Land of Storms

Chapter 6

         Lord Brax had left his crown in the throne room in a locked chest and rode out with his men to greet the son of the Voice. The messenger had arrived that morning and within three hours, his men were gathered, his second in command and advisor were briefed, and the force had exited the city enroute to the port city at the bay. Hopefully they would arrive in time, but if they did not, there was one of his messengers to point them through the pass to meet with him on the other side of the mountains. The king took a deep breath and froze. There was a smell in the air. “Sulfur,” he said quietly as he sniffed again. His head swung around as the reddish clouds gathered over the mountains in the north. “Find shelter!” he yelled to his men. “There will be fire in this storm!” The men rode in haste to the nearest shelter, a large outcropping that was a man made storm shelter from years past. As the horses and men entered the shelter, the smell of sulfur became suffocating. And then the world turned into hell.
         Fire fell from the clouds, burning through the sky like with Sodom and Gomorrah. The fields were set ablaze. Wildlife fled and screeched. The entire sky turned a burning orange-red and smoke filled the air, a thick vomitous haze that filled one's lungs and eyes alike so that no one could breathe or see. The sound of fire crackling across the landscape filled the men’s ears, and their horses reared and squealed in panic as the riders fought to keep their steeds calm and inside the outcropping. Two horses bolted, their riders fighting desperately to pull their mounts back around. But they could not. The sounds of the men’s screams and the horses' shrieks filled the air. Within minutes, the stench of burning flesh reached the safe haven and the men gagged and wretched.



         Kade, Gordon, Tress, and Corson sat below deck playing some sort of card game that made absolutely no sense at all to the army man. It passed the time, though, so he did his best to figure it out. As the fifth round of the game got underway, screaming was heard from the upper deck. All four men jumped to their feet, swords in hand. One of the crew members nearly fell down the stairs in his haste. “Sulfur in the air. Stay below deck, but hand me those giant kegs of water in the corner! There will be a firestorm tonight!”
         In a rush, the men helped get the water kegs up the steps to the upper deck. Any parts of the deck that were still dry were soaked as thoroughly as possible in anticipation for the fire. The scent of sulfur became nearly unbearable as the men choked on it. But when the air began to heat up, all of them turned their eyes west. The sky was a bloody orange, balls and streaks of fire raining down like the judgement of God. And it was almost to them. The entire sky was a smokey burnt orange above them from the smoke rising from the water. The air was too choked with ash and smoke for them to see land from where they floated. The captain of the ship waved and yelled for everyone to abandon the deck and take cover down in the hold or sleeping cabins. The wind kicked up and sparks and ash blew into their faces. Corson saw a few men screaming as they grabbed their faces, sparks flying into their eye and burning like molten debris. The wind from the ocean turned the firestorm into a cyclone around the ship as the men nearly trampled each other to get below deck. One man tripped and fell over the side, blinded by bright sparks that had gone in both his eyes, blinding him in searing agony. Corson was the last to drop below deck and slam the door shut, refusing to take shelter until everyone else had made it down safely. When he leaped down the steps and landed on the planks of the floor below, the sound of faint sizzling met his ears and a few of the men dunked their heads into the drinking water with their burning eyes open, trying to relieve the pain from the sparks and ash. The sight and the sounds. There is nothing closer to hell than this. Oh, God, if you’re real, I should have stayed in church. The moaning, whimpering, shrieking and crying of grown men in their complete agony was nightmare-inducing on a level Corson could not have even imagined.
         After hours of the storm, the sounds of “rain” seemed to dissipate and the sounds of the howling wind died down. The men had slowly ceased their screams and fallen into a fitful, pain-filled slumber and the king’s men were weary, traumatized, and wishing to be anywhere other than where they were.



         A day after the crew ventured back upstairs, there were five men who were able to still man the ship, including the captain. The four men from the king offered to help as well. The shore was within sight, and the chard ship floated, unsteady, into the bay, anchoring a small ways from the dock, waiting for smaller boats to come help them get to the repair docks.
         A young man with a ponytail and a clean shaven face hurried up to them as they stepped onto the cobblestone streets of the port city. “Good sirs, My lord, king Brax, has requested that you stay in his city to recover from the journey aboard ship.”
