Chapter 5: Of Fire and Air, Of Earth and Water

“You sure this is the place?” Apulton looked at the large house, covered in vines, the yard crowded with plants.

“This it the place,” Toar said as he approached the door.

Apulton turned to Andrus and gave a shrug, then turned back to Toar. “Fine. Twenty minutes and we have to be out.”

Toar agreed reluctantly as he knocked on the door.

The door popped almost immediately. A young face, maybe six or seven gazed up at the assembled lot. “Hello!” she said, her mouth stretched in a grand smile.

“Hey lil missy,” Toar began with a gentle smile. “Is Hazle home?”

The girl threw open the door as she turned away from the guests. “Granana!” she called as she went searching about the house.

Toar stepped into in the place, slowly followed by the others. Although the house was large, and the rooms spacious, they seemed small thanks to the crowding of objects. Shelves held innumerable books, plants, trinkets, jars, pictures, knickknacks; all seemingly placed with great care.

“Are you sure we should be in here?” Andrus asked, feeling as if he trespassed.

Toar gave a nod. “She opened the door…” he began.

As if on a cue, people began pouring into the front room from down the stairs, the hall, kitchen—even behind them as several children came running in the front door. A large man came in after the children carrying a babe in one hand and a large basket full of goods from the market. Several weapons hung off his hips as he turned and stared at the guests. “Hello there,” the man said, seemingly unconcerned to find strangers in his house. "Have a seat, or do you plan on leaving soon?” he asked, as others turned to the strangers with curious eyes.

“Toar?!” A wizened old voice called from the hallway as a stooped woman of too many years slowly stepped down the hall, hurried by several children that laughed and escorted the old lady down the hall. “Is that Toar I hear?!” she cackled.

“Hello Hazle,” Toar bowed, a deep and formal greeting.

"Enough of that!” the old lady frowned. “Get over here, and give an old lady some love—or did I teach you nothing at all,” she continued as she held her arms out to the young man.

Toar did as he was told, allowing the woman to hold him as long as she liked, a smile of shared affection slowly melting his serious demeanor.

“I hadn’t expected to see you again—certainly not in a few short months!” She stared into his face. “Ahh, but I see you have been searching for me…” She turned on the others. “And who are these?”

“As you say,” Toar began. “These are my friends.”

“Please to meet you, miss,” Apulton bowed, confounded to find himself wrapped in a familiar hug.

“Well, you are a strong devil—and one that knows what he wants!” Hazle winked at the man.

Apulton backed away, unsure what to say to such a charge.

“And you are?” Hazle wrapped Andrus in similar fashion. She held his hand long after their embrace was finished. “A cousin of lost heritage,” she tsked and shook her head. “But there’s power in you that you’ve yet to find!” she beamed, then turned on Celesi. With a gasp, she embraced the young Trohl. “And who is this angel?”

“I am Celesi,” she blushed. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said as she wrapped the old woman in a hug.

“Ah, yes. Finally, one that is found,” Hazle nodded and patted the young girl’s hand. “But you did not come to hear your fortune told. You are quite sure where your future lay!” the old lady chuckled. Still hold Celesi’s hand, Hazle turned on her large son. “Ganik, will you see to their comfort while I talk to Toar?”

Ganik handed the baby to one of the older children, and the basket to yet another. “Yes, mother. Shall we take them to the kitchen and see what we might find to refresh ourselves?”

The children cheered and grabbed hands with the strangers. Smiling, laughing, and chattering, the children led Apulton, Andrus, and Celesi from the room.

Toar turned to Hazle, a glad smile on his face. Her expression was no longer jovial, but quite serious. “What’s the matter?” he began.

“Walk with an old woman,” Hazle said, and took Toar by the arm. “Take me into the garden,” she told him.

Slowly, plodding step after plodding step, Toar led the wizened and bent old woman toward the back door.

Hazle shook her head, “I must say, I am quite surprised to see you, my young friend. By now I expected you’d be among the Salystians, learning the great magics you’d always hoped to know.”

Toar shrugged, “I must admit, I thought I’d never return. But things have not gone the way I’d intended.”

“You are troubled,” Hazle agreed. “What has happened on your journeys?”

“I’ve failed,” Toar said. He assisted Hazle down a couple steps and into the garden proper. “Salyst is nothing but empty buildings, teeming with bugbear.”

Hazle shook her head as she lowered herself to a bench. “It was never the place you were meant to find,” she replied. “It was always the people that once lived there. They possess the magics you seek.”

“But where are they?” Toar asked, his frustration quite evident. “Do you mean to send me beyond the Red Desert?”

“I will not send you anywhere,” Hazle told him. “You must go where you are called.”

“I was close. I was a few days from the desert—but it did not call to me,” Toar shook his head. “I do not know where I am meant to go…” he said as tears gathered in his eyes.

“Now, don’t fret,” Hazle chastised. “Sadness cannot guide you in your quest.”

“I know,” Toar said wiping his eyes. “I know. But ther is a deep sadness in my heart.”

“Yes, and you must strive to heal it, in a calm and patient manner,” Hazle stroked his hand. “Shall I look into your heart? Would you have me tell you what I see for you?”

“I would,” Toar nodded.

“Well then,” Hazle placed her hands on the young man’s head and closed her eyes. For several seconds, neither said anything. Slowly, she shook her head and pulled away from the young man. “Your path has not changed. Salyst calls to you—or at least the people that once called her home.”

