Of Fire and Air, Of Earth and Water
Polished — 57m44s — 2022/11/11
Polished — 1h09m48s — 2023/02/13
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 swarming bugbear were repeatedly battered back by Ministrian ambushes—but there were simply too many—and time after time the soldiers were forced to turn and run. As they ran, a great number of brave Ministrians volunteered their lives to slow the advancing enemy.
Shadows stretched and grew over the low forested hills as men and beast slaughtered each other. Yet another ambush fell apart. Petaerus sprinted from the massacre and stepped too close to a waokie that had managed to get ahead of him and hid itself in a tree. As he stepped by, the waokie scratched at his eyes.
The soldier dodged, but was caught along his cheek. Stung, Petaerus chased after the beast, as it howled its victory. The ragged bugger slipped away through a tangle of undergrowth as the soldier cursed and kicked at the uncaring brush, sure that he could feel poison seeping into his veins.
In the growing shadows with pandemonium all about, Petaerus ran south. He joined several more ambushes and even reunited with Dolif as they crawled toward the safety of Rynth Falls. Then, when the night seemed to be at its darkest, as waves of despair washed over the high guard—suddenly there were men running the other direction! Dozens—then hundreds! Wave after wave! Fresh and eager troops engaged the waokie under the colors of Rynth Falls! They came charging through the woods and just about gave the two soldiers a heart attack as they raced past, yelling and screaming. Shortly after that, a wall appeared out of the haze with torches all about, and Petaerus felt a surge of relief wash through his exhausted body.
As numerous as they were, the waokie melted before the Ministrian legionnaires and their Trohl allies. The beasts disappeared back into the forest, chased from the city by fresh human troops.
Petaerus was fairly delirious by the time he reached the wall. He could barely see out of one eye, and there was a noticeable growing patch of rot where he was scratched. Dolif feared the high guard might die as he half-carried his friend to the parade grounds, where triage tents were set up.
For three days, Petaerus suffered. He was one of the last to recover, due to the difficulty of treating the rot on his face. The preferred treatment of most of the doctors was amputation, as once the infected limb was removed, recovery was usually quite quick. But such a fix was not possible for Petaerus, since they simply could not amputate his head and expect him to live. A more delicate tact was required, so it fell to Voressa. Near blind, and half the age of the mountains, the hag returned to his bed every few hours to administer a repugnant draught, maybe perform a delicate lancing (which always felt like hellfire for at least a good hour after), and also to have a little grope at the man’s glory. She chuckled to herself as she cradled his eggs. Sometimes she got a rise out of the soldier—only to give him a pinch for his impudence. In such a manner, it took three days for the old witch to cure him.
“Does it look as bad as it feels?” Petaerus asked Dolif as he gingerly fingered the scar.
Dolif frowned. “With a little luck, it should calm considerably,” 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 said. “Soon we go south!”
Petaerus was perplexed. Surely, their commanders did not mean to abandon the north to a bunch of dog-men? “We do not move 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 riot and loot among people?”
“What you speak is true—though I would like a little revenge,” Petaerus shrugged. “You’re 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 returns,” Petaerus smiled. “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 shirt, 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 nearly 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 the witch to know it. Indeed, we’ll be travelling in Gliedian’s own company!”
“Our plan?!” Petaerus questioned. “I distinctly remember you were against it!”
Dolif frowned. “I merely played devil’s advocate—as a good second must—that we might flesh out the superior plan. Besides, you can see I am still your subordinate, or is your eyesight still so compromised?”
Petaerus twisted Dolif’s arm, so he might have a second look at his friend’s promotion, then smiled. “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! He even managed to capture one of the devils! He brought the poor creature into camp—snarling, spitting, both arms broken—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.”
Petaerus shuddered. “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 the last time I saw him.”
“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, and I thought I had it bad,” Petaerus said.
“Well, I hate say it, but this don’t look pretty,” Dolif pointed at his friend’s scarred face. “Shall I get you a mirror?”
“The ladies love 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. Not that it matters for the time being, since we are going south, and shall be looking for women among our enemies,” Dolif grinned. “For them, we shan’t have to pay a copper!”
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 5.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
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 Claiten’s scent among the myriad other flavors that drifted from the home. She slipped past several iron gates that would have kept any men and larger beasts out. There was also a thin iron door, but it was left unlocked. Whomever owned the house must not have been worried about interlopers, or thought that the gates would do the trick.
