A Lash of Wind and Rain

Polished. Add a piece around chapter 8 where Creigal is given the sword and shield of Traust, until they reached Hearthstone, where it’ll be returned to Traust’s family — 34m34s — 2022/11/24

Polished 13.1 and 13.2. Cleaned up Scurra’s vision in 13.2 — 18m01s — 2023/02/19

Polished 13.3, 13.4, 13.5, and 13.6 — 30m03s — 2023/02/20

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 saw some silversage around, and since you said it couldn’t hurt.” He pointed to the knives that Toar wore around his 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 without him.

“A bit,” Toar nodded.

“Are you any good?”

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

Baet shrugged. What did he know of throwing knives? “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 rolled his eyes. “She is unlikely far. Shall I go find her for you?”

“You mock,” Baet replied. “I don’t know what she has against me. I don’t even know the child.”

“She knows why foreigners drink silversage,” Toar noted.

Baet stopped his stirring and stared. “Well if that ain’t below the belt!” he complained. “Why would you tell her such a thing?!”

“I didn’t,” Toar replied. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know!” Baet huffed. “You barely talk to me anymore!”

“Well, if I wanted to be nagged, I’d go find the girl,” Toar stood. “Perhaps it is best if I 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. "You barely talk to me. The brothers Homoth and Komotz think I’m a cheater and refuse to play with me…”

“Did you?” Toar asked.

“What? No! I’d never cheat friends!” 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.”

“My best friend is nine years old,” Baet lamented.

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

Baet let that slide without comment. He didn’t want to mention why the duke or Carringten should have reason to question him. For a moment he wondered if his betrayal was forgotten. Did Creigal even know in the first place? He shook his head to clear away his suspicions. He certainly didn’t need to be stirring up any of that mess—especially if it was all but forgotten. He decided to change the subject back to Claiten instead. “The other day when I was swimming, the boy tried to stab me.”

“Just goes to show that you can’t trust a Ministrian,” Toar replied.

“Oh, I don’t want to cast shade on the priestess or her boy,” Baet shrugged. “Besides, I think I’ve convinced him I’m too big of a target. It’s better to learn from me, instead of against me.”

“Well it certainly isn’t just you,” Toar said. “He took a swipe at Komotz and even threatened Celesi the other day.”

“Really? With his knife?”

“No. Just words.”

Baet shrugged. “He seems to be running awful hot. Do you remember, back before Ebertin? Was he like that when we marched the road from the ruined forts to Faldefallen Hovey?”

Toar shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

“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’ll do some actual damage,” he shook his head and looked off into the distance. “The boy sure has a 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?"

Baet shook his head. “All I do is win,” 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 are terrible gamblers.”

“That’s no reason to hate you,” Toar noted.

“Well, I suppose I didn’t have to take so much coin from them,” Baet shrugged. “Still, they did not have to accuse me of cheating.”

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

Baet gave his friend a quizzical eye. “I considered that myself—but they won’t play with me anymore. Perhaps if I hadn’t rubbed their faces in it.”

Toar patted his friend on the back. “Don’t let it bother you. Now they have prisoners to drain their animosity. How long until they 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. “The middle watch is the worst.”

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.

The hours passed as the soft patter of rain continued. Nothing happened through the darkest part of the night. Baet woke Carringten so the dark man could take the last watch. “Did Scurra come down from the tree yet?” Carringten asked.

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

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

Despite the rain and the invariable rubbing of the tree, Scurra slept quite well, in large part because of the efforts of her brother. Although Krumpus said nothing to her in the waking world, his sister’s words and behaviors of late had bothered him. As he laid down for sleep, he begged to be heard by his ancestral spirits. Several angel guides appeared and promised to be of help. They took his spirit into the tree, so he might plead with his sister as she slept in the crux of two massive branches.

It was still early, and Scurra was yet unaccustomed to the knotty oak. Irritated, she initially refused her brother’s request to poke about the darker parts of her soul, but her brother’s powers of persuasion had expanded, and she was promised a good night’s sleep—which she was quite pleased to hear. As the dark came over her, she showed her brother to the dark part of her soul, where the shadows lurked, so he might see for himself the premonitions that troubled her—then, as she was drawn down to that irresistible darkness, the angelic guides took her hands and lifted her to the sunny climes of her brother’s inner world.

One of the angels led Scurra through her dreams, and the other led her brother. She walked in soft fields full of flowers, with forgotten friends and family. She had no worries whatsoever, since the angel led her through the blissful climes of haven.

