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Thunder boomed around him, is if he were in the bosom of the storm itself. He felt the hair rise on his nape, and along his arms. Weird sparkles danced around him like fireflies in response to the shock. Galen would have been furious to see them -- Faunos was supposed to have learned greater control. But fear, shock, pain and even great pleasure made control slither from his grasp and defy him to recapture it.
And there was no one to see, Faunos told himself. The old city was underwater while the newer parts of the city -- built on the higher slopes and in the hills -- had tumbled town, and the people were gone. Many were dead. He saw limbs protruding from the wreckage in odd places, but nothing moved, and he heard no voices calling out for help.
Lightning forked once more as clambered up a boulder-strewn slope, and instinctively he ducked into the lee of a wall. The bellow of thunder came almost at once -- he felt it in his chest and bones, and flung both arms over his head. Again, the sparklets of gold and white danced around him, casting tiny rainbows in the rain, and he swore at them, glared at them.
In the gray-green twilight of the storm, he felt along the wall, found a corner and looked up. The eaves were still sound above his head, and an arm’s length from the corner was an open doorway, facing opposite the driving angle of the rain. Inside was only utter darkness, which told him the roof was sound.
He shuffled in, blinked until his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and saw the bar on the shutters. It slipped free with a squeal of dry wood, and a crack of light shafted into the cottage. He smelt sheep, goats, and knew it for a shepherd’s hut.
The floor was scattered with straw, the walls were grubby, the door hung from only one hinge, but the building was sound -- Faunos did not care to look past this. The inside was dry, he saw firewood stacked in the corner, and a bundle of old sheepskins and hides.
It was shelter Galen needed, and quickly. He was too old, too frail, to last long in the storm. With grim determination, Faunos drive the bar back into place, locking the shutter closed, and stepped back out into the rain. It was a mile back to the cave where Galen was huddling, watching the seawater rise with the tide and the battering of the ocean. Hurucan and Peseden were so furious, only blood would appease them -- and of that, there had been plenty. They had no need to take Galen's too.
The ruins were full of the dead. In a few days, when the storm had passed over and the summer heat returned, it would be dangerous to remain here. Zeheft was not merely dead, it would soon be rotten with the contagion that had bedeviled Ilios since the earth shook there, not a month past.
Old or not, frail or not, Galen must get up on his feet and move. Faunos’s belly tightened as he grappled with the future. In these latter years the old man did not move so easily, and even if he did, where would they go? There was only Vayal, on the other side of the long, dolphin-shaped island, and for Faunus, the city of Vayal would surely mean death.
Obdurate, too stubborn for his own good, he butted into the rain, one arm up to shield his eyes from its stinging needles, and hurried his pace.
Return to Chapter Two, part one
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And there was no one to see, Faunos told himself. The old city was underwater while the newer parts of the city -- built on the higher slopes and in the hills -- had tumbled town, and the people were gone. Many were dead. He saw limbs protruding from the wreckage in odd places, but nothing moved, and he heard no voices calling out for help.
Lightning forked once more as clambered up a boulder-strewn slope, and instinctively he ducked into the lee of a wall. The bellow of thunder came almost at once -- he felt it in his chest and bones, and flung both arms over his head. Again, the sparklets of gold and white danced around him, casting tiny rainbows in the rain, and he swore at them, glared at them.
In the gray-green twilight of the storm, he felt along the wall, found a corner and looked up. The eaves were still sound above his head, and an arm’s length from the corner was an open doorway, facing opposite the driving angle of the rain. Inside was only utter darkness, which told him the roof was sound.
He shuffled in, blinked until his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and saw the bar on the shutters. It slipped free with a squeal of dry wood, and a crack of light shafted into the cottage. He smelt sheep, goats, and knew it for a shepherd’s hut.
The floor was scattered with straw, the walls were grubby, the door hung from only one hinge, but the building was sound -- Faunos did not care to look past this. The inside was dry, he saw firewood stacked in the corner, and a bundle of old sheepskins and hides.
It was shelter Galen needed, and quickly. He was too old, too frail, to last long in the storm. With grim determination, Faunos drive the bar back into place, locking the shutter closed, and stepped back out into the rain. It was a mile back to the cave where Galen was huddling, watching the seawater rise with the tide and the battering of the ocean. Hurucan and Peseden were so furious, only blood would appease them -- and of that, there had been plenty. They had no need to take Galen's too.
The ruins were full of the dead. In a few days, when the storm had passed over and the summer heat returned, it would be dangerous to remain here. Zeheft was not merely dead, it would soon be rotten with the contagion that had bedeviled Ilios since the earth shook there, not a month past.
Old or not, frail or not, Galen must get up on his feet and move. Faunos’s belly tightened as he grappled with the future. In these latter years the old man did not move so easily, and even if he did, where would they go? There was only Vayal, on the other side of the long, dolphin-shaped island, and for Faunus, the city of Vayal would surely mean death.
Obdurate, too stubborn for his own good, he butted into the rain, one arm up to shield his eyes from its stinging needles, and hurried his pace.
Return to Chapter Two, part one
Page forward to next chapter
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