Free Into the Wind by Shira Anthony Page A

baby?
    The man came into view. Brown-eyed, with dark hair, pale skin, and a hint of freckles on his high cheekbones, he wore an expression of genuine happiness. Pride. Pleasure. Love, perhaps?
    “Taren,” the man said, as if he were speaking the name for the first time, letting it settle upon his lips. “What a strange name.”
    “A human name,” the woman said. “The goddess’s choice for him. I think it’s quite beautiful.”
    “Little Taren,” the man said in a gentle voice. “Vurin says you will grow to be strong.” He tickled Taren’s chin with a long finger, and Taren murmured happily.
    Vurin?
    “Larin,” the woman said, “he looks so much like you. Will you be a sailor like your father, my brave Taren?” she asked. “Or will you tend the fields like your mother?”
    My parents!
    She smiled once more, then gathered him into her arms. Taren reached for her cheek and inhaled the scent of freesia and sweetgrass. She was as beautiful as he’d imagined, with skin the color of the moon and black hair like the finest silk. She smiled down at him and tiny creases formed in the corners of her eyes.
    “He says he prefers to look like you, beloved,” Larin said with a chuckle. “You are far prettier than I.” He wrapped his arms around them both and kissed her neck.
    “Did you see the old priestess fawn over him?” Taren’s mother asked. “She held him for so long, Vurin had to take him from her to begin the ceremony.”
    “How could she not admire his beauty?”
    His mother laughed, a musical sound that filled Taren’s heart as much as his ears. “Zea’s been blind for ten years! Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t only her sight that’s left her.”
    “Duri! You mustn’t joke about her. The goddess will—”
    “Laugh,” his mother finished. “Even the goddess has a sense of humor. Zea laughs at herself more than you know. And she loves to say her mother was even stranger. Some say she speaks to her mother, Aerin, through the veil of death.” She kissed Larin, then kissed her finger and pressed it to Taren’s lips.
    “What did she say about Taren?”
    “That the blood of the priests runs strong in his veins,” she said, imitating the quavering voice of an old woman.
    Larin chuckled. “Mage, indeed! Anyone could have said the same knowing our families. The Council’s been testing our kin for centuries now. Goddess only knows what they’d have done if any one of us possessed the ancient gifts. No doubt our son will be as wonderfully ungifted as we are.”
    “She seemed to think otherwise,” Duri said as she tickled Taren’s belly and nudged his face with her cheek. “Didn’t you see how she pulled Vurin aside after the consecration?”
    “She’s probably already decided on a mate for Taren.”
    “And what’s so wrong about that?” Duri grinned at her husband. “She was hardly wrong about you. Or are you having second thoughts about our handfasting?”
    “Never.” Larin kissed her cheek and gazed down at Taren again. “She may be a bit doddering, but she knows how to make a match. Still, you and I were a bit older than Taren when she suggested we meet.”
    Taren yawned and struggled to keep his eyes open.
    “You need to sleep now, my sweet,” Duri said as she placed Taren back in the basket and arranged the blankets around him. “Tomorrow we will take you to the water for the first time. You should see how handsome your father is when he transforms.” She began to sing, a sweet lullaby he knew he’d heard before.
    I don’t want to sleep. I want to stay here with you!
     
     
    “M OTHER . P LEASElet me stay,” Taren mumbled. Why was his mouth filled with sand? He was supposed to be sleeping. It had been so warm under the blankets.
    “Wake up!”
    Taren awoke to discover Brynn leaning over him, his expression set in a frown. “I… where…?” He felt disoriented, as he often did after a vision. It had ended too soon. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, he’d find