Stormcaller (Book 1)

by Everet Martins

  “Strange that something that looks so much like a lash lacks the whip piece,” Walter said wonderingly. “Maybe it was burned off at some point.”

  Juzo’s back was to him, rapt in the depth of Blackout. Walter snapped his arm in a mock whip crack. Four amber tendrils extended from the gauntlet’s rounded tip. “Whoa!” Walter jumped.

  He held the lash to his side as the luminescent whips waved of their own accord. He gently felt a tendril between his fingers. It sparked and sizzled, thankfully not inflicting any pain. He swung at the wall. The color of the whips transformed into a bright vermilion mid-flight. When they struck, they passed through the wall, leaving four deep scars in the glowing stones. When the lashes returned to him, they resumed their soft amber glow, harmless.

  “That was incredible! Did you see that, Juzo?” Walter said excitedly. “It doesn’t look to have a name. I’ll call it Stormcaller,” he proclaimed. “It’s like a hail of lashes on every strike! Noah would have loved this.”

  Juzo sat on the floor, transfixed by Blackout. “Juzo! Anyone in there?” shouted Walter.

  “Huh? What – yes, yes, I’m here. What kind of question is that?” Juzo said. He looked tired, as though he’d aged five years in the last day.

  “You really need to get some rest, you look terrible. Would you put that away and get your bag so we can get going?”

  “Yes sir!” Juzo said mockingly.

  He reluctantly sheathed Blackout and mounted it to his belt. They cautiously exited through the illusory dead end of the tunnel. It yielded once again to their passage. Juzo seemed to have regained his vigor, no longer favoring his injured leg. Maybe his new sword has lifted his spirits, and hopefully his attitude, Walter thought.

  Walter detected a shift in his consciousness. The dancing ball of flame he’d come upon in Warrior’s Focus within Mar’s camp now seemed to be within reach, beckoning to be used. He wrapped an imaginary hand around it, testing its existence. He felt an intrinsic bond forming with his new weapon, almost as though it were an appendage. He looked down to its shining steel, mentally commanding the swirling tendrils to vanish, they did. He ordered them to materialize and vanish in rapid succession, testing it. It’s like blinking a new set of eyes.

  “This is fantastic. I think, oddly enough, that I can use the fireball again, the one that I used to slay the Cerumal at that bastard Mar’s,” said Walter.

  “Really? Well, that’s lovely, it must be nice to be you,” Juzo said, muttering. He tapped his fingers on the ornate sword’s slate hilt, and then tightly grasped it to draw. Walter narrowed his eyes, not missing the gesture.

  “Something bothering you, friend?” Walter asked, subtly closing the gap between them. Juzo released the sword’s handle. He slumped back against the undulating tunnel wall. Was he really going to draw on me?

  “No, I think the stress of this journey has been wearing on me. What I wouldn’t give for a warm bath and a cup of brandy right now,” smiled Juzo. Walter nodded solemnly.

  A hiss burst from behind them and the bulbous pincushion opened its vicious mouth expectantly, cornering them once again. “I remember, it’s a Shiv Fang!” Juzo yelled, unsheathing Blackout. The blade swallowed the dim light emanating from the nearby trap. Juzo stepped toward the creature, expertly piercing its gaping maw. Greenish blood dripped from the withdrawn sword, and was promptly absorbed as if by dry sand. The Shiv Fang’s hisses became gurgles.

  Juzo looked to the sword with mania in his eyes. As the Shiv Fang collapsed, a blue swirl of wispy smoke rose from its corpse. The waving smoke formed the silhouette of the once-living Shiv Fang. It hung in the air for a second, and was then sucked into Blackout with lightning speed. The blade shimmered a pale gray, illuminating a tiny image of the Shiv Fang trapped within, biting and raking at the blade’s interior. It then darkened, and seemed to swallow more light than before.

  “Well, that’s not something you see too often,” Walter said.

  Juzo marveled at the blade, turning it in his grasp, smiling broadly. “I knew this sword was powerful, but by the Dragon, that felt—” Juzo stopped.

  A bright blue line of light split the air with a bone-vibrating hum. The line was a little taller than a man and razor thin. From each end-point, smaller lines simultaneously moved in clockwise and counterclockwise directions, manifesting the form of a perfect circle ahead of them. The bright light of the circular plane waned, unveiling within a dark, gritty stone wall. The hum grew in force.

