The Hand of the Storm

by Iain Lindsay

  “Back!” Father Kef struck it in the side with his staff, spinning the staff around as quick as Odestin had earlier, to shove the thing back again, toward the rear of the cavern.

  The creature snapped and clacked dry teeth, throwing a long arm towards Kef but overbalancing as it did so-

  “Father – duck!” Gulbrand took a giant bounding step, war maul swinging once again as the Father dove out the way, and the troll slammed the two-handed mace into the thing’s chest. It was lifted off the ground, it’s chest collapsing into fragments as it was flung back against at the rear wall of the burial cavern – before falling into the fast-flowing waters below.

  Talin saw the one remaining arm break the surface, scrabble briefly for purchase on the water-smoothed rock, before the shape was gone, washed away into the darks beneath the desert itself.

  “My sword!” Lura thumped the ground weakly. She had managed to raise herself to a seated position, but the side of her face had two bloody scratch marks running from temple to cheek. The skeleton-thing had vanished still with Lura’s last tylaethi blade sticking out of its chest.

  “My arm.” Tremaine was hissing in pain, one hand holding his upper forearm where red showed under his fingers.

  “Can you two walk?” the Quartermaster grunted as he looked at the tunnel opening which had swallowed the thing. “If we can, I suggest we get away from here before anything else decides it isn’t dead.”

  “Agreed.” Tremaine growled in pain, staggering to his feet as Father Kef helped him, with Lura refusing any aid, dabbing at the side of her face gingerly.

  “If I get some human disease from this…” she muttered, running with the others through the tunnel revealed behind the lion.

  31. Dark Sands

  “Sound off!” Gulbrand barked from the lead, the lantern he was holding in one hand wavering to illuminate the pale and ghostly faces of those that followed him.

  “Here.” Father Kef’s voice.

  “Here,” Talin copied.

  “Still alive.” Tremaine hissed, his face squinting in pain.

  “Unfortunately, also still here.” Lura was the most annoyed. Her face had stopped bleeding, but the left side was a dark smear of dried blood.

  They had been quick-marching to the troll’s thunderous pace through the tunnel – this one rough-hewn and much narrower than the others, but so far, they had heard nothing scrabbling or lurching in the darkness to follow them. They were tired, and half of them were injured.

  “Captain? How bad is it?” Gulbrand paused.

  “I’ll live.” His voice was tight. “Hurts like a…”

  “I have bandages,” Father Kef supplied, squeezing past the others to tend to the Captain’s and Lura’s wounds. Talin saw the man struggle a brown-glass bottle of something from his pack, before washing their wounds with some of the precious water and smearing some of the astringent-smelling past and applying linen bandages.

  “No bandages for me,” Lura waved her head out of the man’s touch. “I want to be able to see, thank you very much.”

  Talin saw a moment of horrible, angry lines across Tremaine’s bared shoulder and forearm. Not damaged enough to disable the man, but he still winced all the same as the priest’s ointment was applied.

  “Can you fight?” Gulbrand frowned

  “Always,” the Captain nodded. “Father, how near do you think we are?”

  “It is hard to tell in these darks, but I think we have been travelling well into the night. As long as this tunnel heads true, it shouldn’t be much longer.” The man said. All of their voices had become tight with seriousness.

  “Then we rest now, drink what water we can, and keep alert.”

  “When are we ever not?” Lura noted dryly.

  As it was, once they got on their way once more, they really didn’t have much further to go at all. The Quartermaster in front was the first to indicate the patch of greyish light coming from far ahead of them, as the tunnel started to slope irregularly upwards. The light didn’t grow bright, but remained a paling blue against the pitch dark behind them. “Smell that?” Gulbrand murmured, and a little while later, Talin could. Fresher air, and, he was sure, the tang of a cook fire.

  “Weapons.” Tremaine growled, and they prepared themselves for more bloodshed.

  The Old Nhkari tunnel ended in a snarl of rocks and scrubby bushes, tucked just under the summit of the last hill. As Talin crept out behind the silent Lura, he could see the silver-blue of the starry sky above him (and cold, too!) over the darker folds of sand far below. The hills they had wormed their way through ended in jagged cliffs and tumbled boulders, but here ahead of them was a wide plateau-like space, on which was set a bonfire.

