“Florence, child! Calm your emotions!” Professor Windemere shouts to me above the whirlwind. I hear him, barely, but it’s not easy to release the complicated feelings I’ve held in my chest since the dance practice earlier today. “Breathe!”
I close my eyes and inhale through my nose as I’ve been instructed to—one, two, three, four—then exhale slowly through my mouth. But the counting of breaths melds with the counting of steps in my mind—one, two, three—from the dance practice earlier, and the prince waltzes into my head once again.
The wind rushes over my ears and pulls wisps of my hair loose, like tiny fingers pinching and pulling at my scalp. It prickles.
“Breathe!”
I inhale—one, two, three, four—and exhale. One, two, three! A phantom hand tightens on my waist as a bead of sweat gathers at the tip of my nose. It’s sucked away before my eyes.
It’s not working. It’s not working!
Panic stabs my heart—little daggers sliding in and taking purchase.
Darkness starts to gather at the edges of my vision, a black smoke separate from the wispy white and gray clouds whirling around me.
I breathe in desperately, my heart pounding harder—one, two, three, four—and breathe out through pursed lips, the panic sinking deeper and deeper.
“Flor...ence!” I almost don’t hear Professor Windemere above the roar.
“I can’t!” I shout back, my voice instantly swallowed by the swirling air. Can he even hear me?
The smoke expands, its tendrils reaching around me as if to ensnare me in a spidery black net. I take my eyes off the wind to glance at it—cold terror washes over me instantly.
The hellscape. It’s the hellscape.
The first tiny bolts of blue-white lightning skitter across the black smoke like insects, then disappear. As if fed by the electricity, the smoke billows in response, the tendrils thickening until I am almost completely covered in the darkness.
Despite my hair and dress whirling around me in the chaos, I am frozen.
The hellscape found me again.
Specks of brilliant green and red appear and are sucked into the smoke, where they erupt in flame, and the black smoke begins to take the shape of a large, long beast wrapped around me. My arms erupt in gooseflesh—it feels as if hundreds of insects are crawling up my arms and toward my neck.
No. No!
The blue-white lightning flashes again, bigger this time, snaking down the length of the smoky beast that has flames for its eyes and mouth.
“Flor…”
The sound of Professor Windemere calling my name through the maelstrom swirling around me breaks the hold the beast has on my attention. I look away, and it retreats to the edge of my vision.
The whirlwind…can I use it? For several minutes now, it hasn’t needed me to keep it going—in fact, by losing control of it, it has grown even larger, even more chaotic than intended. Can I bring it back under my control?
The black smoke flashes and swirls at the corner of my vision…so I close my eyes and focus on the feel of the wind—the speed, the strength, the height, the width. Part by part, I rein in the cyclone.
My hands are shaking once the whirlwind is back in my grasp, but I won’t relinquish it. I need it. I open my eyes to see that the black smoky beast is right in front of me, his great maw of red flame gaping in what might be mockery…or hunger.
It’s hot. Why is it hot? I can’t think about it now! I pull the wind tighter to us, closing my eyes once more so I do not have to look at the monster about to eat me.
Please work, I think instead. Please work!
I pull it tighter and tighter, which forces it higher and higher, faster and faster. The acrid smell of burnt hair makes me lose my grip, and with it, I lose much of the progress I just made.
“No!” I scream. "Nooo!"
Pull, I urge myself, pushing past the pain in my shaking arms and my cramping core. Pull!!
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
I pull the wind in quickly and tightly, only opening my eyes when I feel the heat begin to dissipate.
I keep pulling it tighter, faster, higher, until it catches the tail of the long beast. Lightning and flames erupt around me as the whirlwind sucks the rest of the beast into the swirling chaos, the black smoke slowly disappearing as it’s eaten away, until nothing remains but the flaming eyes and mouth before me.
With a great roar, it snaps its maw shut, showering me with sparks that pepper my exposed skin and singe my hair. Then it, too, is gone.
In an instant, the wind stills. The sudden silence feels deafening, and for a few moments, I wonder if I have, in fact, momentarily lost my hearing.
Then I realize I can hear my own gasping as my chest heaves, hungry for air despite the abundance of it seconds ago. I sink to my knees.
The room is unscathed, as it is designed to withstand such abuse, but I am somewhat worse for wear, as is the Professor.
“Come,” he tells me. “Sit.”
I try to rise, but fall the rest of the way to the floor instead. Small bits of ashy debris shoot into the air in a cloud around me from the impact.
“Ah,” he says. Then, I am lifted into the air and deposited onto a soft chair near the entrance of the room, an area past the magical barrier that protects the rest of the tower from whatever happens within it.
