The Man In The Wind (7 page)

       “I could bring you back.”

       Iris narrowed her eyes. “That is not the point.” Abruptly, she seized the shirt and pulled up, forcing him to lift his arms and let her yank it over his head. He was too startled to make any sort of move other than to stare at her, bewildered. She gave him a reflexive once-over from the waist up. He was just as pale, and just as chiseled, like a sculpture. Her line of vision traced the edge of his broad shoulders, the curve of his neck, the slight rise of his exceptionally defined clavicle. God, she thought, how long has it been since I’ve had a boyfriend? Long enough that Rai’s bare flesh was an acting temptation.

       Rai eyed the woman in his lap with a mixture of wariness and interest. She had an expression on her face that he recalled from the witch who had tried to sleep with him, an intense covetousness that betrayed her thoughts. She lifted her hand, and he tensed a little, anticipating her touch, but it never came. Instead, Iris removed her own shirt, dropping it over the side of the mattress as she settled down next to him. Observing the puzzled knitting of his eyebrows, she explained, “I did say skin to skin.”

       This remark was trailed by a protracted intermission between them, a companionable but incredibly delicate peace. He pondered the way in which she had appraised him, the way her gaze wandered across his body. For most of his life, his half-living body had been numb to the world, but he could swear he had physically felt her watching him. She changed positions, and he caught the subtle friction of her shoulder blade across his chest. Her skin was soft and smooth. “How do you feel?”

Iris ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. “Better. You’re like a space heater.” She yawned. “I can’t believe how tired I am after doing nothing for two days. Do me a favor and lie back, will you?” She placed her hand on his sternum and pushed him like a reclining chair until he was almost flat on his back, and then she settled into the contour of his body and closed her eyes.

       Rai did not know what to do. He lay absolutely still. One of his arms was trapped between her and the mattress, and when he tried very gently to extract it, she only cuddled closer to him. He was debating about how best to move her when her voice reached his ears. “Just relax. It’s okay.” He made a conscious effort to recollect himself, and she turned her face up toward him, inspecting his expression. Because the embers in the stove were banked, the tent was pitch dark, but again he could feel her gaze on him. “You know,” she said conversationally, “you really look like you’d know how to hold a girl.”

       “I don’t.”

       “Don’t worry,” she said. He could hear her smirking. “I can teach you.”

       It was the first night Rai had ever spent with a woman in his arms. Holding her was like holding a tender, fragile animal, one who would growl if you moved too much, or manipulate your limbs herself if you didn’t move enough. If he had needed sleep, she might have been a pain, but he was already awake anyway, so her bossy sleep-dictations were much easier for him to handle. Plus, he had to admit that he probably wasn’t very good at being a bedmate, as he had never been one before. He was there for her, to keep her warm, and to ignore the sensation of her body against his.

       Underneath the snow, there was no sunlight to wake her body up. Iris came up from slumber like a surfacing diver: carefully even. She opened her eyes one at a time. The darkness from the night had barely dissipated. She could just see the outline of a large shape in front of her, which she touched, gingerly.

       “What?” said Rai.

       She jumped. “Oh my God. I forgot you were there.” The motionless air inside the small pavilion was still quite cold. She pulled the blankets back around her shoulders. “Thanks for not letting me die of hypothermia.”

       “Thanks for breaking me out of Serberos’ castle.” They locked eyes in the dusky light, and a heavy quietude descended between them. It was his turn to break it. “I’m going to check and see if it’s safe for us to get out of here.”

       “I was beginning to think you’d never say that.” The relief in her voice was enormous. He got up; she groped around until she found the hand-light and switched it on. It threw the whole space into bright, painful relief. She threw it underneath the covers. “Sorry, my bad.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Rai said nothing. She shut up so he could concentrate, and began packing up in anticipation of the departure she hoped would occur very soon. As she folded up the few extra articles of clothing she’d bought, she perceived the soft crushing sound of moving snow. The tent grew slightly lighter. Opening his eyes, Rai motioned for her to stay back, and then he unfastened the entrance flap for the first time in three or four days.

       The air that rushed in was aggressively wintry, but its freshness was so welcome that Iris didn’t even care. She took a deep breath, grinning a little as its arctic currents grabbed the stale atmosphere and pushed it out. Rai appreciated it too; he paused with his face in the wind for a quick second before pushing out to his shoulders and scanning the vicinity. He nodded at her upon withdrawal, his hair spotted with snowflakes.

       “It’s deserted,” he told her. “Let’s go.”

       She had never heard such beautiful words.

---

       The Seers had left in haste after Moma Eden’s epiphany on the roof, the details of which she had chosen not to disclose to her company. Because he firmly believed that forced predictions were bad luck, Serberos had not pressed the woman for details, and instead had escorted them to the castle door, leaving a small company of men in his place at the top of the fortress. His old man’s skin was thin and papery; the fierce wind of Volikar was getting to be too much for him to handle. He felt as though the icy zephyrs he had once so loved now sought to tear him limb from limb. A deeply superstitious man, Serberos often worried about whether or not it was a sign. Should he abdicate? Would he be struck down? Did the gods know his heart wavered more with every passing day? He was thankful that the span of his life had long ago eclipsed that of his father’s, and even gladder that he had no sons. What it would do to his pride to be seen the way he was: tottering, dilapidated, the clinging husk of a man.

