Wind in the clouds, p.1
Wind in the Clouds, page 1
Text copyright © 2023 Christopher Jacob Canady
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at phantasmalhorizonbook@gmail.com
First Edition
ISBN: 9798842741014 (Paperback)
ASIN: B0B2VGZ73B (Digital)
Cover art by Deckydraws
Edited by Belle Manuel
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Lilian
Chapter 1: Windy
Chapter 2: Windy
Chapter 3: Windy
Chapter 4: Nigel Cloud
Chapter 5: Nigel Cloud
Chapter 6: Leopoldo
Chapter 7: Windy
Chapter 8: Windy
Chapter 9: Leopoldo
Chapter 10: Windy
Chapter 11: Windy
Chapter 12: Leopoldo
Chapter 13: Windy
Chapter 14: Nigel
Chapter 15: Nigel
Chapter 16: Windy
Chapter 17: Nigel
Chapter 18: Nigel
Chapter 19: Windy
Chapter 20: Nigel
Chapter 21: Windy
Chapter 22: Windy
Chapter 23: Nigel
Chapter 24: Nigel
Chapter 25: Windy
Chapter 26: Nigel
Chapter 27: Nigel
Chapter 28: Windy
Chapter 29: Rhyanna
Chapter 30: Leopoldo
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
About The Author
Of Thorns and Hexes
Cosmic Threads
Further Reading: Of Thorns and Hexes
This book is dedicated to Halle Bailey. (Yes, that Halle Bailey).
Though you may never read this book, my intentions are pure. Windy Breeze and Ariel would be best friends in an alternate universe.
Lilian
Golden sheets of sand pelt the crystal carriage I am in, obscuring the entrance to the temple in its tumult and exacerbating my anxiety with its ominous, ceaseless pattering. Squinting my sleep-heavy eyes, I peer through the sheets of swirling, glittering gravel. The Matriarch’s carriage has come to a halt, unicorns collapsing to their knees, exhausted. The journey here was exceptionally long, taking days upon days to find the temple. I could’ve sworn the Matriarch had informed all Zepyterians she and Namanzi had a special connection. This connection was so strong it afforded the Matriarch the keen ability to locate the Goddess's Temple in the vast expanse of the Gnobi desert. Perhaps Namazi and the Matriarch aren’t as close as they once were because, undoubtedly, the Goddess would’ve revealed her temple’s location days ago.
I have no room to complain, though. I’ve been a prisoner of Zepyteria for two months too long now. My crime: stealing loaves of bread to feed my family. I am, in a sense, the Matriarch of my family, and I did what I thought was right. Had I known I’d be apprehended and locked away, I would’ve been sneakier about it. I’ve always been cat-like in my thievery, but I had been in a rush.
My siblings and I were starved for food, and Iman’s Bakery threw away perfectly fine bread. Instead of donating it to the hungry, the stubborn baker tosses the food out as if the Realm hasn’t experienced food shortages semi-annually. Iman must’ve caught wind of what I was doing, as well as hundreds of other food-poor citizens because on that fateful day I decided to dumpster dive... I was apprehended by Keepers!
Amana. Akeesha. Abdul. They are all I have. I’ll do anything to return home to them in one piece, even if that means becoming a servant of Namazi—as the Matriarch put it. So, to shorten my six-month sentence for stealing bread, I agreed and was rewarded by becoming a servant of the Goddess. The Matriarch promised this trip would be “short and sweet.” Yet nothing is close to “short” or “sweet” about this.
I really, really shouldn’t whine. I pray I am home soon to see my sisters and brother. Although we’re half-siblings, and I don’t share their unique names, Mom’s dying wish was I protect my siblings by any means necessary. And I will. I’ve written several letters to Amana—the eldest behind me—and delivered my writings to her by my carrier Pidgeon. A small ice bird I swiped from the Matriarch’s menagerie.
Lupin, my name for him... or her... I can’t really tell, hides inside my heavy cloaks. Pinned between Lupin’s beak is a letter I’ve written for Amana.
