Queen of Kings - Maria Dahvana Headley [88]
“The boy had caught a glimpse of the youngest daughter of the Western Wind,” the Psylli said. “She was the most beautiful woman on earth, and he was instantly determined that he would take her for his bride.”
Augustus shifted in his coverlets. The moon outside, though it was but a crescent, crept through his window, leaving a slice of brightness on the Psylli’s face. He could see only the man’s eyes, which were so black he could not discern their expression. The Psylli continued.
“The young man chased after the wind, but she disappeared from his view, whipping the sand into new dunes to block his passage as she fled. The sun laughed from above as the young man walked the day long, sizzling in the still air, searching for his love. At last he saw her far across the sand, but she blew away as soon as he was close enough to ask her name. This time, however, she smiled at him before she was gone, and he heard her laughter echoing over the desert. The young man kept following, sometimes seeing flowering branches from far-off places left in the sand, and sometimes watching exotic birds ride on the wind’s back, high over his head. Once, she left him an empty ship dropped gently from above, with its sails billowing, but she would not speak to him, nor would she come near enough that he might touch her hand.
“At last, after twelve days and nights without sleep, without water, with nothing but his hopeless love to sustain him, the young man collapsed on the sand, exhausted, his skin parched and his tongue swollen. He closed his eyes.”
Augustus’s eyes closed as well, though only for a moment. He lay back against his pillow, cursing silently, his very soul twisting inside him. Love stories. What did he care about love?
“When the young man woke, he found himself in the center of a tornado. All around him was the daughter of the Western Wind, and she lifted him into her arms and held him to her lips. She kissed him, and her kisses filled his lungs with air. She brought him to an oasis and poured water into his mouth. She wrapped herself around him and took him high into the sky.
“With her, the young man traveled from end to end of the world. He listened to her whispers and howls, her screams and laughter, and he fell more and more deeply in love with her.
“In the North, she blew up a blizzard, sending white drifts across ice floes, whistling a trilling song as she sent enormous blue ice mountains crashing across the sea. He watched a pale bear and her cubs swimming across the freezing water and then capering in the snow. The daughter of the Western Wind played with them, flinging herself in and out of the water, making waves that splashed over the ice, bringing fish to their shore, until the young man, unused to the cold, was nearly frozen to death.
“She picked him up and carried him South, to an island where the trees bent to make a leafy bower for their wedding bed. There, the daughter of the Western Wind and the son of the Psylli made love, and the young man gloried in her, watching her inhale and exhale gently, her skin smooth and warm, her long hair wrapping around him. The young man asked his bride about her family, and she told him that she did not wish to share him. It was her nature to travel over sea and land, and she could not be still for long. If she stayed in his arms, the oceans would go still, and the bees would cease drinking from the flowers. If she stayed in his arms, the storms would stop filling the rivers, and the snow would stay in the sky. She told him that she would have to leave him soon, or risk the wrath of her father.”
Augustus had fallen into sleep at last, his dreams dark and twisting, as ever they were, his hands clenching invisible weapons and his mouth forming inaudible words. Around him, the world exploded and showered down upon itself, shining and searing. Inside him, the world ended, again and again.
“The young man did not wish to let his wife leave his side. He tied himself to her body as she slept, and he was thus entwined with her when her father appeared, a roaring rush