Wind and Rain

Polished 13.1, 13.2, and moved 12.7 to 13.3 — 43m11s — 2021/02/14

Polished 13.4, 13.5, and 13.6 — 45m48s — 2021/02/16

…and that is the histories of the paradise world built by the LaPeuvian people.

Some say this paradise was lost with the coming of the Red Moon. Others say the story is impossible since the world has never been a paradise. Whether or not the story is technically true, there is much humor and wisdom to be gleaned.

As for the varying state of the world, I am one of those that believe this earth has always been a paradise and always will be—but only if one allows. Of course, even paradise demands its sacrifices—as this story illustrates with the destruction of the righteous LaPeuvians.

— Wybrow the Wanderer

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 13.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

With camp set, fires lit, and the prisoners attended, Baet collected a handful of silversage. He set a small kettle on the edge of the fire and began to break the aged bits of the herb into the pot.

Toar approached from out of the growing dark, sat next to the guard, and watched as his friend tended to his tea. “Do you still suffer?” he asked.

Baet shook his head as he continued his work. "I’m just being cautious. the others caught plenty of fish and since I saw some silversage around…” he shrugged. He pointed to the knives about Toar’s leg. “Nice. Where’d you get those?”

“I traded for them,” Toar said, not saying anymore since he didn’t want to mention what he traded for them.

“You thrown any of ‘em yet?” Baet asked, feeling a touch betrayed that Toar might be practicing to fight without him.

“A bit,” Toar nodded. “I can barely get them to stick.”

“Just You’ll get it,” Baet shrugged as he stirred his tea. Several seconds passed with only the crackle of the fire to fill the silence. “Where's Celesi?” he asked and hoped he didn’t sound judgmental.

Toar huffed. “She is unlikely far. Shall I go find her for you?”

“You mock,” Baet scolded. “She’s never liked me. The only night she’s ever been nice was the night the priestess returned—and she’s been extra sour since then! I don’t know why the priestess has turned her against me.”

“She is not turned against you,” Toar shook his head.

“You sure?” Baet asked. “You sure she ain’t turning you against me too?”

“I ain’t against you,” Toar answered. “Just because she follows me doesn’t mean I share her attitudes,” he noted.

Baet snorted. “So she does hate me!”

“She hasn’t had an easy time of it,” Toar began. “Meriona meant to sell her. She was surrounded by enemies, including a great number of uncouth men.”

“Uncouth?!” Baet turned and brandished a branch of silversage at the Trohl. “You call me uncouth?!”

Toar held up an appeasing hand, “Her term, not mine. She knows why foreigners drink the silversage.”

“Well if that ain’t below the belt!” Baet complained. “Uncouth!”

Toar shook his head. “I do not mean to judge you, and I did not come here to fight you,” he stood. “I shall leave you alone," he turned and began to walk away.

"No, stay," Baet said. "Lately, I want for friends."

"What do you mean?” Toar asked. “You have many friends."

"Do I?" Baet replied. "The priestess hates me, as does Celesi. The brothers Homoth and Komotz think I’m a cheater and refuse to play cards with me…”

“Did you?” Toar asked.

“What? No! Never!” Baet fumed.

Toar raised his hands in apology. “Well, even if the priestess does not like you, her son seems rather fond.”

Baet shrugged. “I am friends with a ten year old.”

"You have me,” Toar noted. “You have Carringten and the duke.”

Baet snorted. He did not want to mention why the duke or Carringten should have reason to question him. Indeed, he had not thought on that in such a long time. For a moment he wondered if his betrayal was forgotten. Did Creigal even know? He shook his head to clear away these long forgotten suspicions. He certainly didn’t need to be stirring up any of that mess—especially if it was all but forgotten. “The boy tried to stab me a second time,” he noted. “I convinced him he’d rather learn to fight from me instead of fighting with me.”

Toar’s eyes went wide. “Well, that is rather generous of you,” he began. “He threatened Celesi the other day and I saw him take a swipe at Aim the other day...”

