Of Fire and Air, Of Earth and Water

Polished 5.1 and the first half of 5.2… gotta go to work. — 41m41s — 2020/12/04

Polished 5.2 and 5.3 — 1h00m35s — 2020/12/06

Polished 5.3 and 5.4 — 1h06m16s — 2020/12/06

From the remains of the Invader’s Fort, the surviving Ministrians managed to break through the southern line of waokie. Then began a long, harried march to Rynth Falls. Despite the fall of the Camp and Fort, there was still quite a bloodlust among the waokie, and so they were quick to follow, and harried the survivors for hours. The sun drifted and set in the west—and still the men ran. Nearly half of the those that left the Invader’s Fort were overcome and never reached the city walls.

Petaerus did not escape unscathed. As he ran, he stepped close to some brush that hid a waokie, a lone beast that had managed to flank him and Dolif. The beast launched a dart which caught Petaerus just under his eye. He screamed and dropped to his knees as Dolif fell upon the beast and dispatched it—but the damage was already done.

On and on they ran, into the dark of the night. Their pace slowed, though they ran as fast as they could. Then, as night turned to day, and also without warning, there were men running the other way, to engage the waokie! A wall appeared with torches upon it, and they realized they’d reached Rynth Falls! The legions came out to escort the stragglers and defenders into town, and also to harry the waokie, and brought a good number of Trohl berserkers with them!

As numerous as they were, the waokie melted before this force and disappeared back into the trees. They’d been chasing their quarry for the better part of two days and were worn with the effort. For a time, the men paid back their efforts—though Petaerus and Dolif had nothing to do with any of that.

By the time the survivors reached Rynth Falls the next morning, Petaerus was delirious, he could barely see out of the one eye, and there was a noticeable patch of rot high on his cheek. Dolif feared he would die, as he half-carried his friend to safety, beyond the walls of Rynth Falls.

A competent healer was found for the infection. For three days, Petaerus suffered a slow recovery as the healer returned every few hours to administer a repugnant draught, or perform a delicate lancing, which always felt like hellfire for a good hour after... Petaerus was one of the last to recover. In a way he was lucky. Many of the others that were struck with the rot were simply amputated, losing arms or legs to save them from the slow creeping death. Once the infected limb was removed, their recovery was usually quite quick, although they were no longer whole. But such a quick fix was not possible for Petaerus—they could not simply amputate his head and expect him to live—so the healer focused heavily on this man.

Three days later, the healer left Petaerus in his tent for the last time. Though he was healed, there was quite the nasty scar on his face. The High Guard turned to his friend and confidant. “Does it look as bad as it feels?” he asked as he gingerly fingered the scar.

Dolof frowned. “It should calm, considerably,” he offered.

“Can’t say I’ve felt any better,” Petaerus sneered as he sat up. “There’s nothing like the edge of death to make a man feel alive.”

“That’s the attitude!” Dolif grinned. “I’ll admit, for a while there you had me scared. I wasn’t sure you’d pull through.”

Petaerus snorted. “War takes the weak. Ooroiyuo has use for me yet—and Naharahna means to spread more legs.”

“Indeed, and your recovery is just in time,” Dolif leaned forward as he continued in a confiding tone. “Soon, we go south!”

Petaerus was perplexed. Surely, their commanders did not mean to oabandon the north? “We are not moving against the waokie?” he asked.

“Non, that is for others to address,” Dolif explained. “I’ve volunteered us to go south, to lead the Trohls against the Saot—which is all the better. Why loot waokie when we can loot people?”

“You are sure?”

Dolif nodded. “It is whispered among many of the high officers. We only wait for Gliedian to lead us.”

“And how is it that you should know such things?” Petaerus asked.

Dolif twisted his shoulder so his friend might see his promotion. “You should mind your own stripes,” he grinned, and pointed at his friend’s uniform.

Petaerus lifted his shirt, stared at his own insignia, and realized he’d managed to jump several ranks. “Copal?!” he began. “How is this possible?”

“Our plan saved over fifty fighting men, several hundred civilians, and too many slaves,” Dolif smiled. “Drastarig and his acolytes had nothing but good things to say about you. And you’ve been heavily distracted what with…” he made a motion over his face.

“Our plan?” Petaerus questioned. “I distinctly remember you were against it.”

