CHASING THE WIND - PART 7 ~ Barry J Northern of Harbinger*33 presents a mysti-serial

Chasing the Wind

 ~ Part Seven ~ 

By ~ Barry J. Northern

"Chasing the Wind" from THE CHAOSWIND CHRONICLES, an original fantasy set in the mystical world of Cryl, a land struggling to contain the chaotic magical energies that were unleashed upon the world when the last god was murdered.

The Mystical Story So Far ...

Aloethar and Pym have discovered how to Bind the Chaoswind within a drink called kohol, Walfrid the merchant drank some of the resulting potion and is still in a trance, while the clan's wind-chasers have ridden off to face the storm with the traditional Stone Sapphires. Unfortunately the Stones were not completely drained of power by the first potion and may not be able to stop the deadlier Aspects of the Storm. Aloethar and Pym race to produce more kohol with a new copper alembic while the storm rages towards them ...

~ FOR Part One, CLICK HERE ~ 

~ FOR Part Two, CLICK HERE ~ 

~ FOR Part Three, CLICK HERE ~

~ FOR Part Four, CLICK HERE ~

~ FOR Part Five, CLICK HERE ~

~ FOR Part Six, CLICK HERE ~

     It felt calm and still back in the tent, and Aloethar realised now how windy it had grown outside. “We must be quick.”

     Pym helped Aloethar take out the two main pieces of the copper alembic and rest them near the fire. Then, under Aloethar's instruction, the two men lifted the bottom onto the tripod above the fire so that it sat above it like a large copper cauldron. It was about half the size of the old glass alembic, so Aloethar was glad that it was not too small for the tripod, although it was a close thing. Pym moved over to the top piece, which was shaped like the glass alembic had been; a dome coming up sharply to a thin peak, which bent down to form a long pipe leading to the floor. “This really is an impressive piece of metalwork, Aloethar. Your father may have been a master glass-blower, but you could fetch a handsome wage as a blacksmith in any town back home.”

     “Thank you, Pym. But leave that piece there for now. I have another job for you while I get this fire hot again. I packed some food on the cart for the journey, there is a bag of wheat-flour I was saving for next feast-day. I want you to make bread-dough. There'll be enough water left outside in the barrel we used to fill the pots.”

     “This is hardly the time to think of food, Aloethar. I'm hungry too, but there must be a more convenient snack?”

     “Yes, I have some dried dates in there, bring those out as well, but the dough is not to eat. Make it thick, and use the whole bag. We'll use it to seal the two parts of the alembic.”

     “Will it work?”

     “Have you got a better suggestion?”

     Pym conceded that he had not, and went outside to fetch water while Aloethar saw to the fire. When Pym opened the tent-flap, Aloethar could hear the not-so-distant howl of the approaching Storm outside. Soon, Pym waddled in carrying a large bucket in both hands. “Aloethar. Zakir and his men have ridden off to meet the Storm.”

     Aloethar put more wood on the fire. “God's speed to them all.”

     Both Aloethar and Pym cheered when the first drop of kohol pattered from the new copper alembic into a small glass. The glass was soon a finger-full, and Aloethar swapped in the larger khamra-kas when the dripping became a steady trickle. He raised the glass. “It’s the brewer's privilege to sample the first batch.” Aloethar knocked back the glass, sucked through his teeth, and blew. “Phew! That's good.” He smelt the glass. “It's clean. Purer than before. Smell.” He handed the glass to Pym.

     Pym smelt the glass, then held it under the new alembic's thin condenser tube. “I'd rather taste. Days like today turn a man to drink.” He too knocked it back in one, but unlike Aloethar stuck out his tongue and coughed.

     Aloethar clapped him several times on the back. “Strong stuff, eh?”

     Pym tried to say “yes”, but what came out sounded like a high-pitched yelp.

     They both laughed, but then the tent-flap blew in against a sudden, forceful gust of wind, and their smiles died. Aloethar shielded his eyes from the dust and sand, and secured the tent-flap. It was hard to make out anything out there, but he thought he caught a glimpse of Waldfrid, still kneeling down out there, staring into nothing with those black eyes. As he returned a thin jet of steam hissed from the join around the alembic. “Another leak Pym. How are we doing for dough?” The noise of the steam's whine was accompanied by the sputtering kohol as it splashed, no longer flowing steadily, into the container. Pym took the damp muslin off the bowl of dough, and brought it over to Aloethar, it was nearly all gone. They couldn't take many more leaks like this. Nevertheless, the leak was soon fixed, and the kohol returned to a steady trickle.

