The Dead Wind

by Dennis Monaghan

  “As for news from Bottom,” Ronzal scratched his head, “You know how superstitious they are about their Blood Magic. All I can get is rumor of evil, even the return of Noster. But that’s to be expected after the Dead Wind. The people down there have always feared the Butte and, to my way of thinking, with good reason. Also, I have word that twenty trade wagons out of Bottom are headed up Bay Road. We’ll know more when they arrive.”

  “I wouldn’t rule out some new danger coming from the Butte,” Jana mused with a frown. “I have seen that dire place. Giant electric slime worms live in the swamp. The air is putrid, and the stink sticks to your clothing. The people of Bottom have stories that put the battle between Noster and the Trickster in the Butte.”

  “And we have no idea how the earthquake and Dead Wind affected the Butte,” Michael added. “Who knows what dread has been stirred up? I can feel a taint on the One Wave. I’m afraid that the earthquake and the Dead Wind may have turned something loose on us.”

  Bartok and Cara sat at a table in the dinning area. After he drained his glass of wine, he said to Cara, “The Requiem was the finest piece of music I have ever heard.” The music had moved him but made him uncomfortable. Images of Wind Point Plateau and the old captain had come into his mind to haunt him during the performance, and he could not shake the feeling that the old captain wanted revenge. The man was dead, Bartok reassured himself; he could do nothing now.

  Cara stood and put her hand on his arm. “Would you care to dance, Bartok?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  They joined the lively dance. Couples were spinning together, weaving in and out with other couples. Bartok placed his hands around her waist and she put her hands on his shoulders and they spun out among the dancers.

  Their dancing grew better with practice. Bartok noted that Cara was taller than most women, and he could feel her taut muscles under his hands. With her dark eyes and dark hair, she looked striking in the bone white outfit. He could feel a powerful energy coming from her. He was, he realized, more than a bit intimidated by Cara. He would have to watch himself.

  They danced through a double spin, and Cara laughed with the thrill. The music stopped and everyone clapped with pleasure. Bartok tried to catch his breath. “That was great fun,” he panted.

  Cara was smiling and hardly breathing at all. “But we need a break. Let's fill our glasses and walk in the garden.”

  “That sounds good,” Bartok said and retrieved two glasses and a bottle of wine from the refreshment table.

  They walked into the spacious walled garden. A majestic live oak sheltered a sitting area where they stopped. Bartok poured the wine and raised his glass to Cara. “I must congratulate the artists, and most of all you, for this truly magnificent festival. People are having a wonderful time.”

  Cara bowed her head in recognition. “Thank you, Bartok. Planning it was challenging, but fun.”

  Bartok sipped the wine with pleasure. “Ronzal is a man of fine tastes,” he said holding up the wine as evidence. “How do you know him?”

  “He was my first patron. Ronzal is not from the old families, although his family has been in the City since the founding. He was born and bred in the First Gate District. Now he has wealth and uses everything he has wisely. I know he’s a fair man. The old families have a grudging respect for him. He saw some of my leaded glass window work at the Art Revue and commissioned me to do the doors and windows for the Cabbage. He picked me over some artists who were heavily backed old family favorites.”

  “You did those doors and windows? They are wonderful—and funny!”

  “Yes, the old families had trouble with the humor.”

  “I see you have other works around,” he said, “like the amazing rock seats in the garden outside the speaker’s suites.”

  “I won a City design contest for that commission. I think they turned out rather well,” she said with a smile. Then she put her hand on Bartok's arm. “What are your plans for rebuilding the City?”

  Bartok looked at her for a moment without speaking. “That is a big question. First I'll have to get elected speaker. But it sounds like you have some thoughts on the matter.”

  “I would like to have a hand in some of the projects,” Cara said leaning forward in her seat.

  In mock hurt, Bartok covered his chest with his hands. “So that's the reason you wanted to dance with me. I thought it was my charm.”

  Cara, embarrassed, sat back and laughed. “I have not missed your charm, Bartok, but I can get very excited at the thought of building a bridge over the shift in levels the earthquake caused on Wharf Road.”

