Copyright © 2024 Eli Kwake

All rights reserved.

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-955587-22-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-955587-21-1

Dyslexic Edition ISBN: 978-1-955587-23-5

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Printing 2024

www.elikwake.com

Contents

. Chapter

Acknowledgements

Kickstarter Backers

These people are AWESOME! Thank you all again!

Pronunciation Guide

The Astarian Calendar

1.Penance

1. Skyday the 17th of Bitterind, 709

2.Beginnings

2. Windsday the 12th of Feasting, 1214

3.The Scroll

3. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering,1232

4.How Fare My People?

4. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

5.How the People Fare

5. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

6.The Mad God

6. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

7.The Bargain

7. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

8.The Hall of the Elders

8. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

9.The Light

9. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

10.Old Wounds

10. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

11.No Backward Glances

11. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232

12.Tents and Cots

12. Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering, 1232, a little later

13.In Dreams

13. Sunsday the 3rd of Flowering, 1232

14.Shaking Off the Rust

14. Sunsday the 3rd of Flowering, 1232, a little later

15.A New Way of Fighting

15. Voidday the 15th of Flowering, 1232

16.Harsh Lessons

16. Voidday the 23rd of Flowering, 1232

17.Equinox

17. Earthday the 24th of Flowering, 1232, Spring Equinox

18.Friends

18. Earthday the 24th of Flowering, 1232, Spring Equinox

19.Bili

19. Sunsday the 11th and Windsday the 12th of Riot, 1232

20.As Best I May

20. Windsday the 12th of Riot, 1232, a little later

21.Hurt

21. Starsday the 21st of Riot, 1232

22.Truce

22. Seaday the 22nd of Riot, 1232

23.The Bobs

23. Skyday the 1st of Tending, 1232

24.About Bili

24. Sunsday the 11th and Windsday the 12th of Tending, 1232

25.Siege

25. Voidday the 23rd of Tending, 1232

26.About Lrias

26. Starsday the 5th of Warming, 2132

27.Slings and Arrows

27. Windsday the 20th of Warming, 1232

28.New Year Bells

28. Skyday the 1st of Firesky, 1233, Summer Solstice, New Year's Day

29.Mailcon and Giric

29. Skyday the 1st of Firesky, 1233, Summer Solstice, New Year's Day

30.Xefier Shan

30. Windsday the 12th of Firesky, 1233

31.Lost Children

31. Seaday the 22nd of Firesky, 1233

32.Noises in the Night

32. Earthday the 32nd of Firesky, 1233

33.A Late Night Conversation

33. Skyday the 1st of Blisterfell, 1233

34.Not in Love

34. Moonsday the 10th of Blisterfell, 1233

35.Heat

35. Voidday the 23rd of Blisterfell, 1233

36.A Wedding

36. Skyday the 1st of Waning, 1233

37.Tailwinder Venom

37. Skyday the 25th of Waning, 1233

38.Grief

38. Earthday the 32nd of Waning, 1233

39.Deort

39. Moonsday the 10th of Harvest, 1233

40.Out of Food

40. Starsday the 21st of Harvest, 1233

41.Equals

41. Earthday the 24th of Harvest, 1233

42.After

42. Skyday the 24th of Harvest, 1233, a little later

43.The Final Battle

43. Skyday the 25th of Harvest, 1233

44.Siblings

44. Skyday the 25th to Starsday the 29th of Harvest, 1233

45.Way, Way Down

45. Earthday the 32nd of Harvest, 1233

46.Cináed

46. The 1st of Earthcall, 1233

47.Until the Winds Die

47. The 4th of Earthcall, 1233

48.Endings

48. Skyday the 1st of Feasting, 1233

49.A Final Word From the Author

Dedication

For Eurydice, who thought she knew what love was.

And for Orpheus, who knows now only what love isn’t.

May the love she never found light your path, oh son of my heart.

Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements:

I am certain there are many people who feel I should acknowledge them for their help with this book. Indeed, there are some who did help (whose help has been carefully removed) that I am not going to acknowledge, here or ever again. The months since I thought this book ready to publish and then to publication have not been kind. First, I almost died, and then I was made to wish I had.

Instead, I will acknowledge those who made this book possible at all. Those who showed me kindness and humanity when I was crawling through hell.

First, to myself. Gauche as that sounds, if I had not found the strength through terror to stand up and fight, there would be no one to publish this at all.

Second, to my Wrimoverse family, who held my hand through the dark. I don’t know what I would have done without you these last ten years. You are my true family and always will be.

Third, to the weirdos I’ve met through Bluesky Social. You literally saved my life. Especially the one who drove to rescue me from a nightmare, his loving boyfriend who made certain I was okay, and their ever patient and kind kids. Autistic trans queer fam, UNITE!!

Fourth, to Death, for letting me return to finish what I’ve started, for teaching me to walk through hellfire, and for the many conversations we must have had.

I look forward to our next one, but let’s not make it soon, okay?

I have work to do.

Eli Kwake

Kickstarter Backers

These people are AWESOME! Thank you all again!

(At the time of writing this three people still have not told me what name they wanted used here so I guessed based off their Kickstarter profile or my knowledge of them)

In no particular order:

Sarah Clowder

tru

Danielle May

Jon Dresner

Dianna Gunn

Franchesca Caram

Uncle Lothar

Anonymous

Kathryn McLeer

Kary

Michael Chandra

Marci Shapiro Ide

Ceph, the Ghost Writer

Stasi

Tillerz

Charlie Wellman

Nori Duffy

Gee Rothvoss

Paige

Orion Fern

Dune

Walker Harris

Pronunciation Guide

There aren't any words in this book that you, gentle reader, won't be able to guess. However, there are some names that are going to leave you baffled, so here's some help:

Xefiev = zeff-ee-ehv

Lria = ELL-ree-ah

Claec = klah-eyk

Lrias = ELL-ree-us

Áeda = ah-ey-dah

Cináed = kin-eyd

The Astarian Calendar

The Astarian Calendar was created by the goddess Astara some time after she settled on the island of Jun. There, she conducted a study of the sun, stars, moon, and planets to try to determine the best way to keep track of the year. She eventually settled on a thirteen month calendar with an intercalary week of four days. The New Year starts on the Summer Solstice.

The order of months is as follows:

Firesky

Blisterfell

Waning

Harvest

Earthcall – intercalary week dedicated to honoring the dead

Feasting

Turning

Frostearth

Bitterwind

Thaw

Flowering

Riot

Tending

Warming

Each month has thirty two days, and each week in every month has eight days. The days of the week were named to honor the Elder Gods, the elemental forces that came before the more humanistic gods that appeared later on Beyle.

Skyday

Moonsday

Sunsday

Windsday

Starsday

Seasday

Voidday

Earthday

Penance

Skyday the 17th of Bitterind, 709

Xefiev, the god of wind, song, and mischief, looked up at the fading sun as it slowly lowered towards the horizon. He had only until it passed behind the mountains at the other end of the valley before he would be imprisoned. His well earned sentence. He closed his eyes against the bright warmth of the sun, aware that he would know only darkness and cold for a full five hundred years.

He warranted far worse. His sentence had, in many ways, been merciful.

Farewell, Uncle, he murmured.

A hand clutched at his sleeve, drawing his attention away from the setting sun. Please, Xefiev, the Bobs, you know, they came from Lria today… They tell me the Lrian are smithing more spears than they need for hunting, crafting larger knives than we’ve ever heard of. I think they mean to do us harm! the Eldest of the small city of Xefi squawked. We need you now, more than ever! Isn’t there anything you can do to change your siblings’ minds?

Xefiev looked down at the smaller, mortal man. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when he would have smiled, but his grief was still too raw. Too recent. No, he said simply. The judgement may have come from my siblings, but my sentence came from Mother Sky and Father Earth. Even if I could go against their will, and I cannot, I would not try.

