Of Fire and Air, Of Earth and Water

Polished 5.1. It’s long, but I feel like it’s pretty slick. Gets from here to there in a rush and gives Claiten and Meu an interesting dynamic. Remember, Claiten acts out later, and it is Meu (not his mom) that reigns him in. Also, I like that Claiten only gets a handful of the coins back. Something must always be lost in these situations. A good deal of coin is substantial enough for now. After all, we’re still raising the stakes—and now that Golifett has most of the money, he can hire a bit of an army to pursue the boy. — 1h45m08s — 2020/07/26

Polished 5.2 and 5.3. Changed 5.2 so Scurra wakes in the middle of the night. This keeps the chronology. —43m27s — 2020/07/30

Major overhaul of 5.2. Changed it so Scurra pulls a knife on Fowler’s daughters, and also hint much more heavily at Fowler’s treachery. —1h14m26s — 2020/07/30

Polished 5.2 — 41m47s — 2020/08/01

Polished 5.2 and 5.3. For future edits, remember that Claiten knows the coins are gold. — 37m13s — 2020/08/02

The smell of the residence leaned heavily toward a rank mustiness. There was such a complex of spice and strangeness in the air that it took several seconds for Meu to locate the little boy’s scent 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, and Meu was halfway through. She moved slow and hoped anyone inside could not hear the ever so faint tinkling of the bells at the bottom corner of the drape as she squeezed by.

At the far end of the arch, Meu found a second drape—heavier and more difficult to move—and with lighter bells attached. Meu took a deep breath and slipped passed the second drape as a few light chimes sounded.

But nothing replied. There was no movement, no sudden sounds from the residence to indicate she was caught. Ever so slowly, she crept into the front room, which had a high ceiling of thick tapestries with heavy drapes along the walls to match. Thick soft rugs padded the stone cold floor and a fine arrangement of furniture welcomed the uninvited guest. There were several couches, a couple low tables, and a coat rack of a sort.

Meu turned her attention to the walls and ceiling. A network of hooks and ropes kept the thick decorated drapes hanging. There was a gap between the carpets and the stone above, and she was able to squeeze among them quite easily. She realized she had a good way about the place, as there were no bells along the ceiling—though it was a bit cooler above the drapes. Meu realized the drapes were insulation as the warmth of the room dwindled near the cold stone roof. Well, bless her lucky stars for that—but she would not be able to sneak the boy out among such rigging.

That was assuming the boy was still alive, of course.

The drapes of the various rooms all had bells about them—though they tended to be heavier and less likely to shake than the entrance. Meu moved slow.

The first room was dominated by a bed and several dressers. It was fairly neat and rather organized, though there were a few odd articles tossed on the floor. There were certainly no signs of the boy.

The second room was dominated by a large desk and several tables. This room was a fair deal messier, except one of the tables, in the corner which was elaborately decorated with symmetrical patterning, strange and intriguing stones, and trinkets made of valuable metals. Meu wondered if it had some religious significance. Was it an alter of some sort?

The third room was tiny, with a funk about the air, and a small hole in the floor. Meu looked in the hole and saw running waters. Dappled gross lingered at the rim of the hole. Meu felt green with disgust as she realized she glanced down a privy. A wave of Nausea rolled over her as 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.

As she wound about the stacked furniture, Meu 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. She felt it could use a thorough cleaning, though she had to admit it was a fair deal cleaner than the tanner's quarters.

After a rudimentary search, she was quite certain Claiten was not in the room.

There were no more rooms—but there was a long twisting ramp that disappeared down and to the left. There was a light from this direction, and as Meu approached , she heard something singing.

The drapes of the tunnel were directly against the roof. Meu was forced to give up her hiding spot. Instead, she nestled close to the ground as peeked around the slow corner.

The singing became clear and distinct. Meu was surprised to hear the low grumbling voice sang Trohl words:

"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 those 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!

From there, the song seemed to start over:

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.

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 figured the scar underneath 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, and the naga cursed and swore at the small occupant. The tear-streaked face of a small boy poked out of the clothes. He screamed and cursed back—which the naga mostly ignored. Satisfied that his captive was still alive—still awake and paying attention—the naga turned back to his work and left the cage alone. He returned to his vegetables and 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 smiled. She’d seen the captive and was quite certain it was Claiten in the cage. As the naga turned away, the boy disappeared back into the rags, and buried himself once more.

