Chasing The Wind (Novella) by D.K. Holmberg Read Free Book Online Page A

more than one person, from the sounds of it. Zephra silently slipped the knife from her belt. The least she could do was see if anyone was injured.
    She crawled through the trees until she reached the smooth stone. The surface was surprisingly cool. Zephra slid forward slowly to slip around the edge of the rock, staying in the shadows.
    Her breath caught in her throat.
    Three people, one of them a child, huddled near the base of the rock tower. Arm and legs were bound with thick rope and once brightly colored clothing that she recognized immediately was now dirty and torn.
    Aeta.
    Even from where she crouched, that much was unmistakable.
    In the kingdoms, no one dared touch the landless Aeta. As traders, they traveled freely and favored none, having long ago vowed never to settle in any particular land. Such a violation of the ancient peace accords was nearly unimaginable.
    If Zephra needed any reminder that she was no longer in the kingdoms, this was it.
    She knew with certainty that it had been the child’s scream that drew her. The other two stood protectively around her, as if shielding her from someone unseen. Zephra had a sudden urge to run forward and slice at their bindings, but held back. Without the wind, she could do little other than join them.
    A sudden crackle of heat sizzled the air and burned away the remaining moisture from her lips. Heat haze shimmered up from the ground around the captive Aeta, distorting her view.
    All three began screaming.
    Zephra’s heart skipped a beat. She had felt such energy a few times before but hadn’t expected to encounter anything like it here, deep in the Incendin waste.
    Fire shaping.
    She shifted to better hide herself. She was not equipped to face off with a fire shaper, especially one powerful enough that she felt it where she stood. Little would protect her here, not without any wind. The knife in her hand might as well be a knitting needle for all the good it would do.
    Helplessness burned angrily within her. If only the wind would cooperate.
    She leaned against the stone. It was rough, but surprisingly cool. The heated air of Incendin resisted her attempts at shaping, but would cooler air?
    She pressed herself against the stone while taking slow breaths, steadying herself. Then she focused, trying to will the wind into a shaping. Never an easy task in the best of times, she prayed to the Great Mother that she could catch the wind.
    A flicker. Barely more than a breath of air, but she grabbed at it hungrily.
    At first it fought her, slippery as if a thing alive. She could beg and plead with it, but the wind needed her to control it. Sudden anger gave her power, purpose. She demanded command of the wind, twisting the air and thickening it. As she did, a softly swaying current formed around her.
    Zephra clutched tightly to the wind. If she lost the connection, she was not certain she could regain it.
    The shaping was not much, but might mask her presence long enough to observe the fire shaper. Observe was all she could hope to do. These lands were ideal for a fire shaper, a natural defense against water and wind shaping; Zephra suspect that the hot and lifeless air would challenge even Tellander.
    Earth shaping was another matter. Not for the first time, she wished she had let Grethan come. Earth shapers were rarely helpless, him especially so. But this was a journey she had to take on her own. That much she knew. Though he had not liked that fact, at least Grethan had understood.
    Zephra moved slowly around the rock, keeping a hand on the cool stone and staying within the shadows. Whatever veil she managed would surely fail once the sun destroyed the relative coolness of the shade. Even this might not be adequate.
    As soon as she felt a swell of heat she stopped.
    Still not all the way around the rock, she shifted her focus back to the air and increased the effort of her shaping. This much taxed her to the edges of her limits. Straining against the writhing struggle