Behind the iron door was a thick cloth curtain. Meu moved slow and hoped anyone inside could not hear the ever-so-faint tinkling of the bells attached to the drapes as she squeezed past the bottom corner that covered the front doorway. 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 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. 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 as they surveyed the bedroom. 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. Notice the plaque on his wall? Eikyale asked. The symbol of the trident and the flower?
Yes, Meu replied. It’s on everything.
Just about, Eikyale grinned. He’s a Veracote for sure. You’ll want to keep your distance.
Meu returned to the main room. She noticed another slight ramp, much thinner than the first. The musty smell of water drifted up this ramp.
This will be the bath and privy, Eikyale told her. She peaked anyway, and was happy to see there wasn’t anyone inside.
The next room was simply a storage; packed with bureaus, tables, chairs, beds, chests, and other large furniture; stacked one upon another all the way to the ceiling. The drapes along the walls were tattered and appeared to be a good deal older than the rest of the residence. So naga are just like humans after all, Meu reflected.
In what way? Eikyale asked.
You both tend to hoard.
Eikyale sighed. Such habits only fuel our problems. Is there no greed among your kind?
We are not so perfect, Meu assured him. We have our trinkets and treasures. There’s plenty for us to betray, fight, and kill over.
No people is perfect, Eikylae replied.
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. The soft light intensified. The singing became clear and distinct. She was surprised to hear the low grumbling voice was singing in Trohl. There was a hissing accent to the words, but otherwise they were simple and clear. 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.
But it was not all fun and sport for the naga. A blood soaked bandage was wrapped about the left side of the creature’s face. From time to time, the beast grimaced and took delicate notice of this affliction. Because of this, Meu knew it was the beast that had attacked Wenifas and was glad to see it in pain.
Even in your heart war stirs, Eikyale chided.
Especially when one of my own has been taken, Meu replied.
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 a few fire sprites and several moon wings in separate cages, and also 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. 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 the curse and shriek of a child. The face of a small boy poked out of the clothes, streaked with tears, only to have his pleas ignored. The naga grumbled with satisfaction, then returned to the counter where he resumed his song:
“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 seemed of every sort, though most of it was small clothes for mere children. All of it was ruined and blood stained.
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 he searched among the assorted jars and boxes. He stood so close. 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 this 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. He turned in time to see his attacker slip up the ramp. Still cursing, the naga pursued after the intruder.
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 formed. 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!” he chuckled. “You see, we are quite resilient against most 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 very difficult.
Perhaps if I bit him again? Meu asked.
Perhaps, Eikyale shrugged, unconvinced. Perhaps not.
It is all the same, Meu confessed. I am out of venom.
Golifett continued to search for Meu. He could not find her, mostly because he forgot to look up.
What of traumas? Meu asked. Are you immune to strangling?
Before Eikyale could answer, Meu 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 into 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 hard as rock. The blade slid off her coils, and caused Golifett to slice his own shoulder. Suffocating, he dropped the knife. He tried to pull her from his neck—but he could not. The naga slumped to the floor as blood flowed from his new wound.
Thank you, Eikyale said, since Meu did not kill the naga—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. She returned to the rope and freed it of its previous duties, then wrapped the naga's hands and tail, and tied her best knot.
Meu took his blade and keys. She returned to the kitchen. She tried the keys one after another against the cage that held Claiten. The right one slipped into the lock. With a grin, Meu twisted the key. The lock popped with a satisfying click. She wrenched the lock off the door, flung the door open, and stepped into the cage. She cooed as she grabbed at the mountain of rags and flung them aside in search of the boy.
Claiten poked his head from the clothes, his eyes wide with fright. It took a second for Claiten to recognize Meu, and then he was puzzled and confused by her nakedness. He was not used to seeing others in the buff, and found this woman’s lack of clothes both intriguing and unsettling. 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 soon 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—as he clutched a ruined shirt to his nakedness.
Meu pulled him to the ramp. Claiten stared about the kitchen—so he didn't have to look at Meu in the buff. He saw the coins his mother had him carry, all lined up in neat stacks, next to the empty purse; copper, silver, and gold. 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 again and pulled him up the ramp. Metal will come and go, she said with her eyes. Life is what matters.
Golifett stirred, and despite his bonds, he managed to flop into the hallway. He cursed and swore as he fought the knotted rope. He struggled 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. Where was the beast that had strangled him? Where was the winged serpent?He did not believe this was the woman that seared his face, but if so, why was she naked?
