The Storm's Own Son (Book 1)

by Anthony Gillis

  Then she cooled, turned to glance back at the robed young man, and back again with eyes widening and a hint of sudden fear on her face.

  "Can we take a walk? I... don't feel safe here right now."

  Talaos felt momentarily amused that she saw him as her source of safety, him a stranger in her town, and a man strong enough to scoop her up helplessly with one arm. Even as he thought this, however, he rose, alert and ready, and motioned for her to follow.

  ~

  A gentle wind blew through the fields, and swayed branches in the little copses of trees that dotted the area. The town, not far away, gleamed as the afternoon sun shone on white plaster and red tiles. Talaos walked with Miriana, and breathed in the air. He'd never really thought about what a peaceful place the Republic was, outside of the tough urban streets he'd called home. He appreciated it at last, now that he might leave it forever.

  At his side, Miriana had been silent for some time. Her wild hair, hanging to her hips, shone almost like copper in the sunshine. Without preface, she exclaimed in a carefree voice. "Don't worry about my books or the rest! I leave a lot of things there, and old Galea makes sure they get put in the back room."

  Talaos had assumed something like that, given what a fixture Miriana appeared to be at the inn. He looked over at her, and smiled. With a passing thought, he asked, "So your father was in the army?"

  She started, as if waking from sleep. "Yes, he led a company in the war with Dirion, and got promoted to division commander after he held the pass at Nausica."

  He wondered in brief surprise at the idea that a woman so very young would have a father who'd been old enough to be not merely a young soldier, but a field officer during the war forty years earlier. Then again, Miriana had implied her mother was a second, later wife.

  His musings were interrupted as she grabbed his hand, bouncing with a sudden giddy energy. She waived toward a nearby circle of trees on a low hillock. There were some old weathered standing stones within.

  "Can we sit? I'm not as used to walking all day as you..."

  He smiled and nodded, while gently extracting his hand.

  They sat on a long low fallen stone covered in vines and old runes. Miriana absently picked flowers and braided them into her hair as her eyes looked far away.

  The two of them sat for a long time, quietly together in the sunshine.

  Then she looked around her, at the carven stones, at him, and then far away once more.

  "They're old, these stones... older than the Republic, or the old Empire, or the Prophet," she said quietly, her voice lilting. "I like to come here, because no one else does anymore."

  That much seemed true, thought Talaos. He'd seen standing stones before, along his way east, and no one paid them much mind.

  She looked, if possible, even farther off, as if lost in distant lands. "They'll come back to you with the storm," she said dreamily, "the storm Talaos."

  Talaos stood up with sudden suspicion, and replied, "I never told you my name."

  "Your name? I dreamed that last night. I thought it was the name of the storm."

  "Who will come back?"

  "I don't know, they just will."

  The afternoon light was fading, golden in the west.

  "We're going back to town, Miriana."

  "All right, Talaos," she answered, seeming to savor the name. Her eyes were wistful.

  She put her delicate hand in his. Feeling protective, this time he let it stay.

  ~

  Talaos finished his dinner. This night, no one bothered him and no girls tried to flirt with him. When they'd gotten back, Miriana had picked up her things and quietly left. He'd gone up to his room to pack his gear for tomorrow, and then downstairs again to eat, long after dark. There was no sign of her tonight, or of the young man who preached for the Prophet. He returned again to his room with a vague sense of unease.

  He sat on the edge of his bed, his mind tense and searching, considering the events of the day. Then he imagined a scene, a scene taken from Miriana's words at lunchtime. He saw her tied to a pyre, burning, as robed and bearded men smiled forgivingly at her screams. With conscious, wrathful will, he changed the scene, and thought of sheets of driving rain putting out the fires, while lightning struck down the robed men.

  Purpose ran like lightning of its own through his veins, and he put on his full fighting gear for the first time since Carai. He donned his belt and baldrics with their silver fittings, his black cloak and his many weapons, and he stalked out to the hallway and through the door to the outside stairs. On passing instinct, he used an old trick from his lawless youth and slipped a little pin of special design in the lock of the door.

