whinnied nervously.
The blademaster stiffened and gazed at the sky. “Storm's brewing.”
Talis studied the thick grey and black clouds churning high above. Fierce winds shook the treetops and leaves and needles danced with each gust. The invigorating air rushed into his lungs, of storm and pine and cedar. It was as if nature was a crouched mountain lion, ready to pounce on its next victim. A drop of rain splashed into his eye and another landed on his chin. With a storm as fierce as this seemed, they’d need to seek shelter for the night.
Soon rain pelted his face and hair, and he grimaced and pulled his hood over his head. The trees grew animated with the force of wind, and large sheets of rain painted the grey sky. Inside his wool cloak he was warm and protected, but after awhile he was drenched.
The blademaster tried his best to keep the party moving, the wind whipping into a frenzy. Waves of leaves and rain made it impossible to see. Talis could feel the agitation of his horse under the erratic wind-her nostrils flared and she shook her head in contempt. Each moment a struggle, and each minute darker, he wished he was back in the warm comfort of the inn. The suffocating air from the low clouds and rain constricted his chest, making each breath more difficult than the last.
A sudden vast movement in the sky ripped the wind stronger, and the wind rushing through the trees howled in fury. Limbs cracked, branches flew and smashed against tree trunks. With the wind came an outpouring of torrential rain-the kind that reaches inside you and claws and digs and squirms, until you want to scream.
He glanced around, then kicked his horse and sped up to the blademaster. “We need shelter. I can barely stay on my horse.”
“Where?” the blademaster yelled, his strained eyes searching.
Talis blinked, wiped his eyes, and inspected the forest. Far off in the darkness, he spotted a flicker of light. The storm made it nearly impossible to see, but the light was there again, stronger now. Maybe it was a village? He stopped and turned his horse. He pointed at the light and the others squinted.
The blademaster nodded and rode on. One light expanded into many, dancing through the trees. Talis relaxed when he realized he was right, they’d found a village. Huts glowed and glimmered from fires inside. Smoke wafted out. He rode around a hut near the circle, and jumped at the sight of an old man sitting under a canopy attached to a hut. A smile crossed the man's face as he stared at the newcomers. The blademaster wielded his sword out of instinct, but softened after the man lifted his hands, and bowed in supplication. He wore tattered animal skins, as if from a hunt done years ago.
“Take shelter from the elements, friends. I’m Barnabus, our leader.” He motioned them inside. “Be our guests and warm yourselves by our fires.”
Talis glanced around and a chill shimmied up his scalp. Other old women and men poked their heads out of the huts, their eyes held a tired, hungry look, as if receiving the first visitors in years.
The blademaster sheathed his sword and slid off his horse. The wind gusted as he took refuge under the canopy. The sorceress followed, and the smell of roasted meat entered Talis’s nostrils as the blademaster went inside the hut. After a moment, he poked his head out and waved the others on. Talis licked his lips, imagining the taste.
Barnabus led Talis and Mara past several huts. Aged men and women stared at them as they passed. Their faces were filled with harsh wrinkles and their backs hunched over. Barnabus opened a flap to one hut and led them inside. “Our village is humble and our huts small,” he said. “You're welcome to stay until the storm clears.”
By a low fire in the center of the room, an old woman stirred an iron pot filled with stew. She wore a white lace apron. She smiled with soft, caring eyes as they entered. Her long silvery hair was tied up in a bun. She reminded him of his grandmother-always cooking stew on cold, wintry days.
Talis bowed to her. “Greetings, I'm Talis Storm. Thank you for your hospitality.” He pulled off his wet cloak and lay it on a bench near the fire. He was soaked to the bone. Shivering, he hovered around the flames, feeling life returning to his hands. He sighed as the warmth seeped into his body. Now if he could just sleep-no, he was hungry. He couldn’t decide what to do first.
The woman coughed slightly. “Welcome home, my son. What’s kept you away these long years? You've made a mother's heart grow sad, longing for her son.” She touched his shoulder and a million lines of electricity shot through his body. His eyes went wide, but he brushed off the feeling. He tried to imagine what it must be like for this woman to have her son abandon her.
“Let's get you out of these wet clothes.” She ambled over to a wooden chest in the corner. It creaked as she opened the lid. She peered inside, pulling out a green shirt and brown cotton pants. He eyed her cautiously as he accepted the gift.
“Would your lady friend be needing some clothes to change into as well?”
Mara nodded and rubbed her arms, looking hesitantly at Talis. It was too quiet. After they’d entered, it seemed the storm calmed down. Even the wind ceased. But Talis was glad for the fire, it melted his cold and fatigue. He was so exhausted he couldn’t think. Besides, he told himself, the woman was old and decrepit. Many old people in Naru had lost a bit of their minds.
She tottered back to the chest and pulled out a white gown. She lifted the gown, glanced at Mara, then smiled, and waddled over to her. “These clothes should fit you. My daughter wore them before the wind took her away.” Her eyes glistened and her face held the look of a mother betrayed by her children. Talis imagined his sister, Lia-how could she ever leave mother? They were inseparable.
Mara ran her fingers across the silky gown, then noticed Talis watching her. She held it over her chest, blushed, and searched the room for a place to change. She went behind the bed and Talis turned to let her dress.
“Much better.” She returned to the fire, and let the heat sink into her hands.
Talis removed his vest and shirt, and glanced up, noticing her curious eyes. She looked down shyly. He grabbed the fresh clothes and darted over to the corner, finding a quilt. He lifted it over his body and she giggled at him as he tried to change holding the quilt. He stumbled and dropped it several times, and she broke into laughter when he came back to the fire.
The old woman carried their wet clothes and hung them on a cord. She sat, returning to her stew. The smell of wild game and onions wafted through the air.
Talis collapsed onto a bearskin, too exhausted even to ask for food. His skin flushed as he faced the fire, his eyes drooping from the warm glow.
“So comfortable.” He yawned, wanting nothing other than to close his eyes and sleep.
Mara slipped next to him, lying behind with her arm wrapped over his chest. The heat from the fire slowly drained him of energy. He blinked and nodded off, still feeling the pouring rain and the wind hammering his neck. In his mind, the trees swayed back and forth, sheets of rain pelting his face.
Then the light in the hut dimmed. The room was quiet save the soft clacking of the wooden ladle stirring the stew. Mara pressed close to him, and soon he found himself drifting off. Faintly, as if off in another world, he thought he heard the sound of drums.
16. ASHTERA SUMMONS THE DARKNESS
Shadows stretched long and thin and wound around the corner to the sleepy hut. Talis bolted awake in a fright. A horrendous scream, guttural and deep, echoed through the huts. The saddest sound, worse than a mourner's party on dreary winter's day. Who had made that cry? Drums outside poured out a tight rhythm.
“Wake up,” he told Mara. He smelled a horrible stench and wondered where it came from. He glanced over at Mara and realized she hadn’t heard a word he said. She was snoring. His nose pointed towards the iron pot. He stood, peered inside, and recoiled in terror. A man’s hairless head floated in the vile stew. Blanched eyes stared at nothing. He could see the exposed veins and throat where the head had been sliced off. Arms and legs and bones pressed thickly together. Talis’s stomach churned, as if the contents of the stew were inside of him. He covered his mouth and fought the bile pushing up his throat.
“Gods, are those-” He stopped and glanced around. Be quiet, Talis, he told himself. A knot clenched his stomach and his mind raced. What was happening?