  “There. The Blue Princes.” Lura whispered. Below the summit bonfire on an adjoining ridge to the east they could see the beached shapes of two small, tub-like airships, and in front of them a scattering of bonfires and tents.

  “They must be waiting for the arrival of the Volt.” Tremaine said. In the star and moonlight, he appeared drawn and haggard, and a fine layer of dust was overlaying all of them from head to toe. Talin shuddered to think that at least some of it must be the remnants of the undead Wight. But I would rather be facing humans than that thing again, Talin considered.

  “What’s the plan?” Gulbrand stayed in the little alcove of rocks, his monstrous size making his silhouette appear to be a boulder himself.

  “Lura – what do you think? Can you get in there?” Tremaine peered at the camp fires and tents. A few darker shapes of people in robes walked here and there, and they could hear the distant mumble of voices.

  “Certainly.” She said. “It’s the getting out that will be a problem.”

  “Captain, if I may, there is another way?” Father Kef called softly.

  “I think I’ve just about had enough of your shortcuts, Father,” Tremaine hissed back, but didn’t stop the older man as he continued.

  “The Blue Princes must have Nhkari trail guides. We dress in our desert robes – we know they keep us cool in the heat, and hidden in the dark.” Kef indicated the black, floaty robes that he had on over his leather armor. “I could sneak in with the Rigger, and if I am seen, the thugs will think I am just another guide.”

  “And what would you do in there, singlehandedly take them all on?” Father Kef was not in Tremaine’s good books, it appeared.

  “I can promise you that the Nhkari there will have no love for the Blue Princes. Or the Volt.” Kef suggested.

  “He could cause a distraction,” Gulbrand murmured. “Cut some of the mooring ropes. Set fire to a tent or two… Two people inside is better odds than one.”

  “Three.” Talin found himself saying. “I’m Nhkari. I could go with the Father.”

  Tremaine’s eyes narrowed in the moon light, before wiping a hand over his face. “Then it looks like you and me, Gulbrand, will be the air support.” He patted the flint and powder pistol at his hip.

  Their plan decided, Tal slung the buckler over his shoulder, before tugging out his linen shirt to make it look a little like a robe, and Kef instead placed his own quarterstaff in Talin’s hands. “I will have an injured foot, and you are aiding me,” Kef nodded, appearing oddly comfortable with such subterfuge.

  “Oh, and you will have to lose this,” he tapped the brim of the metal helmet.

  “I don’t like sending the boy in unarmored…” Gulbrand growled.

  “No Nhkari guide would wear a helmet,” Kef stated simply, and at the Captain’s nod, Talin removed the helmet and left it on the ground. In truth, he felt a little better now that he could turn his head without its weight.

  “Ready?” Lura asked.

  Not sure, Talin thought.

  “I’ll go in first. You approach from a different angle. If an alarm is raised, you run back here, understand?” the tylaethi didn’t wait for their agreement as she sprang down the hillside, disappearing between boulders and shadows in a moment.

  “God’s help us,” Tal
in heard Tremaine murmur as, a moment later, Father Kef prodded him to lead the way towards the Blue Prince’s encampment.

  It was cold on the hillside, Talin’s body told him – but he still found himself fidgeting not with cold, but with a tense excitement.

  “Let me do the talking, Talin,” Kef murmured from behind, one thin but strong hand on his shoulder as they hurried. Kef directed them across the scree of boulders, ducking out of sight and encircling the camp in a wide circle, heading for the collection of pyramid-like tents in the far corner.

  “Nhkari tents,” he whispered as they closed in on the darkest spot between two watch fires. The two grounded airships loomed over them, tall and creaking even when landed.

  Most of the camp was asleep, but at each fire there was a circle of people lying on the ground, with one sitting. Kef did his best to stay out of sight, as Talin wondered how far Lura had reached.

  “Wait, before we go further…” Kef whispered, ducking out of sight behind one of the larger boulders.

  “What is it? Danger?” Talin hunched beside him, his heart in his throat.