“Then you mean to send me across the Red Desert,” Toar asserted.

“Do not seek the straight road,” Hazle shook her head. “Yours is a circuitous route.”

“Then I am to find some Salystians scattered among the other tribes?” Toar began. “And how am I to find a people that does not want to be found?”

“Do not be so hasty,” Hazle reprimanded. “Time will take you where you need to go, and it will teach you the lessons that will get you there.”

“Then I must wait,” Toar sighed. He slumped in a defeated gesture.

“And what will waiting gain you?” Hazle huffed. “Go with your friends. Search your heart. Be careful and silent. When the time comes, you will not be able to stop your destiny. It will come rushing at you, and you won’t be able to escape it, even if you should want.”

“But when? How much longer must I wait?!” he snapped.

Hazle shook her head and tsked at the young man’s impatience. “It will come, and when it comes, I should think you will beg for more time… but enough of such talk! There is nothing more I can do for you. You know the path forward, and you must walk every step of it! Stop asking an old woman to hurry it for you!”

Toar hanged his head. “You are right,” he began. “I know the way, and I am on it.”

“That is better,” Hazle smiled. “Now go to your friends, and help them in their efforts. They will help you in return. They will not even know it, and yet, they will see you further than you can imagine,” Hazle beamed at the young man. She reached into her pocket and produced a small jar. “And take this.”

“Thank you,” Toar wiped his eyes. “I did not think I could ask you for more of your ointment.”

Hazle scoffed. “You used it selflessly, for the comfort of another. It may be precious, but I cannot withhold it from one that uses it in such wise ways.”

Toar stuffed the slight jar in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said as he bent over the old lady and kissed her cheek.

“Say nothing of it. Do you not see all that I have?” Hazle smiled as she held out her hands and gestured at the richness of her garden.

“It is quite impressive,” Toar nodded. “I should think it is too much for one old woman to look after.”

“But I have my son and his wonderful children,” Hazle beamed. “And soon I shall have my apprentice, and a number of my neighbors from the old town.”

“This is not possible,” Toar shook his head. “They were at the Invader’s Fort when it was attacked.”

Hazle snorted, “Oh, ye of little faith… Now go to your companions and be about your business. Time is of the essence, and your friends are in a hurry,” she winked.

“But we do not hurry,” Toar smiled as he stood. “Thank you, Hazle. Thank you for everything.”

“Think nothing of it,” she smiled. “I am rich. I have so much to give. I’d be remiss if I did not help such a beautiful creature as you are.”

With tears welling in his eyes once more, Toar turned from the old woman and walked back into the house. He found his friends in the kitchen, chatting and laughing with Ganik and the children as they enjoyed cookies, pastries, and drinks.

“We are set,” Toar smiled at his friends. “Let’s be on our way.”

The children complained ans they wrapped the visitors in hugs and stuffed treats in their pockets. Slowly, Celesi and Andrus untangled themselves, and shook hands with Ganik.

“Are we leaving so soon?” Apulton asked, as he stood and followed the somber Toar to the door.

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

Meu felt the residence before she saw it. She hadn’t thought it possible that the air could become more oppressive, or that such a great variety of scents should introduce themselves so far underground—though both occurred. The smell leaned heavily toward a rank mustiness. There was such a complex of spice and strangeness that it took several seconds for Meu to locate the little boy’s smell among the myriad flavors.

The front door was a tall thin arch cut into the wall of the tunnel. Heavy drapes blocked the way inside. Meu crept through slowly, which was good, as she realized bells were sewn into the curtains. She stretched her wings and tucked them along her side, getting as thin as she could, determined to make as little sound as possible. The entrance went immediately to the right, then ninety degrees left, then left again, and then a second right. Another drape hung in the way with more bells stitched in. Meu took a deep breath and slipped passed the drapes as a few light chimes escaped the bells.

Ever so slowly, she crept into the front room. This room had a high ceiling of thick tapestries with heavy drapes to match along the walls. Thick soft rugs graced the cold stone floor and a fine arrangement of furniture welcomed the uninvited guest. There was a coat rack of a sort, a low table, and several couches. There was a fireplace with a slight draft—which made Meu wonder. She poked about the fireplace as there was currently no fire in it. Several small vents poked through the top. The air stirred. Meu realized they must cut into some nearby passage, allowing the smoke to slowly rise out of the earth. She wondered that the naga should take such risks and dig up. What she didn’t realize was that in such a deeply layered place as Beletrain, it was perhaps a bit more dangerous to dig down. No few diggers poked a hole through one floor only to find themselves dropping into a lower passage. Too often men fell victim to such carelessness, though it rarely happened to naga, as they were much more aware of the dangers.

There was a network of hooks and ropes that kept thick decorated drapes hanging from the ceiling. The floor was also heavily carpeted, but it was the roof that interested Meu. If there was a gap between the carpets and the stone above, she might have a good way about the place—which was exactly what she found. She wondered that the residence was built in such a way as she flew up and tested the long, large ropes that held up the drapes. She crept between the cold stone of the cave roof and realized the tapestries were suspended as insulation as well as decoration.

