Stormcaller (Book 1)

by Everet Martins

  He surveyed the path into the camp for a long moment. The sun danced through the waving trees. Walter nodded in satisfaction. He noted the massive fresh hoof prints that had recently disturbed the soil. Walter motioned for Lillian and Baylan to move to him. “You two stick out like blooming roses with your bright colors. I’ll scout the camp,” he whispered.

  Lillian furrowed her brow and started to open her mouth in protest. Before she could, Walter lifted a bright red tendril from her dress and draped it across a bush. She and Baylan nodded in understanding.

  “We will change our clothes when the opportunity arises,” Baylan said.

  Walter crawled along brush adjacent to the path, careful not to disturb larger shrubs that would unveil his position. When he finally saw the campsite he clamped his hand to his mouth, muting an astonished gasp. There were three people covered in mixed layers of fresh and dried blood, each mounted to thick branches forming the shape of an X. They were pinned with daggers through their hands. One was the bastard Mar. Walter started to smile, until he realized the other two were Breden townsfolk. His smile transformed into a grimace.

  He inched back towards Lillian and Baylan. He halted when a Cerumal emerged from a tent flap, armor clinking as interlocking plates slid over one another. He hadn’t even noticed the tent in his shock over the gored people. The Cerumal sauntered over to Mar with a spear held lazily by the haft in one hand. The spear dragged behind it, spearhead tracing a sinuous line in the earth from the tent.

  “No, no please, not again! Please, I’ll do anything!” Mar pleaded, bright blue eyes whirling chaotically. He tugged at the daggers, testing their hold. He whined when they hardly budged and fresh blood coated his wrists. His eyes opened wide with anger and he kicked hard at the Cerumal. It easily caught his ankle in its meaty hand, crushing it like a vice. Mar screamed, squirming to free his leg.

  Walter almost felt bad for him, watching with ice in his heart. He inhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the dry, acrid air tunnel into his lungs. He exhaled with measured control, taking at least twice as long as his inhalation. The rage at the site of Mar became the tranquility of the setting sun over the Abyssal Sea as his exhalation touched his lips.

  Walter’s muscles entered state of relaxed preparedness like a taught bowstring waiting to be released. He let his fingers hang loosely at his sides and his eyelids drooped with calm awareness. The scene widened and his peripheral vision snapped into resounding focus.

  Mar’s leg writhed in slow motion against the Cerumal’s iron grip as if they were entrapped in a tar pit. The blood droplets on Mar’s chest burst alight with shades of red, reflecting a tiny sun on the surface of each drop. Mar threw his head back, petitioning the empty sky for the mercy he never conferred to his victims. His pupils contracted and a vein in his forehead jumped with every heartbeat. The beginnings of a smile started to tug at the corners of Walter’s lips.

  The Cerumal had a twin pair of tall cascading horns poking through its sharp-planed helm. It released Mar’s leg and unlatched its helmet, allowing it to slide open and fall with a thud. Mar’s legs quivered as he saw its face. “Beautiful,” he whispered. The Cerumal closed its obsidian eyes and lifted its head to the sky, inhaling slowly and deeply, flexing its wrist and arms.

  It raised its spear overhead, and slammed it through the haggard Mar’s thigh. Mar screamed, “Kill me already! Kill me!” The Cerumal leaned closer, inhaling sharply. A trail of faint green light emerged from Mar’s mouth and split into two before it entered the Cerumal’s nostrils. The beast started to change. The plate armor bulged and flexed, as if its muscles increased in girth. Its carotid arteries pulsed with renewed vigor. The imperceptible sound of a tiny twig snapped behind him. Walter wouldn’t have detected it if not for the sense-enhancing effect of Warrior’s Focus.

  “They feed on the pain of others. It is an insidious form of Necromancy, known as Soul Draining,” a whisper said from behind him. He turned to look at Lillian, to his shock finding her completely naked, body to the ground. His Warrior’s Focus broke like glass at her gorgeous form. “You said our clothes were too bright, we agreed,” she said with a mischievous grin. He found Baylan at least had smallclothes on. “I don’t like the feel of smallclothes,” she said, reading his thoughts.