         Kade glanced at the others before responding. “On behalf of the son of the Voice, we gratefully accept. Is your lord here, or did he send an escort of some sort?”
         The messenger fidgeted nervously. The storm delayed the escort from arriving on time. But I was instructed that if they arrived late, to point you to the pass beyond the city. If you follow te pass west, you will meet up with them rather quickly.”
         “We appreciate it.” Gordon flipped him a gold coin for his efforts and patience. The man bowed and hurried away.
         “Well,” Tress began. “We have to take the pass regardless. So let’s give the horses a couple of hours on land before we ask them to carry us again.” They all agreed and sought out a tavern to get food and ale.
         As they ate, their tension from the last couple weeks on the ship melted away. It was easy to forget why they were together out here in the first place. The loud, rowdy tavern with its servers and bartender. The sounds of clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and hollered conversations from one table to another. All of it almost made Corson feel like he was at someone's bachelor party instead of risking his life to fight magical rain that wasn’t rain.
         Corson watched a pretty redhead as she moved past, a tray balanced on her hand expertly while she grabbed glasses and placed them on its wooden surface with practiced ease. He licked his lips, taking another drink of ale. Gordon and Kade saw his predatory gaze and shook their heads. They were going to have to keep him from making a fool of himself. Come here, beautiful, he thought, focusing. The young woman walked away as if she was a runway model. The others saw the sudden zoning in of his attention.
         Gordon spoke first. “Don’t be a scoundrel, Corson. Magic is not to be used for personal pleasure, especially not with someone who has no defense. If you use it on a woman you want, it is no different than forcing yourself on her. Either have some dignity or let her keep hers.”
         The knight sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, dropping his focus and just glancing one more time at the redhead. The woman, however, had felt extremely drawn to the man in the chainmail gauntlets. She could not describe it, and while the feeling had not continued to be overwhelming, she put down her tray, told the bartender she was going to check for a refill at a table, and sauntered over to Corson. He was not in plate armor as he had originally been in. However, he wore armored leather over his regular tunic and pants. She deduced that he was a knight. And if there was a knight travelling with a magician and two royal soldiers then the rumors of a son of the Voice must be true. Her intrigue grew. She did not usually let herself get involved with customers at the tavern, but this man was a knight brought by the Voice. She could do worse for herself. The waitress approached their table and offered Corson a bright smile. He nodded respectfully, apparently deciding to take Gordon’s scolding to heart. Though he could not pretend that suddenly having the use of magic or being seen as a hero made him leave his devilish ways behind. It did not.
         The young woman hesitated. Now that she stood beside him, he was indeed handsome, but the pull was still missing. She seemed to falter in her confident approach. “Would any of you gentlemen like a refill on your ale?”
         Gordon lifted his glass in confirmation. And Corson smiled. “I would love a refill, gorgeous.”
         Her face flushed and she nodded shyly and moved back toward the bar counter. With a dramatic spreading of his hands Kade scolded him. Gordon slapped him and Tress slapped his palm to his forehead. “I thought you were going to back off.”
         “I tried. But as soon as I went to say something back to her, it’s like my original intention came out.” He shielded his head from another dope slap and pushed Kade’s hand away. He looked to Tress for help. “What happened, Tress?”
         The magician thought for a moment, a frown on his middle-aged face. “Well, I have heard of very powerful magics affecting their user with some of the same effects as the one they are used on. It is entirely possible that your desires are impacting your magic so that it compels you to listen to what you want as well. Even if you know better or would rather do differently.” He finished speaking and furrowed his brow. “Now thinking back to the book incidents at the libraries. “I wonder just how strong and invasive your magic actually is.”
         The woman came back and winked at Corson. His mouth tipped up in a dangerous smirk, his eyes glinting. Both Gordon and Kade put their hands on him to keep him in his seat. Kade tried to give the waitress a disarming smile. “Thank you. You should leave.” Confused, the young woman nodded and scurried back to the counter.
         “What? Do I have no impulse control now either? I was fine until now. Why did my magic suddenly decide that I don’t get to control what I do?” Corson sulked. He felt like a scumbag and had almost acted like one, too.
         Tress took a sip of ale and observed him. “It could be because you have not fully awakened your magic yet. It has been getting stronger and more potent since you realized it was there. There is no telling how strong or difficult to handle it will end up being in the end.”



