“We did not kill your family,” a deep voice with a strange accent responded from behind.
Walter whirled, flinching back a step. “Who are you? What do you want?” he huffed. “If you’re highwaymen, today will not end well for you.” He cracked Stormcaller before the newcomers, making it sizzle as it hewed a nearby tree stump. He centered his body, doing his best to project confidence.
The newcomer cocked his head, highlighting a chiseled jaw. “I’m Baylan, this is Lillian.” Baylan pointed to the woman standing behind him. Baylan stood at least two hands taller than Walter, long dark hair flowing down his dark-skinned shoulders. He was well-muscled, with a thick torso. He wore light blue billowy pants and strange red shoes that curled up at the toes. His thick golden-threaded sash held a long, thin-sheathed, crescent-shaped dagger. “We come from the Silver Tower,” he said, deep voice commanding respect.
Walter didn’t know much about the Silver Tower, other than the odd rumor about witches and warlocks that sounded more like children’s stories than fact. His father had once said it was a place not to be trifled with and best avoided. At the time, Walter thought it best to leave the matter alone, but now wish he had further probed his father.
Walter tried his best to hide his surprised curiosity, having never met someone from that side of the realm. “What are you doing here?” he said. He relaxed from his fighting stance to a casual one. He was glad to find someone else out here, but reminded himself to not get too comfortable or trusting with strangers. “I’m Walter.”
Lillian stepped forward, placing a light hand on Baylan’s shoulder. She wore ornately cut shades of red with black highlights, revealing more flesh than Walter was accustomed to seeing on a woman. She wore at least eight gleaming bangles around the wrist that lay on Baylan. She had a narrow face with pale skin, and hair that fell onto her backside. The brightness of the two newcomers was a stunning contrast with the lush environment. “We were sent to explore and survey this part of the realm,” she said in a crisp voice. “Unfortunately, it seems we are lost. We have to return by the end of the season, and we took a short cut…” She trailed off, meeting Baylan’s eyes. He blushed.
Baylan offered a thick hand. “Can you help us get to Breden, friend?” he asked.
Walter turned his head to the north. “I’m going to Midgaard. You don’t want to go to Breden right now.” He had a sense he could trust these two.
A warm gust swept over them, blowing Lillian’s flowing hair around her face.
“You have been there?” asked Lillian, deep brown eyes penetrating his.
“I’m from there. It’s not safe now,” he said, frowning.
Lillian and Baylan exchanged concerned glances.
“I’m going to Midgaard to get help. There was an attack on my village… by terrible monsters,” Walter said, voice wavering. Lillian rubbed her jaw.
“We can help you. Take us to your village,” Baylan said eagerly.
Walter narrowed his eyes.
“Midgaard is only two days from here. We’ll need more help than you two. There were at least twelve of them,” he said dismissively.
“Midgaard is a five day walk from here – you won’t make it without more supplies,” said Lillian, planting her hands on her hips. “Take us to Breden, and afterwards we will escort you to Midgaard.”
Walter allowed Stormcaller’s tendrils to dissipate.
“That is a fine weapon you have. Dragon forged,” said Lillian. “Where did you find it?”
Walter studied Stormcaller, shuffling his feet.
“To use it, you must be able to invoke the power of the Dragon,” she said, smiling.
“That is an extremely rare talent, for a man,” Baylan said, face impassive.
“How do you know?” Walter asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
Lillian flashed a smile and opened her arms wide, parting red folds that revealed her lean abdomen. Walter instinctively summoned Stormcaller to life, the flaming ball bouncing in his mind awaiting his grasp. Thin ribbons of flame launched vertically into the air from each of her splayed fingertips, her eyes blazing white fire. Walter needlessly rolled backwards in surprise, as the flaming jets were not directed at him. A man should always trust his instincts, he reminded himself. His cheeks burned red at the foolish evasion. You trust them, don’t you? No, not yet.
“That is how I know,” she said, glowing.
“We can help you save your village, Walter,” Baylan said, resting a hand on his long dagger.
Walter nodded. “OK, but why? And how did you do that?”
