Wind of Change

Wind of Change

by

Trevor Lang Carter

Cariza was a lonely child, living in the woods with her mother, in a small cabin adorned with pink and violet vines, surrounded by tired oaks and sleepy pines.

Her days were spent wandering through the woods, talking to the rabbits, deer, and an old crow she named, Beaky.

There were no other children to play with. And though she loved the animals, they couldn’t play with her like another child could.

Cariza dreamed of leaving that place, flying away with the Wind that swept across the hill behind the cabin. It came playful in the spring, wild in the summer, and chilled in the winter.

One night, while she lay in bed, soothed by the whispering wind against her bedroom window, she fell into a deep sleep.

A dream came to her.

She stood upon the hill behind the cabin, the sun’s warm rays caressing her freckled skin, feeling the Wind in her hair. And then she heard a whisper, as gentle as a breeze.

“I will carry you to the land of Pleromus. There, you will bring hope to many. Shall I carry you away?”

“Yes,” Mariza said, joy lighting her face. “Take me, please.”

And the wind whipped her into the air and carried her over mountains, rivers, and creeks, until they arrived at Pleromus, the land of the Arvakons.

They welcomed Mariza with cheers.

“A human child has come to us,” one of the elders spoke.

The Arvakons looked different from humans. They had hair like straw that was white as snow, frail bodies, and large, bright eyes.

“Have you come to save us?” a young Arvakon boy asked, his eyes wide with expectation.

“Save you?” asked Mariza.

“Yes,” said the boy.

“Our people are dying,” said the elder. “We have dreamed of the day when a human would come to save us.”

“I’m just a child. I….”

The Arvakons became saddened when they heard Mariza’s words. Their bright eyes dimmed.

Mariza touched the elder’s withering arm and said, “You can come back to Praz with me. That’s where I live, in the forest with my mother.”

The Arvakons whispered to one another.

The elder touched Mariza’s shoulder with her aching hand and said, “If we leave this place, we will not survive. Our bodies are too weak.”

“Why are they weak?” asked Mariza.

“Our land was poisoned by the wind,” the elder said. “It has corrupted our crops.”

“No. The wind doesn’t poison you,” said Mariza. “It carries disease from Warzeeka.”

“You came with the Wind of Change,” the elder said. “You command it. Surely, you could ask it to bring nourishment to our crops.”

Mariza nodded. “Perhaps. I will ask.”

And she did, standing with her arms out, and her emerald eyes closed. And then she spoke: “Bring goodness and joy to these people.”

The Wind of Change whispered back, “You are the goodness and joy, my child. Lay your hands upon the people, and they shall be healed.”

Mariza obeyed the Wind. She laid her hands on each and every Arvakon—men, women, and children alike.

And they were healed.

Their eyes glowed with joy. Their hearts beat with gratitude.

“You have saved us, child,” the elder said.

Mariza shook her head. “No. The Wind of Change saved you. I am but its servant.”

There was a celebration that day. Mariza sang and danced with the Arvakons, but she couldn’t stay.

She knew her mother would miss her, so she called to the Wind to carry her home.

“I must leave you now,” she told the Arvakons. “But one day, I will return.”

The Arvakons thanked her before the Wind picked her up.

They watched her lift into the blue sky, waving at them with a smile on her face.

“I will return,” she said. “I promise.”

Mariza called to the Wind many times, hoping to visit her new friends, but it never came, not until she was an old woman.

It took her once again.

She arrived in Pleromus, at the same village she’d visited as a child.

But she didn’t see the Arvakons. She saw people who looked human like her.

They greeted her with the same smiling faces and cheerful banter as the Arvakons once did.

“Who are you?” Mariza asked, standing before a group of men, women, and children.

“It’s her,” said an elderly man. “It’s the young girl who came with the Wind many years ago.”

Mariza gazed into the man’s eyes.

“It’s me,” he said. “I was only a child when you arrived before.”

“It is you,” said Mariza, her wrinkled face beaming with joy.

A young child handed Mariza a purple fruit that was shaped like an egg.

“What’s this?”

“Life,” the child said.

Mariza ate the fruit and felt as young as the child who gave it to her.

Tears trickled down her weathered cheeks.

“You brought life to us, and now we give it back to you,” the man said.

And there was a celebration that day.

Mariza would never leave that place, living with her friends until her eyes made their final close.

The Wind came and carried her soul to Luminozia—the land of bliss.