Karen van Nordstrom awoke to a brand new day, as she had everyday since the day she died, consumed by grief. As a wind rider’s wife, she had lived with the gut-wrenching fear of losing her husband to the vicious storms that raged above the seas of Nova Mare. Now that her fears had been realized, only an eternal emptiness remained.
It was a routine courier mission to one of the nearer islands that Ries had volunteered for. From their home in the aerie, the multi-level structure that served as living quarters for the wind rider community, the weather was remarkably clear and the incessant winds that wrapped this planet seemed favorable for the journey. Nothing in the sky above nor the seas below foretold of the coming tragedy.
On that first day of his absence, Karen tended to the domestic duties of their apartments, only occasionally venturing out onto the widow’s walk, the observation deck built upon the rocky promontory above the sea, to watch for her husband’s return. As the end of the day approached, when the binary suns followed their daily paths beyond the eastern sky, and Ries had still not returned, Karen began to feel the welling up of the fear within. Still, he had been late before. There had been other, more dangerous flights and delayed returns. The capricious winds and electrical storms always seemed to do their best to thwart the flight plans of the riders. Perhaps, this was another of those times, she had privately hoped.
On the following day and each successive day thereafter, Karen spent most of her time on the widow’s walk, watching her husband’s comrades depart on their searches and return empty-handed, hoping and praying for her lover to return. Finally, on the seventh day of waiting, she saw a growing speck on the horizon, but it did not materialize into the familiar form of her mate. Instead, it grew into the ceremonial missing-man formation of his fellow wind riders. The search was over.
Today began like all the other days since. Karen awoke grief-stricken and donned the storm cloud, the traditional mourning gown of the wind rider widows. With a carefully measured pace, amid the incessant winds swirling along the hall, she walked to her place on the widow’s walk. Throughout the entirety of the day, she fixed her gaze to the northern horizon and waited for her lover’s return in vain. And when the binary suns settled below the eastern horizon, she let out a heart-rending scream and hurled herself over the balcony’s railing.
As Karen fell through the air to die in the seas below, as she had so many times before, Ries caught her in his open arms, his metallic wings biting into the swirling air currents around the base of the rocky spire. Together for the first time in months, holding onto each other for dear life, they rode the prevailing winds and flew into the dying sky of the eastern twilight.
~/~
Sondra Thirdmoon awoke from her sweat-soaked trance. Lying on her back from a kneeling position, legs and feet splayed at odd angles from her prone form, arms extended straight back over her head, she opened her eyes and slowly rose upright. The air was filled with the scent of burning herbs from the smoking brazier before her and the hushed expectations of the aerie’s inhabitants.
“Well?” asked Theon Windlance, High Commander of the Wind Riders.
After languorously stretching sore muscles, Sondra rose to her feet and, looking into the anxious eyes surrounding her, declared, “It is done. The haunting is over.”
Author’s Note:
This story was written as part of a writing exercise at the Barscape forum in 2005. It was inspired by the novel Windhaven by Lisa Tuttle & George R. R. Martin and the image above.
This is the first appearance of Sondra Thirdmoon in my stories. She also appears in Swimming in Estrogen C’.
© 2005, Kenneth F. Guerin