A Vision in the Wind

Ashstead Pass was getting darker and colder by the minute and Taris, walking against the harsh wind, found every step a fight against being swept away. Even when the wind subsided slightly, he felt like his feet were twice as heavy and the cobbles had been replaced by a knee-high bog. Every stride seemed to be an effort and Taris cursed because he had to pay attention to every step or risk being wrong-footed. He was upset that he had to concentrate on a simple thing like walking when he had so many questions he needed to answer.

Because of the high wind, there was not many people on The Pass but those that Taris did see usually wished him a happy birthday or told him they were looking forward to the party that night. Taris nodded a small acknowledgement to most of them, but sometimes he was barely aware that people were addressing him. Several times he turned to reply to someone, but they were already too far down The Pass by the time he realised they were talking to him.

More by instinct than anything, Taris arrived at the large double doors at the front of his father’s workshop. As he reached to open them, he felt a strange sensation. It was as if a dense fog had descended over his mind and reality had blurred into a dream. Even the wind, which previously was cold and biting, had become warm and caressing. Taris shook his head vigorously, but it would not clear. He reached for the door again but he did not reach far enough and instead grasped at air. The warm wind seemed to encircle him and he heard a sweet, soft voice whisper his name. Taris turned away from the door and was surprised to see a woman walking down The Pass toward him. She wore white tight-fitting leggings with gold coloured boots and a gold tabard. What was most odd about her, though, was her long golden hair. Taris had never seen a woman with golden hair. The women of Ashstead all had dark hair – unless grey or white.

As she approached, Taris saw her face. Her features were quite sharp, but her face itself seemed to have a certain softness to it. Her small nose was a contrast to her full lips which turned slightly upwards at the corners, suggesting a smile that was not quite there. Even with the distance between them, Taris found it difficult to look away from her deep blue eyes that told of both sadness and hope. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He felt guilty about thinking that, but he did not know why. Her mouth moved as she spoke, but the warm wind that flowed around Taris seemed to melodically carry her words. “I am yours, Taris. I am waiting for you. You will find me, Hopebringer, I know it.”

The wind became fierce and cold again, forcing Taris to shield his face. When he looked up, the woman was gone and The Pass was empty.

Taris burst into the workshop and before he even realised what he was doing, he was at his workbench reaching for a piece of paper and his box of charcoal. Frantically, he rummaged through it to find a good piece, before settling on a barely-used stick that was just about pointed enough to allow him to draw intricately. If he was going to sketch the woman he saw outside, he wanted to get every possible detail down – he could already feel his memory of her face slipping away.

It took several long minutes before Taris’ fingers warmed enough to hold the stick correctly, but as soon as he was able to begin, he was overwhelmed by frustration. As hard as he tried, he was unable to remember the golden-haired woman’s face which was now shielded on the very edge of his memory, just beyond reach or recall.


(This excerpt has been modified very slightly from the original, to make it more readable as a stand-alone piece)