“I merely played devil’s advocate—as a good second must—that we might flesh it out,” Dolif frowned. “Besides, you can see I am still your subordinate, or is your eye sight still so compromised?”

Petaerus twisted Dolif’s arm so he might have a second look at his friend’s promotion. “Drastarig made it through, eh?”

Dolif shook his head. “The man is a monster—though he’s currently on death’s door,” he finished with an uncertain shrug.

“Does he also suffer the rot?” Petaerus asked.

“No, nothing so pedestrian for Drastarig,” Dolif began. “He made it all the way south looking the part of a behemoth hulk. He got his hands on one the devils, brought the poor creature into camp—wounded, snarling, and spitting—then proceeded to skin it.”

“Sounds vicious.”

“Half the city must have heard it’s shrieking,—and that’s not even the worst of it,” Dolif continued. “He then stuck it on a spit and proceeded to burn it.”

Petaerus shivered. “Vile.”

“They don’t call him ‘the Gorpulent’ for nothing,” Dolif shuddered. “Just the smell of it made me gag. How he managed to choke down any of that meat is beyond me. Even after he cooked it, the beast smelled a mess—and it all turned out to be a very bad choice. The next day, Drastarig was sick as a dog, losing solids and liquids from both ends.”

Petaerus cringed.

Dolif nodded bleakly. “He’s been sick ever since. Yesterday the fever broke—but he still can’t keep anything down. The man’s lost at least a stone’s weight—likely two—and is pale as a sheet.”

“Think he’s going to make it?” Petaerus asked.

“Dunno,” Dolif shrugged. “Personally, I think he’s turned the corner—but even if he recovers, he won’t be lifting his sword for at least a week.”

“Cripes,” Petaerus said. “And I thought I suffered.”

“You did, and you will continue to suffer,” Dolif nodded and pointed at his friend’s scarred face. “Have you seen your reflection? The ladies are certain to charge you double.”

“I’m a hero,” Petaerus frowned. “I should be discounted!”

“You won’t hear argument from me,” Dolif replied. “But I don’t set the tithes.”

“At least I’ll receive a Copal’s pay,” Petaerus smiled. “That shall account for the any priestess that means to stiff me.”

“For stiffing her?” Dolif grinned. “Ah, but we are going south, for the time, so it doesn’t matter. We’ll be looking for women among our enemies, and we shan’t have to pay a copper for any of them,” he smirked.

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

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 that drifted under the heavy fabric of the curtain. The front door was beyond a tall thin arch , and an iron-wrought gate, cut into the wall of the tunnel. Heavy drapes blocked the way inside. Meu moved slow and hoped anyone inside could not hear the ever-so-faint tinkling of the bells as slowly she squeezed past the bottom corner of the drapes.

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

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. Thick soft rugs padded the stone cold floor and a fine arrangement of furniture welcomed the uninvited guest. There were heavy drapes along the the walls, and thick tapestries hanging from the ceiling. 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. Indeed, there was a gap between the carpets and the stone above, and she was just able to squeeze among them. She realized she had a good way about the place, as there were no bells along the ceiling. It was a bit cooler above the drapes, and she realized the drapes were insulation as much as decoration. Well, bless her lucky stars for that—but if she should find him, she would not be able to sneak the boy out among such rigging.

That was assuming the boy was still alive, of course, but she refused to let her mind wander down that trail.

The next room she explored 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 a sort?

The third room was tiny, with a funk about the air, and a small hole in the floor. Dappled gross lingered about the rim. Meu looked in the hole and saw running waters. She realized she glanced down a privy and turned a bit green with disgust. A wave of nausea rolled over her as she turned from the room and continued her search elsewehere.

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 the room could use a thorough cleaning—though she had to admit it was a fair deal cleaner than the tanner's quarters. Despite the mess, she could tell Claiten was not in the room. There was a layer of dust about the furniture that said this room was quite neglected.

There were no more rooms on this level, there was only a long twisting ramp that disappeared down and to the left. There was a light from this direction, and as Meu approached, she heard the clang and scrape of a kitchen, and also someone singing.

In this hall, 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 she peeked around the slow corner. The singing became clear and distinct. Meu was surprised to hear that the low grumbling voice sang Trohl words. This is what she heard:

"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 started over—and yet the naga continued with gusto:

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. No wonder Meu was able to sneak in under the bells…

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, as she remembered the thoughts of the priestess as she jammed the flash bomb in the creature’s face.

