Windmaster

In this fictional story, I did my best to combine plot action with strong family relationships. Nature has always fascinated me; my curiosity is endless.

• Fiction
• Short story
• Fantasy

								
Alena Zephyr had never adhered to the world's definition of "normal." She preferred nature over people — she had, as her mother called it, quiet power. However, the truly strange occurrences had been becoming more noticeable since about age three: it always seemed to be breezy when she was outside; her hair had an unchangeable windswept look; and during autumn, falling leaves had an uncanny tendency to land just on her shoulder. But these were relatively trivial things: maybe the wind was natural, maybe her haircut simply made her hair look messier, maybe she was just always in the right place at the right time. The real balance-tipper wasn’t until May 3, 2025. The day everything changed. 
Up until that moment, on her twelfth birthday Alena had felt nothing but delight. Mostly. Admittedly, her parents, Leonard and Relanda Zephyr, had for some reason seemed distracted during the celebration. As in, whispering when they thought she wasn’t looking. She knew urgent worry when she saw it. So she excused herself from the dinner table early under the pretense of being tired out. As soon as she was out of sight from the dining room, she doubled back to eavesdrop. She made out snippets of her parents’ hushed conversation: “…prevent…” and “…reflection,” then “…find out…” and “…twelve,” and finally, “…Alena.” Alena stepped back to process what she’d heard, then raced up the stairs to her room to sit on the bed, trying to organize her ideas. 
*They were talking about me,* she thought slowly, *and how they want to prevent me from…finding out what happened to…my reflection…when I turned twelve?* That made no sense. Well, she had to find out something about her reflection; that was almost certain. She looked around for a mirror… and remembered that she didn’t have one. She never had. And she’d never questioned it. 
Alena, expecting to see a pointy chin, blue eyes, and brown hair, barged into the bathroom — and stopped short in front of the mirror. 
The empty mirror. 
She blinked once, twice, three times. Then her brain began to think logically again. This must be a trick of the lighting, or the angle of the mirror. She stepped to the left. Nothing. To the right. Nothing. She leaned forward until the tip of her nose was barely a millimeter away from the glass. Nothing. Her breathing got increasingly heavier, her heart rate faster, until after a millisecond she could no longer bear the terror of confusion.
“Mom!” she shrieked. “Dad!” She sprinted out of the bathroom so that she flew into the arms of her dad, who was hurrying up the stairs with Mom close behind. “Mirror…?” she panted. “Why…empty…?” 
“Oh,” said Mom. “Oh. Leonard, I told you we should have told her earlier!” 
“Well, it’s too late now, Relanda.” Dad leaned down to Alena’s height and said gently, “Alena, there’s something you need to know.” 
Mom and Dad then sat Alena down and explained to her who she was. 
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THREE YEARS LATER 
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When Relanda and Leonard Zephyr had told Alena she was descended from a line of windmasters, people who could control and transform into the wind, whose ability somehow skipped them in the genetic lineup, Alena had laughed. Now she crept through the dense undergrowth beneath birch, oak, and aspen trees. Her eyes darted around as her feet carried her effortlessly between bushes. Then she spotted it – the mythical silver lily, the ultimate prize – and its protector – a man who looked undefeatable. This shouldn’t be a problem, however, because Alena didn’t have any intention of defeating him; not even of fighting him. She would let the wind distract him. 
In the split second she’d turned away, strategizing, the man had snuck off somewhere. She peered into the clearing, frowning, then heard the rustling sound behind her. She whirled around just as he charged at her, pulling out a sword as he did so. She feinted to one side and continued to dodge and maneuver until she was next to him. Deftly, she stepped back and made a circular motion with one hand, closing it as it rotated. The man then noticed the sudden gust of wind that was now blowing in a circle around him. The gale gradually got stronger until it was practically a tornado. He looked almost indifferent. Alena flicked her hand to the right, and the swirling wind pushed the guard in that direction. That was the first time his face showed confusion and possibly fear, and she knew he had been faking confidence. Still, he bravely tried to push out of the wind circle. Alena let it pick up loose dirt and leaves to discourage this and intensified the speed.
Now for the final endeavor. She grasped the marble teardrop-shaped pendant hung on a thin gold chain at her throat and murmured something in a dead language…and disappeared. No – she hadn’t disappeared, she’d shape-shifted. Into wind. She embraced the feeling of weightlessness, for she was now weightless, and steered the air that made her up toward the silver lily. She increased her speed until she was strong enough to pick up the lily. Then she transformed back into her human form and called off the tornado with the opening of her fist. 
“I win!” She said gleefully to the man. “I can’t let you come out on top in every game, you know.” 
“I know, I know,” her father said teasingly, tossing his foam sword on the ground. “Who’s to say I wasn’t going easy on you that time?” 
Alena rolled her eyes playfully. “‘No human can rival this element, for the wind has nature on its side.’ Windmaster’s Manual, page 322.” 
“Okay, my little windmaster. You win,” he replied with a lopsided smile. Just then, Mom came out of the bushes and mock-tackled Alena. 
“Perfect, Alena! Just marvelous!” she exclaimed. Her tone turned solemn. “Just remember, this is a coveted power. You must keep the necklace safe, for without a talisman of some kind, your transformation power cannot be harnessed. If it falls into the wrong hands, they could control your form, human or air, and exploit your power over the winds.” 
Alena shivered, and her hand flew up to clutch her pendant. “Mm. I know.” 
No one noticed the clandestine watcher stalking the undergrowth. 
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12:57 THAT NIGHT 
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Cayn Wrot glanced around furtively as he fled from 37 Warble Avenue with a marble teardrop concealed in his hand. 
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IN THE MORNING 
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Alena yawned. She stretched…no, tried to stretch. She found she couldn’t move her arms or legs. She opened her nonexistent eyes and looked down to see what the matter was, and saw — nothing. *Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.* It was only then that she felt the absence of the comforting weight of her marble pendant. Somehow, someone other than her had gotten ahold of it! And the chance that those hands were the wrong ones was worryingly less than ideal. She opened her insubstantial mouth to scream to her parents, then remembered she didn’t have one. She directed her oxygen particles down the stairs and sped up until she made a sound. Her parents were already in the kitchen. 

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