Windborn, p.8
Windborn, page 8
I don’t question it. I just keep concentrating, hoping to figure out what my mind is trying to tell me.
The girl reaches up and grabs a branch, bending it toward me. “Just take one,” she says with a mischievous smirk. A silver clock dangles between the branch’s leaves, and I reach toward it and turn it to look at its face.
Recognition lights my mind—it’s the same clock I’m holding in my hands, the one inscribed with my name.
Without warning, a great deluge of thoughts pours into me. The thrill of a hundred forgotten memories returning, of the meaning behind inexplicable images piecing together into a vision, is so clear that I wonder how I ever missed it.
But as suddenly as the thoughts appeared, the curse’s heat attacks with a vigor more than I ever could have imagined, so painful and hot, it seems the Firelands themselves have opened their infernal gates and consumed me. Searing blades pierce through me from every direction, and I feel like I’ve fallen on a bed of sizzling swords. The shock is so great that I can’t stop my scream this time, and my ears buzz with my own cry. Unadulterated instinct takes over, and I open my eyes before I realize what I’m doing.
The pain instantly fades, but it doesn’t vanish as it did before. I still feel as if a dozen swords, hot from the forge, have stabbed me at once. I remain on the floor, weeping.
But my tears aren’t from the pain—not entirely. No, despite everything, I feel a smile spreading across my lips, because I’ve won. The curse may have ejected me from my memory, but I already found what I was looking for. Somehow, that one memory, of flying beside a girl of flames and approaching the clock tree, awakened elements of my very self that had been locked behind the curse’s gates. I don’t have everything—far from it. There are still barriers in my mind, blocking me from much of what I once knew.
But I have enough. I know who I am, now. Though I still don’t know how or why I’m here, I’ve found a reason to keep fighting to recover more. And I will. I’m too exhausted to try again immediately, but with time, I will defeat this curse once and for all.
I turn onto my back and stretch across the floor, finding relief in its coldness. Meanwhile, the truths I’ve just learned file through my head one by one, brilliant in their clarity.
My name is Kiriall Amdyth, and I’m called Kiri. I’m sixteen years old. And I have a friend with red hair and a melodious laugh. But she’s more than a girl—she’s a being born of flames. Who can race through the air as a blaze races through dry wood, but without damaging even a scrap of paper.
She’s a fire nymph.
And I... I’m not a girl either. As she was born of flames, I was born of wind. And I can fly, even without wings. I can transform myself into a gentle breeze or a forceful gust and soar through the sky as a cloud does.
Because I am an air nymph.
That’s why the Sorci master called me dangerous. Though nymphs now reside only in certain enchanted forests, they once wandered the Terrestrial Realm with humans, and there are tales of men—and sometimes women—being lured to their deaths by a nymph’s hypnotizing call.
And that’s why the Sorci master said he’d discover my secret. He must want my abilities—my powers over the air and over the human will. It’s an explanation based on assumption, but one that makes too much sense to deny.
Other answers come to light as I contemplate the revelation. Remembering the white horse with violet eyes from my dreams, I recall the question that arose then: How could I have a horse for a mother? This is how: Because nymphs aren’t truly born, as humans are, but formed by the unicorns from elements of nature. Unicorns were created by the Divinity to be guardians, and they would, of course, care for and nurture their own. The unicorn I saw must have been the one who made me from the air, and she must have raised me.
The grove with books must have been a part of the forest I lived in, and knowing that it resided in a place of magic makes it seem like anything but nonsense. How did I never think to consider that I came from a world of unlimited enchantments? With all the charms in the air, one could easily leave a book outside without worrying about it being damaged by rain or mist.
Mist... I understand now what the mist in my dreams was: The curse, trying to keep me from comprehending my memories. No wonder it burned as it did. It wasn’t just a memory of the spell binding me. It was the spell.
And this same spell must be why I couldn’t summon my powers when I thought I might have magic. But then, I didn’t know if my abilities were real or imagined. I’ll try again—and this time, I’ll know what I seek.
The last embers of the pain from recovering my memories fade, and the chill of the floor no longer seems comforting. Though I’m still exhausted, I force myself to get up and approach the ball of light. Glimpsing Darien’s cloak nearby, I pick it up and wrap it around myself.
“Thank you, Darien,” I whisper.
I huddle by the source of warmth and, staring at the small clock, feel the joy of remembering fall away. Because I know now what that clock tree meant—and why each time I saw it, I felt like something terrible was about to happen.
A nymph’s life force is bound to her homeland. When she leaves her borders, it starts to drain away. And if she doesn’t return in time, she will die.
I will die.
This clock, which I took from a magical tree in my home, tells me how much time I have left. Which is why it runs backward—it’s counting down. Each hour represents a day, and the short hand is pointed at seven.
Which means I have seven days left to live.
My heart hammers with fear as I realize that even though I no longer wish to die, I might not have a choice. The clock’s second hand moves with unbearable speed, and each tick strikes new fear into my heart.
Seven days.
Seven days to find a way out of this cell, to recall just where my homeland is, and to return to its safety. But how can I do so when all my past attempts at escaping have resulted in nothing but despair?
