The Dead Wind

by Dennis Monaghan

  Clay let the arrow fly. The shaft flew high and wide. “That was better,” Clay pronounced.

  “Nothing like a better miss,” Olive said with a laugh.

  Clay frowned and looked at the bow as if there was something wrong. Rose took the bow from his hand. “The bow is fine.”

  “Maybe a warped arrow,” Clay said with a grin.

  Olive smiled. She was excited at the thought of going through Scout School with Clay and the others she had met. A chance to learn new things and make new friends—Rose wouldn’t have to be one of them.

  The Butte

  Mistress Iris had spent her first day in the Butte prison compound, tending to the wounds and fears of her fellow hostages. Earlier, guards had come in and taken five away five of the hostages. The guards were laughing, calling them Noster’s cattle. The captives said that each day some of their number were taken.

  Later that day, new captives arrived, beaten and afraid. The captain of the guard watched from the other side of the gate as Iris tended the sick and wounded.

  “You!” he called, pointing at her. Reluctantly, Iris approached. “You a healer woman? Do you make ointments and salves?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Iris said.

  “This blast air is ruining our skin. All of my troops are developing rashes or sores. Can you make something to help?”

  “I have the knowledge, but I have no herbs, no place to work, and no tools to prepare even a drop. And why would I want to help you and your motley bunch? Why would I do anything to support Noster? He plans to suck out my life energy.”

  “You will do what I ask because, if you do, I can guarantee you won’t be eaten.”

  “I will not accept preferential treatment. I will help you if you let everyone free and send no one to Noster.”

  The Captain laughed. “I’ll not send my troops to be food for Noster. You will help me,” he added. “If you don’t, for each one Noster calls for, I will kill additional one to feed to the slime worms. If he calls for five, I will kill an additional five. Do you understand?”

  Feeling trapped, Iris agreed. “I will do your bidding. Bring me a number of ailing solders to examine so I will know what to prepare. I will make a list of the herbs and tools that I need.”

  Woodside Mill

  “What is this about, Lute?” asked Fair Sister. Everyone was gathered outside the bunkhouse. Bell and the twins had set tables under the trees, and Harp and Shell were laying out plates of food. Mark and Matt carried a big pot of soup.

  Grandfather Lute held up his hand for attention. “Welcome everyone,” he said, “I have things to share. Noster from the old tales has returned. Bell had a vision of Noster in the Butte, and she learned that he is bent on devouring all life. Noster made warriors named blood riders and has given them power gems called globs to subvert the energy of the Grotto Altar Stone. This means the blood riders are headed for Woodside Mill.”

  Questions began coming from all sides: “Noster?” “Altar stone?” “Are we in danger?

  Grandfather Lute held up his hand. “Yes, we are in danger. I know some of what I said makes no sense, but all will become clear when you visit the Altar Stone.”

  They had a light meal, and everyone followed Grandfather Lute across Mill Creek and up the trail to the Grotto meadow. They crossed the grass and through the boulders into the Grotto.

  Bell spied the ponies under the redwood trees as the sisters approached the Altar Stone. They touched the Altar Stone and gasped at the power as they were filled with the One Wave. Each person took their turn with the Altar Stone, and each was filled with the radiant energy.

  “Noster will send blood riders with globs to be exploded on this Altar Stone to steal the power for his own,” Grandfather Lute said. “Now that you have experienced the Altar Stone, you can see Noster must not succeed. We must work together to guard the Grotto and the Altar Stone.

  “I’d like to set up a schedule,” Grandfather went on, “for those of you who are willing to become watchers in the Grotto. We here at the mill have been training with sword and staff. We will begin holding sessions at the Roadside Inn, so that you all may attend. When we go back to Woodside Mill, we will see what we can come up with for a schedule.”

  The response was enthusiastic. After a time of sitting with the sustaining vibrations of the Altar Stone, they returned to Woodside Mill.

  The City

  Bartok looked at the glass vial of Crim tea. The one cap full he had taken last evening was wonderful. He had felt alive, robust. Not like now with his throbbing head and weak limbs. He pulled the glass stopper and poured a measure into a cup of warm water; a little more tea, this time, a little less water. He smiled and gulped the contents.

