Of Fire and Air, Of Earth and Water

Polished 5.1 — 25m11s — 2021/05/14

Polished 5.1. Considering to change 5.2. Thinking I’ll adjust it so Eikyale is still in Meu’s head and giving advice—until she finds Claiten. Then we make a hard switch to Claiten’s POV — 1h07m04s — 2021/05/17

Worked on 5.2. Move this list to the market scene in the last chapter, “There were birds; finches, crows, even a hawk. There were rabbits, rats, ferrets, cats, and a couple pathetic-looking dogs; thin and shaking.” Considering a large change: Claiten and Evereste both get kidnapped — 1h55m30s — 2021/05/18

Polished 5.1 — 29m26s — 2021/05/20

Polished 5.2 — 1h04m19s — 2021/05/21

Polished 5.2 — 1h15m33s — 2021/05/22

Polished 5.3 and 5.4 — 35m53s — 2021/06/03

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. The sun slowly fell as men ran and fought. The swarming bugbear were repeatedly battered back by Ministrian ambushes—but there were simply too many and the soldiers were forced to turn and run once more. A number volunteered their lives to slow the advancing enemy. Shadows stretched and grew over the low forested hills as men and beast slaughtered each other.

As he ran, Petaerus stepped close to a hidden waokie, a lone beast that had managed to get ahead of him and set an ambush of its own. From his perch, the waokie slapped the soldier with a branch full of slight wooden spikes. The soldier attempted to dodge, but was caught along the side of his face. He chased after the beast—which dodged away and slipped into a thick patch of undergrowth. He cursed and kicked at the bush, sure that he could feel poison seeping into his veins.

“We’re not far now,” Dolif noted.

Petaerus nodded. “There’ll be healers in the city,” he said, nervous nonetheless.

On and on they ran, into the dark of the night, pandemonium all about. Petaerus didn’t dare turn around as he felt the Waokie would surely overcome him if he did. The night seemed to be at its darkest—then, suddenly there were men running the other way! Fresh and eager troops engaging the waokie! They came charging through the woods and just about gave the two soldiers a heart attack as they raced past, yelling and screaming! From out of the hazy night, a wall appeared with torches all about it. The two friends realized they’d made it! They’d reached Rynth Falls!

As numerous as they were, the waokie melted before the Ministrian legionnaires and their Trohl allies. The beasts disappeared back into the forest.

Petaerus was fairly delirious by the time he reached the wall. He could barely see out of the one eye, and there was a noticeable patch on his cheek that continued to puff and turn black with rot. Dolif feared the High Guard might die as he half-carried his friend to the parade grounds, where a hospital tents were setting up. For three days, Petaerus suffered and slow recovered as a healer returned every few hours to administer some repugnant draught, or perform a delicate lancing—which always felt like hellfire for at least a good hour after. He was one of the last to recover, due to the difficulty of treating the rot on his face. The preferred treatment of doctors was amputation, as once the infected limb was removed, recovery was usually quite quick. But such a fix was not possible for Petaerus—they could not simply amputate his head and expect him to live—so the healer was forced to take a more delicate tact. Three days later, the healer left Petaerus in his tent for the last time.

“Does it look as bad as it feels?” Petaerus asked Dolif as he gingerly fingered the scar.

Dolif frowned. “It shall calm considerably—with a little luck,” he offered.

“Can’t say I’ve felt any better,” Petaerus bragged, though his face was still delicate. “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 you had me scared!”

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

“Well then, 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 abandon the north to a bunch of dog-men? “We are not moving against the waokie?” he asked.

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

“I’d take a little revenge,” Petaerus shrugged. “You sure we’re going south?”

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

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

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 grabbed his uniform, stared at the new insignia, and realized he’d jumped several ranks. “Copal?!” he gasped. “How is this possible?”

Dolif playfully punched his arm. “Our plan saved over fifty fighting men, several hundred civilians, and twice as many slaves,” Dolif smiled. “Drastarig and his acolytes had nothing but good things to say about you—you’ve just been too distracted with all this to know it,” he waved at the man’s face. “We’ll be travelling in Gliedian’s own company!”

