Stormcaller (Book 1)

by Everet Martins

  “We probably are, crazy. Breden is a big town and girls are probably interested in meeting with men like us. Speaking of women, are you finally going to kiss Nyset tonight?” asked Juzo. Walter felt his heart beat a little faster at the mention of her name.

  “I guess I should probably do that soon.”

  “What are you waiting for, an invitation?” asked Juzo.

  A large gust of salty wind tunneled through the road, forming tiny dust devils on either side.

  “You’re the one who’s good with girls. How do I do it?” said Walter.

  Juzo grunted and re-adjusted his bag of training gear on his shoulder.

  “How did you get good with the lash?”

  “Practice, of course,” replied Walter.

  “That’s exactly what you need to do. Once you’ve taken the plunge, you’ll lose your fear of striking out. Even if you mess something up with a girl, don’t worry – there are plenty of others,” said Juzo.

  “I guess,” Walter said, nodding. This isn’t just any girl. This is the girl I’ve always had a spot for.

  They were coming upon Juzo’s house, which was modest by comparison to Walter’s. It was plain and unadorned, without the ornately carved designs lining Walter’s. Juzo’s parents sold Silver Fish caught in the Abyssal Sea to the residents of Breden, which put a cap on their earning power. Walter’s were selling elixir beans up and down the coast, allowing them to prosper.

  A dull rumble reverberated through Juzo’s stomach.

  “I’m not feeling so hot,” he said, an arm over his abdomen. “I’ll meet you at Nyset’s for dinner in a bit. I think I need to go practice Warrior’s Focus on the toilet. Kiss her tonight, you’ll be fine.”

  “Enjoy, friend,” said Walter waving.

  Walter passed other similarly sized homes, making his way through the poorer parts of Breden. As he departed further from the town square, homes and farms became more dilapidated. The Quarry Road was named for the enormous granite quarry that intersected with the Abyssal Sea, whose frozen waters polished the stones nearest the shore. Walter couldn’t shake the feeling of being stalked like prey, but alas ignored it and wrote it off as asinine paranoia. “Was Noah right?” he asked aloud. “Did there really exist a creature from Bleeding in the Depths?” He inhaled and exhaled forcefully, pushing the thought from his mind.

  Mrs. Camfield greeted him at the door, smiling and stirring a bowl of something delicious-smelling. “Ny, Walt is here!” she shouted up the stairs. She is beautiful, for an older woman, Walter thought.

  He handed her the cream jar. “From my mother,” he said.

  “Ah, yes, tell her I said thank you very much. Go ahead and put your things down.” She gestured toward a corner of the foyer. He brushed aside the bulbous saffron tabby, Crinkly, and stowed his bag.

  Walter felt the thud of his heart pound between his eyes. Seconds became minutes as he waited for Nyset to come down the stairs. Calm – you really don’t need to use Warrior’s Focus for this, he told himself. She bounded down the stairs, her long golden locks flowing behind her. She had a pale complexion highlighted by a white shirt and red sweater worn on top. She was two hands shorter than Walter, had a narrow face, and large doe eyes that belied her intellect. She moved with the precision of a tiger, most likely due to her years of tumbling.

  “Hey,” she smiled as she came to the landing.

  “Hey,” he said, meeting her dark eyes.

  They scanned each other’s faces. The anxiety he felt a moment ago evaporated like warm morning dew.

  “How are you?” she asked, hugging him.

  Her lilac scent engulfed his senses. Her warmth felt right pressed against him.

  Do I really have a crush on my friend? Was this right? Yes, it was, he told himself resoundingly.

  “Hungry. Juzo wasn’t feeling so well, he said he’d be here later,” he replied.

  “C’mon, let’s eat, my mom made an incredible roast pig.”

  **

  The harvest moon hung low in the dark sky, casting its deep yellow hue upon the land. Revelers cheered and swung pewter mugs of mead, the crowd writhing like a snake through the center of Breden Square. Some had apparently mistaken their stomachs for mead barrels and doubled over. Other townsfolk gathered round long oaken tables that could easily seat twenty, enjoying the feast prepared by Casey and his apprentices.