  Outside, a new, colder wind was blowing from the east. He stalked in widening circles around the town, then outside. Something occurred to him. He stopped his meandering and made straight for the hillock of the standing stones. He could see the trees blowing softly in the black moonlit distance. As he approached, he saw darker and more solid shapes. He sprinted.

  Then he heard a quiet, muffled scream.

  Far ahead, in the faint light atop the hillock stood the young man, now wearing an open robe over his clothes in the style of the Eastlands. He was tying a knotted cord on a bundled shape thrown over a horse. Another horse stood nearby, saddled and ready. The young man was speaking in his kindly voice.

  "...foolish to return to this place of evil spirits. Praise be that I found you. Now we will ride east, where those wiser than I will help you cleanse the curse from your soul."

  Then the robed man started with sudden awareness and whirled. As he did so, he drew a slim sword. His eyes fixed on Talaos.

  "Stop! Do not interfere with what you do not understand!" The man called out in a clear voice that sounded sincere, almost imploring, though he raised his sword before him.

  "Oh, I understand," snarled Talaos, his own voice cold, as he raced toward the hillock.

  The other man whispered something in cycled repetition, touched a ring on his finger, and a bit of green mist, barely visible, snaked from it and licked along the blade of his sword. Though he did not smile, his eyes showed serene resolve. He called out again in his calm voice.

  "I was a man of war before I found peace, and will not let you stop the saving of a soul."

  Sprinting at full speed, Talaos drew his swords.

  Talaos raced up the hillock, through the trees, and hurled himself at the other with blades flashing in the moonlight. He whirled, spun and struck again and again. The robed man dodged and deflected the strikes, the serene expression never leaving his face. Then he stepped to the side and, in a swift snakelike lunge, brought his slim sword to within an inch of Talaos's chest. Faint green mist flowed like poison along the blade.

  Leaping backward, Talaos brought up his short blade and pushed the other sword aside. Then he darted his long blade forward and ran the man through at the throat. Even then, the other looked at peace. As Talaos pulled out his blade, the man stumbled backwards, then tumbled a few steps sideways and toppled across a fallen stone. His blood flowed and pooled in the runes.

  Another muffled cry, in Miriana's soft voice, came plaintively from the bundle. Talaos darted there and found her tied tightly within a big harnessed bag such as traders used. He pulled her out and cut the cut the bounds from her body, the blindfold from her eyes, and the gag from her mouth. Thinking how fragile she might be, he kept her eyes away from the body on the fallen stone. She collapsed in his arms, shaking with nerves, and he held her close, eyes watchful around him for any further trouble.

  Then, after some time had passed, and she'd calmed a bit, he spoke softly to her.

  "Miriana, we need to go and get help."

  "NO!" she cried, with a wild look in her eyes.

  He looked at her, fixing her in his gaze until she calmed again, then continued. "We need to go get your father, and start explaining what happened."

  "No..." she pleaded, "I won't be safe, if they come, not with anyone but y
ou..."

  "Who will come? Other men?"

  "Not men! It will go out like a call... some are dangerous..."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You! You of all folk spilled blood here, the blood of one of the Prophet's priests..."

  "Yes..."

  "On the runes!" she blurted, her face growing even wilder with fear.

  She hadn't actually seen that, not with her eyes. Her fears matched his own growing sense that they were not alone in this place. He lifted her to her feet, and helped her collect herself as they started walking.

  "All right now, let's go see your father. I'll stay with you."

  "No, if they try, it will be tonight. Tonight... only with you! Only with you! Others could be deceived, taken, tricked to do things... but they won't try with you..."

  "Why?"

  "They fear you."

  He was past arguing, and the night had grown black and cold under the pale moon.

  ~

  They went quietly up the back stairs of the inn. Talaos tried a little key-like device in the lock, clicked it against his hidden pin, opened the door, then slipped both items back in a hidden pouch in his belt. He moved smoothly and quickly to the door of his own room, holding Miriana close, unlocked it, and brought her in.