A glass of water appears before me, and I suddenly realize how thirsty I am—my throat is as dry as paper.
“Breathe, child, as I taught you,” Professor Windemere tells me, moving to my side. He hands me a damp cloth, which I use to wipe my sweaty, sooty face. “There you go. Isn’t that a bit better?”
He sits down in a similar chair opposite me and waits. There are no demands for me to immediately explain what happened, nor is he angry at my failed attempt. He is as patient as he is kind.
Perhaps that is why I start to tell him everything...even the things I shouldn't.
?????
~Ursula Feiknagandr, Kirva (North of Dorandia)
“Hágan,” Ursula whispered in the dark. “Hágan, are you still with me, my love?”
Silence from across the hallway.
“Hágan. Hágan!” she whispered as loud as she dared.
“Will you shut your trap already?” another voice answered in the dark. “Saints! I’m tryin’ t’sleep.”
Ursula pursed her chapped lips. Should she try again to rouse Hágan? Or…
Tears pricked her eyes, and a silent sob bit the back of her throat. If he weren’t dead now, he would be soon. He had been harder and harder to wake lately. His words had grown slurred, even nonsensical.
Please, she begged in her mind, her hands clasped. Please, Goddess Freja. Please, Saintess Dora! Do not abandon me. Do not take my love from me…
Silent tears ran down her face as the sound of the guards’ boots entered the doorway and thundered down the hall.
?????
~Russo Whitebranch, High Cleric, Kirva
Russo surveyed the weedy yard that greeted him, the grubby front windows, and the peeling exterior paint on the great House Feiknagandr. What had he expected to find? Certainly not this.
He had arrived at the Feiknagandr residence earlier that day, already aware that things were worse than expected.
If the reluctance of the locals to point him in the right direction of their house hadn’t been enough of a clue, then the overgrown gardens and hedges, unkept walkways, creaky gate hinges, and eerie lack of staff definitely would’ve told him something was amiss with the Feiknagandrs.
He’d had to let himself in through the squeaky gate and carry his own luggage to the front door, where he’d waited for nearly fifteen minutes, knocking every few, until a single, elderly servant finally answered. He had peered out from the open door, his small, watery ice-blue eyes swimming over a large, red beaked nose.
“Hallo?” the servant had said in Kirvan, a raspy voice emerging from his tall, hunched frame. “Who might you be?”
Russo knew enough Kirvan to explain the situation—who he was and who had sent him—though he kept the reason to himself. For now.
Eventually, the servant, Yans, let him in and attempted to help with the luggage, but Russo stopped him. It made no sense for the old man to injure himself. Once they were indoors, Russo had no qualms about using his holy power to transport the luggage to his room. He didn’t want the rest of Kirva to know he was a cleric, but Yans was already privy to that knowledge thanks to the letter from King Roark.
Russo was to stay at the Feiknagandr residence and gather as much information as possible about Lady Florence’s lineage, her aunt’s abilities, and anything else that might be helpful for their situation in Dorandia. But, it was immediately evident that the Lord and Lady of the house were not present, and hadn’t been for some time.
After he’d gotten settled in the dusty but comfortable guest room, Yans led him to Ursula Feiknagandr’s private study. On the way, he explained what had happened to his Lord and Lady, how they had been falsely accused of murdering the young Prince M?kkal, and were currently imprisoned in the Belly of the Serpent beneath the castle.
With each step, Russo’s mood darkened.
When they arrived at the study, Russo immediately noticed how tidy this room was in comparison to the rest of the mansion. There were several tall, neat stacks of letters on the desk, as well as a blank sheet of parchment ready to be written upon, as if the lady who sat here would return any moment to start her letter.
“I did not know what else to do except to carry on,” Yans said. “Everyone else left once the money to pay them ran out, but I could not leave the house to fall into complete ruin. This was my Lady’s favorite room.”
Russo could see the care the old man had put into maintaining it. His heart felt strange as he surveyed the stacks of letters, sorted expertly, ready for their recipient's return.
Out of curiosity, he waved his hand over the sheet of parchment with a revealing spell, just in case, and was surprised when letters started to appear on the page—
My Dear Florence...
?? - - ?? Are we seeing that correctly?!
Hello! Hope all of you are doing well. I've been busy! Mostly with life. I'm hoping to stay on schedule ?? Next up is a special episode, "All About Kitty Blush!" and then a regular chapter at the regular time next Wednesday!
If you like what you're reading, please consider sharing this story with other victims I mean friends who might also enjoy it! Why keep this pile of word salad I mean treasure to yourself when you could SHARE IT!?! ?? hehe
Lots of love!!
xo??kb