Windseeker

By Rebecca Shelley

The wind hears every word spoken beneath the sun and stars. It brings tidings of war to the only woman capable of understanding its whispers. Cyren has always hidden her connection to the wind. Now she must use it to save her family and people from a bloody tyrant who seeks their destruction. During the struggle, she learns the power of the wind is not enough. Forest and Sky must join together to win her people's freedom. But royal intrigue, ignorance, and fear conspire to keep them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Shelley
• Release date: Jun 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386188506

Rebecca Shelley

Rebecca Shelley writes a wide variety of books—everything from picture books to spy thrillers.She especially likes to write about fantasy creatures such as dragons and fairies.Her children’s books are written under the Rebecca Shelley name.Her thrillers and other books for adults are written under the R. L. Tyler pen name.She also has two books out under the R. D. Henham pen name—Red Dragon Codex and Brass Dragon Codex.

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Windseeker

Copyright © 2012 Rebecca Lyn Shelley

Published by Wonder Realms Books

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission. All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover photography © Mike_kiev | Dreamstime.com

Interior art © Irina Shishkina | Dreamstime.com

Chapter One

Danger! the wind screamed.

Cyren's heart raced. She abandoned her perch on Pine Ridge and scrambled down the steep, rocky slope. The wind kept pace with her, shrieking through the towering pines, tearing at her face and hair. Cyren lifted her wool skirt and leaped across a muddy streamlet that blocked the trail. Frozen water splashed up her legs, but she rushed on. She'd never seen the wind so angry where moments before it had been a gentle breeze.

It howled up from the valley far below where Cyren's village lay. Danger stalked her home. The wind spoke of malice and fear and death. Cyren shuddered at the thought of a cave-in at the mine where her father and older brother worked. Her greatest fear. She could not stand to go near the mine.

Golden aspen and red-flame maples enveloped the lower slopes. Fall's icy fingers gripped the Crescent Hills. Cyren clutched her side, gasping for breath as she raced along. The village lay too far away for her to reach it in time to warn her family of the danger.

A hawk screamed above her. If only she could throw herself on the wind and fly straight down the mountain.

A mist of blue-gray smoke rose from the valley below, carrying with it the smell of roast mutton. Cyren stopped, doubling over to catch her breath. No one in Village Glenna would be cooking dinner if there had been a cave-in.

The wind whipped through the sparse underbrush, scourging Cyren's face with dust and dry leaves.

Beware, it cried.

Cyren? Her younger brother, Trey, stepped out from the trees onto the trail. He stood over her, tall and lanky like the aspens around them, with his hunting bow slung on his back and a dead doe over his shoulders.

Trey, Cyren said. Something's wrong at home.

He looked toward the village and huffed. What?

I don't know. The wind is angry.

He grunted and headed down the trail, puffing under the exertion of carrying his kill, though it was only a small red-tail. It's always the wind with you, isn't it?

Cyren followed close behind him. The sun hung low over the Crescent Hills, ready to set. They passed under a thick stand of maples, and the trail nearly vanished in the dense underbrush.

A branch snapped on the right. Trey froze. The wind went silent.

Cyren tensed

Who's there? Trey whispered.

A heavy-set man appeared from behind a maple. A bushy black beard covered his face, and a swath of green material hung around his right arm above the elbow. He fingered an old hunting knife and fixed Trey with a grim stare. Are you Trey, Oba's son? Some at Village Glenna said you might come home this way.

If his beard wasn't telling enough, his thick accent confirmed he was from the high mountains. Strange. The mountain folk seldom came down this low.

Trey frowned and resituated the doe on his shoulders. Might be him.

Cyren put her shaking hands on her hips and glared at the man. Who are you, and what are you doing hiding behind trees trying to give passersby a fright? The wind's abrupt silence scared her more than the man's sudden appearance.

The man wrinkled his nose at her and let the knife settle into a firm grip in his hand, then turned his gaze back to her brother.

I'm Tolfe. If you are Trey, I think you should know that your father forbid me to talk to you.

