Fall Ceramic DM - Final Round Judgment Posted!
Berandor
lunatic
Let me just say it is very refreshing if you can look at the pics and just let them affect you; you don't have to think of a story, not even think about what kind of story you would have written, you just look at them and then wait for the author's to surprise you.
So, authors, suprise me.
So, authors, suprise me.
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Round 2.4 -- Rodrigo Istalindir -- "Mind over Matter"
Prague had been a nice place, before the war. Five years under the Nazis hadn’t broken its body, but fifteen years under the Soviet heel had nearly crushed its spirit. The city had the gaunt look of a terminally ill patient, and about as bright a future.
That young firebrand from the States’ bold proclamations in Berlin might play well to his constituency, but here they seemed like the hollow promises of a lover slinking out before the dawn. He’d written a dispatch warning them their President would be dead before year’s end, and then threw it into the fireplace. They’d never listened to him before.
And yet they had reached out to him.
For a decade he’d scanned the classifieds in the [italic]Hospodárske Noviny[/italic] every day. At first it was a matter of training and professional pride. Now it was just another habit he was too old to break, like the American cigarettes that cost him an arm and a leg on the black market.
The first day he’d seen the notice, he’d dismissed it as a coincidence. Families lost pets every day, though only those belonging to Party functionaries would merit a ‘lost and found’ notice. But the same notice had been there the next day, and the day after. Today he’d hurried to the newsstand at daybreak, anxious to see if the second part of the signal was there.
On page 4 of the classified section, an innocuous advertisement confirmed the contact. An ad for a refrigerator would indicate a blind drop. An antique samovar meant ‘run’. ‘Bicycle’ was code for ‘meet in person’.
He knew the phone number would be non-existent, and should anyone trudge halfway across the city for a cheap bicycle, they would find a confused and bike-less homeowner. But the numbers were significant in other ways.
He stopped at a café, bought an overpriced cup of terrible coffee, and pretended to read the newspaper. ‘220’ signified the time of the meeting, and ‘Staré Město’ meant the Charles Bridge. During the summer, at two-twenty in the morning the bridge would still be crowded with young miscreants looking for trouble and young lovers with nowhere else to go. This time of year, the cold wind blowing down the river would make it deserted.
He finished his coffee and returned the cup to the counter. He threw the newspaper in the trash and left. With some chagrin he realized he’d have to take a nap this afternoon if he expected to be alert for the meeting.
They never told us, he thought, about how to be spies when we got old. Probably because they never expected any of us to live past thirty.
He parked his beat up old car several blocks from the bridge and began walking towards it. He was early, but he doubted any of the city’s police officers would be out in the cold looking to accost loiterers. There was a slight chance that this was a setup, that some double-agent in the United States had sold him out to the KGB, and he wanted a chance to observe from a distance before walking out to the middle of the bridge.
He found a dark alleyway that looked out on the entrance to the bridge. The span was only intermittently illuminated. The city’s power plants should have been replaced before the war, and streetlights were often turned off the save power as well as the bulbs that were in perpetual short supply. (Picture 1)
He huddled in the cold, his eyes wandering from one end of the street to the other, his mind wandering back to the past.
He’d been twenty-three years old when they’d first contacted him. He had been performing in a small theater downtown, a hole in the wall sandwiched between a rowdy pub and another venue where bored women pretended to disrobe for family men who pretended to still care.
‘Anders the Amazing’ had been his stage name, and he’d done three shows every weekend. The first half of his show was a competent if uninspired selection of traditional magic tricks – sawing a woman in half, pulling a rabbit out of a hat, all of the classics. In the second half, he performed mentalist feats of he’d devised himself, and the greatest trick of all was that there was no trick.
Precognition and remote viewing were what the OSS agent who recruited him had called it. The intelligence agency of the United States had scoured Europe for people with these talents, putting together a special cadre, the Omega group, that they hoped would give them an edge in the impending conflict.
From the first there had been conflict between two groups in the project. The scientists who had proposed it in the first place believed in the unnatural talents their students seemed to possess, but the agency bureaucracy didn’t, and had agreed to recruit Anders and the rest because they believed that Hitler took it seriously, and were keen to deny him anything he wanted.
There had been twenty of them at the start, but only five had remained after tests and exercises had separated those with true talent from the pretenders. Only Anders had performed consistently enough to be relied upon.
He’d spent the early part of the war in England, interrogating prisoners, reading communications intercepts, staring at photos in an attempt to discern what was occurring at some distant battlefield. More often than not they asked the impossible and were disappointed or angry when he could not provide what they wished. The program was on the verge of being shut down when the OSS had gotten wind of a Soviet counterpart to the Omega group.
Sensing an opportunity, they had smuggled him back into Prague. They provided him with a cover story to explain his absence, and waited. It didn’t take long. Whether it was a Soviet sympathizer who remembered his act or some other event he didn’t know, but within a year he was living the life of a double-agent, reporting the actions of the Soviet Imstreny Otrad, the ‘Mind Squad’.
Movement on the bridge caught his eye. A solitary figure walked into the light, pause, and then moved further along the bridge into the shadows. He waited, and when they were not revealed by the next streetlight down, he realized that they were waiting.
He stepped cautiously from the shadows and walked to the bridge. Their was a bitter wind, and he wished they had picked a warmer location. He passed through the nearest light, forgetting to close his eyes to protect his night vision. He nearly walked into his contact before he saw him.
“Anders,” said the figure. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“You know better than to ask that. You’ve been out in the cold for a long time, Anders. We appreciate you coming here.”
“I’d thought you’d forgotten about me. I waited for instructions once they shut down the project but I never heard…” Anders trailed off.
“Yes. We thought it best to keep you in place, on the off chance that the Soviets decided to try something like Imstreny Otrad again. And it looks like they may have.”
“Three weeks ago, a scientist key to the Soviet missile program decided to defect while in Berlin. With our help, he slipped his handlers and was a hundred feet from the West when he stopped dead in his tracks. He trembled briefly, then fell to the ground dead.”
“Three days later, the two agents who arranged the defection died the same way. No signs of poisons or other biological agents. One of the agents died during debriefing in a safe house, surrounded by a dozen people.”
“No signs of foul play, no medical cause of death that we can determine. It’s like someone just flipped a switch.”
“Why do you think IO might be involved?” Anders asked.
“This,” the agent replied, handing Anders a photograph and illuminating it with a small flashlight.
Anders looked at the photo. It was blurry, taken from a distance and blown up to focus on the face of a young man. With a start, Anders realized who it was.
“Alexei? Alexei Padronov? I almost didn’t recognize him. He was still a boy when IO was disbanded.”
“Yes, we almost didn’t make the connection. We showed this photo around where the scientist was killed, and a waitress in a café recognized him. We think he caused the death of the scientist and both agents.”
“How? Alexei was a distance-viewer. He had a touch of telekinesis, but only at very close range.” Anders said.
“To the best of our knowledge, he never got closet than a hundred yards to any of the victims. Could he have acted at that distance?” the agent asked.
“No, not unless he’s gotten a thousand times stronger than when I knew him. But even, there would be signs of trauma. Damage to the heart, a brain hemorrhage, something. Touching something by TK is no different than using your hand. There is still force involved.”
“Maybe it’s something new they’ve dreamed up since you left. In any event, we want you to investigate. Padronov will be performing in Prague this weekend.”
“He’s a dancer with the Bolshoi, now, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Good cover for an assassin, if you ask me. The Bolshoi is very popular in the West, and the top dancers visit ballet troupes throughout the world.”
The agent handed him an envelope.
