Elegy for a Wind Mage

WINTER SPRANG to his feet as soon as he saw me, his six-foot-two frame looming over me. He was rather disheveled with his loose gray sweats, fitted black tank top, sweat-glistened biceps and messy blond hair. Apparently, he had been hitting the gym often and I doubted it had anything to do with physical conditioning. No, Winter was trying to work through stress and tension.

I shoved him aside to get to the door. He uniquely triggered my most primitive, immature responses.

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” I said without looking at him. “You’re just going to pop by uninvited?”

His warm breath on the back of my neck sent a shiver through me.

“When I call, you don’t answer,” he said. “So, I stopped calling.”

“I’m not a prisoner to my phone like everybody else.”

I unlocked the door, stepped inside and started to close it behind me.

I laughed when he wedged his foot between the door and the frame. I let go of the door and let him follow me inside.

“This is urgent,” he said, darting his eyes about the place.

“Isn’t it always? That’s like the stalker’s creed. The concept of boundaries means nothing.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me around until we came face to face. “The attacks have escalated. There have been five assaults in the past twenty-four hours. Five, Luna!”

The concern on my face must have been obvious because he released my shoulders and softened his approach. “There’s something else.”

I felt my heartbeat surging. “What else?”

“A death,” he said. “The first.”

“What? Who, Jonas?”

“A wind mage slipped away after three days in a delirious state.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, the poor soul. Listen, you’re not chasing me back to Europe. I’m staying.”

He fought the urge to respond but, instead, exhaled forcefully. “This is going to spread from the basic world. I believe all this is a test of power and the real target will be the Deep Down.”

“If you had told me sooner, I might have been able to do something. Your spies in Stockholm could have told me any day.”

“Let’s keep it in the present,” he said.

“Fine, the present,” I said, losing my patience. “Tell me exactly what happens during and after one of these attacks.”

He walked to the window. “The victims are isolated. They probably feel a tingling sensation like their limbs are falling asleep and then they are paralyzed in place. If they’re standing, they do not fall. It’s painful and feels like the pain lasts for an hour, but it’s over in a matter of seconds.”

“With unresponsive victims,” I said, trying to understand, “how do you know such details? Was there a witness?”

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“Okay, then a seer must have been brought in?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I’ve been told that in some cases seers were brought in, but they saw nothing. There’s a total lockdown of the victim’s consciousness.”

“Then what? This is a theory you pulled from where? Your ass?”

He turned and shook his head. “Is that how a lady should talk?”

“In this world? Yes.”

He sighed and stared into my eyes. “There are a few cryptic references in surviving archives mentioning similar events almost 5500 years ago during the Neolithic decline.”

My jaw dropped. “And you just jumped from there to this thing six millennia later without hesitation? Have you ever heard of scholarly method? Because your proof is so damn anecdotal and useless. And, besides, the Neolithic decline was about a huge drop in human population, not a few catatonic magical beings.”

“It’s just a theory,” he said.

“No, it’s really not,” I said. “Alright, forget that, what happens to these victims after the attacks?”

“They lose their ability to access magical energy from anywhere and become comatose. Out of twenty-four known cases, twenty-three have remained in the exact state in which they were found. The wind mage took a turn and was gone within ten minutes. The only clue we have is the fine silver dust that hangs in the air at the scenes of the attacks. The dust is toxic to anyone who uses magic. For this reason, the Seventh Council has decided not to get directly involved. Officially, we’re monitoring the situation from a distance.”

“Ah, convenient isolationists,” I said, not one bit surprised.

“Immortals are not the most altruistic beings.”

“That’s an understatement,” I said. “You guys are like supercharged survivalist nut bags.”

“I’ll assume that’s not a compliment,” he said. “And I agree, it’s a mistake. This silver dust is potent enough to affect Immortals, to a lesser extent. I felt its power while at a scene. It was a nagging force, scratching at my etheric essence. I did manage with some effort to block it.”

“I know where this is headed. I told you I’m not leaving.”

He hesitated. “Okay.”

Huh?

“Did you just say, okay?”

He nodded. “I wish there was another way. I need your help, Luna. We need to act fast. This will spread if we don’t neutralize the attacking force before they grow too strong. We don’t know much about silver dust, but I doubt it has anticipated the rare morning magic of the mist riders. Your growing command of mist craft and earth energy could be our secret weapon.”

I picked up a couch cushion and held it to my chest. The Deep Down Board of Supernatural Orders had been fearful of this kind of scenario ever since I could remember—an invisible plague, an airborne menace that would attack our essence and our power centers, which are intimately connected to our consciousness. Our subterranean world hadn’t faced such a malignant threat in over a century.