“I don’t know what’s up with the boy,” Baet shook his head.

“He seems to run awful hot,” Toar noted.

“I’ll talk to him about threatening our friends,” Baet began. “Maybe I’ll make lessons contingent on it. Can’t have him ambushing people. Sooner or later, he’s likely to do some actual damage.” He shook his head and looked off into the distance. “He’s sure got some bit of the devil in him.”

For a long second neither spoke. Staring across the camp, Toar gave a nod toward Homoth and Komotz. "So the brothers think you’re cheating?"

“All I do is win,” Baet shook his head. “I win and win and keep on winning,” he noted. “At first I thought it was a great blessing to best them in cards and have a few coins in my pocket—but they began to hold my luck against me. Then the weasels accused me!”

“If winning is the problem, perhaps you should try losing,” Toar shrugged.

Baet gave his friend a quizzical eye. “I have been rubbing their faces in it a bit,” he admitted. “Losing a bit might do the trick —but they won’t play with me anymore.”

Toar patted his friend on the back. “Don’t let it bother you. Now that they have prisoners to drain their animosity, they'll forget a little coin.”

“Hopefully,” Baet shrugged. “Either way, will you do me a favor? Will you trade me watches? I’d prefer not to spend another night with them glaring at me for hours on end.”

Toar snorted and smiled. “Sure,” he nodded.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 13.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

All is quiet as the evening proceeds. The weather shifts, clouds gather and begin to mist as Baet finishes the second watch. He goes to bed and wakes Carringten so the dark man can take his turn.

Carringten asks after Scurra and Baet mentions that she’s asleep in a tree near the water’s edge. Concerned, Carringten tells Baet that if anything should happen, anything at all, he is to go immediately to the prisoners and make sure they are secure. Baet gives his word, then goes to sleep.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 13.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Claiten woke early, before the sun was even up, just as the sky was beginning to lighten. He could hear the patter of a soft rain and thought perhaps he should stay in where it was warm, between his mother and sister. But there was little rest for the boy. He squirmed and fidgeted as a tension, an anger, built inside him.

Slowly, Claiten untangled himself from the bedding and the arms and legs of his mother and sister. He hoped his mother didn't notice him sneaking away. She had her own troubles. Indeed, she had a hard time just keeping her food down. He listened in the darkness and tried to detect any uneasiness in her breathing. Did she stir? Her breathing was slow and rhythmic, contrasted by the quick shallow breath of Evereste, and the faint breathing of Celesi in the next bed.

Claiten frowned and wondered where Meu got off to. He was reminded of their time in Ebertin when she would leave him alone to search for his mother at all hours. Since then, she’d been constant—until tonight.

The light of the sun continued to creep upon the world. An insatiable urge grew in the boy. He slipped from the covers, dressed, and grabbed his naga blade, then snuck from the tent. He walked to the water's edge and turned his defiant face to the sun. It was a drab day, and the storm clouds only intensified toward the horizon—but there was a gap between the clouds and the mountains, and for a few moments at least, the sun peeked through.

Claiten was electrified by the sight. He didn’t mind the soft pattering drizzle, even as it increased. Instead, he was mesmerized by the red light of early dawn as a thick layer of dark, ominous clouds brooded low over the mountains, just north of the sun. The occasional flash of lightning ripped at the sky. Soon the sun would creep into the clouds and the day would take on a drab and lifeless quality—but for the moment the world was bathed in blood red light.

Anger gripped the boy. With the dagger in hand, Claiten crowed long and loud, "ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!"

For a time, the boy stood and stared out at the sun, awaiting his answer. He didn’t see the guards and wondered if they were about. Were they in one of the tents, sheltering from the rain?