“Here’s a ticket to the Saturday night performance. We don’t need you to make contact with Alexei, just look around and see if any other former IO agents are nearby. If they are, that will be enough for us to confirm that the Soviets are into the paranormal again. I’ll contact you next week.”
The Prague State Opera House was packed. Anders handed the tuxedoed usher his ticket and followed him down to his seat. He felt out of place. He suspected that he was the only person in the audience that wasn’t a Party functionary, absurdly wealthy, or both. That the arts were out of reach to the common man in the Worker’s Paradise was a clear sign that the country had traded one set of masters for another.
The lights dimmed, and the dancers began their performance. Anders had never had any interest in the ballet, but he was entranced by the grace and athleticism of the dancers. Different members of the troupe performed, but Anders never saw Alexei or anyone else he remembered from IO.
The lights dimmed to rapturous applause, then came back to fully illuminate the venue. Anders realized that it was the intermission, and he decided to return to the lobby and observe the crowd.
The rich and famous graced the lobby, the constant murmur of conversation punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and polite laughter. Anders stood to the back, eyes poring over the crowd. He was about to give up, ready to report to the agent that there was no sign of IO involvement, when he spotted a woman across the room staring at him.
Valentina, the IO agent that had recruited him. Her presence here couldn’t be a coincidence. He feigned puzzlement, as if he recognized her but couldn’t place the face. Then he smiled, and went across the room to greet her.
“Valya! How have you been, my dear,” he gushed.
Her expression froze for a split second before being replaced by an enigmatic smile.
“Anders. You look wonderful. I can’t believe it’s been ten years since I’ve seen you.”
“You are as beautiful as always, Valya. It is good to see you. When did you move to Prague?”
“I didn’t. I work with the ballet, as a travel coordinator.” Valentina said.
Travel coordinator was the title given to the agents of the KGB assigned to prevent embarrassing defections, Anders knew.
“How wonderful for you. You must get to see so many interesting places.”
“And you, Anders? Are you still performing in that dreadful cabaret?”
“No, no, Valya, not anymore. I’m afraid I have a boring desk job, shuffling papers for the Ministry of Agriculture.”
“How sad, Anders. We should have never lost touch.”
Anders wondered what she meant by that. He and Valentina had never been that close. Her minor paranormal talents had kept her from being more than a handler for the other agents. This might be an opportunity to insinuate himself into the new program.
“Well, Valya, it’s not completely boring. I still know how to take advantage of my training. That’s how I got this ticket, as a matter of fact.”
She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.
“I won it in a craps game. I’d planned on selling it – I never much cared for ballet – but I figured this might be my only chance to see it.”
“Really, Anders, cheating at gambling? You could have been so much more.”
The lights dimmed, signaling an end to the intermission.
Anders kissed her on the cheek, and stepped back.
“A pleasure, as always. We mustn’t let another ten years pass, Valya.”
“You are so right, Anders. I’ll be sure to get in touch once this tour is over.”
Anders returned to his seat. The second half of the performance was better than the first, and he began to reconsider his preconceptions about the ballet. Then the lights dimmed again, and a single spotlight illuminated the stage. It widened slowly, to reveal two immobile figures dressed in black and white. The curtains parted to reveal a pure white background. In total silence, the two dancers began to perform.
It was unlike anything Anders had ever seen. They seemed to defy gravity, soaring and tumbling. (Picture 4 -- Dancers) One of them must be Alexei, he thought. As he watched the performance, his initial awe gave way to understanding. Alexei’s TK had gotten much stronger, he realized. He was using it to extend his leaps and to steady his balance, and to enhance the performance of his partner as well.
Anders’ train of thought was broken by thunderous applause. He looked at the stage in time to see the curtains close on Alexei and the other dancer.
He could do it, he thought. If he’s strong enough to move two grown men, he could probably exert enough force to kill at a distance. The doctors investigating the assassinations must have missed something. It wouldn’t take much to cause an aneurism.
Anders was awakened by the cold press of steel under his chin. His heart pounding, he opened his eyes and tried to shout, but a strong hand clapped down over his mouth before he could make a sound. The face of a stranger leaned close, eyes dispassionate, almost reptilian. Anders felt a gentle tug at his neck, and realized that the intruder had cut his throat. He had a brief moment to marvel that it hadn’t hurt at all before the darkness claimed him.
Anders jerked upright, gasping. His hands went to his neck, feeling for the gaping wound he knew must be there. Feeling nothing, he turned on the light next to the bed. The white sheets spread out before him were unsullied with blood.
It had been a long time since he’d had a precognitive flash this strong. Typically, the strength and clarity of the visions were proportional to how far in the future the events occurred. His killer might be in the house even now.
Anders turned off the light and climbed quietly out of bed. He hoped no one had noticed the light go on and off. He gathered the clothes he’d left on the chair and entered the hallway. Moving quickly, he went down the back staircase to the kitchen. Senses heightened by fear, he heard the knob on the front door jiggle as someone worked the lock.
He tip-toed to the door leading from the kitchen to the back yard. He turned the key slowly, and eased the door open. He dashed across the yard and into the darkness beyond.
Anders sat in a café in Wenceslas Square across from the Jalta Hotel, face hidden by a newspaper. The hotel was the best in the city, and he knew the Bolshoi performers would rate the best accommodations. Valentina’s job would require her to stay here too.
There was no hidden message in the paper. Anders needed to get in touch with the agent, persuade him to arrange for extraction. He wondered if the attempt on his life meant that the operation was blown, or if it was just Valentina acting on her own initiative, suspicious at his convenient presence at the ballet.
Valentina appeared at the entrance to the hotel. He saw her stop to talk to the doorman, than head off on foot across the square.
Anders smelled fresh bread.
Odd, he thought. This café was too small to have a bakery.
He tasted fruit, although he’d had nothing to eat since the day before.
He smiled. The excitement was honing his precognitive senses, and he knew where she was headed. He waited a few moments to make sure she wasn’t being watched, then hailed a taxi.
“The Party Market” he told the driver.
The Party Market was a weekly spectacle. Open only to members of the Party, it was the place where the wives and servants of the powerful shopped for the fresh foods denied the rest of the city. She must be meeting someone, he thought.
He had the driver drop him a block from the entrance. Relaxing, he let his re-awakened sense reach out. He closed his eyes, and saw the guard at the side entrance shout as a small girl spilled cocoa on his uniform. The guard turned away to grab a rag to wipe off his uniform.
Anders opened his eyes and moved towards the side entrance. Ahead of him, he saw the small girl being dragged along by her nanny. The girl tried to pull away, and her arm flew backwards, splattering brown fluid all over the hapless guard. Timing it perfectly, Anders stepped through the doorway while the guard reached for the cloth.
Anders moved through the market, picking a spot where he could watch the bakery unobtrusively. He didn’t have to wait for long. Valya appeared from the crowd, moving nonchalantly towards a large display of freshly baked breads and pastries. (Picture 3 - Bread).
Here, he though, her contact will meet her here.
Watching out of the corner of his eye, Anders saw a man pick up one of the loaves of bread and inhale deeply. He put the loaf down, picked up another, and moved to the cashier. Valya, stepping in behind the man, picked up the discarded loaf. Anders could see where the crust had been broken. She moved to the cashier, and Anders noticed that the other agent had already left. Valya paid for her bread, then headed for the main entrance.
Anders waited several minutes, absent-mindedly perusing the merchandise while he tried to figure out why Valya would be acting as if she were an agent in hostile territory.
Not Valya, he realized. The other agent. She couldn’t meet the other agent directly. With a sinking feeling, he realized they had been compromised by a mole. The other agent must have alerted IO that Anders had been reactivated.
That means the agent who contacted me is probably already dead, he thought, and there’s no one who can help me.
