“Take over, Sergeant. I'll go make my report.” Bartok turned his horse toward the City banner that waved in the strong breeze off the sea. The command tent would be there.
He was apprehensive about his meeting with the captain. Usually Stoneman would reprimand him on the spot. To give him rear guard duty without a word was a slap in the face.
After he’d cracked some heads, those people accepted the tax with no more complaint. The captain should be thanking me, Bartok thought bitterly. He had acted on his ability to see how situations might turn out. His talent was spotty, however, so it wasn’t always easy to figure out which way was best. When the people of Fisher Bay had become loud and threatening, Bartok's vision was overlaid with scenes of what might take place, like ripples on the water. The scenes passed too quickly for clarity, but Bartok could see that many of the offered images contained rioting, so he had rushed in to stop what he’d feared would happen. Of course, then it hadn’t happened.
He dismounted just outside the command area and handed the reins of his horse to the duty sentry. The command area was deserted since the troopers were at mess. He walked to Captain Stoneman's tent.
Bartok called at the tent flap, “Lieutenant Bartok, reporting, sir!”
“Come!” The captain's voice sounded through the canvas.
Bartok entered and stood at attention before his captain.
Stoneman pushed his plate of food aside and sat back in the camp chair. “State your report, lieutenant.”
Quickly, Bartok reported the state of the last wagons up the rise: one with the broken wheel and the water barrel that plunged down the cliff as the result.
“Thank you, lieutenant.” The captain nodded and then looked hard at Bartok's face.
“Lieutenant, I am extremely disappointed by your actions at Fisher Bay.” The captain's voice was no louder than before, but now it carried an edge. “What have you to say for yourself?”
Nervous, Bartok blurted out what he had never before told anyone. “Sir, I could see the patterns of their actions unfold before me. There was going to be a riot. I had to act fast to stop it, sir.”
“Your first responsibility is to the safety of the citizens. If I hear you correctly, you’re saying you injured people because you have knowledge of the future. You know the outcome of things before they happen.” The captain rose from his chair and stood, pressing his hands on the top of the camp table and thrusting his frowning face toward Bartok.
“Yes, sir. Well, it’s not exactly like that. What I mean to say, sir, is that often I can see or feel the energies surrounding people and how these energies may make the people behave.”
“And, so, based on this “sense” you caused violence and injury?”
“It was to prevent a greater violence, sir.” Bartok kept his eyes riveted to the tent behind the captain.
“I've had my eye on you, Bartok. You wear your ambition for all to see. Ambition is tolerable only when it is guided by intelligence. A mark of intelligence is following orders. I see now that it is not stupidity that guides you, as I had thought; it’s delusion. I will not have an officer under my command who cannot follow orders. I cannot have an officer whose judgment is subject to visions, visions that perpetrate violence and go against orders.
“You will stand the mid-watch tonight. We will discuss whether you are worthy to remain an officer of the City Troop when we return to the barracks tomorrow. Dismissed!”
Bartok let his anger well up as he left the tent, anger at the captain, anger at himself. The captain could and would bounce him out of the troop. If only he had not said anything to the captain about his talent. Bartok was unsure how to proceed. He pondered the situation as he rode back to his tent, with no immediate solution coming to mind.
The sergeant was waiting as Bartok rode into the bivouac.
“We're all settled in, sir.” He took Bartok's horse.
“Thank you, Sarge. Bring me a meal and then I must get some sleep. Old Stonehead gave me the midnight watch.”
The sergeant shook his head. “He couldn't handle your fast action, sir. It made him look bad. There are more than a few of us who thought that what you did saved the day.”
Bartok reflected on the sergeant’s words. The captain might not find it so easy to get rid of him. “Thank you, sergeant. I'll be in my tent.”
The fog from off the ocean covered the tents in eerie dampness. Bartok made his way through the sleeping camp to the duty officer's tent. He pushed open the flap and entered the warm, lamp-lit interior.
