Of Fire and Air, Of Earth and Water

Polished 5.1 and 5.2 — 43m21s — 2023/12/11

Polished 5.3 and 5.4 — 24m42s — 2023/12/12

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 chased after the fleeing men, but were repeatedly battered back by Ministrian ambushes. Yet, the fighting took its toll. There were simply too many of the beasts and time after time the soldiers were forced to turn and run, always shy a few more men. A great number of brave Ministrians volunteered their lives to slow the advancing enemy from catching the main column of civilians and slaves.

Shadows stretched and grew over the low forested hills as men and beast slaughtered each other. Another ambush was falling apart. Petaerus sprinted from the massacre and stepped too close to a waokie that had managed to get behind their lines 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 turned and chased after the beast, as it howled its victory. He got close, but the ragged bugger slipped through a tangle of undergrowth. For a long second, the soldier cursed and kicked at the uncaring brush, sure that he could feel poison seeping into his veins. Still seething, he heard the trample and crash of far too many pursuers. He took the prudent course, and ran.

In the growing shadows with pandemonium all about, Petaerus ran south. After this particular fight, it took him nearly half an hour to get to the main column of survivors. Once there, 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, when many of the fighting men had been torn to shreds, and as waves of despair washed over the high guard; he was startled to see men running the other direction—dozens—even hundreds! Militiamen came charging through the woods and just about gave the two soldiers a heart attack as they raced passed, yelling and screaming. Wave after wave of armed men wearing the various colors of Rynth Falls were running at the waokie! After the initial shock wore off, Petaerus felt a surge of relief wash over his exhausted body. They were safe!

Still, it’d be another hour before a wall appeared out of the haze, with torches all about. Petaerus leaned on Dolif as they made there way to the parade grounds where triage tents were being erected. He was fairly delirious by the time they found a bed. There was a noticeable patch of rot on his cheek, and his face had swollen up so much that one of his eyes was shut.

For the next several days, Petaerus suffered. He was one of the last to recover, due to the difficulty of treating the rot on his face. For most of the attending doctors, the preferred treatment for rot was amputation, as once the infected limb was removed, recoveries nearly tripled! 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, Voressa 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 unaffected 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 on the morning of his release.

Dolif frowned. “With a little luck, it should calm considerably,” he offered.

“Can’t say I’ve ever felt any better. There’s nothing like the edge of death to make a man feel alive!” Petaerus bragged—though his face was still delicate.

“That’s the attitude!” Dolif grinned. “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 with Drastorig’s acolytes, to lead the Trohls against the Saot—which is all the better. Why chase waokie when we can riot and loot among men?”

Petaerus considered his words. “What you speak is true—though I would like a little revenge,” he shrugged. “So you signed us up with Drastorig?”

“It was that or chase dog-men through the woods, and for what reward? For revenge?! That won’t buy me a priestess!” Dolif charged. “And we aren’t signed up with Drastorig, either. You’re the special envoy to the acolytes,” he shrugged. “Technically, you’re in charge!”

Petaerus blinked. “Drastorig didn’t make it?”

“On the contrary!” Dolif exclaimed. “Drastorig fought the whole way, then joined the watchmen in their assault. He came in looking like a conquering hero—as he dragged one of them vermin all the way to the walls of the city.”

Petaerus blinked. “He caught a woakie?”

Dolif nodded. “Broke both arms and pulled one of the legs out of its socket—but the vile thing was still hissing and pissing and howling for half the town to hear!” He shook his head. “So that’s how it started, and when they wouldn’t let him bring it inside the city walls, he proceeded to build a fire and cook it.”

Petaerus blinked. “To what end?”

“They don’t call him ‘the Gorpulent’ for nothing—and Just the smell of it made me gag!” Dolif cringed. “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 at his friend and shook his head. “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,” Petaerus shuddered.

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. They expect a full recovery in… what? Maybe a month?” he hedged.

“Cripes, and I thought I had it bad,” Petaerus said.

“Not at all, son! You have it good!” Dolif clapped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Did you notice your stripes?”

“Copal?!” Petaerus stared.

“They made me your second!” Dolif grinned. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re the special envoy to the acolytes, until the return of Drastorig!”

Petaerus blanched. “And why would they put me in charge of Drastorig’s acolytes?!”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Dolif shook his head. “No! You are the ‘special envoy’—it’s a very specific title. Learn it for both our sakes.”