Feeling the first stirrings of panic, Anders made his way from the market. He couldn’t go back to his house, and that meant he couldn’t get his car and try to get out of the city. His only choice was to get to the American consulate, try to use his talents to sneak past the police and plead for asylum.
He hailed another taxi, and gave him an address a few blocks from the embassy. Riding in silence, he tried to relax, hoping another flash would show him the correct path.
Getting nothing, he looked out the window and realized they were heading away from the embassy, back towards the Jalta Hotel.
“Driver, you’re going…” he started, and then stopped when he saw the drivers eyes in the rearview mirror. The same eyes he’d seen in his vision the night before.
“Just relax, traitor. I’m under strict orders not to kill you. Yet. But I can hurt you if necessary.”
The taxi pulled up to the curb on a side street near the hotel. The driver got out, making sure Anders saw the gun under his coat. He opened the door, and pulled Anders from the back seat. Keeping a firm grip on his arm, he steered him to the entrance, across the lobby, and to the elevators.
Anders was desperate. If they got him alone, they’d kill him for sure. But his talent failed him; no visions of doom or salvation flashed before his eyes.
The elevator opened, and Anders was ushered inside. The scent of lilacs filled his nose, and he noticed that there were small flower-filled vases on the walls of the lift. The assassin pushed the button for the penthouse suite, and the elevator rose silently.
Reaching the top, the doors opened, and Anders was escorted past several guards into the penthouse. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, he couldn’t help but be awed by the decadence that surrounded him.
Gold filigree graced every fixture, and expensive oil paintings adorned the walls. Persian carpets covered the fine wood floors, and across the room, butterflies flitted about a glass enclosure that doubled as a window looking out across Wenceslas Square.
It must be heated, he thought, and laughed inwardly that he could be appalled at such extravagance when faced with his own demise.
He noticed two large wingback chairs set in front of the butterfly cage. The one on the left was occupied, a man’s arm visible as it reached out and picked a porcelain teacup from the end table.
“Welcome, Anders. It has been far too long. And allow me to congratulate you. Going undetected all this time is quite an accomplishment.
“A pity those in the IO with some telepathic skills were always unable to read the thoughts of those with our unique talents. It would have saved so much effort.”
“Alexei,” Anders started to speak, and then stopped. Pleading for his life was pointless. They wanted him dead, otherwise they wouldn’t have dispatched a killer to his home. This little play must be Alexei’s way of toying with him before he had him killed.
“Good, Anders. No begging. I’m glad to see you still have some dignity. Please, sit with me a moment. If you would be so kind as to answer a couple of questions, I can promise you a painless death.”
Anders sat in the second chair, eyes focused on the butterflies.
“Tea? No? Very well, suit yourself. It is quite good, though. Not the dishwater you’re used to, I expect.”
“So, Anders. I have but two questions for you. First, were there any others in the original IO cadre who were in the pay of the enemies of the Rodina?”
“Not that I know of. They wouldn’t have told me if there were, and I never had reason to suspect otherwise.” Anders said.
“Yes, I expected as much. Still, one has to ask. A man will do most anything to save his life, and there was always the chance you knew something.”
“My second question. How did the Americans come to suspect that IO had been revived?”
“You were too good, Alexei. You left no trace, no indications as to why those men just dropped dead. One unexplainable death might be ascribed to bad luck, but three? Your pride in your new skills gave you away.”
“Answer me this, in return. How did you do it? I saw your performance. Your TK has gotten incredibly strong. I can see you are capable of reaching much further than we ever suspected was possible. But how did you kill them without leaving some trauma? There wasn’t even any internal bleeding.”
“Anders, Anders. If only you had thought more about your gifts. You always saw them as separate functions, crude replacements for physical skills. If you wanted something dead, all you could think to do would be to crush it like an insect.”
Alexei pointed towards the butterfly cage. Anders’ eyes followed, and he saw a brilliant butterfly, its wingspan six inches across, freeze in mid-flight. (Picture 2- Butterflies) It hung there for a split second, then collapse in upon itself as if crushed by an invisible fist. The ruined creature fell to the ground.
“But if you use your remote viewing to spot the perfect place to strike, Anders, you can replace brute force with finesse.”
In the cage, all of the remaining butterflies fell to the bottom without warning. There was no sign of damage to their frail wings and delicate bodies. An uneducated observer would have sworn that some invisible gas had filled the chamber and killed them.
“The human body is so fragile, so balanced. The tiniest nudge, say to the valves of the heart, at just the right moment, and the body collapses like a house of cards.”
“Now, Anders, our little demonstration is over. I’m afraid you won’t be able to experience my little trick personally, as I’m sure your TK skills are still sufficient to protect you. But I doubt they are sufficient to stop a bullet to the brain.”
“Please, enjoy a last cup of tea. It is really quite exquisite.”
Alexei placed his cup on the saucer sitting on the table and stood.
“Gregory, please see to it that my old friend enjoys his tea, and then kill him.”
Alexei leaned over the back of Anders’ chair, looking over his head at the dead butterflies.
“No last words, Anders? Very well. I bid you farewell. Come, Valya, I wish to visit the museum before we leave for London. I hear Sir Alec is going to be in attendance. It’s not every day one gets to perform for the Prime Minister.”
“Let me get my coat, Alexei. I’ll meet you at the elevator.” Valya replied.
“Don’t dawdle, dear. Gregory has work to do.”
Anders jumped as Gregory approached, but the killer only filled the second teacup and handed it to him. Anders inhaled, the aroma of the expensive brew, and tried to calm himself. Behind him, he heard the door to the penthouse close as Alexei and Valya left.
The smell of tea was replaced by the smell of lilacs.
Anders willed himself to relax, extending his paranormal senses outwards. He saw the hallway outside, saw the elevator doors open, saw his former colleagues enter the small enclosure, saw them press the button that would take them to the lobby.
“Hurry up and drink your tea.”
Gregory’s voice was faint and distant. Anders watched the elevator doors close. Reaching out with his mind, he pushed the ‘Elevator Stop’ button and held it down. He saw Alexei press the ‘Start’ button to no avail and then begin pounding on the doors. Valya looked terrified.
Anders shifted his sight upwards, towards the cables that held the elevator suspended in the shaft. His TK wasn’t nearly strong enough to break the cables. He looked closer, and realized that the thick metal cords were actually composed of smaller, braided cables.
Focusing even closer, he could see the individual wire strands, so thin, so fragile. Reaching out with his mind, he drew an imaginary blade across the cables, the razor thin edge of telekinetic force slicing through the metal fibers.
He felt the sudden release as the cables severed, and he shifted his vision to watch the elevator car plummet to the earth. The car hung in midair, not moving.
Anders began to panic, then realized there must be a failsafe measure in case the cables snapped. He looked again, and saw the tension lever that had released when the cables snapped. He seized the lever with his mind, vertigo nearly overwhelming him as his point of view followed the doomed car earthward.
“Ok, that’s it. If you don’t want your last drink, that’s your problem.” Gregory’s voice snapped him back to the penthouse.
The assassin stepped around the chair, gun drawn. He worked the action on the automatic pistol, and smiled at Anders.
Anders smiled back, and stopped Gregory’s heart.
He’d always been a fast learner.
Prague had been a nice place, before the war. Five years under the Nazis hadn’t broken its body, but fifteen years under the Soviet heel had nearly crushed its spirit. The city had the gaunt look of a terminally ill patient, and about as bright a future.
That young firebrand from the States’ bold proclamations in Berlin might play well to his constituency, but here they seemed like the hollow promises of a lover slinking out before the dawn. He’d written a dispatch warning them their President would be dead before year’s end, and then threw it into the fireplace. They’d never listened to him before.