“I'm assuming watch,” he told the officer on duty. “Anything I should know about?”
“No, Bartok, all quiet. Heard you got the midnight watch. Bad break. I thought what you did at Fisher Bay saved us from a lot of trouble. Not much of a reward for fast action.”
Bartok nodded but said nothing.
“Well, goodnight. Hope all is quiet.” He waved and left the tent.
Three
A Desolate Vibration in the One Wave
High in the sky above Pearl, the constellation known as the Winking God opened his other eye. A smaller more powerful sun emerged from behind its twin and cast its light on Pearl, changing the primal pattern of the One Wave. This new vibration pierced Noster’s dire prison and gave him power. Using this new strength, Noster distorted the vibration of the barrier and caused a rift. Noster oozed through the crack and into the environment of Pearl, exultant. Soon his hunger would be satisfied.
Woodside Mill
An earthquake shot up the ridge like the crack of a whip. The ground recoiled with a loud rumble. The house reverberated. Bell’s bed slid across the floor and banged into the wall on the other side of the room. She clung to the bedpost, as the bed bounced off the wall and started back across the room. Suddenly, the quake stopped and the bed came to rest.
Her ears ringing and fearful that the earth would move again, Bell lay motionless for a moment. She raised her head and looked around her room. The bookcase had fallen; books were scattered across the floor. She took a deep breath and her heart began to slow down. She rolled out of bed and made her way to the door. Grandfather Lute was coming out of his room rubbing his shoulder.
“Bell, are you all right? Where is your mother?”
Bell ran to her mother’s door, reaching for the knob just as it turned and Sal appeared. “How are you,” Sal asked, hugging her daughter.
Bell snuggled close. “I’m fine, just a little shaken,” she said with a small smile.
Sal patted Bell’s back.
Grandfather Lute was inspecting the timber posts and beams that made up the structure of the house.
“That was the strongest quake I’ve ever felt. On first inspection it looks like the house rolled with the shock. I know it’s early, but let’s get dressed and eat. We may have a lot to clean up and some repair to do around the grounds. Bell, peek out the door and see if there is anything left.” Grandfather Lute turned back to his room to dress.
Bell did what her grandfather had asked, knowing he’d meant to lighten the mood. As she considered what he’d said, she became afraid. A sense of foreboding filled her as she opened the door.
The first light of dawn cast a ghostly glow through the scattered wisps of fog. Cautiously, Bell looked around. Scruff, the sheepdog, nervously paced in the yard. The seed rack had fallen. A bucket was turned on its side, but she could see no other damage.
Standing in the doorway, shivering from cold and fear, Bell took a slow breath to shift her ordinary focus and open to the One Wave as Grandfather Lute had taught her. She scanned the environment. Each tree, each rock, each object shimmered with its own individual pattern in the primal vibration, the One Wave. The vibrations were as they should be, but her ability to see them had never been so sharp, so in tune with the One Wave, as it was in this moment.
Bell cast her subtle perception further than she ever had, beyond the small valley where Woodside Mill sat. On the very edge of her awareness she felt a taint in the O
ne Wave, a corruption so vile it turned her heart cold. She knew, as she staggered back into the house that this infection was coming toward them at high speed, a malignant wind.
“Mom!” she screamed, “Grandfather! It’s coming! Something terrible is coming!”
She gasped as the air was forced from her lungs by a sudden spasm. She collapsed to the floor, her consciousness strangled by pain, her body twitching.
Wind Point Plateau
Throughout the long night Bartok's thoughts were burdened with anger and despair. By not considering the good that came from his action, the captain had treated Bartok unfairly. Others could see that what he had done had saved a lot of trouble and time. Why couldn't the captain see this? Instead, Stonehead thought his lieutenant was suffering from delusions.
The hours were marked by the reports of the perimeter guards. All remained quiet, but Bartok drew no closer to what he should do about the setback he faced. He didn’t have a plan or even an idea for a trick to pull. Finally the dawn light signaled the end of the watch.