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.

All of it was ruined and blood stained.

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 rabbits, rats, ferrets, cats, and a couple pathetic-looking dogs; thin and shaking. Snakes, lizards, and turtles were kept in bowls too deep and too slick 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 clawing feet...”

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, 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 this creature’s head was too good to pass up. Once she had control of him, it’d be an easy thing to rescue Claiten and escape!

As her fangs punctured his scales, he naga banged its head and cursed a blue streak. Meu injected her venom, then slipped passed the naga and fled up the ramp. The naga soothed his banged head, then saw his attacker slipping up the ramp, and pursued withg all haste—but Meu made it into the overcrowded room before he could get a hold of her.

Once in that cramped and dirty room, Meu immediately made her way among the jumbles of furniture, then scurried into the rigging between the ceiling and insulating drapes.

The naga entered the room. He thrashed about the bureaus, beds, chests, and whatnot, as he searched for her.

Safe and out of sight, Meu waited for the venom to catch hold of the creature's mind. 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 smart.

A low rumbling chuckle issued from Golifett as he paused in his search and regarded her bite. "Do 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 knife. Once more, he tried to pull her from his neck.

He could not. Blood flowed from the wound on his shoulder as the naga slumped to the floor. His world went dark.

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.

Golifett flopped heavily to the floor, out cold once more. Meu returned to the rope and freed it of its previous duties, then wrapped the naga's hands, and tied her best knot. She 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 as she entered the cage—and then he was simply puzzled and confused by her nakedness. He was not used to seeing anyone but his baby sister in the buff, and found this woman’s lack of clothes both repelling and intriguing. Still, he clung to the mountain of ruined garments as he looked about for the naga. "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 only Ministrian, a language she was just beginning to learn.

Claiten continued with his questions. "Where’re the others? 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 at all—but there was nothing else she could think to do, and so she repeated herself, “druss meu.”

Claiten stared back into her eyes and immediately knew what she meant. “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. He stared about the kitchen, so he didn't have to look at Meu in the buff. Meu pulled him toward the ramp. As they ran, Claiten saw the coins his mother gave him to safeguard were all out of their purse and lined up in neat stacks; copper, silver, …and was that what gold looked like? Claiten grabbed a handful of the gold ones as Meu pulled him up the ramp.

Golifett stirred, and despite his bonds, flopped into the hallway. He cursed and swore as he fought the knots and rope about his hands and tail. 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 glared 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? And where was the beast that had strangled him? Where was the winged serpent?

Claiten held Meu's free hand with his own as he tried to pull her along. "Let's gooo…" 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.

At the far end of the front room, Claiten cowered unsure which way to go. Meu flung aside the belled drapes, which chimed and rang with such a racket. She flung aside the second set of belled drapes and with Claiten in tow, fled into the darkness of Beletrain.

Meu took half a dozen steps, and dared not go any further as she was completely blind as a human. She stopped and turned to Claiten, wishing once more she’d saved her venom for the boy. "Druss meu?" She whispered 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.

“Druss meu,” she answered, and pressed the naga blade into his hand. She took his wrist.

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 wrist. Instead, the boy felt the velvet softness of feathers brush his skin. Confused, he nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a scaly tail wrap about his arm. 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—but 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. How could he not forget that Meu was a shapeshifter, a skin-walker, as his mother had put it? 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. But that was also 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. He blessed his lucky stars he did not cut her, as she began to pull on him, gentle but urgent.

As Meu guided Claiten away from Golifett’s lair, the boy thought of the ribbon snakes he used to catch 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 men 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. Meu guided Claiten, calm and pragmatic; and slowly the boy adjusted to her signals. There were a good number of obstacles to navigate, but also long hallways with clean smooth floors. He began to understand when he might rush, and when he needed to move a slow and deliberate manner.

There were plenty of dangers in the darkness. From the beginning, Meu dodged Claiten around aqueducts, drops, slopes, inclines, ramps, 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 grew comfortable with her signals. He had a natural sense about the wyrm's direction. He slowed when she did, and hurried when she hurried him. He trusted her implicitly, and was a talented follow.