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, since she was blind as any other human in the dark 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 grew 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 helped, but only a little…
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 wrapped about his arm.
Revulsion washed through the child. He thought to swipe the tail with the dagger, to cut it deep. The tail was certainly thin enough, thin like a rope. He might be able to sever it—but a brush of feathers made him reconsider.
Scales and feathers. Claiten 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 wyrm, 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 the winged serpent altogether!
Meu guided Claiten away from Golifett’s lair as 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 fangs and noxious venom that killed full grown men from time to time. Claiten might be repulsed by Meu’s scaly touch, but he realized that all serpents were not the same.
The boy grit his teeth as he shuffled 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. They certainly got plenty of practice, since there were a good number of obstacles to navigate. Still, there were some areas that were smooth and clear. Claiten began to understand when he might rush, and when he needed to move slow and deliberate.
They continued, on and on. Claiten grew comfortable with Meu’s direction. He had a natural sense about the wyrm's signals. He slowed when she did, and hurried when she hurried him. He trusted her implicitly, and was a talented follow.
Meu dodged Claiten through several gates, around aqueducts, across 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, dodged traps set by the naga against the humans, then dodged traps set by the humans against the naga, then dodged a few human patrols, as they slowly made their way up from the depths of Beletrain.
Still, they had to get out. Well, good thing the boy had grabbed so much coin. But explaining their nakedness would still be a chore—and if they came to the wrong door, whoever opened it might simply take their metal for themselves…
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 and blended quite well with the rock on which it rested. Meu could sense a current of air behind it. 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 these are discovered, the humans don’t always block them. Often they simply trap them.
The tunnel was drenched in the smell of naga, but also the stench of humans. Still, it didn’t smell of the muddled emotions a trap-setting adult might give off; clouded with revenge, resolve, pity, and exaltation. Instead, it was the grisly, oily smell of fear—of out and out terror—and nothing else. It was the smell of the 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.
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 pushed himself along, as she pulled. 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 helped to camouflage it. 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 contemplations, or lackadaisical musings. 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, happy to be able to see once more. 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 above him. She was a friend no matter her shape, and the mystery of her powers gave the boy great confidence. He thought to crow, and even took a deep breath, then caught sight of Meu and suppressed the funny urge.
Though the two were hidden, Meu did not want to stay near the tunnel's entrance. The naga did most of their creeping about 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. Claiten turned and saw an armed man on the 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. They held still as the man 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.
The man muttered something as he passed, something in his Trohl tongue. 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 him again.
Claiten wondered if it was the only phrase she spoke. Indeed, he'd never heard her speak this much—until today. 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. He vowed to stay under the tree until Meu returned.
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.
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’d 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. The tears warmed him up and wore him out. He wondered that his sobs should heat him up 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 resources about him, he’d begin his search for his mom.
As Claiten thought of his mom, tears overtook him once more. The last she saw of his mom, she was struggling through the underground city of the naga. He was certain she was captured, and if she wasn’t captured, she was certainly hiding. How would he ever find her?
Once again, 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.
Claiten 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 tangled with the branches of the cedar. Best of all, she was fully dressed, and had an arm full of clothes for the boy!
Meu pushed the clothes at Claiten. With a smile, he chirped as he slowly managed the task of dressing in the 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. It was still dark, and Meu hadn’t had any rest, so they huddled close. She kissed Claiten on the cheek and closed her eyes, as she nestled against him.
Claiten was surprised to find that Meu was cold 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 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. Still, 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.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 5.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
Halfway across the city, Scurra slept at Fowler’s Auction, and suffered another one of her spells. 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. Also, as his visions were light and blessed, hers were dark and sinister. Her brother’s visions never repeated and were rarely prophetic; while her spells always seemed to be harbingers. Most often of all of her repeated dreams was the one she had where she was crawling through a pitch black labyrinth, as something sinister chased her.
But this was not that dream. During this spell, Scurra stood among her cousins and their new friends on a road that overlooked a placid lake. Across the lake were mountains. A storm brewed and roiled at the near edge of the mountains. The clouds boiled and spilled across the 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 fast asleep. She shouted—but it was too late. The storm was almost upon them! Dots appeared before the storm; a few at first, 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!”
Before she could do anything about it, the storm was upon her. The wind and rain stung as it tore at her skin. Scurra wailed—though she could not hear herself above the gale. 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, even prayed, that it was just a nightmare—though she knew better.