The first room she came to was dominated by a bed and several dressers. It was fairly neat and rather organized, though there were a few odd articles of clothing spread across the floor. The second room was dominated by a large desk and several tables. This room was a fair deal messier, except one of the tables, which was elaborately decorated with several repeating symbols and an odd mix of trinkets, made of strange and intriguing stones, all of which seemed purposely placed. Meu expected they had some religious significance and decided it must be an alter of sorts.

The third room had a small hole in the floor. Meu looked in and saw the running waters of a thin rivulet. Dappled funk lingered at the rim. She realized she glanced down a privy. Appalled, she turned from the room and continued her search.

The next room seemed to be nothing but storage. It was incredibly crowded with bureaus, tables, chairs, beds, chests, and other large furniture stacked all the way to the ceiling. The drapes in this room were tattered and appeared to be a good deal older than the rest of the residence. She wondered that this naga seemed to suffer from the human tendency to accumulate and hoard. It was the curse of hands: always needing something to grasp. Though the room was cleaner than the tanner's quarters, Meu felt it could still use a thorough sorting. At least the ropes that held the ceiling in place were nice and strong, even if they were older than the ropes in the rest of the residence.

The next room was down a long ramp. Although there were drapes around the walls, nothing covered the ceiling. As Meu slid slowly down the ramp, she could hear a voice sing in a low grumbling voice. She knew the words. They were Trohl. She listened and quickly discovered the meaning of the trite song:

"Chicken fall upon the floor,

chicken cannot open door,

chicken want for sun be sore,

soon da chicken be no more!

Chicken, chicken, stuck in store,

ree and scree and cluck before,

tasty eating, suck the core,

in me belly pluck one more!

Hen and cock and chick all sweet,

in soup and pie they tasty eat,

but what to do with beak and feet?

give to dogs – then dogs for meat!"

Dogs to flog and kick and beat,

watch the teeth and claws on feet!

mean and vicious – though good meat

give to friends and guests to greet!"

Boil and toil and skin the dogs,

grill and smell these tasty fogs!

skewered, basted, great with grogs

but don’t forget to add the frogs!

Hoppers, floppers, swimmers free!

frogs are tastier than brie,

the best – blind cave frogs cannot see

toasted, basted, poached for me!

Catch the floppers in the stream,

in the light, their eyes do gleam,

by the dozens, children ream

‘a copper each!’ They call ’n beam.

Frogs too many, it soon may seem

in da pot they boil and teem,

too much frog, a mother scream

then feed to chicken, lookin’ lean!

Chicken fall upon the floor,

chicken cannot open door…

And so the song continued on and on. Once the naga finished the cycle of verses, he only began again.

Meu crept closer. There were several work benches, tables, cages, and no end of materials about the large room, which was dominated by a heavy stove. The voice came from a beast of blueish gray color with several fins on its long thin body. Thin arms sliced vegetables and stirred a pot. She knew it was a naga long before she saw it.

There was a blood soaked bandage about this naga’s head. The left half of his face was covered, and from time to time, he grimaced and took delicate notice of this affliction. Meu realized the scar underneath was very fresh and realized it must have been caused by Wenifas.

The naga stopped his song. He slid to a large cage with a mountain of clothes and rags in it. He peered about the ruined clothes, then shook the cage, and scolded the unseen occupant. When no reply was forthcoming, the beast grabbed up a long metal prod and poked about the mountain of rags. A yelp issued from the pile. The tear streaked face of a small boy appeared. Satisfied, the naga turned back to his work and left the cage alone, as he began to sing once more:

“Hoppers, floppers, swimmers free!

Frogs are tastier to me,

the best, the cave frogs cannot see!

Toasted, basted, poached with brie!”

Catch the floppers by the stream...

Meu immediately recognized that the boy in the cage was Claiten. As the naga turned away, he disappeared back among the rags and buried himself once more in the mountain of ruined clothes, in order to hide his shame and discomfort. The clothes in the cage were of every sort and size for both sexes; slacks, shirts, trousers, dresses, undergarments. Though most of it was small clothes for mere children, some of it was adult clothes, ruined and blood stained all the same. Meu realized Claiten was certainly not the first person to ever be captured by this beast.

There were a number of other cages about the large kitchen. Several held birds, finches, crows, even a hawk. There were also rabbits, rats, ferrets, cats, and a couple pathetic-looking dogs, thin and shaking. Snakes, lizards, turtles were kept in bowls too deep to escape. On a shelf were no end of jars filled with bugs, beetles, snails, and other creepy crawlers, some dead, some alive, and often mixed one with the other. There were even a few fire sprites caught in a large glass box, several moon wings in a massive birdcage, and a couple lava worms at the bottom of a great iron basin—though all these creatures looked rather sick and pathetic.

“Dogs to flog and kick and beat,

watch the teeth and...”

Meu considered the possibilities as she snuck low under some shelving. She was still situating herself when the naga suddenly turned and approached. He banged about the shelving above her as he moved jars and small boxes, likely in search of something. The naga stood so close. Meu took the opening and bit the beast. She thought to save the venom for Claiten, that she might have an easier time communicating with the boy—but the opportunity to get inside the creature’s head was too good to pass up.

As Meu bit him, the naga banged its head and cursed. Meu slipped passed the naga as he turned and backed and searched for the attacker. He saw the last of her slip up the ramp and pursued with all haste—but Meu made it into the overcrowded room before he could get a hold of her.

Once in the room, Meu immediately made her way into the rigging of curtains and tapestries. The naga entered the room. He thrashed about the bureaus, beds, chests, and whatnot, as he searched low.