And yet they had reached out to him.
For a decade he’d scanned the classifieds in the [italic]Hospodárske Noviny[/italic] every day. At first it was a matter of training and professional pride. Now it was just another habit he was too old to break, like the American cigarettes that cost him an arm and a leg on the black market.
The first day he’d seen the notice, he’d dismissed it as a coincidence. Families lost pets every day, though only those belonging to Party functionaries would merit a ‘lost and found’ notice. But the same notice had been there the next day, and the day after. Today he’d hurried to the newsstand at daybreak, anxious to see if the second part of the signal was there.
On page 4 of the classified section, an innocuous advertisement confirmed the contact. An ad for a refrigerator would indicate a blind drop. An antique samovar meant ‘run’. ‘Bicycle’ was code for ‘meet in person’.
FOR SALE: Red child’s bicycle. Good condition, some scratches, no rust. 20 rubles. Call RVB-220 or come to Husova 5, Staré Město, Prague 1.
He knew the phone number would be non-existent, and should anyone trudge halfway across the city for a cheap bicycle, they would find a confused and bike-less homeowner. But the numbers were significant in other ways.
He stopped at a café, bought an overpriced cup of terrible coffee, and pretended to read the newspaper. ‘220’ signified the time of the meeting, and ‘Staré Město’ meant the Charles Bridge. During the summer, at two-twenty in the morning the bridge would still be crowded with young miscreants looking for trouble and young lovers with nowhere else to go. This time of year, the cold wind blowing down the river would make it deserted.
He finished his coffee and returned the cup to the counter. He threw the newspaper in the trash and left. With some chagrin he realized he’d have to take a nap this afternoon if he expected to be alert for the meeting.
They never told us, he thought, about how to be spies when we got old. Probably because they never expected any of us to live past thirty.
♦
He parked his beat up old car several blocks from the bridge and began walking towards it. He was early, but he doubted any of the city’s police officers would be out in the cold looking to accost loiterers. There was a slight chance that this was a setup, that some double-agent in the United States had sold him out to the KGB, and he wanted a chance to observe from a distance before walking out to the middle of the bridge.
He found a dark alleyway that looked out on the entrance to the bridge. The span was only intermittently illuminated. The city’s power plants should have been replaced before the war, and streetlights were often turned off the save power as well as the bulbs that were in perpetual short supply. (Picture 1)
He huddled in the cold, his eyes wandering from one end of the street to the other, his mind wandering back to the past.
♦
He’d been twenty-three years old when they’d first contacted him. He had been performing in a small theater downtown, a hole in the wall sandwiched between a rowdy pub and another venue where bored women pretended to disrobe for family men who pretended to still care.
‘Anders the Amazing’ had been his stage name, and he’d done three shows every weekend. The first half of his show was a competent if uninspired selection of traditional magic tricks – sawing a woman in half, pulling a rabbit out of a hat, all of the classics. In the second half, he performed mentalist feats of he’d devised himself, and the greatest trick of all was that there was no trick.
Precognition and remote viewing were what the OSS agent who recruited him had called it. The intelligence agency of the United States had scoured Europe for people with these talents, putting together a special cadre, the Omega group, that they hoped would give them an edge in the impending conflict.
From the first there had been conflict between two groups in the project. The scientists who had proposed it in the first place believed in the unnatural talents their students seemed to possess, but the agency bureaucracy didn’t, and had agreed to recruit Anders and the rest because they believed that Hitler took it seriously, and were keen to deny him anything he wanted.
There had been twenty of them at the start, but only five had remained after tests and exercises had separated those with true talent from the pretenders. Only Anders had performed consistently enough to be relied upon.
He’d spent the early part of the war in England, interrogating prisoners, reading communications intercepts, staring at photos in an attempt to discern what was occurring at some distant battlefield. More often than not they asked the impossible and were disappointed or angry when he could not provide what they wished. The program was on the verge of being shut down when the OSS had gotten wind of a Soviet counterpart to the Omega group.
Sensing an opportunity, they had smuggled him back into Prague. They provided him with a cover story to explain his absence, and waited. It didn’t take long. Whether it was a Soviet sympathizer who remembered his act or some other event he didn’t know, but within a year he was living the life of a double-agent, reporting the actions of the Soviet Imstreny Otrad, the ‘Mind Squad’.
♦
Movement on the bridge caught his eye. A solitary figure walked into the light, pause, and then moved further along the bridge into the shadows. He waited, and when they were not revealed by the next streetlight down, he realized that they were waiting.
He stepped cautiously from the shadows and walked to the bridge. Their was a bitter wind, and he wished they had picked a warmer location. He passed through the nearest light, forgetting to close his eyes to protect his night vision. He nearly walked into his contact before he saw him.
“Anders,” said the figure. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“You know better than to ask that. You’ve been out in the cold for a long time, Anders. We appreciate you coming here.”
“I’d thought you’d forgotten about me. I waited for instructions once they shut down the project but I never heard…” Anders trailed off.
“Yes. We thought it best to keep you in place, on the off chance that the Soviets decided to try something like Imstreny Otrad again. And it looks like they may have.”
“Three weeks ago, a scientist key to the Soviet missile program decided to defect while in Berlin. With our help, he slipped his handlers and was a hundred feet from the West when he stopped dead in his tracks. He trembled briefly, then fell to the ground dead.”
“Three days later, the two agents who arranged the defection died the same way. No signs of poisons or other biological agents. One of the agents died during debriefing in a safe house, surrounded by a dozen people.”
“No signs of foul play, no medical cause of death that we can determine. It’s like someone just flipped a switch.”
“Why do you think IO might be involved?” Anders asked.
“This,” the agent replied, handing Anders a photograph and illuminating it with a small flashlight.
Anders looked at the photo. It was blurry, taken from a distance and blown up to focus on the face of a young man. With a start, Anders realized who it was.
“Alexei? Alexei Padronov? I almost didn’t recognize him. He was still a boy when IO was disbanded.”
“Yes, we almost didn’t make the connection. We showed this photo around where the scientist was killed, and a waitress in a café recognized him. We think he caused the death of the scientist and both agents.”
“How? Alexei was a distance-viewer. He had a touch of telekinesis, but only at very close range.” Anders said.
“To the best of our knowledge, he never got closet than a hundred yards to any of the victims. Could he have acted at that distance?” the agent asked.
“No, not unless he’s gotten a thousand times stronger than when I knew him. But even, there would be signs of trauma. Damage to the heart, a brain hemorrhage, something. Touching something by TK is no different than using your hand. There is still force involved.”
“Maybe it’s something new they’ve dreamed up since you left. In any event, we want you to investigate. Padronov will be performing in Prague this weekend.”
“He’s a dancer with the Bolshoi, now, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Good cover for an assassin, if you ask me. The Bolshoi is very popular in the West, and the top dancers visit ballet troupes throughout the world.”
The agent handed him an envelope.
“Here’s a ticket to the Saturday night performance. We don’t need you to make contact with Alexei, just look around and see if any other former IO agents are nearby. If they are, that will be enough for us to confirm that the Soviets are into the paranormal again. I’ll contact you next week.”
♦
The Prague State Opera House was packed. Anders handed the tuxedoed usher his ticket and followed him down to his seat. He felt out of place. He suspected that he was the only person in the audience that wasn’t a Party functionary, absurdly wealthy, or both. That the arts were out of reach to the common man in the Worker’s Paradise was a clear sign that the country had traded one set of masters for another.
The lights dimmed, and the dancers began their performance. Anders had never had any interest in the ballet, but he was entranced by the grace and athleticism of the dancers. Different members of the troupe performed, but Anders never saw Alexei or anyone else he remembered from IO.
