Allan COLE - Wizard of the winds

Safar stood there, waiting. Then the avalanche ended and a silence as thick as the cold blinding cloud settled over him.

The mist cleared and the only thing Safar could see in the sun's sudden bright light was a broad white expanse running to the edge of a blank-faced cliff that had once been cut by a deep ravine.

Safar nodded, satisfied. The experiment had gone quite well, he thought. Then, still in his mode of the cold observer, he began to wonder about himself. The boy who'd just killed all those living beings. They were demons, of course, and deserved to die. Still.

Still.

Then someone was pounding his back and he turned to find Iraj, pounding, and was babbling congratulations of some sort. The first emotion that thawed Safar's numb interior was annoyance.

He pushed at Iraj's arm. Quit that, he said. It hurts."

Iraj stopped. Safar was surprised to see awe as well as joy on his friend's face.

"You did it, Safar! Iraj shouted. You killed them all!"

The numbness thawed more and Safar was suddenly frightened. Quiet, he said. Someone will hear."

"Who cares? Iraj said. Everyone should hear!"

Safar clutched Iraj's arm. Promise you will say nothing, he pleaded.

Iraj shook his head, bewildered by the request.

"Promise me, Safar insisted. Please!"

After a long moment Iraj nodded. I promise, he said. You're insane to ask it, but I promise just the same."

Then Safar was struck by a wall of weariness that seemed as great as the avalanche. Iraj caught him as he collapsed and then darkness sucked him down and he knew nothing more.

Terrible nightmares inhabited that darkness.

Safar dreamed he was pursued by demon riders across a rocky plain. He ran as fast as he could, leaping ravines and even canyons, dodging falling boulders, bounding over thundering avalanches. The sky was aboil with storm clouds and the sun dripped on the landscape, turning it blood red. And no matter how fast he ran the demon riders were faster.

Suddenly he was naked. He was still running, but now shame mingled with his fright. The demon riders converged on him, cutting in from the sides. Their shrill ululations drove every thought from his head until only fear remained. The demons hurled their spears and Safar saw they were spears of crackling lightning. They struck, burning and jolting his body with awful, painful shocks.

Then the demons were gone and Safar was running on soft grass and the sun was a cheery yellow, the breeze gentle on his naked flesh. He came to a hollow where Naya and the other goats gamboled and drank from the sweet waters of a spring. His mouth was suddenly dry and he knelt among the goats to quench a burning thirst.

And Naya said to him, What have you done, boy?"

"Nothing Little Mother, Safar answered.

But she stuck a lightning bolt in his heart and the lie hurt almost more than he could bear.

The other goats gathered around, baying accusations.

"He's been out killing, one said.

"Our Safar? another asked.

"Yes, said another. Our Safar has been killing."

"Is this true, boy? Naya asked, disgust in her tones.

"They were only demons, Little Mother, he answered.

"Shocking, the other goats said.

"But they were attacking the caravan, he protested.

"Oh, Safar, Naya said. I'm so ashamed of you. She butted him, knocking him down. Sharp stones jabbed into his buttocks. I suppose you used magic, Naya said.

"I couldn't help it, Little Mother, he confessed. Honestly I couldn't."

Then Naya rose on her hind legs and became Quetera, his pregnant sister. She was wearing a long white gown, swollen at the belly with new life.

"Naya says you've been out killing, his sister said. And using magic to do it."

He didn't answer.

"Look at me, Safar, his sister said.

"I can't, he said. I'm ashamed."

He pointed down. There was a demon's body at her feet.

"Did you do this, Safar? she asked.

"I had no choice, Quetera! he cried. They were killing people. He pointed at the demon. He was going to kill the girl."

Quetera's face suddenly turned kindly. Poor Safar, she said. Such a gentle lad. But now violence and death have found you. And they may never let you go."

Safar groaned and collapsed on the ground. He heard his sister come closer.

He smelled her perfume as she knelt down to comfort him. Let me take you home, Safar, she said.

He tried to get up but he couldn't rise. His limbs were numb and all he could do was groan.

Then cool water touched his temples. A soft wet cloth wiped his face and he felt as if all his sins were being sponged away.

And he was thirsty. By the gods he was thirsty! He opened his mouth. Not water, but cool milk dribbled in and he lapped it like a hungry kitten.

"Safar, a voice said. It was gentle and as soothing as that milk. Safar, it said again.

He floated out of the blackness to find a lovely face peering down at him. Dark, almond-shaped eyes full of sweet concern. Long black hair tumbling down like a silken scarf. Lips red and ripe, smoothed into a smile displaying teeth as white as the Snow Moon.

"Who are you? he mumbled, weak.

The smile became sweeter still. I'm Astarias, she said.

"Do I know you? he asked.

She laughed. It sounded like distant music. You do, now, she said. I'm the girl whose life you saved."

"Then you're not my sister, he said.

More laugher. Puzzled laughter. No, I'm not your sister. I'm Astarias."

"Well, thank the gods for that, he said.

And he slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When the caravan rolled into Kyrania Safar learned what it was like to be a hero.

He and Iraj rode in the lead with Coralean, mounted on the caravan master's finest horses. They were high-stepping steeds with painted shells and beads woven into their manes and tails. Behind them, guarded by the surviving soldiers was the caravan itself, bells jouncing, colorful banners waving. The air was pungent with the odor of precious goods from far away places. A boy ran in front carrying a demon's head mounted on a stake. The creature's yellow eyes were open and staring, snout gaping to display many rows of bloody teeth.

Safar felt like a participant in a strange, barbaric dream. The battle seemed distant, unreal. Yet there was the gory head bobbing in his view. His memories of the fight were vague, adding to the dreamlike quality. He felt as if it were not him but another who had cast the great spell that brought the avalanche down. There was no sign of the power he recalled coursing through his body. That morning, before the caravan set out, Safar had quietly attempted to tap some of that power. But it was either denied him, or, he'd thought, perhaps it had never existed at all. Maybe the avalanche had been a coincidence. Perhaps it was an accident of nature that killed the demons and not Safar Timura.

They rounded the last bend and excitement rushed in and all introspection vanished. Safar saw one of the Ubekian brothers posted at the old stone arch marking the village entrance. With much satisfaction he saw the bully's eyes widen in fear when he spotted the demon's head. Then he whirled and sprinted out of sight, crying the news of the caravan's arrival.

Iraj cantered close to Safar, face beaming with pride and he pointed to the gay ribbons festooning all the trees that lined the road. He started to speak but then the sound of glad music caterwauled from up ahead.

Coralean's smile was a bow of pleasure in his beard. It is good, he boomed, that your friends and family are giving you a proper reception. A true welcome for young heroes."

In the two days since the battle the people in the caravan had tended their wounded, repaired the damage and had bathed and wrapped their dead in white linen sheets. The bodies were loaded into a wagon for later funeral ceremonies. While Safar slept off the effects of the battle, Coralean had sent word to Kyrania, assuring everyone their young men were safe and unharmed. Iraj had been clear-headed enough to tell Coralean of the herd left in the mountain meadow and the messenger had carried that news with him as well so a boy could be sent to fetch the goats and llama.