“We have to complete our survey,” Lillian replied. “The tower is eagerly awaiting our reports. They like to keep a pulse on the lands.”
“I see,” he said. Do I have any better options? he asked himself. Walter shook his head. Time was ticking by, and every day he didn’t get help more people could be dying.
“It’s at least a two-day journey. Let me get my things.”
**
It was much more enjoyable to travel the Helms East Road with company. Walter’s spirits rose at the prospect of making his town safe once again. His sore feet longed for a good horse to ride, remembering how pleasant it was when they had Brownie. He was a great horse, and he saved our lives.
They crossed the Lich’s Falls Bridge, which was in dire need of maintenance. Midgaard tended to neglect the southeastern side of the realm. A lower trade volume meant less tax revenues. Walter’s father Aiden often complained about the dilapidated roads and infrastructure, frequently sending ignored repair requests to King Ezra.
“There are Shiv Fang traps in the woodlands here,” Walter said, breaking the long silence.
“I’ve never seen one in person. I would love to be able to for my zoology log. I was unaware they were capable of making traps,” Baylan said, blue eyes sparkling.
“They sure are, they’re nasty creatures,” said Walter. “You could probably handle yourselves with them, but why walk into the jaws of the wolf when you didn’t have to?”
“I’m afraid my curiosity often trumps my fear,” said Baylan, smiling at Lillian. There is something more there.
They passed by a large cavern with bright, scintillating stone walls. Its massive entrance was inviting. “These are the Yellow Caverns – a few boys my age decided to explore them once and never came back. My lash trainer, Noah, went looking for them. He returned reporting it was an impossible maze. He said it took him a week to find his way out and his trail blazes had changed,” said Walter, gazing into the cave’s depths.
Baylan scribbled notes in a thick book. “There are many subterranean mazes. Your trainer was lucky he found his way out. Some—” Lillian said, pausing and staring off. She continued, “Some of these mazes are corrupted by evil – shifting walls on those within.” The radiance of the sun glistened in her eyes, highlighting streaks of blue in the seas of almond.
A howling, whipping wind poured from the cave’s entrance. “I – we – believe a malevolent force has been released upon the realm,” she said distantly. “Things are changing.” They continued, leaving the Yellow Caverns behind. Walter reflected, her words confirming his unspoken fear. The Cerumal are not men, or beasts, they’re evil manifest.
Lillian nodded deeply to Baylan, closing her eyes. Baylan said, “Walter, I discovered a prophecy in the Silver Tower Library. The prophecy spoke of an ancient seal that locked away a god who, according to the text, went by the name of Asebor.” He sipped from his water skin and continued, “Asebor is not a benevolent god like the Dragon or the Phoenix. He has a physical form, unlike the manifest energies of the Dragon and the Phoenix. The text predicted that the seal of the Age of Dawn would shatter about a month ago, releasing him. From what we’ve gathered, Asebor does not enslave, seek to dominate, or conquer.”
They passed a gurgling brook, its tranquility contrasting with Baylan’s words. Walter gazed at its light-shaping luminescence.
“He thrives on pain, and the agony he can inflict on li
fe. It is written that 10,000 years ago he was a scourge upon the realm,” said Lillian.
Walter listened quietly, absorbing the magnitude of what they said. “Why are you telling me this?” Walter asked.
“There was an attack in The Nether in Bluffs End, a small town like yours two weeks ago,” said Baylan.
“Cerumal, but they’re often called other names in different locales,” said Lillian.
“We tracked rumors that led to Breden about a similar attack,” said Baylan.
Walter inhaled deeply. “So you’re not really surveying, you’re really following leads on this prophecy?”
Lillian and Baylan shared a glance. “Yes, we weren’t sure if we could trust you with this information. There are many who would call us heretics, or label us madmen if they knew. Given your Dragon-forged weapon… and your ability to use it… well, we decided we could trust you.”
Everything Walter knew had changed in the past few days. He found it strange that he felt more content knowing a sliver of why his family was killed. There’s been too much death. It’s true that killing is harder than the innocent suppose, he thought grimly.