While Scurra dreamed of a bright day, Krumpus entered the darkness. There was little he could hear and nothing he could see. Touch was king as he groped about the cold masonry of a deep, dark, dungeon. It might not have been so bad if he was there alone; but there was something else in the dark with him, something malevolent and brooding, something powerful and sinister—and it was hunting him. There were bodies, still warm, though their spirits were already absent. There was blood. The blood was everywhere. It was fresh on the floor, and also as old as the brick of the labyrinth itself. It was mixed in the mortar and trapped in secret cavities. There were bones bricked into the structure. The screams of those enclosed still echoed through the halls and fed the evil as it hunted. The terror of the dead was so thick in the very air, stale and oppressive. It raised the heckles on his neck and threatened to overwhelm. Indeed, Krumpus could sense the torment of a thousand deaths, some of them vicious and quick. Others were torturous and lingering. He felt sick and had to suppress the urge to purge. With all the fear around him, his mind began to unravel. What was this beast that hunted him in the dark? He could hear it snickering and scraping, assured of yet another victim.

How long was he in the dark? The fear was so palpable and draining that although he felt it was only a few minutes of crawling about the frigid stones, it wore him down as if it were an effort of days. When he finally woke, he woke slow—despite the screams and shouts of his companions—with fatigue set so deep in his bones that the roar of muskets barely stirred him. Indeed, he barely made it out of the tent before it collapsed in a violent and calamitous manner. He stood and gaped at the danger that came over the lake. Although it was far too late, he realized they should indeed have listened to his sister’s warning—but it was far too late for all that.

Scurra had the opposite experience. She woke refreshed and strong from her pleasant dream, though she checked in on her brother just before dawn.

You do not have to go there, the angel said of the dark, but when that day comes, we beg you to meet it, for the sake of a thousand souls.

“I can avoid it?” Scurra replied. “I thought it was destined, that I would eventually find myself there no matter what.”

You must agree to it, the angel revealed. Your brother is likely to go, and if he goes without you, despite his great powers, he will fail.

“He will die there?” Scurra stated. “I am sure to die there.”

He will not die there, even if you do not go, but he will fail—and the others will surely perish, the angel answered. If you go, the others have a chance.

Scurra sighed. “Well, at least I have the choice,” she said. “It is empowering to know that I will face the dark of my own volition, that these evils will not be forced upon me.”

Your courage is commendable, the angel smiled. And since you would be courageous, I ask you to wake, for although you are far from that lurking darkness, there are other dangers between here and there, and a great one approaches. Save who you can, the angel smiled, and know that we will keep those that you can’t.

Scurra opened her eyes. The angel was gone. The night was at its end. Water poured from the sky, though she was dry, thanks to the thick canopy of the oak. At the far end of the lake dark clouds stirred—and at the near edge, she could see a boy with a dagger in hand.

“ERR-AY-ERR-AY-ERRRRRR!” He crowed defiance at the malevolent storm. For a several seconds he stared out at a blood red lake—then began to crow again—and as he did, a fin appeared in the waters.

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

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—but a raging anger built up inside him. For several minutes, he squirmed and fidgeted, then finally untangled himself from his covers.

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. Was she still rising in the middle of the night, as she did in Ebertin, when she would leave him alone to search for his mother at all hours? This night, he felt that she had never come into their tent.

The light of the sun continued to creep upon the world. The insatiable urge rose in the boy as he grabbed his naga blade and 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. Still, there was a gap between the clouds and the mountains, and for a few moments the sun peeked through and shined with a defiant hope. Indeed, Claiten was electrified by the sight! He didn’t mind the 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 and ominous clouds brooded low over the mountains to the north and east. 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, as nothing had answered since this strange compulsion began. He cocked his head back, gathered his breath, and crowed again, thinking this would be the last time he called his defiance—to what? The serpentine dangers that haunted his soul? And where did this strange fear come from?

“ERRR-AY-ERRR….” He began—but stopped. His blood chilled and drained from his face, as the lake rippled. A fin appeared, heading straight toward him, and he realized that this day his challenge was answered. Claiten screamed. He screamed long and loud as a naga crept from the water with a callous grin on his burnt and familiar face.

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

Claiten’s 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 early morning disturbance. "I swear I've heard that same rooster ever since the Copper Kettle and Rooms," he shook his head. "I certainly heard it the morning I saw you in your native form," he said as he remembered the strangeness of that day.

