She woke up to the sensation of missing something. Outside, the desert winds blew strongly, indicating the storm had not receded yet. As she got up, she hugged herself, feeling the cold wind biting more than just her body. Pressing her hand on the shutter of her window, she could feel it rattling under her touch. The wind sang to her, telling her of the whispers it had picked up, the arguments, the promised sweet nothings, snatches of conversations it had heard as it raced through the streets. It also spoke of turmoil on other worlds, news brought by the winds that raced through the lands and beyond the planet, the latter via the Dimensional Sprites.
The Dimensional Sprites rarely spoke with mortals unless they had surpassed the Master/Mistress levels, but she had learnt long ago how to listen to them, even if they did not want to speak to a mortal. The Wind Sprites of her own world were rather friendly with them, and often passed gossip to the Dimensional Sprites. As she listened, they told her of the Earth Child singing in the pathway between worlds and summoning the sand to defend her people. They spoke to her of the Fire Daughter rushing to her sister’s aid. Of the Water Maiden, her cousin, they had no news. She suspected that her cousin was probably underground, consulting the Oracle again, one of the few places she could not reach.
“Lady…” someone knocked on her door. Turning, she quickly laid down on the bed, slipping her hand under her pillow and pretending to be asleep. Her hand grasped the handle of the dagger beneath the pillow.
The door to her room opened, and the person walked in quietly, as though afraid to wake her. Their hands reached out, and she sighed in her dream. The person hesitated, but she could feel something was amiss. Her hand tightened its grip on the pillow. She felt the wind parting, as though the air was being sliced, and she rolled backwards from it quickly, moving her upper body back towards the wall while her legs lashed out at the intruders. As they connected, she realised that one of them had managed to hide from her senses, so instead of one assailant, she faced two people in her room, with nary space to move. That was not a problem for her though. The only dilemma was whether she could avoid making too much of a bloody mess.
Time often did not let one be as neat as they wanted.
When she left her room, she trailed blood. There was no one out during this storm, and that was how she wanted it to be. With sure, collected movements, she gathered weapons from the walls as she walked towards the main door. An ancient bow and arrows, rumoured to have belonged to a distant and not-that-important ancestor. A sword she belted on with not much difficulty. Daggers, just in case. Throwing stars as well. She had no intention of letting anyone come close enough to touch her. After a moment’s thought, she altered her original path and headed to Sanctum. Ignored by the two mutes who were tending the fires, she walked straight up to the altar of the Wind God. She bowed and grinned mischieviously before she removed a necklace from the centerpiece. The pendant was a flowerbud-shaped diamond. As she fastened it around her, the diamond flower bloomed halfways; it was now a half-opened flower. She fingered it, her smile softening.
“I’ll take good care of it, milord,” she tossed the statue of the God behind the altar a rogueish grin and left the Sanctum.
“The Priestess Jeani is missing! She went out into the storm!” one of the acolytes screamed when the storm died and life began to go back to normal in the temple.
One of the older Priestesses watched from her window as the acolyte ran back into the temple to proclaim the news. The sands had obscured her view earlier, so she could not be sure that Jeani had indeed left. The bloody marks would certainly invite speculation, and it was one she was prepared to give. She smiled privately. This was the first of many. And she would complete it all. Her smile widened. Her mind wandered off, but it was brought back down to reality by her lack of breath. She found her neck constricting and being unable to breath. Clawing at her neck, she could find no reason for it, and her mind had blacked out the spells she would have needed to loosen her throat. Not that they would have helped either.
As she fell to the ground, her eyes remained open. She was already dying with no hope of restoration, but she could still see. A slippered feet appeared in front of her face; the golden toes and the powdered diamond laces shone in the shadows of where she lay.
“No one disappoints my Master,” the feet kicked her in the face. It was not needed; the Priestess was dead anyway. It did satisfy the sadistic streak in the other though.