Together, they dodged naga. They dodged traps set by the serpents against the humans, then dodged 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 one of the tunnels the naga used to get into the city undetected.

Although it might be a good way out, Meu worried the tunnel might also be set full of traps, and not an honest tunnel after all. It was drenched in the smell of naga, and also the stench of humans. It was not a pleasant smell from humans; or even that of playing, or simple labor. It wasn’t even the sort of muddle complex smell an adult might give off,; clouded with regret, resolve, pity, or other complicated emotions. Instead, it was the grisly, oily smell of fear, of out and out terror—and nothing else. It was the pure sort of smell that requires the single-minded innocence of the very young. 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 fresh air.

The tunnel curved back and forth, was thin in several places, and a tight fit for the boy at times. But Claiten was young, strong, and resolute. He pulled himself along. He dug hilt of the dagger into the earth, and also his fistful of coins. He lost several of the precious rounds, but kept a tight grip on many of them.

Foot after foot, Claiten followed the thin form of Meu. She wondered that the naga could fit at all, but their shoulders were narrow, and they had no hips. With a powerful tail to propel them, naga had an easy time climbing through such tunnels. 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 in front of it, which camouflaged the entrance.

As she poked her head out of the tunnel, Meu realized the world had a red hew about it. The sun was near the horizon. Soon, it’d be dark. Although there were people in the park, they were few and far between—and they all seemed to be in a rush. It'd been half a day since Kezodel died. By now most of the city must know of his death—and the rest would certainly be feeling the uneasiness of their neighbors. The very order of things would be in question. For most, this was not a time to meander through parks, caught up in quiet contemplations, or lackadaisical musings. Still, it was a big city. There were always a few.

Behind her, Claiten clambered from the entrance. He stared and grinned at the world of the surface, so happy to be able to see the things around him. For a time, he stared at the wyrm form of Meu and took comfort in her imposing figure. He stroked her fine scales as she rested in the trees branches. She was a friend no matter her shape, and the mystery of her powers gave the boy great confidence.

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 would 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, coins in one hand, and the naga's dagger in the other. As he ran, someone gave a startled yell from behind him. Claiten turned and saw a man on a path, some distance back. 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 and realized that she was once more a human, 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 also had little interest in running around, naked. Although the park was clear once more, he could hear the bustle and press of people on a nearby street. What would the locals think of a naked boy with nothing but a dagger and a hundful 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 gutter. Then the church would find him, whip him for indecency, and give him some rude coarse smock to cover his shame.

Meu kissed Claiten's forehead and caressed his hair. "Druss meu," she repeated, 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. "I trust you," he replied as she climbed to the top of the tree. "I trust you," 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 for 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!?" 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 might be best if he stopped calling. 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.

But now he was alone once more and his fears returned full force. Claiten wept and 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—except one or two that he’d keep in hand. With the light of morning, he’d go into the city and 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. Then, dressed and with his resources about him, he’d begin his search for his mom.

As Claiten thought of his mom, tears overtook him once more. He already knew it was a massive city, and wherever his mother might be, he she was certainly 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 for him.

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 a bit 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 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 of the pine and settled next to the boy with the cloak pulled over them. They huddled close, as it was still dark. Then, as they settled, she kissed Claiten on the cheek and closed her eyes, as she nestled against him.

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, he settled into a deep sleep. With sleep came dreams.

Claiten dreamed of strange and seductive women with serpentine qualities. There was danger about all of them, but Claiten was no longer a mere boy. He was a strong and discerning man of talent, and he escaped these women one after another.

But these serpent 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 women, with their bright smiles and wind-tossed hair; and wondered which one he should choose. How might he 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.

She smiled and touched him. As she touched him, Claiten thrilled and woke with a start. He squirmed, and Meu wrapped her hand about his mouth. Claiten turned and stared into her eyes to find caution and worry there.

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

Sometimes, when she was lucky, Scurra suffered her spells while she was asleep. At least this way she didn’t have to worry about them interrupting her days in rude ways, as they were known to do. Still, she could always tell the prophetic spells from mere dreams. There was a different flavor to ‘em.

During this spell, Scurra stood alone. She stood on a road and stared out over a placid lake as the rising sun hovered over the distant mountains. Above the mountains, a storm brewed, and began to blot out the sun. The clouds built quickly: thick, dark, and ominous. The breeze grew into a steady wind, then quickly became a raging gale.