       Even the unceremonious seat of the throne he had occupied since his coronation felt oversized and uncomfortable, as though it belonged to another and no one had told him yet. He perched on its edge like a bird, hands on withered knees, cane set carefully to the side. During his lengthy tenure as king of Volikar, the throne room had been his sanctuary, the hallowed place where he could plan for action. Today, he was dwarfed by the legacy he had not yet left behind. Tired and decrepit, reality sunk sharply in.

       The necromancer was gone. Were he the young, strong man he used to be, he would still be storming around his domain, shouting and cursing and possibly breaking things just because. His impetuous heart had lost its fierce beat. Not that he wanted to be complacent. Inside, he was infuriated by the loss of the boy. But his body refused to allow him to act on these moods. Time, he thought, is a cruel mistress. She has forsaken me.

       What could he do? What was left to do? As his constitution slowly faded, he had funneled everything into that macabre enchanter. The necromancer had become his instrument. And for some foolish reason, he never thought that omnipotent tool would be lost.

       Perhaps he was the fool, blinded by uncharacteristic optimism. Part of him wanted to let go of the world, to slip unfettered into the beyond and let his successors deal with the problem of the missing boy. But as indulgent as the fantasy was, he knew he could not carry it out. Only a coward would choose to flee from the duties of his life.  Volikar needed a king.

       And that meant he would have to find the boy. Serberos grimaced. He ran his thumb along the arm of the throne and pressed a switch inlaid in the smooth pearl and ivory design. Barely fifteen seconds later, Steward Tarnslen stepped into the hall. “Your bidding, my liege?” he asked, raising his stately voice just enough that it would carry down the aisle.

       The monarch motioned him closer. “Get in contact with our neighbors. I want the boy’s face plastered for a thousand miles, every direction. Let them know that he is a danger to society. Tell them he could be anywhere.” He dropped his voice. “Strike fear into their hearts. I have found terror to be an invaluable motivation.”

       The chief steward inclined his head, his long, unremarkable face impassive. “As you wish, Your Majesty. No stone shall be left unturned.” He departed, and Serberos sat back on his cathedra, satisfied. The necromancer had nowhere to go. He had no shelter to take. Sooner or later, they would flush him out. The king’s thoughts touched briefly on his servant’s anonymous companion. A cold sneer touched his pinched lips.

       Once that foolish woman realized what the necromancer was, Serberos was sure she would abandon him. No one wanted to travel with a beast.

No trace remained of the fearsome storm that had pummeled the Volikari land on the night that Iris Deleone broke into the royal castle. A pale sun beat without warmth on the girl’s nimble form as she scooted around the perimeter of her tent, pulling up the pegs at the four corners. Having unanchored the base, Iris stood back. With a crisp snapping sound, the structure seemed to swallow itself, leaving only a small, pocket-sized box in its place. She scooped this up, put everything into her pack, and hoisted it onto her back. “Are you ready?”

       Rai nodded. He stood calf-deep in the gleaming white drift, clad only in the worn garments he had been rescued in. Iris knew he was not the least bit deterred by the weather, but she felt like a negligent mother who did not know how to dress her charge. He began to cut her a path through the snowfall, and the feeling intensified. “Hey Rai,” she said. “When we get back to civilization, we’re gonna get you something else to wear.”

       “You mean this isn’t civilized enough for you?”

       “I’m a spoiled rich kid. What can I say? Also, you look absolutely pathetic trekking through the snow like that.”

       He elected to dismiss the last remark. “Do you know where we’re going? Because I don’t, but I ended up in front somehow.” She bounded awkwardly through the snow to catch up to him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He glanced at her.

       “You’re twice my size. I need you to clear the way,” she explained. “And, yes. I memorized a map. We should be heading…” She turned him so that he was traveling perpendicular to the sun. “…this way. You would have gotten us hopelessly lost.”

       “Well, thank the Gods you’re here.”

       She punched him in the arm.

       Out from under the thumb of its vicious storms, Iris thought the Volkari scenery was beautiful in the same stark way as a painting of a graveyard, or a church immersed in fog. The crystalline snowfall, lying close against the brilliant cerulean sky, gave the impression that the country had been hewn from gemstones. When the weather was so perfectly clear, the glacial air lost its bite; it was close to refreshing as it skimmed over her cheeks. She hopped from footprint to footprint in the trail Rai left for her, her boots crunching heartily in the frost. “Look for another rock formation,” she instructed. “It should be on our right.”

       “I don’t see anything,” he retorted. “I never knew how empty this place was.”

       “Well, we’re walking toward a road right now,” said Iris. “It’s the only road that goes between the castle and the nearest city. I had to circumvent the last mile and a half or so because it leads right up to the front of the castle grounds.”

       “And what are we going to do once we find that road?”

       “I could call my dad and have him send someone to pick us up, but that might be too conspicuous, even all the way out here. So, we’re going to walk until we get to the point where it joins the highway, and then we’re going to hitchhike.”

       “You don’t think we’ll stand out?”

       She shrugged. “I’ll make something up. If anyone asks, you’re mute. I don’t really trust you to talk your own way through this.”

       “Thanks.” But he knew she was right. One slip-up, one incorrect assumption on his part, could ruin everything, and then they might be in real trouble.