Safe and out of sight, Meu waited for the venom to catch hold of the creature's mind as the naga struggled to search for her among a mountain of furniture. An errant thought issued from the naga, slight and ethereal—only to vanish. The channel created by the thought dried, emptied, and disappeared almost as quick as it appeared. Another thought stuck in Meu's head, this time carrying the creature's name, and another thought, and another. But as each channel formed; it starved, faded, and evaporated just as quick as it was established. Meu wondered that she could not form a lasting connection with Golifett's mind. She wondered if the beast was too stupid. Then the opposite idea struck her, and she thought the beast might be too intelligent.

A low rumbling chuckle issued from Golifett as he paused in his search and regarded her bite. "You think of using your poison against me, dear cousin?” he asked with a tsk. “Oh, but such things rarely work on the naga. You should have talked to the men of Ebertin. They might have told you how they poisoned the aqueducts during the war. The poisons killed fish, frogs, and men by the thousands—but nary one naga," he laughed as he continued to search for her, now in a reserved and patient manner. “We are quite resilient to most toxins and venoms.”

Though Golifett continued to search for Meu, he could not find her—mostly because he forgot to look up. As he searched, he moved immediately beneath her. In a flurry, Meu dropped about Golifett's head. He tried to duck away, to throw her off, but she coiled tight about him, and as she squeezed, she began to shift her body to stone.

Golifett tried to pry her off. Precious seconds ticked by before he slipped his hand from her coils and pulled a blade. He sliced at Meu—only to find her hide was as hard as rock. The blade slid off her coils, and caused Golifett to gouge his own shoulder. In shock, he dropped the blade, and tried once more to pull Meu from his neck. He could not. Blood flowed from the wound on his shoulder as the naga’s world went dark. Unconscious, he collapsed to the floor.

Meu did not kill him, though she thought she might. Instead, she slipped away from the naga and shifted into her human form. She located a length of rope that held one of the trunks closed, but could not get it free before Golifett began to wake. He lifted himself off the floor, groggy and uncertain. Meu grabbed the naga’s blade and smashed the handle against the beast’s head.

Out once more, Golifett flopped heavily to the floor. Meu returned to the rope and freed it of its previous duties, then wrapped the naga's hands and tied her best knot.

Meu took up the naga's keys and slipped down the ramp, into the kitchen. She tried them one after another against the lock that held Claiten. She found a key that fit. The lock popped with a satisfying click. Meu flung open the door and, despite reservations, stepped into the cage. She poked at the mountain of rags as she cooed at the young boy.

Claiten poked his head from the clothes, his eyes wide with fright. It took a second for Claiten to recognize Meu—and then he was simply puzzled and confused by her nakedness. The sight of her naked was repelling and intriguing for the lad as he clung to the mountain of ruined garments. "Are you caught too?" he asked and wondered if he would have to share a cage with his mother's naked friend. He blushed with embarrassment. He felt he would die of shame.

Meu frowned at Claiten's shyness and beckoned him to the front of the cage. If only she'd known her venom would not work on the naga. It did not help that the boy spoke Ministrian, a language she was only beginning to learn.

Claiten continued with his questions. "Where's mum?"

Meu shrugged as she could only guess at his words. She stared into his eyes, and tried to speak in his tongue. "Druss meu," she said and hoped her sounds were accurate.

Human language felt garish and obnoxious in her throat and she did not like to speak it. Still, she repeated herself, “druss meu.”

Claiten stared in her eyes and immediately knew what she meant to say. “I trust you,” he said with a gulp, took her hand, and scrambled out of the cage. He held a ruined shirt to his nakedness and stared about the kitchen, so he didn't have to look at Meu in the buff. On the counter, coins stood in neat stacks: copper, silver, and gold. Next to the coins was the empty pruse his mother gave him with the seal of the Corpus Majoris on it. Claiten grabbed the purse and jammed the coins inside.

Meu pulled him up the ramp. Golifett stirred once more, and despite his bonds, flopped into the hallway. He muttered indistinct curses as he realized he was caught in the rope. He began to struggle in earnest—until he saw Meu with his dagger in hand. She pointed it at the beast as she stepped by, with Claiten in tow.

The naga glanced back and forth between the woman and the boy, confused to find only humans in his presence. He wondered if this was the woman that seared his face, and if so, why was she naked? He had so many questions. Where were the others? Did she bring the babe? Above all, where was the serpent that caught and strangled him?

Claiten grabbed Meu's free hand with his own. "Let's go," he begged in a low whisper.

Meu glared at Golifett as she allowed Claiten to pull her past the beast. She hissed at the naga as she moved away, and he did nothing to encourage her return. Claiten stopped in the front room. Meu flung aside the belled drapes. They chimed and rang with such a racket. Then, through the entrance, she flung aside the second set of belled drapes and fled into the darkness of Beletrain with Claiten in tow.

After a short while, there was no light whatsoever. Meu stopped as she could see nothing with her human eyes. She turned to Claiten. "Druss meu?" She said once more in broken Ministrian.

"Trust me," Claiten repeated and offered an anxious smile. "Take me to my mother," he said as a pit of fear continued to grow in his stomach. A wetness began to cloud his vision.

The occasional curse and thrashing sounded from Golifett's quarters. At first, they were slight, but as his boldness returned, Golifett began to scream, long and loud.

