FOR TWO WHOLE days, Isaiah rode through the Dunes and encountered no other villages. There was nothing but this sand, that along with the wind, did what it could to blind and misguide him. Finally, some forty miles or so away from the deserted town, he saw the first tree. Then another one, and gradually a sort of forest formed before him. It bore a dry, metallic smell, and finally, after another day of riding, he glimpsed the two notorious tops of the nameless mountains. The Master had said Araktéa was a place of many paths – that it had changed, and so, these tops had been the only sight he’d felt certain he had. Each of them taller and wider than all the three hills in Nagár combined – but this first sight of them withheld no true astonishment. The unexpected didn’t appear before he got closer, and was not so much the presence of something, as the absence of it. It was clear that mountains didn’t change from wind or rain like the ground did – that they didn’t move, sink, shrink or grow. What struck him was that the purposely malicious river (said to have drowned so many travelers) wasn’t dividing them. Instead, there were large rocks and an otherwise clear road leading to the other side. For the first time in days, Isaiah felt a smile forming on top of his shriveled lips. They didn’t need to climb, and he would reach the Parda faster than anticipated. Then again, he realized, it also meant his grandfather might already have reached it. “We need to be fast.” It was the first words he’d said out loud for days, and he thought his voice sounded like a stranger’s now. Hoarse and hollow. Perhaps even mature.
The hills did well at keeping any battling airs away, but also laid shadows upon them early. Stopping for the night, he thought it would’ve been a good place for a campfire and with two rocks, he tried the technique he’d read about (the same one he’d seen Cyra do many times). It didn’t work and when he realized there were no trees or other flammable materials in near sight, he gave up. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fall asleep cold, and at the very least the moon was full again, making the darkness a little less daunting. “It has been a whole moon span since I left the fortress,” he thought. It felt like a year – if not two or five. Looking up while leaning his back towards a rock, he failed to notice the slender silhouette approaching him. It didn’t speak a word until Isaiah saw it from the edge of his eye and turned in its direction. The stranger was small and scrawny, and bore a grayish, white robe that reached to their bare ankles.
“May I join you, young one?” they asked, the voice as unrevealing of its man- or womanhood, as its appearance. It didn’t matter, as the sight of a living soul oddly made him feel more relieved than threatened.
“You can. But I have no fire tonight, I’m afraid.”
“I did not ask you for fire. And there is no reason to be afraid.” Their voice was slow and steady, and they had a ghost of a smile on their wrinkled face.
“I have some food if you’re hungry.”
“I did not ask you for food either, but if you’re so eager to share, I would be grateful to you.” Isaiah realized he didn’t really want to share. He’d been vastly careful with his supplies thus far, and instantly regretted the impulsive offering. Yet, he had already presented it and the sight of the skinny oldling made sharing seem like a duty. Personally, he was much too thirsty to eat, and since bread did few favors for a dry mouth, he gave them what was left of it. If they were as hungry as their exterior implied, they hid it well. Taking patient, small bites, chewing all of it thoroughly. Not until finishing the last piece, did they looked in Isaiah’s direction. Smiling in peaceful contentment.
“What is your name?” Isaiah asked, uncertain what else they might find themselves talking about.
“I left my given name long ago. It used to be Phax.”
“And what do you call yourself now?”
“I call myself many things. But my people call me Wind, and you can call me this too, if it pleases you.”
“So, you prefer to be nameless… like these mountains?” The stranger nodded to this, their eyes blankly staring before themselves.
“Why?” Isaiah asked, suddenly curious. Despite being among the most infamous places in Araktéa, nobody knew the names of the mountains. They were simply referred to as “the nameless mountains” or – more often than not – “the vicious, nameless mountains”.
“Words can be dangerous. Especially the ones worn as names. It can empower a thing but also make it harmful or vile. So, I chose to be Wind instead – not bad nor good, but always carrying the air forward. At times vicious but mostly an essential thing for movement.” They turned towards him, their eyes were light blue and almost transparent looking.
“What is it you seek here?”
“My grandfather.”