  He walked out the glass door of the speaker’s suite into the garden. There were Cara’s sculptures. What had he said to her? The Trickster was strong in him last night, he remembered talking about that. She had acted put off when Nance barged in. Bartok shook his head; the memories were unclear.

  Bartok sighed as warmth traveled up his spine. He could feel the Trickster was returning. Cara could think what she wanted, he was Anaso the Trickster; he was the elected speaker of the City. He could do as he pleased. Curse Ronzal with his better-than-thou attitude. Bartok jumped onto one of Cara Sagra’s sculpted rock chairs and shouted to the sky, “Blast them all! I am the Trickster!” The Crim tea fired him. Bartok leaped from the stone seat and dashed to the bedroom and dressed in his Trickster clothing. His stood before the mirror and fixed the mask over his face. “The City is mine!”

  Nineteen

  Tanan Shrine

  Scary crept through the open panel of the Tanan Shrine into the pre-dawn twilight. He caught a raccoon in the small wood below the shrine and sucked the life spark from the creature. With this new energy, he again searched for the glob. A notion came to him as he searched: the glob could have been found by another, one of the bright young women.

  The blood rider stopped his search and looked toward the City; they had gone in that direction. He was unsure what to do. But there on the trail from the City to the Tanan Shrine rode the three shining women and the two men. Scary stepped into the cover of the trees and let the party ride past. Did he detect the signature of the glob as they past? He was uncertain. He retrieved his horse and followed.

  Oak Vine Inn

  Cobb hugged Olive, pride beaming on his angular countenance. Olive hugged back, and then her mom, Maggie, got into the act.

  “Your daughter gave us invaluable help,” Jana said, “and she has the makings of a fine scout.”

  “Scout School starts in two days,” Big Red added. “I hope you will allow Olive to attend.”

  Cobb smiled at his daughter and said, “She’s wanted to be a scout for as long as we can remember. We couldn’t stop that kind of desire if we wanted to.”

  Olive said, “I’ll get the breakfast beer, Mom.”

  Maggie pushed her daughter into a chair next to Big Red, saying “Today you do not serve. Today, Olive, you sit with your battle companions. I’ll serve you all.”

  “Sit down, sit down,” Cobb said to Jana. He then looked suspiciously at Bill and Slim, whom he knew as scavengers, possibly bandits.

  “Bill and Slim were of great help at Wind Point,” Jana told him, “They saved Big Red from thugs, and they battled the blood rider at the Tanan Shrine. They are riding with us to Woodside Mill.”

  “Bill, Slim, welcome,” Cobb said, “I will bring breakfast.” He left for the kitchen.

  When the food and beer arrived, everyone dug in. It was a satisfying meal. The party thanked Cobb and Maggie and wished Olive success in Scout School. The four mounted their horses, each trailing a second horse. With waves of goodbye, the four riders set a good pace along Ridge Road.

  Woodside Mill

  Bell and the twins tied their horses to the rail in front of the Roadhouse Inn. They had come early before the start of the community staff and sword training so they could clear off the rocks and sti
cks that could turn ankles.

  Surveying the ground for obstacles, Bell shivered in the damp fog. “I miss my mom,” she said. “The Dead Wind was only two weeks ago. But for some reason it seems like a distant memory. Only the ache in my heart tells me not much time has passed.”

  Book tossed a rock out of the training area and said, “We miss our folks too. Page and I talk about them sometimes.”

  “Talking seems to help,” Page said. “And so much has happened: Rude attacks, finding the Grotto, Big Red coming, and a blood rider.”

  “Don’t forget the exploding glob,” added Page.

  “Life was easier before the Dead Wind, safer,” Bell said.

  “Boring!” Book countered.

  “School and chores,” Page said, to clarify.