  He lit the big, well-made lamp in the corner, stoked the small fireplace to life, and poured a basin of water. They washed in silence. When it was done, she shivered and threw herself against him, arms tight around his waist and head on his chest. She still wore her green dress, and the clasp had come loose again. It hung off her shoulder, leaving a rounded breast half-bare. He tried to ignore that, and put a hand on her head protectively, fingers in her wild hair.

  "Talaos... the storm Talaos," she whispered, "the storm, and the storm's own son."

  He'd never told her that nickname. He put his other hand on her chin, and tilted her head back. She smiled. There was her fair young face, and there were her strange, distant, beautiful eyes. He looked into them for a long while, then said, with decisive finality.

  "You are a prophetess."

  "I'm only... a girl who sees things."

  "A woman, and a prophetess."

  "Not yet. I'm still afraid."

  "What do you fear?"

  "Everything, and you most of all," she whispered.

  The dreamlike look returned to her fair face.

  She spoke softly, absently. "Didn't you ever wonder, with all those women, why you never sired... why they never bore..."

  He watched her, considering what to say. She went on, eyes as if in another world.

  "Only when you wish, when you truly know... She, maybe they, the ones who will... give the next. Unless you are the last. Could you? The strongest in ages..."

  "Miriana..."

  "I wish it was me..."

  "Stop," he said, putting a hand to her cheek.

  Her eyes returned to the world, and she looked at him with sudden awareness.

  She stared into his eyes expectantly. He could feel her nervousness.

  She drew even closer, breasts pressed to his chest, breath quiet in the still air of the room.

  Her hands shook, and her lips parted.

  Talaos felt the thrill of his own awareness run through him, of her body pressed against his. Against every one of his own instincts, he fought it. However, he did not let her go. She started to speak again, and he put a finger to her lips. She kissed it, took it into her mouth.

  The storm rose in him, free of all bounds. He lifted her to him, and she felt light in his arms. He kissed her parted lips. She returned it and held him tight. He kissed her ear and neck.

  She gasped out, almost pleading, "Yes...."

  He carried her to the bed, and slipped the dress off her body. She had no garments underneath. She lay there, looking up at him, half afraid and almost shaking with expectation. Her bare skin was fair, flawless, and her high breasts heaved with her nervous breaths.

  Then he took her. Sliding his own clothes off, he ran his hands over her body, from her smooth thighs to her trim little waist to the soft meeting of her neck and shoulder. She thrilled to the touch, gasping. He covered her body with kisses, and she moaned. She ran her hands over his body inquisitively, first tentative, then with passion. He put teeth to her neck and strong hands to her nipples. She cried out and wrapped her legs around him. He pushed himself inside her, and felt her virginity. She winced with the pain, then relaxed and took him deep.

  He thrust wildly inside her, again and again, holding her small body to the bed as her masses of hair spread all around them. She moaned and writhed, kissed his moving chest, and held him by his thrusting hips. At last, he unleashed inside her, and she screamed in sudden release. She melted in his arms, panting, and almost fainted.

  With half closed eyes, she whispered, "Now I am."

  He pulled her close to him, feeling protective once more, and drew the blankets over their bodies. She rested her head on his chest quietly, and time passed.

  "I will never have another," she said suddenly.

  Guessing her meaning, he spoke. "You have a long life ahead of you."

  Miriana's eyes closed, and she curled around him.

  "Only if you succeed," she murmured, voice fading.

  He smiled, and ran his fingers through her hair as she drifted off to sleep, pondering her words, all the strange words of the day, until he could stay awake no longer.

  ~

  The morning light was shadowed, and wind from the east slipped through the shuttered windows. Talaos held Miriana close as she drowsed. There was a peal of distant thunder, far away. Instantly, he felt it, felt alert and thrillingly alive. After a moment, he also felt something else, a hint of danger perhaps, though he couldn't place why. Miriana stirred awake beside him. He kissed her, and she back. He looked into her eyes, and saw something new in them. She still had the dreaming, distant depths, but she looked far more focused, lucid, and intent.