  Chapter 12 – Cursed

  “Raven of the skies, fashioned from my bones, lend me your eyes.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness

  A shrill scream came from one of the townsfolk. Another Cerumal, shorter than most, had stuck a dagger into a gaunt man’s stomach. He was well-muscled despite his slender frame, with a long scar over his right eye. He had the fierce determination in his eyes of a man who fights until the bitter end. This Cerumal wore only armor below the waist, its upper body a decorated canvas of battle scars. Veins throbbed and popped out of its skin as vibrant green light-tendrils from the crying man entered its mouth. “We have to do something,” Walter stood to his feet in defiance, steeling himself for war. His eyes burned with vengeance.

  “No, wait – we don’t know how many there are!” Baylan said quietly.

  It was too late. The colossal Cerumal who had drained pain from Mar released a guttural scream. It hurled its spear at Walter with the speed of a loosed arrow from a bow. He turned his body sideways at the last second, narrowly avoiding the demise of his nightmare. So fast! he thought, cracking Stormcaller to life.

  The beast ripped a dagger from Mar’s hand. It charged Walter with stunning ferocity and speed. Walter rolled and it skidded to a halt, attempting to ram him with its massive body. Walter rose to a knee and viciously slashed, lashes smoothly tearing through its armored thigh. The Cerumal collapsed to the ground squealing and clutching the remaining stump. Blood was rapidly ejected from its fatal wound as its heart pounded with fury.

  To his right near the campfire, Lillian stood with arms wide, soft skin exposed to the elements. The stocky Cerumal lunged at her through the air, dark teeth swallowing light. She planted her pale legs wide, and raised both hands like claws from her waist to her chest. A boulder the size of a door sprouted from the ground, spraying bits of rock and earth into the air. The Cerumal collided with the thick slab of granite with a sickening crunch.

  A third and fourth Cerumal burst from the tent flaps. A huge one, at least three paces tall, wielded an almost black two-handed long sword with a waving edge as long as a man. A straight edge can become lodged in your opponent’s bones. A waving edge allows for easier extraction, critical for combat, Noah had said. Walter sprinted towards them, whirling Stormcaller overhead. He gritted his teeth and focused his eyes on his enemies.

  A thin Cerumal, thin at least compared to other Cerumal, yet still much larger than an average man, bared long spikes jutting from each wrist. Baylan suddenly appeared behind the smaller one as though he had warped time itself. He jammed his long silver dagger under its helm, between the neck guard plates and into soft flesh. It screamed and dropped to its knees, fruitlessly clawing at the dark blood bubbling from its neck.

  The larger one turned from Walter and slashed from overhead at Baylan with its incongruously large blade. Baylan raised his forearm and a translucent blue shield of light sprung up around it. He grimaced as the massive blade bounced off it, sending him crashing onto his back. Lillian twirled flaming short swords in each hand as she dashed at the Cerumal preparing to swing at Baylan again. It turned its head when she launched into the air screaming with a double overhand kill strike. It snapped one arm into the air like a viper at prey, seizing Lillian by the neck. Lillian panicked, trying to pry its armored fingers loose. Her flaming swords fell from her hands and vanished with a poof.

  Walter reached the Cerumal, slashing overhead at its arm to free Lillian. Together as one, Walter willed. Lillian tightly closed her eyes. The four waving tendrils of Stormcaller spun through the air, and before making contact wove together, avoiding hitting Lillian. It worked. It fucking worked, he thought in amazement. The Cerumal threw its head back, be
llowing in anger. The beast had lost its left arm at the elbow. Lillian dropped to her feet and removed the severed arm, color returning to her face. Baylan stood and recovered from the crushing blow.

  The Cerumal raged and swung the massive sword with one hand at Walter. He ducked easily, avoiding the clumsy attack, studying its sword style. Walter laughed at the pitiful creature losing strength each second as blood streamed from its missing limb.

  It swung, and Walter evaded. Swing, roll forward, swing, duck, swing, side-step. This time Walter countered with a cracking upward slash, tearing through its chest plate, but purposefully not hewing the creature into pieces. Now you will know pain, he thought, lips curling. Some of its blood splashed a grisly line across his face.

