Where the Wind Goes

Chapter 10 (Part 1) - The Journal

It rained for two days after the attack, and then snowed for another three. The Herald had planned it that way, first to put out the fires and then to cocoon the city in a blanket of pure white. "When the snow melts, the city will be whole once more, and we will host a festival to celebrate."

It was a week later when the snow began to melt, but Iri was not in the city. In the midst of the hubbub of festival preparations, she'd snuck out of the castle and hitched a ride beyond the crumbling stone walls. There, she followed a foot-beaten path into the forest. She wasn't entirely sure where she was going; she was being led by green slip of paper that danced in the air, flapping like a butterfly.

Iri, please come to me.

The message on the note wasn't signed, but it didn't have to be. Iri would've recognized the handwriting anywhere. It belonged to Joy, the wildling she hadn't been able to find in over a year.

The sky turned a hazy purple as twilight neared, and the cool air of the forest enveloped her. Iri wondered if this was what it was like for the people who followed the spirit voices- if this was what is was like to be beckoned by words on the wind. And she briefly wondered if following the note was a bad idea. But every day, Iri felt like she knew less and less of her world, and she longed for Joy's calm, steady presence.

The note led her down a path of white stone and into a grove of trees. She couldn't escape the feeling of eyes on her back, but every time she turned her head, no one was there. She pulled her cloak tighter at the neck and pressed on.

The note brushed passed a sinewy, green sapling. The young tree shuddered as if disturbed by her footsteps, and out of it sprung a boy nearly half her height.

"A visitor!" the boy announced, his amber eyes alight with excitement. His skin was a crisp, spring-green, and veins tracked across it, mimicking the pattern of a hazel leaf. His hair hung in soft golden dreads of catkins.

At the sound of his voice, the other trees began to move, moaning and creaking as a group of wildlings revealed themselves. Tree knots became noses, lichen became hair. Some stepped out of the trees, but others remained faces carved into the bark, blinking at Iri with firefly eyes.

"Let me see her." The voice came from an oak tree that stood tall over all the others. Slowly, the trunk twisted open, and a woman extricated herself from it. She stood on knobby legs, supporting herself against the lowest tree limbs. Her flaky brown skin was camouflaged against the bark, and her wiry nest of gray hair was piled atop her head like a crown. Her milky-white eyes settled on Iri, and all she said was, "Little iris."

"Please, call me Iri." She was unnerved by the way they all looked at her, lingering at a distance and warily eyeing the council crest on her cloak. She quickly shed the garment, gritting her teeth against the cold. Stupid, she chided herself. She should've worn forest clothes, not this thin linen shift. And to think- she'd almost worn her festival finery.

They watched her for a moment, and the silence was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Between the fairies and fireflies dancing in the branches, there was a never-ending melody of bug-like chittering. Somewhere, a cricket joined the chorus, and a fox padded through the underbrush. It all reminded Iri of the time she'd spent with Joy in the cottage'.

"I'm here to see Joy," she explained. She gestured to the green note, which was dancing around the hazel boy while he laughed and tried in vain to catch it.

"Joy is not with us anymore," the oak woman said, her voice dry and creaky.

"She sent for me." Iri plucked the note out of the air, leaving the hazel boy to pout. She presented it to the oak woman, who regarded it coolly.