  “What is this?” yelled Juzo.

  “I think it’s some sort of doorway,” Walter said.

  Along the wall were two human bodies, hanging from what appeared to be meathooks. There was a nude, pale-skinned woman crying out in pain, strapped to a table with rollers stretching her body. A man sat writhing in a bloodstained chair lined with small spikes. His dark eyes filled with tears, locking onto Walter’s. His eyes abruptly darted to the side, seeing something Walter and Juzo could not. “No, no! Run!” he screamed. Walter and Juzo stepped back from the portal. Walter wanted to run and knew he should, but curiosity overcame that desire.

  “Now what?” Juzo said, scratching his cheek.

  A frail man glided into view, pale skin reflecting torchlight from beyond the portal. He had no hair to speak of, his face shrouded in an eyeless black mask. In one hand he held a staff that looked like a petrified cobra with white spines. His other hand splayed open, revealing long blades for fingers soaked with fresh blood. He wore a heavy leather sarong about his legs and abdomen, and a belt lined with skulls. Other small trinkets such as an apothecary would have hung from twine along his grotesque belt. He turned, gazing from Walter to Juzo.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Walter demanded.

  Juzo defensively drew his blade and crouched into Buffeting Gale, dropping his lead leg low and holding the weapon overhead.

  “Bearer of Blackout, you have awakened the master blade by feeding it. All great power comes with great sacrifice. You are mine now!” the pale-skinned man hissed unnaturally. He raised his staff and Juzo was lifted from his feet and pulled into the air, his back smashing against the tunnel ceiling. Walter reached a hand for Juzo’s leg, grabbing empty air as Juzo was violently drawn through the doorway, tumbling into the dark stone room. Blackout skittered across the ground on the other side of the portal. Walter dove towards the portal as the wide hole in the air started rapidly shrinking. Just before Walter’s body in flight passed through where the portal had been, it vanished as though never there.

  “Juzo? Juzo! Where are you?” Walter screamed, rolling to his feet. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed at the unseen masked man, frantic. He dropped to the ground, digging where the portal had been, finding nothing more than a razor-thin scar marked where it had met the tunnel walls.

  “Why is this happening?” he screeched. He whipped his head behind him, and in front and back again. He looked to the ceiling, and pounded it with his fists. “Come back, you coward! Take me! I am the Bearer of Blackout! I am the Bearer of Blackout!” he screamed, sobbing. He dropped to his knees. “Juzo, you’re my only friend. Where are you? Where are you! I’ll find you,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll find you!” he screamed, dropping his face to earth, sobbing. “You were my only friend.”

  Chapter 9 – Lich’s Falls

  “What starry vaults I had traversed to discover how to remove the cage of flesh attachment.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness

  Walter picked up Juzo’s satchel. At least he would have something to give his parents. His parents, are they even alive? Is anyone still alive? I need to get back home, he thought. Walter followed the path through the earthen tunnel where the fawn had fallen, its corpse buzzing with Rot Flies.

  “Who is going to believe this?” he said aloud. He laughed, “They’ll think I’m insane and I killed him.” No, you have Stormcaller and the power-diamond marks, they are proof enough. “I hope so,” he told himself. The tunnels seemed to go deeper as the height of the surf
ace game traps ascended. Was there any other choice than deeper? “Deeper,” he pondered aloud. He came upon a three-way fork in the road and went right, where there seemed to be light. Is this a dream? he thought.

  A familiar hiss sounded behind him. He turned, snapping his wrist, reveling as Stormcaller sprang to life, amber lashes waving and sparking. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, Warrior’s Focus enveloping him in its welcoming calm. His heartbeat slowed.

  “You will know my wrath, creature,” he shouted. He squared his torso to the Shiv Fang and dug his heels into the soft earth. The beast’s nubby appendages scraped the tunnel walls, dislodging clumps of packed soil. This was a fat one, hardly able to squeeze through.

