A Lashing of Wind and Rain

Polished chapter 13 — 1h25m48s — 2021/08/01

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

…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 it. 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. He sat next to the guard and frowned as his friend tended to his tea. “Do you still suffer?” he asked.

Baet shook his head. "I’m just being cautious. I saw some silversage around, and you said it could not hurt,” he shrugged. He pointed to the knives about Toar’s leg. “Where’d you get those?”

“I traded for them,” Toar admitted.

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

“A bit,” Toar nodded.

“Are you any good?”

“If I throw them all, I might get one to stick.”

Baet shrugged. “Keep practicing. You’ll get it,” he said as he stirred his tea. Several seconds passed with only the crackle of the fire to fill the silence. “Where's Celesi?”

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

“You mock,” Baet replied. “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!” he repeated.

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 with me.”

“Did you?” Toar asked.

“What? No! Never!” Baet fumed. “I’m appalled that you think you have to ask!”

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

Baet shrugged. “My best friend is ten years 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,” Baet confessed.

Toar stared. “Recently?”

“Back at the inn,” Baet shrugged. “I convinced him he’d rather learn to fight from me instead of fighting with me.”

Toar’s eyes went wide. “Well that certainly isn’t just you,” he noted. “He took a swipe at Komotz and even threatened Celesi the other day. He seems to be running awful hot.”

“Was he like this when we marched the road?” Baet asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Toar shrugged.

“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, then I realized they were terrible gamblers, and—well—I may have taken a bit of advantage. Still, they did not have to accuse me of cheating!”

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

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

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.

Baet slept well. He did not notice the turning weather until Toar woke him for his turn at the watch. Clouds had gathered, and a light drizzle slowly soaked the land. Baet wondered if there might not be more Ministrians or perhaps a few Degorouth about, but he heard and saw nothing. The hours passed. Baet woke Carringten so the dark man could take the last watch.

“Did Scurra come down from the tree yet?” Carringten asked.

“No,” Baet said. “As far as I can tell, she’s asleep up there.”

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

Claiten woke early, before the sun was up, just as the sky was beginning to light. 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. He squirmed and fidgeted as a tension, an anger built in him.

Slowly, Claiten untangled himself from his bed. 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. 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 seemed to increase. 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!"

The boy stood and stared out at the sun, sure that nothing would answer his challenge. 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 yet again—but stopped. His blood chilled and drain from his face as the lake rippled before him, as a fin appeared, heading directly toward him. He couldn’t finish his challenge. Instead, he screamed, long and loud as naga crept from the water, one with a burnt and familiar face.

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

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. I always wondered what sort of practical application one might find for such training. Certainly, it’d make someone easy to find—where are you going?” he shifted his line of thought as Meu’s eyes went wide and she scampered from their bed.

The boy! Meu cried with her eyes. The boy is in trouble!

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—only to become a scream.

"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!"

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

Claiten backpedaled up the gentle rise. He realized he wouldn’t make it back to camp before the naga was upon him. 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.

Claiten thought to fight the beast, his anger was so bright and righteous. Then he noticed several more naga slithering out of the lake behind the first, and he knew there was no way he could stand against them all.

“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. Half a dozen naga slithered up the slight beach in an ever-increasing downpour.

An arrow screamed passed the boy, a whistler. raced over him. He turned to see a naga doubled up, leaning precariously, as it clutched at the missile buried in its chest. Another arrow flew from the tree—but this one was dodged. Meu crested the hill, running toward the boy in a full on sprint, naked yet again.

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 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. He would have finished the petulant boy then and there, but the winged serpent was bearing down on him.

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.

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

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. The light wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t take long for it to cross the jagged gap between mountain and clouds.

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 sprint 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. She’d done it again, and this time right out in the open!

Then the boy cried and a whistling arrow screamed through the air. Andrus wondered what the hell was happening over the rise as he rushed on, only steps behind the duke. He crested the small rise and paused to survey what was before him. The rain seemed thicker on this side of the rise. Despite the obscured view, he could make out the sloping land and the large lake below. Several naga moved about, mostly around Scurra’s tree. One tangled and wrestled with the winged form of Meu, as others turned to confront the charging duke. 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 it 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.

A thrown blade glanced Andrus. He recoiled and slipped in the soaked grass. The beast fell on him. He dropped his sword so he might catch the creature’s arm, then managed to pull it off balance. Locked in combat, the two rolled to the shallow edge of the lake. Andrus 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 lapping water. Above him stood another naga with hate in its eyes. 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. 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. Andrus was lucky the weapon was dropped and not swung. Still, 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. The tiniest bit of air seeped into his lungs as he gaped at the sky above him. The rain was coming down in sheets, though the Jindleyak was soaked as he laid in the shallows of the lake.

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 somehow alive. Before this crackling, seething cloud an increasing army of dark specks flew 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 doom would pass him by unnoticed. With coal black eyes, the winged figures flew directly overhead.

Dragons!

He’d heard of the beasts on many occasions, and even believed he’d seen a few from far, far away. 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 alien eyes.

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 water, went taut, then lifted the limp winged beast back into the air. The stunned and drenched dragon was pulled back, as the dark mass of cloud hissed and popped with electric fury. A terrible shriek came from the clouded beast, a shriek that shook the land. Another tentacle wrapped about the stunned beast and the dragon was pulled in half. The gory bits of the dragon were dropped into the beak-like maw of the clouded beast. Was this the mythic leviathan he witnessed?

Andrus stared on, barely believing the wonders before him. He could feel the beasts as they passed overhead—first the dragons as they raced in waves—and then the massive leviathan that thundered after them. A deep calm came over the man. Lying at the edge of the lake, he knew he would die, and yet he did not lament the fact.