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...”

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 as he screamed and cursed back at the naga. Satisfied that his captive was still alive, 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...

As the naga turned away, the boy disappeared back into the rags, and buried himself once more. Meu smiled. She’d seen the captive and was quite certain it was Claiten in the cage.

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.

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!

Her fangs punctured the naga’s scales, and the 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 her with haste—but Meu made it into the overcrowded room before he could get a hold of her and slipped among the jumble of discarded furniture.

Once in that cramped and dirty room, Meu immediately 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 faded, then 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 perhaps the beast was 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 and frogs, and men by the thousands—but nary one naga! We are quite resilient against toxins and venoms," he laughed as he continued to search for her, now in a reserved and patient manner.

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—but 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 back 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. They were all out of the purse and lined up in neat stacks; copper, silver, and gold. 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? Also, 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 with Claiten in tow, and fled into the darkness of Beletrain.

Meu took half a dozen steps, and dared not go any further, as she was blind as any human in that form. 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.

"I trust you," 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 screams, and slowly closed in on him.

“Druss meu,” she whispered once more and pressed the naga blade into Claiten’s 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. then, 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 hand. 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 forget that Meu was a shape-shifter, a skin-walker, as his mother had put it? He’d seen her take the from of a winged serpent, a scaly angel of fang and fury. 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.

Meu guided Claiten away from Golifett’s lair, and 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. He might be repulsed, he might shiver at her touch, but he realized all serpents were not the same.

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. 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.

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. 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. 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 heavy cloth 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 wasn’t the sort of complex muddle a trap-setting 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 the 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 the hilt of the dagger into the earth, and also his fist full of coins. He lost several of the precious metal rounds, but kept a tight grip on most 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 a park, caught up in quiet contemplation, or lackadaisical musing. 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 out 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. Claiten bolted from the hiding place and sprinted after the flying wyrm, coins in one hand, the naga's dagger in the other, and a ruined shirt tied about his waist. 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 handful 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 his indecency, then take him in, so he might live a hard life of labor and shame.

Meu kissed Claiten's forehead and caressed his hair. "Druss meu," she repeated, then summoned the shadows 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.

As the night came on, Claiten dozed for a time, 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 any response. "MEU!" His hoarse whisper carried into the night.

A shadow shifted and Claiten held very still. Though they may be few and far between, tere were undoubtedly others about, despite the cold of the night. Claiten realized 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 sobbed, and choked, and wept as quiet as he could, 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 as visions of frogs, dogs, and chickens haunted 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, as Meu wrapped her hand about his mouth.

Claiten turned and stared into her eyes to find caution and worry—and that’s when he heard it—the shift and grumble of something else in the park.

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

About that same time of night, Scurra suffered another one of her spells while she was asleep at Fowler’s Auction. Unlike her brother, Scurra’s visions were always dark and sinister. The worse was simply being in the dark, unable to see, crawling through a bricked up labrynth with something chasing her.

But this wasn’t one of those dreams—and at least she had it while she was asleep—and not like the time when she fell off the barn and busted her leg.

Some of her dark dreams were prophetic, and sometimes she thought she knew the flavor of the ones that would come true. This was one of those. During this spell, Scurra stood among many friends, on a road that looked out over a placid lake. Across the lake were mountains, and just above the mountains, the sun poked through. Above the sun, a storm brewed and roiled at the near edge of the mountains, clouds building fast. The clouds boiled and spilled toward the edge of the massive lake. The breeze picked up into a steady wind then increased to became a raging gale. Scurra stared on, assured that something terrible was coming her way, and knowing she was unable to stop it.

And what of her friends? They were now fast asleep. She shouted—but it was too late. The storm continued to grow and race toward them. It advanced at such 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. She did not trust the girl. Instead, she stood and tried to shake off the nightmare. Instead of talking about all that, she wanted to see her cousin. “Show me to Elpis,” she said.

“Now?” the child protested.

“Now,” Scurra ordered, as she towered over the girl.

Nervous, Fowler’s daughter stood, pulled the door open, and stepped quietly down the hall. The girl opened the door and Scurra leaned over her unconscious cousin.

“It’s me,” Scurra said as she put a hand on him. Elpis startled as he woke, but relaxed as he saw who stood over him. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she examined his bandages.