         The two hours passed quickly, and other than the slip up with the waitress, the meal and all was relaxing and made Corson feel as normal as possible. The men mounted up and made their way to the mountain pass, scanning ahead for any obstacles or for any sign of king Brax’s men. The king’s messenger had given them a map with all known storm shelters marked on it. As they entered the dip between mountain peaks, Corson noticed the scorched stone and earth, a stark reminder of the horrors of the most recent storm. Kade rod in front followed by Corson, Tress and then Gordon. It was not that the pass was too narrow for them all to ride together. It was not. Instead, it would be easier to bolt in a case of wildcats or other predators if they were in a line instead of bunched together.
         Soon the pass forked off in three directions, they chose one and continued. The wind was stronger here and the air cooler. It reminded the knight of his life before this. Hiking every summer, all summer, no responsibilities, living on couches, minimal stress. It was just him, his motorcycle, his phone, and the mountain trails. He took a deep breath and was surprised. He expected to miss the lack of responsibility. But he did not. He actually felt something like value creeping into his life here. Maybe when this hallucination ended, he would do something, like volunteer to play with children or something. Or maybe he would become a tour guide for the hikes he always had done solo. His mind was all a jumble of what ifs and confusion at the lack of attachment he was beginning to feel toward reality. This was dangerous for his sanity and he had to figure out a way to return to his real life. It did not matter how many times he realized that this was not a dream. He could not accept it as reality. Two months or more in this cursed place had not changed it. This entire world was a giant impossibility and that fact would never change, regardless of how used to it he became.
         Corson was lost in thought when he noticed Kade throw his hand up to bring the group to a stop. Looking over his shoulder, the king’s commander called back. “The pass is blocked. Most likely due to the last storm. There is a path leading up higher into the mountains, if I am correct, there should be some trails leading back down further in.” He turned his horse to face them in order to gauge everyone’s reactions. “Are we all in agreement?” The other three nodded and their slow trek began anew.
         They hadn’t been on the new trail for more than twenty minutes when Corson heard a sound. It was abnormal. It was not unnatural, but it was definitely out of place. His gray eyes scanned the rocky surroundings. The sound came again. A crackling, a shifting of stone. And then he noticed it just a moment too late.
         “Kade! Watch out!” he screamed as he leaped from the saddle and ran for this friend. The ground crumbled beneath the commander’s horse and both mount and rider fell down the side of the slope. Corson dove to the edge of the drop and reached down, but he was too late and too far away. Kade stretched as he fell, his hand missing the knight’s by at least two feet. The sound of breaking rock and the shout from Kade as he fell and the screaming of the horse slowly dissipated as the rock that had crumbled seconds later covered the bodies. Gordon was beside Corson in an instant, and Tress was behind him. Corson yelled again. “Kade!”
         “There is no way he could survive that fall. Not with the stones that buried him.” The bigger man stated. Though blunt, it was obvious that he felt the loss deeply. He fought to keep his expression under controlled, his beard quivering slightly as his lips shuddered. His Closed of emotions threatened to burst through, but he was a soldier and loss was part of a mission. He had to control himself.
         But Corson was not a real soldier. He never had been. This type of loss had never been handled well in his life and so he was reckless. “Find another way down. Take my horse. Or don’t. I really don’t care.” he jumped off the ledge before the last few words were out of his mouth.
         Gordon was too slow to stop him. “He’s already dead, Corson!”
         The knight ignored him. His boots hit the loose rocks and he fell on his butt, his hands bracing his body against the side of the slope. Sharp edges cut into his palms like razors and he gritted his teeth against the stinging. The sliding rocks around him quickly began turning red as the skin was shredded off his hands from his sliding. But he was still speeding up. Crap. I’m going too fast. He tried slowing himself but his hands were slick and the soles of his boots could get no traction. Here goes nothing. I hate my life. He threw his back against the stone in a final attempt to interrupt his descent. The pain of his skin being torn up ripped through him and he gritted his teeth and growled. But it was working. He was slowing, even if only a little. It was too late to land safely, though. His feet hit the pile of debris at the bottom where Kade and his horse had fallen, and his legs buckled from the impact. Grunting, his body came off the wall of the mountain and he flew forward, slamming against the rocks. The wind was knocked out of his lungs, and he rolled down the side of the pile, hitting the dirt again with a dull thud.