"Take me out of here!" Claiten urged in a frantic whisper. His tears flowed free. Fear raged through the boy and threatened to overwhelm him. He felt as if Beletrain woke with the naga's continued screams, and slowly closed in on him.

With a smile, Meu handed the dagger to the boy. She could not hold it in her true form, and she could not navigate the darkness as a human. She kissed Claiten on the forehead and began to shift. "Druss meu," she said once again.

Claiten held the weapon and wondered why Meu gave it to him. If she meant for it to give him courage, it helped. As he thought of the dagger, he realized Meu no longer held his hand. Instead, the boy felt the velvet softness of feathers brush his fingers. Confused, he nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a scaly tail wrap about his wrist. Revulsion washed through Claiten, and he thought to swipe the tail with the dagger and cut it deep. The tail was certainly thin enough, thin like a rope. He might be able to cut right through it.

The tail began to pull on him, gentle but urgent. Claiten relaxed as he remembered how Meu had shifted in his mother’s tent. It was only days ago, though it seemed to be ages—but he could not forget that Meu was a powerful magician? He’d seen her take the from of a winged serpent, a scaly angel. Indeed, the old woman had bit a man and used her venom to control his actions! The sight of it staggered and frightened the boy—though she’d saved him and his mom. That was the one time he’d seen her as a serpent. Since then, she'd always appeared human, and what with all the excitement, he’d almost forgotten her serpent form altogether, though he now remembered it all too well.

As Meu began to guide him from Golifett’s lair, Claiten thought of the ribbon snakes he used to catch as a child, when he lived near Tikatis. Although the beasts struggled to get free, they rarely bit and could do no real harm when they did—unlike the spearheads he saw around Camp Calderhal with their long vicious fangs and noxious venom that killed a man from time to time. All serpents were not the same.

Meu was insistent as she pulled the boy forward, but she wasn't forceful. Claiten grit his teeth as he shuffled his feet along the unseen stone of Beletrain, and tried to sense the darkness before him. Slowly, Meu guided Claiten around the various dangers of the naga dungeon, in a quiet and deliberate manner. There was little chance she could fend off a talented naga, and she had no doubt there were many among this vast catacomb—but there would be very few, if any, between her and the surface. Besides, she had stealth in spades as hers was the divine right of the ephemeral, quick and agile. She only had to keep the boy quiet and all should be fine.

There were plenty of dangers in the darkness. From the beginning, Meu dodged Claiten around aqueducts, drops, slopes, inclines, stairs, holes, bobbles, catches... She rushed him when the way was clear, and took a slow deliberate pace when traps and other obstacles revealed themselves. Claiten was easy to guide. He had a natural sense about the wyrm's directions. He slowed when she did, and hurried when she hurried him. He trusted her implicitly, and was a talented follow. Together, they dodged naga. Then they dodged traps set by the serpents against the humans, after which they dodged the traps set by the humans against the serpents. Finally, they dodged a few human patrols as well, as they slowly made their way up from the depths of Beletrain.

Eventually, the wyrm and child came to a natural hollow of cave with a smooth floor and irregular walls. In one corner, where the floor sloped up to become the wall, a ragged drape hung in the way. Meu could sense a current of air behind the bit of drape that blended quite well with the uneven rock on which it rested. She poked behind the drape and discovered what she thought was one of the tunnels the naga must use to get into the city undetected.

Although it might be a good way out, Meu worried the tunnel might be set full of traps, and not an honest tunnel at all. It was drenched in the stench of naga, and also the smell of humans—but it was not the smell of humans working, sweating, or even playing. It was the grisly, oily smell of fear, of out and out terror. It wasn't the sort of muddled complex smell an adult might give off, clouded by regret, resolve, pity, or other complicated emotions, but the pure sort of smell that requires the single-minded innocence of a child. Meu thought it must be one of the tunnels used by Golifett and his sort to smuggle children into Beletrain. If so, there was little chance of traps.

Meu pulled herself into the tunnel. Claiten swept the heavy drape aside and felt the warm air of the surface swirl about its entrance. "I feel a draft!" He whispered excitedly. A sense of relief flooded over the boy, and once again he started to cry. With wet eyes, he pushed Meu into the tunnel and pressed her forward, toward the fresh air.

The tunnel was thin in places and a tight fit for the boy at times, as it curved back and forth. But Claiten was young, strong, and resolute. He clawed his fingers into the dirt and pulled himself along, foot after foot, as he followed the thin form of Meu. At several points, Claiten could barely fit. Admittedly, he was big for nine years, but he was still small for a human in general. It was a good thing the boy was fit and healthy. If he was unconscious or injured, Meu thought there was little chance she could have dragged him up the steep slope. Meu wondered that the naga could fit, but their shoulders were narrow, and they had no hips at all. With a powerful tail to propel them, naga had an easy time climbing through. It might be a tight fit, but the narrowness would keep adult humans out of the tunnel altogether.

Around a bend, a dim light appeared. Claiten gasped when he saw it, and surged up the slope of the tunnel. He huffed and puffed as he pushed Meu ahead of him. Still, she was slow and deliberate in her advance. She sensed the possibility of traps at the entrance and thought it best not to abandon her caution just yet.

Finally, the tunnel came to an end. Meu peered out. The entrance was in a park, wedged between a stone and the trunk of a massive tree. There was a fair amount of undergrowth, which helped camouflage the entrance.