The lights dimmed to rapturous applause, then came back to fully illuminate the venue. Anders realized that it was the intermission, and he decided to return to the lobby and observe the crowd.
The rich and famous graced the lobby, the constant murmur of conversation punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and polite laughter. Anders stood to the back, eyes poring over the crowd. He was about to give up, ready to report to the agent that there was no sign of IO involvement, when he spotted a woman across the room staring at him.
Valentina, the IO agent that had recruited him. Her presence here couldn’t be a coincidence. He feigned puzzlement, as if he recognized her but couldn’t place the face. Then he smiled, and went across the room to greet her.
“Valya! How have you been, my dear,” he gushed.
Her expression froze for a split second before being replaced by an enigmatic smile.
“Anders. You look wonderful. I can’t believe it’s been ten years since I’ve seen you.”
“You are as beautiful as always, Valya. It is good to see you. When did you move to Prague?”
“I didn’t. I work with the ballet, as a travel coordinator.” Valentina said.
Travel coordinator was the title given to the agents of the KGB assigned to prevent embarrassing defections, Anders knew.
“How wonderful for you. You must get to see so many interesting places.”
“And you, Anders? Are you still performing in that dreadful cabaret?”
“No, no, Valya, not anymore. I’m afraid I have a boring desk job, shuffling papers for the Ministry of Agriculture.”
“How sad, Anders. We should have never lost touch.”
Anders wondered what she meant by that. He and Valentina had never been that close. Her minor paranormal talents had kept her from being more than a handler for the other agents. This might be an opportunity to insinuate himself into the new program.
“Well, Valya, it’s not completely boring. I still know how to take advantage of my training. That’s how I got this ticket, as a matter of fact.”
She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.
“I won it in a craps game. I’d planned on selling it – I never much cared for ballet – but I figured this might be my only chance to see it.”
“Really, Anders, cheating at gambling? You could have been so much more.”
The lights dimmed, signaling an end to the intermission.
Anders kissed her on the cheek, and stepped back.
“A pleasure, as always. We mustn’t let another ten years pass, Valya.”
“You are so right, Anders. I’ll be sure to get in touch once this tour is over.”
♦
Anders returned to his seat. The second half of the performance was better than the first, and he began to reconsider his preconceptions about the ballet. Then the lights dimmed again, and a single spotlight illuminated the stage. It widened slowly, to reveal two immobile figures dressed in black and white. The curtains parted to reveal a pure white background. In total silence, the two dancers began to perform.
It was unlike anything Anders had ever seen. They seemed to defy gravity, soaring and tumbling. (Picture 4 -- Dancers) One of them must be Alexei, he thought. As he watched the performance, his initial awe gave way to understanding. Alexei’s TK had gotten much stronger, he realized. He was using it to extend his leaps and to steady his balance, and to enhance the performance of his partner as well.
Anders’ train of thought was broken by thunderous applause. He looked at the stage in time to see the curtains close on Alexei and the other dancer.
He could do it, he thought. If he’s strong enough to move two grown men, he could probably exert enough force to kill at a distance. The doctors investigating the assassinations must have missed something. It wouldn’t take much to cause an aneurism.
♦
Anders was awakened by the cold press of steel under his chin. His heart pounding, he opened his eyes and tried to shout, but a strong hand clapped down over his mouth before he could make a sound. The face of a stranger leaned close, eyes dispassionate, almost reptilian. Anders felt a gentle tug at his neck, and realized that the intruder had cut his throat. He had a brief moment to marvel that it hadn’t hurt at all before the darkness claimed him.
♦
Anders jerked upright, gasping. His hands went to his neck, feeling for the gaping wound he knew must be there. Feeling nothing, he turned on the light next to the bed. The white sheets spread out before him were unsullied with blood.
It had been a long time since he’d had a precognitive flash this strong. Typically, the strength and clarity of the visions were proportional to how far in the future the events occurred. His killer might be in the house even now.
Anders turned off the light and climbed quietly out of bed. He hoped no one had noticed the light go on and off. He gathered the clothes he’d left on the chair and entered the hallway. Moving quickly, he went down the back staircase to the kitchen. Senses heightened by fear, he heard the knob on the front door jiggle as someone worked the lock.
He tip-toed to the door leading from the kitchen to the back yard. He turned the key slowly, and eased the door open. He dashed across the yard and into the darkness beyond.
♦
Anders sat in a café in Wenceslas Square across from the Jalta Hotel, face hidden by a newspaper. The hotel was the best in the city, and he knew the Bolshoi performers would rate the best accommodations. Valentina’s job would require her to stay here too.
There was no hidden message in the paper. Anders needed to get in touch with the agent, persuade him to arrange for extraction. He wondered if the attempt on his life meant that the operation was blown, or if it was just Valentina acting on her own initiative, suspicious at his convenient presence at the ballet.
Valentina appeared at the entrance to the hotel. He saw her stop to talk to the doorman, than head off on foot across the square.
Anders smelled fresh bread.
Odd, he thought. This café was too small to have a bakery.
He tasted fruit, although he’d had nothing to eat since the day before.
He smiled. The excitement was honing his precognitive senses, and he knew where she was headed. He waited a few moments to make sure she wasn’t being watched, then hailed a taxi.
“The Party Market” he told the driver.
The Party Market was a weekly spectacle. Open only to members of the Party, it was the place where the wives and servants of the powerful shopped for the fresh foods denied the rest of the city. She must be meeting someone, he thought.
He had the driver drop him a block from the entrance. Relaxing, he let his re-awakened sense reach out. He closed his eyes, and saw the guard at the side entrance shout as a small girl spilled cocoa on his uniform. The guard turned away to grab a rag to wipe off his uniform.
Anders opened his eyes and moved towards the side entrance. Ahead of him, he saw the small girl being dragged along by her nanny. The girl tried to pull away, and her arm flew backwards, splattering brown fluid all over the hapless guard. Timing it perfectly, Anders stepped through the doorway while the guard reached for the cloth.
Anders moved through the market, picking a spot where he could watch the bakery unobtrusively. He didn’t have to wait for long. Valya appeared from the crowd, moving nonchalantly towards a large display of freshly baked breads and pastries. (Picture 3 - Bread).
Here, he though, her contact will meet her here.
Watching out of the corner of his eye, Anders saw a man pick up one of the loaves of bread and inhale deeply. He put the loaf down, picked up another, and moved to the cashier. Valya, stepping in behind the man, picked up the discarded loaf. Anders could see where the crust had been broken. She moved to the cashier, and Anders noticed that the other agent had already left. Valya paid for her bread, then headed for the main entrance.
Anders waited several minutes, absent-mindedly perusing the merchandise while he tried to figure out why Valya would be acting as if she were an agent in hostile territory.
Not Valya, he realized. The other agent. She couldn’t meet the other agent directly. With a sinking feeling, he realized they had been compromised by a mole. The other agent must have alerted IO that Anders had been reactivated.
That means the agent who contacted me is probably already dead, he thought, and there’s no one who can help me.
Feeling the first stirrings of panic, Anders made his way from the market. He couldn’t go back to his house, and that meant he couldn’t get his car and try to get out of the city. His only choice was to get to the American consulate, try to use his talents to sneak past the police and plead for asylum.
He hailed another taxi, and gave him an address a few blocks from the embassy. Riding in silence, he tried to relax, hoping another flash would show him the correct path.
Getting nothing, he looked out the window and realized they were heading away from the embassy, back towards the Jalta Hotel.
“Driver, you’re going…” he started, and then stopped when he saw the drivers eyes in the rearview mirror. The same eyes he’d seen in his vision the night before.