  “You’ve been eating well,” he said, grimacing at the sight. The Shiv Fang responded by parting its mouth, thick saliva coating its waving tongue. The creature slowed in Walter’s perception. Walter shifted his weight to his back leg. He then explosively bore down on his lead leg, executing Cat Playing with Mouse. He swung Stormcaller in an upward angular strike, vibrant lashes leaving streaks through the darkness. The timing was perfect. The Shiv Fang didn’t have a chance to express pain as it was sliced into quarters. The four pieces of the creature slid from one another, tumbling from the velocity of its charge.

  Walter felt like he should have been enthralled with the power of this weapon. Yet he could only feel pity for this beast that was only trying to survive, like himself. This world was filled with danger and only the strongest survived.

  He paused for a moment and knelt, feeling strangely compelled to pray. If you had asked Walter a few days ago if he thought the Dragon and Phoenix gods existed, the answer would have been an absolute “no,” and praying an egregious waste of time. Now, he wasn’t so sure. A lot had changed in the past few days, fragmenting his paradigm of reality. This wasn’t only for this Shiv Fang, but for each of the fallen. His mother, father, Juzo, Nyset, Noah, and other Breden friends deserved this.

  Give them rest o’ Dragon of yore

  May the Phoenix shine upon thee for the rest o’ thy years

  Forgive thee and pass through the gates o’ Death

  To be born again in the heat o’ the Phoenix

  Given life by the Dragon’s grace.

  “You would have eaten me if you could have,” he sighed, emerging from Warrior’s Focus. He sauntered another eight paces, pausing to wipe dirt from his brow. A surge of hisses exploded from behind him, at least three. His inner cynic scolded him for praying and not moving when he could have. He wheeled on his heels, gritting his teeth. Four Shiv Fangs raced to the corpse of their fallen brother, inspecting it with their slithering tongues. A few seconds later, they turned running the other way, squealing in terror like pigs about to become bacon. I used to think cleaning the sty was the worst part of my day, he thought, snickering. These were apparently intelligent beasts, and knew when to fight and when to run.

  It was a pleasant change to be able to stand one’s ground. With proper weapons you had the option to fight. With the horrors Walter had experienced the last two days, this positive change loosened the noose he’d felt strangling him. He walked with a new lightness in his step, occasionally rubbing Stormcaller for reassurance.

  The tunnel continued to slope deeper underground. The fork he took ended in an expansive cave with a small pool of clear water. A sliver of light jetted through the strangely churning water. The transient effect threw dancing light ripples on the cave’s granite walls.

  Walter stripped off his trousers and shirt, stowing them in his brown satchel, leaving himself in his smallclothes. He rubbed at the oozing wound in his shoulder, which appeared to be healing well as far as he could tell. Stormcaller stays on, far too valuable to lose, he thought. If the weight of his satchel was too much of a burden, he would abandon it.

  He jumped into the pool feet first, not risking injuring his head with a dive. Icy water slapped his body with stunning cold. Water from the north, Lich’s Falls, he thought. He swam against battering currents towards the light ahead, swirling eddies clouding his vision. The arduous swim taxed his body as the bright light source drew near. He desperately needed air. His vision narrowed, and peripheral vision went black.

  Reduced blood oxygenation will present itself with the initial symptom of failing vision. Following is unconsciousness, and subsequent brain damage, his mother’s teaching echoed. Noah’s stern voice overrode hers: The way out is through. Continue fighting when you can’t any longer. When your body fails you, will your body to continue. Do not relent. Become what your enemy fears.

  He allowed the satchel to slide from his body and it sank into the subterranean chasm. Must keep Juzo’s, he reminded himself. The other option was death. Not today. The reduced weight invigorated him. He kicked harder with a burst of strength. He approached the light source. A white ball of widening light spun before him.

  The orb materialized into a stony opening. Walter erupted through the opening, clasping its edges for extra propulsion. He started inhaling before his mouth found air, sputtering on water. He emerged from his torturous swim, gasping for life and expelling water from his nose and mouth. He used the last of his reserves to breathlessly paddle to the river’s edge. Walter collapsed in the cool silt, heaving water from his chest and letting his eyes close, obscuring the harsh sun.

  **

  Walter awoke in the fetal position, surprised to be in his smallclothes. “Wiggles? Where are–” He cut himself off, remembering where he was. He turned, reaching for Juzo’s satchel to discover a red-capped Shroomling sitting cross-legged, curiously watching him with its beady black eyes. “Buzz off,” he said, throwing a small rock at it. It scurried into the tall grass and jumped into a hole, leaving only its mushroom-capped head visible as camouflage. Walter sighed, collecting himself.