That’s because it is not a rooster at all, Meu told the duke. It is just the boy, she noted.

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

He has crowed ever since I led him out of Beletrain, Meu answered. It is strange. You know, the naga was obsessed with chickens. He sang a song of chicken and how to prepare them, and the boy has crowed ever since.

“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 a sorcerer,” Creigal began. “He used to get people to bark like a dog, or moo like a cow. He used strange songs and stories to obsess his targets so they would bark at certain times, or when they encountered certain things. He loved to use squirrels as a trigger, so they’d bark as they made their way through the city. On occasion, I’d have him do this to unwitting men I wished to track. It made them easy targets for days at a time, sometimes weeks.”

Meu’s eyes went wide and she scampered from their bed.

Creigal sat up. “Where are you going?!”

The boy! Meu cried in his mind. The boy is in trouble! With that she turned and ran from the tent—despite her nakedness.

“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 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, crowned by several massive oaks, before it gently angled down toward the lake. Meu crested the rise as another shrill scream carried from the water’s edge. She gathered the shadows and shifted from human to wyrm.

Half dressed, Creigal sprinted passed the night’s guard as he followed after Meu. "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; so he summoned his courage, lifted his blade, and prepared to fight. Adrenaline flushed though his veins. Muscles taut, he watched as Golifett slithered out of the water. I can take him! he thought, and remembered the training Baet had given him.

So bright and righteous was his anger that Claiten truly meant to fight the massive beast. 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 the lot of ‘em. He screamed again.

Golifett caught sight of the boy, grinned, and advanced.

“To arms! TO ARMS!” a distant voice called, though Claiten could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

An arrow screamed passed the boy—a whistler—cut with a special groove so it screamed as it flew. The noise made the arrow obvious. Golifett cut it out of the air with his sword. The other naga slowed as they stared up at small clutch of trees that stood like sentinels behind the child. Another arrow sang from the boughs and caught the second naga in the chest. The beast doubled over.

Several of the remaining naga retaliated. They launched spears and missiles of their own into the tree, which were deflected by the various branches.

Claiten realized he was not alone. His anger rose and his courage grew. He glared at Golifett. “ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!” he crowed as he charged his scarred nemesis—only to be passed by the streaking form of Meu.

In her wyrm form, Meu slammed into Golifett as Claiten screamed and swiped at the beast with his knife. Golifett dodged the boy. A long arm swiped the child and sent him spinning toward the ground—but Golifett did not dodge the wyrm. Meu slammed into the naga, and the two serpents went down in a tangled heap—all while the storm increased.

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

Andrus blinked against his grogginess. The night was miserable as clouds had gathered some hours after midnight, rumbled their disappointment with the land, then began their drizzle a short time 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 had shifted into her serpentine form. The work was exhausting, though he figured out how to summon the obscuring shadows. Still, he could not take a shape. He thought if he could just see her make the transition one more time, he might yet decipher her secret.

But that was a concern for another time. For now, he simply tried 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. The brothers still teased him for getting caught going over the wall with Scurra—and if he got caught sleeping, the mocking would only intensify. Still, despite his want to stay awake, his head sagged. 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 gathering clouds.

God, he was tired!

He wondered if Saleos noticed as the older man fed their sheltered fire. He stood and stepped around several of the tents as he kept his blinking eyes on the sodden soil. Despite the gathering storm, the sky was getting lighter. Andrus hoped the rising sun would chase away his fatigue—though the light wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t take long for it to cross the jagged gap between mountain and clouds. Then the day would take on its gloom and sap his strength once more—just like the shape-shifting shadows. It wouldn’t matter once the others were up and they were all under way. Then he could sleep on his horse.

A rooster crowed just over the slight rise that blocked sight of the lake’s shore. Andrus thought it odd that the boy still insisted on crowing every morning, though he thought nothing else of it. The child wasn’t hurting anything. Indeed, he smiled to have something else distract him from his sleepiness, something else to herald the rising energy of the day.

“Wait!” the foreign duke yelled from his tent. “Your naked!”

Andrus turned to see Meu sprint from the tent, toward the edge of the lake, sans clothes. He 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 at first—until he noticed the look of sheer determination on her face—until he heard the second crow of the child interrupted by an ear-splitting scream.

A flush of energy washed over Andrus as he took several steps after the naked lady. The boy screamed again, and a whistler screeched through the air.