I gave Winter a weary stare. “And you told the magistrates what you’ve told me?”

“Of course. It didn’t matter. They’re keeping a watchful eye. That’s it.”

“How has the Deep Down responded to the crisis?”

Winter shrugged. “Don’t know. I’m persona non grata in your magic realm, I’m afraid. I might have reached out to Iris, but you’re here.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to her.” I held the cushion and yelled into it before tossing it back onto the couch. “I’m so sick of evil idiots.”

Faion was obviously clueless of the attacks when we spoke. The silver dust threat must have been kept classified in order to avoid panic.

“In every era, the final dance partners are always good and evil,” Winter said.

I rubbed my temples. “Do we have any of this dust?”

“One small vile in my lab, completely shielded. It’s toxic to all magic users, Luna. It sucks up etheric energy like a fusion reactor. Get too close to it, and the effect is almost certainly irreversible. Basics seem to be unaffected as their essence is so primitive and impotent.”

A supernatural dust that robbed witches, mages, diviners and all other wielders of magic of their very essence before it killed them. What malevolent bastard could even think something like that up?

One name comes to mind.

“Düsternis,” I said. “Don’t know why, but his name just popped into my head. That would explain why the Seventh Council is staying out of it… because they’re behind the whole damn thing.”

Winter pushed back his sweaty hair. “No. It’s not him.”

“You just rule him out without a doubt? I see. Blind faith. He’s the leader of your cult and all that. He’s given up on you, but you haven’t given up on him. Is that how it is? Really? You know what, true believer? He probably has his best boy Argos out dispersing Shaervas with cannisters of the evil dust to drop off at every Deep Down portal as we speak.”

The thought of Shaervas made my skin crawl. The ancient ice snakes were instruments for clandestine witchcraft that could adulterate magic sources, infusing them with dark energy. Argos had tried to use them before to infiltrate the Deep Down, on Düsternis’ orders, but Chaos had put an end to that plan.

Winter paced the room. “That’s cute, but I’m not drinking the Immortal Kool-Aid. I told you, the dust is not impartial to my kind. The only reason I can shield my etheric essence is the resistance and discipline training only the Umbra Order practices. Most Immortals don’t have that ability.”

Shadow Warriors were the most skillful controllers of elemental magic and ley line energy among Immortals. They were also quicker to violence and could kill other Immortals by dragging out their essence. From the handful of apprentices who tried, only a few ever managed to get through all Umbra rites of passage and become initiates. Among that small number were Winter and Chaos. They had a very useful and timely skillset for such times.

I stared at him. “And once again you’ve gone rogue from your own council. Why?”

Winter stepped closer. “I think you know that answer.”

I knew part of the answer. He had proven more than once to be on my side and an ally to the Lunar Order.

“But us working together is not ideal, you must admit,” I said. “Why not bring in Kirsi or even Chazona, for all I care?”

Ugh. I hate when my subconscious betrays me.

Why on Earth did I bring that wicked bitch up? Her utter delight at taunting me with her possible intimacy with Winter still burned deep red holes in my brain.

Winter’s eye twitched. “Perhaps it’s time you extinguish all petty rivalries that serve no purpose, Luna. Just because our dalliance didn’t pan out as you had hoped, doesn’t mean we can’t come together in a time of crisis.”

Dude, what? I can’t believe he went there.

I stared at him, dumfounded. “First, I can’t unpack all the delusions you loaded into what you just said. That better have been a failed joke. I mean, get over yourself. I could write a book about the reasons I don’t want to partner up with you for anything. Anything, Winter. Sheesh. Every time I try to put the broken pieces of my life back together, you’re always right here in my face wanting to rip it all apart again. You lie, manipulate, annoy, stalk, mislead, withhold key information and drip with arrogance. And you’re sweaty. Why do you come over here and sweat all over everything? This is not the resume of my ideal partner, okay? I think we can agree on that at least.”

He peered into my eyes, wearily. “I misspoke. Forgive me.”

Talking to him was like racing through a minefield. I walked to the door. “Yeah, it’s time for you to go. You wear me out. Man. I’ll sleep on it, okay? Best I can offer right now.’’

He walked past me without a glance. “It’s not about me, in the end. Luna Mae is a mist rider and mist riders never turn away.”

Winter closed the door quietly behind him. He was wrong. It wasn’t the mist rider who wanted to turn away, it was the girl. It was self-preservation.

I needed a drink, a stiff drink or three. And then I needed to talk to Celia’s friend, Penelope Osvaldo, seer extraordinaire.

© 2020 Stella Fitzsimons. AllRightsReserved