Thunder Moon
Book 2 of Kazza's Chatterre Trilogy
Copyright 2015 Jeanne Foguth
Published by Jeanne Foguth
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgements, Etc.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About Jeanne Foguth
Other Books by Jeanne
Acknowledgements, Etc.
Many thanks to my faithful beta readers, without whom my work would have 'rogue commas' and 'renegade spelling', not to mention strange formatting anomalies, like the occasional extra space before a period. Thank you, Paul, Kaj, Pauline Nicolai, and Marcha Fox, I don't know what I would do without you grammar-nazis.
Thank you also to Kiara Graham for her prowess with digital design – I love the way you have incorporated the main characters as well as water and stars.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Published, except where permitted by law.
Cataloging in Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
Chapter 1
In the black nothingness of night, the wind blasted sheets of knife-like water over white-topped waves. Lightning lit the sky. Then a resounding boom shook their fragile vessel. Water began pouring into their boat.
His mother screamed and his baby-sister, Nimri, shrieked.
Again, thunder boomed and lightning streaked down, as if aiming at the boat’s flapping sail and flailing ropes. The tiller his father was holding disintegrated in a blinding blue explosion and his father shouted in surprise.
Hot embers seared into Thunder's tender flesh and Nimri howled in pain. The putrid stench of burning hair assailed his nose a moment before icy sheets of rain mingled its stench with the cloying sweetness of cantaloupe. Temporarily blinded by the lightning, he clung to the course lumpy cloth, biting his tongue for fear he would scream in terror like Nimri.
The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and he knew nothing on Chatterre could be worse than this storm.
Panic welled, face buried against the rough, wet burlap sack, Thunder fought to overcome his terror, then like the answer to a prayer, a warm damp nose nudged his ear.
Kazza!
Thunder grouped for the cat’s comforting body, then held him close enough to realize that Kazza’s muscles were trembling as badly as his own. “We’ll be fine,” he whispered, hoping the raging storm would cover the terror in his tone, “It is only a storm. The Lost take boats into The River during storms all the time. If they can do it, so can Father and Mother.” A tentative purr rumbled deep within Kazza's core and he felt a bit better. Thunder stroked Kazza’s head, but then the heavens boomed, again. Simultaneously the boat slammed against something hard then rolled like a wounded beast in the wind-whipped water.
Just when he’d decided nothing could get worse, everything became still. In the ominous silence, he heard his great-grandfather’s enraged voice cursing his enemies. Kazza growled deep in his throat and the fur on his back quivered. The hair on Thunder’s neck stood on end in response to the cat’s emotion, even as he thought, thank goodness! Rolf will calm the heavens and save us! Thunder raised his head above the lumpy sack of melons, but for several frantic heartbeats, the only thing in his ink-black world was the sound of his great-grandfather’s angry voice speaking in the magic language.
Kazza shuddered and huddled so close that Thunder could barely breath. “It’s okay, grandfather will save us.” Kazza’s mournful mew disputed his optimism; at least it sounded that way. Thunder petted the cat’s sleek fur, his fingers tracing the contours of a soggy, tufted ear. He leaned to the side and whispered words of encouragement, but Kazza seemed focused on the magic language his great grandfather was shouting and only became more agitated.
Abruptly Rolf stopped speaking. The black began to fade to dark gray and the dark clouds seemed to be holding their breath. When Thunder looked around, he saw dark water shooting through a jagged hole in the bottom of their boat. The savage fountain was where his father had stood, Thunder tore his gaze from the broken deck and looked for his father. All that met his gaze was nearly ripped beyond recognition. His mother had her fist stuffed in her mouth and her eyes were huge with horror as she watched the shooting fountain, which was filling the boat. Already, its level had risen to Thunder's knees – and Nimri’s waist. His little sister grasped their mother’s thigh in a death grip, her terrified stare mutely fixed on the rising water.
The storm had taken his father and it would soon take the rest of them.
A scream surged up his throat.
Thunder scrambled on top of the rough bench seat as a huge wave crashed against the side of their small boat. He tumbled backward, colliding first with the lumpy sack, then landing face first in the rising deluge. He choked on a mouthful of brackish water before he pulled himself back onto the seat.
As if shaken from a trance, his mother lifted her arm and shook her fist at the riverbank they’d left such a short time ago.
He looked to see where she was pointing. His great grandfather, the most powerful person living on Chatterre, stood high on the bluff, clutching his staff of power. Again, hope warmed Thunder as he gazed in awe at Rolf, who obviously had seen their plight and stilled the storm. Even from this distance, he could see his great-grandfather’s black eyes flashing with fury as he looked at the sinking boat. How angry he must be for the storm defying him! Thunder held his breath as Rolf raised his staff to save them and shouted something unintelligible to the heavens. Thunder’s heart slammed against his ribs in anticipation of seeing a display of his great grandfather’s mighty myst magic first-hand. They were saved!