  "Miriana," he said with a playful smile. "Are you still afraid?"

  "No. I wanted, I acted, I risked, I accepted, I felt life at last, over all of my fears... and with you... the beautiful terror of you..." she said, face glowing triumphantly.

  "And now, you are."

  "I am a woman, and a prophetess," she said, her voice strong and flush with emotion.

  She suddenly stopped, and her eyes hinted at fear, but they narrowed instead of widening. "Armed men are coming. My father leads them."

  Talaos threw on his clothes and weapons. He looked out a window. Down in the square at the front of the inn, a lean but strong-looking man in the red cloak of a magistrate was leading a dozen others. He had shoulder length white hair and battered, but richly decorated armor and greaves under his cloak. In his right hand he carried his staff of office, and twin swords were strapped to his belt. Talaos turned to kiss Miriana one last time. Then without hesitation, he shouldered his pack and strode downstairs to face them, through the inn and out the front.

  As he swept out the doors, he could see deep clouds gathering over the eastern mountains. The wind was rising. Before him, the armed men fanned out on either side of their Magistrate. A crowd was gathering. The old man watched Talaos with piercing, intelligent eyes. For a moment, they stood facing each other, then the Magistrate spoke.

  "Hold there! You are not yet under charges, but do not try to flee and do not draw your weapons. Tell me about the dead man at the standing stones, and where my daughter might be."

  "I slew that man as he fought me with sword in hand. When I arrived, he had tied your daughter in a sack, with plans to take her east across the mountains and give her to others who would take her life. She is now in my room upstairs in this inn."

  "Your story of the man matches, in the main, what was found there, though there will be more questions before a decision is made on charges or trial." The Magistrate's face, hitherto cool and professional, now took on a pained expression. He looked Talaos in the eye, as if trying to bore into his soul. "If
you rescued her, my thanks. But... my daughter is an innocent, a girl, hardly able to face the world, and she has signs of gifts she can't control... You kept her with you. Did you..."

  "She is a woman, and she has the gift of prophecy," replied Talaos in a level voice.

  The wind howled. To the east, the clouds rose in great black masses over the mountains. Distant thunder rolled in booming waves. Lightning cracked among the high stony peaks.

  Miriana herself now walked out the doors of the inn. Eyes turned to her. Her father looked at her with a hint of surprise underneath his anger, for she walked with measured, purposeful steps. Her eyes were simultaneously otherworldly and piercingly focused. Her long hair tossed behind her like flames in the wind. She strode between Talaos and her father, facing the latter, and spoke. Her voice still lilted, but it had grown deeper.

  "This man made me a woman, and though I would die before letting you harm him... It is you, all of you, who should fear for your lives if you try."

  The armed men hesitated, but her father was unafraid. He threw his staff to the ground and drew his twin long swords. Their scrollwork of wreaths and eagles shone gold in the gathering gloom. His white hair and red cloak blew in the wind.

  "You monster!" He roared. "How dare you take advantage of her! Face me now, if you have any honor at all!"

  Talaos felt the power rise in him, and the purpose. He had business in the east, beyond the storm that called to him, and they would not stop him. He took a step, on his way.

  The Magistrate advanced with raised swords, and moved to pass his daughter.

  "STOP!" boomed Talaos, loud as thunder, and as deep. He raised his hand in warning.

  The men shrank back, and even the Magistrate halted, shock visible on his face.

  "There is lightning in his eyes!" said Miriana in a voice strong, soaring, and fearless.

  "Yes..." whispered her father.

  "I go to the east," said Talaos, his words echoing above the roaring wind and his hand turned toward the lightning-clad mountains, "and I will not be hindered." He fixed his gaze on the Magistrate, while lowering his hand toward Miriana, "He who calls himself the Living Prophet slays all others with such gifts. What will you do?"