     The alembic worked fast, and before long they had to decant the khamra-kas into a bottle. After two more bottles, and with half-a-bottle's worth still in the khamra-kas, the stream of kohol stopped. Aloethar thinned out the fire, and left the alembic to cool, while Pym decanted the khamra-kas, and wiped it dry. Aloethar checked over his new invention, it was a little scorched on the bottom – it might need replacing more often than the glass variety, and there had been several more leaks, but it worked. And Aloethar had realised that the kohol it produced no longer had a sulphurous scent; something in the metal had reacted with the kohol, as Pym had predicted, but in a good way. It had made the stuff even purer. He wished his father was still alive to see it. Lost in his thoughts, he took a few moments to notice a change in the ambient sound. “Can you hear that Pym?”

     “No Storm.”

     “Nothing. It's all quiet.”

     “They must have done it!”

     Aloethar put the four bottles into a bag, along with two canteens of water, and gave it to Pym. “Here. I'll carry the khamra-kas to Bind the Stones in. We must go out to find them. We must have enough now to drain them all.”

     Outside, everything was covered in a fine layer of sand, so that all looked smooth and untouched, with no hard edges anywhere. Waldfrid had gone. Pym turned to Aloethar. “Do you think the Storm took him?”

     “No, look.” Aloethar pointed at the floor. “Footprints. He's gone south.”

     Pym squinted through the haze. “I really am going to need you to guide me out of the desert you know, Aloethar. I had no idea that was south. Without the merchants, I am lost.”

     “Let's hope they are not lost as well. They should have stayed with the clan. Let's head west.”

     They didn't have to go far. A man, slumped over a plodding camel, emerged from the haze. His face was covered except for the merest slit for his eyes. It could have been any one of the men. As they drew nearer, Aloethar was encouraged by the strong glow glinting through the gaps in the bulging saddlebags, but his spirits fell when it became apparent that the man was alone. No-one else emerged through the haze.

     Pym held onto the camel's reins to stop it, and the man nearly slid from its back. Aloethar took hold of him under the arms and hefted him to the floor. He pulled the wrapped cloth away from the man's face. It was Zakir. His eyes fluttered open.

     “Aloethar?”

     “Yes, Zakir. Are you all right?”

     “Water.” Pym handed Aloethar a canteen from the bag. Aloethar gently trickled some water past Zakir's cracked lips. He coughed a few times, but when he spoke again his voice was clear. “We stopped it. It was the biggest Storm I've ever seen, but we stopped it.”

     “The Stone's worked?”

     “The ones you drained worked, but they were full before we had captured it all. Then we only had the red Stones left. At first we thought they were working. Ahmed got too confident. He was the first to be taken.”

     Aloethar cursed himself. If he had believed in himself and tried the copper alembic sooner, then perhaps Ahmed would still be alive. “And the others, Issam, and Basel?”

     “All gone. Damn that Storm! Struck by the red cords. Each time a man was touched by one, it disappeared, along with the man and his camel. Issam was the last to go, and after that the Storm was gone.”

     Aloethar had a sudden memory of he and Issam, as children, playing jump-rope on a Feast's Day, with both their fathers smiling on, daring them to go faster and faster until they fell over in the dust in a tangle of rope. Their mothers, preparing the food they would all soon enjoy, laughed along with the other clanwomen. His mother had been heavily pregnant with Sana'ah that day. Within weeks she had died bringing his little sister into the world. That Feast Day had been the last truly happy moment Aloethar could remember. His father and mother were gone, and now Issam too. He would be damned if he'd let the second storm-front take Sana'ah and Ibna. He put the canteen to Zakir's lips again, but the soldier knocked it away.

     “Why couldn't there have been one more cord?” He sat up, anger contorting his face. “I should have sacrificed myself before my men, like the Thard did for me!” He stood, and though he swayed on his feet, stumbled away from them.

