Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 18 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen 

Chapter Eighteen - The Storm of the End of the World

Their steps in the sand disappeared as soon they lifted one foot to put it in front of the other. The wind whispered louder now, but its voice was as foreign in their ears as it must have been to any traveler for centuries and millennia before them. It wasn’t the wind of the desert that the people living there came to know as soon as they opened their eyes. No, it was different, a presence from a different world that existed hidden by a veil that protected those outside of it rather than those inside.

Duril shivered and wrapped his fingers harder around Toru’s hand.

“Are you cold?” the young tiger asked and let go of Duril’s hand only so that he could wrap his arm around him.

“Feel free to laugh at me, Toru, but I believe my trembling comes from fear.”

“I’ll shelter you from the storm. Just see how big I am,” Toru said and puffed out his chest.

“I do not doubt it,” Duril replied with a smile. “I just have the feeling that whatever story Claw is about to tell us, it will set in motion events that we should have left asleep.”

Toru looked over his shoulder. They were all walking in a line now, drawing closer to one another, aware of the thing trying to reach them from behind. Duril didn’t have to follow Toru’s example to know that the tendrils of red crossing the sky were not only still there but growing closer at a much faster pace than they could walk.

“It isn’t our choice what evil does,” Toru said.

Duril stared at the handsome profile of the tiger’s face. Sometimes, a cleverness, a wisdom even, shone from what the shapeshifter did or said, and right now was one of those times. For Toru, the truth of what he had said was self-evident, not apparent to most others. For that reason, among many others, Duril couldn’t stop being in awe of him, of the simplicity of his way of thinking that divided right from wrong without a shadow of doubt.

Because of that, because he knew what the kindness in Toru’s heart was capable of, Duril had hope for the horde they had left behind. Nothing brought everyone together better than a common enemy. What they could do to get together to face it, Duril didn’t know, but he hoped that together with his friends, they would be able to live through this new challenge of fate thrown at them. And, in the meantime, they might forget about the bad blood between them and the horde, and unite for a common purpose.

“You’re right,” Duril told Toru. “It’s not our choice. What we can choose is how to beat it.”

Toru grinned and squeezed Duril by the shoulders. “First, we must find one way, and then we’ll go from there.”

This was the best advice for now. And as unprepared as anyone must have felt to hear Claw’s story, it was time to begin.

Claw began, his low pleasant voice accompanied, gently for now, by the whispers of the wind.

***

Varg didn’t know if it helped in any way, but he took Claw’s large hand in his, telling him, without words this time, that his story could be told.

“The merchant who said that he was bound to tell the story since he had been asked leaned over the table and gestured for his two companions to do the same. ‘My friends,’ he said, ‘what I’m about to tell you is a cursed tale. We wouldn’t want anyone else to hear it, for fear that we might end up spreading this curse.’ Do you believe that such a thing as a curse was enough for me to heed that warning? I was all the more curious.”

“At least, you have one flaw,” Varg teased.

As frightening as the thought of hearing a cursed story was, it didn’t mean that they should lose their spirit.

“One flaw, you say?” Claw grinned at him, happy with being complimented. “And there I was, thinking that you believed me to be nothing else but a bag of fleas.”

“Just continue the story, flea bag.”

“You hold me by the hand so tightly, I find it hard to believe that you mean any of that.”

Varg laughed under his breath. They would defeat this sandstorm or whatever it was, and then a certain bear would pay for all this teasing in full.

Claw sighed and continued since the others were all eyes and ears waiting for him to tell the cursed story. “So, while I pretended to see about my meal, the merchant began talking again. They were reasonable in assuming that no one could hear them since they couldn’t have known that a shapeshifter was sitting so close to them. My blessed sense of hearing helped me pick up each and every word they said.

“The merchant took one long sip from his tankard of ale, wiped the cuff of his shirt sleeve over his mouth and hesitated for a mere moment. ‘I heard this story, my friends, while you were sound asleep at the oasis. For reasons I don’t understand fully, I couldn’t close one eye. So I woke up and wandered to the place where those old witches conferred.’ His friends were all eyes and ears, and so was I, as you can easily imagine.

“The merchant continued. ‘The witches didn’t sense my presence at first, so I stood there, hidden behind a date palm and listened to their conversation. They were in an upheaval of sorts, their lives having just been upended by the horde of orcs moving about.’ At that, one of the two listeners interrupted. ‘They were a long way from any horde, though, those witches.’ The storyteller didn’t contradict him but put up a hand as if he wished to explain everything when the right moment came.”