Trey grimaced and jerked his own hunting knife free from the sheath at his waist. Why would he do that?

Tolfe flicked a piece of bark from the tree trunk with the tip of his knife. On account of your grandfather, I suppose. Though I'd have thought that would have made your father friend to our cause, not foe.

Cyren swallowed. The wind danced fitfully around her. No one ever talked about their father's father who had died before she or her brothers were born. Cyren's mother had promised to tell her about him someday but died before she had the chance.

Trey's lips pressed into a thin line.

I won't go against your father's commands, Tolfe said. I'll leave it to my brother to talk with you.

Cyren blinked, realizing that another man stood next to the first, though she couldn't say when he had appeared there. He was younger than Tolfe, shorter, and beardless. He wore gold and green and stood so still he might have been an extension of the forest itself. He smiled, and it sent a thrill through her like the sight of the first bluebells in spring.

I'm Earo. He also wore a swath of green tied above his right elbow. You know who your grandfather was, don't you?

Trey grimaced. I know nothing of it. Come on Cyren. He strode away from the two men.

Cyren hesitated. The wind often whispered her grandfather's name to her on the last breath of dying thunderstorms.

Wait, Earo called to Trey. I know you are nearly eighteen. Don't you care the Prince Regent will have you slaving in the mines with the rest of the men as soon as your birthing day comes? I already know you spend near all your time in the forest and can't stand to stay under-roof for long. Think what it will be like in the caves. Don't you want to be free?

Trey pivoted and glared back at them. What have you to do with freedom?

You are the Forest King's grandson. Earo reached a hand out to Trey. Your father and older brother refuse the Forest's call to lead us. That leaves only you. There are many of us who are willing to stand with you against the Prince.

Cyren gasped and stumbled back until she came up against a tree. Her heart beat hard in her chest. You . . . you're Greens, she said. I thought they were only fireside stories. The Forest King can't possibly be real. The wind sprang up again, tugging at her hair, colder now.

Tolfe grunted in amusement. Earo turned his sunlight-dappled face toward her, a ray of warmth in the cold wind. We were all Greens once, before The People came with their weapons and their King and herded us into villages and made us mine for ore to make armor and swords for their constant warring. Your grandfather led the Greens against them to regain our freedom.

Our grandfather is dead. Trey sheathed his knife, grabbed Cyren's arm, and propelled her on the path toward home.

You know about Grandfather, Cyren said, trying to free herself from Trey's grasp.

Only that he's dead, killed because he was the Forest King. Father would be dead too if he hadn't sworn an oath of fealty to the Prince Regent. Trey let her go and steadied the deer he'd almost dropped in their struggle.

"But you didn't swear an oath of fealty, Earo said. You were not even born. The Forest has waited long for you."

Trey grimaced and closed his eyes. It can wait a bit longer.

No it can't! Tolfe shouted.

Earo put a hand on Tolfe's arm, and he fell silent. Earo spoke instead. Since Prince Callun took his brother's place as regent, he's upped the quotas from the mines. It has nearly doubled this year. He sends even less wheat and salt in return for our labors. Winter is drawing on, and we haven't sufficient food stored to keep us until spring. If we don't fight to free ourselves from him now, we will die.

My father's oath included his children and grandchildren, Trey said through gritted teeth. If I join you, Prince Callun will slaughter my family.

They can come with us. The Forest will hide them. Earo's voice was an earthy rich tenor. The wind nudged her toward him.

My father won't come. Trey looked over the hill to the valley where Village Glenna lay nestled.

Cyren knew Earo was right about Trey not wanting to go to the mines. On the occasional night he was home between hunting trips, she'd heard him cry out in his sleep and tear his way free of the covers, gasping for breath.

That is his choice, Trey, Earo said. You have to make your own choice. His oath cannot hold you.

Trey took a deep breath. A longing came into his eyes. I'll think on it. Come, Cyren. He set off toward the village, widening the gap between himself and the Greens.

