A Lash of Wind and Rain

Polished — 26m34s — 2023/12/25

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 between them. “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 replied.

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 of 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. “I told the others we should leave them.”

“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 his fist, and some words that he probably shouldn’t use,” Toar said.

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

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

“Maybe I should 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.”

“Cheers,” Baet lifted his mug of tea.

Hours later, Toar woke Baet for his turn at the watch. Immediately, he noticed the change in weather. Clouds had gathered, and a light drizzle slowly soaked the land. He wrapped his heavy cloak about his shoulders and stepped into the rain. The hours passed as the soft patter 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 branches, Scurra slept quite well in her tree; 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. The faces of his angel guides appeared, ever so faint and intangible. They promised to be of help, so they took his spirit into the tree, that 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 by his heavenly guides—so she finally agreed.

As the night came over her, she showed her brother to the dark part of her soul, where the shadows lurked. Here, he might see for himself the premonitions that troubled her. He followed her into the shadows.

One of the spirits turned to Scurra. “This is far enough for you,” it said. “Since he shall be permitted to see your nightmares, you will walk the world of his dreams,” it told her, as it lifted her to the sunny climes of her brother’s inner world. She walked in soft fields full of flowers, with forgotten friends and family. She had no worries whatsoever, as the angel led her through the blissful climes of haven.

Yet, while Scurra dreamed of a bright day, Krumpus entered the darkness. There was little he could hear and nothing he could see. Even the angel was impossibly dim. Indeed, was the spirit still there?

Touch was king as Krumpus 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, 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 trapped and murdered 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 that 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. Indeed, the fatigue was set so deep in his bones that the roar of muskets barely stirred him.

Oh, but the screaming…

Believing that their could be some great danger, he pushed himself up, slow and groggy, then finally managed to shuffle out of the tent. He barely made it out before it collapsed in a violent and calamitous manner. Blinking against a deluge, he stood and gaped at the danger that came over the lake—and although it was far too late—he realized with a great certainly that they all should have listened to his sister’s warning!

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

Scurra had the opposite experience. She woke from the world of dreams, refreshed and strong—and sure of a fight—but not just yet. Still in her dreams, Scurra talked with the angel that guided her. 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 I did.”

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

“He will die there?” Scurra asked.

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

“They will not die?” Scurra asked.

With dire eyes, the angel stared back at her. Let us say the suffering shall not be as great.

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 are not 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 the lurking darkness, there are other dangers between here and there, and a great one approaches. The angel seemed to grow over Scurra as it slowly faded from her vision. Save those you can, she said and kissed the sister’s forehead. Know that we will keep those that you can’t.

Scurra opened her eyes, flush with energy. The angel was gone and the night was at its end. Water poured from the sky—but thanks to the thick canopy of the oak, Scurra was dry and comfortable among the branches, as she searched the horizon. There was little to see—except for the lone figure that stood at the edge of the water.

On the beach of the lake, Claiten had his dagger in hand as he glared across the water. Lightning flashed above the mountains. “ERR-AY-ERR-AY-ERRRRRR!” the boy crowed defiance at the growing storm.

For several seconds he stared out at a blood red lake, then began to crow again.

“ERR-AY-ERR…” he froze half way through—as a fin appeared in the water.

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

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 such defiance and anger?”

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

“Chickens?” Creigal frowned. “Was the naga 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 could get some 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. He’d get crowds to bark at squirrels as they made their way through the city. Sometimes, he’d make little suggestions for months, and other times he’d convince someone to do this with a simple phrase—”

Meu’s eyes went wide. She threw off the covers and scampered from their bed.

“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 young 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.

But the noise made the arrow obvious. Golifett cut it out of the air and turned to the large oaks. The other naga slowed as they stared up at the 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 seemed to be 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 managed to hold Meu at bay and dodged the boy’s attack. A long arm swiped the child and sent him spinning toward the ground—but this allowed Meu to wrap herself around him, 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, and yet, he still could not summon the obscuring shadows.

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.

Despite his want to stay awake, his head sagged. For half a second, he closed his eyes, then he realized he was beginning to drift away, and snapped back. Just wanting sleep, he 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 cloud—then the day would take on its gloom and sap his strength once more. Not that it would 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 the 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, especially something to herald the rising energy of the day.