Varg perked up his ears, as the wind appeared to pick up a little more. It was insidious and strange the way this wind moved. Under its appearance of being nothing but a whim of nature announcing a storm like any other, lay something of malice that Varg couldn’t bring himself to ignore. For a moment, he wondered if Claw didn’t want to stall his story only so that they would be farther and farther from the evil riding behind them.

“As his companions fell silent again,” Claw picked up the thread of his story with flawless ease, “the merchant placed both his palms flat on the table and started to tell his tale. And this is how I will tell it to you, and you will hear it through my voice.”

Claw appeared to stand taller than before, his hand trapped in Varg’s turning slightly colder and stiffer. His voice rose over the wind and became harsher.

“Once upon a time, the world was blessed. It held no evil, only good. Everywhere you looked, there were nothing but islands and water. On the islands, food was plentiful, and no creature was in need of anything. But then, one day, an evil which had been lurking for some time underneath the turquoise waters of the lagoons decided that its exile had lasted for too long.

“For evil to exist, people must let go of the good in their hearts. So this evil, dark and cunning as it was, couldn’t convince anyone, although its voice was sweet, and the innocents that came to stumble upon it in the lagoons stopped to listen.

“Until it realized that promising riches and a life beyond the most fantastic dreams wasn’t enough. Each time it offered something, the people said that they had everything they wanted and could possibly wish for the duration of their lives. But the evil was cunning, as I told you. It learned the truth about the people never wanting for anything because they had never felt what it was like to be lacking or in need.”

“So what did the evil do?” Toru asked in an eager voice. “It’s not like you can convince people to love you when you’re ugly and dark and say nothing but bad things.”

Duril and Varg both chuckled slightly at Toru’s interruption, but Claw said nothing. Varg was starting to understand something was happening with the bearshifter. His body was stiffening, and his legs moved like they were made of wood.

“The evil started planting seeds of discontent in the ears of anyone who cared to listen. And people lived then in a state of such innocence that they couldn’t believe that someone would mislead them and want to harm them. What evil did was to make them look at one another and see who had the most. Who just picked the juiciest berry? Who had the softest bed? Who found the most sheltered spot from the rain?”

As Claw asked these questions, his body was growing more taut with apprehension. It was as if he could feel something that none of the rest of them could. Varg strengthened his grip on the bearshifter’s hand, ready to act if anything happened or Claw suddenly tried to get away from him.

“So in time they became envious, and they started to quarrel. All the while, the evil’s power grew and grew. It turned the water in the lagoon where it first emerged, first into a dark green that fascinated anyone who came near with glints of gemstones. People would walk into the lagoon, trustful of it as always, and evil began to drag them under, feeding its power, helping it grow.

“It took people a while to notice that some of them went missing. They worried and feared something they couldn’t understand for the first time in their lives. At the same time, their fascination with the lagoon only grew greater. And more of them entered its emerald waters never to make it back to the surface again.”

“All this happened in just one place?” Varg asked, hoping to gain back some of Claw’s consciousness that appeared to be slowly engulfed by the story.

“No, not just in one. The evil had the ability to be in many lagoons at the same time. And it successfully cast its lures for thousands and thousands. Still, it was not enough. For evil to rise and break the spell that keeps it under, it needs a lot of souls.”

Varg could tell when he exchanged a short look with Duril that they both understood that Claw spoke of it as if it was something happening right now.

“So it needed to manipulate more than just poor souls falling prey to envy and yearning for the imaginary gemstones that blinked falsely inside the dark waters summoned. Then, after some thinking, the evil began to move the sand beneath the lagoon. With each tide, it could send some of the sand onto the shores and spread its poison. And still, it was not enough.”

The last words were said by Claw in a low, unnatural voice. The pleasant timbre of the bearshifter’s voice went through changes, and new inflections could be heard that hadn’t been in it before. Varg stopped Claw for a moment. “My friend,” he asked cautiously, “are you all right?”

“You asked for the story,” Claw barked at him suddenly, taking them all by surprise.

Varg could read the same unease he felt on the faces of their other companions. Duril’s eyes were filled with worry, Toru became apprehensive, and he was looking sideways as if to be prepared for the strike of an invisible enemy. Sog walked as fast as possible, more and more agitated, but he was silent, bound, as they all were, by the curse of listening to the story until its very end.

“We did, it’s true,” Varg admitted to appease Claw, but just like Duril, inside he worried, and just like Toru, inside he began getting ready for whatever would follow. Claw would have told them if he had known, but now he was no longer himself, and the time for questions had passed.

Claw returned to his story as if nothing had happened. His voice dropped to the same monotonous rhythm as before.

