Consequences Within Chaos Page 19

  Taihven broke the surface of the frigid lake and gazed at the sight of the Soul Renders floating over his head. Two of the boxes were intersected by his improvised gate ring. One of the cubes – his most likely – had no bottom. The ring that dissected the Soul Render displayed only the deep emptiness of the cube’s inside. The other box was missing a portion – its bottom corner.

  Another chill spread over him as he realized that he had been dunked into the horrid lake that circled the Soul Renders. In a frenzy, he crossed to the nearest bank. The oily black water lapped over his arms like syrup. Exhaustion enveloped him. After Taihven dragged himself a good fifteen paces from the lake’s edge, he dropped to his knees and belly-flopped into the ivory sand.

  A sickening sound – a guttural, sucking cough – caught his immediate attention. He had heard no other noises from the desert around him. He rolled over onto his back and lifted his head to scan the water. Nothing had broken its glass surface.

  Another scccaaaaaaallk sound echoed.

  SSSCCCcccaaaaaallllllllkkkkk!

  Taihven spied a pair of tiny, pale hands grip the edges of the hole in the second Soul Render that was next to Taihven’s. The fingers were thin, but stubbed, each fingernail gnawed bloody. A child’s head peered out; the scalp marred with patches of grey-white hair and red-boiled splotches. It was Auste’s younger sister! As imprisonment within the Chaos Realm had been for her brother, she was also mutated into nearly an albino. Whatever had been human in the child had been long lost. She was hideous, disfigured and abnormally lanky.

  Taihven froze in terror upon the sand. The pair of fish-blind orbs passed over the beach head where he laid, but sight had long been robbed from her eyes. The child lifted her head and sniffed at the air. This had to be the first time she even felt or smelled fresh air for over seventeen years. He did not know her name; he could not remember if the child was ever named in the history tomes.

  His mouth went sour dry and his body started to tremble as she crawled over the lip of the ring and plummeted awkwardly into the water. When she disappeared beneath the waves, he bolted to his feet and ran up the sand dunes. Even thirty yards away, he heard the splashes of the child-troll as she came out on the very shore he had, followed by a wet, gurgling Sssccccaaaaaaaallllkkkkkk.

  Was she attempting to track him?

  Taihven had ran in a panic once before in this very land, but this phantasm was a torment without end. This was not an episode!

  ***

  Taihven felt his lungs burn, his breath rasped through his raw throat and he laid face down in the white sand. He had run and run and had lost all track of time and direction. Made sure to get as far from the child-troll as humanly possible.

  He no longer heard her sounds (that sucking cough would haunt him many nights) and knew that she was not anywhere close to him. While he knew this by gut instinct, his mind continued to race – his thoughts frantic. She terrorized him to the core. There was an absolute chaos lurking behind her mucus-filmed eyes. The rage of her insanity surrounded her like an aura. She could roam unharnessed and unhindered as insanity incarnate and an insatiable terror.

  New guilt weighed upon his shoulders. What misery and horror have I released upon this world?

  In spite of escaping the unbreachable Soul Renders, Taihven was not excited nor could he be happy about being in this region. He found his prison cell key, but after all he had only escaped into the prison courtyard. No way to return and no idea where to find help or shelter, he stood and scanned the horizon. Nothing could be seen in either direction. More stunted trees and wind-swept sand dunes. Not a living soul or habitation for miles. The only solace he had was that the Cros’seau thing would not find anyone as well.

  “I wonder if I might be able to conjure another Gate Ring?” His head already throbbed from his exertion, but it would be impossible to stay in this forsaken region. He squeezed his eyes shut and took several heartbeats to control his breathing and gather his energies.

  “Donsiam Donstoa Reas Vash-kekaa!!” He chanted.

  Upon casting, the world swirled for a few counts. The throbbing at his temple became like knuckles jamming into the sides of his skull. The prince stumbled to the side, but caught his balance. He looked down into his outstretched hands for the reward of his efforts.

