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The Wanderer’s Tale – Part 8 October 29, 2012

Grey awoke, as he so often did with Cavall’s wet nose snuffling at his hand. He ruffled the wolf-hound’s ears and yawned, but didn’t open his eyes. It felt too good to stretch out and rest his weary bones on a soft bed. The sleeping furs felt strange though, more like fabric…

He sat bolt upright and tore off the thick blankets swathed around him. “Where in Hel’s name are we?”

Cavall let out a happy whuff and jumped onto the bed, taking over the warm spot Grey had just vacated.  Seeing the hound so relaxed was enough to relieve some of Grey’s worry, if not his confusion. The last thing he remembered was the sharp jolt of a sudden downdraft that tossed them into the trees. He felt gingerly along his side and back, but there was no sign of cracked ribs or bruising. He should have been a mess, ribs took weeks to heal.

That thought drove him to his feet. He’d had less than two weeks to find more medicine for his people. He stumbled around the bed, guided by the dim light slipping between the slats of tall wooden shutters. He threw them open, only to realize they were not windows but a doorway leading out onto a broad stone balcony. The sun was rising beyond unfamiliar mountain peaks that towered over a broad plateau, which was covered with buildings and lamp-lit streets. He had only been to one of the port cities as a small boy, but he knew that none of them had mountains nearby. There was no sign of the ocean either, which meant there was no way to find the sea traders, and get back in time.

“I failed,” Grey whispered, and sank back down on the edge of the bed. “They were depending on me, and I failed.”

A polite knock came from somewhere behind him, but Grey was still too deep in shock to answer. The sound was followed by the creak of a door opening and brisk footsteps . “Ah, I see that you are awake! That is very good! You have a remarkably strong constitution, my young friend.”

Grey turned slightly, and found himself looked up at a tall, thin man. He had long black hair that hung straight back from his forehead down to his waist, and he wore strange, flowing robes woven to resemble the blue/grey feather pattern of an osprey.  At any other time Grey would have been fascinated by meeting someone so unusual, but right then the only words he could manage to choke out were, “What day is it?”

The man gave him a kindly smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “It is the morning after you landed, the twenty third day of the Flower moon. And let me say, that was quite a feat. Not everyone can ride a typhoon and live to tell the tale.”

Grey shook his head, bewildered. “Flower moon? It’s autumn, not spring…”

The man pulled over a chair and sat down. “Hmm, perhaps we should start from the beginning? My name is Galen, of House Zephyr, and you landed rather precipitously on the outskirts of my city. I am guessing you are from somewhere much farther south?”

“Yes, from the western rim of the plains,” Grey said. “Oh, my name is Aurengrey, of Tribe Cyclonis. But everyone calls me Grey.”

Galen leaned back and frowned. “There are no plains south of here. Unless, hmm…oh dear. You don’t mean the south-west continent, do you? I had heard of some nomadic groups there. That would explain your accent.”

“I crossed the whole ocean?” Grey said, his mind whirling as he tried to calculate the date. He jumped up and cast about the room, looking for his belongings and the precious store of coins he had brought.  “It’s only been 6 days since I left then. There’s still time, if I can find a way home. Please sir, do you have any maps, or news of where the trade ships are?”

“I could find out, but why don’t you tell me what sent you out in such dangerous weather?” Galen said. “Perhaps I can help?”

Grey found his map case lying on a side table, miraculously still intact and with all the coins bundled inside. “Unless you can acquire enough fellsbane and quicknettle to cure a hundred people or more, I’m afraid not. The traders have been stocking it, knowing we need it.”

Galen stood up and placed a hand on Grey’s arm. “Put your money away, young man. I have no need of it, or such simple remedies. What you want is a true healer and fortunately for you, I am the most skilled practitioner in the North.” He smiled at the guarded look on Grey’s face. “I see you don’t believe me. But tell me then, how else were your broken ribs mended in a single night?”

Grey hesitated, not sure what to believe. He had never heard of anyone being able to heal like that, outside of stories, but the man had no reason to lie to him. He was obviously an Air kindred as well; which didn’t necessarily mean he had their best interests in mind, but they had nothing left worth taking. What finally decided him was Cavall. The wolf-hound had followed them across the room and was sitting next to Galen, with his tail thumping on the ground. Grey had learned to heed the hound’s instincts above his own.  “I guess if Cavall trusts you, I should as well.”

Galen gave Cavall a pat on the head, and laughed as he got a sloppy lick for his troubles. “It’s settled then. You can tell me your whole story over breakfast, and we will set out soon after.”

—

Later, Galen left his young guest to rest while he made his preparations. The calm, cheerful demeanor he had displayed earlier had given way to a deep, worried frown, however. As he entered his suite he motioned to one of his servants to follow him in. “I want you to gather every healer worth the name, and have them ready to travel within the hour. Send word along the portal networks, I want them to stand at the ready to bring back refugees. We’ll need bedding  and food prepared for at least 150 people, possibly more.”

