In the House of Wind

CALLISTO REFUSED TO SHOW ANY EMOTION AS SHE APPROACHED THE KNEELING MAN, HER SWORD IN HAND. He whimpered as she neared him. She kept the stoney ice cold mask that she had worn practically since birth.

"He confessed to the crime," murmured Mina, Callisto's closest friend, "why can't you lock him away?"

"Look away, Mina," Callisto whispered in response, "there will be blood."

Callisto listened to her friend take in a shaky breath. "No. I'm fine, Cal. Just...don't do it."

But Callisto ignored her. She raised her sword above the man's exposed neck, and a column of wind bore the weight from below.

"You confessed to stealing a day's provisions from the Store," said Callisto, her voice more cold than any wind. Her words spread around the town square, her breeze delivering it to each member of the crowd's ear, "and the punishment for any crime is death. What are your last words?"

At that moment, a cry erupted from the crowd that had gathered to watch the execution. Callisto glanced upwards to find a young girl, no more than ten, screaming and sobbing. Several onlookers grabbed at her dress as she ran forward to the kneeling man. From behind Callisto, Mina released an audible gasp.

"My daughter..." the man rasped, a strand of greasy hair covering his face as he turned to face the small girl. "Please, my Queen. I stole for my daughter, so that she could eat. Please. Her mother died. She has no one but me. Please."

He looked up, allowing Callisto to see his dark blue eyes, swimming with tears and pleading. Her sword arm didn't waver, but it also didn't lower.

The town square was silent, with the exception of the man's ragged breathing, his daughter's cries, and Mina's sniffling. Callisto remained still, keeping her sword poised above the man. The criminal.

Mina was crying from behind them. "Cal, he has a child. You can't kill him."

Her heart bristled at Mina's words. Death didn't care if you had a child; it took anyways. Callisto was living proof of that, as were her three sisters. They had a mother, and Death took her from them, and forced the four stranger sisters to kill each other. And, after the first brief years of her life when she hated Death for taking her mother, Callisto opened her eyes to the darkness inside herself. She didn't hate Death anymore; she was Death.

Callisto narrowed her eyes at the pleading man. He was begging for mercy. Her mother, the former Queen of the Kingdom, had died proud and sitting up. She knew that if her mother had a choice, then the Queen would have chosen to die standing, regal and proud and powerful, as any Queen should. Not begging on the dirt ground with unwashed hair and dirt under the nails.

Callisto lowered her voice down to a whisper, and said, "no exceptions; no mercy."

Then, with a heavy gust of wind, Callisto lowered the sword, cleanly cutting through his neck. His begging ceased, but his daughter and Mina's cries only grew louder.

|||||

"I still can't believe you killed him," said Mina, her eyes glistening with tears. "He had a daughter, Callisto! A daughter! And now she has no one because you killed him!"

They were in Callisto's house, a few hours after the execution. Mina, as always, had followed her home, joining her friend for dinner. But the supper had consisted of Mina allowing tears to fall, and Callisto blatantly ignoring them. Every so often, Mina reminded Callisto what had happened earlier that day.

As if she could forget. Even now, despite having killed dozens of people, her hand was still slightly shaky. A weakness she despised. To distract herself, she ran her hand across the top of her head, where her nearly white hair was pulled back into a perfect bun. Not a single hair was out of place, as usual. Perfection could be wielded as a weapon just as a sword.

"Enough!" Callisto snapped. "Enough already! You've been yelling at me for the past hour, and I'm sick of it. I killed him because he was a thief-"

"He stole a day's provisions!" exclaimed Mina. "For his daughter! They were starving-"

"Then that isn't my problem, now is it?" Callisto barked, unconsciously wrapping a thick tendril of air around her own wrist. She stood up, leaving a bowl of untouched soup behind.

"Queenling Selena is known for her kindness and generosity towards her people," said Mina, soft anger glistening beneath tear-filled eyes, "and the Council loves her for that."

Callisto inhaled sharply. Without warning, arrows of wind shot through the room, narrowly missing Mina. The girl gasped in fear, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Selena is weak," Callisto growled, narrowing her black eyes at her only friend, who was staring back at her with fear. "Even Brock says so, and he's so infatuated by her. The Council doesn't love me, nor do I want them to. They fear me. I am the most powerful Queen in decades, everyone knows so. Selena is weak, Nova is hated, and Cressida is wild. None of my 'sisters' have killed before, and I grew up with a sword in my hand!" The words were pouring out of Callisto without warning, without any reason. The fear in Mina's eyes was enough to propel them out of her, to make her need to scream them out loud. "I kill, so I am feared. I am powerful, so I am admired. I am brutal, so I am respected. I am a Queen, and I do not give a damn about a criminal's daughter!"

Callisto stalked out of her own house. She used her wind to slam the door behind her, strong enough to rattle the hinges. Breathing heavily, she walked away from her house, from her town square, from the entire village, and towards the snow-capped mountains.

She walked inside a swirling whirlwind, Callisto making the wind herself. The features of the landscape were difficult to see, the wind acting as a veil. Her sword was still strapped to her leather belt, and she unsheathed it in a single fluid motion. Swinging it wildly, Callisto stabbed it into the ground.

Dirt flew up into the air, landing on the toe of her leather boots. She stared at it with blind hatred and fury.

Earth. Just like Cressida.

Cressida. The word acted as a trigger in her mind, releasing dozens of random memories.

On the snowy ground, a small image appeared. It was uncertain and faded around the edges, but Callisto knew who it was.

"Cal! Watch, I can grow flowers!"