I’m an air nymph, I remind myself. I can transform into wind. And if I do, these bars will mean nothing to me.
Drawing a deep breath, I repeat the thought to calm myself. The power is within me, and I will recover it, no matter how much pain I have to endure to break past the spell’s magical chains.
Because I must—before the clock strikes midnight.
WINDBORN
FATED STARS BOOK 1
PROLOGUE
Yesterday...
IF SHE DIDN’T ACT NOW, the Terrestrial Realm would dissolve into ashes under the Fiend’s wrath. He would kill every creature—enchanted and human alike—created by the Divinity and trap their souls in the Infernal Realm, where they would suffer for all eternity. For after the Divinity, full of joy and inspiration, had blessed the world with life and free will, the Fiend, Her wicked brother, had grown jealous of how Terrestrial dwellers loved and worshipped Her. And so he had attacked with his dark forces, seeking to destroy his Sister’s creations.
All nineteen years of Nameed’s life had been spent preparing for this moment, when she found herself face-to-face with the Fiend himself and at last had the chance to destroy him.
And yet, she hesitated. Because to save the world, she would lose her beloved forever.
It wasn’t the hideous face of a powerful monster she stared into, but the beautiful brown eyes of Denár, the young man who’d stolen her heart, who’d shown her the kind of devotion she’d never thought she’d deserve. Having been driven to the edge of the Firelands, a deep pit within the Infernal Realm from which there was no escape, the Fiend had hidden himself in her beloved’s body, no doubt hoping to escape the Divinity’s ever-watchful gaze.
Despite the tears burning her eyes, Nameed held her blade steady against Denár’s chest. The flames below bathed her hand, copper in hue and unrelenting in its grip, in a light as red as blood. One blow would be all it took to end his life—and the war that had been raging since before she was born. If she struck him down, the Fiend would be forced to leave his dying host, and the Divinity, upon seeing him, would drive him into the fiery cage.
The fate of everything the sun touched would be decided at last.
“Lower your blade!” Denár’s voice rang in her ears, bright and clear as when he’d told her he’d die for her. “It’s me!”
Behind him, flames danced within the chasm, throwing a foreboding light upon his fine features and giving his dark complexion a golden glow. The hellish blaze glinted off the crimson sash he wore over his bare chest, a sash she herself had woven to honor his previous victory against the Fiend’s monstrous henchmen, the guié. How could she destroy the person she loved most in the world when she would gladly have given her own life for his chance to live?
This is not Denár.
Nameed hardened her expression and looked straight into his eyes, doing her best to see the evil hiding behind his face. “Leave my betrothed’s body,” she growled. “Or I shall force you to leave.”
A dazzling white light blazed above, but she resisted the urge to look, for she knew what it was: the Divinity, watching over this final battle between Her forces and Her brother’s. Though She’d sworn never to interfere in the matters of the Terrestrial Realm, allowing Her children the freedom to create their own destinies, handling the Fiend was a different matter. On Her side were the ayri, celestial immortals who soared on feathered wings and who each embodied a particular aspect of the world, from the cultural—like music—to the elemental—like moonlight. Also on Her side were the strongest representatives of all Her creations, from the great—like dragons, whose emerald scales were harder than metal—to the small—like fairies, whose gossamer wings scarcely seemed strong enough to withstand a raindrop, and yet whose fortitude drove them to battle monsters a thousand times their size. And, of course, the humans, like the warriors of Nameed’s own tribe.
On the Fiend’s side were his dark creations, beasts he’d designed solely for the purpose of inflicting pain and destruction. Most numerous among them were the guié, who resembled humans only in that they had two arms and two legs. Beings of darkness, their blazing eyes were the sole features amid the blank black shadows that should have been their faces. Talons protruded from their fingers, and jagged black wings spread from their backs. Alongside them were greater monsters still—blazing beasts who towered over the trees and relished the taste of blood.
These were the world’s future masters unless Nameed acted. Already, too many villages had succumbed to the Fiend’s forces, and she’d heard the screams of the fallen as their souls were ripped from their bodies to burn, burn, burn in the Infernal Realm.
Nameed dug the point of her blade into Denár’s chest. This is not my beloved—this is the Fiend.
A crimson rivulet wound down his dark torso, but if he felt anything, he did not show it. Denár—or rather, the Fiend—twisted his mouth into a sneer, as if he took great pleasure in her pain. In the corner of her eye, the white light blazed on; the Divinity hovered overhead, watching and waiting. Had the Fiend possessed any—any—other, Nameed would have gritted her teeth and done what she had to.
But not Denár.
To her, he represented everything good in the world, all the virtues of the stars above—courage, honesty, kindness, generosity. She would have thrown herself into the Firelands before letting anything happen to him. And yet there she stood, with her blade against his heart.
How did it come to this? One moment, they’d been fighting side-by-side against the guié, driving the enemy closer and closer to the chasm. And the next, she’d spotted a glint of red in his dark eyes and seen a ferociously gleeful look twist his expression. Though anyone else might have denied the sight, thinking it a trick of light, Nameed knew her beloved like no other, and she’d been warned that the Fiend might try to possess the living. So she’d turned her blade on him in a movement so quick, she didn’t remember making it.