“Special envoy?” Petaerus shook his head. “How am I a copal?”

Dolif punched his arm. “Our plan saved nearly fifty fighting men, several hundred civilians, and twice as many slaves,” he smiled. “The salvage was very generous—but the awards didn’t end there! Drastarig had nothing but good things to say about you—before he got so terribly ill—and he was the only one with any rank to make it through, so…!”

Petaerus didn’t know what happened to Wilkus or Shafenauper, but during the commotion of their flight, he himself had sunk a blade into the worthless back of Dreanna. He smiled as the thought about it. “Well, I have recovered, been promoted, and been rewarded with the bounty of a rich salvage!” He beamed. “The only thing that could complete this day is a woman!”

“Well, it might not be that much money,” Dolif muttered. “Any priestess worth her tears will charge you double—at a minimum.”

“What?! Do you mock me?!” Petaerus huffed. “The ladies love scars! Besides, I’m a hero! I should be paying half!” he complained.

“You won’t hear argument from me,” Dolif began. “Give it a few more days to calm, and I think the ladies shall not blanch as much,” he shrugged. “Not that it matters for the time being, since we are going south, and shall be looking for women among our enemies,” he continued with a grin. “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 or larger beasts out. There was also a thin iron door, but it was left open, as was the case with many residences.

Behind the open 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, and little light that came from a passage at the far end of the front room. Ever so slowly, Meu crept over thick 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. 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 Vericote 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 inside and was happy to see there wasn’t anyone there.

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, Eikyale 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 since Meu smelled meat. 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 as he sang:

"Chicken fall upon the floor,

chicken cannot open door,

chicken want for sssun be sssore,

sssoon da chicken be no more!

Chicken, chicken, ssstuck in ssstore,

ree and ssscree and cluck before,

tasssty eating, sssuck the core,

in me belly pluck one more!

Hen and cock and chick all sssweet,

sssoup and pie—they tasssty eat,

what to do with beak and feet?

give to dogsss—then dogsss for meat!"

Dogsss to flog and kick and beat,

watch the teeth and clawsss on feet!

mean and viciousss—though good eat

give to friendsss and guessstsss to greet!"

Boil and toil and ssskin the dogsss,

grill and sssmell thossse tasssty fogsss!

ssskewered, basssted, great with grogsss

—but don’t forget to add the frogsss!

Hoppersss, floppersss, ssswimmers free!

frogsss are tassstier than brie!

The bessst: blind cave frogsss cannot sssee

toasssted, basssted, poached for me!

Catch the floppersss in the ssstream,

in the light, their eyesss do gleam,

by the dozensss, children ream

‘a copper each!’ They call ’n beam.

Frogsss, ssso many, it may ssseem

in da pot they boil and teem,

‘too much frog!’ a mother ssscream

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 she was glad to see its pain.

War stirs, even in your heart, 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, and 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 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.

“Dogsss 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 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. With a chuckle, the naga grumbled his satisfaction, then returned to the counter where he resumed his song:

“Hoppersss, floppersss, ssswimmersss free!

Frogsss are tassstier to me,

the bessst, the cave frogsss cannot sssee!

Toasssted, basssted, 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.

The boy will be fine for a day or two, Eikyale stated. We should take our time, and wait for a proper opening.

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. Her fangs punctured the naga’s scales. Meu injected her venom, then slipped past the naga and fled up the ramp.

Caught off guard by the sharp pain, the naga banged its head, and cursed a blue streak.

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

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 and slipped among the jumble of discarded furniture. She only needed a few seconds for the venom to do its work, but the naga had a knife, and if she wasn’t careful a few seconds would spell her end.

The naga entered the room. He thrashed about the bureaus, beds, chests, and whatnot, as he searched for her. Meu climbed into the rigging between the ceiling and the insulating drapes. 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 to use 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 resistant to 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 grabbed the hand with the knife. She held the weapon away as she squeezed, and shifted her body to stone.

Golifett tried to pry her off. Precious seconds ticked by before he slipped the knife from one hand to the other. He sliced at Meu—only to find her hide was hard as rock. The blade slid off her coils, and caused Golifett to stab his own shoulder. Shocked, he dropped the knife and 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.

Still unconscious, Golifett laid bound on the floor. 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 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.