         Corson groaned, his head throbbing and his body aching. Blood seeped from more places than he could count. He rolled slightly, trying to find where his hands were or if they were even still attached. They were. He moved his legs. Shooting pain travelled up from his ankles. He gasped and stilled again. Then he steeled his resolve and got to his hands and knees. He did not know when his face had started bleeding, but he could feel the small streams crossing his cheeks and forehead. He could see it dripping into the dirt. Gasping again, he forced himself to his feet. The knight stumbled and hit the ground again. He pushed himself up again, his body burning. You are a soldier, damn it. Act like one! He set his jaw and heaved one of the small boulders up and off of the pile. His fingertips began bleeding as he dug through the collapsed mountain slope. He dug like a man gone insane. Images of his mom’s ultrasounds with baby Jackson flickered through his mind. The excitement of having a brother, the car accident, the devastation at losing the brother that had hardly even existed. No! I refuse to accept it. I will find you. I will not lose another brother! He screamed in his head, the desperation leaving bloody markings on everything he touched.
         An hour passed, and Corson continued to dig. He had thought he heard a sound in the rubble, but could not be sure. But even if his mind was playing tricks on him, it kept him from calling off his search. Thirty more minutes passed and he noticed Gordon and Tress coming back down the trail ahead. The big soldier’s eyes narrowed when he saw Corson’s bloodied form. The knight ignored him, still pulling debris away. Gordon dropped from the saddle and ran over, sliding to a stop to assist in the effort. He may have believed Kade was dead, but if Corson needed to prove it to himself, he would help him.
         Fifteen more minutes passed. And then a gasp from below and a shifting of dirt. “Kade!” Corson tore at the dirt and rocks with abandon, his desperation fueling his seemingly unending adrenaline rush. The other soldier increased his speed and effort as well. Soon, they had Kade free to blow his shoulders.
         Gordon ripped a portion of his tunic free, dampened it with his water canteen, and cleaned the buried commander’s face so he could open his eyes. “Kade, can you talk?”
         Kade slowly opened his eyes, squinting from a migraine and from the fear of dirt getting in his eyes. “Gordon? Corson? How… How did you… find me?”
         The gruff man glanced at the army man who was sitting back on his heels almost hyperventilating. “I didn’t. We thought you were dead. Tress and I were going to leave. Corson jumped off a mountain to follow you down and dig you out himself. You owe him your life if we can get you the rest of the way out.”
         The talking ceased as the digging continued in earnest. Eventually they found that, beyond all odds, Kade had not simply hit the ground from a freefall. He had slid on the slope for a bit like Corson had and it broke his fall enough. When he finally hit the dirt, it was loose enough that he had sunk into his knees, but the rest of his space was shockingly loose dirt and some rocks creating a natural air pocket. It was the only reason he was still alive. They soon pulled him out. It was only after he was completely free that Tress handed the reins to the soldiers and kneeled by the commander’s side. He focused intently, found each spot on the soldier’s body that was hot and moved his hands, whispering to replace the heat with cold. The swelling and inflammation began going down almost instantly. It helped the man’s pain significantly and he breathed out in relief. Tress looked up, wiping sweat from his forehead and sitting back in the dirt. “He’ll live. I do not think he has any broken bones somehow.”
         They all sat. Kade was propped up into a lounging sitting position. He drank water and looked over at his hero. Corson was trembling, fidgeting with the canteen in his hands. “Are you okay, Corson?”
         The knight shook his head and mumbled to himself. “I thought you were dead. But I couldn’t stop until I knew for sure.” The silence that settled over them was deafening as they sat in the dirt, exhausted and more than a little shaken. Gordon saw Kade as a brother, but he was ready to leave. The regret ate at his soul as he sat watching his commander drinking water like a dying man. As much as he felt that Corson lacked morality and decency, he had thrown himself from the side of a mountain to make sure there was no possibility for Kade to be alive before he would accept leaving him. Gordon thought of himself as the man’s brother, but the son of the Voice genuinely acted like one. The shame burned inside his chest and he stared at the ground. He had been confident that this scoundrel from another world would never be able to humiliate him in character. He was proven to be dead wrong.