  “Of a sort. I am glad that I have this moment to speak with you alone, Talin.” Kef said, rubbing life back into his chilled hands. “My promise still stands, to stop the Mnemoth from finding you.”

  Is that why you stopped? Talin could have cried out in frustration. When Lura was out there in the dark, alone? “Well, thank you Father, but now is not the time…”

  “There hadn’t been any other time,” Father Kef hissed. “This is important. As important to your life and soul as whatever we face beyond those fires. I am talking about sorcery, Talin.”

  “Sorcery?” the boy frowned. The cold dark and the burly shapes of the watchmen looked like it had nothing to do with sorcery whatsoever.

  “I know you can feel it, too. Back on board the Storm. The sense in the air that something is not right…” Kef’s eyes glittered.

  The only thing not right about the Storm was that Holder was trapped -in it? With it? Talin was silent.

  “There is a reason why I wanted you to see the ruins of the Old Nhkari, Talin. Not only for you to learn of your heritage, but to warn you against sorcery as well. That is why Old Nhkari fell. They used to worship life, a people who adored the life of this desert, but some lost their way, Talin. The Chiefs turned to the powers of sorcery to increase their lives. That thing…” Talin could hear the old man’s disgust even though he couldn’t see his features.

  “The wight, Gulbrand called it,” Talin breathed.

  “Yes. The guardian is a relic of that evil. A creature made alive which should not be. Empowered to protect the secrets of its home. That is what sorcery does, Talin. It transforms you into something not-you, it hollows out your soul, bringing the whole world closer to the Abyss!”

  Talin had heard enough. Did the man mean Holder? Was he trying to suggest that trapped creature was something evil? He knew, with a certainty that came with sharing feelings with the strange dream-being, that it was not true. The old man was wrong.

  “Why are you telling me this?” he said pointedly.

  “I know you can feel it. And there is no reason why a Mnemoth – a demon – would hunt you other than you are important to it. If you have been touched by sorcery, then you have to turn back from it, or risk damnation!” Kef said in an urgent voice.

  “Who’s there?” A shout in the darkness.

  Talin shot Kef an angered look, but the old man was already standing, suddenly wobbling on his feet as if he were much more infirm than he was. He leaned on Talin heavily, pushing him forward towards the circle of firelight.

  In front of them stood a tall woman in dark desert robes over sturdier breeches and leathers. She pulled the robes closer about her in the cold, and in her hand she held a quarterstaff. She was Nhkari, and as Kef and Talin stumbled towards the light, Kef called softly.

  “Ochika Kef, i Ekkun, ca?”

  Talin tensed. Given their recent conversation, he didn’t know whether he trusted the man at all.

  “Ochika Jala,” the woman bobbed her head respectfully, her eyes hard as she looked over the limping man and Nhkari boy. “Would you like to share our fire, father?” She said in Protectorate Common.

  “Most kind,” Kef said in a wavering voice. “For a moment, we cannot stay long…” They fell into step behind the woman, who led them to the nearest fire where a trio of Nhkari men were lying asleep on blankets, their bows and staffs at their sides.

  “This lady is called Jala, Talin.” Kef translated as they sat down, and Talin watched as the woman with the black braided hair proceeded to pour a clay cup of water and offered it to the older man.

  “Kef…” Talin muttered, his eyes moving to the shadows of the boats looming over them.

  “Observe, Talin.” Kef’s tone was suddenly fierce. “She shares her water with us.” He cleared his throat and turned to the guard for the Blue Princes. “You must excuse my young friend, he was a slave for years, he knows little of desert courtesy.”

  “Hm.” The woman nodded, sitting on a rock across from them, her own staff across her knees. “Many of us have been slaves, in one way or another.”

  After taking a sip, Kef handed the water cup to Talin, urging him to drink it. As he did so (sniffing it first, in case it was like Burandin’s laced lemon-drink), Father Kef continued to talk.

  “You must know why I am here. You know Amar? He was one of the guides on the first expedition here?”

  Jala nodded. “I know Amar.”

  “He told me what he saw. You know that an Ekun for the people has to try his best to…” the father opened and closed his hands languorously.