  Giggling children scuffled and chased each other with toy lashes and orange kites. Shops and carts that had been sparsely covered in red-orange cloth were now deeply layered in it, appearing nearly ablaze. Torches strewn about lapped at the darkness and large bonfires roared on the outskirts of the plaza, illuminating the festival.

  This was a celebration of living, the fire that burns within us all, and the renewal of life that the Phoenix brings. It was a reminder to cultivate that fire and to never let what truly matters to you burn out. In the center of the square stood the fully constructed likeness of a Phoenix, the bird that rose from the fire of its own ashes to live another day. It stood in defiance against the darkness. Tonight, the denizens of Breden would conflagrate those things which lassoed their spirits.

  Walter reached out and gingerly held Nyset’s hand, leading her to a game of dagger throwing. She flashed him a thin smile. “Think you can beat me?” she asked. He pulled her close, avoiding a stumbling man wearing tattered rags and reeking like the pigsty. He suddenly wheeled and seized Walter by the shoulders with both hands. His mouth was flecked with a thick green and yellow paste. The man’s turbid eyes bored holes into Walter’s.

  “They come,” he hissed. His thick unkempt beard brushed Walter’s face. Walter instinctively grasped the man’s left hand, extracting it from his shoulder and keeping him at arm’s length. Walter shoved him away. “Lay off the Fang Cress, Ralph.”

  “Babo dobo zooma zahna!” exclaimed Ralph.

  They resumed walking towards the dagger-throwing tent, leaving Ralph to babble into the night. Walter grabbed at his gem pouch in his sleeve, making sure it was still intact. He felt something was off, but couldn’t identify precisely why.

  He’d once spent two hours nursing a mug of Scarlet Berry wine in the square while observing the addictive effects of Fang Cress on Ralph. Ralph had crawled along the edge of the square where Nature reasserted her dominance over the land, sniffing the weeds and flowers as though his vision had failed him. When he finally found Fang Cress and began munching on it he almost immediately became something less than human, writhing and babbling on the ground. Walter wanted to see how a broken person would behave. He didn’t think much of it, other than swearing to never try it. This time, however, what Ralph had said left him unsettled.

  “Something wrong, Walter?” asked Nyset, tilting her head.

  “Ralph – what he said… was different.”

  “He’s a Fang-Cress-addicted old fool, would you expect anything less?” she asked.

  “I suppose not,” he replied. Trust your instincts, listen to your gut. Stay vigilant, he told himself.

  “Alright, let’s see what you have,” she said, hefting a throwing dagger. She stood with her feet wide and hurled the dagger, flipping it end over end and smashing the target with the butt. She huffed, narrowed her eyes and grabbed another gleaming dagger from the table. This time she held the blade by the spine, rather than the handle, and it struck true, piercing the target with a satisfying thump.

  “Not bad, let’s make a bet,” said Walter with a mischievous grin.

  “I’m not much of a gambler,” she replied, twirling the blade in one hand.

  “Don’t cut yourself with that,” Walter said. “The loser has to kiss the winner, on the lips”

  Her pale cheeks reddened.

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a bet to me,” she smiled.

  She torqued her arm behind her head and released her last blade, again finding its mark.

  She beamed confidently. “You’re up”

  Walter felt the weight of a bright-red-handled
dagger in his hand.

  “Oh! My aunt and uncle are at the Phoenix with my parents, I’m going to go say hi. Don’t throw yet, no cheating,” she said sternly and padded off.

  Walter leaned back against the throwing table, ensuring there weren’t any blades behind him first. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the activity bustling around him. He watched the crowd in their drunken stupor dancing around the massive Phoenix. He never understood why a man would want to dull his faculties so that he was as defenseless as a new babe. Some men are sheep and others are wolves, he thought. Walter spotted Juzo stalking toward him looking paler than usual. “We missed you at dinner, feeling alright?”

  “No, I think I’m getting sick. I spent most of the evening strapped to the toilet. On the bright side, I caught up with some knife sharpening,” said Juzo.

  “I am glad you decided not to be a baby and came anyway.” The inklings of a smile touched Walter’s lips.

  “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t miss watching something burn,” replied Juzo, gesticulating with his arm.

  “What are you going to burn?” asked Walter.