         Brax came around the enormous curve in the mountain pass. There had been a rockslide that blocked most of the way. There were three horses sniffing around, all without riders. Dark, dried blood had seeped out from under the piles of debris. He pulled up short. The son of the Voice. He was supposed to be meeting them. Did he die? There was too much blood for it to only have been one person. Did all three die in the slide? But no. It couldn’t be. He heard voices from a little beyond the destruction.
         “That must be the king’s horses. Gordon, please check. I cannot stand.”
         “It had better be. We are in no position to fight.”
         The king saw a big, bearded man stand from further ahead. He looked up at him and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “It is the king.” A tired smile crossed his face as he spoke, and then he bowed his head in respect as he tried to help his companions to their feet.
         That night, the king, his men, and the group of four sat together in a camp. They were all caught up to speed on the current situation. “You are a brave man indeed, sir Corson. I do not know another man that would throw themselves down a mountain for a fellow soldier who had minimal, if any, chance of survival.”
         “I consider him my brother, my lord. Would your men leave their actual brothers to die because of a mountain?”
         Brax nodded in agreement. “I guess not.” He stared at Corson, studying him, sizing him up. “You do not speak as if you are accustomed to this land.”
         “That’s because I’m not. I randomly showed up here because of the Voice.” He expected annoyance or tension at his response, and some of the king’s men showed as much. But this king, lord Brax, was so much different from Pravis. He acted as if they were on the same ground. Pravis was not pompous or uptight, but he acted more as one would assume a king would act. He stood above everyone else. He stayed in his castle, and in his city. He was annoyed at those who did not act as puppets in his court. But this lord was different. He sat on the ground, beside Corson. He spoke with him as if they grew up together as friends.
         “I can tell. It is refreshing to hear someone speak to me without fear of saying what they think. I appreciate your brash way of speaking and wording things. Unlike lord Pravis, I was not born into royalty. I grew up with the late king’s daughter. The king and my father were friends. I grew up outside the city walls. She and I were supposed to be betrothed, but she became ill and died at fifteen. When there was no one to take the king’s place and his wife could not conceive another child, he appointed me as his heir. While I inherited a kingdom, I did not grow up as royalty. I am no better than my men. I was just given more responsibility than they were.” Lord Brax took a long drink from his canteen and pointed to three of his men. “Take the first watch. Follow your normal night watch rotation. Keep these men safe. All of our lives and the lives of your families depend on their safety.” The three men nodded and finished their meals.



         The entire group travelled slowly from the port city in Kraten, making their way to the main city where the king resided. It was much closer than Corson had expected. As they rode slowly, he observed the king. The man looked like a soldier himself. Anything he asked his men to do, he did also. The lord kept his hair cropped short and his facial hair short and clean. His hair was a dark brown, nearly black. He was the antithesis of the king of Trent and Corson liked him immediately. The two men had a surprisingly long list of things they could easily talk about on the trip to the king’s city. Kade and Gordon rode up with them and the four had an easy camaraderie built in a matter of hours. After resting a couple of days in the pass, they had started out and by the time they had exited the mountains, the four were like old friends.
         The king’s men watched as their lord laughed and returned to his old, laid back self around this son of the Voice. The lord of Kraten finally had hope and this knight had brought it. Just outside the city, the sky began to darken. Corson looked up at the clouds in a panic as they moved in front of the sun.
         “Sir,” he said uneasily. “Storm incoming.”
         Brax looked to the north and gritted his teeth. “Ride as fast as you can. There are no shelters before the city walls. The walls can hold a village. Once you reach them, you are safe. Go! Now!” His voice boomed and the horses bolted forward, galloping at breakneck speed across the open fields.
         Thunder crackled from the mountains and the entire landscape lit up with lightning. “Lightning!” Gordon bellowed as they rode.
         Corson had never been so afraid of thunder and lightning in his life. But at this very moment, his heart stuttered and his stomach fell out of him. He was pretty sure he might have soiled himself as well. If we don't reach the walls, we will be unspeakably screwed. I did not save Kade’s life for him to die with me out here. And then the strikes began. Thick bolts of electricity shot through the green tinted clouds and exploded the ground below. The streaks were as thick as small trees. Each grounding blew up the soil like a grenade. The city walls were getting closer, but the lightning bolts were coming down all around them. The only positive? Because there was no actual rain, the electricity did not run across the ground. The horses were spreading out further and further as they ran, their riders trying to anticipate where the next streak would hit.