Scurra stared on, assured that something terrible was coming her way, and knowing she was unable to stop it. The storm continued to grow and race toward her. It advanced at an astonishing speed as it 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 as the rooks raced on. They called to her as they shot past. "Run!" they screeched with a thousand voices. "Death comes for us all!”

But it was too late. The storm was already upon her. The havoc of wind and stinging rain screamed all about and tore at her skin. Scurra wailed—though she could not hear herself above the roar of the wind. Lightning danced. A slender finger of raw power stretched from the clouds and slammed into the Jindleyak woman.

With a jolt, Scurra woke in a cold sweat. Her heart raced as she remembered the rude details of her harried dream. Laying next to her, the priestess squirmed and huffed her disappointment at being disturbed. Evereste also fussed and squawked with disapproval. Even the smoosh-faced girl at the far end of the room lifted her head to see what the commotion was all about.

“What’s wrong?” Fowler’s middle daughter asked.

“Nothing,” Scurra said, as she did not trust the girl. Instead, she stood and tried to shake off the dream. “Show me to Elpis.”

“Now?” the young girl asked.

“Now,” Scurra said and towered over the girl.

Nervous, Fowler’s daughter stood and opened the door. Neither seemed willing to wake the house as they slunk down the hall. The girl opened the door, and Elpis shied from the light with a groan.

“It’s me,” Scurra said as she approached and began to examine her cousin’s bandages, about his head, and also around his arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone ripped my heart out,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Then punched me in the face for good measure.”

“Well, someone did a bang up job on your bandages,” Scurra noted. “We can be glad of that.”

“Perhaps,” Elpis shrugged. “Whoever did ‘em was a might handsy. Had to convince ‘em there were no troubles below the belt.”

Scurra snorted, then leaned in close. “I don’t trust these people,” she said in a whisper.

Elpis frowned. “Anything specific?”

“Just a general uneasiness,” Scurra turned to Fowler’s daughter. “What do you think?”

“The sooner we go, the sooner we get to the House of Leaves,” Elpis replied. “Then we can rest easy.”

“Agreed,” Scurra said. “I’m gonna help you up and we’re gonna get the hell out of here.”

‘Alright,” Elpis sighed, grim, but determined. “Let’s do this,” he said.

Scurra took his good arm and helped him sit up.

The smoosh-faced girl’s eyes got wide as she realized what was happening. “You can’t leave!” she protested as Scurra helped her cousin out of bed.

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Scurra began. “But it is time for us to go.”

“Go? You haven’t been here an hour, and he needs rest,” their host complained. “You should at least wait until father returns!”

Scurra helped Elpis get his pack over his good shoulder. “We gotta go when we gotta go,” she said to the smoosh-faced girl.

Arms akimbo, Fowler’s daughter frowned and blocked the door. “Father won’t like this.”

Scurra pulled her knife. “Move,” she ordered.

With a whine, the wide-eyed girl opened the door and stepped out of the room. But her fear of her father was greater than her fear of Scurra. “What are you doing?!” she demanded she retreated into the hall. “Why are you threatening me?!” She called, and began to wake the house.

Scurra ignored her. She marched down the hall, opened the door where Wenifas slept, and called into the dark. “Get up. Get your baby. We’re leaving.”

“But I just barely got to sleep…” Wenifas began.

“Get up—or we can leave you here,” Scurra offered. “I’ll tell my brother you kept the cloak.”

“Your crazy, you know that!” the smoosh-faced daughter called from the end of the hall. “It’s the middle of the night! Where will you go?!”

Another daughter poked her head out of her room, saw Scurra with a knife in hand, screamed, then slammed her door shut.

Wenifas huffed as she got up. She wasn’t ready to go—but she was alarmed by the rising commotion. She grabbed the shaman’s cloak and her baby, then stepped between a glaring Scurra and a resolute Elpis. “Okay,” she said as she cradled Evereste. “I’m ready.”

Scurra waved the oldest of Fowler’s daughters for the door. “Open it and step aside,” Scurra commanded.

All three of Fowler’s daughters complained of their bad manners and tried to get them to stay—but Scurra, Elpis, and Wenifas stepped down the street; and Scurra made a point of jostling her bow so they’d think twice about following.