Bartok stood outside the duty tent and watched the sun turn the fog silver. From the south came a deep, loud rumble he could feel in his bones. The ground began to heave and thrust, the animals yelped and cried in terror. Bartok was dashed to the ground and then bounced around uncontrollably. Suddenly the shaking stopped.
Bartok picked himself off the ground. He could sense the fear and panic from the troopers around him, and this amazed him. He hadn’t ever been so intuitive before. Bartok wondered if his talent was somehow growing stronger.
The camp was in disarray, but no serious damage was in evidence. The night watch began reporting in, confirming his estimation of little damage.
The captain's command tent was a little way off. As the fog began to break, Bartok made his way to report. Deep within his being he felt wrongness, a corruption, coming from the southeast. He paused. The fog was being pushed ahead of a vile wind that carried a foul taint.
Inexplicably, most of the officers around the command area had turned toward this foul wind. Bartok took off toward the captain's tent and saw one of the officers grasped his own throat and fall to the ground. Then another officer fell. The captain, coming out of his tent, shuddered and fell back through the flap.
Bartok started to run toward the captain, but within two steps he could feel the air punched from his lungs by a violent spasm. His body convulsed as he hit the ground; he lost awareness.
The City
For some time Hoodeye the Beggar had been haunted with nightmares: visions of the City streets packed with dead bodies and orphaned children—lost, hungry, and in despair. On this morning, Hoodeye stood and mopped the sweat from his brow. He glanced around the semi-dark space where he’d been sleeping. He had found this abandoned warehouse a year ago. When he was sure he would not be disturbed there, he’d moved in and began to prepare for the lost children his visions foretold.
Now, a low deep rumble caught his ear, and the earth gave a violent shake. Hoodeye rolled to the floor and covered his head. Once the shaking stopped, he raised his head and looked around the warehouse in the early morning light. Supplies had been tossed from the storage shelves, but the structure looked sound. He stepped toward the back door; the air was punched from his lungs. Hoodeye staggered and fell, unconscious.
The Butte
Small rocks and pebbles continued to fall, but the shaking had stopped. Ardo crawled from the tight space created by the fallen header stone that had supported the entrance to the tumbled guardhouse. Standing, he staggered for a moment before he could take a steady stance.
The rising sun illuminated the east face of the Butte, and the vast stone shelf where Ardo stood. Through the settling cloud of dust he could see that the earthquake had reopened the passage to the inner chambers of the Butte. The massive stones had shifted upward against each other, creating a man-sized gap.
Ardo gave a shout of relief and made his way to the gap as quickly as he could. He peered into the opening. Instead of the darkness he had expected, the interior was dimly lit in a phosphorescent red glow. As he stepped into this interior, the stone pendant around his neck began to throb. Ardo grasped the pendant and felt a vigorous pulse drum through his body. Then the priest was drawn forward, forcefully, blindly, going down and down, often stumbling, to the central chamber of Noster's power.
A gray cube of stone streaked with red veins occupied the center of the granite-paved room. From a small crack in this altar stone, a red slime oozed. Ardo was pulled to the stone. The pendant touched the surface of the rock, melted and ran like honey into the crack, mixing with the red ooze. Ardo collapsed across the top of the stone. The red ooze ran into Ardo’s mouth, and in that moment his life energy was subsumed by the malignant being, Noster. The consciousness that was Ardo disappeared.
Noster pushed himself up from the stone and stood. He looked at his new body with approval. Now he would be able to feed.
Four
The Butte
Noster laughed at the earthquake and breathed in the Dead Wind. The Altar Stone in the throne chamber of his hold in the Butte was awakened and pulsing with energy. Now he could gestate ruthless warriors from the larva of the giant electric slime worms that lived in the swamp surrounding the Butte. The slime worms laid their eggs in honeycomb-like holes in the lower tunnels. By projecting energy through his hands, Noster began to manipulate the larva to create the man-like creatures. He’d call them the blood riders.
