“She’s…”
“The ships!”
“The sea! She’s rising!”
“A storm! A storm like nothing I’ve ever…”
Elia threw back her head, and laughed aloud. This was freedom!
“Together,” she said… or was it the Aura? It did not matter… perhaps they were the same thing. “Together! Now we will see who is cursed! Now we will show the world Who it is that rules the Grymclaw!”
Strangely enough, she did not think she- or he, or they- meant the Aura. No… this was more powerful than them both!
~
Cal fought for his life. Whenever soldiers approached, he used his gift. He took two out with a slamming fist of earth, and another few with twisting vine-spears he fashioned with his mind from the Grove’s trees. But each attack took a toll on his strength, and Cal knew he couldn’t last much longer. He was, after all, just a boy.
No. Not any longer. I’m more than a boy… I’m a Strider. He had to honor his gift. He had to honor the Aura!
But he was so, so tired. Stumbling up a small incline, Cal dropped to his knees in the soft grass, letting his wood-gift stave fall to the ground. This was one of the few untainted spots. The rest of the Grove was under constant siege from Golden Nation soldiers. Trees burned and grass withered. Rocks were shivered and hills torn apart. For the moment he was safe, listening to the sounds of rumbling and shouting in the distance… but it couldn’t last long.
Occasionally, the Brown Aura would appear to him, and ask him to give a message to this or that leader, somewhere in the defense of the Grove. Cal had gradually become something of the Brown Aura’s unofficial mouthpiece. It was now widely known among the survivors that Wanderwillow spoke directly only to him.
Cal did not think that in an emergency the Aura would neglect to speak openly… but he knew his friend and master oversaw the defense of the entire grove, and that was responsibility enough for even one so powerful as Wanderwillow. The Grove was more than just protection… it was a living weapon. The forest and sloping mountain attacked any enemies stupid enough to anger them… which meant almost every Coalskin there was.
Cal was unexpectedly jolted out of his reverie by two things. One, Wanderwillow’s voice boomed in his head louder than he had ever heard before… and Two, a black and red-robed Pit Strider suddenly lurched out from the trees at the bottom of the small hill.
THE HALANYAD HAS COME, Wanderwillow said.
“I’ll tear out your veins and string my neck with them, boy!” the Pit Strider said. He snapped his fingers and fireballs blossomed in his hands.
“Blast…” Cal said, and felt just a bit proud. It was exactly what that hero boy Gribly would’ve said.
Before either of them could make a move, a thundering rumble drew Cal’s gaze to the northern horizon. His mouth dropped open, and what he saw must have surprised the Pit Strider, too, for he stood where he was, staring.
The sea had risen above the cliffs, rushing forward and spilling down the incline in a single, powerful wave. It was like a wall of luminous blue-green crystal, surging forward in an unstoppable mass. Tsunamis had hit the Grymclaw before, Cal knew… but nothing like this.
Then he saw the four dark smudges perched on the wave’s crest, riding the titanic swell. As the wave rushed closer, frighteningly fast, he could make out their shape.
Ships… and men atop them… Cal gasped. There was a woman standing in the prow of the foremost vessel, glowing with blue light as her arms, raised to heaven, controlled the flow of the water. As he watched, she seemed to tire for a moment, letting her arms fall a little: the water instantly slowed. She raised them again, and the deathly surge flowed onward with ever more vigorous speed.
Cal had heard the legends of the Ocean Queen. The ones the nymphs called the Halanyad. But until now… it had just not seemed real.
“Oh… no…” he breathed, backing up. How could any of those in the Grove- friend or foe- survive that?
There came a hiss from behind him. Cal twisted, leaping away as the Pit Strider, snapping out of his daze, sent a fireball shooting towards him. It hit the grass and burned away into an ugly black wound in the soil. Cal scrambled to his feet, desperate to reach his staff; it made Striding easier, and he’d need it to have any chance in this fight.
But no… the Pit Strider summoned a string of fire, lashing the ground between him and his staff. He was cut off. The black-robed foe snickered, licking its black lips with a horrid yellow tongue like a lizard’s. He was doomed…
…An ear-splitting thunderclap broke the cloudy sky overhead, and sheets of rain began to pour from the heavens without warning or provocation. The rushing wave reached the edge of the Grove, mere yards away…
…The Pit Strider raised his hand, summoning another fireball…
…and the wave parted. Cal could barely believe his eyes. Over the line of trees, he could see the wall of water actually split in two, rolling to either side of the Grove, bypassing those inside… but probably drowning the encamped hordes of attackers still outside the area.
For a moment, the entire Grove was encircled in a watery belt. The roaring was nearly unbearable, drowning out Cal’s cry as he turned, lunging at his momentarily distracted opponent. Inspired by what he’d seen, the boy Strode the ground beneath his feet, drawing on every last reserve of strength he had.
He rode a curling wave of earth straight into the Pit Strider, knocking his enemy to the ground before the Coalskin could react. Unfortunately, the impact knocked him off, and both of them tumbled down the rest of the hill in a small avalanche of uncontrollable debris. Cal felt himself bumped and bashed again and again, until he came to rest at the bottom… right at the edge of the Grove.
