Ours Is the Storm

by D. Thourson Palmer

  Ruun’daruun howled, a wordless scream of rage and anguish. He charged through the rain with Haruu’na at his side, her eyes alight. Those to the sides left their cover, converging on the lone warrior. Ahi’rea was still, but her eyes burned with a green flame as she forced herself not to attack. She wanted to shout to them, tell her people to defend themselves, to hold him off, but she needed all her concentration. Something was wrong—something in the corner of her Sight flickered and flashed around her enemy.

  Revik lifted his sword. Huge bloody welts raised themselves on Ruun’daruun even as he charged. He fell face down in the road, sputtering blood and muddy water. A low, overpowering buzz filled the air before three Huumphar were shorn in half, one after the other, though Revik was still a spear’s length away. Another let his machete fall only to find it buried in the back of one of his kin. Two more fell victim to Revik’s sword as if they were stalks of wheat before the scythe. Haruu’na chopped down into empty space. As she turned her head to follow Revik’s movement, he threw his hand out again and ripped a tangle of skin and bloody bone from another warrior by the inky tendrils lashing around them. She was thus distracted when Revik whirled back to face her and his blade took her in the stomach up to the hilt.

  Ahi’rea’s concentration almost broke, but she forced herself to remain still and cold. She pushed out her mother’s scream and the cries of the dying, blinded herself to the blood and death. She allowed herself only one thought: find it, before we all die.

  She didn’t even know what it was for which she searched—the flicker eluded her. He is too fast… too perfect. No one can fight like that, son of heroes or not, not with Self, Sight, or Storm.

  Then she caught it. She held the knowledge of it in her mind.

  Lasivar’s eyes, joyful in his bloodlust, met hers. He approached, cutting down another of her friends, her family, and yet Ahi’rea did not move.

  A pale glimmer, light and dark entwined, surrounded him. It flashed in her Sight, a flickering void, and it was that sight to which she held. She saw all its lines and connections, its facets and seams. Whatever it was, it supported him, bolstered him, lent him speed and strength and terrible power. She had the sensation of gnashing teeth, ravenous jaws. Whatever it was, it terrified her more than anything she had ever known.

  Ahi’rea tensed her body, waiting as he drew within reach, as he raised his sword. It expects me to hit him. If I try to strike him, it will save him and he will kill me. When Lasivar was only paces away, she sprang. The battle grew silent around her. The rain lashed against her skin. She focused all the energy she knew, all she could, into her spear. One arm extended, she drove the spear forward with a focus she had never known before in battle.

  She aimed not for Lasivar, but for the thing around him, the horrifying presence that hung over him like a shroud.

  The spear’s blade whistled through the air and jolted as if stricken, though it hit only air. Ahi’rea’s arm felt as if it would shatter. Shadow screamed from Lasivar, and green light burst from Ahi’rea and surrounded them and burned the shadow away. The lines vanished, the facets cracked, the seams tore.

  The spear drove into the mud, beside and behind Revik. His sword continued its arc, and Ahi’rea saw the blade coming toward her. As it was about to reach her, Lasivar faltered, stumbling forward. The blow still caught her in the arm, sinking deep into her flesh. She fell back into the mud as Revik caught himself and came forward again, his steps less sure.

  The shade hanging around him was gone. Two of the remaining Huumphar struck, driving their spears toward him. Revik swung to parry with one hand and thrust the other out at the second plainsfolk, who stumbled and doubled over. His parry, though skilled, was the slowest they had yet seen him move.

  Revik looked surprised. The spear flashed past his sword and drove deep into his gut. He fell to his knees, sword dropping from his hand as he clutched at the weapon, gasping and gritting his teeth.

  Ahi'rea picked herself up, snarling through the pain of her wounded arm. She regarded the remaining Huumphar, now gathering around the fallen southerner. He had killed so many. She tossed her spear, steaming and cracked, aside into the grass, and looked at Revik, still kneeling and pulling at the spear in his stomach.

  “What did you do?” another Huumphar asked. “What happened?”

  “I—I am not sure.” Ahi’rea clutched her arm, trying to focus enough to heal it.

