The Storm Masters - Prologue

It only took a look in Iona’s wash basin for her to realize something was wrong. Her eyes weren’t their usual dark grey-blue. They were turning to a brighter colour, and not the sky blue they usually were when she was fighting a storm. He dunked her head into the basin, hoping it wasn’t old age giving her fake ideas.

She shook the water off her grey hair, blinking her eyes open again. As she waited for the water to wash off her eyes, she started thinking about what the previous Storm Master said. The human, with his winglessness and far inferior strength, told her exactly what would happen when her powers started to fade. Her eyes flew open at the thought of her death, and saw that her eyes were turning to a muddy, yet warm, colour.

Maybe this was just a new type of storm. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

But if it wasn’t…

Her eyes searched around for something for her to use her powers on. Nothing. At least, not in her bathing room. An idea sparked her mind. Maybe the study would have something she fling around.

She walked over slowly, trying to keep her wings close to her as she stepped through the halls.

When she got in the study, she held her head high and looked for something. Servants were still ambling through the already meticulously cleaned halls. She had to keep lady-like, even with the threat of death. Her Kastellan servants were probably still bitter about the Storm Master being on the Eyreian side of the past war.

With a swish of her wrist, Iona tried summoning a gust of wind to send her chalice flying towards her. Nothing came through one of her many open windows to give her what she wanted. What? She tried again, hoping that it wasn’t a mistake in her movement. Once more, the cup sat on the desk. Iona’s heart started racing, her wrinkled skin tensing. She wasn’t dying, was she?

Then it finally came as Iona was just about to take slow steps towards the chalice. It lifted it in the air, the still uncontrolled burst of wind throwing her cup at her. She caught it out of reflex, but it still flew away from her and to the ground.

She ground her teeth. Maybe she wasn’t controlling it well enough. So with still sleepy eyes she twisted her finger around to summon a miniature cyclone to give the cup to her hand. At best it was a half-blown dust devil, meandering its way up into the air, and dropping the golden cup to the ground.

Iona’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t be losing her powers already. Her petrel-like wings drooped, spreading down across the messy study floor. She was young, compared to other Tferoto. She couldn’t be dying already. She wanted to weep. She had a life ahead of her. Everyone knew it, even her granddaughter.

At the thought of her granddaughter, her temper flared, just as she was sure Rosqua’s would. The queen wouldn’t care less if her grandmother was dying, but that her isle would no longer be safe.

But she knew she had to tell her, to give her fair warning. The Kastellans were once her subjects, too. She didn’t want to see any of them die because she loathed her granddaughter.

Iona took a deep breath, keeping her anger in. Long dress trailing behind her, she strode down the halls. She held her breath, trying not to show any of the obvious signs of anger whenever one of the servants walked by. She was Lady Iona of Eyrei. The Storm Master. Her thoughts trailed off. The dying Storm Master.

Grabbing a dark grey cloak, she stood at the balcony at the edge of her chateau, spreading her wings wide. A wind buffeted her side, sending her back into the doorway.

With all her will, she tried sending the wind away to the centre of the ocean. Away from the archipelago, at the very least. The wind didn’t do anything but seem to blow harder, defying her will.

Iona’s heart fell. Her powers weakening, if not gone already. She only had 20 years, maybe less, to live.

She spread her wings out, now trying to keep them bent just enough so the wind didn’t catch her off guard like before.

She gave a huge downward flap and sent herself into the treetops, hiding from the Eyreians who looked to her as their lady. Weakness, she thought. She couldn’t be weak.

She dodged spires that were nearly a kilometre high, looking at the nervous Fteroto children leaning over the edges for dares and bets. And when one fell over, they’d fly back up and keep doing it.

A wave flew up to meet her side, making Iona twist to stop her wings from getting drenched. When she looked down, she saw she was flying over the ocean, and not the typical smooth one that came over when she crossed, or was near it. Waves rushed up in a torrent, and by the end of the day would tear all the sand off the beaches.

Silver-brown petrels cawed at Iona raucously as she saw the island shrouded in mist. Kastell. Her mind raced, another wave flying to meet her wings. It almost seemed like the entire sky was willing to get rid of her.

