Of Smoke and Wind

By J. Leigh Bralick

She was nothing but the Voice of the Gods, speaking words of smoke and wind.

The Voice's life depends on her ability to predict the future for the King, but if he knew her secrets, would he spare his justice?

A fantasy short story from the author of The Madness Method and the Lost Road Chronicles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vorona Books
• Release date: Nov 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781941108246

J. Leigh Bralick

J. Leigh writes primarily fantasy and YA fantasy novels. She has made one foray into science fiction, and enjoyed it so much she may eventually publish that experiment, if she survives the effort. Her favorite thing about writing fantasy is the excitement of exploring new worlds and experiencing exciting adventures — all on a very low-cost budget! All you really need is coffee.When she isn’t writing, J. Leigh loves her other job as an ER nurse (most of the time). (Except at 3AM.) She spends the rest of her non-existent spare time wrangling her three big dogs, acting as glorified tree branch for her little parrot Pippin, attempting to not murder garden plants, and taking care of her husband.

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Of Smoke and Wind

A Short Story

by

J. Leigh Bralick

Published by Vorona Books

Copyright 2019 © J. Leigh Bralick

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the creation of the author, and any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

For all my readers. Thank you for your support!

Of Smoke and Wind

Dawn transpired hours ago , but the birds outside my window are silent.

I kneel still on the flat velvet cushion that lies in the perfect center of my chamber, my hands on my knees and the morning breeze in my hair, but even the rising sun’s warmth on my face cannot banish the chill in my bones. It is the seventh day of Jade, third of the Festival of Lady Sun. My heart should have been glad, but instead fear flutters like a trapped thing within me.

A soft tap on the door behind me shatters the emptiness, followed by the whisper of my slave’s bare feet on the stones.

Good morning, Mistress, she says.

She always speaks too softly. No matter how many times I ask her to speak up, she only laughs—nervous—and vows she has no stronger voice for the Voice of the Gods.

Is it a good morning, truly? I ask. The birds are silent.

Perhaps there is a storm coming.

She stops by the window, her shadow falling on me the way the sun’s rays had moments before. I feel colder than ever, but I don’t have the heart to ask her to move.

A storm, I echo. "Do you think