“Yes milord,” the man said, with a quick bow as he hurried out.

Galen’s wife waited until they were alone, and shut the door. “You found out who the boy is? He’s not one of Kalnaeth’s brood?”

“No, though I think I know why we have heard nothing from our cousins,” Galen said, his voice pained. “It is as I feared; their madness led them to breed creatures they could not control. Wyverns, altered for war and genocide. They must have flown down that spit of land to the south-western continent once they had finished with our kin the north.”  He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “That poor boy is only sixteen, and he has been fighting those beasts for years already. Do you remember the puckered scars on his arm?” Galen said, jabbing a finger at his forearm. “He has been slowly poisoning himself, administering a tiny dose of wyvern venom every day in an attempt to build up a tolerance. And not to survive a sting. Oh no. That is only so that he can live long enough to get away, so that he won’t be paralyzed and have to watch as they eat him alive.”

Elena held his hands in her own, and forced him to look at her. “Beloved, this is not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Galen said. “Perhaps if I had stayed, if there was one voice of reason left– “

“-then we would have shared their fate,” Elena finished for him. “You can’t save everyone.”

Galen sighed, and leaned his forehead against hers. “No, but I have to try. Or I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“And that is why I love you,” Elena said, kissing his cheek. “Be careful. You do not know for sure that the beasts do not have masters still.”

Galen let her hands go, his face set in determination. “If they do, then I intend to have a few words with them.”

—

<– The Wanderer’s Tale – Part 7  ~~~|||~~~  The Wanderer’s Tale – Part 9

The Wanderer’s Tale – Part 6 October 13, 2012

For Grey, the long journey home was fraught with worry and unanswered questions.  Had the wyverns left the plains once their nests were destroyed? Had there been any attacks on his tribe while they were away? Would they even make it back home alive?

That last question was the one that haunted his days – two thirds of the men, including his father had been scratched by tiny spines that lined the female wyvern’s bodies. The poison that coated them took hold so slowly that they hadn’t even noticed it at first, creeping through their bodies in a silent assault. It started with a tingling in the hands and feet one day, and moved on to a tightness in the lungs the next. Then a dry cough set in, and their lungs began to burn like there was a fire in them. Finally, their strength slowly bled away as they struggled to breathe, leaving them too exhausted to move on their own.

Grey and the few others left standing cobbled together stretchers for the injured, with the Wind kin keeping them afloat and the Mountain kin towing them.

Tairwyn trudged alongside Grey, shaking his head at the pitiful train behind them. “It’s hitting your people harder than mine. I’d almost swear the damn beasties were designed to kill off Wind kindreds.”

“Nothing about wyverns would surprise me anymore,” Grey said. “Although, why would anyone want to kill us?”

“Land,” said Tairwyn, with a sage nod. “The things keep gobbling up your territory ‘till your stuck in that canyon, some of the poorest land around.”

Grey thought about that, but it still didn’t fit. “Maybe, but if so then why haven’t their masters come to claim the plains? We couldn’t stop them.”

Tairwyn twirled one of his mustachios thoughtfully. “Now there you have me. Ah well, at least theorizing passes the time.”

A stray puff of wind caught Grey’s attention. He stopped and gripped Tairwyn’s shoulder. “Do you smell that? Someone’s got a stew on! We’re almost home!”

“Your nose is as keen as that hound of yours!” Tairwyn laughed. “Odd though, if we’re close enough to  smell dinner, why aren’t there any guards?”

“If the wyverns are gone, they’ll all be outside,” Grey said, hoping that was the truth. But he motioned the rest of the train to a halt anyway. “Wait here, I’ll fly ahead and find out.”

He rocketed through the tunnels, making his way steadily upwards. The quiet was ominous, broken only by the faint echoes of coughs from the men.  He sped onwards, his concern growing as the sound of coughing did not fade. Instead, it grew louder ahead of him. He flew past empty sleeping chambers and kitchens and deserted children’s playrooms, heading up and up until the only place left was the central council chamber.

The scene that awaited him there was enough to wring tears of pity from a stone. Row upon row of sleeping furs covered the floor, each filled with a quietly coughing occupant. His whole tribe was there. Every single child was sick, their cheeks sunken and their skin had a greyish tinge. There were a few men and women moving listlessly among the patients, the dry cough shaking them.

One of them lifted her head and squinted through the dim light coming from a makeshift hearth she was tending. “Aurengrey? Please tell me that’s you and not a hallucination!”

It was his mother. Grey rushed over and gave her a hug. “I’m home, mom. We’re all home.” He held her as she burst into tears.  “What happened here?” he asked.

