The militia returns ravaged by a monster attack. Tyruc agrees to investigate and search for the missing member of the team, a young man named Thochag.
When they arrived at the eastern entrance again, Sareit continued beyond the buildings to where the steam carriage sat abandoned, its rear panel still gaping open.
“We’ll need to get this fixed.” She walked around it, running her hand along its black surface and muttering to herself. She paused several times as she encountered long scratch marks and sharp dents. Finally, she opened a panel on the carriage’s front that hinged downward to expose a complicated system of tubes and machinery.
“We can’t just hoof it?” Tyruc asked.
“If by that you mean ‘walk,’ then no. Zifa’s Farm is remote. Nearly a day’s hard ride by horse, two days by foot. But the steam carriage can get us there in an afternoon.”
The machine will take time to repair, Asena murmured, and you do not have the time to wait.
“Asena says we can’t wait,” Tyruc related, but the freshly summoned avatar at his side chuffed and butted him roughly with her nose.
No, I said you do not have time. You and my avatar must move quickly. Urgency crackled in the flames of her voice. You have not been called the Wolf Rider for nothing.
“What’s she saying?” Sareit asked. “If we don’t have time for the carriage, then I’ll borrow a couple horses from the stablemaster, and we can ride as fast as they’ll allow us. It’s not ideal, but what is?”
The avatar will easily outpace whatever means of transport Sareit arranges. You are needed at Zifa’s Farm as soon as possible. Whether Sareit follows after you or stays to fix the machine is your decision.
Wait, why is it my choice? Hello?
He sighed and addressed Sareit. “She’s not giving me a straight answer, but the best plan seems to be for me to go now. You should stay and fix the steam carriage, then catch up with us whenever it’s done.”
Sareit chewed on her lower lip. “Gilli could probably get it moving in a matter of minutes, but it may take me a day or so to fix it myself. I suppose it is a high priority… I don’t like sending you out there on your own, though.”
“I won’t be alone.” He patted Asena’s side, feeling her warmth radiate from her sky-blue coat. He grabbed a handful of her scruff and pulled himself up onto her back. “Any directions?”
“It’s a straight shot down this road. You’ll see a number of farms along the way, but the closer you get to Zifa’s, the less the road forks.” She paused, looking him and Asena over. “Ronnil didn’t tell me anything more about what happened out there before he stormed off, so we have no idea what you’ll be walking into.”
“I understand,” he assured her. “We’ll be careful.” From atop Asena, he held out a fist to Sareit.
She looked at it. “What do you want me to do with that?”
“I dunno,” he admitted with flushed cheeks. “Bump it, shake it, anything for good luck.”
“I would think the great Wolf Rider and Herald of Som wouldn’t believe in luck,” she said, pushing his fist away. “I’ll meet you there soon as I can get the steam carriage moving.” With that, she turned her back on him and consulted with the machinery.
Take the hint, Tyruc.
Yeah, yeah, I’m going. He and Asena took off down the road under a sun descending toward the horizon, unaware of Sareit’s worried scowl and the silent prayer on her lips.
Are you tired yet?
Clouds had rolled across the sky in a gray blanket, and the bracing wind flowing past Tyruc’s face competed with the warmth of his mount.
My avatar does not easily tire, Asena reminded him. Certainly not from such simple exertions as running.
Indeed, the avatar loped along with an ease that defied the pace she set. Shock barely had time to register on the faces of the occasional farmers they passed.
You recall everything Sareit told you about our destination?
I think so.
Sareit had given Tyruc a fair amount of information about the isolated settlement as they made their preparations.
Zifa’s Farm was established about a decade prior as a modest poultry farm by the titular woman. She ranged as far east as she could within Bodra, setting her camp on the bank of the Rhul River, and sought a solitary life with her fowl. Others eventually followed her path, and the single farm grew into a small community despite her desires for isolation.
Naturally, their remote locale made them a source of concern amidst the rise in monster attacks. When rumors reached Bodra of strange sounds in the night and then the sketch of eyes watching from the dark, the militia added Zifa’s Farm to their list of places to investigate.
And they came back a right mess, Tyruc lamented. Can you tell me anything about what we’re heading into, Asena?
The wind flying in his face turned wet, and the wolf’s loping tempo stuttered. Tyruc clutched at her fur to stay steady on her back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as she slowed to a stop.
My avatar still abides by the laws of the elements. The wolf’s flames dimmed, dampened by the increasing rain. In perfect balance, Som said, ‘Let water quench fire, lightning scourge water, earth bridle lightning, wind buffet earth, ice hinder wind, and fire disperse ice. Let light and dark embrace one another, to sear and smother in turn.’