“Just relax, traitor. I’m under strict orders not to kill you. Yet. But I can hurt you if necessary.”
The taxi pulled up to the curb on a side street near the hotel. The driver got out, making sure Anders saw the gun under his coat. He opened the door, and pulled Anders from the back seat. Keeping a firm grip on his arm, he steered him to the entrance, across the lobby, and to the elevators.
Anders was desperate. If they got him alone, they’d kill him for sure. But his talent failed him; no visions of doom or salvation flashed before his eyes.
The elevator opened, and Anders was ushered inside. The scent of lilacs filled his nose, and he noticed that there were small flower-filled vases on the walls of the lift. The assassin pushed the button for the penthouse suite, and the elevator rose silently.
Reaching the top, the doors opened, and Anders was escorted past several guards into the penthouse. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, he couldn’t help but be awed by the decadence that surrounded him.
Gold filigree graced every fixture, and expensive oil paintings adorned the walls. Persian carpets covered the fine wood floors, and across the room, butterflies flitted about a glass enclosure that doubled as a window looking out across Wenceslas Square.
It must be heated, he thought, and laughed inwardly that he could be appalled at such extravagance when faced with his own demise.
He noticed two large wingback chairs set in front of the butterfly cage. The one on the left was occupied, a man’s arm visible as it reached out and picked a porcelain teacup from the end table.
“Welcome, Anders. It has been far too long. And allow me to congratulate you. Going undetected all this time is quite an accomplishment.
“A pity those in the IO with some telepathic skills were always unable to read the thoughts of those with our unique talents. It would have saved so much effort.”
“Alexei,” Anders started to speak, and then stopped. Pleading for his life was pointless. They wanted him dead, otherwise they wouldn’t have dispatched a killer to his home. This little play must be Alexei’s way of toying with him before he had him killed.
“Good, Anders. No begging. I’m glad to see you still have some dignity. Please, sit with me a moment. If you would be so kind as to answer a couple of questions, I can promise you a painless death.”
Anders sat in the second chair, eyes focused on the butterflies.
“Tea? No? Very well, suit yourself. It is quite good, though. Not the dishwater you’re used to, I expect.”
“So, Anders. I have but two questions for you. First, were there any others in the original IO cadre who were in the pay of the enemies of the Rodina?”
“Not that I know of. They wouldn’t have told me if there were, and I never had reason to suspect otherwise.” Anders said.
“Yes, I expected as much. Still, one has to ask. A man will do most anything to save his life, and there was always the chance you knew something.”
“My second question. How did the Americans come to suspect that IO had been revived?”
“You were too good, Alexei. You left no trace, no indications as to why those men just dropped dead. One unexplainable death might be ascribed to bad luck, but three? Your pride in your new skills gave you away.”
“Answer me this, in return. How did you do it? I saw your performance. Your TK has gotten incredibly strong. I can see you are capable of reaching much further than we ever suspected was possible. But how did you kill them without leaving some trauma? There wasn’t even any internal bleeding.”
“Anders, Anders. If only you had thought more about your gifts. You always saw them as separate functions, crude replacements for physical skills. If you wanted something dead, all you could think to do would be to crush it like an insect.”
Alexei pointed towards the butterfly cage. Anders’ eyes followed, and he saw a brilliant butterfly, its wingspan six inches across, freeze in mid-flight. (Picture 2- Butterflies) It hung there for a split second, then collapse in upon itself as if crushed by an invisible fist. The ruined creature fell to the ground.
“But if you use your remote viewing to spot the perfect place to strike, Anders, you can replace brute force with finesse.”
In the cage, all of the remaining butterflies fell to the bottom without warning. There was no sign of damage to their frail wings and delicate bodies. An uneducated observer would have sworn that some invisible gas had filled the chamber and killed them.
“The human body is so fragile, so balanced. The tiniest nudge, say to the valves of the heart, at just the right moment, and the body collapses like a house of cards.”
“Now, Anders, our little demonstration is over. I’m afraid you won’t be able to experience my little trick personally, as I’m sure your TK skills are still sufficient to protect you. But I doubt they are sufficient to stop a bullet to the brain.”
“Please, enjoy a last cup of tea. It is really quite exquisite.”
Alexei placed his cup on the saucer sitting on the table and stood.
“Gregory, please see to it that my old friend enjoys his tea, and then kill him.”
Alexei leaned over the back of Anders’ chair, looking over his head at the dead butterflies.
“No last words, Anders? Very well. I bid you farewell. Come, Valya, I wish to visit the museum before we leave for London. I hear Sir Alec is going to be in attendance. It’s not every day one gets to perform for the Prime Minister.”
“Let me get my coat, Alexei. I’ll meet you at the elevator.” Valya replied.
“Don’t dawdle, dear. Gregory has work to do.”
Anders jumped as Gregory approached, but the killer only filled the second teacup and handed it to him. Anders inhaled, the aroma of the expensive brew, and tried to calm himself. Behind him, he heard the door to the penthouse close as Alexei and Valya left.
The smell of tea was replaced by the smell of lilacs.
Anders willed himself to relax, extending his paranormal senses outwards. He saw the hallway outside, saw the elevator doors open, saw his former colleagues enter the small enclosure, saw them press the button that would take them to the lobby.
“Hurry up and drink your tea.”
Gregory’s voice was faint and distant. Anders watched the elevator doors close. Reaching out with his mind, he pushed the ‘Elevator Stop’ button and held it down. He saw Alexei press the ‘Start’ button to no avail and then begin pounding on the doors. Valya looked terrified.
Anders shifted his sight upwards, towards the cables that held the elevator suspended in the shaft. His TK wasn’t nearly strong enough to break the cables. He looked closer, and realized that the thick metal cords were actually composed of smaller, braided cables.
Focusing even closer, he could see the individual wire strands, so thin, so fragile. Reaching out with his mind, he drew an imaginary blade across the cables, the razor thin edge of telekinetic force slicing through the metal fibers.
He felt the sudden release as the cables severed, and he shifted his vision to watch the elevator car plummet to the earth. The car hung in midair, not moving.
Anders began to panic, then realized there must be a failsafe measure in case the cables snapped. He looked again, and saw the tension lever that had released when the cables snapped. He seized the lever with his mind, vertigo nearly overwhelming him as his point of view followed the doomed car earthward.
“Ok, that’s it. If you don’t want your last drink, that’s your problem.” Gregory’s voice snapped him back to the penthouse.
The assassin stepped around the chair, gun drawn. He worked the action on the automatic pistol, and smiled at Anders.
Anders smiled back, and stopped Gregory’s heart.
He’d always been a fast learner.
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Ooops. I'm in 2.3, not 2.4. Maybe a friendly mod can edit that for me?
RangerWickett
Legend
Ceramic DM Round 2-3: RangerWickett vs. Rodrigo Istalindir.
The Two Winds
By Ryan Nock
“Tell me of the two winds.”
The aerial monastery of San Hwe Zu, a floating collection of graceful towers and arching bridges, whirled at the edge of a night storm. The speaker stood at the tip of the Darker Span, the furthest edge of the monastery, where none of the shamans within would see him.
A flare of white light beamed out from the darkness, illuminating the bridge, and amid the moaning winds of the storm, a throaty voice thundered. *
“I am Doh Mwa Sy. None command me. Seek your answers elsewhere.”
“I bring payment for my questions.”
The speaker shoved a young boy onto his knees at the edge of the bridge, then looked up into the storm’s flashing eye. The beam of light swept down to examine the whimpering boy, then back up to the speaker’s face. The man’s face was covered in a white mask, featureless but for two eyeslits. The storm rumbled, displeased.
“A mask. You dare hide yourself from me? Tell me your name, fool, so that my dark winds may devour you.”