“Let there be more water,” his great grandfather bellowed. Thunder frowned in confusion wondering how more water would help.
The River seethed and rose.
“Grandfather!” Thunder screamed above the hulls groans. “Help us!”
Rolf tilted his head back and screamed at the churnin
g clouds. “Wipe out the corrupt Lost.” The black skies boomed. Lightning streaked. Thunder’s heart hammered against his ribs as he gripped the sinking boat in helpless shock. He stared transfixed as the flood uprooted century old trees, yanking them into the churning waters as easily as his father pulled weeds from the soft soil in their garden. His great grandfather shook his staff. Lightning slashed across the black sky, the boom cracking so close that his teeth vibrated.
Thunder screamed his great grandfathers name pleading for help.
His mother grasped his arm, yanking him around to face her. “Don’t.” His sister clung to her other side. “He is the power behind the storm.”
“No!” he said, unable to believe such an awful thing.
“When we crossed the middle of The River, we joined the Lost.” Tears welled in her eyes. He stared at her, unable to believe anyone could use myst power in such an awful way. As the water boiled into their boat, she held him and Nimri tight and told them that their great grandfather must have found out about their plan to end the feud between the tribes and in retaliation he’d brewed this storm for revenge. She stared at the place where his father had been when he shook his fist in defiance. “We should have known we couldn’t hide this from Grandfather. We should have known he would retaliate. We should have found another way to heal the breach.” She hugged them so tight Thunder couldn’t breath. “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper as she stared at the water boiling into the boat, where his father had been. “If I’d known he was willing to kill us, I would have found another way. I would have. I would have.” she repeated, as if assuring herself. “If I survive, I still will,” she vowed. Her arms tightened around him. “Promise me that if you survive, you will find a way to end the feud.” Her eyes bore into his until he gave a slight nod. As she kissed his forehead, a mammoth wave crushed the boat’s flimsy side.
With an ear splitting groan, the craft slowly began to slide beneath the water. He screamed, “Mama!”
Another wave slammed against the boat. The force catapulted Thunder into the storm-tossed waves. He gasped, barely filling his lungs, before he plunged headfirst into the water. A gaping black chasm rushed toward him like a hungry mouth. Thunder kicked against the grasping tentacles of water, but the darkness kept speeding toward him. His lungs burned for air. He fought to break free of the ravenous force, but something coiled around his chest, joining the relentless current pulling him toward the murky shadows. Thunder put all his effort into one final thrust, and propelled his head above the water. He gasped for air.
“More!” his great grandfather bellowed.
“No!” screamed Thunder. Fury overwhelmed his fear, making him feel strong. “Stop the storm!” The whipping wind stilled. An ominous black cloud rolled aside to reveal a star-studded patch of indigo blue sky. The waves calmed.
Rolf turned. His gaze locked on Thunder’s face. Eyes flaming with anger, he roared with rage, “Any of the Lost who sets foot on Chosen soil must die!” His grandfather’s arrogance seemed to make him grow taller and fiercer. “That means you.” He pointed his long bony finger at him.
Thunder wanted to shout back that he wasn’t one of the Lost, he was Chosen, but he knew his great grandfather recognized him. Knew he intended to murder him because of the peace his parents dreamed of. A lump of dread filled Thunder’s throat.
“Next time, I will not spare a single donkey!” Rolf’s finger didn’t waver. Thunder imagined he could feel the sharp nail pressing against his chest. “You will pay for your interference.” Thunder knew his great grandfather was speaking directly to him, but wasn’t sure what he had done to make him so angry or why he would set all nature against them just for crossing the river, which was something the Lost did every market day.
Rolf straightened and grasped his twisted black staff, murder in his look and said something in the magic tongue.
Before Thunder could gasp, raging water surrounded him. Rolf bellowed with fury, then the water swept him downward, beyond the old man’s sight.
When, the pressure eased, he saw their boat, his mother and Nimri fluttering downward, like autumn leaves falling from a tree.
His mother’s stern gaze bored into him. 'Remember your vow.' He wasn't sure if she had said the words aloud or if he imagined her voice; regardless, he lowered his head in submission. When he looked back a moment later, only the shattered remains of their boat were visible.
He opened his mouth to call for his mother, but chocked on cold water.
‘Live for me.’ A glow appeared beneath the shattered hull. ‘Live for us all.’
“I can’t,” he cried. Icy water poured into his mouth.
‘You must.’ The glow grew. Suddenly, he was thrown clear from the water. Then his stomach hit a white-topped wave and he gasped in water. Rolf bellowed with fury. Eyes stinging and lungs laden, Thunder fought against the unrelenting power of the river and screamed for his parents.