I have this unnerving gut feeling I’ll never return home after today. As much as I try to shake away the stirring sensation within, it wraps its cold arms around me and squeezes tight. It’s because every Fairy on this journey knows the Matriarch’s secret. And it’s a secret she undoubtedly wouldn’t want to return to Zepyteria, that’s for sure.
We, servants of Namazi, a handful of Keepers surrounding the Matriarch for dear life, the Matriarch’s cook, and her personal Healer, spill out of the carriages into the blistering sun and the soft, itchy sandstorm brewing.
Kernels of sand sprinkle my lashes and sting my chapped lips. Using one hand as a shield from the elements, I turn my head this way and that, unable to find the temple.
Then, as if a veil has fallen away, the temple of Namanzi flickers into the here and now. The stone walls, a deep pearlescent cerulean shade, undulate as if the Waters of Namanzi thrive in and through the structure. I am mesmerized and awestruck this Goddess's home has seen no aging or decay.
Didn’t the Goddess Namanzi roam the Fairy Realms a thousand years ago? Shouldn’t the temple reflect such passage of time?
All my questions evaporate soon after. The stone guards, erected at opposing sides of the entrance with battle axes and war hammers, are—
I gasp. What is this? Why are those things there?
My gut instinct is to run, to fly away from this... this...
“Have I gone mad?” one of my fellow servants of Namanzi asks. “W-Why are those beasts at this sacred temple?”
The Matriarch snaps her fingers, and a Keeper, one of her sword-wielding servants, glides over. “Matriarch Xenobia cannot and will not entertain questions at this moment. Please refrain from speaking.”
“I don’t like this at all,” another servant says. “I-I want to go home. Please. This feels wrong.”
“Kill her!” The Matriarch’s words are final and followed through by a Keeper. I turn my head and plug my ears, but her scream is enough to haunt me until the day I die.
And that day is today.
“Gather ‘round.” The Matriarch’s Keepers group us, servants, into a single file. “Should you protest, should you run, should you dare even think of betraying me, you’ll all end up like this one.” The Keeper holds the poor Fairy’s lifeless head in one gauntleted hand, brows twitching, mouth open in a silent scream.
“No!” A servant breaks free of the formation and flies up and up, sand pelting her beautiful wings. An arrow soars through the air, whistling the name of death. It strikes her, and she comes crashing down to the hard-packed earth with a crunch.
Panic blossoms its head, weaving through us servants as the true nature of this voyage comes alive. Here I thought this was a pilgrimage to pay respect to Namazi, but this is far worse.
I must update my letter—the Matriarch has more secrets under her skirts than I realized.
I break away from the line; a Keeper moves in to strike. I raise my hands in defense, and my stomach empties on his iron-clad feet.
“I-I’m not running...” I cough between breaths. “I-I need to lie down.”
“We’ve no time for that!” he shouts, yanking me up to standing and forcing me back into the queue.
We move forward, the temple soon swallowing us inside her domain. I scan the ancient and unfamiliar writings etched into the fluid walls. Had I paid attention in Ancient Fairy History class, I’d probably have been able to decipher most of this scrawl. But I can put two and two together. And it does not add to what I had always been taught about the Fairy Realms.
The figures safeguarding the temple are Realm-shattering clues that tell me everything I’ve ever believed in is a lie.
We are taken down a winding passageway, rivulets of water lapping at our toes as the strange inscriptions on the walls descend to the floors. This passage soon yawns into a chamber: massive and sparkling with Namanzi’s water. I nearly overlook the impluvium at the center. The sun peeks through the compluvium, illuminating the secrets beneath. My knees lose strength, and my stomach turns upside down as dead, hollow eyes peer back at me. Hundreds of dead, hollow eyes.
Matriarch Xenobia saunters in her skirts of pinkish-gold up a short flight of water-stairs with her Healer by her side. When I glance up to where they’ve settled on the landing, there are two figures at the apex. The center figure, an unmoving water effigy, makes my jaw drop—is that Namanzi’s actual form? However, it’s the moving figure that captures my full attention.
