The Winds of Change

by Samuel Sublett

  *      *      *

   

  The blizzard from the night before had covered the land with a thick blanket of snow. Kalan led them carefully on, keeping an eye out for landmarks. The landmarks were harder to spot with the snow, but as the hours passed they crept closer and closer to Kalan’s home. The land became more and more familiar.

              After a while, Delron spoke. “They are following us.”

              Kalan slowed Downer and turned the horse slightly, looking to their back trail. He spotted a small movement of trees, then another, in sequence.

              “Scouts, using the trees.” Kalan said. “The larger party is on the ground.” A thought occurred to him. At Delron’s house, the Shakzan had not been able to come into the cabin. “At your house, in the forest . . . the Shakzan could not enter. Why not?”

              Delron waited a moment before he answered. “They did not enter my home because they feared what lay within.” he said at last.

              Kalan did not pursue the matter further. He was not sure he wanted to know what manner of thing would frighten a Shakzan enough to make it disobey orders.

              Several hours later they topped a ridge over Dearborn Valley and Kalan felt his spirits lift. Home was not far, and home was where Mari was. He tapped Downer with his heels and the horse, sensing his urgency, began to gallop. Delron was left behind grumbling and kicked his mule to try and get it to speed up. It did not work.

              Kalan sped up, his eyes on the high path of hills ahead. Mari was beyond those hills. He heard Delron yell something behind him but did not stop to listen. He dug his heels into Downer’s sides and urged the horse on faster. The hills came ever closer.

              Topping the hill, Kalan pulled up short. His cabin lay before him. A small trail of smoke rose from the stone chimney. In the small pen, the goat pawed at some sparse grass and tried to get a mouthful. A small rabbit chomped at the half-grown carrots in the garden.

              Something was not right.

              Kalan barely noticed when Delron rode up beside him. The old man said not a word, only quietly joined Kalan in observing the farm. Downer sidestepped and neighed uneasily. Kalan quieted him with a gentle pat. All was still.

              A scream split the air.

              Mari!

              Kalan dug his heels into Downer’s sides, drawing his sword as the horse shot forward.

              “Wait!” yelled Delron. Kalan paid him no mind.

              He jumped off Downer in front of the door to the small cabin. Another scream came from inside. Delron stopped behind him, dismounting the donkey.

              “Wait!” the old man yelled again. “I must tend to her.” He held his bag of medicines in one hand.

              Kalan paid the Healer no heed. He burst through the door to the small cabin, sword in hand.

              Mari lay on the bed, her hands gripping the sheet tightly in pain. She moaned through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded her brow.

              He rushed to her side. Her face was pale and drawn. She looked up at him and tried to smile. Kalan reached for Mari’s hand and held it tightly.

              Delron shut the door behind him as he entered. He came to the bedside and put a hand to her forehead, reaching into his bag with the other hand. He pulled out a brownish herb and began crumbling it into a cup.

              “Water!” the old man said forcefully. “Heat water and bring me towels, now!”

              Kalan let go of Mari’s hand and picked up the bucket by the door. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at the bed. Delron was feeding Mari the crumbled bits of herb.

              Kalan ran to the shed and grabbed the axe. He hurried to the creek and slammed the axe down, chopping through the thick layer of ice. He kept chopping until the hole was large enough to dip the bucket into.

              The bucket was about half full when a loud snapping turned his head. The trees on the other side of the creek shook, then were still. Kalan switched his grip on the bucket and grasped the axe with his right hand.

              He picked up the axe and held it low by his side, picking up the bucket with the other hand. He slowly began to move back toward the cabin. With each step, his eyes jumped from tree to tree, looking for the source of the noise. Dark shadows moved all around him, hidden within the trees.

              Then came the stench.

              It surrounded him, coming from all sides, the stench of the long-dead. He moved closer to the cabin. A snarl caught his attention, coming from his left. Another snarl came from the right. The shadows moved closer.

              Kalan shifted the bucket to his left hand and, grasping the axe in a low-ready position, broke into a run towards the cabin. He heard a loud snarl from behind. They had him boxed in. He willed his legs to move faster.

              A heavy weight slammed into his back, forcing him to the ground. He half-turned and slammed his knife into the beast on his back, feeling the cold blood run out onto his hand. He grunted as he threw the beast off and stumbled the last few steps into the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him.

              Mari lay on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, teeth gritted in pain. Delron was mixing herbs in a bowl. He took the half-empty bucket from Kalan and poured a small amount of water into the herb bowl and the rest into a pot that was sitting over a fire. Kalan knelt by the bed and took Mari’s hand into his own. Her face was pale, eyes scared, but she looked at him and smiled that special smile, the one she saved for him, and for a moment he forgot about the Shakzan outside. The moment did not last long.

              “They are figuring out the best way to get inside,” said Delron as he mixed the herbs. “Shakzan are naturally suspicious, and assume that we have some sort of trap prepared in case they come inside after us.”

              A loud crash came from the door; it sounded like the Shakzan were throwing logs.

              Delron held the bowl of herbs to Mari’s lips and she drank slowly, a few drops at a time. Another crash came from the door. Kalan braced it with a chair and pulled his sword, moving closer to the door. He focused his attention on the door, but could not block out Mari’s moans of pain. He watched the door shudder again, as a heavy object slammed against it.

              Mari let out a small scream. Kalan held onto her hand, feeling helpless. He would give anything in the world to be able to take her pain, but this was a burden she would have to bear alone.

              The old man mixed some more herbs in the bowl. He lifted it to Mari’s lips a second time and held it as she slowly sipped the mixture. She started to gag, and he moved the bowl to wipe her mouth.

