Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 344
the day dawned when the Wind would cause its explosion, I
rose early and crept up to the house. Tapping lightly on her
shutter until she opened it, I made myself known to her. She at
once invited me in but I balked, whispering about the old men
who kept her here. What if they should discover us?
She nodded, frustrated. The stricture that she remain
here or at the Wind was, she said, merely a ruse by means of
which the old men kept her for themselves. She had never had
the attentions of a young man and wanted them a great deal.
She at once agreed when I suggested she retire to consult with
the desal that evening, and meet me in the woods.
I had no idea what to expect. Tradition said the Wind
killed all women who came within its bounds, save for the
particular one it chose as mediator. I believed this to be a
superstition, but one I could use. I worked hard that day so that
my master could find no fault with me, and when he gave me
my leave to go I gathered up my knife and the matches and
headed for the woods.
As night was falling she appeared, walking hesitantly
into the woods, perfumed in her finest. I appeared on the path
before her and bowed, but as she rushed to me I withdrew,
saying we were too close to the town, I was afraid of discovery.
It was, after all, a small island.
She agreed, but where could we go? There was one
place, I advanced, where no one else would go, where in fact
no one else was safe. The desal.
She demurred. The idea of having relations in her own
shrine appalled her. I however was not to be put off and with a
few caresses and murmured entreaties, let her chase me deeper
into the woods, until we were close upon the desal itself. Then
I renewed my requests. By now she would in no ways refuse
me.