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 that slept in a chair 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. “Where’s your father?”
The smoosh-faced girl rolled her shoulders and tilted her head to the floor. “He’s still out,” she admitted.
“Is he?” Scurra replied. She stood and stepped to the door, intent on seeing her cousin. “How’s Elpis?”
Nervous, Fowler’s daughter stood and followed her down the hall. “We should let him sleep,” the girl said.
Scurra ignored the girl as she pushed her way into the next room. She leaned over her unconscious cousin. “Hey there,” she said as she put a hand on him.
Elpis startled awake, but relaxed as he glanced through his good eye and saw who stood over him. “Hey…”
“How are you feeling?” she asked as she examined his bandages.
“Like someone ripped my heart out, then punched me in the face for good measure,” Elpis 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. “Once there, we can rest all we like.”
“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 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?! It’s the middle of the night 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 yelled, in an effort to wake the house, as she retreated into the hall. “You can’t be leaving! It’s the middle of the night!”
Scurra ignored her. She marched down the hall, opened the door to the room where Wenifas still 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.
“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 the rising commotion and Scurra’s sinister tone, Wenifas shed her covers, grabbed the shaman’s cloak and her bag, then scooped Evereste out of the bed.
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 spoke over each other. “Why won’t you stay?!” “You need rest!” “Father will be angry if you leave!”
Scurra and Elpis ignored them as they stepped from the house. Wenifas apologized, though she moved quick to follow the Jindleyak cousins as they hurried down the street. As they walked, 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. He knew what they were before they fully revealed themselves. Naga.
They all 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.
Yet, he knew such an action would only result in his own destruction. Instead, he watched the naga as they crept though the park. A rising sense of dread threatened to overwhelm him.
Meu backed out from under the tree and pulled Claiten out after her. Standing, she took the boy’s hand, and they bolted through the park.
As the boy darted from his hiding spot, the jangle of coins caught the nagas’ attention. 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.
They turned and continued to run. After several blocks, Meu and Claiten 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 before the naga came into view. A clerk lifted his head and glanced between the lady and the boy. He turned to Meu, who nodded at the clerk, knowingly.
Claiten had no idea what passed between them, but the clerk spoke cordially and had Meu sign in his book. Then, they both turned to the boy, and stared at him expectantly. Claiten glanced back and forth between the two, unsure what they wanted. His eyes grew wide and he began to panic as he stared back at Meu.
With a tilt of her head and a grin, Meu poked Claiten's pocket where he’d tucked the coin. Claiten realized she just wanted a bit of money. He relaxed and pulled several coins out of his pocket, then held them in his hand that Meu might take what she needed.
Meu pushed aside the larger coins and selected the smallest gold coin among them, then handed the single coin to the clerk. With a massive grin, the clerk took the coin. “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, “At the top of the stairs, go right. Its room 43.” He turned and pointed down the hall, “and that is the 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. Suddenly aware that he was quite ravenous, Claiten gave an emphatic nod. With a glance at the front door, Meu took Claiten's hand and led the boy into the common room.
Though the large room was nearly empty, several tables were occupied by large, intimidating, well-armed men as they took their breakfast before the sun came up. Whatever they were up to, they’d get an early start.
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 many of them 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. And how much trouble would that cause for his former captor?! But as he opened his mouth to speak, Meu shushed him and stared into his eyes. Careful now, she seemed to say, and reminded him of the long day they’d had.
Slowly, Claiten remembered the events of the previous day. He remembered the shaman, the giant judge, the meteor, the collapsing roof, the 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! Among the details of yesterday, Claiten remembered the Jay, Meriona, as she snapped at his mother. He realized among the consequences of the long, hard day was the fact that his kind was no longer his own.
Claiten frowned, his appetite had 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 he ha not eaten for nearly a day. As a growing boy he was practically starving! Quickly, he lost himself in the satisfaction of a hot and delicious 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 several large copper on the table, then half-carried the groggy boy through the halls of the hotel.
Although the room was large, 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. He turned away, and when he looked back at her he was grateful to see that she was in her serpent form.
As the boy drifted toward sleep, he felt Meu's scales press against him once more. He wrapped an arm around the thin coils of her tail, then quickly lapsed into a deep sound sleep. The dreams of serpent women returned once more—but this time Claiten knew he would not escape them—nor did he intend to.
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