“What are you saying?” he demanded, dismounting and coming around to her face. The avatar’s form flickered. “Are you leaving me here?” He gestured to the open fields around him, no farm or settlement currently in sight.
The avatar barked, and Asena’s true voice rang out fiercely, I will never leave you, Tyruc. But you may not always hear me, and this form may not always be available to you. At times when you cannot hear my voice, another will be there to guide you in the same manner that I have.
Tyruc wiped his face to clear it of the accumulating rain. “But—”
Herald of Som, go. Defend the weak, defeat the vile, and demonstrate the love of Som.
As the avatar fizzled away, Tyruc stood dumbstruck in the rain. The… “love” of Som? His frustration at his abandonment waited behind his bewilderment at this turn of phrase.
Tyruc trudged eastward through the rain, spending a little while in deep contemplation. In making his deal with Som through Asena’s intercession, Tyruc trusted that the being he aligned himself with was powerful, mysterious, and righteous in nature. Simultaneously, he had imagined Som as a faceless, dispassionate presence somewhere beyond the clouds, watching and judging from afar. One simple word now challenged that entire concept. That word was personal, intimate, and surely beneath a supreme being.
“Does Som ‘love’?”
Of course He does.
“Who said that?” Tyruc whirled around to search for the source of the voice. Only the pattering rain accompanied him.
I would have thought you to be used to this by now.
Tyruc spun again. “Where are you?”
Really, Tyruc, you do have an infuriating habit of not absorbing information. I do not know how Asena puts up with you. Trickling laughter teased him.
Tyruc finally recognized that the voice occupied the same space Asena had, but this voice was masculine. It flowed and bubbled in rivulets of amusement, not malicious but distinctly impish. “You’re in my head? Like her?”
Yes. I am the Herald who will accompany you during this next trial. Perform well and perhaps we can strike a deal like the arrangement you have with Mother dearest.
“Asena’s your mother?”
Question, questions, questions. No, she is not my mother, but as it is one of her titles, she cannot stop me from saying it. Now before you begin to bombard me with your curiosity, you should know I will not be so free with answers as Asena. It is time you learned the benefits of wonder without immediate revelation.
Asena’s been free with information? News to me.
I’ll be sure to tell her that, the voice snickered. If you want answers from me, you will have to work for them.
“Work for them how?”
However it suits me at the time. That answer was for free. The next one will cost you moving along down the path.
It seemed a simple request. But the road had turned from packed dirt into sludgy mud. As Tyruc resumed his trek, his boots struggled to disengage from the muck with each step. The rest of his trip to Zifa’s would prove to be arduous.
“All right,” Tyruc said with a grunt through bared teeth, “I’m moving. Now can you tell me what I’m heading towards?”
A small farming community.
“I knew that.”
Then why did you ask?
“I meant, what is the situation there? What kind of danger am I facing? What am I even supposed to do there?”
All very good questions. But that is not what you asked. You must be precise, Tyruc. Vague questions get vague answers. So let us slip back a little, shall we?
The rain stopped. Not ended, but stopped, the torrent of droplets hanging in midair all around Tyruc. He wanted to crane his neck upward to the sky, but his body would not listen to his commands. Slowly, the halted raindrops began to move, but they moved upward, back to the clouds, and Tyruc’s legs flowed of their own accord in a backward march. The sounds of his words reversed, and the air he had expelled to speak them drew back into his throat.
When time righted itself again, Tyruc’s momentum shifted forward and stumbled him a few steps, threatening to plunge him headfirst into the muddy road. “What the blazes was that?” he asked in a choked bark.
Try your question again.
“What did you just do to me?” he demanded.
Do not waste time asking something you cannot comprehend.
Time wound backward again, flinging the rain to the sky and reversing Tyruc’s body through his awkward stumble. When he was released from the phenomenon, he doubled over. His stomach roiled in a threat to expel its contents.
It would be rather unfortunate to have to do that to you again.
Tyruc groaned. “You are very different from Asena,” he said, an accusation in his tone.
The voice chuckled throatily. It was an animalistic sound Tyruc almost recognized but could not quite pinpoint. We only differ in method. She and I have the same Master, as do you, and we work together for His purpose. It will not offend me if you do not like me as much as Mother dearest, but you still ought to learn from me.
The voice left Tyruc to recover from his queasiness in silence, and Tyruc sensed it would not speak again until a pertinent question was asked. He weighed his options and formulated the wording of his question as he unsteadily trudged onward.