“Where’re the others?” Claiten continued with his questions. "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: copper, silver, and gold; all lined up in neat stacks next to the empty purse. 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. Let us be more concerned with our lives.

Golifett stirred, and despite his bonds, he managed to flop into the main room. He cursed and swore as he fought the knotted rope. He struggled in earnest—until he saw Meu with his dagger in hand come up the ramp from the kitchen. 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? Who was this woman? Was she the one that seared his face?

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—not that he could see in the pitch black darkness of Beletrain anyway.

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 another 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 he could 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 almost forgotten the winged serpent altogether! “I trust you,” he whispered to the creature.

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, which, thanks to his young age, he was able to squeeze through. They dodged around aqueducts, navigated drops, slopes, inclines, ramps, holes, bobbles, and catches. She took a slow deliberate pace when traps and other obstacles revealed themselves, and rushed him when the way was clear. Together they dodged naga, dodged traps set by the naga against the humans, dodged traps set by the humans against the naga, then dodged a few well armed 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 the coin after all! 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… so how to get out?

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, his voice thin and hollow in her head. She could tell that his presence in her mind would not last much longer. Be careful, he warned. When such entrances are discovered, the humans don’t always block them. Often they simply trap them.

Meu proceeded slowly. 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 began 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 gave it camouflage. As she poked her head out of the tunnel, Meu realized the world had a red hue about it. The sun was near the horizon. Soon, it’d be dark.

Although there were people in the park, they were few and far between, and they all seemed to be in a rush. It'd been the better half of a day since Kezodel’s death. By now, most of the city must know of his demise—and the rest would certainly be feeling the uneasiness of their neighbors. The very order of things would be in question. For most, this was not a time to meander through a park, caught up in quiet contemplation, or lackadaisical musing. Still, it was a big city. There were always a few.

Behind her, Claiten clambered from the entrance. He stared and grinned at the world of the surface, 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. She suspected that 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, and 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 naked human, 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 at all! 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. 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 this was anything like Tikatis with his own people, well, most would simply take the money and blade for themselves, then push the boy into the gutter. Eventually the church would find him, whip him for his indecency, and take him to an orphanage, so he might live a hard life of labor, worship, and shame. Not knowing his options, Claiten 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 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. Thankfully 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. When morning came, he would bury the blade and coin, excepting several pieces of silver. Then, with the light of morning, he’d go into the city and buy clothes and food. Once he had some clothes on his back and some meat in his belly, he could return for the remaining 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 time he saw her, she was struggling through the underground city of the naga. If she wasn’t dead or captured by now, she was certainly hiding. Either way, 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 as he found a restraining arm around him. Meu covered his mouth. Claiten stared into her eyes to find caution and worry. He turned to consider what she feared, and realized there was something else creeping about in the park.

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

Halfway across the city, Scurra slept at Fowler’s Auction; and as she slept, she 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 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, and above the mountains a storm brewed. Clouds boiled and spilled across the lake. The breeze picked up and became a steady wind, then increased some more to become a raging gale. Scurra stared on, assured that something terrible came her way—and she knew that she was unable to stop it.

And what of her friends? They were fast asleep. She shouted—but it was too late. 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—and as they shot past, they called to her.

"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.

They had arrived late and put Elpis in a bed almost immediately; he’d lost so much blood. The father was there to start, but left to seek help from a local doctor. Wenifas was barely standing as she hugged her small child. Evereste fussed. She was cranky for being held so close for so long, and also for a lack of food. The priestess put Evereste on the floor, and the auction keeper’s daughters were nice enough to change her diaper and get her some milk. At first, Scurra didn’t want to stay—but what could she do? Elpis was out and Wenifas wasn’t far behind. The daughters were kind…

“Where’s your father?” She asked as she stood, and tried to shake off the nightmare.

The smoosh-faced girl rolled her shoulders and tilted her head to the floor. “He’s still out,” she admitted.

“How far is this doctor?” Scurra replied.

The girl continued to stare at the floor.

Scurra stood and stepped to the door, intent on seeing her cousin.

Nervous, Fowler’s daughter stood and followed her down the hall. “Where are you going?”

Scurra ignored the girl as she stepped down the hall, then pushed her way into the room where Elpis slept. She leaned over her unconscious cousin. “Hey there,” she said as she put a hand on his cheek.

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

“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 answered 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 quite the time trying to convince ‘er there were no troubles below the belt.”