“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 out the superior plan,” Dolif frowned. “Besides, you can see I am still your subordinate, or is your eyesight still compromised?”

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

“Yeah…,” Dolif hedged. “He lives—though he’s currently a bit of a mess,” 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, with only the blood of his enemies upon him! Somehow, he managed to capture one of the devils. He brought the poor creature into camp—snarling, spitting, and wounded—then proceeded to skin it alive. 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 cook it,” he shuddered.

Petaerus frowned. “To what end? Surely he wouldn’t…”

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

“Bleak.”

Dolif nodded. “He’s been sick ever since. Yesterday the fever broke—but he ain’t keeping much down. The man’s lost at least a stone’s weight and was pale as a sheet—though he’s got some of his color back.”

“So you think he’s going to make it?” Petaerus asked.

Dolif shrugged. “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 had it bad.”

“Well, I hate say it, but this don’t look pretty,” Dolif pointed at his friend’s scarred face.

“Chics dig scars!” Petaerus huffed.

“To a point,” Dolif shrugged. “The priestesses are certain to charge you double—but, at least you didn’t do it to yourself,” he noted.

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

“You won’t hear argument from me,” Dolif replied. “But I don’t set the tithes. At least you’ll receive a Copal’s pay.”

“At least our commanders see our worth,” Petaerus nodded.

Dolif grinned. “Ah, but we are going south, so it doesn’t matter in the least what the ladies of the work think. We’ll be looking for women among our enemies—and we shan’t have to pay a copper for any of them!” he smirked.

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

Meu recognized a rank muskiness about the residence, even before she entered. There was such a mix of spice and strangeness in the air that it took several seconds for her to locate the little boy’s scent among the myriad other flavors that drifted from the home. The thin iron door was closed but not locked, which didn’t surprise Eikyale. Meu had already slipped past several iron gates that would have kept men and larger beasts out.

Meu moved slow and hoped anyone inside could not hear the ever-so-faint tinkling of the bells as she squeezed past the bottom corner of the drapes. There was no movement on the other side of the curtain, no sudden sounds, no light of any sort. Ever so slowly, she crept over the thick and soft rugs that padded the cold dirt floor. The ceiling and walls were also covered. Heavy drapes insulated the home and kept it noticeably warmer than the outside tunnels. There were also several couches, a couple low tables, and a rack with an assortment of coats and weapons all about it.

Meu’s ear pricked as it caught a noise. At the far end of the dark hall and down a corkscrew ramp, someone was singing. She crept close and listened. Not only were they singing, they were cooking. Whoever was in the kitchen was distracted, and likely to stay busy for some time. Meu didn’t like the idea of any surprises behind her, so she decided to search the other rooms before she headed down.

The first attached room was dominated by a bed and several dressers.

He’s a neat one, Eikyale noted.

I’ll try to keep my distance, Meu replied.

The next room was dominated by a large desk and several tables. This room was a fair deal messier as Meu noted a number of projects currently in the works—except one of the tables in the corner which was elaborately decorated.

An alter, Eikyale told her. Notice the symbol of the trident and the flower?

Its on everything, Meu replied.

He’s a Veracote for sure. You’ll definitely want to keep your distance, Eikyale said.

Meu returned to the main room, then noticed another slight ramp, much thinner than the first. Down this ramp was a third room, musty with the smell of water. An aqueduct cut through the room with a deep pool at the center. The constantly running water was warm. At the very end of the room was a looped seat, above the water—just as it slipped under the wall.

Eikyale smiled in her mind. That’s the privy, he noted.

Meu returned up the ramp and into the next room, which was nothing but storage, packed with bureaus, tables, chairs, beds, chests, and other large furniture; stacked one upon another, almost to the ceiling. Wuch of it was stuffed with other belongings. The drapes in this room were tattered and appeared to be a good deal older than the rest of the residence. It appears naga are just like humans after all, Meu reflected.

And why would you say that? Eikyale asked.

You both tend to hoard, she noted.

Eikyale sighed. Such habits only fuel our problems. Is there no greed among your kind?