  “We do need some way to deal with the gap. Some sort of bridge would work, and that’s a smaller task than rebuilding the City. But it is too soon to think about. First we must deal with water and sewer lines.”

  “I understand, Bartok. But keep me in mind.”

  “I don't think I'll have trouble keeping you in mind,” he said smiling. “Care to try another dance?”

  They stood and went to the dance floor.

  Fourteen

  Ridge Road

  Big Red broke camp and loaded her gear on her horse. She had chosen to push pass the Bent Tree Inn and sleep in the redwoods. The thick morning fog hid Ridge Road. She led the horse to the road and stopped. Silently she opened to the One Wave letting her awareness flow outward.

  At this early hour no one was yet on the road, but soon it would fill with wagons and riders. So far her experiences with the various people she’d encountered gave her no cause to worry. They were Dead Wind survivors who had adjusted as best they could to their new lives. She had asked some of the homesteaders if there was trouble of any kind; the worst they described were raids made by wild kids on chicken coops and gardens. One young farmer had referred to them as Rude's Brood. Big Red hoped that Grandfather Lute would be wary of Rude and his bunch.

  By late that afternoon, she planned to be at Wind Point Plateau. It was off the direct route to the City, but her vision had put her there and she felt the need to know why. Mounted and trotting north, she came to the last of the redwood trees. Over a rise, the land dropped off toward Wind Point Plateau and the ocean beyond. The trees gave way to brown grass, grey green shrubs, occasional valley oaks and sand. Not far ahead stood an arched opening in a stone wall that surrounded the white adobe buildings of the Oak Vine Inn. The inn sat above the juncture of Ridge Road and the Coast Road. To the left of the inn was a small upper road that went past the dunes leading to Wind Point. So, this would be her route.

  The inn was bustling with business, judging from the array of wagons and horses hitched around its wall. Six of the horses bore trooper saddles and other pieces of City Troop tack, but Big Red noticed that no horse sported the full complement of Trooper gear. So, these riders must have been scavenging at the abandoned camp at Wind Point. Her scout sense told her having a look at the riders might be helpful. Also, a bite to eat with Cobb’s good breakfast beer would not go amiss.

  Big Red pushed through the double doors into the common room and paused, taking in the room with a measured glance. Young farmers and a few travelers sat at the round oak tables. Big Red sat an unoccupied table just inside the door and next to a leaded glass window of a three-leafed vine.

  Innkeeper Cobb, very tall, apron around his skinny waist, approached her. “Welcome, Big Red, I’m happy you survived the Dead Wind.” He bowed in a manner that resembled a pile of twigs falling to the ground.

  “Thank you, Cobb. I am happy to see you, and I trust your breakfast brew survived as well?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Better than ever.” Cobb went to the bar and drew the beer. Big Red looked again at the customers and focused on six rough young men with mismatched trooper’s garments. Three of them, she could see, carried the curved saber that was City Troop issue, and the others were probably so armed as well.

  Cobb returned with her beer. “I hope you find this to your liking. The hop harvest this year looks li
ke the best in a long while, and I think my beer is going to get even better.”

  Big Red sipped the rich brew with pleasure. “You’re brewing a beer better than this,” she said, smiling. “I can’t wait.”

  Cobb slid out a chair and collapsed into the seat like a folding rule, his bony knees sticking up above the table. He looked at Big Red for a moment before saying, “You are going to Wind Point Plateau.” It wasn’t quite a question. She sipped her beer and said nothing. She could sense that Cobb was being cautious and didn't know how to frame his words.

  “I grew up here at the inn,” he went on. “The inn was my father's and his father's back to the beginning of the City. I know this land, the look, the feel, what the animals are about, the birds …” He waved his hand in the air. “When I was a child, an old traveler taught me how to be aware of the One Wave, and through the One Wave enjoy the sunrise. I try to be with the sun every morning. Yesterday at sunrise as I slipped into the One Wave, I was drawn into your vision.”