  Bell smiled and threw a stone out of the training ground. “You’re right of course; but at school they don’t try to kill you with witless men, blood riders, and globs. The best thing was finding the Altar Stone. I have become more attuned with the One Wave. When the glob exploded and I contended with Noster, my connection to the Grotto Altar Stone allowed me to break free.” Bell hugged herself against the fog and against the fear of Noster’s taking the Altar Stone. “We must stop Noster.”

  “We will,” Page assured her.

  “How can Noster stand against the three scouts of Woodside Mill?” Book asked striking a heroic pose.

  Bell smiled. “The odds are in our favor with you two on our side.” Bell took a last look at the training ground. “The ground looks clear. I smell baking from the inn. Let’s see if we can charm the sisters out of warm sweet buns and tea.”

  The three headed for the doors.

  The City

  “Your design plans to bridge the step on Bay Wall Road are accepted, Council Cara. However the City statues indicate that all work on a City structure must be done by government crews.” Bartok waved some papers in his hand, indicating he had proof of this in writing.

  Cara glared at Bartok in his speaker’s chair, his papers held out. “I accept, on the condition that the workers are sufficiently skilled to execute the design.”

  Bartok glanced at the papers and said, “Yes. I suppose. I’ll have Nance check the wording.”

  “Ask him to see if he can find anything about paying for barges,” Cara said, a threat in her voice.

  Bartok sat back. How did she know about Ronzal’s barges? Maybe he would have to let her use her own artists as crew. But he wanted the income from his own hand-picked crew. He needed more income fast.

  The councilman from Fisher Wharf District perked up. “Barges?” he asked. He was interested in barges. As far as he was concerned, too many barges had been burned.

  Cara said nothing. Bartok squirmed and said, “There is no discussion of barges on the agenda. Next we hear from the Council member for the Warehouse District, who has an important concern.”

  “Yes, yes, Speaker Bartok; most important. We of the Warehouse District wish to change the name of our District to the Goods District. A name that inspires happy thoughts, not one that sounds gloomy.” The councilman looked around the chamber for some response and got none.

  “Of real import,” the Market District councilman sneered, “is this blast Crim tea that has cropped up in the Bottom cafes. The users cause property damage, get into fights, and jump off buildings. I heard some of the City Troop were seen acting badly after drinking the tea. What do you have to say about that, Speaker Bartok?”

  “I agree, Council,” Bartok said heartily. “This Crim tea is becoming a problem, a problem we should nip in the bud. Let us consider making the Crim tea illegal.”

  A murmur of surprise and acceptance rose from the Council members.

  “Would the councilman from the Market District draft a law based on existing City guidelines and submit the document to the Council the soonest?”

  “My staff and I look forward to the task,” the Market councilman replied.

  “So noted,” Bartok said. “Meeting closed.” Bartok stood, grabbed his bogus papers and hurried from the chamber before Cara could accost him. “The Trickster fools them again,” he murmured with a smile of satisfaction.

  The Butte

  The prisoner from Bottom cried and pleaded as the guards hauled him by his arms across the throne room floor. Noster grinned in anticipation; he liked them screaming. The fear flavored their life energy with a tang that he relished. He grabbed the prisoner and devoured his life. Noster cast the body aside and went to the Altar Stone.

  Noster placed his hands on the Altar Stone and focused on the lead blood rider of the pair heading up Ridge Road toward Woodside Mill. Looking through the blood rider’s eyes, Noster could see that the horse under him was stumbling, its strength flagging. “Stop,” he commanded, speaking inside the blood rider’s head. “Rest the horses.”

  The pair of blood riders dismounted and led the mounts off the trail. Noster watched for a moment as the horses were tended and then dissolved his contact. It would be a day or two before they reached the Grotto Altar Stone.

  Noster probed for the second pair of blood riders, the ones on Valley Road. He could see that their progress was less than the first pair’s had been, but their horses looked fit. How had this pair known to treat their mounts with care when the other two did not? He broke contact and pondered the question as he went to tinker with the new batch of blood riders. The energy and power to affect such subtle changes in each successive generation would be his once these two sets of blood riders succeeded in delivering the globs.

  The City

  “By Yil’s tit,” Bartok moaned as Nance shook him awake. “Time to get up, sir. Master Akien is due to arrive.”