“Why are we leaving?” Wenifas asked.

“Why isn’t Fowler home?” Scurra answered with her own question. “Where is he at such a late hour? Do you think he’s hunting for our friends, this late in the evening? Or maybe he’s selling us out to our enemies?” she asked as they continued into the relative darkness of the city.

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

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

Claiten looked over the park and noted several forms as they moved about in the dark. They had no legs and their arms were too long. he realized they were not men—but they had weapons aplenty—swords and bows.

One had a bandage wrapped about half his face.

Panic caught in the boy's chest—and also a fury. For a split second, he thought to rush out on the grass, crow his defiance, and attack the naga with its own dagger. But he realized such a thing was folly, and knew he should not. Instead, he watched the naga as they slowly proceeded across the park, searching slow and methodical.

Meu quietly backed out from under the tree. Claiten followed. Standing, he took Meu's hand, and they bolted through the park. The jangle of coins in the boy’s pocket rang through the air as he ran. He clapped a hand against them to silence the ringing—but it was too late. The naga noticed their racing figures and gave chase.

Meu and Claiten had a good lead as they crossed a street and disappeared among a row of houses into the city proper. Without regard, they ran up an empty street. As they ran, the boy looked over his shoulder and gave a cry. The naga followed them, unconcerned by the houses and shops that crowded both sides of the street.

After several blocks, Meu and Claiten 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 a bed and a cluster of grapes. With a knowing smile, Meu stepped into the building and pulled Claiten after her.

A clerk lifted his head and glanced between the lady and the boy. He asked something that Claiten could not understand. He turned to Meu, who smiled and nodded at the clerk, knowingly.

The clerk turned his book to Meu, pressed a pen into her hand, and pointed to where she should mark. Meu signed with an ‘x’ 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.

With a huff, Meu stuck a finger at Claiten's chest and pushed against the 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 several bright coins from his pocket. He held the coins out to Meu, that she might take what she needed.

Meu pushed aside the larger coins and selected the smallest among them. She handed the gold coin to the clerk. The clerk took the coin, set it in a drawer, and returned a large stack of heavy silver coins. As she had no pockets of her own, Meu gave the silver to Claiten, and he tucked them in the pocket that held the rest of his money, astounded that they could pay for the room and receive so much change back at the same time!

The clerk 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 spoke his foreign tongue, pointed up a set of stairs; then, continuing to speak, he pointed down the hall.

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 their breakfast before the sun was even up. Several of the men watched Meu as she stepped across the room with Claiten in tow. Meu made a point of ignoring the interested glances of the men, and sat in a booth far from the windows, with Claiten next to her.

Claiten couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw several shadows shifting about in the dark street. Still, he felt quite comfortable and secure, with the men between him and hte windows. The men about the room were armed to the teeth, trained killers, one and all. Claiten was sure of this because they were Ministrian shock troops. 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 in the streets. That’d cause trouble for his former captor—but as he opened his mouth to speak, Meu shushed him. She stared into his eyes.

Slowly, Claiten remembered the events of the previous day. He remembered the shaman, the giant, the collapsing roof, and ensuing confusion among the Great Courthouse. 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, his appetite all but disappearing as he remembered his troubles. Confused, tired, and sullen, he waited for his plate; then picked at his breakfast—until he realized how hungry he was, and lost himself in the satisfaction of a hot meal.

As Claiten ate, a fatigue overcame him, like one he'd rarely known. His head lulled toward the table and his eyes begged to close. Several times he thought to lay his head on the soft remains of his pancakes; unconcerned that they were drenched in sticky syrup. Aware that the boy might fall asleep with his face in his plate, Meu took a heavy silver coin from his pocket, plac3ed it on the table, then gathered her sleepy charge in her arms, and carried the groggy boy through the halls of the hotel.

There was only one bed in the suite. Meu pulled back the covers and stripped Claiten down to his skivvies, then slid out of her sundress. As the boy drifted toward sleep, he felt Meu's scales press against him once more. He wrapped an arm around the coils of her serpent form, then quickly lapsed into a deep sound sleep. The dreams of serpent women returned once more, and this time Claiten knew he would not escape them—nor did he mean to.