“Pilus.”
Doh Mwa Sy growled at the name. “What business has a Seren in Xaopin lands?”
“Is my payment sufficient, demon? I can easily get you others if you want. This is the son of the shaman who built this monastery and trapped you. He has a daughter, you know.”
The storm demon chuckled, and the boy cried out in fear, trying to crawl away. Pilus grabbed the back of the boy’s neck and held him.
“I approve,” said the demon, and the storm crashed in agreement. “You seek the path to eternal life, Seren?”
“Yes,” Pilus said, his voice resonant with desire.
The bridge shuddered, and the boy was pulled screaming into the storm. The scream ended abruptly, and then the bound storm demon Doh Mwa Sy spoke:
“It was said that a wonderfully cruel mage once sought to bind his spirit to the two winds, so as long as they blew, he could not die. The two winds refused, fleeing from their birthplace to the lands of North and South.
“The fierce North wind vowed not to yield except to the victorious cry of an enemy, and the cunning South wind pledged not to yield except to the anguished cry of a loved one. With this, they sought to never be bound, and that if one were endangered, the other would free its sibling.
“Enemies the mage had many of, but none loved this cruel man. Stymied, the mage abandoned his goal, and died a fool’s death many hundred years ago.”
“Where,” Pilus asked, “is their birthplace?”
“The mountains that separate north and south,” said Doh Mwa Sy. “Seek the mouth of the amber-scented winds.”
“Excellent,” Pilus said. “Now, I have one last task for you, and you may ask whatever price you wish.”
That night, the monastery of San Hwe Zu fell from the sky, and a storm ravaged the land.
At the border of forest and field, the brothers Lsi Pu and Lsi Nu Gon battled. Last night’s storm had brought great destruction, leaving only sparse trees with bare branches. The wheat fields beyond rustled with wild freedom under the strong southern breeze. No man or beast was witness to the brothers’ duel. *
Lsi Pu, the elder brother, strong and square-faced with a short graying beard, leapt down from the high branches and swept a kick at his brother. Lsi Nu Gon, younger, slender, shaven, flew away and cartwheeled backward, weaving through a cluster of branches to avoid his brother’s attacks. He took cover behind the trunk and steadied himself as he cast a spell. The air around him whirled with light, and then he was gone.
Lsi Pu, having lost sight of his younger brother in the tangle of leaves and branches, kept in a fighting stance as he hovered from tree top to tree top. The magic he and his brother used to fly in their duels was advanced, but they had been two of the strongest apprentices of the monastery San Hwe Zu. They could remain aloft indefinitely.
A breeze pressed lightly down on Lsi Pu from above, enough for him to sense his brother’s invisible approach. The attack was too fast for him to dodge, so he swept his hands in two deflecting arcs. His right hand struck the oncoming thrust of Lsi Nu Gon’s kick, and the blow aimed for his face instead hit his chest. Lsi Pu’s left hand lashed upward, and he grasped at the loose leg of his brother’s pants, while his right hand twisted around the ankle of the leg that had just struck him. Lsi Pu commanded the winds, and he spun vertically, wrenching his brother past him and downward, into a patch of wiry branches.
Lsi Nu Gon coughed at the impact and kicked free, flying upward and away, seeking to turn his invisibility to his advantage again. But Lsi Pu spotted a few snapped pieces of branches and twigs caught in his brother’s clothes, and he followed them.
“Damned leaves,” muttered Lsi Nu Gon, and invisible hands brushed at the debris that was betraying his location.
Lsi Nu Gon was above the treetops now, nearly impossible to see against the gray vastness of the sky. Not wanting to continue a melee duel, Lsi Pu wove his hands in a dance to conjure the energies of the sky, and lightning flashed overhead.
“Come down, brother,” he called, holding out his hand, which glowed faintly with a crackle of electricity.
Something invisible moved beside Lsi Pu, and the snapping leather of a whip wrapped around his hand, wrenching it to the side. His lightning bolt discharged harmlessly into the air, and then a fist impacted his face. Lsi Pu shoved at his invisible brother and struggled to free his hand from his brother’s whip, but Lsi Nu Gon flew away, down toward the wheatfield outside the forest. The whip still enwrapping Lsi Pu’s hand dragged him along.
Lsi Pu managed a quick spell and slashed off the tip of his brother’s whip, and then he started another lightning spell. He saw the outline of his brother’s body, standing in the waving wheat. Before he could release his spell, though, he spotted the woman beside him.
“Brother, wait.” Lsi Nu Gon stepped free from his invisibility and held up forestalling hands.
Lsi Pu took a deep breath and dismissed his lightning, then descended to the ground as well. His brother laughed and slapped him on his shoulder.
“If you try not to use lightning so much, I’ll make sure not to hide so much. I don’t want to get that hurt. Fair?”
Lsi Pu smiled grimly. “Of course, brother. We’ll finish the duel later.”
The two brothers turned to the woman who had just arrived. She was fey, her form shimmering at the edges, indistinct from the golden wheat. Waves of brown hair fell across the shoulders of her white dress, and she smiled to Lsi Nu Gon.
Lsi Pu said, “You’re early.”
Lsi Nu Gon added, “And thank you for that. It is never too early for me to see my beloved Kya Besh Ko.”
She extended her hand, and Lsi Nu Gon kissed it. She asked, “Are you ready for your meal? I have it prepared at my home.”
Wind breathed cooly over them, and the strands of wheat swayed, as did Kya Besh Ko’s hair. For a moment, all three of them looked to the sky, bleak and gray.
“The storm?” Lsi Nu Gon asked. As he spoke, he wound up the damaged remains of his whip, and mended the weapon. “Were you harmed, beloved?”
She shook her head. “The storm would destroy trees, but merely frighten the fields. I know we had planned to eat in the forest, but the spirits there are disturbed, and it pains me to hear their weeping.”
Lsi Pu stepped forward. “Brother, we can certainly enjoy whatever meal she has prepared indoors as well as out. The wind will still be here when we’re done.”
The younger brother nodded, then hugged Kya Besh Ko. Lsi Pu looked away, hiding his frown.
Lsi Nu Gon reluctantly ended his embrace with the spirit of the fields, and he looked east. “We’ll walk there, my love. I know you don’t like to fly.”
“Thank you, Lsi Nu Gon. You’ll enjoy the food I’ve prepared.”
“Bread again?” Lsi Pu asked, stroking his beard.
“Of course.”
They ate warm breads with creamy oils and sauces, relaxing in Kya Besh Ko’s wooden home. Lsi Nu Gon listened as she played a koto, and Lsi Pu sat across from them, aligning black and white stones on the floor.
Outside, it began to rain just as Kya Besh Ko’s song ended, and the two lovers turned with interest to Lsi Pu’s creation.
“What is it, brother?”
“A puzzle,” Lsi Pu stated proudly. “If you can solve it, you’ll learn a secret.” *
With a few quick brush strokes he painted the last few symbols on the white stones, then aligned them into a long grid. Two lines of black stones with white letters along the top, and two lines of white stones with black letters along the bottom. He watched with pleasure as the other two squinted in confusion.
Kya Besh Ko chuckled nervously. “I was never good at your puzzles, Lsi Pu. Is this another anagram?”
Lsi Nu Gon held up a finger. “Don’t tell me yet. It’s more complicated than that. There’s a pattern. You move forward or backward as many letters as the number over that letter says. Or that’s what I’m guessing.”
He sat back and put a hand on his forehead. “It’s too complicated for me.”
With a deep chuckle, Lsi Pu nodded. “You were close, though. And I won’t tell you.”