Cal leaped to his feet, wincing as he felt something twist in his ankle. The Pit Strider lay at an unnatural angle… back or neck broken, likely. Holy Hammers… he’d done it!
The water flowed on, on all sides. Cal gingerly tested his foot, then ran back up the hill as fast as he could manage. Once at the top, he gratefully retrieved his stave, surveying the surrounding events with a frightened awe.
It seemed as if the sea truly had risen. It flowed around the Grove like a lake around an island, and Cal realized that the land itself was changing around it. The ground was sinking lower, spreading out like an invisible hand had pressed it down into putty. When he turned to view the cliffs, he realized they had sunk a good hundred yards. What in the… Aura Above! The Grove itself was rising up into the air!
In minutes, the rushing sea had reached the Grymslip, a mile or so to the east of the Grove. The Grove itself was a risen island in the middle of a new lake, which in turn rested in a shallow crater at least a mile wide in all directions. The four ships Cal had seen returned, and he watched from his now-heightened viewpoint as they sailed in an easy circle around the new land they had formed.
Finally, one came to port at each corner of the compass, ringing the island at North, South, East, and West. Stone Striders- for so he assumed it had to be- helped shape the ground into viable docking places, and soon strangely dressed men (and even some women!) with weapons of every kind began to disembark. Cal felt a momentary hiccup of fear. What if they weren’t friendly? What if they were just another horde?
No, the Ocean Queen is with ‘em. They’re friends, all right… they’ve got to be. At least he hoped so. They were fanning out, pressing inward… hopefully to wipe out the remnants of the Golden Nation who had survived that flood.
As he wondered, he saw that the ship embarking nearest to him contained the Ocean Queen herself. She had just been rowed to shore, some three-hundred yards down the slope of the mount… the island… the Grove. Whatever it was now. She was no longer glowing, and she seemed young… and sad. Cal wasn’t sure how he could tell, from so far away, but… he had to meet her… had to see if they had really been delivered…
Wait… do I recognize her? Who… His casual walk down the hill stopped. He stared in open-mouthed astonish
ment… then began to run. Feet flying, injury forgotten, Cal rushed down the hill and onto the scorched flat part of the Grove where the fighting had been hardest. His face was filled with joy and disbelief.
Two hundred yards. He pounded the stones, ignoring it as they tore into his cheap leather shoes. It couldn’t be…
One hundred. It IS! “Elia!” he called, waving the stave over his head.
As he closed the gap, a burly man bearing a double-headed war axe and sporting a fine scarlet coat blocked his path. “Halt, boy! Who are you?”
“Let him pass, Lord Math!” came the crisp, clear voice of a female. The surprised warrior nodded sullenly and stepped to the side.
Cal stopped dead. Ahead, not five yards away, stood Elia. She was paler… stronger looking… and her hair was darker… but it was the same girl he had met months before. The same girl he had saved. But what was… oh, no!
She smiled, eyes twinkling… and Cal took a step back. “Y… you’re blind!”
Her face changed from happy to hurt, and he was instantly sorry. Rushing forward, he tossed his stave aside and hugged her shamelessly. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I mean… you’re so different! But you’re here!” He pulled back, smiling through tears… still a young boy after all. “You came to save us! You came back!”
She smiled, and again he noticed that sad look in her face… a look that hadn’t been there the first time they’d met. “Yes,” she said, hugging him back, “…but not all of us.”
Chapter Six: Destune Lauda
King Gram sat on an upturned pail, in the stern of his warship, feeling sorry. Not for himself, of course. It was that girl… yes, that was it. He felt sorry for her, having to deal with the sudden responsibility of being a “Chosen One.” He could relate… as could his son… both his sons… and that Lauro boy…
“Blazes,” he said under his breath, idly twisting the grip of his hammer, “Is there anyone who ain’t chosen for greatness?”
“No,” said a voice, thick with the desert accent he’d once had himself. “There is not. We are all chosen, Lord of Rogues, in one way or another.”
Gram looked up. There, striding down the deck towards him, was Captain Berne… and someone else. A nymph, by the ears, and a cleric, by the candlestaff he walked with. It was the cleric who’d spoken.
Gram got up with an effort, huffing as he let his hammer slide down into its belt-loop with a weighty thrump. “Aye, s’pose you’re right. And who might you be?”
He extended his hand, and the cleric met it. They clasped wrists and shook; Gram made a mental note in his head to remember… this nymph was old indeed if he remembered the ancient peace gesture from the time when… the time he no longer spoke of.
“This is Dunelord Argoz Greenwood,” Berne offered, when the gloomy-looking cleric showed no sign of answering. “He asked to see you, and… seeing as you didn’t show at Elia’s official meeting with the Brown Aura… I told him I’d arrange it. And I have,” he said, grinning wryly. Gram grunted; Berne likely thought it funny to pit him against some stuck-up Holy Man, but two could play at this game.
“Well, what’ve you to say for yourself?” he asked the nymph, striking a casually reckless pose, hand on the head of his hammer.