The world had a red hew about it. The sun was near the horizon. Soon, it would be dark. Although there were people in the park, they were few and far between. They all seemed to be in a rush. It'd been half a day since Kezodel died. By now a good many of the city must know of his death—and the rest would certainly be feeling the uneasiness of their neighbors, even if they had no idea of the cause. The very order of things would be in question. For most, this was not a time to meander through parks, caught up in quiet contemplation or lackadaisical musing. Still, it was a big city. There were always a few.

As Claiten clambered from the entrance, he stared and grinned at the world of the surface. For a time, he stared at the wyrm form of Meu and took comfort in her imposing figure. He stroked her fine scales. She was a friend no matter her shape, and the mystery of her powers gave the boy great confidence. He’d be safe yet.

Though they were hidden, the two could not stay near the tunnel's entrance. What if some naga decided to use this tunnel and venture into the city? Considering the darkness of Beletrain, it was likely the naga did all their creeping at night—and the surface world soon be dark. For a moment, the park was clear. Meu took the opportunity. She spread her wings and flew low over the grass. Despite his nakedness, Claiten bolted from the hiding place and sprinted after the flying wyrm, with a purse of coin in one hand, and the naga's dagger in the other.

As he ran, someone behind him gave a startled yell. Claiten turned and saw a man on a path, some distance away. With a frown, the man ran after Claiten and the wyrm. Meu angled behind a tall clump of brush, and Claiten followed hot on her tail. The man disappeared as they rounded the vegetation. Meu veered toward a tall pine, pulled her wings in tight, and disappeared under the low boughs of the tree. There was nobody in view as Claiten dipped under the branches. Though the ground was packed with rude needles, he forced himself next to Meu’s slim form.

Claiten huffed as he huddled near the trunk of the tree, excited by his exertion, yet nervous that he should need to breathe so loudly. There was barely enough room for the young boy and the slender serpent under the tree together. They held still as the man with the sword appeared. He jogged along as he looked this way and that. Although he passed a dozen feet from where they hid, he did not see Claiten or Meu huddled under the large pine. He muttered to himself in a foreign tongue as he passed.

Claiten remembered once more that he was in a foreign city and could not even talk to the inhabitants. Despite Meu's presence, he suddenly felt very much alone. He turned to see Meu's smiling face. Once more, she was human and naked as she stared at the boy. "Druss meu?" she said once again.

Claiten wondered if it was the only phrase she spoke. Indeed, he'd never heard her speak even this much. Until today, he'd thought she was a mute, much like the shaman. Yet, as she stared into his eyes, he was convinced he understood her. "Trust me," he nodded and gave a weak smile.

She smiled back at the boy. It was apparent to Meu that they could not continue without clothes, and she’d have an easier time gathering it if she went alone. Claiten saw this in her eyes, and thought she was right. Although he did not want to separate from the only one he knew in this vast city, he had little interest in running around, naked. Although the park was clear, he could hear the bustle and press of people on some nearby street. What would the locals think of a naked boy with nothing but a dagger and bag full of coin? If they were anything like his own people, most of them would certainly take the money and blade for themselves, and simply push the boy into the gutters.

Meu kissed Claiten's forehead and caressed his hair. "Druss meu," she repeated once more, then summoned the shadow and shifted back into her serpent form. She climbed the tree and turned back to look at the boy several times.

Claiten stared at her with questions in his eyes, but did not move from his bed of needles. "Trust me," he repeated her words as she climbed to the top of the tree. "Trust me," he whispered as she spread her wings and flew away.

Claiten dozed for a time as the night came on, but the temperature continued to drop, and the cold eventually proved to be too much for the boy. Awake once more, his teeth chattered as he huddled under the pine and searched any sign of Meu in the sky. He tried not to think of what he would do if she did not return. He did not think she would abandon him—but what if something happened to her?

Fear played through his mind as Claiten considered the possibilities. What if Meu was spotted and killed? What if she was captured, injured, or if a thousand other things should happen that might cause her to not come back? Cold and fear conspired against him and Claiten began to shake. He could not stop.

"Meu?" he whispered, but there was no reply. He called into the dark, again and again, growing a bit louder each time. "Meu? Meu! Meu?! Meu!?" A knot of worry caught in his belly as Claiten listened for a response. "MEU!" His hoarse whisper carried into the night.

A shadow shifted and Claiten held very still. There were undoubtedly others about in the cold of night, and Claiten thought it best he stopped calling, in case he should alert something unfriendly. Who knew what might find him in this strange city if he continued to mew?

Instead Claiten cried. He wept yet again and thought it must be a time for tears. In the cage of the naga, separated from his mother, he'd resigned himself to a terrible fate. He’d sobbed and sobbed as he huddled under a mound of spoiled and rotting clothes. For a time he’d dozed, but mostly he’d huddled in fear and wondered what the beast meant to do with him. He must have been in the cage half the day when Meu finally rescued him…

Only now he was alone once more, and his fears returned full force. As he wept, Claiten wondered that his sobs should keep him warm and also flush the fear from his body. Embers of resolve took light in his belly. Despite his straits, Claiten began to formulate a plan. He was alive, and if he should live until morning, he should be okay. He thought he should bury his coin—excepting a few lunes that he would keep in hand. Then he could buy clothes and food. Once he had some clothes and a bit of meat in his belly, he could return for the coin and blade. Dressed, with his resources about him, he would search for his mom.