  “Master who? Blast him, Nance, I’m dying. My body is aching, my head is pounding. I’m dying, Nance.”

  “You’re the Trickster, sir, you cannot die. Master Akien, I hear is close with Scout Jana and is well regarded in the City. Wisdom says we should treat him well.”

  Bartok pulled himself out of bed and dressed. “Does that mean no tricks?”

  “Not at the moment, sir.”

  “Well spoken. I will meet him in the speaker’s garden.”

  Nance ushered Master Akien to the gardens. “Welcome, Master Akien, I am honored to meet you,” Bartok bowed slightly and offered his guest a seat.

  Master Akien returned the bow before sitting. “Congratulations on becoming speaker. A well-deserved victory.”

  “Thank you,” Bartok said, trying to hide the shaking of his hands. “How may I help you?”

  Master Akien studied Bartok. The young man looked worn, depleted. “Noster of old has returned to the Butte,” Master Akien said. “He is bent on consuming all life. The City is in danger. We are all in danger.”

  “I have heard such rumors,” Bartok said, “but I’ve seen nothing to support these claims. We are receiving trade wagons and ships from Bottom every day. If Noster is real, why do we still have trade?”

  “I don’t have the answer. Possibly his troops occupy Bottom but allow people to go about their business. Recently Noster sent an agent, a blood rider, with a power gem to subvert the power of the Tanan Shrine Altar Stone. This blood rider was stopped by the scouts, but during the fight one of the scouts had a vision of Noster and his desires. Visions may not be in your understanding and therefore you may think them invalid. This vision is the truth, and it means that at some point Noster is coming. We must be ready.”

  “I know something of visions, Master Akien,” Bartok said flatly. Last night’s random and constant flashing of the old captain’s twisted face had intruded into his Crim tea fantasies. “How long before he is to attack the City?”

  “I know not. We have no information on his army, or how many of these blood riders he has fashioned. We don’t even know for certain that he has taken Bottom.”

  “Yes, all this must be looked into,” Bartok responded. He thought of Bast on his way back to Bottom. Could he be a source of information? Bast was after
all a partner. “Thank you for informing me. We will begin to prepare.”

  “You may know that the scouts traditionally guard the Tanan Shrine,” Master Akien paused. Bartok nodded. “You may also know that the City Scouts were wiped out by the Dead Wind, only Jana and Big Red survived.” Again Bartok nodded assent. “I am requesting that the City Troop help fill the need by providing Troopers to protect the Tanan Shrine from further attack.”

  “The ranks of the City Troop have swollen,” Bartok said proudly, “My, ah, our exploits at Wind Point Plateau and saving the government buildings from looters has drawn many recruits looking for glory. I am sure we can spare as many as you need, Master Akien. Please make your request with Nance on your way out.”

  “Thank you, Speaker Bartok. We may need to speak again.” Master Akien stood, bowed the speaker and went to find his assistant.

  Bartok sighed and collapsed back in the seat, body weak and shaking. He needed his Crim tea; he needed the tea now.

  Bottom

  Boh, barefoot, a thin scarf covering her head and mouth, sauntered toward the stable guard carrying a jug of wine. Her knee-length skirt swayed with her walk; her low-cut blouse held the guard’s eye.

  “Poor man,” she sighed. “You must be thirsty. Stuck out here by yourself, you must be lonely, too.” She moved closer holding out the jug of wine.

  The guard looked around and then grabbed the jug. He took three large gulps and, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he stared at Boh’s cleavage. “Well, Girlie, what else are you offering?” He reached out to paw her breast but before he could, he let out a moan and collapsed to the ground.

  Boh pulled the jug from his hand and poured out the remainder of the drugged wine. Rah and some of the town’s resisters entered the stable. They began cutting the saddle straps and taking the horses.

  Boh knelt beside the guard and shook him until his eyes flickered open. “Where is Iris?” Boh shook him again. “Where is Iris!?”

  “Iris?” he mumbled, “Healer woman, rash.” The guard passed out for good.