  “Should we finish him?” The spearman twisted the weapon lightly, causing Revik to cry out. “It’s him, isn’t it? Lasivar? This is the one who’s been leading Halkoriv’s armies, burning our lands. We should kill him now, before he uses his black magic to recover.”

  “No,” Ahi’rea said. “I do not think he will recover. He is nothing now. Halkoriv laid a spell on him, was supporting him somehow. Still…” she knelt to tend to the shuddering and choking spearman on the ground. “We may need him.”

  The remaining Huumphar searched the fallen for survivors. The spearman on the ground beside Ahi’rea began to recover. She stood again over Revik, waiting, while Ruun’daruun staggered first to Ruun’gaphuu, then Haruu’na. He knelt beside the old woman for a moment and wept.

  Ahi’rea stared at Revik, blood running in thick rivulets down her arm. Something told her he was more valuable alive than dead. Logic told her to end him now—he was an enemy and would be a burden to guard. Instinct won out. If nothing else, he would answer fully for what he had done.

  Drawing herself up, she lashed out with her foot, catching Revik full in the face and knocking him back. He did not rise.

  “Take him. Take our wounded. We have to go.” She tore a strip from Revik’s cloak to bind her arm. The Huumphar complied and they headed east under the still-dark sky.

  —Seven—

  Too many of them had died, and too many were wounded. The Huumphar had planned to go on to harry more garrisons and kill or drive off more southern soldiers. They could not hope to face a massed force from the South, as they had in the past. They were too few to risk a large battle.

  The previous attempt by Halkoriv to wipe them out in one blow had been decades ago, and had been disastrous for the Cheduna. For weeks the army had chased the Huumphar about the plains until the Cyclone, called by the elder Lasivar and his wife, Hera, descended on the southerners. It had been the greatest display of power Ahi’rea had ever heard of—a massive storm of lighting and tornadoes that came upon the soldiers from nowhere. The Huumphar fighters had swooped in on the scattered, tired, and injured troops like birds of prey, killing thousands before the army managed to escape and regroup.

  After that, Halkoriv had grown more cunning and more powerful. Instead of soldiers, he plagued the Huumphar with magic. Their children grew sick and weak. Fewer and fewer babies were born each year. The Huumphar women were struck barren, the men impotent. The old fell to senility, the young to disease.

  Now there were few tribes left. They gathered when they could, otherwise remaining hidden and on the move. They hit southern caravans, small guard posts and garrisons. They harried any troops that came to the plains, but they never attacked when the risks were too great. Things had only gotten worse in recent months. They had wondered what was different, and learned that the change occurred when the new commander, Revik, took control of the campaigns in the plains. He was ruthless. The plains burned. He had been untouchable.

  Until now. Ahi’rea’s mind raced along with her as she led the Huumphar away from the garrison.

  The plan to gather and wipe out the Cheduna garrisons had been Ruun’daruun’s. He was convinced that a group of Huumphar could go south, make their way in secret to Halkoriv’s fortress, and kill him. The garrison attacks, he hoped, would divert Halkoriv’s attention and draw the armies away. Most of the elders did not agree, but Ahi’rea’s father had surprised her by convincing them to allow the series of attacks.

  So many dead. Eleven Huumphar had been killed, and another was likely to die on the move. Others still were unab
le to fight, perhaps ever again. For a warrior of the Huumphar, it was a fate too terrible to bear.

  Ahi’rea looked back at Ruun’daruun. He could barely walk, let alone run. Still he pushed on, grimacing in pain with every step, his welts cracking and running. Despite his pain, his eyes were stony and cold. He had lost a brother, a grandfather, and many friends. So many dead. Ahi’rea knew that the elders would never trust him again. It was over. They would sit and wait in the plains, be hunted down, grow old and weak and sick until they were nothing. It was over.

  Ahi’rea ran at the head of the troupe of Huumphar. The sun was growing higher and warmer behind the clouds, making the air sticky and thick. The grasses were still wet with rain around them, drooping and sick-looking. Behind her, two others carried their prisoner, the man she knew was Revik, son of Lasivar.