         A blood curdling scream and a sound Corson would never forget echoed from his left, he looked over to see one of Brax’s soldiers lit up and beginning to be set ablaze. His entire body was engulfed in one single grounded streak. The image was instantly imprinted onto the knight’s eyelids permanently. His blood turned to ice and the cold trailed all the way down his spine. Another man was caught in a fluorescent column of light. The smell and sounds made Corson gag and spit as he rode. Multiple horses spooked and tore off across the field away from the safety of the stone walls. The soldiers on them desperately tried to rein them in, their panic evident even in the dusky light. Voice, if you are real, save us! The knight screamed in his head. As the storm continued to rage, the ground strikes increased, hundreds of strikes a minute exploded through the field. The gate opened and the first horse made it in. And then the rest follow. The king was the third one to find cover in the walls.
         Brax left Harkron with twenty men and returned with twelve plus Corson’s group. When the men were all in the walls, they regrouped, listening to the sounds of the storm outside.
         But Corson wasn’t okay. He was trembling, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He was covering his ears, his eyes shut tightly. He was pushed back against the wall, hunched over. Damn it, Corson, get a grip! They need you! He was muttering to himself in a panic. “Pull yourself together. Come on. You can’t fall apart, man.”
         Kade saw him first and went over, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Corson.” The knight did not respond. “Corson, look at me.” Nothing. He was in shock and terrified. The man’s mind was broken. “Corson, it’s me. It’s Kade.”
         Finally, the knight looked up. “Kade?” The trembling grew more intense and he vomited. When he had emptied his stomach and wiped his mouth and nose with his arm, he looked up, eyes glassy. “People burned, Kade. And they were incinerated and electrocuted and burned alive all at once from the lightning. Their screams. I can’t. Every time I shut my eyes I see them. I still hear them, Kade. I can’t stop the screaming.”
         The soldier looked around, his eyes brown eyes scanning the hallway for the king. When he spotted him, he shouted. “My lord! Brax!” The king rushed over. “Does Kraten have a magic healer?”
         Brax nodded. “He is my court wizard.” The lord turned to one of his men. “Send for Troan immediately.”
         “Corson cannot handle this. He needs a wizard that can heal the mind, at least enough for him to process what he has seen. His world has no magic.” Kade explained the situation as quickly as possible.
         Brax raised his brows. “His world has no magic?” The reaction of his mind and body began to make a whole lot more sense now.
         They all waited. Corson was sitting on the ground, head in his hands, knees up. By the time Troan arrived, the king was almost ready to have his head. “Troan, what took you so long?”
         The wizard bowed quickly and studied the man on the ground. “I apologize. The storm has yet to end, my lord.”
         The monarch nodded, pointing to the soldier huddled on the floor by Kade. “I need your mind healing abilities, Troan. The world the son of the Voice came from has no magic. His mind broke under the weight of the storms and what he has seen.”
         “Of… course, my lord.” The magician was hesitant, knowing that using his magic to heal one’s mind took a toll far greater than simply healing one’s skin or organs. “Step back. Let me work on him.”
         Kade gave him enough space to work, but hovered behind him. The healer flooded the knight with magic, searching through him, finding the wrecked parts of his psyche and studying each part. The invasion was overwhelming. Corson screamed and writhed, fighting against whatever was probing his mind. “Hold him please,” Troan said to anyone available. Brax and Kade immediately held the man down, keeping him as still as possible. “Don’t fight me,” he whispered as he reached out with his magic again, evaluating the damage and tallying what the healing would require. When he finished his prodding and studying, he overloaded Corson’s conscious and subconscious with his magic, overwhelming his mind so profusely, that the man shrieked and fought against those trying to keep him contained. The screaming continued as Troan slowly, agonizingly repaired damage. By the time he was finished, all four men were exhausted. Troan tried to stand, but stumbled. His legs gave out, and he slumped against the wall, his energy spent and his body too worn to support him. He fell to his hands and knees, and then resigned himself to sitting on the floor. He looked over at Corson who was now sleeping on the ground, his breathing deep and rhythmic, his face calm and peaceful. It was done. They all needed rest.