Wound of the Sky

Dust of the Earth

Instead, I heard a different voice calling out, across the fields. This one filled me with cold fear. It was Senior Apprentice Silver Peak. He was standing in the door of the house. Even from so far off I could see how he shook with rage.

Though I feared him more than the storm, I turned, and ran back to the house. I had no choice but to see what it was he wanted.

"Broken Storm, how dare you!" he snarled as I came into earshot. "How dare you go outside when the wicked breaths are near! Any fool can see that the storms will soon return, and you know very well they would seize you in an instant, and use you to work their bad magic!"

I bowed contritely, and signed an apology. I thought for a moment that he would strike me. He only glared, and marched back into the house. I followed.

"The storms have not stopped, and Master Winding Path has not returned," Silver Peak said flatly. "If her magic has failed, we can only assume she is dead."

I froze in the doorway, stunned.

Silver Peak faced the altar silently for a few moments, then wheeled about and seemed to study my reaction.

"I am not interested in assigning blame," he said pointedly, "but neither will I die in this awful place simply because the Master kept a soft place in her heart for the wicked."

I knew, here, that he meant me.

Turning away, Silver Peak took one of the thirty-three little earthen jars from the altar, and dumped a key out onto the floor. He put the jar carefully back in its place, took the key into the master's room, and returned with a thin black book. He held it ceremoniously out and announced:

"As the chosen successor to Great Master Winding Path, I declare this to be a condition of utmost emergency, in which it is right and necessary to bring to bear all the secrets of our teaching."

Beckoning to me, Silver Peak tucked the book under his arm and drew back the bolt on the front door. He was about to go out, when Master Winding Path came striding urgently up the walk.

"Apprentice!" she boomed from across the yard, "Present yourself! There is work to do!"

Silver Peak stiffened. He stuffed the book hastiliy into his shirt and opened the door just in time for the master to push past him. She took the two stones from around her neck, struck them together three times, and began to trace a ward in the dust at the center of the house.

"Run to the smith and fetch my sword," she commanded. "If he demands payment now, tell him I will repay with interest when I see him next. If he says he hasn't completed the work, bring the sword anyway. See that you are back here before the breath of the storm returns."

Silver Peak bowed hastily and ran out the open door.

Master Winding Path turned next to me.

"Broken Storm," she said, "someone has traced the sign of repentance here." She nodded in the direction of the altar. "Have you done something for which you felt the need to repent?"

My cheeks felt hot. I did not expect to ever return to the house. I looked at my feet, and fumbled for something to sign in reply, but I could not find the words.

"Broken Storm," said the Master, "The storms rage with an unnatural fury. They are not the work of mountains or oceans." She reached out gently and tilted my head so that I had to meet her gaze. "Have you broken your vow?" she asked.

I signed back urgently, and shook my head:

"No, no, no."

The storm had called to me, but I had remained silent. This much was true.

People gathered outside, kneeling on the patch of packed earth in the yard, as they waited to hear the master pass judgment on the storm. Some of them glimpsed me through the open door, and cast me looks of fear and disgust. I wanted to go outside once more, but I knew the crowd would be greatly displeased to see me without Master Winding Path.

The master beckoned me closer. I knelt at her side. The air had gone eerily still, but a distant roar carried high above the clouds. On the floor before our altar, Master Winding Path had traced out the Ninety-Ninth Harmony of the Earth. I had never seen it done in full. Up close, the dense inscription seemed to turn on its own, spiraling patiently as the seasons through the master's careful scribing. The people watching from the yard kept a respectful hush, but I could feel their eyes on us. Master Winding Path struck the smooth stones together until they threw sparks, and as she did she chanted:

in these furrows

sow seeds of virtue

part the darkness

raise up life

The master closed her eyes, and her fingertips went white as she pressed them into the dust. I waited for the winds to go still, and the clouds to part. A murmur went through the crowd outside.

The windows went dark. The storm swallowed the sunrise. A single hailstone shattered on the paving stones outside.

Master Winding Path's eyes snapped open. She threw a quick glance in the direction of the people still hovering fearfully at the gate, then seized my hand. She forced it down into the dust alongside her own, traced a few sloppy symbols alongside it, and repeated the verse a few more times. Then, she pulled me nearer and murmured urgently into my ear:

"For the sake of those outside, you are assisting the ritual. For your own sake, you will listen, and do exactly as I say." The master's grip tightened, and I quickly nodded that I understood. She continued: "When Silver Peak returns, I will send him on an urgent errand. You will follow him. Both of you must get as far from here as you are able. Do not return until I come to fetch you personally. Above all else, do not, for any reason, break your vow to be silent."

The master met my gaze with a seriousness that frightened me. I nodded once more and she released my hand. Outside, the clouds bore down faster, and the walls trembled as the winds came nearer. Silver Peak came dashing in, with the master's sword and scabbard clutched to his chest.

"Teacher," he stammered, "the storm is not stopping."

"I can see that, Apprentice," snapped the master, as she fastened the sword to her belt.

"But," he sputtered, "why?"

The first winds of the storm banged the shutters of the house, and the ornate spell in the dust began to scatter before their breath. The master glanced sharply from me, to Silver Peak, to the remnants of the crowd still lingering in the yard.

"Apprentice," she said sternly, lowering her voice, "You have studied long enough to know that forces exist which cannot be bound by the Harmonies of the Earth. You know well: Broken Storm practices silence because of them. Now, those same forces afflict us all."

Silver Peak looked pale and stricken, but he gave a sober nod. Master Winding Path motioned him into the other room, and he obediently followed. After a few minutes, Silver Peak came out, alone. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and was wearing his travelling cloak.

"Come," he said brusquely. "The master says we must go."