  Big Red put her glass on the table. “What did you see?”

  A woman with sparkling eyes came up to the table then, carrying a plate of food and a pitcher of the dark morning beer. She placed the plate in front of Big Red and poured the beer for Cobb and more for Big Red. “Is my husband bending your ear about his special gift?” she asked, her round face lit in a smile.

  Cobb had stood as his wife Maggie approached. She was not a small woman, but he towered over her. She swung her backside into him playfully, and he flopped back into the chair.

  “I haven't said a word about special anything,” he protested.

  Maggie laughed and addressed Big Red. “He was touched by a traveling Wizen when he was a child, we haven't been able to do anything with him since.”

  Big Red laughed and said, “Please join us, Maggie.”

  “Thank you, but there is too much to do. You talk with Cobb.” She touched his shoulder and left, going back to tending the customers.

  Cobb took a long drink of beer. “I have the gift of knowing when the normal wave of the environment has changed or been disturbed. After the Dead Wind I began to notice a strain in the One Wave. Because it would pass me quickly, I couldn’t get a read. One day when I went to the abandoned camp at Wind Point, I could feel that this strain was emanating from there.”

  “What do you mean by 'strain'?”

  “Like a strained muscle, only it’s in the waves of the environment, a contraction of energy. When I was drawn into your strong connection the other morning, I recognized the strain as deep anger.”

  “Anger toward me?” asked Big Red.

  “No, but somehow this anger was in contact with you through the One Wave. I do not know what it means, but I also saw flashing swords. I know you must go to Wind Point. Would you like me to go with you?”

  Big Red was touched by his offer. “No, Cobb, my vision shows me alone. Thank you for the caution as well. This anger you’re picking up in the One Wave could be dangerous.”

  They sat silent for a moment, which Big Red broke after a nod at a table behind Cobb. “Tell me about the men wearing the City Troop castoffs.”

  “Ah,” he said without looking, “now there is danger you can see. They and some more like them have scavenged weapons and anything the Troop left behind. They may be responsible for harassing lone travelers and using strong-arm tactics on others. Lately, they’ve hinted that I should be grateful that they keep the bad element out of my place. There is an abandoned livery and way station back along the Coast Road. I think that’s where they’re holed up.”

  “How many are they?” asked Big Red.

  “I’ve counted nine; there could be more. There are at least two others: Bill, a great big man, and Slim, who is sort of tall and, well, slim. Those two were the first to scavenge the camp. They seem to be nice men. They don’t mix with the others, and there might be a story there.” He furrowed his brow in thought. “That's about all I've seen. Best stay away from them.”

  Big Red assessed the scavengers. Though they were young and strong, their skills would be limited. Still, with their numbers they would be dangerous, and the advice to stay out of their way was sound. She would be cautious on her ride to Wind Point.

  “Thanks for the beer and breakfast,” she said, digging for a coin.

  “No money, Big Red,” Cobb said, staying her hand with his light touch. “If you need help, or need anything at all, before continuing on to the City, come back through here. You can take Ridge Road down the mountain. Otherwise, your fastest route from Wind Point is Coast Road, which meets Ridge Road not too far along.”

  “That’s what I was hoping for, after a look at the abandoned camp.”

  As she stood and turned to the doors, Big Red saw one of the young men notice and say something to the others. Big Red hoped they wouldn't delay her.

  Cobb joined her on the porch. “They’re getting ready to leave,” he said. The fog had lifted off the courtyard revealing three of Cobb’s children hitting a ball with a stick. Cobb called and they ran over.

  “Olive,” he said to the oldest girl, “take your horse and ride off toward Wind Point as fast as you can. You know what to do.” Olive, who was just a few years older than Bell, dashed out the gate.

  “Olive wants to be a scout,” Cobb said proudly. He turned to the next girl. “You go get Big Red's horse and bring it around back.” The second child darted off. “And you,” he pointed to last child, a small boy, “take Big Red around the back way.”

  “Thank you, Cobb,” Big Red said and followed the boy along an arched walk to the back of the inn.

