Page 2 of A Song of Air
Her fingers felt, her nose inhaled the clinging remnants of the scents that made up her father and her sister—close, yet so far away—and her ears picked up the lack of a pulse.
The lack of life.
The presence of death.
And darkness.
And trails of blood.
An Arrow Flies
30 years later...
Bryson stood on thetips of her toes, balancing precariously—silently—on the branch of an old pine tree. The sharp needle-like leaves camouflaged her body from the light of day. Shrouded in cold shadows, she held her breath, ears perked up as she waited...
...and waited.
The noises of the forest stilled. It’d been alive only moments ago; alive with the breath of the wind flittering against plants like a caressing touch, branches crackling like dry, old bones. Birds sang, their wings fluttering like rapid heartbeats as they flew from one spot to another.
Bryson heard and smelled it all.
The soft footfalls of deer against the dewy grass, the soft chewing as they grazed. She smelled sap, animal droppings, dirt, and the sweet pollen of flowers.
And when it all stilled, when it felt like everything paused and held their breaths for what was coming down the dirt road, Bryson reached across her back and pulled out an arrow from her quiver, notching it onto her bow.
The rolling of wheels, the clomping hooves of horses, the lightning crack of a whip, cruel laughter that grated down her arms, and the sound of whimpers and cries that cleaved her heart in two.
A sudden rage swelled in her chest at the sounds, but she tamped it down, turning it into an eerie calm as she stepped just a little further on the branch, until she felt the sun kiss her bare arms and the skin around her eyes from beneath the carved, wooden mask she wore.
She was familiar with those whimpers. With the bitter smell of fear. She’d been in a similar situation once. The memory of that time invaded her thoughts as the wagon approached where she hid. A whistle tearing through the wind beckoned her towards the light of the sun. A hawk circling overhead screeched out a warning, causing Bryson to draw back the string. Her arm and hands tightened in a firm grip as she waited.
Magic swelled through her, and as she let out a slow breath, a gust of wind blew through the atmosphere. It swirled around the advancing wagon, roping in scents and whispering its secrets.
It was only when a second whistle sounded that Bryson let the arrow fly.
The wind guided it true as it soared and landed home, straight into the throat of an emperor’s soldier.