     “Where are you going?” Zakir meandered forward as if drunk, dismissing Aloethar with a wave of his hand. Aloethar started after him. “Wait. You've got to help me. I can drain the Stones. We can go after the Storm and save our people.”

     Zakir stopped, but did not turn around. His voice had lost its energy. He sounded weary and beaten. “Nothing can stop it, Aloethar. I am done.” With that he crumpled to the floor.

     Aloethar dashed to his side. “Here, take some more water.” Then to Pym. “You've got to get him back to the tent. He'll die out here.” Pym came to Aloethar's side, and they helped Zakir to his feet. “Can you manage, Pym?”

     “Aren't you coming?”

     “There is no time. I must ride out against the Storm before it is too late.”

     “No, Aloethar! It is suicide. Four experienced men have died already, and Zakir --”

     “Zakir may die too if you don't get him undercover.”

     “But, Aloethar!”

     “No more!” Aloethar snapped, and then more calmly. “Pym, my friend, please, I must do this. I promise you I will come back and go with you to visit the scholars, across the seas to the wetlands of Tyntieri.” He clapped Pym on the shoulder. “Now go! Zakir needs you now. I shall see you soon.”

     Pym hefted Zakir's arm more securely around his shoulder. “Good hunting, my friend.” Then he set off into the desert haze, leaving Aloethar alone.

     Aloethar made his way back to the camel. Ignoring his usual trepidation around the animals, he reached out and stroked the poor beast's neck. “I'm afraid you must take me back to the Storm, my friend.”

First of all it was time to drain the Stones with his new batch of kohol. He took the five shining Stones out of the animal's saddlebags. The old bottles of black kohol clinked together as the bags sagged. He laid them out on the sand around the empty khamra-kas in preparation. He was about to decant the new kohol into it but had another thought. He took the khamra-kas over to the camel, and emptied one of the canteens of water into it. The beast lapped it up quickly. “Good boy. You are a boy aren't you? You've got big lashes for a boy.” Aloethar giggled. Then berated himself. He mustn't let his nervousness turn to panic.

When the camel had finished, Aloethar took the khamra-kas, set it down next to the Stones, and filled it with some of his new kohol. Every one of the Stones positioned ready around the khamra-kas immediately began to dim as their magical energy flowed into the liquid. He hadn't expected that, and wondered if he needed to decant the kohol at all. The liquid didn't bubble this time, but rapidly turned through a range of ever-deepening greens until it was as black as the old stuff. All five Stones were already much dimmer. He poured the black kohol back into its bottle, and then tested his theory by placing a bottle of new kohol amongst the Stones. They began to dim too, so he put the last two bottles, and the half-full one, amongst them too. It was hard to see the kohol changing colour through the bottles' thick green glass, but the Stones dimmed even faster than before, and within a minute shone no more.

     With no time to celebrate this success, Aloethar hurriedly packed the bottles, distributing them equally in the saddlebags on each side of the camel's rump, and then stood by the side of the beast. “Now. How do I get on?” He put one hand up high on the back of the saddle, held a rein in the other, and tried to pull himself up. The animal made a strange, complaining noise, and shifted. Aloethar feared the camel would bolt, but it clumsily folded its knobbly legs and sank down to a sitting position. “Thank you, my friend.” Aloethar climbed into the saddle, wrapped his shawl across his face, and pulled on the reins. “Let's go!” The well-trained beast rose up onto its feet, swaying, and nearly throwing its untrained rider, but Aloethar was able to hold on, and soon they were off, tracking Waldfrid's footsteps. Tracking the Chaostorm.

(c) 2009 ~ Author Barry J. Northern 

Pencil Sketch by ~  Artist Jon Taylor

 

C H A S I N G   T H E    W I N D

 ~ To Be Thursday*Continued ~

S E E K   N E X T   I N S T A L L M E N T  AT THE BIJOU

 

THANK*YOU BARRY

for pure energy stirring

*AT THE BIJOU*

   
~ Absolutely*Kate

        and fine staff of renown 

 
Delve deep reader to the mystical mind of Barry, a talented conjurer as magicks go and let fantasies fiction flash and flow ~

 

AUTHOR BARRY J NORTHERN is fantasy, fable,fiction, fun and fine finesse when it comes to turning out churning energy thought ~ ala the written word.  Since you are enjoying Chasing the Wind kindly  email Barry at barryjnorthern@googlemail.com and convince him to finish editing the first Chaoswind Chronicle Novel, "THE BIRTH OF MAGIC". Also, Barry welcomes you  to pop on over to experience magic on the rise in words, sounds, sensations and enlightening glimmer at the mystical energizing site, 21st Century Writer Barry J. Northern.  