They made camp a mile in from the road, navigating the dense thicket. It paid to be cautious traveling these sordid roads, given the dangers involved. With a wave of her hand, Lillian tossed a white spark into the kindling for their campfire. Baylan lounged against a mossy stump, nibbling on dried bread procured from a large pack he carried. Lillian worked an ornate wooden comb with a small red gem through her dark silky hair.
Walter’s eyes were glassy against the amber flames. He spoke with a deep exhalation, “It started during the Festival of Flames…” He recounted his past tribulations, baring all with his new friends. He spoke of the raid by the Cerumal, his and Juzo’s capture by Mar, their journey through the Shiv Fang tunnels and the disturbing loss of Juzo. They listened quietly, absorbing his tale. Baylan shared a flask of Ginger Whiskey with Walter. The strong spirits didn’t do much to numb the pain of reliving the previous days.
Chapter 11 – Peeled
“Harnessing the cosmic vibration of life, I resurrected the deadened wires of fallen child.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness
Walter soared through the eerie night air, thick jets of flame and air entwined from his palms propelling him onward. He felt free and pure, turning his childhood dream of flight into reality. I’m really flying, he thought. He looked to the moon, its massive white plate engulfing him. He gazed down upon the tiny clearing of birch and pine trees, seeing Baylan and Lillian peacefully sleeping together.
The shadows around them waved and shimmered. A hulking figure appeared in dull plate, not casting a reflection from the dwindling fire. It brandished a spear and held what looked like the remains of a severed head in its other hand. Walter darted back to solid earth, landing on a knee with a graceful thump. Why does this feel as normal as breathing? The Cerumal set its black eyes upon him and snarled. Walter gasped, realizing the head in its mail-covered hand was his father’s. His father’s eyes had rolled back in their sockets, showing only their whites. The jaw was abnormally pulled free from one side, tattered skin along the cheek revealing teeth.
Walter screamed, seizing not a ball of fire, but a waving dragon that swam before his mind’s eye. The torment of seeing his father’s body defiled ravaged his soul. The dragon split into thousands of jagged shards, infusing his essence with its torrent. Light exploded from Walter’s eyes and the Cerumal shielded its face with its spear hand. Walter nonchalantly raised his right hand and a spiraling cone of white flaming coils erupted from his palm, surrounding the creature and burning it to ashes. Not even the armor remained.
Dozens of others emerged from the shadows, carrying the heads of people he recognized. One had Juzo’s, one Nyset’s, and another Janelle the fruit seller’s.
“No! Stop! Why are you doing this?” he yelled, tears sliding down his cheeks.
Walter’s hands burst alight with seething flames. He looked over his shoulder, impossibly finding both Baylan and Lillian sound asleep. “Wake up!” Walter screamed at them. “Wake up! Now!”
Something smashed into his abdomen. He turned, looking down, and discovered a massive spear lined with jagged thorns through it. “No,” he whispered. The pain was much worse than he’d imagined being run through would feel. A trickle of blood started dribbling from the entry wound. Several more spears pierced his body, dropping him to his knees beside the campfire. The waving fire surrounding his hands extinguished into wisps of smoke.
The deep-brown-skinned creature with the massive bladed helmet stepped into the campfire light. The same bastard that had injured him and Juzo. Walter felt himself give up, willpower draining from his body. A blood pool formed around his knees. The gnarled-skinned monster waved its threatening metallic talons at its side.
With massive internal hemorrhaging the restoration of blood volume to maintain tissue oxygenation is necessary for survival, said his mother’s voice in the recesses of his mind. Glimmering chains of golden light wove from the first Cerumal’s angular helm, passing through each one, linking them together.
“What are you?” Walter choked. A bloody bolus popped from his lungs, streaking his chin.
The ground around them faded, becoming an island in an endless sea of red and pink fire. Walter’s vision wavered in and out of focus. He looked into the burning sea far below the island, containing now only him and the lithe horror. It wasn’t just fire, but millions of nude, burning people fighting against currents of liquid fire. One short-haired man with a square-cut beard reached an arm towards the surface, locking onto Walter’s eyes. A thick black arm lined with thousands of barbs wrapped around the man’s neck, ripping him back into the depths.