“My love.” A masculine voice comes from the shadowed figure. He steps into the light, his f eatures obscured by his dark robes. A brief flash of his canines makes my breath catch. “It is time to restore the lands back to their—”
“No,” the Matriarch says breathlessly. “I cannot forgo my powers just yet.”
“Do not renege on our deal, Jordana,” he says, extending his hand—a lime-colored hand—with long black fingernails to touch the Matriarch’s stomach. “Forsaking Nasturtium of rebirth will cause cataclysmic results. It must be done for the sake of my Realms.”
“These Realms are not yours,” Matriarch Xenobia grumbles, face strained as her Healer aids her to the ground. “These Realms will one day belong to me.”
“They belonged to us first!” he hisses.
I gasp at my realization. I must tell my sister about this.
“It’s time,” her Healer says.
Time for what? I begin to think when the Matriarch screams. It’s time to reveal her secret. And her secret became scarier.
I still myself amongst the screaming and the panicked looks plastered upon the faces of my fellow servants and the Keepers. Seeking a way out, I steal a glance over my shoulder. The exit is clear for me to break free.
I do on the umpteenth scream the Matriarch produces. If any Keepers are following me, I pay them no mind.
Sprinting for my life down the pathway, I search my pockets for my quill and slowly wake Lupin, murmuring in his sleep. I’m scratching away at the letter, adding more and more details, when, for some reason, the Matriarch's screams that had faded away in the distance comes roaring back to life.
I’d run in a loop.
A Keeper grins at me, his lips visible through his visor.
There’s a gasp of relief, then another softer cry—a baby’s cry.
Her secret is out.
“Now!” the Matriarch shouts.
Keepers storm up the stairs, encircling the cloaked male. Swords swinging wildly, missing their mark. The Matriarch, her Healer, and the new bundle are whisked away by Keepers, wings outstretched to carry them out through the compluvium.
“I should’ve known better.” The nameless figure laughs, the noise jarring, serrated like a blade forged from hellfire. “Brothers! Sisters!” A horde of shadowy figures leap out like phantoms and begin attacking the Keepers, cutting through their armor as if made of paper.
The dots align, and the pieces to this awful puzzle slowly fall into place. But I have no time to write any of this, to share this with my sister. Instead, I focus on the closing compluvium, casting darkness in its wake. Servants take off for the only exit above, wings beating as fast as my heart. But the water comes alive, resembling a many-legged creature that steals the servants from the air and plunges them deep within the waters below. Their bodies thrash for an instant before succumbing to their ultimate fate. I must be quick if I hope to deliver my last message to my sister. Because in the next coming moments, I’ll be dead.
I peck Lupin on his head and release him.
“I love you, Amana. Akeesha. Abdul. Goodbye.”
A servant screams as a Keeper drives his sword through her gut, uses his foot to kick her off his sword, then advances to the next servant. Then the next, before flying to the safety of the desert world outside.
A Keeper advances on me, sword glinting in the sunlight. I shut my eyes tight and pray to whoever is out there to save me.
But my savior is far too late.
Chapter 1: Windy
Clink!
Clink!
BANG!
And... I'm done. Go me! Tinker's middle leg—more specifically, her tibia—is all fixed by way of my mechanical expertise. I've constructed a lightweight titanium prosthetic leg for my favorite Dragonfly. So, when Tinker goes off flying to... wherever she goes late at night, she'll always have a safe landing. Tinker lost her middle leg on one of her midnight rendezvous and gave Mister Ed and me a good fright when she crashed through the roof of our home during supper about five months ago. It took me four weeks of digging in the trash mountains in Junkyard Canyon—my home—to find material that wouldn't weigh her down.
“I’ll be back, Tinker.” I nudge her on her turquoise frond. She flitters her wings excitedly and presses her frond against me. I am afforded a glimpse into her mind—which is still a mystery to me—as her eagerness to leave overwhelms me.