Scurra leaned in close. “I don’t trust these people,” she said in a whisper.

“Just for hands?” Elpis frowned. “Or do you got other concerns?”

“The father left as soon as we got here. Said he was going to get a doctor. Still ain’t back.”

“How long?”

“Several hours?” Scurra shrugged. “Not sure entirely,” she frowned. “Nodded off for a bit.”

“The sooner we go, the sooner we get to the House of Leaves,” Elpis stated. “Once we get there, we can rest all we like.”

“Agreed,” Scurra said. “All right, then. I’m gonna help you up and we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Alright,” Elpis sighed, pale and 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 paused and stared at the girl, “and when will that be?”

The girl said nothing.

“Right,” Scurra said as she helped Elpis get his pack over his good shoulder.

Arms akimbo, Fowler’s daughter frowned as she blocked the door. “Father won’t like this.”

Scurra glared. “Move,” she ordered.

With a whine, the wide-eyed girl 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 four of Fowler’s girls stood in the hall and spoke over each other. “You should stay!” “You need rest!” “Why won’t you stay?!” “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.

The four daughters stood, and held a makeshift council at the open door. “What are we going to do?” “Father isn’t going to like this...” “They should have stayed!” “One of us is going to have to follow…”

“Well,” the oldest turned to the two youngest. “Go pick stones.”

The youngest returned. “Which color?” she asked and held out her fist.

The third also put out her hand.

The eldest tapped the hand of the third and said, “red.”

The third opened her hand and revealed a red stone. She gave the oldest a big smile and a high five, then handed the stone to the youngest.

For a second, the youngest put the stones behind her back, then held her hands out.

“Red,” the smoosh-faced girl claimed and touched the youngest girl’s left hand. The youngest opened her hands to reveal the red stone in the right hand and a luminescent white crystal in the left. The wind went out of the smoosh-faced girl as she conceded.

“Well?!” The eldest girl stared. “You better go!”

With a sigh, and slowly at first, the smoosh-faced girl slunk into the night.

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

Ever so gently, Meu shook Claiten awake.

As the boy 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. Immediately, he knew what they were: naga.

They had weapons aplenty. One had a bandage wrapped about half his face, and another on the opposite shoulder. 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 knife!

Yet, he knew such an action would only result in his own destruction. Instead, he watched the naga as they crept through the park and tried to keep the rising tide of dread from flooding 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—but they didn’t get far before the boy’s foot snagged a root. As he fell, he threw the bag of coins, which rang like a hundred chimes.

The naga turned toward the noise. The chase was on!

Claiten gasped and cursed. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the purse—abandoning the rounds that spilled. He caught Meu’s hand and on they ran! They crossed a street and disappeared among a row of houses into the city proper.

As they took their second turn, Claiten glanced back. He couldn’t see their pursuers. Neither could he hear them—though he swore he could feel them…

After several blocks, Meu and Claiten came to an inn with the front lights still burning. Meu smiled and pulled Claiten into the building. There were two men behind a high counter, standing several feet over the entrance. One was massive, though he smiled amiably. He was also young enough to blush when Meu gave him a wink. The other was an older gentleman, kindly and well mannered as he stared at Meu, Claiten, and the dirt on their clothes. Claiten couldn’t tell what the old man thought, and his steady gaze unnerved the boy.

For several seconds, the old man and Meu simply stared at each other—which confused both Claiten and the large young guard that protected the entrance to the beautiful inn. Finally, the old man broke the silence, as if answering a bevy of questions that Meu must have asked in some invisible way. He spoke congenially, then waited while Meu stared at Claiten. The old man also began to stare at Claiten—so Claiten stared back at the old man.

Why were they staring?

With a grin, and a tilt of her head, Meu poked Claiten’s pocket, about where' he’d tucked the coins. She stared in his eyes and he realized she wanted him to pay the man. 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 gracious smile, the clerk took the coin and gave a congenial bow, then turned to a board with keys hanging from it. He selected one from the top row, turned and gave it to Meu. He pointed up the stairs and said, “Go to the top. The Daisy Suite.” He turned and pointed down the hall, “and that is the way to the dining room.”

Claiten didn’t understand any of this—but when she turned toward the dining room, he did too. 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.

The large room was nearly empty, except for several tables near the bar which were occupied by large, intimidating, and well-armed men—as they laughed and sang and spilled their beers. Indeed, it didn’t register with the boy that it should be weird to find so many Ministrian shocktroops in the room. Instead, it seemed downright normal and settled the boy’s jangled nerves. He knew how to behave around these men.