Slowly, ever so slowly, the sun drifted up toward the clouds, and began to merge with the billowing desolation overhead. “ERRR-AY-ERRR….” He began again—but stopped as his blood began to chill and drain from his face. Before him, the lake rippled, fins appeared, heading directly toward him. This time he didn’t crow. This time he screamed, long and loud as naga crept from the water—one of them with a burnt and familiar face.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 13.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The crowing shattered the morning's silence and Creigal jerked awake. Called back into the world of the living, the duke settled against the cool thin frame of Meu as she too woke from the sound. Thoughts of the long and pleasing night they’d spent together faded as he wondered at the crowing. "I swear I've heard that same rooster ever since the Copper Kettle and Rooms," he shook his head. "I certainly heard it that first morning, when I saw you in your native form," he said as he remembered the strangeness of that day.

It is not a rooster at all, Meu told the duke. It is the boy. He has crowed ever since I rescued him from Beletrain, she noted.

“The boy?” Creigal asked. “And why should the boy crow?”

Meu shrugged. The naga was obsessed with chickens. He sang a song of chicken and how to prepare them.

“Chickens?” Creigal frowned. “Was he obsessed with chickens—or was he trying to obsess the child with chickens?”

What do you mean? Meu asked.

“I know of a sorcerer,” Creigal began. “He used to get people to bark, like a dog. He didn’t have any purpose behind it. He just did it as a lark—because he could. But I always wondered what sort of practical application one could find for such training. Certainly, it’d make someone easy to find—but what other applications could one find for such witchery? Where are you going?”

Meu's eyes went wide and she scampered from their bed as the duke spoke. The boy! She cried with her eyes. The boy is in trouble! And with that she turned and ran from the tent despite not wearing any clothes.

“ERRR-AY-ERRR….” the crowing began again—only to cut off in the middle.

"Wait!” Creigal yelled as he struggled to pull on his pants. He cursed as he grabbed his sword and Traust’s shield, then ran after the woman. “You're naked!" He called as he rushed from the tent. The patter of rain was now a steady downpour. The land sloped up to a slight rise before it angled back down toward the lake. Meu crested the rise as the boy’s shrill scream rose from the water’s edge. Half dressed, Creigal sprinted to the top of the rise. "To arms!" he cried as he ran toward the red light of dawn. "TO ARMS!"

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 13.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Claiten backpedaled up the gentle rise. He summoned his courage, lifted his blade before him, and glared as he prepared to fight. Adrenaline flushed though his veins. Muscles taut, he watched as Golifett slithered out of the water. The beast caught sight of the boy, grinned, and advanced on the child.

His anger was so bright and righteous, that Claiten thought he should fight the beast—for a second. Then he noticed several more naga slithering out of the lake behind the first. The boy knew there was no way he could stand against them all. He turned and fled toward the crest of the hill, comforted to see Meu running toward him, naked yet again.

“To arms! TO ARMS!” a distant voice called, though Claiten could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He glanced back. There were at least half a dozen naga slithering on to the slight beach. He let out another blood-curdling scream. as he struggled up the soaking wet hill in an ever-increasing downpour.

Something rustled in the tree before the boy. An arrow raced over him. He turned to see a naga doubled up, leaning precariously, as it clutched at the missile buried in its chest. There was someone in the tree! Another arrow flew from the tree—but this one was dodged.

Claiten drew strength from the fact that he was not alone. He turned and glared at Golifett. With a crow, he charged his scarred nemesis.

From her perch in the tree, Scurra let loose a war cry and a barrage of arrows as the naga rushed on. She glanced one and caught a second in the thick of its trunk. The naga retaliated, launching spears and missiles of their own into the tree.

Surprised to see the child charging him, Golifett set himself to defend the attack. Claiten rushed in and took a swipe at the beast with his own dagger, which was neatly turned aside. Golifett grabbed the child by his clothes, and yanked him off his feet.

Claiten spun away and crumbled to his hands and knees. He scrambled for his dagger, grabbed it, and turned on Golifett once more—just as Meu slammed into the naga, in her wyrm form once more. Two serpents went down in a tangled heap as they struggled against each other.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 13.7 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The Jindleyak call it a leviathan. The Saots call it a cloud Kraken.