Again, a black void loomed ahead. But before he got sucked in, a hand appeared in the depths of the nothingness and beckoned to him. The slim fingers were a woman’s. His mother? Grandmother? He quit fighting the current and reached downward. ‘You must live for us all.’ His mother’s appeal echoed through his mind.
Thunder fought to move, but something restrained him. His eyes opened. Solid rock faced him.
Disoriented, he thrashed at his bindings, but they held fast. Panic seized him. Thrashing first left, then right, he fought the bindings. Sweat stung his eyes and bathed his body before he lay quietly to weigh his options.
A cool breath of pange scented air bathed his face. Thunder frowned at the familiar scent, then turned his head toward the draft, but stopped when he recognized his own bedchamber.
It had been the nightmare from his childhood.
Again.
He’d had the same nightmare each night for the past seven days.
And, as he had for the past seven days, immediately upon waking and realizing he was no longer a child, he remembered Nimri’s worried glances at Sacred Peak and her whispered admission, “Every night, when I sleep, I see hordes of ravenous celestial dragons spewing from the Star Bridge.” A chill coiled around his heart.
Had his sister’s worry over the Star Bridge become the catalyst for him to relive the worst day of his life in his dreams?
Why did his thoughts always switch from the nightmare that spawned his fear of water to the Star Bridge?
Did he dream because Nimri put the thought in his mind or was it a premonition?
Their world had been invaded once before. Gooseflesh rippled over Thunder's back and arms at the memory of the dragon that Nimri envisioned, when they had barely survived one?
Previously when he’d woken in panic, which made the loss of his family stay fresh as a new-cut wound, he’d been able to get up and exercise away his fears. But, this night his sweat-soaked bed linens held him captive, so he had to think about the implications. Lying there trapped by fear, dread and fabric, he knew he had to get up to escape the worry. Had to move. Had to drown the memories with exercise. All he needed was a helping hand to free him from the linen’s grasp. “Gunda, Carn, come,” he called before remembering they’d fled to the distant inland mountains months before. Where was his mind, if he couldn’t recall such a basic thing?
The nightmare had gotten to him so badly that his heart was still pounding like a herd of stampeding horses. He lay imprisoned in linens, looking for something to focus on. Something safe. Something that wouldn’t give him time to think about any deeper meaning his nightmare might have.
His attention fastened on the vacant eyes of the crystal cat skull he had found as a child. It lay on a table, in front of the window and seemed to glow with life. Though he knew it was just the way the crystal shone in moonlight, as he looked at the skull, his feeling of impending doom increased, until gooseflesh burst over him and he imagined that he was looking at death.
He tore his gaze away. The maroon hues
on his bedchamber’s solid rock ceiling were much more calming.
He wondered how many days it would be before someone missed him.
How many days would it be before someone made the effort to make the climb to look for him?
He should have moved closer to the rest of the Tribe after his adoptive parents passed on.
Even if he had, no one would come looking for him because they were afraid of him.
All except Nimri and Larwin.
Hope warmed him for a blessed moment. Then, he realized Nimri was too far along with breeding to climb the treacherous path to his rock-hewn home. And Larwin would not leave her side.
His bones would probably turn to dust before anyone missed him.
If anyone saw how bed linens could subdue him, they would no longer respect him.
Again, a breeze caressed his cheek. Thunder looked at the open window, in front of which, the skull glowed a sinister scarlet. Heart hammering with fear, it took a moment to realize the moon hanging over Sacred Mountain was red. Mouth dry, he realized that while he could ignore his warning dreams, he couldn’t ignore this powerful omen of doom. He should have done something when Nimri first told him – anything instead of sit and wait until it was too late. If he could just get free of the linens, he’d seek Nimri and Larwin’s council and do whatever they said.
No sooner had the conviction filled his mind, than the bedclothes dropped away from his body.
Thunder leaped out of bed, certain that something dreadful was about to happen … or had happened while he wrapped himself in denial. He dashed out the door of his rock-hewn home, into the small adjoining garden that overlooked the sprawling river valley, and leapt onto a stone bench. He stretched his tall, lean body to look over the pange tree's branches and then studied every detail of Sacred Mountain’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement in the shadows beneath a nearby buddleia bush. He whirled to face the darkness, cooling sweat mingling with gooseflesh.
A deep rumpling purr of assurance came from the murky blackness, then Kazza’s lithe six-hundred-pound silhouette emerged from beneath the bush. The cat's dark tufted ears twitched with interest, and the sonorous soothing vibration intensified.
Thunder Moon: Book 2 of the Chatterre Trilogy (Chatterre Triology) Page 1