***

Toru hated with a fiery passion things he couldn’t understand. Why had this evil such a great need to sneak inside his friends’ souls and toy with them? He looked at Varg and Duril, too, and they were just as troubled as he was by what was happening to Claw. Although the bear had warned them that, at times, he might not sound like himself, and given them the assurance that they wouldn’t die all of a sudden or go insane, it was truly troubling to see someone as calm and steady as Claw falling prey to a dark anger that had no apparent cause under their very eyes.

Sog touched his elbow. “The big bear is strong. He can walk.”

Toru didn’t know what to say. Half if not more of what Sog was saying made little sense. Why was it so important for Claw to be able to walk? If he were to lose himself, what difference would that make?

As if he could read his thoughts, Sog pointed behind them. “It will catch us, soon. He must walk.”

Toru just nodded, not really knowing what he could say to that. Claw was returning to his story after shaking off Varg’s interest for his well-being, and he wanted to hear the rest.

“Since it was not enough, it was never enough, the evil had to do something more. It had to make the sand move and rise above their heads, everyone’s heads!” Claw suddenly shouted at the end of that sentence, startling them all.

“What’s wrong with him?” Toru asked under his breath, knowing that he would get no answer.

“Death, the goddess,” Sog said with reverence, “she’s seeking for him, she wants him.”

“What are you saying?” Toru asked.

“The big bear, he’s clever,” Sog said and patted his temple while his eyes rolled in his head, shaking like marbles. “He fought Death and beat her. But now that he opened the gates with his story, now she wants to catch him because she never forgets those who leave her.”

Toru stopped abruptly and seized Sog by the shoulders. “Stop talking in tongues. Who’s trying to do what to Claw?”

The sky above them was now bleeding. He and Sog both looked up, as did everyone else, except for Claw.

“Hear my story!” the bearshifter ordered, his voice a howl as loud as the wind. “The sand rises,” he continued in the same manner, “to make newborns to serve it!”

Toru let go of Sog and hurried toward Claw. The bear had managed to break Varg’s hold, probably by taking him by surprise, and stood tall, his arms stretched to the sky. And right behind them, the sand was rising.

***

Varg hadn’t expected Claw to shake him off that easily and suddenly, so he now tried to grab the bearshifter’s arm and bring it down. Not that he didn’t know that Claw was stronger than he was, but he was still surprised to find that he couldn’t budge the bear from his place not even by a smidge.

The others sensed the trouble and they all rushed to Claw. Toru grabbed the other arm, and Duril stood by Varg’s side to help. Sog chose to go round Claw and try to push him from behind. “He must walk. He can’t stay here!” the orc shouted. “Death will speak through him soon if we don’t move him!”

“I have no idea what he’s saying, but he’s right!” Toru roared as he put all his strength into making Claw lower his arm.

Varg and Duril both struggled on their side.

“The storm of the end of the world will soon rise,” Claw declared in a hollow voice. “The horde of Zukh Kalegh is joining me!”

***

Duril could feel tears at the corners of his eyes although they dried fast. The wind was blowing with a long wail now, and there was no doubt what fate awaited them if they didn’t do something. So, he surprised everyone, including himself, when he planted himself in front of Claw and struck him hard and fast across the face.

“What was that for?” Claw complained right away and shook his head. His arms dropped to his sides of his own accord, which promptly made Toru and Varg tumble to the ground.

The sand that had risen behind him ebbed away, but not too far. The bear put pressure on his cheek, rubbing it hard.

“I’m sorry,” Duril mumbled, “I truly am, but it seemed to me like you were channeling a really bad thing.”

“Did I tell the story?” Claw asked and stared around, at Toru and Varg who were scrambling to their feet. “Was it so bad that you had to punish me like that?”

Duril could feel his hand hurting. The skin on the palm burned where it had come in contact with Claw’s face. “You could say that, but it’s not punishment,” he said quickly. “Just something I learned from an old healer. A method to wake up someone from a curse when they appear not to be themselves anymore. And there’s a chance that they might still be saved,” he added quickly.

Claw grinned at him while still holding his cheek gingerly. “I’d say it worked.”

Sog was grunting and trying to make the bear move. “Walk, big bear, walk,” the orc begged him.

Only then, did Claw become aware of what was going on around them. “That storm, it’s coming!”

The wind was blowing its hardest now, and tiny grains of sand began hitting them, pushed by it and guided by an unseen force. Duril put his hand to his cheek and brought it away speckled with blood. A single look at everyone else told him that they felt it, too.

“Close your eyes!” Claw ordered.

Duril didn’t protest as the bear grabbed all of them under his large arms and pushed them forward. Sog ran after them, caught the bear by the hem of this shirt and climbed on his back. “Faster, faster,” he cried out, “she’s coming!”