  She tried to push thoughts of what had happened from her mind. Her mother’s face appeared before her eyes and she choked back a sob and banished the image. You can’t run and cry, not at the same time. Keep going. Cry later. Someone has to lead now.

  She organized her thoughts, trying to occupy her mind. The first priority was to find somewhere to hole up and tend the wounded. If the man being carried behind her was indeed Lasivar, the lost son of the great leader from the North, he would be traveling with a larger group—a much larger group. They would be close behind, with trackers. The Huumphar needed somewhere to hide, or more would die. They would all die.

  She found herself fighting against her own thoughts. She could not concentrate, could not even let her mind drift, let her Sight wander. Every time she tried, she saw Ruun’gaphuu, or Haruu’na, or the others. She struggled, but the more she tried, the more her tears welled, the more her breath grew ragged, her thoughts and emotions running rampant. Desperation began to take her. We need a place to hide!

  Ahi’rea jumped as a hand touched her shoulder. She wiped her arm across her eyes as she turned and stifled a gasp. She had not yet had a close look at Ruun’daruun’s face since the attack.

  His eyes were dark, red with tears and anger. The welts and sores covering his skin were running with blood, joining like a network of tributaries into rivers running down his neck and chest.

  “What do we do now?” He struggled to speak, his voice rasping and pained.

  Ahi’rea’s hopes that Ruun’daruun had an idea were dashed. She did not answer, concentrating on running for a moment and trying once more to pull herself together.

  “I know a place we can hide,” someone called from behind them. Looking over her shoulder, Ahi’rea saw that the speaker was Tak’la, the one Lasivar had nearly killed even after Ahi’rea severed the spell binding him. He was a young warrior who had joined them from his own tribe, who were all lost to disease and war. A disturbingly-colored bruise covered his torso, but he seemed not to notice.

  Tak’la was young, but tall and broad, among the biggest of the warriors. Despite his wound, he kept pace behind those carrying Lasivar, watchful for signs that he was waking. Increasing his pace, he caught up with Ruun’daruun and Ahi’rea. Ruun’daruun kept his distance from the youth; Tak’la was death-touched, the last survivor of a dead tribe. He had been wounded, but lived on when the rest of his people had died, and it was said death clung to such survivors like a sickness. He had been allowed to join their tribe, but few would dare speak to him or touch him.

  “There’s an old southern homestead, not far from here. It doesn’t look like much, but there’s an underground room which broke through to some caves. Anyone looking for us should pass the old ruin by, or if they do try to get in they’ll bottleneck at the cave.”

  “And trap us inside.” Ruun’daruun glared at the youth. “We wouldn’t survive.”

  Tak’la shook his head. “There’s at least one other exit from the caves that comes up some distance away, in the Kan Manif Bur. We can lose them in the caves and escape through the canyons if we have to.”

  Kan Manif Bur is bordered by mountains and ocean. Those canyons would be a deathtrap if they followed us there.”

  Ahi’rea thought as she ran. It was the best chance they had to avoid pursuit and rest. “We need somewhere to rest. Tak’la, lead the way.” Ruun’daruun looked at her, but said nothing.

  Ahi’rea was grateful for Tak’la’s suggestion. After the disastrous fight, she felt lost, but would be expected to take charge by some and considered vulnerable by others. She might have to fend off those who would now seek to gain control of the warband. Now she at least felt that there was some sort of plan.

  —

  The Huumphar concealed the mouth of the cave with brush and debris from the abandoned structure above. Those with skill in healing tended the wounded while others guarded the entry. The only light came from a few thin rays streaming through nearly imperceptible holes in the earthen ceiling.

  Mats of roots hung about the stony cave’s ceiling like curtains, dividing it into many separate areas. The stone was yellow and red, and the floor was sandy. Somewhere, water trickled and the sound echoed through the cave in the silence.

  Ahi’rea sat with Ken’hra and Ondoo’shaa, the two leaders of the tribes that had joined the warparty. Tak’la’s tribe had spent much of their time in this area, so Ahi’rea had invited him to join her in meeting with Ken’hra and Ondoo’shaa. She inspected her companions, folk she had met them before but not spent much time with.