“Wait!” the foreign duke yelled. “Your naked!”

Andrus turned to see Meu sprint from the tent, toward the edge of the lake, sans clothes. He leaned back 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 fierce anger 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!

Fully awake, Andrus grit his teeth and ran after Meu.

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

Andrus rushed after them, just a couple steps behind the duke. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saleos gather his own weapon and follow.

Where was the last of the sentries, the dark man?

Andrus crested the rise that stood over the edge of the lake, as Meu summoned the shadows and transformed into a wyrm—right in front of him! He grinned as he watched the magic play out, then followed her down the slope.

Several naga were moving about the beach, mostly around Scurra’s tree. One tangled and wrestled with the winged form of Meu, as two more turned to confront the charging duke.

With a yell, Andrus angled toward the trees, where several figures harassed the shadow of Scurra as she crouched among its branches. He threw himself at the nearest beast, and since the creature was occupied, it did not notice him 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 still coming up the beach threw a blade. Andrus saw it at the last second. He recoiled and slipped in the soaked grass. He twisted enough that the blade barely nicked him.

The naga rushed forward and stabbed at him with its trident—but Andrus turned away, then grabbed the weapon and pulled the naga down. The beast landed on top of him. It scrambled for its dagger. Andrus grabbed at its arms and realized that despite the creature’s thin frame, it was incredibly strong! He sputtered and cursed as they wrestled into the shallows. He thought the beast was dragging him into the water, but allowed it to happen since he saw a way to get on top of it.

Now on bottom, the naga got its blade—but Andrus stepped on the dagger and pressed it flat into the mud. The Jindleyak freed his right arm and punched the creature between its nose and mouth.

Andrus was about to swing again when he caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his arm to protect his head, then crashed into the water with a terrible pain, as the blunt weapon smashed his forearm. He wondered if the bone was broken as he rolled to his back—his face just out of the lapping water. Above him stood the naga with a bloody gash across its ribs and a large mallet raised over its head. Andrus lifted his good arm, knowing the weapon would smash right through, only to carry on, and 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. He couldn’t hear what she screamed, since his ears were under water. He thought to turn and look, but the dead naga that sat on him dropped its mallet as it slumped to the side. The heavy mallet fell with the full force of gravity and smashed Andrus squarely in his chest. He felt several ribs crack as the air rushed from his lungs.

The fighting grew louder and more intense as it was joined en masse—despite the fact that Andrus could barely hear it. Unable to breathe, he struggled as another boom shook the very air. A woman screamed—Celesi!—he realized—and tried to sit.

But Andrus could not even lift his head out of the water. He struggled to regain his breath. The rain came down in sheets. The tiniest bit of air finally seeped into his lungs—with far too much rain. Andrus choked, then managed to roll over and prop his head up as he sucked air.

A voice cut through the hostilities, clear as a bell. “RUN!” Scurra screamed from her perch. “RUN, YOU FOOLS! DEATH COMES FOR US ALL!”

Andrus gasped and huffed as he finally managed to prop himself up on his good elbow. He turned and looked out over the lake. At the far end of the water, the dark clouds churned and boiled—as if somehow alive and coming their way! 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 continued to grow, until he could see their coal black eyes. They were dragons! How could they hope to stand against a flight of dragons?!

The beasts—hundreds of them—shot overhead, with their scaled bodies, clawed hands, and alien eyes, as they raced before the storm. As big and fierce as they were, the dragons were nothing compared to the creature that chased them—the beast that lurked in the cloud. Several tentacles, as long as lightning, stretched out of the dark mass of roiling vapor and whipped about the screaming dragons as they fled across the lake. A long thin line slapped a dragon out of the sky, and the winged lizard crashed into the waters. 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 trout. Another tentacle wrapped about the lower half of the 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 bits of winged lizard.

A leviathan!

Andrus couldn’t believe what he was seeing! He simply stared, as a terrible shriek came from the clouded beast, a shriek that shook the very land! The wind increased as the dragons passed him by, yet Andrus could feel that the pressure was still increasing. In a second, the leviathan would be upon them—and there was nothing he could hope to do against such a beast. He laid back in the water, weary and defeated, as a deep calm came over him. At least his death would be quick.

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