Cyren stood frozen in the trail, feeling like a fawn caught out in the open between two mountain cats.

Think on it well, but not long! Tolfe shouted after Trey. There isn't much time.

Earo stepped out of the trees and walked to Cyren's side. He touched her arm, and his hand on her flesh sent tingles racing through her. This close, he smelled like the forest, fresh after a rainstorm.

Will you talk to him? Convince him to join us?

Cyren took a deep breath, not wanting to move away from that touch, which held so much life and promise. The wind skittered around her, panting and nervous. A plume of black smoke lifted above the mountain shoulder that blocked her view of Village Glenna. The smell of mutton vanished, replaced by the stench of burning thatch.

Oh no. Cyren pulled away from Earo and bolted toward home. She reached the top of the shoulder overlooking the valley at the same moment as Trey. Panting, she scanned the village for the source of the roiling black smoke.

Wooden huts clustered along the King's Road that snaked through the Crescent Hills. Horses and riders crowded the road, gathering at a house on the outskirts of the village. The King's orange banner, bearing an iron fist, flapped in the angry wind above the horsemen.

Acrid black smoke lifted from the burning hut in front of them.

Her home.

Father! Jon! She screamed and scrambled down the path that switched back and forth across the steep slope above the mine. The doe thudded to the ground behind her. A moment later Trey raced past, yanking an arrow from his quiver and setting it to the bowstring.

Trey, No! Cyren screamed. You can't fight them, there are too many.

Trey skidded around a switchback and kept going.

This was a mistake. It had to be. Her father was loyal to the Prince Regent. Whatever oath he'd made, she was sure he'd kept it.

Just past the mine, Trey left the path and sprinted straight down the slope and through the sheep fields toward the cluster of houses. Cyren tried to catch him, but his legs were longer than hers. Her muscles burned, and a stitch caught her in the side.

Sheep bleated as she hurried past them. She licked the salty moisture from her lips and redoubled her effort, keeping her eyes on the black smoke and the long fingers of orange flame that leapt from the roof of their hut. The wind howled in fury, but it only whipped the flames higher.

Trey leaped the wooden bars of the pasture fence and darted between the huts. Cyren ducked through the lower and upper pole and followed. She raced past her neighbor's home and jerked to a stop beside the woodshed.

Flames forked through the windows of her house and leapt from the roof into the sky. Trey stood on the narrow street in front of the house, his arrow nocked and pointed at a chain mail-garbed man on horseback. Cyren knew from the silver circlet on his brow and banner fluttering over his head, he had to be Prince Callun, the Prince Regent who ruled over the Crescent Hills.

Jon and her father were on their knees in the street—their faces and clothes smudged from working in the mine, their hands bound behind their backs. A ring of soldiers with drawn swords circled them.

More horsemen sat their horses behind the Prince with their bows drawn.

Let them go, Trey yelled. I'm the one you want. My father has been loyal to you. I am the Greens' leader. If you want the Forest King, let them go. I'm right here!

Put your bow down, boy, the Prince said.

I will, if you let my father and brother go.

Prince Callun raised an orange shield, waved his hand, and the mounted soldiers' bows twanged. Trey released his own arrow, but it pinged off the Prince's shield.

Three arrows struck Trey, and he cried out. He stumbled, fell to the ground, and lay still.

Cyren was too shocked to scream. The wind howled in fury, kicking up a storm of dust from the street to join the black smoke, pouring from the burning house.

Kill the others, Prince Callun said. They should never have been allowed to live.

Cyren leaped forward, crying out in protest, but her yell was stifled by a hand slapped over her mouth. Strong arms wrapped around her and dragged her back behind the woodshed.

Shh, Tolfe hissed in her ear. His rough beard pressed against her cheek. They'll kill you too.

Cyren tried to bite him, but he gripped her jaw harder, holding it in place. Her kicks fell unheeded on his stout legs. A dog yapped behind her, and the thick poles of the sheep fence thudded to the ground. A moment later a sea of sheep flocked between the huts, bleating in protest at being driven by the sheep dog toward the fire.