We are not so perfect, Meu snorted. We have our trinkets and treasures, she assured him. There’s plenty for us to betray, fight, and kill over.

No people is perfect, Eikylae replied.

I shall say that it rather nice furniture. At least he’s not hoarding junk, Meu said.

After the storage room, there was nowhere else to go but down the spiral ramp and into the kitchen. This ramp was a fair bit wider than the one that led to the bath. The smells of the kitchen increased and complicated; enticing, beguiling, and a touch concerning. Meu continued down the ramp. A soft light appeared and intensified. The singing became clear and distinct. She was surprised to hear that the low grumbling voice sang in Trohl. There was a hissing accent to the worlds, but otherwise they were quite clear. The song was simple and boisterous. The naga swayed in time as he sang:

"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,

soup and pie they tasty eat,

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 eat

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, so many, it 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.

There was a blood soaked bandage about the left side of the creature’s face. From time to time, the beast grimaced and took delicate notice of this affliction. Meu remembered Wenifas finding the flash bomb and jamming it against the naga’s face. She grinned as she recalled the burning pain that ripped at the preistess’s hand. No wonder she was able to drive it off.

Even in your heart, war stirs. Eikyale noticed.

Especially when one of mine has been taken, Meu agreed.

The kitchen was dominated by a large stove and plenty of counter space, half covered with ingredients and the tools required to mix them. Seasoned meat cooked in a large cauldron. Meu wondered if she was too late.

Beyond this workspace was the pantry. Meu could smell the snakes, lizards, and turtles that were kept in bowls too deep and too slick to escape. There were also a number of jars filled with bugs, beetles, snails, and other creepy crawlers—some dead, some alive, some mixed one with the other. There were also 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 winced and touched the bandage on the side of his face. Muttering to himself, he picked a candle off the table, turned, and trundled to the back of the storage area, past several smaller empty cages. The final cage was massive—big enough for a boy, Meu realized—as she noted the mountain of ruined clothes in the corner. The naga shook the cage, and scolded the unseen occupant. When no reply was forthcoming, the beast grabbed up a long wooden rod and poked about the mountain of rags.

A yelp issued from the pile, followed by cursing and shrieking of a child. The naga grumbled with satisfaction, then returned to the counter where it resumed the task of cutting vegetables. The tear-streaked face of a small boy poked out of the clothes as he whined at the naga, only to be ignored. The beast 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!”

As the naga turned away, the boy disappeared back into the rags, and buried himself once more. The clothes in the cage were of every sort and size for both sexes; slacks, shirts, trousers, dresses, undergarments. Most of it was small clothes for mere children, though some of it was adult clothes. Of course, all of it was ruined and blood stained.

It is relatively few of us that abduct our neighbors, Eikyale revealed. Those that steal are often quite proficient, he noted.

Until their caught and killed, Meu surmised.

The best are rarely caught—and killing them can prove very difficult, Eikyale replied.

Meu snuck low under some shelving and considered her options. She was still situating herself when the naga turned and approached. He did not see her as banged about the shelving, looking for something among the jars and boxes on the shelf. The naga stood so close. For a second, Meu thought to save the venom for Claiten, that she might have an easier time communicating with the boy—but the opportunity to get inside the creature’s head and force him to her will was too good to pass up. She took the opening and bit the beast.

No! Eikyale hissed in her mind. What have you done?!

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 slip up the ramp and pursued her with haste. 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 Golifett's name, then another thought, and another—but as each channel formed, it faded and evaporated just as quick as it was established. Meu wondered that a lasting connection with Golifett's mind would not hold. She wondered if the beast was too stupid—then the opposite idea struck her and she thought perhaps the beast was too smart.

It’s none of that, Eikyale began.

A low rumbling chuckle issued from Golifett as he paused in his search and regarded her bite. "Have you poisoned me cousin? Do you think of using your venom against me?” 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. They killed fish and frogs, and men by the thousands—but nary one naga died! You see, we are quite resilient against toxins and venoms," he laughed as he continued to search for her, now in a reserved and patient manner.

