Wound of the Sky

Bringer of Silence

"Good," he said. "We will scale this abomination together, and I will show you the virtue of one who has been pure from his first breath."

What Silver Peak had said troubled me. Knowing that the wicked song of the old ones boiled within me, though, I did not dare to challenge him. I knew that if I protested or admitted any weakness, he would abandon me then and there.

I pushed my troubled thoughts aside and concentrated only of my vow to be silent. I recollected my mother's tears, and the master's frown. I made emptiness fast in my chest. Silver Peak released my arm, and continued to climb. I followed after.

The winding tunnels of the mountain again filled with the breath of the ten great winds. Beneath our feet and all around us, Wound of the Sky sang with a deep, wordless moan, as if the very heavens wept aloud. The sound penetrated my heart, and with it I felt a powerful sorrow, and the urge to weep too. To keep from faltering, I finally had to stop, and clamp my mouth and nose shut with my hands. Tears streamed silently down my face.

Silver Peak saw that I lagged behind, and turned back. As he took his attention from the path, he stepped on a jagged shard of metal. It pierced deep into his foot, and made him cry out. The litle cry of pain hung in the air as a strange echo, and the winds fell still.

Silver Peak's eyes went wide, and he clapped his hands over his own mouth in horror. I felt the lump of the song rise in my throat. Silver Peak shoved me toward the entrance of one of the mountain's winding passages.

"Get to shelter," he hissed urgently.

I stumbled and fell. Before I could get to my feet, winds roared down from every direction and seized the little cry. My silence, and Silver Peak's refined concentration, had so far kept them from seeking us out, but they were hungry, and the twinge of pain in Silver Peak's voice threw them into a frenzy.

In a matter of moments, the winds stretched the echo of Silver Peak's voice into a gleeful hum, a deafening howl, and then wailing vortex. As it rose into the sky, the thing twisted Silver Peak's stolen cry into its own voice and began to sing:

dust of the earth

rise up rise up

rise up in clouds

and fury

At that moment I forgot myself, and nearly opened my mouth to sing with it. As the winds bore down, I clenched my teeth against the fatal words, and tried to crawl for safety. As I did, I heard Silver Peak's voice rise over the winds. A great glory blazed through the gloom, the winds went still, and the clouds parted with a clap of thunder. When I dared to emerge from my hiding place, the vortex had vanished. Silver Peak lay wounded on the scar the winds had left.

I knelt down to tend to him. As I did, he grabbed my hand, and pulled me to him. His grip was feeble, but his eyes were wild.

"Master Winding Path has already failed," he rapsed urgently. "Look: The Wound opens."

He pointed in the direction of the mountain's distant peak. The sky above us was clear, but strange clouds had begun to boil in eerie silence from the far away tatters of the air. They spread in all directions, dark and heavy like a bruise, and though they were far away, I felt something creep into the air much nearer. It smelled sharp like blood, and prickly-sweet like the shimmering puddles that formed under the wrecks out on the plains. As it entered my nose, my throat felt numb, and my lungs felt weary, as if each breath I drew pulled a weight after it. I had seen many storms form over The Wound, but none like that.

Silver Peak held up the book he had taken from the master's room, his fingers white against its binding. I felt a deep fear settle over me. I began to sign something, but Silver Peak brushed me aside before I could finish the words.

"Only one power remains to us," said Silver Peak. "It is this: the names of the Thirty-Three Holy Ones, the Bringers of Silence, as they are inscribed here, in Master Winding Path's own hand. If they are summoned, the breath of this place will expire forever; it will be reduced to dust and ash and scattered over the earth." He shook his head, then looked me in the eyes, and added: "Whoever so much as looks upon the Bringers of Silence will perish. Tell me now: Are you prepared to give your life in the service of righteousness?"

I did not dare to refuse. But neither could I agree to what he had said; Master Winding Path might still be alive on the mountain. Wouldn't she be destroyed too? I folded my hands and tried to dodge Silver Peak's terrifying look.

"Broken Storm," he growled, "this is no time to waver. If we do not destroy this place, its powers will kill everyone." He stopped and clenched his teeth as a violent shudder wracked his body. "I am too weak. You will need to complete the ritual. Listen, and I will guide you."

He thrust the book into my hands, and began to explain, but I did not listen. The mountain's low moan rose on the winds, and I imagined the master lost in the tangled wrecks beyond the clouds. Silver Peak stopped.

"Pay attention!" he snapped.

I signed back: "What about our teacher? What will happen to her?"

"I always knew that your heart was small and wicked," snarled Silver Peak, "and now, of all times, you must prove me right." He turned his head and spat into the dirt. "Master Winding Path took this burden knowingly upon herself; probably, it has already carried her out of this life, to a place where we can no longer help her. Your burden is this: Do as I say, and we will silence the wicked voices. If you cannot, then you are a mere puppet of evil, less than even the demons of this place!"

I could hear the strain building in Silver Peak's voice as he said these things, and it must have become more than his injuries could bear. His eyes became glassy. His face contorted in pain, and he let out a tortured gasp. Then, he fell still and silent, except for a faint, ragged breath. I bound his wounds as best I could, wrapped him in my cloak, and laid him in a sheltered spot. Then, I climbed on alone. I carried the forbidden book with me.