Chapter 5: Wyrm

Scurra stared into the distance as she stood over the hot stove. For a long moment, Soirja thought her daughter only looked through the window, after her nieces and nephew, or watched the wheel and dart of the birds. Then, Soirja noted the hypnotized look on her grown daughter’s face and realized she was suffering another one of her spells. “Scurra?” Soirja called as she stood and moved to intervene.

Most the time these spells were peaceful enough on the surface—but not always. Scurra was known to loose her balance and stumble as she came out of them. One time, when she was young, Scurra was atop the barn when a spell struck. Soirja just happened to be outside, to turn and see her daughter standing dangerously tall on the roof of the barn, and then Scurra toppled like a leaf in the wind, coming out of the spell too late to catch herself. She flailed and floundered as she crashed to the ground. Soirja thought her baby had died right in front of her, but the fall resulted in nothing more than a busted leg, a bloodied lip, and a bucket of tears. Considering the height of the barn, Soirja was all to happy to find her baby breathing and cognizant, as Scurra wailed and fussed over her injuries.

But that was years ago, back when the spells first started. Indeed, Scurra’s spells were rarely so bad—which was not like the spells suffered by her brother. When Krumpus had one of his spells, he flopped about like a fish out of water, and frothed like a madman. His eyes rolled back, his limbs contorted, his teeth chomped upon his own tongue as he slobbered and foamed. For years, Soirja thought his spells would be the end of him—but somehow they both carried on.

Soirja led her daughter away from the heat of the stove and sat her in a chair. It was better to have Scurra at the table rather than in front of the stove where she might come out of her spell and do something terrible, like dump a hot pan of sausage and grease all over herself. Soirja shook her head to clear it of such terrible thoughts, and continued to prepare breakfast as she waited for Scurra to snap out of it.

After a minute or so, Scurra looked about the kitchen, noticed the gaze of her mother, then turned and hanged her head. “I wasn’t myself,” she said as she often did when these things were witnessed, then stood and joined her mother in preparation of the meal.

“What did you see?” Soirja asked.

Scurra shook her head. “Nothing,” she claimed as she stared out the window once more. This was a common response. Scurra rarely talked of the visions she witnessed whenever she suffered these spells. But then, unlike Krumpus, her visions were often dark and foreboding.

Later that day, a letter came from Melmorahn. It was from Krumpus. Scurra read it with a muttered curse.

“What is it?” Soirja asked.

Scurra passed the letter to her mother. “Your son is on one of his adventures again,” Scurra stated. “I have to go west.”

“For your brother?” Soirja’s heart gave a jump as she read the letter. She had not seen her son since he left to help with the plague in Melmorahn. Soirja read the letter, but there was nothing of great concern in it. Indeed, the note seemed restrained and cautious for her boisterous and adventuresome son. Suddenly suspicious, Soirja eyed her daughter. “Does this have to do with that spell you suffered?”

Scurra didn’t answer. Instead, she looked away.

Soirja snorted, then openly accused her, “You did see something!”

Scurra turned and glared at her mother. “Crows,” she said. “I am needed,” was all she would add. The anger passed, and Scurra pointed to the letter. “He has a request of us. Will you see to it?”

Soirja gave a nod. “You be careful. These spells are never what they seem.”

“Except when they are,” Scurra stated, then hugged her mother.

“You don’t have to go,” Soirja said. “You can stay here with us. It is safe here.”

“One does not live to be safe,” Scurra replied. “I must be useful. I must be effective if I wish to be happy.”

“But you are not happy,” Soirja noted.

“I have a great cloud over me,” Scurra frowned. “One day, this fated darkness will envelop me, and I must be strong if I mean to survive it. I cannot be strong if I allow myself to be coddled whenever there is danger in the air.”

“Yes, but must you seek danger?” Soijra asked. “How can this make you happy?”

Scurra gave a wan smile and hugged her mother close. “One day, the darkness will have me. My prowess is all I shall have to face it, to move through it, and beyond it. Therefore, strength makes me happy. Resilience makes me happy. Courage makes me happy—or as happy as I can be.” She turned from her mother. “I must go pack. My brother is taken prisoner. I must see that he is freed and brought home...”