  Bits of plate clattered to the ground when it lurched towards him again, swinging its gargantuan blade like a weak child. Walter whipped horizontally at its legs, parting armor, and again with a backhanded slash. Both of its legs now bore deep gashes in ashen skin that plate once covered. The Cerumal fell to a knee, heaving, slamming the waving sword in the ground and resting on it. Was it yielding?

  Walter sliced the sword in half, glaring savagely as the Cerumal collapsed onto its face in a small pool of its own blood. Lillian and Baylan watched him with concern from the campfire. Just like a tree, just a little wetter, he thought sadistically. Walter amputated each of its limbs with methodical slashes like he had practiced on the birch trees. The Cerumal released its last groans of life. Walter rubbed his nose and mouth, staring down at the corpse.

  Walter marched with frenzy in his eyes to where Mar lay. His body sagged, one arm dangling by his side, the other overhead with a dagger through the palm. The spear through his leg pulsed and his thigh twitched. Walter removed the other dagger from Mar’s hand, kicking him to the side, watching as he lifelessly slumped to the ground. Walter grunted, tearing soiled cotton shreds from Mar’s clothing, and fashioned a noose-like knot with loops on either end.

  Lillian placed a hand over her mouth. “Walter, what are you doing?” she said. Baylan draped her flowing red robe over her shoulders. Walter looked at her – no, he looked through her. She visibly shivered. She started dressing herself with the bundle Baylan gave her, eyeing Walter curiously.

  Walter cinched one end of the makeshift noose around the Cerumal’s neck. He then unceremoniously dragged it towards Mar by the noose, painting the scrub with dark blood trails from each of its severed limbs. By the open end of the noose Walter hoisted the amputated body onto one end of one of the thick branches forming an X. Walter stared at the body for a moment. It swung in a gust of wind. Satisfied, he nodded.

  “We’ll let that be a warning to them. Hopefully they’ll know they’re not welcome anywhere near Breden.” Walter said. It’s madness, utter madness. What have you become? he asked himself. He squashed the thought. It’s what Juzo would have done – it’s for him.

  Baylan looked up from examining a body and scribbling notes. “Yes, I suppose if anything will, that would be sufficiently efficacious.”

  Lillian rubbed at the red lines around her neck. “If you stare too long into the darkness, you may become one with it,” she said.

  Walter smiled. “You never told me you were a sage. Do you have other talents you’d like to reveal?”

  “I’m sure you would like to know,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.

  Walter blushed, turning away and investigating the tent. Did she mean what I think she meant? Did she see me looking at her when she was nude? No, of course not. She was just having fun. The tent was austere, with bundles of hay for sleeping and scraps of hog bones. It seemed they hadn’t been there very long.

  Along the corner, near the entrance, lay a full suit of armor the Cerumal wore. It looked almost exactly his size. This could come in handy, could save your life, he thought. He started snapping pieces on, working from his legs up to his chest. There was no helm or gloves, but he preferred it that way. Certainly wouldn’t want to be mistaken for one of them. The interlocking, unnaturally colored slate armor disturbingly seemed to grow tighter around his limbs and body. Walter looked at his arms, admiring how amazing it was to be in plate for the first time. It’s so light, almost like my leather training armor. “Incredible,” he said, marveling at how well it fit.

  He stepped out of the tent and spun on his heels, opening his arms wide and displaying the newfound treasure. “Hey, guys, look what I found!” he said excitedly. Baylan turned and the color drained from his face.

  Walter swallowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Walter, no!” Baylan yelled, reaching an arm towards him. “It’s cursed!”

  Chapter 13 – Corruption

  “Blackout, for too long you remained beyond the reach of my adoration. Gliding through the endlessness I found you.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness

  “Huh? It’s not cursed, you’re just jealous. I understand why, though – there was only one set of armor. It’s OK, I’m sure we’ll find another for you at some point,” Walter said. Baylan exhaled, shaking his head.