  He opened Juzo’s satchel, finding on top a sopping wet book titled Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness. He thought, rubbing its strange, rust-colored leather cover, Juzo never read. What the fuck was he doing with this? This book looks old, very old. He set it in the sun to dry. Juzo didn’t have an extra set of clothing, but he did have his soft leather training armor and leather ankle boots. Walter examined them, grateful that they were his size, and then placed them in the sun. All of those precious marks, gone. I was wealthy for a moment. No, you are wealthy. He looked to his wrist, smiling at the legendary weapon.

  He found Juzo’s bag also had a small pouch with a few marks, a handful of dried meat, a small bag of pine nuts and a water skin. A lightness filled his chest and he beamed into the bag, mouth salivating. Walter devoured the meat and nuts in moments, stomach raging at the sight of food. The little things give the greatest of pleasures, his father had said to him at dinner once. His father’s face welled up in his mind, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the tasks of import.

  He tried to get his bearings, unsure of where he was. He knew he was somewhere along the eastern bank of Lich’s Falls, presumably near the Grey Riven Foothills. He gathered firewood and kindling, and started constructing a makeshift debris hut.

  Stormcaller helped him make swift work of the required thicker branches. A five-pace-long fallen tree made the roof line, one end resting on the ground and the other on a red boulder. He dragged branches as thick as an arm and rested them against the roofline, forming the walls, and finally topped it with at least a pace of brush for insulation. It wasn’t pretty, but it would keep him warm.

  Night fell, along with bitter cold. The weather near the Abyssal Sea could be excruciatingly hot during the day and deathly cold at night. The icy winds asserted the need for the debris hut. Now the fire crackled near his shelter, big enough to keep wolves away, but not large enough to attract unwanted attention. He stared into the flames from within the tight shelter, allowing their hypnotic dance to soothe him.

  Grief unexpectedly slammed over him in waves, leaving him gasping for air. When the waves receded, he found himself looking over a darkened wreck; illuminated in a light so clear, s
o empty that he could hardly remember what life had felt like before it was anything but dead.

  It’s strange how something so potentially destructive can be so comforting, he thought. His eyes reflected the chaos of the flames. A half-moon loomed overhead, casting a dim light over his riverside camp. Everything I knew has changed, altered in irreversible ways. Mom – she sacrificed herself to save us, and we ran like cowards. But she left us no choice, didn’t she? Mom could invoke the power of the Dragon. An ember popped in the fire as thin tendrils of flame vaporized in the air. It was real. It was truly real. I can use it. I am her child. Dad… oh Father, you were wonderful. You both were wonderful, truly. Nyset, no… Tears slid from the corners of his eyes, falling to the leafy floor. Juzo, I will find you. Whoever took you, I will find you. His heart surged with energy, rage eclipsing sadness. I will avenge all of you.

  Chapter 10 – Exiles

  “Ravaged by heavenly winds, the multihued flames of my senses are no longer effulgent.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness

  The early morning sun hung over Lich’s Falls, which became the effervescent Lich’s River. The Grey Riven Foothills wrapped around the river, their lush crescent tops deeply encasing it. A white-spotted Pond Owl sat atop a tall birch, searching for breakfast. Walter detected the brown mouse scurrying ten paces off before the owl. He turned and walked away before its inevitable demise.

  The snap of the splitting pine tree startled the nearby Green Jaspers darting like arrows through the air. Walter cracked Stormcaller by his side, tearing through earth. He spun into Snake Catches Bird. The horizontal slash tore effortlessly through two birch trees, sending them crashing into the wood. He roared with the fury of vengeance that boiled within, imagining each tree a Cerumal.

  He approached a sapling and amputated its limbs, following it up with a clean bisecting strike. “You killed my family!” he shouted into the vegetation. His mind raced with possibilities. Do I continue to Midgaard to get help, or go home to fight? The Cerumal may not even be there anymore. People could be recovering, burying the dead. You’ve already gone this far and want to turn around now? It will take more time to get to Midgaard, and I’ll have to convince a constable what happened was true. They’ll never believe me. He sighed. Or return to Breden, fight, and die with honor?