The cleric stared hard at him for a matter of seconds- testing him, it almost seemed- before answering.
“You will find my brethren at the Arches of Linolen,” he said. “But beware the Ticking Dark. You are running out of time.”
Then he turned and walked back across the deck, down the gangplank, and off onto the island. Gram digested the cleric’s words, rolling his tongue behind his cheek. It was pleasing to note Berne’s surprised expression; evidently, this had not gone as he’d thought it would.
“I…” the Captain began, running a hand through his curly white locks.
“Ticking Dark… time…” Gram mused, ignoring him. “Clockwork Demons, like the ones attacking the Cathedral. That’s what we’ll be up against.”
“How do you know?” Berne asked, looking puzzled.
Gram snorted. “You don’t spend decades travelling the world and killing other men without picking up some experience.”
“Ah.”
“And he was wrong,” the pirate king continued. “We aren’t running out of time… we’re out of time.” He turned to Berne. “Karmidigan elected to stay behind and help Elia train the most formidable Strider army she could. Will you be joinin’ them? They’ll need every last hand on board for the final fight… whatever that might be. And whenever.”
Berne smiled wistfully. “Blazes, no. I’m with you, Gram. Don’t think I’d pass up on a suicide mission like this just to beat the brains out of a few Coalskins, do you? Demons are much more fun to kill.”
Gram chuckled. “Fine then.” His voice grew more serious as he added, “Gather your crew, and find a new commander for the ship Karmidigan used to lead. We leave within the hour.”
“So soon?” Berne questioned.
“I wasn’t joking, Captain. We’re out of time. Now go,” he finished, though his voice almost broke on the last word. Berne looked at him strangely, as if he suspected there was more to Gram’s haste… but he nodded finally, and saluted in the way of the Zain, fist to heart, then lips.
“It shall be done, Lord of Rogues,” the nymph said, only a hint of irony in his voice. “Let’s go fishing for demons.”
~
The summons was a surprise, but Gribly these days walked through the Otherworld with a new confidence. He was no longer afraid of it, though he still knew almost nothing about how it worked, or why it existed. In the weeks since Lauro’s battlefield coronation, Traveller had taught him much about guarding his dreams. There was turmoil here, just as in every part of the world, and the Gray Aura made sure Gribly rarely visited the surreal landscape of Spirit and Pit without him.
So why did tell me to enter it now? Gribly wondered, slipping easily from exhaustion into sleep. It was not yet totally dark, and Traveller had never called him for a lesson this early.
His last waking thought as he let the shadows overtake him was to wonder where Gramling had gotten off to.
~
Traveller’s mountain. After so long not having visited it in his dreams, Gribly found a ridiculous amount of satisfaction in returning to the green-topped, clear-skied place. Winter had only recently come to the Fellmere, bringing some snow and far too much cold. He wasn’t sure why he’d been called here, yet this was where Traveller had told him to go, so he…
Wait. The skies were not all clear. Far off to the… was that Northwest? A brooding thunderhead of black and gray clouds was assembling over the tiniest smudge of land. It barely occurred to Gribly that he could now see farther than ever before in the Otherworld… he was too intrigued by what he saw.
That has to be Vast… those storm clouds have caged in the sky for months now, slowly covering it all. But that would make this place… real! And not to mention, hundreds and hundreds… maybe thousands… of miles out into the Endless Ocean!
It was something to think on. He knew that every Spirit being had an anchor in the real world: draiks and Pit Beasts had their unnatural metal parts built by Automo, demons of the larger kind had stone cores carved with runes, and Aura like Wanderwillow had chambers or buildings, larger entities… like the Swaying Willow inn… or this place. This mountain.
“How powerful he must be, to have a physical core so far away, and yet still give us aid…” Gribly wondered, shaking his head. Just who were the Aura? What were they made of?
“Oh, I’m not as great as all that,” came a voice from behind. Gribly turned to see Traveller standing where a moment ago there had been empty grass… and Gramling stood beside him, looking a bit sick.
“Haven’t… done this… before…” he said, swaying a little. Then he seemed to catch his breath- or his courage- and his expression hardened. He shifted his weight, looking slightly more confident, and added, “…at least not like this. Not
this deep in.”
“If I might ask,” Gribly addressed the Aura, “Why exactly have I- I mean we- been called here?” He tried not to feel a stab of jealousy that Traveller had suddenly included his… recreant… brother.
“I have some things that must be said, to both of you,” Traveller said, as if reading his thoughts, “and this is the one place where we stand no chance of being overheard.”
“Just where exactly is this place?” Gramling asked, gaze flickering to the clouds in the distance. Gribly realized his twin would come to the same conclusion he had about the location, and for a moment wondered if it had been wise for Traveller to reveal even this much to someone who might… but no. The Aura must know what he was doing.
“This is a land undiscovered, Lad,” Traveller said. “It goes by no name, yet, for the inhabitants have not given it one. As such, it allows me to travel where I will, and retain a greater amount of my power than is usual in such… endeavors… as mine.”
Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six) Page 5