  Another glowing band had appeared and stretched out to a width of four feet. The region displayed on the other side had long blades of brown-tan grass that waved at him. A field of the overgrown grass spread out before him. It was not a room with a hearth and a warm cotton bed, but it was infinitely better than this horror. Doubting that he would find any real type of shelter, he shrugged and stepped with relief into the Gate Ring.

  #6

  Immediately upon stepping through the band, it blinked out and stranded Taihven within a circular clearing.

  “How many lands are there?” he muttered to himself. Again he was in another land of Aberrisc he had never seen or visited before in an episode.

  The field grass had been cut short or pulled out in this particular clearing. A hearty, oak tree that stood fortysome feet and five hands wide leaned at an odd angle next to where he had stepped through.

  Taihven was troubled by the signs and prints of several large creatures in the mud of the clearing. Once more there were no structures near him or in the distance.

  Muggy winds ruffled his clothes and washed over him as he stood scanning the surroundings. The climate was not cold here, but not warm either. The beige sky above him deepened into a russet, orange bruise as night came. As one sun crested another sun worked three quarters of the way across the expanse.

  The brown-tan grass rose in open-ended tubular reeds, most were the thickness of his pinky finger. The marsh-like region seemed peaceful, yet there was also a peculiar tension in the air. He had not seen any animals; only heard a random rustle in the grass now and then. Nothing seemed dangerous, but the young prince hated being unarmed and alone.

  There were no birds in the sky, insects swarming over the reeds or even small animals making any calls or noises. Every sound was muffled. Only the flute grass made a hollow call when the wind rushed in short waves across them. The haunting, throaty rasp reminded Taihven of his time in some of the Mender monasteries when they gave praise by Kreatihen songs and chants in the early hours of the foremorn.

  He spotted a cluster of oaks nearly two arpents ahead. Deciding that this would have to be his only recourse for shelter, he tried to make a straight-line trek to his impromptu sanctuary.

  A drawn-out, moaning howl erupted in the distance behind him. It was followed by a series of pitched yipping barks. The creatures stalked amongst the reeds, but kept well hidden. From the howls, he guessed the pack was of a canine-type animal. They communicated his position, but never made any overt maneuvers against him. He fretted over not having a weapon, but his spell forces could deter most animals. The prince decided to keep on his calculated direction and not to run.

  After an hour of pushing through the field, the grove with the oaks was no closer. It was obvious that depth perception within this region did not follow the same rules from his home plane. Near exhaustion and collapse, he rested amongst the reeds. The pack that dogged him remained a respectful space behind. The sky turned charcoal as the last sun found the horizon’s edge.

  He tried to think of any wards that might help protect him while he hid under the blades, but most would start uncontrolled fires or would not allow him any rest. The evoker class of magic was not helpful in this regard. Taihven sat upon the grass, calculating his options.

  Before he found a solution, the prince passed out on his back.

  #7

  Auste was certain each guard on the moat walls or at the Wyvernshield city gates was watching his every move – he knew it was overwhelming paranoia of course. He had stolen an old hooded robe and a pair of broken-sole boots, but was swathed in the moldy blankets he had found in the barn. The winter winds were brutal and far colder than he ever remembe
r from his childhood. Snow swirled everywhere and bit at his exposed cheeks and nose.

  The albino had found and eased himself within a group of village farmers leaving the Courtyards. He walked right over the bridge and out of his hated enemies’ city. It could not have been smoother or better planned out. Yet, his heart pounded in his chest; sweat beaded and froze on his forehead and around his eyes. Too much was at hand and he was so close.

  When the ragtag bunch of peasants walked a quarter of a mile down the pebble road and out of the watch’s gaze, he stepped off the path and trudged into the snow drifts alone. He marched a few dozen yards under the trees and waited for the road to empty.

  Careful to not be seen, he returned and walked a half mile away from the city wall. The wind stirred stronger and fresh snow blanketed the tree branches. His vision was already poor due to his imprisonment, but with the haze in the air he was nearly blind. He took up a position upon a massive boulder resting in a ditch that ran parallel to the road. It was not a comfortable seat, but he made due waiting for his prey to arrive.