As Claiten thought of his mom, tears overtook him once more. It was a massive city, and wherever his mother might be, he knew she was hiding.

Still, Claiten was alive, and no longer the prisoner of that blasted naga! That was a thing to remember! It kept his crying quiet to know that only a short time ago he was in a much worse condition. Only a few hours ago, it looked as if the naga would eat him. Even if he should never find his mother again, at least he was alive!

Eventually, Claiten cried himself out. Exhausted, and warmed by the effort of his sobs, he curled against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes once more.

He woke with a fright as something pushed its way under the boughs of the tree. Red curls were followed by Meu's smiling face as she forced her way to the boy. Best of all, she was fully dressed and had an arm full of clothes.

Meu pushed the clothes at Claiten. With a smile, he chirped as he slowly managed the task of dressing in such a cramped space. The outfit was too big, but it was warm, and Meu remembered a belt so that his pants wouldn't fall. He thought it was a great comfort to be covered once again and slipped the purse of coin into a neat pocket. Now there was no reason to leave the money or blade at all!

Meu also brought a long cloak. She forced her way under the boughs, and settled next to the boy. She pulled the cloak over them and huddled close, as it was still dark. She kissed Claiten on the cheek and closed her eyes as she nestled against him. Under the cloak, Claiten was surprised to find that Meu was incredibly cool to the touch. With the cloak and the clothing, the boy warmed quickly, and as he warmed, she warmed with him.

No longer cold and alone, Claiten settled into a deep sleep. He dreamed that night. He dreamed of strange and seductive women with serpentine qualities. Although they were a danger, Claiten was no longer a mere boy. He was a strong and discerning man of talent as he escaped these women one after another. The dream proceeded and the women became more and more beguiling. Slowly, Claiten came to realize that one of these scheming women would eventually get him. He also realized not all of them were desolate. Many meant to improve him—and to be improved by him. They displayed an array of talents, proclivities, and abilities that complimented the boy's own. He realized it was a matter of giving in to the right one, and not being suckered by one of the vile spearheaded ladies. He stared about the ring of encroaching ladies, with their bright smiles and wind-tossed hair. He wondered which one he should choose, and how he might know. Intrigued and excited, a haunting desire caught low and infused the boy’s body. He stretched out his hand to a lady with sky blue eyes, and long, lustrous hair. As she touched him, Claiten woke. He woke to find Meu's hand about his mouth with terror in her eyes.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 5.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Scurra stood on a road and stared out over a placid lake as the sun drifted near the horizon. Next to the sun, a storm brewed. Clouds built, dark and ominous. A breeze grew into a steady wind, then quickly became a raging gale. Scurra watched as the storm stretched forth and consumed the sun. Still, the dark clouds continued to grow. They advanced toward the lady and painted the world with a foreboding gloom.

Dots appeared before the storm; one, two, then quickly a dozen. Birds. Crows. Hundreds if not thousands of crows raced before the building storm. They swooped and dove and shot past Scurra as they fled upon the howling winds. Terror danced in their coal-black eyes. They called to her as they shot past. "Run!" they screeched with a thousand voices. "Turn and run! Death comes for us all!"

Scurra realized it was too late. The storm was already upon her. The storm screamed all about her and tore at her skin with the chill edges of sharp ice. She screamed, though she could not hear herself above the roar of the wind. Lightning danced among the low, dark clouds. A slender finger of raw power stretched from the clouds and slammed into the young Jindleyak.

In a cold panic, Scurra woke with a jolt. There was no storm. There were no crows. There was no lake, and the sun was yet to come up—but there was danger nonetheless. The youngest daughter of Fowler lifted her head from the chair where she slept. "Are you okay?" she asked as she stared at Scurra with a hazy eye and a smushed nose.

"I'm fine," Scurra huffed as she looked about the cramped room. She didn't trust the lass. She thought the girl was there not watch over her, but to watch her nonetheless.

Not that it mattered. Scurra wasn't about to let some soft, lumpy lady from the city tell her what she might and might not do. Scurra turned to the priestess and began to poke her awake.

"Can't I sleep a little longer?" Wenifas protested. "I feel like a year of sleep will not be enough!"

"Get up now,” Scurra whispered. “Or you can stay here with Fowler."

"You cannot be leaving already?" Fowler's youngest sat tall in her chair, with a fear of her own. "Father will not appreciate you being so hasty!"

"We cannot stay here forever," Scurra noted. "Why don't you wake your sisters and fix us some breakfast. We'll wake your father when all is ready—and then we will speak of leaving," Scurra smiled.

"I..." the daughter hedged.

"Go quick! The day grows upon us, and there is much to do!" Scurra snapped her fingers.

With that, Fowler's daughter flew from the room.

In a fog, Wenifas gathered Evereste and followed after Scurra. They snuck into the room where Elpis slept. He did not look well. His bandages were poorly applied and bloody. His face was pale and drawn. Scurra frowned and cursed to see him so. "Not a wit among the lot of 'em," she huffed as she set about redoing his bandages.

"Who?" Wenifas asked, still not awake, still not sure what was up for discussion.

"Those girls of his," Scurra said, meaning Fowler's four daughters. She put a hand to Elpis and shook his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Ready to die," Elpis croaked. There was much pain and sorrow in his expression as he looked up at his cousin with his good eye.