“Not so fast, there.” I gesture to Puff-Puff—my balloon Dragon—floundering about in a thick brown mud puddle to cool off. “Puff-Puff and I think you should stay another night to rest up. We wouldn’t want you to make a crash landing in Ogre territory, now, would we?”
Tinker’s ever-flittering wings, buzzing with anticipation, are reduced to a whisper as she bobs her head in understanding. She pulls away from me, our shared connection divvying. She makes a sound like a whimper and stalks to a trash heap, offering the promise of shade from the blazing forever sun—a glittering red-orange ball in the crystal blue skies.
I’m still amazed by the sun, its warmth. Its life-giving energy. I remember the first time I saw the sun eight years ago when I was freed from my life imprisonment beneath the Palace of Zepyteria. All I knew for my first eight years of life were the cold stone walls of the prison and the crystal beams that kept me confined like a caged animal at a bazaar. That was all I knew.
Imprisonment.
I was left in the dark about why I was there, an infant, then a young Fairy, cut off from the world beyond until the day Mister Ed came to my rescue.
“Who are you?” I had asked when my bleary eyes popped open at the sounds of footsteps and wingbeats. I scrambled to the corner of my cell when Mister Ed looked at me: his eyes, blank, white as snow, peered at me from behind the crystal beams. “Don’t hurt me!” My wings, slashed and ripped by the Keepers following the order of Matriarch Xenobia, rippled shockwaves of pain through my being as they fluttered open, thinking I may be in danger. My fight-or-flight response.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” Mister Ed’s gentle timbre gave me pause; my heart skipped a beat. The lilt of his voice and that broad smile pressed upon his wrinkly face dotted with sunspots presented me with something I’d never had before: kindness. With his membranous wings bleating a crunch-crunch sound as they slowed their pace, Mister Ed dipped his head to me and introduced himself. “I am Edward Breeze, known as the Junkyard Fairy to all the Fairies of Zepyteria.”
Mister Ed shifted his baggy, brown cloaks to reveal a golden shillelagh under his right palm, swirling magical colors I had never beheld. He tapped his colorful stick on the cement. Yellow sparks of light danced from beneath his cane and swirled up the groove-like veins etched deep within the wooden stick as if carried by a soft breeze. Mister Ed removed a crystal device from his cloak and set it atop his cane. The crystal sparked to life, and a wavering image of someone startling familiar was projected forth.
I remembered that face. Those soft honey-brown curls, that heart-shaped face. Those shimmering green eyes and that deep earthy skin. And then she spoke. And I remembered who it was. Madeline. I had forgotten all about her. I thought she was a mere dream I conjured in my mind because all I knew was the prions and a deep, hollow loneliness.
“Dearest, sweet girl, who I’ve only known for such a short while,” Madeline said, her voice like a song, “By order of Matriarch Xenobia, I must aid the Matriarch and her band as we traverse the Gnobi plains delivering offerings to the Temple of the Water Goddess Namanzi.”
Madeline continued, “If you are seeing this message... it probably means the worst: I haven’t made it back safely to be with my husband or you, our newest edition to the family. I have cared for you since you were born.” Her green eyes mist over; a personal memory has caused her to fall silent for three to four slow breaths. “I cared for your mother before she was to be... Never mind that. It is your third birthday, and I don’t want to sully this marvelous occasion with unwelcome news. Now, it is time for you to see the Realm of Zepyteria—” Madeline was distracted. Someone called her from afar. “Be good, my sweet Windy.”
The projection then ended, and Mister Ed reclaimed the crystal. He straightened his spine as he peered at me through his fog-laden eyes. “I’m six years late, Windy, by no fault of my own. I promise you that. A girl your age should be outside, exploring, frolicking about with Fairy-like whimsy.”
I did not know how old I was. I had no clue when I was born or that I had a mother. I barely remembered Madeline. If it weren’t for her voice, I honestly would’ve thought she was an illusion I used to cope with this life I was cursed with.