“You seem like one that might seek answers – as well as questions.”
“Seeking questions?” Isaiah asked, and the oldling nodded.
“Perhaps that too.” He admitted.
“Good. For they are seeking you.” The oldling smiled out into the air again, as Isaiah moved uncomfortably – unable to tell if his chills were caused by the cool air or the oldling’s oddity.
“You prefer the certainty of cold feet, over the possibility of burning ones.” Isaiah thought for a moment, realizing they were referring to the absence of fire.
“Maybe I did before…” He admitted, “but tonight, I just failed to make fire. I didn’t bring matches.” They nodded ever so slightly, then got up on their feet with surprising ease. Isaiah stared as they picked up two rocks the size of fists, then, digging in the sand, they quickly found some dry roots.
“There can be a short and surprising way from failure to success.” They said, spending no more than a few moments to make fire out of their humble findings. Isaiah eagerly reached his hands out towards it.
“Thank you.” He said earnestly, and the oldling sat back down again, now facing him from the other side of his creation.
“You killed your shadow.” It sounded like a suggestion – one they seemed neutral and yet certain about. Isaiah instinctively looked behind himself. With the fire shedding light, he could briefly see it, stretching out long.
“No…” he said hesitantly, feeling gullible for having humored the idea.
“Have you not caused death, then?” Isaiah gave them a puzzled look. Then, he remembered what the Zura guardian had said after the silent commander’s death: “When the word reaches the Birdús, they’ll be ruthless.” Could the oldling be of this tribe? Had they come there to punish him? To kill him in the middle of the mountains, where nobody would hear him scream? Had he come all this way, just to die out there in the cold, with nothing but nature as his witness?
“I swear I didn’t kill the guardian. It was my master who did it, he...”
“I speak not of a guardian, but a shadow – as I told you.” Their voice was calm and unthreatening, and Isaiah bit his tongue not to let the wrong words escape him. “No,” he thought. This small, weak oldling couldn’t possibly be there to punish him. He was getting as paranoid as Mongoya, if not even delusional. It seemed this was the real danger long, lonely roads brought upon you – not bandits or beasts. And clearly, this individual was just another strange creature that’d been wandering these roads for far too long.
“If not masters, we are wisest to let our shadows be our teachers. Yours taught you how to cradle resentment and fear, but it is time for wind to carry away the last of it. Then, you might learn the lessons that serve you.” Isaiah looked at them, again confused to what seemed more like poetry than conversation. Then it occurred to him that perhaps they were referring to Tzelem as his shadow, the same way they referred to themselves as wind. He had been his teacher after all, and now that he thought about it he’d made him feel all those unpleasant things.
“That man stole me away. He lied to me and broke my trust – twice.”
“Did he steal your trust?” Isaiah thought about this for a moment.
“No, but…”
“Did you give it away to him?”
“No. I… I only went with him to get out of there – to go back home.”
“Many speak of the act of trusting as if it is a choice we make. But you always knew this shadow was not worthy of your trust. Did you not?”
“He was a bad man. I… I had to let them do it.” Isaiah stuttered, and feeling his hands growing cold again, he rubbed them together.
“Perhaps he was. Perhaps he was not, but do not blame him for breaking things that were never in his hands. They say this shadow completed a part of his mission…” They looked up from the fire and into Isaiah’s eyes. They were so blank – so disturbingly pale and motionless. Perhaps the oldling was a true sorcerer – one that saw through people and their deep kept secrets. One that could speak with fire and have it expose them.
“And what can they say of my mission?“ Isaiah asked, surprised to find himself more curious than afraid of such dark things. The oldling’s face softened a touch.
“What is it you carry with you?”
“Not much...”
“Show your little to me, then. And I will show you some questions.” Isaiah opened his mouth and looked over to where Indra was standing.
“You do not like showing things. And you dislike the visibility you’ve given yourself even more. There is no better company, then, than that of the blind.” They said, and Isaiah turned his attention back to them, studying their dry, wrinkled face closely he was again struck by the eyes.