OR ... you could bring some FEAR TO YOUR EARS ~ Listen in @ CAST MACABRE. (Something's always brewing!)

   
I sensate Barry's energies are contagious. They draw me in. But I won't drink the kohol . . . yet.

       ~ Absolutely*Kate

CHASING THE WIND - PART 6 ~ Barry J Northern of Harbinger*33 presents a mysti-serial

Chasing the Wind

 ~ Part Six ~ 

By ~ Barry J. Northern

"Chasing the Wind" from THE CHAOSWIND CHRONICLES, an original fantasy set in the mystical world of Cryl, a land struggling to contain the chaotic magical energies that were unleashed upon the world when the last god was murdered.

The Mystical Story So Far ...

The warriors of a Medebian desert clan have failed to capture a rampant magical energy storm, which is sweeping the desert towards the clan's emcampment. They capture the storms with special stones, but all their stones are full to capacity. Aloethar the brewer has discovered a way to capture the energy in a special potion, which can drain the stones ready for a renewed fight against the storm. However, things go awry when a drunk visitor, a Derlander merchant called Waldfrid, swipes a bottle of the magic-laden potion and begins to drink ...

~ FOR Part One, CLICK HERE ~ 

~ FOR Part Two, CLICK HERE ~ 

~ FOR Part Three, CLICK HERE ~

~ FOR Part Four, CLICK HERE ~

~ FOR Part Five, CLICK HERE ~

      Zakir and his men stopped running, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand. Aloethar scrabbled away and ran wide around Waldfrid to join them. There was no knowing what would happen next. Waldfrid swilled the liquid around his mouth, and then swallowed. When he licked his lips, Aloethar saw that his teeth and tongue were black. Aloethar guessed it still tasted like kohol, because Waldfrid sniffed the bottle, and then took another swig. He was about to take a third when his eyes shot open-wide. He swayed for a few seconds and then dropped to his knees, still clutching the bottle, which dug into the sand beside him at an angle, though not sharply enough to prevent a trickle of the black liquid from leaking out. Then Waldfrid began to cry. He put his big, meaty hands to his face and cried, a high-pitched whimpering cry from the back of his throat. The kohol bottle continued to leak its precious contents, and Aloethar risked rushing over and snatching it away. He stashed it in the saddlebag – he'd have to bung it in a minute with more wax from the tent – but right now he wanted to get it away from Waldfrid. He gave the sobbing man a wide berth again, and joined Zakir and his men, who had backed further away as well.

     Zakir looked at Aloethar with sober respect in his eyes. “That was brave saving the bottle like that, Aloethar.”

     Aloethar would have smiled under other circumstances. “Brewer's instinct.”

     “What's happening to him?”

     “I don't know.”

     Issam pointed to Waldfrid. “Look at his eyes!”

     Waldfrid, still kneeling on the sand, had stopped crying and was looking at them with oil-slick eyes; no whites nor iris, just black. His face was pale and impassive. He didn't move his lips when he spoke to them. “I've seen the Source.”

     Aloethar turned to Zakir. “Did you hear that?”

     “He's seen the Source.”

     “But he spoke in Medebic.”

     “I don't think he spoke at all. It was more like a voice in my head.”

     “A voice in all our heads,” said Issam. The others mumbled agreement. They looked as worried as Aloethar felt. They watched, enraptured, for another minute, but nothing happened. Aloethar's thoughts returned to the bitter water, stewing back at the tent.

     “The aloethar pots will spoil if we don't get back to stirring them.” No-one replied. “Hey! Did you hear me?”

     Zakir ran a hand across his face and blinked, as if he'd just woken up. “Come on men. The Storm is turning south, and if it can change direction it can change speed. Let's get back to the tent and try to prepare those Stones before it gets away from us.”

     The men filed back to the tent, but Issam was worried. “What shall we do about the Derlander, Zakir?”