  Juzo produced a small worn, black leather journal from the deep pockets of his long duster. “This – memories of a darker time,” he said. His shoulders sagged under an unseen weight.

  “The past is dead, the future is unborn,” Walter said, drumming his fingers on the counter behind him.

  “Look at you, a damn philosopher!” Juzo said as he slapped Walter on the back.

  Walter chuckled. Juzo stood tall, looking irreverently at the Phoenix watching over the festival. His light eyes reflected the tumult of the nearest bonfire. The waxing and waning of the chaos in his eyes conjured by the flames lent an infernal appearance.

  Walter set his gaze to the perimeter of the Phoenix adjacent to Nyset, and noticed a group of three white-haired men appearing very uncomfortable. A short man held a hand tightly over his mouth and the other two taller men wrapped their arms around their bellies. The short man suddenly removed his hand as yellow liquid was violently ejected from his mouth. The other two followed suit, thick vomit covering the earth.

  “What the fuck? Are you seeing this?” asked Walter.

  Chapter 4 – First Draw

  “Open the bonds of our souls. Take away the veils of the sky and our deluded minds. Drive the screws through our feet and open the windows of nature.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness

  Juzo followed Walter’s stare and gasped. “They must have had my grandmother’s cookies,” he said. Juzo greedily eyed a nearby Sugar-Glazed Scarlet Berry cart. He turned away from it, his peripheral vision catching Eric, his Sid-Ho classmate, sprinting to a barrel with metal hoops and sticking his head in, gagging. Two plump children ran to the three older men heaving, causing their tiny overfilled stomachs to reject their contents onto each other. It started a chain reaction through the festival. People all around gagged and heaved onto their clothing and each other. The putrid stench hit you like a fieldstone wall. A beautiful girl with red hair and dark skin stumbled as she vomited and knocked a torch over.

  “Something is wrong,” said Juzo. He started pacing beside Walter and pushed a hand through his gray-streaked hair.

  “Yeah,” replied Walter distantly. Walter stood erect, processing the scene.

  Juzo was sick. I feel fine, Nyset looks fine, Walter thought. He sought Nyset’s parents and found them watching the chaos unfolding. Mrs. Camfield’s mouth hung open and she covered her ears through her thin auburn hair. Mr. Camfield held his arms around her, pulling her close and leading her through the door of an empty bakery with a sign made to look like a three-dimensional loaf of bread. They seem less concerned than Juzo.

  The joyous sounds of merriment dwindled to a gagging horror. Walter saw his father clutching a tall flagpole with one hand and looking like he was about to erupt. The orange flag with an embroidered phoenix undulated violently in an extraordinary gale.

  It was the food, Walter thought. Casey? No, he could never.

  He scanned the cook station and discovered the chef rubbing his hands together, his back against the wall, half of his face cast in shadow. His eyes furiously darted back and forth, wearing a sickening scowl. His tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth and red liquid streamed from it. Over the din of the townsfolk vomiting, Walter heard the distinctive pounding of hoof beats in the near distance. Or is that my heart?

  “Boys! It’s time to put your training to the test!” roared Noah from behind them. It was real. There are horses coming? Walter hadn’t noticed his master move beside them as he tried to absorb the shock of the sight. Not good. Stay sharp.

  Noah brandished a braided steel combat lash in his right hand, and snatched a throwing dagger from the game table in the other. “Get daggers, boys,” he commanded. Noah turned his head to the side and retched, and then wiped his mouth. He scowled in Casey’s direction and hurled his blade with a large arc, gracefully passing over the heads of bystanders. It slammed through the chef’s right forearm, pinning him to the cook-station wall. The man emitted a high-pitched shriek and glared in seemingly random directions. He attempted to remove the dagger, but gave up, and sagged to his bottom with his bloody arm outstretched overhead. Noah snatched another dagger from the table.

  Juzo growled and strapped on his training lash from his pack. “Finally, a real test,” he said. He tightly cinched the now deflated satchel strap to his back, eyes resolute.