“You are… blind? How do you walk around here without vision – and all alone?” They didn’t even have a cane or a stick to support them.
“Only without sight, young one. Not without vision.” They blinked. “Do you feel the place where your skin ends?”
“In a way.” Isaiah concluded, sensing the coolness tingling on his naked hands and neck.
“It is in and on this way, that I move.” What increasingly seemed like a creature – rather than a human – turned towards Indra, signaling for her to come towards them and the mare obeyed just as surely. “If you trust them, then perhaps I should too.” Isaiah thought, and so he walked over to her and browsed through his two packs. Seeing the ancient book, he hesitated for a moment. He could leave it there, but though blind, he felt the sorcerer would see right through him if he attempted any sort of lie. Perhaps they could translate something for him.
“This is all I carry.” He said, laying his few belongings in front of them.
“Two books – what richness in ink and paper...” They said, excitement spreading on their face.
“Both are not mine, I just…stumbled upon one of them. I was wondering if…”
“You’ve been taught to ask some questions but not common ways to seek their answers. This can be a good thing. Many seekers now, but with them, even more diluted questions. A great many are out searching, and yet here you are – just stumbling...“ They said the last word thoughtfully, allowing their crooked fingers to stroke over the bindings of both books.
“I don’t know how to read it. It was found by my… friend.“
“And will you return it to your friend?”
“I don’t think so, he… he stole it without my knowledge.”
“Can you steal something that was already stolen?”
“I… I’m not sure.” The blind nodded at this.
“Good.” They said, allowing their right hand to slide to the handle of the knife. The same moment, their face lit up in almost childlike excitement.
“This is from the mirror world. An ancient time too…” They said, grabbing it as uncarefully as if it’d been a stick.
“It’s sharp!”
“A harakiri knife… What a precious treasure. You seek the Parda I’ve been told…”
“Told by whom?”
“The elements that your blood fears. How appropriate to bring treasures to where people go searching for them. And what an appropriate treasure this is.”
“I am only seeking my grandfather and the treasure is for someone else – just water really...”
“Can we seek what we’ve already found? Is water just water, or is it a friend or perhaps even an enemy to some?”
“I don’t understand...” Their blind eyes widened as they turned towards him.
“And I don’t see, so it seems a good thing we’ve found each other. And perhaps also a good thing I have given up my given name… I might have been tempted to make you a trading offer, if it hadn’t been the case. But now, time is on your side.”
“An offer? For the knife, you mean?” Isaiah asked, and they nodded.
“And your eyes. In return, I would have led you to the one you seek.” Isaiah’s heartbeat speeded up.
“Do you know where my grandfather is? Could you take me to him? You can have the knife. I’ll lend you my eyes, guide you home or wherever you need to go…” The oldling took in a long breath then released it in his direction. The fire between them distinguished into thick, white smoke as they whispered, “I am Wind now.” Then they walked and seated their light body next to him.
“What did your mother tell you?” They asked, softer and much more human-like.
“I don’t have a mother. The only family I have is my grandfather and…” Isaiah flinched by the touch of their hand on his arm.
“One is lost, another has been freed.” They said, their fingers cold through the thin fabric of Devus’ shirt.
“I don’t see how that…” The oldling let go of his arm again and held their skinny knuckles together, their face somewhat illuminated under the light of the moon.
“I seem to have given you an answer, when I only promised questions. Forgive me. I am usually a wind of my whispers.” They got up on their bare feet again, light and graceful as a leaf – as wind itself.
“Thank you for showing me your treasures.” A slight bend in the neck in his direction – though far from a bow, before walking away in the same direction they’d come.
“Do you know what happened to the river that was here?” Isaiah shouted after them, and the silhouette stopped for a moment.
“It left to make room for a new one. We have been praying for its arrival.” Isaiah thought of the heavy rain up north and said, ”I think it might have landed in the wrong place.” The oldling didn’t answer but kept walking until he couldn’t see them anymore. Isaiah regretted not having asked them about the Parda, or to translate something from the book, but decided their riddles wouldn’t have helped him anyways.