“Weaver of the full power, I am your reaper,” the creature rasped. It floated to him and extended a talon, and disappeared behind him. Walter wanted to fight, but couldn’t move anything but his eyes, as the spears had passed through his body, firmly pinning him. He felt the icy cold of steel against his neck, goose bumps forming down his arms. The talon dragged across his neck, severing both carotid arteries. He released a gurgling roar, a blend of anger and terror.
His eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath, hands protectively reaching for his neck. He looked into the big moon filling the night sky. He exhaled slowly, realizing it was a nightmare. Or was it? He scanned the surrounding trees and saw nothing amiss under the dim moonlight. Lillian and Baylan lay spooned together. It was just a terrible dream, a terrible night terror. He rolled onto his side, wrapping his left hand around Stormcaller. Get back to sleep, weaver of the full power, he sullenly told himself .
**
They started early after a morning supper of sweet cakes and dried beef that Baylan was traveling with. The sweet cakes were wonderfully invigorating and delicious.
“What I wouldn’t do for a cup of elixir to go with these,” Walter said while chewing.
“What would you do?” asked Baylan, wiping crumbs from his mouth. Walter raised an eyebrow at him.
“Would you perhaps chew with your mouth closed?” asked Baylan, deep voice resonating.
“It’s an idiom this side of Midgaard,” chuckled Lillian. Walter flicked a small crumb at Baylan. It bounced off his head and landed in the open book in his lap. He retrieved it and ate it.
“Lillian, is it true that there is also a Phoenix side of the power?” asked Walter with a hand on his chin.
“Oh yes, it is most certainly true, however, only men can use it,” she said in a serene voice.
Walter nodded. “Why?”
“Why do Shroomlings have heads in the shape of mushrooms? Some things just are,” she replied, pulling Clinger seeds from her flowing red skirt.
Walter glugged from his water skin, washing down sweet cake crumbs. “Baylan, can you teach me to use the Phoenix power?” Baylan closed the dark-covered book, peering at him.
“It’s not something that can be taught. It’s l
ike opening and closing your eyes, you just intrinsically know how to do it,” he said.
“Can you do it?” Walter asked excitedly.
“I live in the Silver Tower for a reason,” Baylan said, gingerly placing the book in his pack.
“Right,” replied Walter, nodding. “What’s it like in the Tower?” he asked.
“Complicated, and a story for another day,” Baylan said. Walter watched as a dark expression fell over Lillian. She made eye contact with Walter and her expression reverted to its collected appearance. “Let’s move,” she said, smiling. That was strange. He would have to remember to ask her about that again later. There was still more there, he thought.
**
They spent the better half of the morning walking west along Helm’s East Road. Walter shared stories of pranks he had played on Juzo, like the time when he put Nyset’s nightshade powder in Juzo’s honey ale, turning his skin blue for a week. Walter learned that Baylan grew up in Helm’s Reach, the second largest city in the realm after Midgaard. Baylan discovered when he was in his nineteenth year that he was able to heal minor wounds of others with a touch. His parents knew he was destined for the Silver Tower, and he had spent the last ten years there learning about the world and supporting Tower affairs.
A thin column of smoke rose from a bend in the road. “We’re approaching the camp where we were captured,” Walter whispered, stopping them. He then led them to the hidden path where he and Juzo had been ambushed days ago.
“Wait here,” Walter commanded. Lillian nodded, meeting his eyes. Baylan watched their rear. Walter crept towards the path’s entrance, avoiding twigs that would unveil his position. He stopped a pace from the entrance and slid into a low squat. He held his breath and closed his eyes, focusing on his sound perception. Bongol Jays in a tree to the northeast, dry leaves spiraling in the breeze, footfalls in the camp, to be expected. The nearby breathing of a man with a blowgun? No, no one waits in the weeds this time. He slowly released his long held breath and opened his eyes.
Stormcaller (Book 1) Page 8