Andrus blinked against his grogginess. The night was miserable as clouds began to gather some hours after midnight, rumbled their disappointment with the land, then began to spit and drizzle a few hours later. Now it was a steady rain and only increasing as he huddled against the bracing chill.

Some nights the last watch was the easiest, when Andrus had plenty of sleep and wanted to be about the day. Today was not that sort of day. The day before, he’d spent several hours and a good amount of effort trying to figure out how Meu shifted into her serpentine shape. The work was exhausting—but he’d figured out how to summon the obscuring shadows. He thought if he could just see her make the transition again, he might decipher her secret.

But that was a concern for another time. For now, he was simply trying to stay awake. If Homoth and Komotz found him sleeping on watch, they’d pester him for weeks—and the others might never let him forget it, especially since they had prisoners. Still, the dark man seemed to be obsessed with the prisoners, so Andrus didn’t fear them doing anything. he just didn’t want to get mocked in front Celesi.

His head sagged and for half a second, he closed his eyes. then, as he realized he was beginning to drift away, he snapped back, and stared out at the storm. God, he was tired. He wondered if Saleos noticed as the older man fed their sheltered fire. Despite the storm, the sky was getting lighter, and Andrus hoped the rising sun would chase away his fatigue. It wouldn’t stay for but a moment, as it began to cross the jagged gap between mountain and clouds. The far stretch of lake glowed red.

A rooster crowed just over the slight rise that blocked the lake shore. Andrus thought it odd to hear the bird, since they were camped in the wilds, far from any settlement or farm—and also because it sounded like the same crow he’d heard several days running—which seemed quite odd. Still, he smiled to have something else distract him from his sleepiness.

“Wait!” Andrus heard the duke yell. “Your naked!” He turned to see Meu brush aside the heavy cloth of the tent, and sprinted toward the edge of the lake, sans clothes.

Andrus stood with a frown and wondered why the silent skin-walker was running for the water in all god's glory. Did she mean to bathe? That’s what he figured she was up to—though he really hoped he might see her do the trick again.

She hissed as she saw him—though she ran right past. A flush of energy washed over Andrus as he stood and loped after the naked woman.

“To arms! To arms!” the duke called, as he brushed past Andrus at a dead run; with only his pants, sword, and shield. Andrus rushed after them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saleos stand and follow. Before him, Meu summoned the shadows and transform into the wyrm once more. Andrus grinned as he watched the magic—and also because he heard Saleos gape and curse to see the shadows rush in and shift her form. The boy screamed and Scurra let out a war cry—and Andrus wondered what the hell was happening!? Only steps behind the duke, he crested the small rise and paused to survey what was before him.

The land sloped down to the large lake below. Several naga moved about, mostly around Scurra’s tree. One tangled and wrestled with the winged form of Meu, as a couple others turned, and began to circle away from the duke. The rain seemed to get thicker. Andrus let out a yell, pulled his sword, and charged after the duke. His heart dipped as he raced forward. He hoped the others weren’t far behind.

Andrus passed the first beast with its bandaged eye. Meu seemed more than capable of handling her own, and the little boy circled with his blade, as he looked for an opening.

Sword in hand, the duke fell on the closest naga. Another of the beasts looked to flank the duke, but Andrus threw himself at this interloper. Andrus caught it with its guard too high and slashed it across the ribs. The naga recoiled and backed several paces, only to be blindsided by Saleos.

