"Windsinger" by Rachel E Armstrong

Ariana climbed the twisted stone stairway slowly, her stomach fluttering with fear and anxiety. The Testing--easily the most important day of her life. Ever since she had been a tiny child, she had dreamed of joining the Singers. As time passed, bringing wisdom and bitterness with it, her dreams had gained more focus. She did not want to be just any Singer. She felt no yearning to join the Earthsingers, sturdy but far too slow-acting to do any good in a lightning-fast world. The Firesingers had the opposite problem; they were volatile, too concerned with destroying all that stood in their way to learn the arts of subtlety. The Stormsingers were similar--nothing but living bundles of rage and destruction, who would flatten entire villages with their lightning and realize five minutes later that they should have chosen a more conciliatory path The Watersingers were mercurial as thought; she found them flighty, superficial fools at best, insane at worst. It was the Windsingers--the mysterious, ephemeral Windsingers--who held her eye. As subtle as a summer's breeze, as powerful as a raging hurricane, it was they who captivated her. For years, she had tried to find some way to coax the wind with her voice. She had struggled on her own, not searching for any sort of training--she doubted that any self-respecting Singer would venture near her part of town in search of students, unless they wanted to be mugged, raped, and murdered. She had been dead set on learning how to do it alone until Sister Irenae had miraculously come to take her under her motherly wing. She gave Ariana all the training a young woman would need for her Testing--only simple melodies, true, but enough to pass if she had Talent. Sister Irenae believed she did. Ariana prayed to Daybringer that she was right.

Now she stood upon the Cliff of Silence, the place where all those who would be Windsingers were Tested. Below her, the expressionless masks of the Singers were turned up toward the cliff face, watching, waiting. They had a right to be expectant. No wind ever blew over the Cliff of Silence, the result of some strange magic wrought by a corrupt Windsinger long ago. Not so much as a breath of air stirred--unless one with the Talent sang it toward them.

Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, tightly. She could not fail this. She couldn't! If she did, she would be right back where Irenae had found her--standing on the roadside with hungry, pleading eyes and hollow cheeks, hoping to beg just a few pence to buy the night's bread with. She was immensely thankful to Irenae for coming when she did. Panhandling rarely bought the night's dinner, rarely even slowed the demon gnawing at her stomach, and Ariana had been on the brink of trying other methods. Although she had few graces, she had been gifted with a very pretty face, and if that bought her another day to live . . .

But Irenae had come. And although Ariana was grateful, she knew she would be back on the roadside if she failed her Testing.

The faces were still there, upturned, waiting. They were too far below to see identities or even distinguish male from female, but Ariana imagined she could see Irenae's round, motherly features on one of them. She knew the woman was down there--she had seen her, before ascending. She also knew that, save one brief, reassuring smile, Irenae's face had remained as smooth and impenetrable as all the others. The time for being a teacher was past; it was now time for her to take the judge's part.

Ariana swallowed, then straightened. She stretched her arms wide--a pointless dramatic device, she knew, but the drama of it felt reassuring somehow. Her plain, pale blue dress was still, unnaturally so, untouched by even the faintest hint of a breeze. The Song of that Singer had been woven better than she could imagine, and she could feel her skin crawling, protesting to the motionless strangeness of his too-still air.

Softly, then gradually swelling, a melody rose from her throat. It was the most powerful Song Irenae had taught her--she was taking no risks.

Please, oh Daybringer, this has to work-- she thought, before her mind seemed to lift from her and become one with the Song.

Wind, her thoughts seemed to breathe. Wind. Great brother, son of the Daybringer, the Singer of all Songs. Wind. Sing your Song, great brother. Sing your Song in harmony with mine. Sing, great brother. Sing.

The tiny, dim part of her mind that was not a part of the Song screamed in frustration. The air was still. Deadly still. Damn you! Blow! I'm not going back to that roadside! I won't let some drunken bastard looking for a night of mindless pleasure use me as a biological spittoon! I am a Windsinger, do you hear me? I AM A WINDSINGER!

The faintest suggestion of a breeze, not even enough to stir her hair, kissed the side of her face. Her Song rose in ecstasy. The tiny part of her that was still Ariana reeled in shock.

The breath stirred over her entire body, its effects able to be felt but not seen. It almost seemed to evaluate her. ~Such fire, child,~ it whispered in her ear. ~Such fire. The Songs of the flame or the storm would rise well from your throat.~

I don't want to Sing fire. I don't want to Sing the storms. I want to be a Windsinger!

~Fire. Yes, you do have fire.~ The breath continued to caress her, a lover's touch. ~If you stay on this path, you will cleave yourself to me forever. You will be the blade, I the hand of your blademaster. Your temper and desire for control will scream to join the Fire- or Stormsingers, yet to turn from me will be to cast in your lot with the Darksingers for all eternity.~

Ariana--the tiny part of her that remained--shuddered. Darksingers. Singers who had broken their allegiance with their element, or worse still, willingly chosen Nightbringer as their master. The Windsinger who had created this cliff had been a Darksinger.

~You understand, I see.~

Yes.

~And do you accept?~

She did not hesitate. I accept.

~I welcome you.~

The wind rose, whipping her hair and dress, washing over her like a tidal wave. Ariana's Song swelled, nearly bursting with rapture. The tiny part of her that held control broke, merging with the Song. Her every fiber cried out with ecstasy, cried out the wind, cried out the Song.

Slowly, she felt the wind recede, and felt her Song die away with it. The raw joy faded to the delighted knowledge that she had succeeded. Her mind was her own once more, no longer a part of the wind, yet it was almost a loss to have it back.

She turned to descend, and saw Irenae's motherly face smiling in warm pleasure. The older woman placed a hand on Ariana's shoulder, beaming with pride.

"Welcome, daughter."