He is quite right, Eikyale confided. We are not totally immune, but poisoning a naga is quite difficult at best.

Perhaps if I bit him again? Meu asked, even though she was empty of her venom.

Perhaps, Eikyale shrugged. Perhaps not.

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.

What of traumas? Meu began. Are you immune to strangling? she asked her guide. Before he could answer, she dropped on Golifett's head. He tried to duck away, to throw her off; but she coiled tight about him, and as she squeezed, she shifted 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. Then, she took 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 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 unsettling 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. 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, then took her hand and scrambled out of the cage. He held a ruined shirt to his nakedness. As Meu pulled him to the ramp, he stared about the kitchen, so he didn't have to look at Meu in the buff.

Claiten saw the coins his mother gave him to safeguard. They were lined up in neat stacks next to the empty purse; copper, silver, and gold. With a hiss, he pulled his hand from Meu, grabbed at the coins, and stuffed several handfuls back into the purse. With a scold, Meu grabbed his hand once more and pulled him up the ramp.

Golifett stirred, and despite his bonds, flopped into the hallway. He cursed and swore as he fought the knotted 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. Was this the woman that seared his face, and if so, why was she naked? Where was the beast that had strangled him? Where was the winged serpent?

Claiten held Meu's free hand with his own as he pulled her along. "Let's gooo…" he begged in a low whisper.

Meu glared at Golifett as Claiten pulled her past the beast. She hissed at the naga as she moved away, and he did nothing to encourage her return.

Meu flung aside the belled drapes, which chimed and rang with such a racket. With Claiten in tow, she fled into the darkness of Beletrain—but only for a dozen steps. After that, Meu dared not go any further, as she was blind as any human in the darkness of the dungeon. 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 clouded his vision.

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

"Get me out of here!" Claiten begged in a frantic whisper. Fear raged through the boy and threatened to overwhelm him. Tears flowed free. He felt as if Beletrain would wake with the naga's screams and slowly crush him. “Please!” he begged. “Please get me out of here!”

“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 only helped a bit. Still thinking of the dagger, the boy was surprised to note that 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 a scaly tail wrap about his arm.

Revulsion washed through the child, and he thought to swipe the tail with the dagger, to cut i—deep. The tail was certainly thin enough, thin like a rope. He might be able to cut right through it—but a brush of feathers made him reconsider—then he remembered how Meu had shifted in his mother’s tent. Though it seemed to be ages ago, it was a little more than a week since he witnessed this astounding feat of magic. He wondered how could he forget that Meu was a shape-shifter, a skin-walker, as his mother had put it. At the time, the spectacle had staggered and frightened the boy. But that was also the one time he’d seen her make the transition. Since then, she'd always appeared human, and what with all the excitement of the last few days, he’d forgotten her serpent form altogether!

As Meu guided Claiten away from Golifett’s lair, the boy thought of the ribbon snakes he used to catch when he lived near Tikatis. Although the beasts struggled to get free, they rarely bit and could do no real harm when they did—unlike the spearheads he saw around Camp Calderhal—with their long vicious fangs and noxious venom that killed full grown men from time to time. He might be repulsed, he might shiver at her touch, but he realized that 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 him, calm and pragmatic, with Eikyale still in her head to help. 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 slow and deliberate.

As they continued, on and on, Claiten grew comfortable with the wyrm’s 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. Meu dodged Claiten around aqueducts, drops, slopes, inclines, ramps, holes, bobbles, and 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.

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 a thin tunnel.

This will be one of the ways my kind sneaks into the human city, Eikyale noted. Be careful. When the are discovered, they are often trapped.

The tunnel was drenched in the smell of naga—but also the stench of humans. Still, 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 smell of abducted young.

Meu pulled herself into the tunnel. Claiten swept the heavy drape aside and felt the warm air of the surface swirl about its entrance. There was also a light, ever so vague, which showed him nothing but dirt. Still, a sense of relief flooded over the boy. 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. It was quite thin in several places, and a tight fit for the boy at such junctures—but Claiten was young, strong, and resolute. He pulled himself along. He dug the dagger into the earth, and also the purse full of coins. He lost several of the precious metal rounds, but kept a tight grip on most of it. 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 any adult humans out of the tunnel altogether.