A grinning four-year-old with wide bronze eyes beamed over at Callisto. She placed her already dirty hand in the dirt, and an orange flower sprouted from the ground. Cressida looked over at her sister, excitement in her eyes.

"There!" exclaimed the curly-haired child smugly. "That just leaves Seelie without any powers. You can weave the winds, Nova can set anything on fire, and I can grow flowers! How come Selena can't do anything?"

"Weak," growled Callisto, the image of the small girl flickering. "She's always been weak."

"Cal, d'you want to know something?" asked Cressida, her curls bouncing as she ran. "We're gonna have to kill each other."

Callisto loosed a scream, the howling of her winds chorusing with her. She thrusted her sword out of the ground. Cressida's ghostly past self looked at her sadly, almost concerned.

Her sweet, caring, naïve little sister, the image of innocence with her child-like blond curls and curious eyes.

"No!" screamed Callisto, raising her sword to the heavens. Wind swirled around her, stirring up the fallen snow. "She's not my sister! She's evil, she's my enemy!"

Sobbing, she lunged for the little girl. But Cressida had disappeared by the time her outstretched hand reached her. Angered by the disappearance, Callisto stabbed the sword to the space where her sister had just occupied. She stabbed again. And again. And again.

"Callisto," said another voice. Callisto whirled around, finding a younger version of Nova standing there. The only Nova she had ever known. "Callisto, Selena said you scared her today. Why did you make your wind so hard on her, you know she's afraid of it."

Again, Callisto lunged for Nova, her sister of Flames. Again, she disappeared. Again, Callisto continued to stab the air where the girl had just vacated.

It could have been minutes or hours later that Callisto collapsed to the snowy ground, her sword fallen from her hand. Somehow, at some time, she had sliced her hand on her own sword. Now, her blood poured onto the pure snow. The red was stark and thick against the white background.

"Kill them," another voice whispered in her ear. "Kill them for what is yours. Kill for what you want, what you deserve. They are not sisters; they are enemies. Enemies that will die at your hand. Enemies that you will crush, and turn their frail bones into powder."

Frail. That was how she knew them. Frail, and young, and small, and innocent, and weak.

"They are not young nor small nor innocent, but they are still frail and weak," whispered the voice, bloodlust lining its words.

Callisto choked back a sob as shadows clouded her vision. Darkness concealed the entirety of the landscape around her until only one figure was visible.

She was tall, and had white hair pulled back in a pristine bun. She wore leathers and a billowing black robe. A silver sword was brandished in her right hand, and a silver crown was placed on top of her head. A falcon was on her shoulder, and a staff in her left hand.

Callisto watched as the girl leaned down to her. The girl smirked, her black eyes shining wickedly.

"Kill them," the girl said. And suddenly, Nova, Cressida, and Selena were standing in front of her. They were as lovely as preserved flowers, and just as gone.

Dry-mouthed, Callisto reached for her sword. It was impossibly heavy in her hand; it was a challenge to even lift it an inch off the ground. She looked at her three sisters, three girls who had no idea that many years later, they would be forced to kill each other. But for Callisto, that time was now.

Callisto licked her lips. "I can't," she rasped at the girl. "I can't do it. I can't kill them."

The girl sneered. "You are weaker than even Selena, who didn't manifest powers until reaching eleven years. You are weak. You are nothing."

The girl raised her own sword, a sword identical to the one in Callisto's hand. Darkness gleamed in her black eyes, eyes identical to Callisto's.

Callisto watched herself, fully aware of the two versions. One was strong and proud and regal, standing tall with two weapons and a crown. The other was lying on the ground, bleeding, too weak to lift her sword.

She watched as the other version of herself plunged her sword into Callisto's stomach. She lost all control of her winds, and they threatened to tear her apart. They howled, and she screamed.

|||||

"Hurry," said Mina, her face pale and eyes wide as she ushered a Healer into Callisto's room. The Healer gasped as she took in the sight of the unconscious Queen of Wind lying bleeding on her bed.

"How long has she been like this?" she asked the scared-looking girl.

Mina swallowed hard. "I don't know. I found her only minutes ago. I had my winds lift her here, and I sent for you-" the girl's voice broke off into a sob. "It was the killing. It always gets worse after she kills. Please, fix her, and you can't tell a soul what you've seen."

The Healer nodded calmly, years of being on the job and faced with countless horrors giving her an easy facade of calm. But inside, she was reeling.

"Leave us," the Healer instructed. "I'll heal her in no time, but she needs rest."

Biting her lip in worry, Mina did as the Healer instructed. Right as she reached the threshold, she paused. "What is your name?" she asked the Healer. "I'm Mina, if you need me."

The Healer nodded. "I know. Everyone knows you're the Queen's friend. I am Anastasia."

Then Mina was gone, leaving Anastasia and the unconscious Queen. She set to work immediately, binding the Queen's hand in cloth. She studied the young woman as she worked.

Callisto was beautiful, no doubt about that. But she was beautiful in the way venomous animals were; attractive and dangerous. The air around her was leaking with darkness.

"I saw this coming," she whispered to the Queen. "There was a darkness in your vision. And killing. But I never saw how broken you were, how broken you'd become."

The Queen didn't answer, and she continued to sleep. Anastasia sighed. For the first time, she noticed a sword lying next to Callisto. Frowning, she took it off the bed, and it clattered to the floor.

A slice on her hand. A blood-stained sword. A collapsed Queen.

Anastasia gasped as she pieced the pieces together. "Oh, Callisto," she murmured, "it won't do anyone any good if you took your life."

But that was a lie. It would be of a great advantage to the other three Houses, especially to the respective Queens. There would be one less contender to the throne if Callisto killed herself. One less sister to kill.