Woodside Mill
All that day and throughout the night Bell’s body swung between burning fever and shuddering cold. The morning drew her into a death-like sleep that lasted through the next day and night. She awoke at dawn, two days from the morning of the Dead Wind, stiff and thirsty. Dreams had haunted her but would not come into focus. Just as well, she decided.
She had slept on the floor. Bell rolled up to her knees, took a deep breath, and stood up, rocking for balance on her stiff legs. She stumbled to her mother’s room and pushed open the door. Her mother was on the floor near the bed, her robe half off. She was not breathing. Bell rushed over, but she could see that her mother was dead. The girl began weeping and calling out, “Mama! Mama!” Sobbing, she pulled the robe back over her mother’s shoulders and put her head on her mother’s chest. Maybe some miracle would happen. Maybe she would awaken and hold Bell in her arms. She didn’t. Bell lingered for a bit, and then went to Grandfather’s room.
Grandfather Lute was on the floor rolling up on his elbow.
“Grandfather, oh Grandfather! What happened? Mama is dead! Mama …” Bell buried her head in his arms, sobbing. Grandfather Lute held her and rocked her. After some time she quieted down, he softened his hold on her.
“Come, Bell, we must be strong. Something more powerful than the earthquake occurred. By my figuring we have been out for two days. We will lay out your mother’s body. Then we need to take care of ourselves by drinking plenty of water. And we must see to the others, including as the animals.”
They gently laid Sal’s body on her bed. When Bell arranged her mother’s hair, she noticed that the dead woman seemed to be smiling. Her lips turned up at the corners—a little grin that did not belong on her mother’s face. It frightened and repelled Bell. She sat with her mother and cried, until Grandfather Lute called her to him.
They found Uncle Salt dead in his bed. He must have slept through the earthquake. Uncle Till was lying dead on his kitchen floor. Both of them had that strange smile they had seen on Sal’s face. Bell and her grandfather left the bodies and headed to the bunkhouse to check on the workers. Grandfather Lute did not feel hopeful about what they would find.
“You stay here,” he told Bell. “I’ll go in.” Grandfather Lute went through the door to the bunkhouse. He was back in a moment. “They’re all dead, Bell,” he said sadly taking her in his arms. Tears streamed down both of their faces.
“Let’s go see what we can do for the animals. Then we’ll use the wagon to gather our friends
and family.”
They spent part of the morning tending the animals and inspecting the buildings around the livery and mill. The earthquake had tossed around the contents of the various buildings but had left the structures themselves with no noticeable damage. They put things back in order where necessary.
Grandfather Lute was heartbroken at the loss of his family. He hooked up a team to one of the wagons and loaded the bed with picks, shovels, a block, tackle, and a wheelbarrow.
“Let’s go over to the forge,” he told Bell, leading the team from the livery. “I want to check for damage. Besides, there’s bread and some cheese and fruit in the forge pantry. We need some food.”
The forge showed no damage. Grandfather Lute put out bread and cheese and apples. Bell wasn’t very hungry, but she picked at the bread. “Grandfather, this is like the story. Uncle Till said there was an earthquake and a dead wind. Is that what this was? Does this mean Noster is back?”
“I don’t know, Bell. All I know is that something terrible killed our family. Before I passed out, I could feel it sucking my life, draining the One Wave from my heart.” He shuddered and left the remainder of his food on the bench. “If I could shoot fire from my hands, I would burn that malevolence to cinders!”
“I felt something ravenous,” Bell said. “Something hungry. Something that wants to devour us.” She drew herself in, afraid of the memory. “When I first touched the edge of the darkness, it drew me with great power. I fled from it, but I could feel it seeking me. Since then I’ve been afraid to open to the One Wave, afraid of touching that tainted energy again.”
Grandfather Lute, his anger banked by Bell’s fear, put his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll be with you always, Bell.” They clung to each, and after a time, Grandfather Lute said, “Come, Bell, now we have our most difficult task.”
The Dead Wind Page 2