“What should I be prepared to handle when I reach Zifa’s Farm?” He hoped that would be both specific enough to satisfy the fickle voice and broad enough to net him the answers he needed.
The settlement has been plagued by a monster, the voice answered.
“Just one?” Tyruc scoffed. “Asena and I took down an entire pack of jackals. We should be more than capable of handling this.”
Careful, Tyruc. Foolish overconfidence is a steppingstone to more dangerous sins. Allow me to remind you that it only took one jackal to pin you and your avatar to the ground.
The rebuke was echoed by a peal of thunder. Tyruc shivered. The rain seeped deep beyond his garments, bringing with it a sobering chill.
This creature is no trifling jackal, either. It commands the wind itself and laces the air with its foul rhetoric. You must be prepared to contend with a beast that assaults both body and mind. You must also be prepared to face loss.
Tyruc’s shivering grew tremulous. It was not fear, at least not like the fear he could remember distantly of his old self, but instead a dreadful anticipation. With each muddy step on the road and each revelatory word from the voice, Tyruc trembled more violently beneath foreboding responsibility.
Loss? As in death?
Tyruc had not meant that as a question directed toward the Herald, but it answered him. There are fates worse than death. But you will not be alone; Asena watches, and I will also aid you if you can pass my test.
“What test?” Tyruc blurted. The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Like a hiccup in time, he was wound back again.
He threw up.
The rainwater carved rivulets to either side of the road, flowing in shallow ditches past Tyruc as he slopped his way up a hill. It was not especially steep; on a dry day, a horse and cart would have no difficulty traversing it, much less a man on foot. But the torrential rain had continued during the hours that Tyruc had walked in sulking silence and turned the hill into a muddy slide.
Bent forward and digging his hands into the mud to aid his climb, Tyruc smelled the earthy scent of the rain mingling with the dirt. The scent was pleasant when the rain pattered daintily on dry earth at the beginning of a good storm. This, however, was overpowering, bringing to mind the ruinous power a deluge could bring. As he neared the riverside settlement, he could already hear the rushing of the river’s waters rising above its banks.
Here we are.
Upon cresting the hill, Tyruc stood a short distance away from the entrance to Zifa’s Farm. Wooden fenceposts surrounded the half dozen buildings occupying a broad patch of flat land, and the swollen Rhul River formed a natural backside to the settlement.
The signpost over the gateway read “Zifa’s.” The left half of the low gate swung noiselessly in the wind. The other half lay on the ground, ripped from its post. Nothing stirred beyond the gate.
“Now what?” Tyruc asked, his voice drowned out by the intensity of the river and the rain.
Your next answer comes at a new price. Step up to the gate of the village, but no further, and tell me what dangers you see.
“What—” Tyruc started, but he clamped his hand over his mouth. He’ll answer me when I’ve done what he asked. Tyruc stepped up to the gate, looked around, and listed his concerns in a low whisper.
“The river is flooded and flowing too fast, so anything that falls in isn’t likely to get back out. The banks are probably too slippery to risk getting close. The center of the settlement is wide open for attack, but at the same time, the spaces between the buildings are great hiding places for ambushes.”
Is that all?
Tyruc looked at the buildings. Several of them were homes, the smallest of which sat across from the gate with its back to the river. Others looked to be storage cabins. One stuck out from the rest: what looked to have once been a barn but had been converted into a squat windmill. How did I miss that?
I will be generous towards your observational abilities and say it was due to the heavy rain. That and staring at your boots for the majority of your journey.
The wooden structure stood a couple stories higher than the rest, groaning as its sails spun hazardously in the wind. Tyruc squinted at it through the downpour. Deep gouges were cut into and around the windmill’s large door. The fabric hanging from the lattice blades flapped in tatters.
“The windmill’s been under attack.”
Yes, it has. Would you like to know why?
“Of course.”
Then let me show you.
The raindrops stopped in midair again.
“Oh, no, not like—”
Too late. The rain retreated to the clouds, the windmill spun back through its old pattern, and Zifa’s Farm reversed itself. The only thing stationary, unbent by the Herald’s command of time, was Tyruc. He remained locked at the settlement’s gateway, observing the jittering backward dance of the tragedy that had unfolded there.
Coming up in Chapter Thirteen:
The past unfolds in front of Tyruc, and he learns what has become of the woman known as Zifa Featherhart.
I think I'd be sick as well... someone seems to have a wicked sense of humor...