  An hour passed before he heard a set of hooves stomping along the road south of his post. A few counts later, a horse-drawn wagon with a burly, older man and his son came around the bend. The balding hulk of a man squinted from his roost on the wagon bench and stared at Auste with suspicion. He stood up with slow determination, limped to the edge of the road and forced a smile across his face.

  “Hold, please, fellow traveler.” Auste cried out to the stranger.

  “What have at you, ye lost?” The man shouted over the noise of the horses. However, he did oblige by stopping about fifteen paces from him.

  “I do not mean to disturb you or detour you from your destination, but I am in dire need, sir.” He paused to see if he had the man’s sympathy, but the wagon driver was not yet moved.

  “You see,” he continued, “wolves set upon me yesterday morn. I managed to escape them only by feeding them my only horse! Course I would not have even been in this mess, if it were not for those ingrates at the gates.” Rubbing his elbow, he winced in pain.

  “What is wrong at the gates?” The traveler was beginning to invest into his story.

  “They were turning everyone away two days back. Some stupid rumors of plagues in the villages has spooked the good sense from them all. I had traveled a good day’s trek from Preyton’s Pass to sell my turnpen pies and they refused to let me in! How am I ever going to make this up? I lost my entire supply and my horse!”

  The stranger spat to one side and barked, “That is ridiculous! I just came through them villages and there is no sickness!” A pair of thick flurries of snow billowed over the wagon and interrupted his protests.

  “Rouch jump down and go inside with your brother. Here! Take my hand and join me on the bench.” He extended his hand toward Auste. “Those fools are going to hear about this! I have friends on the Merchants Board. They cannot ruin a man on the mere wagging tongues of midwives and fools!”

  “Right! Ridiculous,” he repeated the man’s words.

  “Father? What is wrong?” A younger boy called from within the confines of the wagon. He had leaned out and was eyeing the stranger.

  “Gates are closed, but we are going to go and get this buttoned up.” The merchant spoke directly to Auste versus answering to either of his sons. “Rouch, go join your brother!”

  The young boy frowned and slouched on the bench, glaring down at Auste. The merchant slapped him in the back of his head. “Have you lost your hearing, boy?”

  Rouch bolted up from the wagon bench and leaped down. As he disappeared inside the coach, he gave him a dirty look all the same as he closed the small door.

  Perhaps the boy senses what his father is oblivious to, he wondered to himself.

  “You really are too kind. Thank you for your help. I had no idea what I was going to do.” He accepted the man’s hand; his own hand vanishing in the merchant’s massive grip as he worked himself up onto the bench.

  More flurries blossomed on the winds and the temperature dropped within moments. Both men hugged themselves against the chill.

  “Good thing I came along. Just in time, eh?”

  In lieu of replying, the albino grinned a disarming, shark-like smile. He shot his arms out around the man’s neck and twisted his head sharply. The crack of bone echoed among the snowy pines. He then snatched the horse reins from the dead man’s fingers and guided the wagon into an awkward half circle. The horse was a bit of a struggle for him to control. After several attempts the wagon was turned back and faced the opposite direction away from Wyvernshield.

  Rouch asked in alarm, “Why are we turning around? I thought we were heading to the city to sell the furs?”

  “Father?” it was the younger brother’s voice again that called out.

  Auste ignored their annoying pleas. He decided they would make excellent feed for the Viestrahl. The wagon would be the perfect cover for him when he found and dealt with Ramnethas.

  The horses trotted at a semi-fast pace. He leaned over and shouldered the heavy, rotund merchant off and into the snow banks that bordered the road.

  Remembering that peasants were all diseased per his mother’s words, he wiped his hands in disgust on his robe.

  The boys continued to call out from the doorway of the wagon, their voices growing more urgent.

