Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
The little wind ruffles the mini-scroll attached to the bottle with golden thread. The alien lettering is neatly scripted but I can’t make out a word. My translation chip only works on sound. I’m stuck on a planet where I can no longer read. Not that Ma or anyone in the village has many books.
“I can’t read what it says,” I say, trying to hide my frustration. “My chip doesn’t work on the written word.”
“It’s from the king.” She reaches for it, and I hand it to her. “‘If you are touched by the Red Death,” she reads, “take three drops of this potion once a day until the rash has disappeared. Every house has received a bottle. If you are feeling well, please give your dose to someone who needs it. Blessings be upon you all.”
“He did it,” I whisper.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Would you like some more tea?” I turn to the counter but the wind gusts past me. The pot floats in the air, tipping sideways to pour tea into a floating cup.
“Stop that,” I mutter, blocking the sight with my body and snatching both pot and cup out of the air. How am I going to explain I went to a haunted castle and came back with a rogue magic wind?
“Rose,” Ma says. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes?” My cheeks are a bit hot. Not feverish. I’m achy, but that’s from climbing up to the castle, and I’m not going to admit that to Ma. “I didn’t sleep too well.” I carry my tea over to sit in the seat opposite her. Like all furniture here, the chair is Ulfarri-sized, so it swallows my smaller frame. I feel like Goldilocks in the bears’ cabin. “Why? Do I look different?”
She studies me, a furrow between her brows. “You look fine. Lovely, as always. But there’s something about your scent—”
“Right.” I wince and set my tea down. “I got in late last night. I should probably bathe—”
“No, it’s not that. It smells nice.”
“Oh, that. That’s the moonflowers. They’re growing all over the place.” Like in my bedroom, up the walls…
“Yes, I suppose. You’ve been taking your medicine?”
Oops. I knew I’d forgotten something. “I’ll take it right away.” I hurry to the cupboard. Better not admit to Ma I missed my dose yesterday. “We’re out of boola berries.” The bowl that holds the herbs I need has nothing but a few sad leaves clinging to the bottom. “And keeba leaf.”
Ma clucks and makes to rise. “I can—”
“No.” I hustle to put a hand on her arm. “I know where I can gather them. You stay here and rest.”
She covers my hand with hers. Her wrinkled skin is papery dry and her grip is still weak but she looks so much better already, thank god. “Rose, you must take your medicine.”
“I know. I will. Just need to stock up on ingredients. I think I saw a patch of boola berries growing beside the path to the market.” I settle her back in her chair and push her cup towards her. “And while I’m out, I’ll get us some food. You need to eat to regain your strength.”
“Child?”
I pause. “Yes, Ma?”
For a moment, she looks small and frail in her giant chair. “Thank you.”
She can’t thank me for hiking to the castle; she doesn’t know I did that. But her gratitude warms me all the same. “Of course. You did the same for me.”
“Take your cloak,” she calls. The helpful wind beats me to the rack, but I grab the garment before Ma can notice it hovering in the air. Suppressing a sigh, I head out.
The rogue wind accompanies me to the market.
It swoops ahead of me, clearing rocks out of my path. Somehow, it communicates with the moonflower vines, making them retreat before I step on them—which is good, because they’re sprouting up everywhere. When I pass, the flowers seem to bloom harder, but I’m sure that’s just my imagination. My senses are messed up after visiting that castle—and smelling that delicious scent—not to mention returning with a magical wind, which I’ve decided to give a nickname: Rogue.
At least it holds my braids back when I crouch to scoop a drink of water out of the river.
I could get used to this sort of treatment.
“Very helpful, thank you,” I tell Rogue and it swirls around my skirts, tugging at them like a designer fussing backstage at a fashion show. “But when we’re around other people, you need to help… less conspicuously.”
Rogue flutters through my braids. I can sense its confusion.
“Less obvious. Let’s practice. Just pretend you’re an ordinary, non-magical wind.”
My skirts blow up like I’m Marilyn Monroe standing over a grate.
“Less force,” I holler into the gale, and it dies down. “Nice and gentle, a breeze, a zephyr. That’s it.”
Good thing Ma and I live out past the river. I don’t need anyone finding me talking to air.