Wind and Words

By Stephanie Flint

Life magic is not meant to be alone.

Everyone is born with two strings of magic. One strand is life, and the other is death.

When Edyli escaped the land of the dead after saving her sister, the goddess of death removed Edyli’s death magic. Without that string, Edyli is unbalanced, a “monster” who cannot sleep, cannot die, and without care, will slowly go mad.

Banished from her home for refusing to make amends with the goddess, Edyli is surprised to discover a child without life magic deep in the jungle—a child her remaining magic is drawn to, because those who are unbalanced are inexplicably drawn together.

Terrified of what might happen if the two of them touch, Edyli seeks answers about the mysterious child. If she can recover the child’s life magic, she might earn back the goddess’s favor and become whole again.

But one mistake, and Edyli could live forever in insanity.

~

Author's Note: This is an 23,000-word novella based in the universe of "The Wishing Blade" series. Though the stories are related ("Wind and Words" takes place at the same time), "Wind and Words" stands alone. This is the second story in the "Stone and String" series, however, this one can be read without having read the first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infinitas Publishing
• Release date: May 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463267806

Stephanie Flint

Stephanie Flint (formerly Stephanie Bibb) graduated from the University of Central Missouri with a Bachelor of Science in photography and a minor in creative writing. She merged the two interests into book cover design and photographic illustration, but she particularly enjoys writing speculative fiction. Stephanie lives with her husband, Isaac. Together they plot stories in the form of tabletop role-play games, and they enjoy the occasional cosplay. Online, Stephanie often goes by the nickname of SBibb.

Book preview

Wind and Words

A Novella in The Wishing Blade Universe

Stone and String #2

by Stephanie Flint

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2018 by Stephanie Flint

Formatting and cover design by Stephanie Flint

All rights reserved. Published by Infinitas Publishing.

Smashwords Edition

infinitaspublishing.com

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Acknowledgements

Song Translations

About the Author

Thank You

Also by the Author

Connect with the Author

Newsletter

ONE

Edyli tightened her scarf around her shoulders. Warm rain soaked through the sheer orange fabric, and she ducked her head as she pressed through the crowded bazaar. Hopefully she did not catch anyone’s eye. If they did not see her too-short hair or the shiny scar on her neck, they might not realize she was fa nor. They might not realize she was unbalanced.

Cursed.

Merchants wearing long, fluttering saris and colorful sarongs called out their wares, striving to catch the attention of interested customers who were ignoring the rain. There were plenty of goods to choose from. Plenty of goods that would normally excite Edyli: gilded ceramic vases and pots, long ropes of yarn hung from bamboo rafters, every color of the sacred rainbow and every thickness for the sacred weavers to choose from. Red clay bowls were lined in rows on wooden tables, each bowl filled to the brim with spices. Everything from cinnamon and turmeric to the more exotic peppergrass and water mint. A bare-chested entertainer in the corner between stalls sat under a gold and orange awning, slapping his palms on a drum, accompanied by the haunting melody of a flute played by his daughter. Everywhere in the bazaar, people pressed around Edyli, jostling her unimposing body as they shuffled through the mud and tried to get to their preferred stalls for their daily shopping. She trekked on, ducking past the common shoppers until she finally reached the other side of the bazaar.

Here was the foreign quarter, where few would question the scar on her neck. Her vera, her mother, had ordered that she go into the city and get the essentials, not that she find the best prices. She was free to shop where she pleased.

She tucked herself into the space between two stalls and withdrew a scrap of reed paper. The pale-skinned lady in a stifling corset and heavy skirt beside her cast Edyli a curious glance, but when it became obvious that Edyli was more interested in the paper scrap than in swiping precious goods, the lady returned to offering her customer a selection of green glass bottles—the latest in glassware from Maijev, a city from the kingdom across the sea. Pretty bottles, though Edyli couldn’t purchase anything from Maijev due to her sister having ribbon magic. Unlike most ribbon mages, Akymi still had her magic, since she had been restored from the land of the dead.

Edyli shook her head. It was best not to think about the details of her sister’s restoration. Her sister was alive, and that was all that mattered. She squinted at the paper, skimming through her vera’s shorthand. Papayas… rice flour… a jar of honey… a roll of parchment for my studies –she twisted her lips– "a new goat… and ten new chickens? Do we not have enough goats and chickens already?"

She supposed her vera must have her reasons. With the news of stolen ribbon magic filtering in, Vera seemed determined to pick up anything that might rise in price. Edyli would simply need to have the merchants request their payment directly from her vera. No one, especially someone fa nor, would carry enough basidé on their person to buy a goat and chickens.

Edyli shoved the list back into the satchel at her side. Papayas she would have to find in the main market. It was too cold in the Cirenan kingdom to grow those fruits effectively. She might find a rice seller here, if there was anyone from the southern regions. And honey… she grunted. Honey was better when it was local. For good honey, she would risk someone noticing her scar.

As for parchment…

A few stalls down from where she stood, a man with peach skin frantically tried to keep his booth from losing the oilskin that kept water off his wares—a fine assortment of scrolls and papers.

Edyli grinned. The man must have been new to the area if he hadn’t expected the onslaught of rain, and she might be able to get a good deal from him if she offered her help.

She pressed her fingers to the woven choker at her neck, ensuring that the obsidian eye obscured her scar—in case the man knew something of her culture—and her long fingers touched on the beaded necklace below it. A necklace given to her by an acolyte of the priestesses, which held a small glass vial filled with tethvios, a potion she hoped she would never have to use. But the vial was concealed under her choli and, even if it wasn’t, no one would ask why she carried the vial with her. Not if they knew she was fa nor and thus could not die. The liquid was a potion meant to keep away pain, for she could not pass out if the pain of death became too great.

She couldn’t sleep, either, and the previous night had been long and restless.

Pushing aside those thoughts, Edyli shuffled across the road, her sandals slapping mud onto the back of her bare calves.

Excuse me… She attempted to speak in Cantingen first, but when the man blushed a furious red and attempted to explain himself in a heavily accented version of Cirenan, she sighed. Though she wasn’t an expert, she knew some of the Cirenan language courtesy of her father’s insistence that she might one day choose to follow in his footsteps as a merchant.

She pointed to a roll of paper in a wooden basket, a roll which was tightly wound and would last her a while, and then removed her satchel from her waist and dug out fifteen sambime, what she hoped would be enough to cover the cost. She held up the brown, flat, sandalwood beads and pointed again to the roll of paper. I desire to purchase paper.

The man’s face lit up. You speak Cirenan?

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew more than most, but any diligent student of Ruetravahn knew language was important. Some. She pointed again to the paper, and then offered the basidé beads. Fifteen sambime.

The man rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you have siteh?"

She couldn’t help it; she glowered at him. Here he was, trying to sell in a foreign market,