Tolfe eased around the woodshed with his hand still clamped over her mouth and his arm locked around her middle. The soldiers had their swords poised, ready to finish Jon and her father, but stood frozen in shock at the on-rush of sheep. A green-fletched arrow zipped from behind the neighbor's hut and embedded itself in the chest of Prince Callun's horse.

The horse screamed and reared. A volley of arrows from behind several other huts joined the first, striking at the soldiers standing over her father and Jon. Three of the four fell. The remaining soldier swung his sword at Jon's neck.

Jon threw himself to the ground and rolled away among the sheep, headed toward Cyren.

Kill them, Prince Callun cried to his men.

Time to go, Tolfe said, jerking away from the woodshed. He abandoned his hold on her and sprinted toward the field.

Cyren turned back to find her father, but couldn't see him through the smoke and sheep. Horses thundered around the houses in pursuit of the Greens. Jon scrambled to his feet beside her, his hands still tied behind his back. Run! he yelled.

She bolted toward the hillside with Jon beside her, but she knew in her gut the horses would outrace them. Men with green armbands scattered into the fields.

She grabbed Jon's arm and turned hard into the village instead of away from it.

Shaking, she pulled open the gate to the headman's chicken coop, waited for Jon to pass in behind her, then refastened it. The opening into the hen house was not much more than a black square, but she wiggled through it. Jon had a harder time. He got his head in, but his shoulders stuck. Cyren grabbed his shirt and leaned back, using all her weight to pull him through. The old gray boards splintered and tore his shirt and upper arms, but she managed to get him in. They rolled under the bottom nesting boards on either side of the coop and lay still.

Soiled straw pressed against her skin and clawed her face. The smell of chicken-droppings was so strong she could taste it. Bitter, like the thought of Trey lying dead in the street. He was not the Forest King, but his lie had not convinced the Prince Regent to spare her father and Jon.

Outside, the chickens squawked, the sheep bleated, horses thundered past, and men cried out. Cyren remained quiet, barely daring to breathe. Jon lay across the narrow aisle from her, invisible in the falling darkness.

The noise of the sheep died away. But Prince Callun's men rode through the village pounding on doors, searching the houses and outbuildings.

Stand aside, Headman, his Highness said to search everywhere.

You think the Greens are hiding in my house? Headman Rile protested. I'm as loyal to the King as any man. I'd kill any Green that came near here.

Glad to hear it, now stand aside.

Cyren pressed further against the wall. It wouldn't take them long to search the headman's house and move on to the stable and chicken coop. This chicken coop had never failed her in the hide and seek games she'd played as a child, though it had often left her with extra work to get her clothes clean before her mother found out. She hoped it would serve as well now.

The soldiers stamped out of the house, and the gate to the chicken coop creaked open.

You won't find anyone in the hen house, Headman Rile said. I keep it locked so no one can steal the eggs. Lots of hungry people around here these days.

Everywhere means everywhere, Headman, the soldier's surly voice cut off the headman's protests.

The lock jiggled, and a moment later a bright yellow light from the lantern filled the narrow coop. The chickens above her cackled in protest. A soldier stepped into the hen house. The isle was barely wide enough for one person to fit between the nesting boards to gather eggs.

The soldier's boots thudded to a stop inches from Cyren's face.

Chapter Two

Earo eased himself down the steep, overgrown slope into the Hollow. Shaking, he slumped onto one of the gray stone benches that circled the entrance to the Barrow at the head of the narrow basin.

Stars dotted the night sky, and the wind tore fretfully at the pine trees that towered over Earo's head. His sweat-soaked shirt grew clammy in the chill. His muscles burned from the effort of evading Prince Callun's soldiers. He was safe now, though. The Forest protected the Hollow. No one could find it unless the Forest brought them here.

Prince Callun is a step ahead of us, it seems, Tolfe said, joining Earo. He knows we need the Forest King's power to defeat him. Stupid Trey, stupid waste.