"Would you prefer to die here, or on the road home?" Scurra asked.

"Where are we?" Elpis looked about the meager room.

"Fowler's. We spent the night here, remember?" Scurra asked the injured man. "I don't trust our host. I feel it's time to go."

Elpis sighed and gave a nod in agreement. "How are we alone? Where are his daughters?"

"Distracted with breakfast," Scurra shrugged. "Personally, I'm not interested in further hospitality."

"The sooner we go, the sooner we reach the House of Leaves," Elpis noted.

"And how much further is that?" Wenifas interjected.

With a great effort, Elpis sat up, his face pasty and worn. "Much further than I should like," he said with a frown.

Scurra frowned too. Her cousin looked terrible, and without Elpis, they would not find the House of Leaves. If he should leave them, If he should fail, then she'd have to escort a brooding Wenifas all the way to Hearthstone by herself.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 5.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Meu shook Claiten awake. As he came to, he muttered something—some part of a conversation—some part of a dream. Meu clapped a hand over his mouth. With fear in her eyes, she pointed through the boughs of the tree.

Claiten looked over the park and noted several forms as they moved about in the dark. They were not men. They had no legs and their arms were too long. They had swords and bows. One had a bandage on his face.

Panic caught in the boy's chest, and also a defiance. For a split second, he thought to rush out on the grass and attack the naga with its very own dagger, as he crowed his defiance—but such a thing was folly and he immediately thought better of such a hasty plan.

Meu quietly backed out from under the tree. Claiten followed. He took Meu's hand, and they bolted through the park. As they ran, the naga noticed their racing figures and gave chase.

Meu and Claiten had a good lead and disappeared among a row of houses. Without regard, they ran up an empty street until they came to an intersection. Claiten looked over his shoulder and gave a cry as he saw the naga race into the city proper. Without further pause, Meu and Claiten ran on. They took several turns as they continued to run.

After several blocks, they came to building that was open at such a late hour—so late, in fact, that it was open quite early. The large sign contained a picture of bed and a cluster of grapes. With a knowing smile, Meu stepped into the building, followed closely by Claiten.

A clerk lifted his head and glanced from the lady to the boy and back. He asked something that Claiten could not understand. Meu gave a smile and a nod. The clerk pressed a book at Meu. She signed it and then turned to Claiten expectantly.

As Meu turned her attention on the boy, the clerk did the same. For several seconds, Claiten glanced back and forth between the two, unsure what they wanted. He became increasingly nervous and a growing frown spread across his face.

Meu stuck a finger at Claiten's chest and pushed against the purse of coin he had tucked in his pocket. The coins clicked. Claiten realized she wanted money! It was such a simple thing! In a rush, he pulled the purse from his pocket and opened it. He held it out that she might take what she needed. Meu picked among the coins. She gathered several silver and copper coins, then held them out to the clerk.

With a smile, the clerk took several coins. He turned to a board that held several neat rows of hooks with keys hanging from half of them. He selected one, turned back to Meu, and set the key on the counter between them. He pointed up a set of stairs, said several foreign words, then pointed down the hall and said something more.

Claiten looked down the hall. There was conversation and the occasional clank of dishes down that way. Meu turned to the boy. She made a biting motion as she stuck her fingers to her mouth. She wanted to know if he was hungry. The boy gave an emphatic nod, suddenly aware that he was quite ravenous.

With a glance at the front door, Meu took Claiten's hand and led the boy into the common room. Several of the tables were occupied by large, intimidating, well-armed men as they took a breakfast before the sun was even up. Several of the men watched Meu as she stepped across the room with Claiten in tow. Meu sat in a booth far from the windows, and Claiten sat next to her. She ignored the interested glances of the men as she kept her eyes on her young charge.

Claiten couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw shadows shifting about in the dark street. Still, he felt quite comfortable and secure. The men about the room were armed to the teeth. They were trained killers. Claiten was sure of this because a good number of them wore the uniforms of Ministrian shock troops and spoke Claiten's native tongue. He smiled as he imagined they should not take kindly to naga. He thought to address one of the men, to tell him of the naga out on the streets—but as he opened his mouth to speak, Meu shushed him. She stared into his eyes.

As Meu stared at him, Claiten remembered the events of the previous day. He remembered the shaman, the giant, the collapsing roof, and ensuing confusion. He thought he should never forget all this as it happened—and yet his day had spiraled so completely out of control that he had indeed forgotten how it all started! Among the details of yesterday, he remembered the Jay, Meriona, as she snapped at his mother. He realized among the consequences of the long, hard day was the fact that his kind was no longer his own.

Claiten frowned and almost lost his appetite as Meu reminded him of their circumstance. Confused, tired, and sullen, he picked at his breakfast. As he ate, a fatigue came over him like he'd rarely known. His head lulled toward the table and his eyes begged to close. He verged of sleep.

Aware that the boy would fall asleep with his face in his plate, Meu gathered the boy and led him through the halls of the hotel. There was only one bed in the suite. Meu pulled back the covers and set Claiten in bed. As he was falling asleep, he felt Meu's scales press against him. He wrapped an arm around the coils of her serpent form and lapsed into a deep sound sleep, confident that he was safe, and dreamed once more of serpent women that meant to possess him.

Author’s notes: Fix the timeline; Meu/Claiten too fast, Toar/Celesi too slow.