Elpis groaned. “I feel like someone ripped my heart out—then punched me in the face for good measure,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“That’s about how it went,” Scurra noted. “At least someone did a bang up job on your bandages. We can be glad of that.”

“Perhaps,” Elpis shrugged. “Whoever did ‘em was a might handsy. I 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 glanced at Fowler’s daughter. “The father left as soon as we got here, and still hasn’t returned. What do you think?”

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

“Agreed,” Scurra said. “All right, then. 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.”

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.

Scurra continued to help her cousin out of bed. “We thank you for your hospitality,” she replied. “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.

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

Scurra glared. “Move,” she ordered.

With a whine, the wide-eyed girl opened the door and stepped out of the room. “What are you doing?!” she continued to yell as she retreated into the hall. “Why are you threatening me?!” She called, in an effort to wake the house.

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

Wenifas grumbled. “But I just got to sleep…” she rubbed her face.

“It’s either you get up and come with us, or you stay here—and good luck to you,” Scurra said. “We’re leaving. 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. “What are you doing?” she repeated. “Where are you going?”

Alarmed by Scurra’s tone and the rising commotion in general, Wenifas shed her covers, grabbed the shaman’s cloak, and gently scooped Evereste out of the bed. “Coming!” she called as Scurra began tapping her toes. She grabbed her bag and followed close behind a glaring Scurra and a battered but resolute Elpis.

Scurra pointed to the door. “Open it and step aside,” she commanded.

By now, all three of Fowler’s daughters stood in the hall and complained of their bad manners. “Why won’t you stay?” You need rest.” “Father will be angry if you leave.” But Scurra, Elpis, and Wenifas ignored them as they stepped down the street. 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. She shook her head and answered her own question. “I dunno… I dunno the man, but I don’t like the smell about him either—and I’m just a bit uneasy in general,” Scurra admitted as she remembered her dream about the crows—but mostly she didn’t trust Fowler and his daughters—and for good reason.

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

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. Then he realized such a thing was folly, and knew he should not. Instead, he watched the naga as they shifted at a good distance across the park, seeming to search for something among the various stands of vegetation.

Meu quietly backed out from under the tree. Claiten followed. Standing, he took Meu's hand, and they bolted through the park. A jangle of coins sounded as he boy darted from his hiding spot—and the chase was on!

Meu and Claiten had a good lead as they crossed a street and disappeared among a row of houses into the city proper, but the naga were a good deal faster than Claiten expected. He turned, and with his heart in his throat, he ran for the end of the block as fast as he could.

The naga followed them into the city proper, but were slowed as they were unsure which way prey went. After several blocks, Meu and Claiten could not see or even hear their pursuit—although they could feel it. They came to a building that was open at such a late hour. Lights were on, and the large sign contained a picture of a bed with a cluster of grapes. Meu smiled, stepped into the building, and pulled Claiten after her. A clerk lifted his head and glanced between the lady and the boy. He turned to Meu, who smiled and nodded at the clerk, knowingly.

“Very well then,” the clerk said and turned his book to Meu,. He pressed a pen into her hand, and pointed to where she should mark. “Just sign here and I’ll give you a suite on the third floor...”

Meu signed with an ‘x’ then turned to Claiten expectantly. As Meu turned her attention on the boy, the clerk did the same. Claiten glanced back and forth between the two, unsure what they wanted. 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.

She wanted money! Claiten 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. Claiten stared at the stack of silver on the table, then glanced down at his fistful of coins. His eyes bulged.

“If you would like, I have a simple purse for a coin—only a bot,” he suggested.

Meu smiled and nodded as the clerk brushed the coin into the bag and offered them over. Claiten took the bag and stuffed his gold in it.

The clerk turned to the key board and selected one from the top row. He turned back to Meu and set the key on the counter between them, pointed up the hall, and said, “That way to your room.” He turned and pointed down the hall, “and that way to the dining room.”

There was conversation and the occasional clank of dishes down that way. Meu turned to the boy. She stuck her fingers to her mouth and made a biting motion. 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 long 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 more comfortable and secure, with the men between him and the windows. The men about the room were armed to the teeth. They were 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 would cause trouble for his former captor—but as he opened his mouth to speak, Meu shushed him and stared into his eyes. Slowly, Claiten remembered the events of the previous day. He remembered the shaman, the giant, the meteor, 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!

But 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. For a minute he only 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 gathered Claiten into her arms, left a touch of silver on the table, then half-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 intend to.