A whistler! It could mean only one thing! They were under attack!

Andrus grit his teeth and took several steps toward the slight rise.

“To arms! TO ARMS!” the duke called, as he brushed past Andrus at a dead run; with only his pants, sword, and shield.

Now fully awake, Andrus rushed after them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saleos stand and follow. Andrus crested the rise that stood over the edge of the lake. Before him Meu summoned the shadows and transformed into her wyrm form. He grinned as he watched the magic play out.

The rain seemed thicker on the lake side of the rise. Despite the obscured view, Andrus 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.

With a yell, Andrus plunged headlong into the storm. He angled toward the tree, where several figures harassed the shadow of Scurra as she crouched among its branches. He threw himself at the nearest beast. The creature was turned away from him and didn’t notice the advancing opponent until it was too late. Andrus slashed it across the ribs, cutting through its leather armor. The naga recoiled as blood arched through the air.

Another naga threw a blade and glanced Andrus. He recoiled and slipped in the soaked grass. The nearest naga turned on the fallen man. Andrus twisted away and dodged the trident, then grabbed the weapon and pulled the naga down. The beast landed on top of him. The beast grabbed at a dagger as they wrestled and rolled toward the edge of the lake. Andrus realized that despite the creature’s thin arms, it was incredibly strong!

Andrus sputtered and cursed as they wrestled. Despite thin arms, the naga was strong as they rolled into the shallows. The beast was dragging him into the waters! But Andrus was determined, and managed to get on top of the beast. He stepped on the naga's dagger and pressed it flat into the mud, then struck the creature's face with his fist.

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrus saw a blur of motion—but it was too late. He lifted his arm to protect his head, just as something struck himr, 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 a naga with a large mallet raised over its head. Andrus lifted his good arm, knowing the weapon would smash right through it, only to carry on. It would crush his skull like an egg. At least it'll all be over quickly, he thought.

But life 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.

Through the chaos of the fighting, Andrus could see Wenifas near the top of the rise as smoke rose from the musket in her outstretched hand. She didn’t care that she’d hit the naga that stood over him. That was just luck—bad luck for her—and good luck for Andrus. Indeed, did she even see him? No. She was crying about something else.

The dead naga slumped to the side, and dropped its mallet. Still, the heavy mallet fell with the full force of gravity and smashed his chest. 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. His heart went out to the girl. Oh Celesi! Why do you cry?!

Andrus sucked air and tried to get off his back. He still couldn't breathe from the smash of the hammer. He rolled in the inch deep water. The tiniest bit of air finally seeped into his lungs. He needed to return to the fight! Still, his breath caught as he gaped at the sky above him. The rain came down in sheets. Then, above the din of combat, a voice cut through the hostilities, clear as a bell. "RUN!" Scurra screamed from her perch in the tree. "RUN, YOU FOOLS! DEATH COMES FOR US ALL!"

Andrus gasped and huffed as he finally managed to prop himself up on his good elbow. 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 they 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 storm and hate which was like nothing he’d ever imagined! This dark blight of clouds moved much too fast to be natural!

Andrus gaped as he laid back and prayed the approaching doom would pass him by unnoticed. The winged beasts flew directly overhead with their coal black eyes—Dragons! How could they hope to stand against a flight of dragons?! The beasts—dozens and dozens of them—shot overhead, with their scaled bodies, clawed hands, and alien eyes.

Yet, the dragons were nothing compared to the creature that chased them! Several tentacles as long as lightning stretched out of the dark mass of roiling cloud and whipped about the screaming dragons as they fled across the lake. A long thin line slapped a dragon out of the sky. The dragon crashed into the waters of the lake, and the tentacle followed immediately. It dipped into the water, went taut, then lifted the massive limp beast back into the air. Stunned and drenched, the dragon was pulled from the water like a man takes a mere trout. Another tentacle wrapped about the lower half of the stunned beast and between the two arms the dragon was pulled in half. The remains were lifted back into the dark mass of cloud as it hissed and popped with electric fury. A beak-like maw appeared out of the clouds and snapped up the broken beast. Andrus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A leviathan!

A terrible shriek came from the clouded beast—a shriek that shook the land! He stared on, barely believing the wonders before him. He could feel the wind rush as the dragons passed him by, followed by the massive leviathan that thundered after them. Andrus laid back in the water, weary and defeated. A deep calm came over the man. Lying at the edge of the lake, he knew he would die—and yet, having seen such wonders, he did not mind.

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