Andrus felt the blade more than he saw it or heard it. He dodged away and slipped in the soaked grass. Luckily, he fell away from his attacker—but he’d lost his sword. He managed to catch the beast with its arm raised high and pulled it off balance. Andrus fell on top of the creature, and the two rolled to the shallow edge of the lake. He sputtered and coughed as he wrestled with the thin-armed naga, then found himself on top of the beast. He stepped on the flat of the naga's dagger and struck the creature's face with his fist again and again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrus saw a blur of motion—but it was too late. Something struck his shoulder, and he crashed into the water with a terrible pain. He wondered if the bone was broken as he rolled to his back—his face just out of the water. Above him stood another naga with hate in its eyes as it raised a large mallet with a heavy square head. Andrus lifted his good arm, knowing the weapon would smash right through before it carried on and crushed his skull like an egg. At least it'd be over quickly, he thought, as the naga lifted its brutish weapon. I've lived a good life, he told himself, though there was so much he'd left unfinished.

But it didn’t end. Instead, the naga jerked back as blood exploded from its chest. A split second later, a massive boom sounded from the direction of camp. Andrus turned his head. He could just see Wenifas near the top of the rise, a short distance off. Smoke rose from the musket in her outstretched hand. The dead naga slumped to the side, and dropped its mallet. Unfortunately, the weapon dropped straight down and although it didn’t have the naga to propel it, the heavy mallet fell with the full force of gravity. Andrus felt several ribs crack as the air rushed from his lungs.

The fighting grew louder and more intense as it was joined en masse. Unable to breathe, Andrus choked as another boom shook the very air.

A woman screamed—Celesi!—he realized, and his heart went out to the girl as her scream devolved into sobs.

Oh Celesi!

He pitied that he should never see her again—even though she barely saw him. For whatever reason, she only had eyes for Toar, despite his obvious disinterest.

Andrus sucked air and tried to get off his back—but he still couldn't breathe from the smash of the hammer, as it’d knocked the air out of him. He managed to pull a The tiniest bit of air seeped into his lungs.

The rain was now coming down in sheets as the very sky seemed to press down on them.

A voice cut through the hostilities, clear as a bell. "Run!" Scurra screamed from her place in the tree. "Run, you fools! Death comes for us all!"

Andrus gasped and huffed as he propped himself up on his good elbow. He turned and knew that his cousin was right. At the far end of the lake, the dark clouds churned and boiled, as if it was somehow alive—and before it came an increasing army of dark specks, flying through the murk at incredible speed.

The winged beasts grew bigger and bigger as they shot across the lake, their wings beating furiously as the pressed themselves forward. At first, he thought they were crows—but no—they were much too large for that. Indeed, they were a good deal bigger than people! Andrus wondered that such dark angels should dance and shriek before the growing, roiling mass of darkness and hate like nothing he’d ever imagined. Whatever was in the storm moved much too fast as it came straight at them!

Finally, his breath began to settle, but Andrus didn’t bother moving from the water. Instead, he settled on his back and prayed the approaching dark vision would pass him by unnoticed. With coal black eyes, the winged figures flew directly overhead. He’d heard of the beasts on many occasions, and even believed he’d seen a few from far, far away—but had never been this close to dragons—and he’d only ever heard of such a number of the beasts in hushed, reverent whispers.

But the dragons were nothing compared to the creature that chased them. Several tentacles as long as lightning stretched out of the dark mass of cloud and whipped about the screaming dragons as they fled across the lake. The beasts—dozens and dozens—shot overhead, with their scaled bodies, clawed hands, and intelligent alien eyes.

Dragons! Andrus thought, then wondered, what chases dragons?

A long, thin line stretched from the roiling mess of cloud and slapped a dragon out of the sky. The dragon crashed into the waters of the lake, and the tentacle followed immediately. The tentacle dipped into the lake, went taut, then lifted the limp winged beast from the water by its back foot. The stunned and drenched dragon was pulled back, as the dark mass of cloud hissed and popped with electric fury. A terrible shrieking came from the beast within. Another tentacle wrapped about the stunned beast and the dragon was pulled apart as if it was an ant, then lifted the rent beast into the heart of storm.

The world was muffled for Andrus, as his ears were below the surface of the water—yet he could feel the beasts as they passed overhead—first the dragons as they raced in waves, and then the massive leviathan that gave chase. A deep calm came over the man, even as he realized this is how he would die.