***

If there were a time, when the power and advice of an old as time snake were needed, this had to be it.

“Demophios!” Toru shouted from the top of his lungs. “Shield us now or I’ll turn you into coffin nails!”

His voice, as loud as he meant it to be, was engulfed by the ghastly wind, and the sand now turned into their enemy, hitting them everywhere with the stinging of a thousand cuts, getting in under their clothes, under their nails, embedding itself into them like it wanted to reach their insides and feed on them.

The wind suddenly stopped, and Toru waited for a heartbeat to open his eyes. They were all there, but the storm, where was it?

Only then did he realize that they were behind a see-through wall that could have been glass or nothing at all. What mattered was that the storm was raging outside still, as Toru could see the gnarly fingers of wind made of flowing sand rushing around them, without touching them.

“Ha, it worked!” he said loudly. “Duril, are you unhurt?” He hurried to the healer’s side, offering a helping hand.

Duril caught his arm and straightened up. He appeared to have been knocked over by the force of the wind or something else. Toru turned toward Varg who waved to reassure himself that he was fine. Claw brushed his hands over his clothes, making them shed sand everywhere. They all had some dots of red on their cheeks, where the sand grains must have hit them before Demophios had raised that fantastic shield to protect them.

The only one who seemed to have escaped unscathed was Sog. His leathery skin must have been his blessing. Duril quickly searched his bag and began to dab Toru’s cheeks with something that stung at first but then felt good.

Toru caught the healer’s arm. “Do yourself, too. You’re bleeding.”

“After I’m done with all of you.” Toru huffed his displeasure but submitted to Duril’s tender care.

Toru turned his attention toward Sog again. The orc was sitting on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself. He was rocking back and forth, like he wanted to offer himself comfort for something. Toru pointed him out to Duril. “Maybe you should talk to him a little.”

His heart swelled as Duril’s warm eyes filled with gratefulness. “I’ll be right back.”

“Old snake,” Toru growled as soon as Duril had his back turned, “did you really have to wait so long until helping us?”

“You had to listen to the story to its end. Not that the master bear had the chance to tell it all. Your healer made sure to wake him up before that.”

“Not like he had a choice,” Toru said pointedly. “Claw was as good as gone. How could you just sit idle and watch?”

“The story is important,” Demophios continued in the same placid voice.

“And caused this,” Toru added and pointed at the mayhem pouring around them without touching, as they sat there in their little protective bubble.

“No,” Demophios contradicted him. “Just hurried things a bit.”

“Not like we needed that,” Toru shot back and crossed his arms, feeling rather miffed at the old snake’s strange choices.

“You couldn’t have outrun it anyway,” Demophios pointed out. “And this confrontation is something I have waited for a long time.”

It took Toru only two heartbeats to catch on with what the snake was saying. “You waited? What’s this confrontation you’re talking about? And what’s your hand in this?”

“Easy, young tiger,” Demophios warned him. “I am not the cause of this sandstorm, as I am not the force behind what makes the sun travel over the sky, or the hand that rules people’s destiny. I am a traveler, like all of you, but one who has traveled back and forth between the different worlds the master bear talked of in his story.”

Toru munched on his lower lip in thought. “Varg, Claw,” he called out. “Come here and listen to my snake because I don’t understand anything and my head hurts.”

“I’m not your snake. I’m not some pet,” Demophios bristled.

Good, at least he could show some feeling even if it was feeling caused by not being paid the proper respect.

Varg and Claw came near, and Toru submitted to the way the wolfshifter touched his face, shoulders, chest, and the rest of his body, to smake sure that he was still in one piece. Even the big bear, as Sog called Claw, appeared to be a little shaken by what was happening to them.

“What is Demophios saying?”

“He knows more than he lets on,” Toru said, happy to leave the matter of the snake’s strange words in other hands, much abler than his.

“I am only speaking the truth,” Demophios said, his voice still a little annoyed, much to Toru’s satisfaction.

“Please, tell it to us, then,” Claw asked eagerly. “And thank you for saving us from what could have been a slow and painful death.”

“Indeed. You are more than welcome, master bear. A certain hothead could surely benefit from being taught some manners by you.”

Toru huffed and set his chin high. He wasn’t sure if Demophios could see how annoyed he was with him, but he surely hoped he did.

“Tell us the truth,” Varg insisted.

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Toru was curious to hear what the snake had to say to them at this point in their adventure. It was true that Demophios had saved their hides by conjuring the bubble around them that kept them safe, but since he seemed so sly and slippery whenever he felt like it, Toru believed that he would rather bite his tongue than thank the old snake.