He pressed the scroll he had written into the Elder’s hands. "This is the only thing I can do for you. For my people. Please try to understand…I deserve this. I have earned this."

He turned, then, and slouched towards the building his brother Claec and his sister Astara had built for him. It was stone, hard and cold. Basalt from the nearby mountains, cut by his brother and enchanted by his sister, and built in the heart of the city of Xefi. He felt, rather than saw, Uncle Sun fading from the sky as he waited with his hand on the door handle. Soon. It would be soon, and then it would feel like an eternity.

Would he even be sane when he came out of this?

A hand moved to cover Xefiev’s. The hand was dark, as his own was light. Xefiev followed the arm up to the soft beige shirt and then the dark face of his brother Claec. Beside him stood their fair sister Astara. They were the ones who had passed judgement on him, the only two of their nearly two hundred siblings still speaking to him.

Brother, said Claec soothingly. Xefiev… He fell silent. Neither knew what to say.

Be strong, wind-born, Astara said at last. Do your penance, brother.

She turned away, then, and walked back down the hill. She never once looked back. He supposed he could not blame her…

But Claec—kind and understanding Claec—hesitated. You know, don’t you, younger brother? We did not wish—

Do not pity me, void-born, Xefiev snapped. "Leave me to my more than merited incarceration. I earned it, and the enmity of our other siblings. I know this. I did this." Despite the acceptance in his tone, his hand tightened on the handle and the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

His darker sibling still lingered. I love you, Xefiev. For all your faults, you are my younger brother, and I love you. Please, return to us when you have paid your price. What happened with Lrias…it was a blow to us all. But let us not lose you as well. Please, Xefiev.

Xefiev’s only answer was to turn the handle, open the door to his cell, and close it behind him.

The cell was dark. There was no whisper of the wind through the hard, stone walls. He could not even hear the sounds of the people gathered outside. If Claec continued to try to talk to him, he did not know. He could hear his own breathing, hear his heartbeat.

There was only silence.

There was no warmth here, only the cold of the old stone. He could already feel the heat leaching from his skin. Already he missed the heat of the sun, the warm touch of the wind… He longed for the touch of another, be they god or mortal.

But he couldn’t have that. He would be alone for these five hundred years… so alone.

If anyone stepped through the door for five hundred years, he would be forced to kill them. It was part of the Bargain he had made. His people would know him only as a murderer. Not as the loving god of song and mischief he tried so hard to be. Not as the voice behind the wind in their ears. Only as the bringer of death.

He buried his head in his hands, feeling the tears rise. Frustration and grief sang through him, and he sank to his knees. He clenched his teeth against the rising scream in his throat, rubbing the tears of fear, pain, and grief from his face.

It was, he reflected, as it should be.

Beginnings

Windsday the 12th of Feasting, 1214

Caretaker Deort sighed and glared down at Áeda Myrsky. She was sitting on the floor amidst the wreckage of the bowl of jam buns that had been on the table. When Deort had gone to pee, the bowl had been in the middle of the table. Now, the three-year-old Áeda was smeared with jam from the buns.

Áeda… he scolded gently.

She grinned up at him, drooling and unrepentant.

He knew he shouldn’t be angry with her. She was only a toddler. The other children, who usually helped mind her, were in classes, and he had left her alone. Hadn’t he heard from the Elder Caretaker a thousand times that turning your back on a toddler was a sure way to allow that toddler to get into mischief?

Dey! Áeda waved with a sticky grin. Jam!

He forced himself to take a deep breath and calmly walk over to the sink for a wet rag. With a sigh, he picked up Áeda and wiped most of the jam off her face and clothes before setting her outside in the garden with a couple of toys—a bell and a rag doll, her favorites, and a wooden dagger, just to see if she would show interest. As he swept up the remaining bits of the buns, he listened to her prattle.

It wasn’t until he realized he could only hear the wind whistling through the streets of Xefi that he realized her babble had wandered off. He set the broom aside and went to the door. Áeda was already turning the corner at the end of the street. Cursing quietly, he raced after the errant child.