She should have seen the stone wall that allowed for looking out. Before she smashed into it, she pushed her wings forward so that she hit a near stop. Then, she lifted herself over it. She threw a customary salute at the Guard’s captain, Arlowa.

She carefully hovered over the wall to the island. Her eyes traced the island’s endless towers of white quartz buildings and finally to the mountain, where at the summit, the palace stood. It was like the other buildings, if wider and longer like a temple. The other Fteroto simply hollowed out the natural spires and created their homes in it.

Rosqua hardly left the palace. Iona would more than likely find her there. Otherwise, she’d be in her quarters, sleeping her days away.

She swooped down over the wall with long flaps, keeping a watchful eye out for the quartz spires so that her wings wouldn’t clash into them. She hid her face from the other Fteroto so they didn’t recognize her. Being as old and as powerful as she… used to be, it wasn’t rare to have an enemy. In other words, an ingrate who didn’t know the tale of Fandros.

She flew over the courtyard as quickly as she could, following the straight vertical path of the wooden elevator. The palace was just at the end of these steps. At the top, she flapped and watched the ocean. It was loudly ripping itself up into massive waves and Iona already saw one headed for the Eastern shores. She grappled the winds circling around her, but nothing stopped or changed under her influence.

She lit down, folding her wings so they were beneath her cloak. She pulled the hood off, revealing her face to the guard. He nodded, twitching his broken wings in some form of disgust and fear. He grabbed a pulley rope and pulled down, raising the door enough that she could walk in.

She got out of a slightly painful crouch and stood tall, fists clenched.

“Lady Iona!” a young woman from the other end of the throne room said. Iona saw the sillhouette stand up. “Come on. Come close.”

Iona took tentative cool steps in the prescence of royalty. She was, after all, the queen of the Archipelago.

“Oh, don’t be like that, grandmother.”

Iona for one was not fooled by Rosqua. She might be endlessly cordial to her, but that was because it made it all the more shocking when Rosqua would berate her. She made her strides longer, but made no effort to get to Rosqua any faster than she was.

Rosqua tapped her nails for awkward moments as Iona made her way on foot to the end of the room. Flying in the throne room was forbidden.

When she finally got over to Rosqua’s end, she simply said, “We need to talk.”

The queen frowned. “Why can’t we talk in here?”

Iona cast her eyes down to the floor, not daring look the queen in her eyes. “There are too many ears around.” She motioned to the Palace Guards hiding within the corners of the palace, their eyes reflecting the torchlight.

The queen gave a sigh and tilted her head up. “Oh very well.” She stood up slowly, turning right towards the pass that led to the banquet hall. “Follow me.”

Iona swore she could have heard bit of rage in Rosqua’s voice. She didn’t care. What was five years?

“Grandmother,” Rosqua said. “I’ve got a few questions for you.” She strode faster than Iona, the wind from the windows blowing her blonde hair in her face. She stopped and whirled, flaring her wings so Iona stopped. She did. “Ae you starting a war here, Iona?”

Iona shook her head wildly and then stopped, realizing that the storm was what Rosqua was talking about.

“Setting the storm on Kastell, but probably keeping Eyrei nice and calm. Probably sunny and warm out there,” she spat.

Iona still kept her calm even under the queen’s attack. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She took a deep glare into her granddaughter’s eyes and she stopped. She stood there for a second and then stepped back.

“You’re dying then,” she said. It wasn’t sad or happy. It was just there. The words hung in the air for a bit, making Iona feel every syllable.

“Yes.”

The queen turned around with a flair. “So we should get a new Storm Master?”

Iona shook her head. “She’ll come on her own, you know.”

With that, Rosqua whirled again on her. “A human? No. We have to get her here on our own terms, or Kastell will get destroyed. Kaput. Killed.”

Iona flared her wings out to bring out a point, earning an angry cry from Rosqua. “Don’t! You don’t know what we’re dealing with. Get all the Kastellans in the bunkers, and nothing will hurt them.”

“Is that a threat?” The queen kept her hawk-like wings close behind her, almost like she was hiding them. Her green eyes flared with anger.

Iona shook her head and pulled her wings under her cloak. “Just wait until the Master comes.”

She knew it was useless to keep talking. She might as well be teaching a stone wall how to swim.

“No. Now get out!”