“What always happens to us? The wyverns came,” Merina said bitterly, wiping her cheeks. “They couldn’t get in, thanks to the men Tairwyn left here and our own hunters. So they dropped the carcasses of females into the cisterns and every lake and spring, fouling our water supply. By the time we realized what was making us sick it was too late.” She stopped for a moment as a cough shook her. “Your hounds tried to warn us, even pulling the children away from the cisterns. I thought they were simply playing too rough and shooed them off. I should have known better.”

“None of us could have predicted they’d do this,” Grey said, looking around in dismay. “I had better go get the rest of them. We’ll figure out what to do when we’re all gathered here.”

Merina nodded wearily. “I’ll let the Mountain kin know you are back, they’ve been keeping watch with the hounds.”

Everyone gathered in the central chamber. Grey took his usual place, with Cavall pressed up against his legs. The big hound had been so happy to see his master he had nearly bowled Grey over with his joyful greeting.

Brennan took the floor, the once fiery leader of Tempest bowed over and walking with a stick. “We will need to organize hunting parties. We need fresh food if we’re to survive this.”

Tairwyn stood up. “You need medicine. We still have a bit from the last group of traders that was brave enough to pass through. I’ll twist my chief’s arm till he gives it up,” he said, with a fierce grin. The smile faded as he looked around. “Not sure it’s enough to cure all of you, but a smaller dose will get you by ‘till we think of something else.”

“When was the last time you saw the traders?” Brennan asked.

“Over a year ago,” Tairwyn said, wincing. “Too much risk, not enough profit for them. Still, no one’s seen hide nor horn of a wyvern since they left their nasty parting gift. If we could get word to the coast maybe we could lure the traders back.”

Grey had listened quietly to the discussion, a plan forming in his mind. He pushed Cavall’s head off his lap and stood up. “My grandfather is captain of a trade ship. If I can get word to him, he’ll help us.”

“Ah, but can you find him laddie?” Tairwyn asked. “Tis the wrong season for sailing into the southerly ports.”

“Then I’ll fly north. The upper air moves fast, I can get to the coast in a few days.”

Merina spoke up from where she sat, holding hands with Grey’s father. “I have a map of every port he visits. He gave it to me in case I got tired of Aurelius and wanted to come home,” she said, leaning down to kiss her husbands’ forehead. “He never has forgiven you for stealing me away. But he won’t deny aid to my son.”

Brennan tapped his stick to get their attention. “We have a plan then. Let’s move quickly while we still can.”

It did not take long for Grey to pack. He found the map in a waterproofed case, the unbroken seals on the lid a testament to his mother’s love for her husband. She never once considered leaving, despite all the hardships they had suffered. There was a pouch full of gold coins in the bottom, the kind traders used that could be broken into smaller bits, and a note of credit to buy passage on any ship. Grey tucked it all into a backpack along with food and a blanket, and bundled himself up in his warmest furs and leathers. He topped it off with a pair of hunting spears slung across his back in an X.

He was just rolling his shoulders to settle everything in when a knock came at the doorway.  Tairwyn let himself in. “Good luck, laddie. You’re going to have to fly fast to catch the traders before they head off north. It’s summer up across the equator, they won’t linger here.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not wearing armor, it’ll slow me down,” Grey said.

“Hmm, well, I don’t know as those pig-stickers of yours will be enough if you get up close and personal with a wyvern,” Tairwyn said. He unbelted his sword and handed it to Grey. “Here, remember what I told you. The sides are sharp for a reason.”

Grey looked at him in astonishment. “I can’t take this; you’ll need it if they wyverns come back!”

“Bah, I can always borrow another one. And it’s just a loan, mind you, I expect it back soon enough.”

Grey put it on the sword, shifting it until he could move without it unbalancing his flight. “Here’s hoping I won’t need it.”

Tairwyn gave a hearty chuckle and smacked him on the back. “Aye, since you’re more likely to cut off your own head with it! Still, it may come in handy.”

They walked up the tunnel that led to the canyon, Cavall close on Grey’s heels. Tairwyn clasped forearms with him. “Safe journey.  I wish I could go with you, haven’t seen the ocean in years.”  He reached down to ruffle Cavall’s ears, and got his hand licked for his efforts. “You watch your master’s back now, eh?”

Grey started gathering the winds, excitement bubbling up in him. As dire as the situation was he couldn’t help but look forward to finally getting out and seeing the world. “We’ll be back before you know it,” he said, giving the thumbs up.

Tairwyn stepped back as the Wind picked up speed, swirling around the young man and his hound. The pressure built, making the stones around them shake until at finally let loose in a deafening roar.

Grey and Cavall shot upwards like a slung stone, cutting through the clouds to burst out into the high, thin upper air. Man and beast were both grinning from the feel of the wind on their faces. The fast moving winds caught them and they were off, hurtling at break-neck speeds to the east…

—-

<–The Wanderer’s Tale, Part 5  —||||—-  The Wanderer’s Tale, Part 7 –>