  “To stop this?” the woman said, a frown pursing her lips. “We make good money. We spend that money on our families. What harm is there?”

  “You know the harm. The Voltapuri.” Kef’s voice was low and intense. Talin’s hand clenched around the cup. Had he just sold us out?

  “They will take what they came for and go, just like all the other invaders.” Jala’s voice was harsh.

  “The Voltapuri are not like the others, Jala. Everyone knows the stories.” Kef countered. “If your group will not help us, I am asking you not to stand in our way.”

  One of the men murmured from his blankets. He was young, handsome, with short dark hair and beard over honey-brown skin. He had apparently been listening as he turned to the guard. “Jala… This man is an Ekun, we should heed him.”

  “Listen to your friend, Jala.” All weakness and age had disappeared from the Father’s voice now.

  “What can you two do to stop this deal from happening?” Jala said, just as one of the grounded airships behind them started to sway, then creak, and slowly topple to its neighbor with a deafening crash…

  32. Cages

  Lura had evaded the smuggler’s watchfires with ease. They were complacent, she eyed them with scorn, moving from boulder to rock. Maybe it was the fact that they were out here in the desert, surrounded by leagues of nowhere; or maybe the Blue Princes were just arrogant enough to assume that no one would dare to attack them. Whichever the reason was, they were wrong.

  But where would they keep a captured Princess? She passed by the tents of snoring people alongside the crates of provisions. They had been here for some while, it seemed. Someone tried to sing a rousting song a few fires away, but they were abruptly shut up by a thwack and a yelp.

  The Rigger’s eyes moved to the two landed airships, the lines of their double anchors taught like the guide-ropes of tents. They were small boats, she thought critically, long-hulled, perfect for skimming the tops of the dunes. They also had their sails reefed, she noted. It would take a while for them to get in the air, once they had discovered that all was certainly not well.

  And they are the perfect place to keep a hostage, Lura moved to the deep shadows of what looked to be the slightly better-maintained of the airships, to shimmy up the anchor line.

  “Bloody freezing!” the guard
s on the top deck smoked their acrid pipes in the glow of storm lanterns. Lura clung to the side of the hull, the hood of her cloak pulled up over her head as she waited.

  “…why can’t they bloody turn up in the daylight, like everyone else?” one of the guards grumbled to the other.

  “That’s the Volt for you, crazy. You’ll never see ‘em in the daylight, well, not and live anyway… It won’t be long now, anyhow Haf, just cool your boots.” The original speaker said. There was a scraping sound as he spat over the edge in disgust.

  “Well… I don’t like it. They’re not natural, like.”

  “Don’t let the bosses hear you saying that!” An ugly little laugh. “It’s just money, boy. All of the World Islands run on coin.”

  “But she’s only a kid… Have you seen her?” The one called Haf sounded the younger, nervier of the two.

  “Hsss!” An angered sound and a muffled yowl. “I said enough of that back-talk. She’s going to make the bosses, and us, very rich. And you and the rest of the boys shouldn’t be peering at her!”

  “But she’s right there looking at us over me slop bowl, mate.” Haf dared to argue, and this time his bark of pain was more heartfelt as the older hand punished him with some fast and thorough gesture.

  Lura didn’t need to hear any more from the disagreeable sailors up above. Slops. That was slang for chow, grub, food.

  And that meant that they were keeping the Princess Eliset in the forecastle. Lura paused for just a moment as she considered the plan – find out where the Princess was being held, scout and report back. But that would take time, time that they might not have if the Voltapuri are already on their way.

  Besides… the tylaethi swung out to catch a hold just under the gunwale, and crab around the outer hull of the smuggler’s boat. I’m the best at this, she grinned in the dark as she moved.

  Like the Storm, this boat had both an aft- and a forecastle built up at either end of the top-deck. Unlike the Storm, it only had two masts, and the forecastle was the much larger, occupying almost a full half of the boat. The Rigger moved under windows, some with shutters from which came the sounds of snoring, others open with the rosy tint of candles within. Her lean tylaethi muscles – trained in the tree avenues and rope bridges of her home did not complain as she rounded the bowsprit at the front of the vessel, turning expertly down the other side.