     “Nothing. It's not safe to touch him. We don't worry about him unless he moves, or speaks into our heads again.”

     “What is the Source?”

     No one answered the question. Aloethar wondered what the Chaoswind-infused kohol had done to the man,  and couldn't help feeling partly responsible. He hoped whatever it was would wear off eventually, and leave Waldfrid with nothing worse than a hangover.

     Pym had stayed behind in the tent, and Aloethar was glad to see that he had done his best to keep stirring the pots of aloethar. The soldiers settled down to stirring again, but Aloethar could tell by the smell that the mescal bud had broken down and would be mostly released into the water now. It would soon be time to test how well the bitter water drained the Stones. Meanwhile, Aloethar told Pym what had happened with Waldfrid outside.

     “. . . but then he just sat there on the sand, staring at us with those black eyes.”

     “No more voices in your head?”

     “No.” Aloethar lowered his voice. “Do you know what the Source is?”

     Pym shook his head. “Perhaps the scholars do, but I'm no scholar. Just a messenger who has only learnt a little here and there. We should ask them when we take the kohol to Tyntieri.”

     “We?”

     “You must come with me. The scholars will demand a demonstration, and I don't have the skill. You're the only one who can brew kohol.”

     “There are many other clans. Most have a master brewer. The scholars can buy kohol on the black market and try it for themselves. I sold most of the last season to Derlander merchants bound for Tyntieri.”

     “But we still haven't tested it on aged kohol. For all we know it might only work while the kohol is fresh. No, it must be you. We have enough raw bud left to take with us.”

     “Must we cross the seas?”

     “We will have to cross the silt-lands to Glach, and then sail a short distance north across the Channel to the continent of Tyntieri. Then there's the Burning Lake itself of course, the quickest route to Llyneirias, where the scholars study at the University there.”

     Aloethar smiled. “Sounds like more water than I ever thought I'd see.”

     “Then you'll come?”

     “Only if we stop this Storm.” He then turned to Zakir. “It's time to see if this undistilled aloethar works.” The impromptu brewers, Issam, Ahmed, and Basel (whose right eye was still puffed up from Waldfrid's punch, and turning black) dropped their spoons and grumbled that it was about time. Aloethar and Zakir each took one of the full Stones, and Issam took the Stone that had only been half-drained. Each man held his Stone over a simmering pot of aloethar. The rising vapour played across the Stones' brightly glowing undersides. Aloethar gave the word. “Lower them in.”

     At first the light from the Stones, two bright, one half so, wavered and shone through the bubbling aloethar, but did not dim. Aloethar held his breath, no-one spoke. Then Aloethar swore he saw a change. “Is it working?”

     Pym squinted. “It's hard to tell.”

     Ahmed grunted. “It had better work, Master Brewer. I've been stirring that pot for four hours.”

     “It takes six usually, but all the mescal bud should be in the liquid by now.”

     Issam looked away from the pot. “Don't tell us you want us to stir for another two hours. The Storm will not wait!”

     Then Zakir shouted, “Look!”

     The men stopped arguing and looked at the pots. The light was definitely dimmer now, hardly anything emanated from the pot containing the half-drained Stone, but the light from the other two was not only dimmer, but had changed colour. Whereas before it had been a bright, blue-tinged white, it now glowed a deep red. 

    Zakir looked up at Aloethar. “Why have they turned red?” 

     “I don't know.”

     Pym rubbed his chin. “Perhaps not all Aspects of the Chaoswind have been Binded.”

     Zakir frowned. “What?” Aloethar was curious too.

     “It's like the way you described the Chaoswind when you first came back. Like a dust-cloud filled with lightning and cords of multicoloured energy. Those different coloured cords are the different Aspects of the Chaoswind. I think the scholars know little more than that, for their job is to find ways to Bind all the Aspects, but it's said that the Mages can channel the Aspects to perform different magicks.”

     Aloethar was the first to realise the implication. “So if the Stones still contain one or more of the Aspects then they won't stop all of the Storm?”

     “One assumes not.”

     The red light from the pots underlit Zakir's face as he took up the tongs. “They are not growing any dimmer.” He lifted one of the previously full Stones out. Now it looked more like a ruby than a sapphire. “We cannot ride out against the Storm with these. It was one of the red cords that struck Thard Darwish. You have failed, brewer.”