  Big Red heard the men leaving the inn and then the hooves of a single horse galloping past—Olive, acting as decoy. The men shouted and their horses could be heard pounding up Wind Point Road. Big Red’s horse was led around and she mounted. “Thank you,” she said to the children, looking down on their smiling faces.

  Big Red could hear that the riders were well ahead of her as she took the Wind Point road. Good. She would be at their backs instead of their being at hers. She rode at a steady pace. Where the road turned between two large sand dunes, Olive spurred her horse from hiding and, with a wave to Big Red, rode back to the Oak Vine Inn. Big Red chuckled, recognizing a practiced plan put into action with confidence. Cobb was prepared and young Olive well qualified for this risky task. She was indeed material for the scouts.

  Woodside Mill

  Grandfather Lute had given each family member a City Scout-style rattan staff. They were gathered at dawn on the drive outside the forge, with Scruff, the sheepdog, looking on with curiosity. It was their first lesson.

  Grandfather Lute stood before them, spinning his staff in a quick figure-eight pattern and stopping with the shaft waist-high across his body. “Follow me,” he said. “We will start with the basic positions and strikes.” He led the group in a series of movements, and everyone tried to copy what Grandfather was doing with varying degrees of success.

  “Good,” he said. “Now, pause and open to the One Wave. Then we will go again. This time Bell and the twins will lead you. They’ve learned the first staff set. I will walk around and adjust your movements as need be.” Bell and the twins started the set, and Grandfather Lute moved among the students.

  Scruff started barking and sniffing the air and, in a moment, Bell too had caught the scent. She cried, “Fire! The livery hay shed!” There was smoke rising behind the main stable.

  Wooden fire buckets stood by the long water trough in front of the livery. Everyone grabbed a bucket, dipped it into the trough, and ran as fast as they could toward the fire. Bell found moving hard with the weight of the full bucket; she could see flames when she rounded the end of the main stables. She tossed the water on the flaming bale of hay in the open end of the hay shed.

  “Form a chain!” Grandfather Lute shouted. They formed a line and passed the buckets to and from the fire. Quickly the fire was contained with the loss of three bales of hay and some burn damage to the she
d.

  Mark, Matt, Harp, and Shell searched for glowing embers; the twins and Bell poured water to dowse these threats. Grandfather Lute, thinking the worst had passed, walked to the water trough and splashed his face.

  The livery doors burst open, and two of Rude’s men ran out, swords in hand. They were leading a team of horses hitched to Mark and Matt’s fancy coach. Rude himself was on the coach, slapping leather on the horses, urging speed. A number of others, each armed with some form of weapon, spilled out of the stable and kept pace with the coach.

  “Hold!” Grandfather Lute shouted, grabbing his staff. He took a quick look around. Near the opened gate, two of Rude’s people held the thieves’ horses. “To me!” Grandfather Lute commanded his family. “Everyone to me! Open to the One Wave! To me!”

  Bell and the twins took up their staves as four ruffians converged on Grandfather Lute.

  A swordsman rushed in with a thrust, which Grandfather Lute side-stepped, driving the end of his staff into the legs of the assailant and sending him sprawling, his sword flung from his hand.

  Two men swinging ax handles in overhand strikes aimed at Grandfather Lute’s head—and found nothing but air as he ducked past them and spun. With two strikes of his staff, Grandfather Lute sharply rapped their heads, and the men fell to the ground. A fourth attacker, a boy in his late teens, backed away and hid behind the coach, which was stalled by the shying and kicking of the team of horses, balking at their harsh treatment.

  Staves in hand, Mark and Matt rushed toward the distressed horses, and another of Rude’s crew, a man named Dent, stepped to meet them, brandishing his sword. Rude abandoned the reins and stood in the box, pulling a long butcher knife from his belt. Another of his henchmen, Fiscal, armed with a sword, came around the front of the team, followed by two men with clubs.

  Grandfather Lute pointed to the unconscious men and told Bell and the twins, “Keep them on the ground and out of the action. I’m going to help Mark and Matt.”