The street she had turned down let out into several others. When he got there, he could not tell where she had gone until he spotted the dropped toy bell.

Oh no.

He raced up into the disused cul-de-sac, his heart hammering in his throat. The only things that grew here were dust and a few of the hearty weeds that grew on the mountains here. The buildings in the rounded street were empty, had been for hundreds of years… All but one. He was just in time to see the naughty toddler he was chasing tugging at the door of the building he least wanted to see her at. It swung open before her.

Áeda! he called, trying not to let the frantic note creep into his voice.

She turned with a grin, toppled over, and fell inside the door. She stood again, looked at something in the room, and wandered deeper inside. The wind howled, whipping hard at Deort’s heels and pressing him towards the building. He thought he could almost hear words in that howl. What was the wind telling the Mad God?

No, no, no… Deort groaned, and hurried forward. He was going to be in so much trouble! Why was he bothering? She would already be dead… Maybe he could ask the god for her clothes, at least? The Mad God had been known to give things back sometimes before slamming his door shut. Or that was what the stories said.

He knelt at the open doorway and bowed. God Xefiev! Please forgive my disturbance, I beg you, but—

Dey! Áeda’s voice called, and he heard the stomping of her tiny feet on the stone floor as she ran to him, doll in hand.

He wrapped his arms around the unharmed child. He looked into the darkened gloom of the prison and saw a glitter of glowing blue eyes. He swallowed hard.

Are you her father? asked a voice from within.

He shook his head violently. N-no, god Xefiev. He stood, holding Áeda, and backed away, his eyes dropping. Her father perished in the war before she was born. Her mother did not survive the birth.

I see. There was silence, filled only by the rush of the wind. Keep the child safe, Caretaker Deort. Do not allow her to return here.

Deort bowed low, still holding Áeda. She squealed and clutched at him like it was a game. Y-yes, god Xefiev. I will… I will try.

Do better than try, Caretaker Deort. Now, close my door.

He nodded and slammed the door shut. He sprinted away from the building, aware of the sweat on his face and neck. He looked down at the child in his arms. Áeda grinned up at him and waved absently over his shoulder.

Bye bye, Xefiev! she called.

Deort clutched at her for a moment, relieved she was unharmed. The gravity of what had just happened, what she had just said, dawned on him. He started to walk.

Come, now, Áeda. I think I had best take you to the Elders.

The Scroll

Moonsday the 2nd of Flowering,1232

Áeda let out a small, but no less frustrated, sigh as she finished mopping the downstairs hallway. When Elder Mordeleg had told her she would be moving in with Elder Elphin, she was excited! Elder Elphin was the Elder in charge of the young archers not yet in army service. Archery was the one area of combat where Áeda excelled. She had thought she would receive special training.

Instead, like so many times before, she was being treated as an unpaid servant. She cooked, she cleaned, and she waited on the crotchety Elder. Granted, Elder Elphin was nearing seventy and there were many things she could no longer do... Áeda didn't mind helping out, but she still had no training outside of the basic archery training everyone else had.

With another stifled sigh, she went upstairs with the broom. It was worse here than downstairs. Elder Elphin didn't usually go upstairs anymore, with the way her knees were. However, Áeda's room was on the second floor and she was sick of the mess. The Caretakers and Elders who had raised her hadn't always been consistent about their lessons, but she had certainly learned to clean... The floating clouds of particulates up here irritated her nose. It was time to clean things properly.

She went down to the far end of the hall and began to sweep up the thick layer of grime. She sneezed several times as she swept, but at last had a small pile at the top of the stairs. Not wanting to run up and down with the dustpan, she opened the door to the room across from hers, certain it was also filthy.

She hadn't been in this room yet. It was an ancient study, filled with old books and a rack with a few scrolls on it by the window. It was even worse in here than it was in the hall... She sneezed again and went to open the window on the far wall. Should she even be in here? But it really was badly in need of sweeping and cleaning... surely Elder Elphin wouldn't mind.

As she leaned over the rack stacked with scrolls to open the window, she knocked