              Delron filled a small bowl with the boiling hot water and wrung out a rag. He folded it over several times into a thick bundle and set it between Mari’s teeth. The old man turned to Kalan. “Bring me some towels,” he said. “And a knife.”

              Kalan’s legs moved of their own accord. Inside, his mind was racing. A knife! He fetched the items, walking as if in a daze. His mind was numbly aware of the noises outside the cabin, the thick, guttural grunts that the Shakzan made. A small painting shook as another object hit the wall.

              He handed the knife to Delron silently. The old man dipped it into the boiling water and laid it upon a towel. He turned to Kalan and spoke quietly.

              “Your wife is bleeding, inside.” he said. “I have seen this before. I have given her herbs, but the pain is still very great. The risks are great to both
mother and child, and if I do not deliver the child through her stomach, they will almost certainly die.”

              Kalan listened with his eyes closed. When Delron stopped speaking, Mari cried out softly, her moan stifled slightly by the cloth in her mouth. He nodded.

              “I cannot deliver the child and worry about the Shakzan as well.”

              Kalan nodded again. Delron looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. He turned to Mari and picked up the knife.

              “Bite down, child,” he said. “This will hurt.” Mari bit down on the cloth. Kalan tried to focus on the outside threat as the muffled screams filled the room.

              Another thud against the outside wall. Kalan moved to the small closet, where he kept a crossbow. The small weapon creaked from months of disuse as he cocked the thick string and loaded a bolt. Mari’s screamed paused from lack of breath, then started again.

              Kalan gritted his teeth, almost feeling the pain himself. He had sworn once to protect her from all harm, and now he could not do that. He shouldered the crossbow as the cabin took another hit. To the door, this time. The thick oak shuddered with the impact. Too heavy for a log; the Shakzan must be trying to batter it down with their bodies.

              He stood still in front of the door, crossbow in hand. His long sword was sheathed, and a knife was in his belt. He turned his head to look at Mari. Delron had laid the knife aside for a moment and was wiping away the blood with a cloth. Mari had passed out from the pain. He shut his eyes and remembered her as he had first seen her, standing under a tree with a jug of water, smiling that special smile at him.

              With a loud crack, the door burst open.

              The first Shakzan through the door had its mouth open in a scream, yelling some fiendish battle cry. Kalan let loose the crossbow, the heavy bolt taking the creature in the chest and knocking it back into the crowd behind it.

              With a yell, Kalan drew his sword. He charged through the door, slashing as he moved forward.

              His first swing took the head off of one of the Shakzan. The follow through slashed at the chest of another, cutting easily through the small skin-plate of armor across its chest.

              He moved away from the nearest beast, trying to get his bearings. Around him, in an uneven semi-circle, stood six Shakzan. They were the biggest he had ever seen, all at least his height or taller. They held crude metal weapons, an axe in one’s hand, a dull sword in another.

              The tallest one took a step toward him and made a twisted version of a smile with its lips. Kalan sneered back at it.

              He moved toward the leader, and swung his sword almost without thinking. Instincts that seemed long forgotten now flooded back to him, and with a small shink the Shakzan’s head left its shoulders.

              The other five rushed him.

              He ducked under an axe blade and thrust his sword into the stomach of the closest Shakzan, throwing the body over his shoulder. He jerked the blade out and swung to meet another Shakzan swinging its sword, and cut across its stomach. The beast screamed in pain and went down. Kalan turned to meet another attack, bringing his blade up.

              A set of claws slammed into his chest, and he heard himself scream.

              He tried to bring his sword arm up, but it would not move from his side. He reached into his belt with his good left hand and pulled his dagger, thrusting it into the throat of the beast in front of him. The claws left his chest, and he found himself able to breathe once more. He pulled in a deep breath, wincing at the pain.

              Two Shakzan remained.

              They spread out, one on either side of him. His sword arm finally found some measure of strength, and he lifted it and his dagger, looking at one beast, then the other. The Shakzan on the left opened its mouth in some sort of snarl. The animals moved forward at the same time.

              Kalan blocked one beast’s swing with his sword, slamming his dagger into the other Shakzan’s chest with all his might. A hiss of escaping oxygen told him he had penetrated the lung, and he smiled grimly to himself and he turned his weapons toward the remaining beast.

              The Shakzan moved left, then right, unsure of the best move to avoid a man wielding two weapons. It grunted, and tried to go straight in, thrusting the sword at Kalan’s chest. Kalan slammed his knife into the blade, throwing it off course. His sword came around to take the Shakzan’s head off.

              And just like that, it was over.

              Kalan slumped down to the ground, breathing heavily. He wheezed with each breath, and his chest felt like he still had the claws embedded in it. He was so cold. The thick, black shakzan blood covered him, and he wiped some of it off his face with a hand, before it could freeze to his skin.

              He became aware of blood trickling down his chest, warm blood, his blood. He slowly lay back onto the snow, looking up at the sky. The stars were out tonight, and they lit up the night. How many times had he gazed up at those stars with Mari in his arms?

              He pulled his sword across his chest and tightened his grip on it. Let no man say I died without a blade in hand. He turned his gaze toward the cabin, to where his wife lay inside. There were no more screams of pain, no more muffled yells. He prayed her pain had ended.

              There was a scuffling noise inside the cabin, and the sound of water spilling. Then, a sound he had heard only rarely, and never from inside his home: A newborn child crying.

              Kalan gripped his sword tighter against his chest, and smiled. His son had a strong set of lungs, it seemed. He was not sure how he knew it was a boy, but he did.

              He coughed, and wheezed another breath. Blood bubbled up inside his mouth, and he turned his head to spit it up.

              I am coming, Mari, he thought. I will see you soon. He listened to his son’s cries for a few moments longer, and then closed his eyes for the last time.

              The night air was cold, and dry.