of the map, to the current year they were in.
“This peaks later this year, sometime in autumn,” she noted. “If your observations are accurate, and I’m sure they are, then it would crest in October, near my birthday!” She studied the curve again, just in case she had made a mistake.
Hildabrand, however, was wide eyed and quiet. She glanced at the map, up at Lythina, then back at the map. Suddenly, she yanked the book from Lythina’s lap.
“Hey, but —,” Lythina began, but she stopped when she saw Hildabrand’s expression.
Flipping to the first map in the book, Hildabrand brushed her hand over her notes, mumbling something inaudible.
“What’s your birth date, dear,” she asked, still huddled over the book.
“October 10th.”
Hildabrand gasped.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad of a day to be born on,” Lythina defended. “Sure, it’s no New Years, but…,”
“Quiet, please,” Hildabrand whispered. Her hands stopped moving over the map, and she gradually lifted her gaze to meet Lythina’s curious eyes.
“You’re in your twenties, right, love?,” Hildabrand asked carefully.
“Right, I’ll be twenty two this year,” Lythina answered. Just then, she gasped as her