“The truth, master wolf, is that the evil Claw talked about in his story about the storm of the end of the world, is now summoning a great power. It chose to do so here, in the desert as many prophecies foretold, because the world from the story, the one made of nothing but blessed islands and the calm waters of a sea, is no more. In its place, the Great Barren rose, dry and unforgiving. The evil must have waited for your passing through to rise.”

“So we’re to blame,” Toru pointed out, no longer in the mood to stay silent.

“No, young tiger, you are not. Evil knows no boundaries, knows no time. It can wait forever. If you had come tomorrow or a week from now, or even an entire millennium in the future, it would have still been here, waiting. You see, the evil must defeat what’s good in the world to proclaim itself its ruler. And the good, that’s what you are. That’s what you all are.”

Demophios’ voice had grown warm with those words. Toru shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Thank you for saving us, Demophios,” he blurted out. “But you could have done it sooner,” he added quickly.

“I accept your gratitude,” the old snake replied, ignoring, obviously, the reproach at the end. “Now please let me continue. The Great Barren rose from the plunder the evil did. That is why it’s so dry and impossible to live in.”

“But orcs do live here,” Toru pointed out.

“They’re the only ones. And now the evil wants to forge them into its tools of destruction. The storm of the end of the world, the one Claw talked about in his tale, will engulf the whole world – or so it is said. But to do so, it must make sure that no one will stand in its path. You, young tiger, together with your friends, are what will stand against it. That is why it waited until now to emerge.”

“What’s this, about the horde?” Toru asked, aware of how unsettling those few words were. He stole glances in Duril’s direction. What would they do if Duril felt the call of blood again? If it were up to Toru, he would let them all rot in the heart of their horrible desert. Varg and Claw had to be of the same mind after being forced to fight to the death against the orcs. But Duril was different. He was one of them, for better or worse.

That could only mean that if they needed to save that entire horde of bloodthirsty creatures, they would do it, no questions asked.

Demophios appeared to have a keen sense of what he was thinking. “We cannot abandon the horde.”

“Why not?” Toru asked quietly, his eyes darting again toward Duril.

“Because it would not be called the storm of the end of the world if it weren’t carried by an army like no other. From the Great Barren, the evil will spread, it will engulf the world, and the power it will instill inside the very heart of the horde will cause it to grow so big that it will vanquish anyone daring to oppose it.”

“And you just sat here, in the desert, for thousands and thousands of years, on this truth,” Toru reproached the snake.

“And what was I to do? Do you believe, young tiger, that I haven’t tried to lure this evil out into the merciless sun so that I could rid the world of it?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Toru said, feeling pretty miffed over how his head wasn’t good enough to think of things like that. What someone as old and wise as Demophios had done for millennia while stranded in that desert was beyond his powers of comprehension.

“Well, I did my fair share of trying, that I can tell you. So, finding you, discovering your power when you were able to make me into the immortal being I am now, that was my true purpose and I will never deny it. Still, as much as none of you will want to hear this, the mere fact that the master bear didn’t succeed in telling the story till its end robbed us of an opportunity to make the evil show its hand before time.”

“What do you mean?” Toru asked, as anxious as the rest of his companions.

Demophios remained silent for a moment more as if he needed to make sure that he had the attention of everyone present. Duril and Sog were a bit farther away and couldn’t hear every word, and Toru wished that they wouldn’t. Yet, that was not a choice for him to make.

“The storm rages on, yes, but this is just a small warning compared to the maelstrom that will soon form in the heart of the Great Barren. As we speak, the hearts of orcs, down to the last one beating in Zukh Kalegh, are taken over by darkness.”

“And should we pity them?” Toru asked. “I’ve seen enough of their hearts. Their blood runs dark as it is. For all I know, the evil could have made them turn into its army whenever it felt like it.”

“Orcs may be its children, but even children go against their parents when they’re as unnatural and twisted as this one,” Demophios said.

Toru took no satisfaction in being told what was right.

“As dark at soul and heart as you may see them, young tiger,” Demophios continued, “even they wouldn’t be evil enough to wish for the destruction of the entire world. Because it would mean that once that purpose is fulfilled, there would be no more need for them.”

“Hmph,” Toru huffed for lack of anything else to say. “I saw them - how they throw themselves at death. No wonder one like Sog believes death is a goddess feeding on their souls. If you think that is all that’s keeping them from being part of this storm that you call the storm of the end of the world, I’d say that you are wrong.”

“Not all orcs deserve to die, do they, Toru?” That was Claw’s voice, calm and soothing, like always.

Toru looked at Duril and Sog, and felt guilty. “No, not all,” he admitted.

TBC

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