     Zakir and his men fished out the partly-drained Stones from their pots of aloethar, wrapped them in rags, and took them out to pack in Zakir's camel's saddlebags. Aloethar protested, but Zakir said he had heard enough of his talk today. He intended to ride ahead of the Storm and lead the southward-heading caravan away to the east, into the desert where it was barren and least likely to be attracted. “And it's better to have these Stones with me than nothing at all,” he said. “I suggest you and Pym ride north from here. Take your experiments to the scholars. Leave the fighting to us.”

     It was then that the scout galloped into camp on a camel, which looked about to collapse. Aloethar felt like a child, looking up at the men, high up on camel-back, as the scout gave his news. “The Chaostorm has broken apart. It now has two main fronts, the larger front is still heading south, following the trail of the south caravan.”

     Zakir banged a fist into his palm. “And what of the other front?”

     “It is at my back, maybe only ten or fifteen minutes, and it'll be upon us.”

     The men cried out, and all began to ask questions at once, but Zakir silenced them with a raised hand. “How big is this splintered front?”

     “I'd say it is nearly twice as large as the Storm that took our Thard.” The hubbub began again, but this time it was the scout who silenced them. “Wait! I have more news. I recovered this.” He swung the leather bag he wore across his chest around into his lap, and took out a bundle of rags. Something glowed within, and shone like the sun when he moved the rags aside. “The Thard's Stone.” Zakir dismounted, and took it reverently from the scout to place in his own saddlebags with the others. “If the Thard had not sacrificed himself trying to stop the Storm with this Stone, then I would wish it were empty. But tell me, how can the front heading our way be twice as large if the southward front is the larger of the two?”

     “The Storm is growing, Zakir. The Storm-front heading south stretches east and west for as far as I could see. I can't rightly say how big it really is.”

     Zakir could not stop his men arguing after that, and so Aloethar left them. He had an idea. It would mean eschewing tradition, and moving fast – two things his father had cautioned against – but these were desperate times. He took Pym to one side. “I need you help to put my copper alembic together. The aloethar is no good, we need kohol.”

     “Didn't you hear the scout, Aloethar? Part of the Storm will be here any minute.”

     “If it's as big as the scout said, then Zakir and the others will be able to stop it with the two-and-a-half Stones we have already drained, but we will need all five Stones to have any chance of saving my sister and niece. We have to try. If we can distill all the aloethar we have in the tent it may be enough.”

     Pym nodded. “I will help.”

     Aloethar clapped Pym on the shoulder. “Thank you my friend.”

     As they made their way back to the tent they passed Waldfrid. “Look, Aloethar, has he moved?”

     “No. He's been kneeling like that since he drank the black kohol.”

     “What will happen to him when the Storm arrives?”

     “Let's hope it doesn't get this far.”

(c) 2009 ~ Author Barry J. Northern 

Pencil Sketch by ~  Artist Jon Taylor

 

C H A S I N G   T H E    W I N D

 ~ To Be Thursday*Continued ~

S E E K   N E X T   I N S T A L L M E N T  AT THE BIJOU

 

THANK*YOU BARRY

for pure energy stirring

*AT THE BIJOU*

   
~ Absolutely*Kate

        and fine staff of renown 

 
Delve deep reader to the mystical mind of Barry, a talented conjurer as magicks go. 

AUTHOR BARRY J NORTHERN is fantasy, fable,fiction, fun and fine finesse when it comes to turning out churning energy thought ~ ala the written word.  Since you are enjoying Chasing the Wind kindly  email Barry at barryjnorthern@googlemail.com and convince him to finish editing the first Chaoswind Chronicle Novel, "THE BIRTH OF MAGIC". Also, Barry welcomes you  to pop on over to experience magic on the rise in words, sounds, sensations and enlightening glimmer at the mystical energizing site, 21st Century Writer Barry J. Northern.  

OR ... you could bring some FEAR TO YOUR EARS ~ Listen in @ CAST MACABRE. (Something's always brewing!)

   
I sensate Barry's energies are contagious. They draw me in. But I won't drink the kohol . . . yet.

      

~ Absolutely*Kate