Other Greens straggled into the circle just as winded as Earo.

But Jon got away, didn't he? He was right behind you. And his sister. Earo smiled at the thought of the petite woman with mud on the hem of her dress and curly windblown hair the golden color of aspen leaves in the fall.

She's as impossible as her brother. They'd have killed her too, if I hadn't grabbed her. Tolfe kicked the dirt off his boots against the stone.

So where are they? Earo licked his dry lips. Didn't you bring them with you?

Earo could barely make out the scowl on Tolfe's face in the dim starlight. They vanished. One moment they were right behind me, the next, gone.

Where?

The edge of Village Glenna.

Earo groaned. We can't lose them.

What about Oba? one of the others muttered. Earo wasn't sure who in the dark.

Prince Callun's horse trampled him. That was Derry, a Green from Earo's village, Village Sweetridge.

And you were the one who shot the beast, the first man accused Derry.

We were supposed to cause a distraction. It's not my fault his Highness can't control his own mount.

The sheep would have been enough.

Stop! Tolfe's deep voice cut through their argument. He stamped across the circle to the spring that filled a shallow cistern next to the Barrow's entrance. Earo dropped his head into his hands. Without a leader they were no more than a ragged band of fugitive miners.

Well, I'm not going back to work in the mines even if there is no Forest King, Derry said.

I must return to my village, the other man said. I have a wife and children to think of.

How many of us are left? Earo forced himself to ask.

After a quick count-up among them, he found they numbered fifteen. Six of their members had not made it back to the Hollow. They hadn't gone to Village Glenna intending to fight, only to find a Forest King to lead them.

Earo stood and walked to the spring. The water was cool on his hand as he scooped it up and wetted his parched mouth. What do we do now? he whispered to Tolfe.

Why don't you ask the Forest? You're the one it brought here. You're the one who said it talks to you.

Earo leaned against the grassy mound and stared at the trees above him. What would you have us do? he asked the Forest.

The sound of crickets filled the night air.

The men rolled into their blankets and found shelter among the stones to sleep. The forest animals fell silent. The wind whistled in angry gusts through the branches. It reminded him of Oba's daughter, hands on hips talking back to Tolfe. He hoped she and Jon had escaped.

The Forest grumbled, and Earo stilled his mind to hear it speak. Sometimes he understood it. Most often, he didn't. He could barely make out the Forest's deep earthy rumble. Learn the truth . . . Forest King . . . Wind. He strained to hear more, but the Forest fell silent.

Tolfe? Earo said.

Tolfe sat next to the cistern, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, staring into the water. He grunted in response.

What happened to the last Forest King? How did he die? Earo had always assumed it had been in battle. If the Forest wanted him to learn the truth, perhaps his assumption was wrong.

Tolfe remained quiet so long Earo was afraid he wouldn't answer. Finally he broke the silence. The Forest King rejected the Wind instead of embracing it.

Earo waited for more explanation but none came. What do you mean?

Tolfe leaped to his feet. How should I know? That's all I ever heard.

There's more to it than that, Derry said from where he huddled next to a nearby stone. My grandfather died fighting alongside the Greens. My grandmother told me secret tales of it. How the Forest King was part of the Forest itself. How his skin turned green, and he went wild, eating only grass and nuts and such.

We've all heard them stories, Tolfe said.

But she told stories of the Wind too. Did you hear those? Nobody talks about the Wind, do they? Nobody dares. Because the Forest King betrayed the Sky Queen, and she's still angry, and she hears every word spoken beneath the sun and stars. Derry fell silent.

A blast of wind sent leaves shivering from the trees. Earo waited for it to pass before speaking again. Tell me about the Sky Queen.

Derry let out a scared laugh. The Forest King controls the soil, the plants, and animals, while the Sky Queen controls the wind and weather. The Greens belong to the Forest, but the Forest can't live without rain and snow brought by the wind.

A long sigh echoed on the wind, stretching out from the Hollow