A mere instant must have passed since that moment, yet it felt like eternity. All around her, the battle raged on, but it seemed muted and blurred behind her agony. Time slowed, and tears spilled down her cheeks. There must be some other way.
Denár—no, the Fiend—met her eyes. “Nameed—”
Hearing her name spoken by the impostor jolted her out of her hesitation, and fury overwhelmed her. With a primal scream, she plunged her sword into his chest. Though delivering such a blow must have taken all her strength, she felt nothing—no steel in her hands, no pressure against her arms, not even the blood that splashed onto her face. In that instant, she was no longer the warrior Nameed, but a being of sheer rage.
Denár’s eyes widened, then turned from brown to red. Flames exploded from them as the Fiend rushed to escape his dying host. The young man’s body collapsed against the hilt of her sword, and Nameed suddenly felt the weight against her hands. She released the weapon to catch him. He fell onto his knees, and she knelt down with him, holding him up, as if that would somehow keep him alive.
“Denár...” She meant to tell him how much he meant to her, apologize for her failure to save him, and let him know that she’d make sure his sacrifice would be remembered forever. She ached to hear him tell her that everything would be all right, that she’d made the right choice, that he forgave her. She wanted—no, needed—a tender goodbye, in which she’d hold him in her arms, clasp his hand, and give him one final kiss.
But it was too late.
His head slumped, with eyes still and unseeing. Robbed of even one last moment of solace, Nameed screamed a scream that could have shattered the stars. His blood soaked her long black braid, and the hilt of her sword, still embedded in his chest, dug into her ribs.
The flames that had burst from his body—the Fiend in a half-formed state—swirled into a dazzling wash of white as the Divinity bore down upon him. The great light engulfed the entire world with its astonishing luminescence, and thunderous rumbling filled the air.
But Nameed hardly noticed the ground quaking beneath her as she pressed her beloved’s lifeless body to hers. Only one thought existed in her mind, circling endlessly: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...
What little of the world she could make out through the Divinity’s almighty light was nothing but a haze behind her relentless tears.
But then came a sound so powerful, it shook her out of her grief-stricken state.
“Hear me, Sister!” The Fiend’s voice enveloped her with its booming power, penetrating her core with its terrible vibrations. “You may have triumphed for now, but our war is not over! Everything You created, everything You love, will one day be mine!”
Through the whiteness of the Divinity’s light, Nameed glimpsed his horrible face, made of flames and twisted with cruelty, grinning with malicious glee. He opened his mouth, revealing the depths of Inferno within, and the light of the Divinity spiraled into the abyss...
TODAY...
NAMEED OPENED HER EYES, HER face still wet from the tears she’d shed in her sleep. Though forty years had passed since that fateful day, she’d never forgotten a single detail of the moment that had changed her life—and the entire world. Because she of what she’d done, Terra was now a place of peace and freedom for all the Divinity’s creations. After liberating the innocent souls trapped in Inferno by the Fiend, the ayri had returned to Celeste, the divine realm beyond the clouds. Meanwhile, the Fiend’s servants had been driven back to their dark dimension, where their master lay trapped forever in the Firelands.
The thought that he now inhabited the cage he’d built himself—meant to hold his divine Sister—never failed to bring a dry smile to Nameed’s face. But though the corner of her mouth lifted, she found no joy.
The moment between when she’d drawn her sword on Denár and when she’d struck him down had lasted mere seconds, but it was a moment she would never escape.
Sitting up on her thin straw mattress, which lay flat on the stone floor, she brushed her cheeks, now lined with age, and wiped her eyes. Outside the entrance to her small cave, the bright morning sun stretched its golden rays across the pale horizon, gilding the flat, grassy plain below the mountain she dwelled in. She’d lived alone here for twenty years, and she intended to remain alone for twenty, thirty, forty more, until her body surrendered to the weariness of age.
All the advice people had given her, telling her that Denár would have wanted her to move on, had been useless; even the Ayr of Reason couldn’t sooth her guilty conscience. She knew she’d done the right thing, that if she hadn’t killed him, Denár would have died anyway at the hands of the Fiend, along with everyone else. And she did not regret taking action. But that didn’t lessen the pang of loneliness that came with living every day with half of herself missing. Or quiet the relentless question of “what if” that never ceased to plague her, asking whether she’d acted too hastily.
The rewards and praises she’d received for her deeds had done nothing to assuage her pain, even when the Ayr of Tomorrow had chosen her to be the first Sibyl. Only the bravest and wisest had been considered for the honor, and the celestial being had bestowed it upon Nameed, who could now foretell those parts of the future that her gift allowed her to see.
Though her prophecies could have earned her the finest dwellings and richest foods, she’d chosen to remain a hermit, for every prize seemed soaked in her beloved’s blood. She would have traded it all for the farewell she’d been denied, the chance to tell him her final, “I love you.”
An uncanny feeling washed over her: a wordless, visionless prediction that left her with basic knowledge of what would come, but no specifics. Someone would enter to seek her prophecies, and whoever it was would not be a danger to her. With her psychic abilities, such a simple prediction was as clear and familiar as the light outside.