  “What are you waiting for, Walt?” Juzo punched his arm with enough force to inflict a bruise. Walter shot him an incredulous stare. His lips trembled and there was an unfamiliar pain in his chest. He started taking rapid breaths, and dropped onto one knee. He stared into the dirt containing his and Nyset’s narrow footprints. “Get it together,” he whispered. For her, for everyone, this is what you’re made for. He regained control over his breathing, feeling his pulse calm. He wiped his hand across his forehead as if praying to the Dragon and stood tall.

  “What is this?” asked Walter of no one in particular.

  “This is an invasion,” said Noah grimly. “Those hoof beats are war horses. Fight well, boys – to me!”

  Walter hastily strapped on his training lash and wielded a throwing dagger. He met his father’s eyes as a hail of thick, black, jagged arrows started raining death around them. Many missed people and pierced inanimate objects, but some found homes in bodies of townsfolk.

  The horror of sickness gelled with the terror of the hard reality that they were under attack. People screamed and fled in varied directions, unsure of the source of the attack. Walter and Juzo jogged, following Noah.

  A refreshing cool gale from the sea washed over them, causing fires to dance wildly. At least a dozen other Breden Sid-Ho warriors appeared from patrolling the perimeter, with lashes and various weapons in off-hands. One had taken up a machete, another a hand-axe, and another a long spear. They wore the traditional Breden guard armor consisting of a cuirass, greaves, gauntlets, and small pauldrons to maximize mobility, yet still provide protection against piercing weapons.

  The hoof beats revealed their source. Dark fully armored figures on horseback poured into the square, fanning in all directions. A terrible roar like a hoarse lion echoed through the plaza. Walter and Juzo turned to each other, exchanging looks of terror. “Be strong – focus!” said Noah. Walter clenched his jaw.

  The riders gave no quarter, plunging long spears through civilians with hands raised. Screams of panic became cries of agony. The attackers’ thick furs fluttered behind them and wrapped their upper chests. Walter found Warrior’s Focus disturbingly easy to slip into. Ragged emotions melted away like snow on the first day of Spring and time slowed. His visual perception clarified the palette of chaos into individual, succinct events.

  Walter found his father’s azure eyes as he fled. Time lagged and an arrow pierced the soft tissue of Aiden’s neck. Blood pumped from his severed carotid artery, and the arrow landed resolutely in the body of the enormo
us phoenix. Walter’s Warrior’s Focus shattered like broken glass.

  Aiden crumpled to the soft earth. Walter dropped his dagger and screamed, breaking off from Noah and Juzo, “Dad! No!” He reached his father and placed his free hand over the gaping wound, Aiden’s life essence fruitlessly spurting around it. Juzo came up behind him, tearing sheets from his clothing. He stuffed the cloth strips under Walter’s hand to make a better seal on the wound, but it was too large. The arrow with its jagged spines was designed for creating the largest wound channel without compromising accuracy.

  “Your mother… she’s home,” Aiden gasped. The light dulled in his eyes and he exhaled his final breath. Walter slowly rose to his feet. He clawed at his face with his red hands, raking bloody lines down his cheeks. Tears swelled and ran thin lines down his red-streaked face. He was about to wipe his tears to clear his vision, before realizing his hands were covered with his father’s blood. Juzo untucked his shirt and used the extra material to rub Walter’s hands clean. Juzo then held a hand to Walter’s shoulder and scanned the scene as Walter stared at what was once his vibrant father.

  “There’s nothing we can do now, we have to go, we’re going to be OK.” Juzo’s voice wavered.

  The crack of Noah’s braided steel lash split the air. His lash coiled around the neck of a dark rider under his helm, pulling him backwards from his large gelding seconds before he could skewer a small girl who motionlessly cried, staring into the void. Wearing full plate armor, the rider landed hard on his neck and upper back, the impact disarming him. He then incredibly kicked up to his feet, and reached for his weapon. No man can move like that wearing full plate armor, Noah thought.

  Noah interrupted the reach by binding his arm with the lash. “Not so fast!” He pulled savagely, drawing the man stumbling towards him. The rider emitted a guttural roar that made the hair on Noah’s arms rise. This isn’t a man, he realized. As the rider stumbled towards Noah, he detected the distinctive hiss of a sword being drawn. Noah charged before the dull short sword could be fully drawn from its ebony scabbard, and rammed the off-hand throwing dagger into his enemy’s neck.