  Ken’hra was more than a decade older than Ahi’rea, a respected warrior and tribal leader of the Whispered Thunder tribe. Her long, wavy hair was streaked by the sun and had only begun to show any gray. She had suffered a grazing cut in the fighting and displayed a bright red line across the bridge of her nose and left cheek. She paced, frowning and inspecting the notched blade of her machete.

  Ondoo’shaa was the only survivor of the warriors from the High Sun tribe. He had lost his daughter along with the rest of his warriors, but had avoided injury himself. He was large-framed and powerful-looking despite his advancing years. His eyes burned with his loss. Seated, he gripped his spear with white-knuckled fists. Following his gaze, Ahi’rea saw that he was staring not at a curtain of roots, but at who lay unconscious behind it.

  “We cannot stay long,” Ahi’rea said, drawing Ken’hra’s attention. Ondoo’shaa’s eyes remained fixed on Lasivar. “Even if the Cheduna are not tracking us now, they will be soon if our prisoner is who I think he is.”

  Without turning his gaze, Ondoo’shaa spoke. “Before we left, I heard that this Lasivar wiped out two tribes in the west. Killed them all.” He looked up at Ahi’rea. “If they are searching for him, we should kill the murdering hellspawn now.”

  Ken’hra scoffed. “Don’t speak nonsense. No Cheduna commander has managed something like that for decades.”

  “And still, it has happened. He wiped them out.” Ondoo’shaa looked back toward Lasivar. “I will do it, if none of you are willing.”

  Ahi’rea shook her head. “If he is Lasivar’s son, we… we cannot kill him. Not yet.”

  Ondoo’shaa jumped up. “Why? Instead of disposing of him, you are healing him. This is idiocy. Our own people are wounded and we are being hunted, and you are wasting our time and supplies on this worthless beast from the South.” His voice boomed through the caves.

  Ahi’rea hesitated, unsure how to respond. She was once again spared by Tak’la’s intervention. “Quiet, fool!” The youth rose to his full height and his head brushed the cavern’s earthen ceiling. “You’ll bring the Cheduna right to us. Do you want to kill us all?”

  Ondoo’shaa pressed close to Tak’la. In the dark, their two silhouettes blocked out the light. “Know your place, boy,” he hissed back. His eye level reached Tak’la’s shoulders, but he was uninjured and just as muscular as the younger man. “If you don't learn to watch your tongue, I will see you trussed up beside your friend there. He is a dead man too—I am sure you will have much to discuss with him.” Tak’la stepped back, embarrassed at his outburst.

  “Stop this.” The ca
ve was bathed in green as Ahi’rea’s eyes flared. Tak’la sat, but Ondoo’shaa was still until the cave grew dark again. He turned to Ahi’rea.

  He seemed to choose his words, one by one, and employ them with a chill calm. “You seek to determine my course? Tell me what is wise? By what right, sorceress? I have seen over twenty battles and slain sixty men. I caught Ash’ne the Traitor. I took the head of the Viper of the Khuundoore Steppe, though he hid behind a thousand Cheduna soldiers. I have led warbands for twenty-five summers and been an elder of the High Sun for ten… and you see fit to command me?”

  Ahi’rea stared back at Ondoo’shaa without blinking. “I see fit to command you because no one else will. We must approach this carefully. You think you are the only one who has lost? Calm yourself, elder. Give us your wisdom, but maintain your composure.” Her eyes lit as she looked into his mind and suppressed the urge to flinch. His anger and pain were overwhelming.

  Ondoo’shaa stepped back involuntarily at the glitter in Ahi’rea’s eyes. His face grew red. “Enough. I will not be intimidated by you, sorceress.” He stepped away again and addressed Ken’hra, but spoke loudly enough that everyone else in the cave might hear. “I will take my chances outside. I advise you to do the same, if you value your remaining kinsmen.” Still glaring, he snatched up his weapons and started for the cave’s exit. He stopped and pointed at Revik. “That creature you are protecting will be the death of you all, and she,” he turned his finger towards Ahi’rea, “will help him lead you to your end.” With that, he ordered an opening made in the entry’s covering and left.

  “Selfish bastard!” Ken’hra spat. “We all lost someone today, but his loss blinds him. He talks of respect but offers none.”