  Lillian used the Power of the Dragon to open a large hole to bury the Breden townsfolk. Walter watched her, awestruck. “You’re incredible with the Dragon. Can you teach me?” he asked. He squatted to the ground with ease, absently rubbing an exposed hand in the gravel. Mobility feels excellent, no wonder they all wear these, he thought.

  She rolled a frail woman Walter hadn’t recognized into the hole while looking at Walter. “Walter, Baylan knows much more about the world than we do,” she said, pointedly ignoring his question. Next she rolled the gaunt man, who had presumably died from internal bleeding caused by the dagger placed in his abdomen, into the same earthen tomb.

  “It’s cursed, Walter,” Baylan said, pressing fingers to his temples.

  “What makes you think so?” Walter replied.

  “Try to remove it, then.”

  Walter struggled at the pauldron bindings. “I can’t seem to get my fingers under it. Here we go.” He had a firm grip on a latch and pulled as hard as he could. “No, no, no, no!” he said, panicking. He looked at Lillian, who was blasting dirt over the townsfolk’s bodies. She flashed him a knowing look. He looked to Baylan. “How do I get it off?” He exhaled, defeated.

  Baylan put a hand to his scruffy jawline. “I have a friend in Midgaard who specializes in artifacts. He might have an answer for us,” he said. He sat in front of Walter, dropping to the boy’s level, and closed a notebook.

  “Walter, you couldn’t have known this. There are very few who do, besides scholars such as myself. It was written in the Age of Dawn that men who were captured by The Wretched, Asebor’s generals, were put in cursed armor that would warp their minds in exchange for increased strength and speed,” Baylan said. Walter continued rubbing the sand and small pebbles with an open hand, working the shape of a rainbow into the earth. The cool sand-gravel mixture was calming.

  Baylan continued, “The consciousness of the wearer would eventually be the subject of control by a Black Wynch. As the armor corrupts the mind, it concurrently corrupts the body. The creatures we fought today were once men,” Baylan said, turning his head towards the hanging Cerumal. His words hung in the air, their weight pressing on Walter. “I suggest we turn back towards Midgaard now to get it removed,” Baylan said.

  “No,” Walter said, surfacing from his sand art. “It’s been too long already. I need to go to Breden. For my parents, for everyone,” he said, standing. I’m going to become one of them, he brooded, looking with horror at a dead Cerumal.

  Baylan nodded deeply. “Aye.”

  Walter gathered his satchel and pulled flowers to be placed on the shallow graves. How long will I remain a man? I will not die like one of them. I will not. I’ll make them kill me if I have to, he thought. Can I take my own life? Do I have the courage? The thought sickened him.

  An image of his nightmare flashed into his mind while gathering River Brittlebush, whose bright orange flowers dotted the stems. P
lease don’t be the beast with the bladed helm and golden chains of light, he thought. “What does a Black Wynch look like?” Walter asked, his heart thumping, already knowing the answer. Lillian brushed dirt from her hands and clothes.

  Baylan looked to the late afternoon sun. “I’ve never seen one in person, only in poorly drawn sketches. They’re most notable by an oversized helm, gangly draping skin, hands that appear to be solid metal with long daggers in place of fingers – why do you ask?” he asked, worry touching his voice.

  Walter folded his arms, again surprised by how easily he could move in the thick plate armor. “Can they shoot objects from their bodies?” he asked, unconsciously rubbing at his shoulder.

  “Phoenix! You have seen a Black Wynch?” Baylan paled. Lillian looked disturbed, squinting.

  “Yeah, it came during the attack,” Walter said, pushing his long hair back.

  “They are only sent for very specific objectives in organized raids. They wanted something in your village, Walter,” Lillian said.

  “What could they have possibly wanted with a small town like Breden?” Walter pondered.

  **

  Walter kept a brisk pace the rest of the afternoon, determined to make it to Breden by sunset. Lillian and Baylan trailed behind on the Helm’s East Road. Lillian maintained a scout’s vigilance, constantly surveying the environment for danger. Baylan occasionally scribbled notes about the vegetation and scurrying animals, disturbed at their passing. Baylan was unsurprisingly fascinated by the Shroomlings, stopping to sketch one that stared at them as it hoisted an acorn on its shoulder.