Around a bend, the bright light of an exit 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 the better half of a day since Kezodel’s death. By now most of the city must know of his demise, 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. 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 tree. 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 naga decided to venture into the city? Considering the darkness of Beletrain, it was likely the naga did all their creeping at night—and the surface world would soon be dark.

For a moment, the park was clear. Meu spread her wings and flew low over the grass. Claiten bolted from the hiding place and sprinted after the flying wyrm, with nothing but 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.

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 in his 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 back at the boy. "Druss Meu?" she asked 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. "I trust you," he nodded and gave a weak smile.

Meu smiled back at the boy. It was apparent to her 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 knew she was right. Although he did not want to separate, he also had little interest in running around with nothing but a ripped shirt tied about his waist. 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 such a child with nothing but a dagger and a purse full of coin? If they were anything like his own people, most would 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, and take him so he might live a hard life of labor, shame, and worship.

Meu kissed Claiten's forehead and caressed his hair. "Druss Meu," she repeated, then summoned the shadows and shifted back into her serpent form.

Claiten stared after her as he laid on 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 be lost? What if she simply could not remember where he was? 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.

"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, there were undoubtedly others about. He 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. Ho many hours was he in the cage before Meu finally rescued him? It felt like forever. It felt like no time at all.

Alone once more, 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 would bury the blade and coin, excepting a couple silver. Then, 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 meager 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, 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 under the branches of the pine. Best of all, she was fully dressed, and had an arm full of clothes!

Meu pushed the clothes at Claiten. With a smile, he chirped as he slowly managed the task of dressing in a cramped space. The outfit was a bit 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, then slipped the coin and blade into his pockets.

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 all about 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.

The 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 the dream woman touched him, Claiten thrilled and woke with a start. He squirmed and realized a restraining arm around him. Meu covered his mouth. Claiten turned and stared into her eyes to find caution and worry. There was something else in the park. There were naga.

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

Across the city at that same time, Scurra suffered another one of her spells while she was asleep at Fowler’s Auction. In all ways, Scurra’s spells were the opposite of her brother’s. Where he seized and convulsed, causing himself undue damage, she held still and often went slack. Where his visions were light and blessed, hers were dark and sinister. Often, she found herself crawling through a pitch black labyrinth, as something chased her (her brother’s visions never repeated).

Yet, this was the first time she’d seen this vision. During this spell, Scurra stood among her friends on a road that overlooked 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. The clouds boiled and spilled toward the edge of the massive lake. The breeze picked up and became 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; at first a few, then a dozen, and finally scores.

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 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. She wondered if perhaps it was just a nightmare—but no—it had the tone and flavor of being prophetic.

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 second 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. Scurra pushed through and leaned over her unconscious cousin. “Hey there,” she said as she put a hand on him.

Elpis startled awake, but relaxed as he saw through his good eye who stood over him. “Hey…”

“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, then scooped Evereste out of the bed and ran from the room.

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

By now, all three of Fowler’s girls stood in the hall and complained of Scurra’s 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.

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

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. They were not men. They had weapons aplenty. 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 crept though the park.

Meu backed out from under the tree. Claiten followed. Standing, he took Meu's hand, and they bolted through the park. As the boy darted from his hiding spot, the jangle of coins caught the nagas’ attention, 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 streets, but were quickly outpaced. 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.

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 gold coin among them, then handed it to the clerk. With a smile, the clerk took the coin. “Well then, that’s a hefty deposit indeed,” he said, then turned to a board with keys hanging from it. He selected one from the top row, then turned and gave it to Meu. He pointed up the stairs and said, “That way to your suite,” then turned and pointed down the hall, “and that way to the dining room.”

There was conversation and the occasional clank of dishes down the hall. 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 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!

Also among the details of yesterday, Claiten was reminded of 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 disappeared as he remembered his troubles. Confused, tired, and sullen, he stared at his plate as it was delivered. 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. This time Claiten knew he would not escape them—nor did he intend to.