Soirja’s heart leapt to hear it. Her son was coming home?!

Early the next morning, Scurra rode out with her bow, her blades, and a white coat that bore the crest and colors of her militia: an oak done in jade thread, a sleeping beast done in silver thread, and hers with an added crow of onyx.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 5.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Krumpus continued to dance, and now the wyrm danced with him. He hummed and hawed and kept a respectful distance from the large creature—but the wyrm wasn’t so interested in boundaries. The wyrm twisted, curled, and slowly extended itself toward the shaman, its movements in time to the song.

The creature crept close in a calm and friendly manner, and Krumpus allowed it to loop about his arm. It’s scales were cool, smooth, and supple, and he thought it was a miracle that the creature should be so familiar!

The humming and dance progressed as the wyrm tangled his limbs and wrapped his hips and chest. On certain beats that were longer and louder than others, the creature spread its wings, showed it fangs, and hissed to emphasize the note, then continued to bob in rhythm to the music as it curled about the shaman.

Several times, Krumpus waned in his performance and thought to end the song and dance. His step slowed and his humming subsided—but there was a pleading in the wyrm’s behavior. As he slowed, the creature became restless and enthusiastic to continue. In this way it begged him to proceed. Driven on, Krumpus increased his step and song yet again, and wondered when and how this dance might end.

One song bled into another. The creature twisted about his neck and nuzzled him. Then, with no provocation, the wyrm bit him! Shocked by the sudden attack, Krumpus struggled against the beasts coils, but he was so tangled about, and the creature’s grip was impossibly strong! Before he could do a single thing about it, he was trussed up like a sheep for sheering. The wyrm’s form grew dark. He couldn’t budge her at all!

The wyrm stared at Krumpus. Sure of his destruction, and unable to do anything else, the shaman stared back. Hints of red and tan danced about the storm of the creature’s emerald eyes. He wondered why she waited, then imagined details he could not possibly know about her. For one, he knew she was female. In his mind’s eye, he saw her home: jagged mountain peaks to the west and north of their current location. The Spires of Gendalou, she spoke in his mind as she guided him about the mountains.

How is this possible? Krumpus wondered back at her. Were the things he saw in his mind real and true? Was he simply suffering an hallucination brought on by her bite? Was he simply losing his mind before she killed and possibly ate him? Almost as quick as he asked the question, he received the answer. I have injected you with a venom that allows us to peer into each other’s mind and share our thoughts. It is for this reason that I bit you, she apologized. Though it is perhaps a bit painful, it is awful convenient, no?

Krumpus had to agree.

I will let you go now, she said. I will not hurt you further so long as you do not hurt me.

And why would I hurt you? Krumpus replied.

Some men are quick to seek revenge, she answered as her warm color returned and she slowly untied him.

But you grant telepathy! He replied. Do you think my pride is so easily injured? After all, a mere bite is a small price to experience such wonder! Indeed, I would suffer a thousand such bites to speak in the minds of others!

Alas, it is only me you will hear—unless I decide to bite another, she smiled. Her fangs showed between her thin lips. My name is Meu, she said as Krumpus extricated himself from her coils and lifted himself out of the dust of the road. Thank you for your song. You think quite clearly, and yet you only hum. Why do you not sing any words? she asked.

Krumpus thought of the seizures he still suffered from time to time, and how they caused him to chomp as he thrashed about. He stuck out his tongue and showed her the thick scar tissue that swelled his tongue and made it difficult to make proper sounds.

Ah, I am sorry for your troubles, Meu said.

Krumpus shrugged. I have been this way a long time. It is simply the state of things.

You are not from these parts, Meu noted. What brings you to this land?

A flower, Krumpus thought. I found it in droves the last time I was here, but now I see none of it. He shared his memory of foxbane.

I know this flower, Meu confirmed. There is much of it around my home, where others cannot reach. But where the slopes are gentle, there are beasts that hate this flower and rip it from the earth wherever they find it. They are foul and twisted creatures that prefer their own noxious vegetables. She remembered her occasional encounters with these brutes, which were always unpleasant.

Bugbear, Krumpus spat on the ground. Indeed, I have encountered their traps. They certainly hunt here. Perhaps they’ve had the time to destroy it.