A half dozen wenches encouraged the intemperance of the men and tried to contain their mess simultaneously. The roar of the party was dulled by the newcomers—but as the young boy and woman only gave them a slight nod, and the faintest touch of a smile, the party remembered itself.

One of the wenches peeled away from the party and approached. “Hi there…” she began, then simply stared at Meu attentively. They stared for several seconds, then the wench smiled and said something that sounded an awful lot like, “sure thang, sweetie!”

She was halfway to the kitchen, when a hefty voice called from the entrance. It was the young guard, and it was a sound of alarm! Once again, the party was shocked to a halt, only this time it did not resume. Instead, the gathering of Ministrian shocktroops broke into a flood of drunken soldiers, half out of their shirts, as they tumbled into the hall. They grabbed anything handy as they stumbled and swaggered and swore at the door.

The yelling and calls of alarm only increased. More and more people came down the stairs, and for a time, Meu and Claiten sat in the corner and wondered at what was happening. They had a good idea that it involved nagas, but beyond that…

Although most the men were military, they were all officers of either rank or money—and often both. For fighting men, they tended to be rather round and soft—yet they were still men, bolstered alcohol and number. The commotion swelled as it drifted out onto the streets—but only for a few minutes, after which they started to return to the bar, their drinks, and the startled wenches. They told of a couple naga had poked their heads in the door, as they swore and complained about the beasts.

Among the officers was a Grandus. He wore the pin of a Baradha. Claiten didn’t knew all that it meant—indeed, he didn’t even know the word for it—but he knew that the man was powerful. With an air of self-importance and a puffed-up demeanor, the Grandus approached Meu, intent on assuaging any fear caused by the alarm.

He was kind enough, as he sat and stared at the strange woman. There was a one-sided conversation where only he spoke. He was quite boisterous, as if Meu engaged in sparkling and lively conversation. Instead, she simply sat, smiled, and made eyes with the man—all to the amazement of the others.

Sitting in the large dining room, Claiten felt safe as the officer began to flirt with Meu in a shameless manner. It was the sort of flattery men gave to his mother when they petitioned for her attentions, so it made Claiten squeamish in a manner, but also seemed rather normal, even a bit fascinating after his dream—and it was certainly much better than running from naga! He breathed easy as he stared at the other men all about the room. They were armed to the teeth, and he smiled as he listened to their familiar braggadocio. Indeed, the conversation seemed so ordinary that Claiten forgot himself and called the Grandus on one of his bluffs, “Why did the dragon not eat you?! Why did it only want a conversation?!” the young boy asked in perfectly clear Ministrian.

The Grandus stared at him in amazement. Meu caught Claiten’s eye, and gave him a glance that spoke volumes. Careful now, she seemed to say, and reminded him of the long day they’d had.

Claiten recalled 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 always remember it all as it happened—and yet his day had spiraled so completely out of control that he had forgotten all of it!

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. His mother was banished—and since he would be with his mother, he must consider himself banished with her.

Claiten frowned as he remembered his troubles, then turned away from Meu. Confused, tired, and sullen, he stared at his plate as it was delivered. For a minute, he only picked at his breakfast—until his body remembered its hunger. Then he ignored Meu and her company as he gorged on the strange delicacies set before him.

With the boy occupied, Meu was able to brush past his indiscretion. Indeed, the Grandus was little concerned with the boy. No. He was far to enraptured by this elegant and enchanting woman that sat before him.

Claiten ate, and as he was satiated, 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 cheek on the soft remains of a sweet spongy bread; unconcerned that they were drenched in a sticky syrup.

Aware that the boy might fall asleep with his face in his plate, Meu gathered Claiten into her arms, left several coins on the table, then half-carried the groggy boy through the halls of the hotel as the Grandus followed them to their room. Meu thanked the Grandus for his escort, and promised to find him the next night, then proceeded to lock him out. Finally, she gave a silent prayer and thanked Acad for a sturdy lock and a thick door.

The room was large, although 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, and yet strangely disappointed to see that she was in her serpent form.

As the boy drifted toward sleep, he felt Meu's scales press against him. He wrapped an arm around the thin coils of her tail, then quickly lapsed into a deep sound sleep. As he slept, 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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