  PART IX — INTO THE TEMPEST:

  Morning of Helmlaadar 15th~~

  #1

  A deafening thunderclap blasted across the fields. It originated right behind the young prince’s impromptu bedding. Rain splattered and poured incessantly. Taihven leaped to his feet and bolted in the opposite direction on pure instinct. Purplish black clouds rolled across and bloomed over the field. He snapped a glance over his shoulder and saw a massive thunderhead billowing up high into the sky – he skidded to a stop and stood dumbfounded.

  Extended from the storm’s belly, a black and white funnel dropped right into the field like the hand of a malevolent god. The flute-like pitch from the grass reeds went up several octaves higher in protests. The tornado blackened as it traveled over another of the circle clearings, chewed up tremendous amounts of soil and threw trees like a child in a tantrum. The tempest’s speed was surreal and it circled in the clearing as if it possessed an artificial intelligence. Hail shot down and pelted Taihven in an icy meteor shower, but he could not tear himself from the sight of the tornado.

  As fast as it appeared, the tornado imploded and dissipated. The debris crashed down all around the marsh. The explosive storm grew stronger and spread out further. Taihven snapped out of his stupor and dashed away again in the opposite direction. Flying leafy branches and high reeds smacked at him viciously, keeping him ducking and swerving as he ran blind. Another thunderous boom announced a new tornado as it slammed into the ground. He felt the intense winds push against his back.

  Before Taihven could break his momentum, he burst through another wall of a clearing. The prince flailed his arms, but fell face first into syrupy, wet mud. His left knee cracked hard against a sharp rock buried there. He wailed in pure agony as he writhed in the dirt and rolled unaware of anything, but the newfound throbbing in his leg.

  I have got to get out of here! His mind screamed as hail stones pattered all around him.

  The pain had hardly subsided, but Taihven forced himself quiet so he could focus. It was time to conjure another Gate Ring. The tempest grew louder as it approached.

  Dirt pelted and stung his face as Taihven struggled to stand up. The storm’s fierceness scared him and he prayed for a ring that would bring him to a safe shelter and food.

  “Donsiam Donstoa Reas Vas—” A broken tree branch swung in from behind, swept him off his feet and the prince fell once more onto his back.

  He rolled to the left and lurched to his good knee. Before he could repeat for another Gate Ring, the tempest ambushed him from the right. Jerked high into the air in helpless terror, Taihven the ragdoll careened into the heart of the sto
rm. His feet were thrust upward and forced him upside down. Lightning flashed all around him and a five foot length of tree trunk crowned in flames swirled into his direct path. Taihven’s shriek was cut short as it plowed into him, a broken branch stump impaling him above his pelvis.

  #2

  A flock of winter geese flapped and squawked above Letandra’s head as they flew over. The last flickers of sunlight winked out and the shadows swallowed the field in front of her. She remained crouching among a dense pine tree. The brisk eve had come and painted everything in black as she hoped for, but she waited to see any possible movement in the wooden barn’s windows.

  After she held silent several moments, she was satisfied that the area was deserted and empty. Letandra crept along the border of the field using the tree and brush for cover until she could see the back of the barn. Melting icicles dripped from the second-story roof and the doors were buried deep in five foot semi-frozen snow piles.

  It was exactly the way Taliah had described. Letandra had gone to question the young maid in the infirmary wing earlier that afternoon. She was under heavy armed guard, but it was not truly needed. The maiden was completely blind and it would take weeks to learn how to exist with her new condition. The girl laid back in the sheets and pillows with an odd smirk-smile.

  “I wondered if you would come visit me, Princess Letandra.”

  Letandra settled down on the side of the bed. “You were waiting for me?”

  “Well… I did not have a large ring of friends and family before. Now, after all this, I can count on one hand the possible visitors I might be getting. It gets very quiet and lonely in here.”

  An awkward tension dropped between them. The princess did not know what to make of the traitor. Taliah had not come across at all as mean-spirited or had a hint of evil. Yet, the girl had colluded with the Viestrahl and threatened and tried to imprison her brother. In spite of her horrible wounds, she had a charm about her. The maiden had paid a cruel price for her deceit, but was it enough to wipe her debt to Wyvernshield?