And why do you need this flower? Meu asked.

There is a plague in Melmorahn and the flower cures it, Krumpus answered. It does not grow so far north—and now I think it is because there are bugbear around Melmorahn, he spit.

I know Melmorahn, Meu replied. I am sad to hear her people suffer. Still, I cannot imagine these bugbear have ripped all the foxbane from these mountains. You should find some soon enough.

And where do you go? Krumpus asked. For this is not your land either.

I am heading south to visit my daughter. Meu began. She has birthed a clutch and I wish to see them before they abandon their mother and venture out on their own. Indeed, I am hoping some will come north and live among the Spires.

Are there a lot of wyrms in the world? Krumpus asked. How many colonies are there?

Around the world? Meu shrugged. How should I know? How many colonies of men are there?

Krumpus shook his head. I don’t know. I’ve just never seen any of your sort. I should think you are extremely rare.

Rare in your quarter, she noted. We’re all over the spires.

But you know of men, Krumpus observed. Why have I not met any wyrms?

And who’s to say you haven’t? Meu laughed. Our races have more to do with each other than most humans—and most wyrms—will ever know! Indeed, Our community was close to those of Salyst, she continued. We were sad to see them taken as slaves, or gone beyond the Red Desert—though I am happy to say there are some hundred or so that survive among our caves. They live quite peacefully among us.

That is a relief, Krumpus smiled. I’ve long wondered about the fate of that people, he said. Speaking of missing people, all these towns and villages are deserted. Do you know what happened to the Bouge that used to live here?

It is the Mininstrians, up to one of their strange machinations. Meu shook her head, I’ve not been through this area in years, and I have barely paid attention to what others were saying, but I know it is the Ministrians and their ever expanding conquest. She shrugged. But enough of such sad speculations! Our conversation has been too grim, though we first met with the joy of song! Come! The light of day warms us! Let us dance once more, I beg it! We shall have plenty of time to discuss the grief of the world after a bit more entertainment!

You wish only to dance? Krumpus replied.

It is not all I wish, Meu smiled. But I love music, and all those that revel in it! It has been a long time since I had occasion to dance, and now I realize how much I have missed it!

I don’t know that I have it in me, Krumpus hedged. I certainly cannot dance for another hour, especially if you should try to wrestle me again.

Just a few songs, but one or two, Meu begged. If you do not do it, I shall have to bite you again—and then I will make you! She flashed her fangs and fanned her impressive wings.

Krumpus took a step back. You cannot make me.

You’d be surprised, Meu smiled and her thoughts went black as she coiled about him. For a moment he wondered if such coercion might indeed be possible.

Her thoughts returned promptly. I will not, she continued. Instead, I shall simply beg you. Please, please...

Krumpus hopped a step and considered which song to chant. In a few minutes he was right back into the swing of it. He hummed and hawed and stamped at the ground.

They danced once again. One song bled into the next, and two became three. Krumpus was in the middle of a long traditional song that told the history of the Broken Legions and their flight into the Bunderhilt Mountains. He stomped about as if at war and used his staff as a prop. It was an energetic and forceful dance, and Krumpus meant for it to be his finale.

As the two danced, Meu suddenly climbed up his staff as her wings beat the air. Krumpus wondered if she meant to take flight and abandon him. But she did not leave. Instead, she froze upon the staff as she wrapped her body tightly about it. She fanned her wings in a dramatic display and showed her fangs with a vicious snarl. Her body went dark and became hard and still as stone, just the way she was immediately after she bit him.

What is this?! he wondered.

It is my stone form, Meu smiled in his mind.

And you used this as I struggled?! No wonder I could barely move! Krumpus stared at Meu and gently rubbed her smooth metallic face. Her eyes were like emeralds as she refused to blink or budge. How long can you keep up such a trick?

My best is three days, Meu noted. I apologize, but we are interrupted, she sighed. I only just now saw them myself...

Krumpus turned. Several Saot soldiers sat upon their horses and stared at the shaman as he held his staff with the wyrm wrapped about it. They approached around the same blind turn in the winding mountain road and were far too close for comfort. They bristled with weapons as they stared at the Trohl with confused disdain.