Thunder rumbled outside, and Kya Besh Ko stood to close a window that was blown open. As she pressed the window closed and lashed its binding, she asked, “Why do you make so many puzzles, Lsi Pu?”
Lsi Nu Gon laughed. “He had to be better than me at something. This was the only thing he could find. Kya Besh Ko, could you bring me my pipe, please?”
She nodded, but looked to Lsi Pu for an answer.
He swept the stones into a pouch, not meeting her eyes. “When the Serens invaded, we sent messages in code. We were not only warriors, Kya Besh. We had to outwit the Serens as well.”
She hesitated at the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry if I offended. You were very brave, even if you could not defeat the Serens. But we are able to live in peace here, at least.”
Lsi Pu did not speak for a moment, but then he took a remaining slice of bread, dipped it into butter, and took a bite.
“The meal was delicious, Kya Besh.”
Lsi Nu Gon nodded eagerly. “It certainly was. The scent of all this baking is wonder-”
Suddenly, the walls of the house began to shake. Thunder roared, and the ground trembled. Kya Besh Ko stepped away from the walls, looking upward, fear in her golden eyes.
“That is the voice of the storm from last night. Lsi Nu Gon, it has returned.”
A voice boomed from the sky, and the ceiling cracked under its force. “I am Doh Mwa Sy, one-time bearer of your accursed monastery.”
Rain seared through the rents in the ceiling, and an angered wind swept through the house. The house cracked, timbers tore away, and it was open to the sky overhead. A white beam glared downward from the blackness of the storm, sweeping across each of them, stopping on Kya Besh Ko. Black winds reached down like claws, grasping her, and she screamed.
Lsi Nu Gon leapt from the ground and flew to her as she was carried into the air, but the storm battered him away, its massive force driving him through the walls of the house. Lsi Pu moved to his brother, pulling him clear as the house disintegrated and fell upon them. Kya Besh Ko’s screams filled the air as the storm fled, and Lsi Pu stood in the ruined remains of the house, beside his unconscious brother, following the demon storm’s flight with his gaze.
“Brother, wake up,” he said. “The demon heads north. It is a fool if it thinks it can escape us.”
Lsi Pu tended his brother’s wounds and divined the path the demon took. Lsi Nu Gon studied what books they had on demons, hoping to find a way to defeat it and rescue Kya Besh Ko. Then news came of the destruction of their old monastery, of the deaths of many of their old friends and teachers. They left the next day, flying north to lands they had never seen, deep within the borders of the Seren Empire.
Lsi Nu Gon was distraught, and he did not talk much. Lsi Pu seldom talked normally, and so they flew mostly in silence, listening only to the winds that carried them.
After eight days, they found a new wind, blowing from the north, from a jagged line of mountains that Lsi Pu’s divinations had claimed to be the demon’s retreat. They landed in a canyon high in the mountain range, fearful of facing the storm demon in the sky. The air smelled sweet, and the ground was covered in soft green grasses, but there were no flowers to explain the scent. Butterflies floated everywhere around them, seeming curious of their presence. *
“Don’t worry, brother,” Lsi Pu said. “We’ll find her. We simply need to find the right cave.”
“The demon,” Lsi Nu Gon stumbled over his words, then took a breath to steady himself. “What kind of cave can house a demon the size of a storm. And, even if we do find it, how will we rescue Kya Besh Ko?”
A woman’s voice fluttered out from the air somewhere near them, asking, “Who is Kya Besh Ko?”
The two brothers looked around, nervous. They were masters of the powers of the air, but they could not sense anyone invisible amid the butterflies.
“Do not torment me,” Lsi Nu Gon said. “Kya Besh Ko is the woman I love. Show yourself!”
Lsi Pu put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Calm down. We should not make demands, especially not out of anger.”
He looked outward and addressed the unseen voice. “Whoever this is, she might know where the cave we seek is.”
The air chittered with a delighted laugh. “Gentleman never come to these parts. I am sorry for what has happened to this woman you have lost, but I thought perhaps you could help us. And it looks like we might have the same interest.”
The voice was humming from every direction, and Lsi Nu Gon spun, angrily looking for the speaker. “Why do you hide?”
The voice was close and whispering. “Most who come here, come to seek power. You may have secrets, and I can’t know if I can trust you yet.”
Calmly, Lsi Pu said, “Though I do enjoy a good secret, we have none that we would need to hide from you. You mentioned an interest. Has the same demon that we seek disturbed you?”
“Indeed,” the voice cried, and the wings of the butterflies seemed to clap with pleasure. “It disrupts the purity of the wind, and I fear it seeks to steal a power that should not belong to it. Can you defeat this monster?”
“We are warriors, dear lady,” Lsi Pu chuckled. “And my brother fights for the woman he loves. The demon shall not be an obstacle.”
The voice said, “Then we can help you.”
The butterflies began to flutter close together, whirling, melding, taking on a solid shape.
Watching, Lsi Nu Gon whispered grimly to his brother, “You’re far more optimistic than I.”
Lsi Pu whispered back, “No, brother. I simply lie better than you do.”
Soon the butterflies had stopped spiralling, and in there place was a woman, kneeling, draped in many-colored robes. She stood and tossed her head back, flicking her curling brown hair behind her. Her face was Seren, but she was still beautiful, creamy-skinned, as delicate as a butterfly herself. Lsi Nu Gon watched with wariness, but Lsi Pu beheld her with awe.
“My name is Danas,” she said.
“Lsi Pu, and my brother, Lsi Nu Gon. Danas, you’re a shapeshifter? Can you assume many forms?”
“Before, yes,” she said, then sighed. “But here, even though it’s beautiful and the air hums with magic, I am limited to the forms of natural creatures. In these mountains there live nothing but butterflies. And now, humans.”
Lsi Pu nodded slowly, understanding. “When we are finished here, would you be willing to leave this place, come with us? The magic of forms intrigues me. I certainly had not expected to find in this remote place a woman so beautiful, and so skilled in its powers.”
“Brother,” Lsi Nu Gon interrupted, “my woman is still in danger. Now can this Seren woman help us, or is my beloved doomed?”
Danas bit her lip, then nodded. She flashed a brief smile to Lsi Pu, then turned and pointed slightly east. “Two mountains beyond is the cave that gave birth to the two winds. This amber-scented wind blows from its mouth. I can show you. Be careful, though. They say there is a great power hidden in the depths of the cave, and that only a strange prophecy can unleash it. You may have been lured here.”
“Accursed demon,” Lsi Nu Gon said, sneering. “Let us go.”
“Yes,” Lsi Pu said, smiling to Danas. “Let’s.”
The two brothers landed at the base of the steps leading up to the cave, and Danas’s fluttering form swirled beside them, returning to human form. The massive stone steps seemed cut for a beast hundreds of feet long, but they had no difficulty gliding over them. Lsi Pu carried Danas over the more difficult steps, and Lsi Nu Gon tried to hide his displeasure at his brother’s lack of concern.
At the top of the steps, warm, sweet air breathed out from the mouth of the cave. An old stone house sat just inside the shadow of the cave, and thunder rumbled out from it. Before they headed in, Lsi Nu Gon placed spells upon them to turn them silent and invisible, so only they could hear and see each other.
They advanced, reaching the door to the house. It had no windows and was only large enough for two or three rooms. A chimney on the roof released a faint line of smoke into the amber wind, and this close they could detect the faint scent of bread baking.
The ground rumbled, and the voice of the storm demon shook around them.
“You may enter. I am here to bargain, not fight. Not yet. I even have a meal for you.”
Resigned that their disguises would be of no use to a creature that was one with the air, they entered to the deep chuckling of the demon. Lsi Nu Gon went first, tense and ready to defend himself. Lsi Pu followed, glancing back to the beautiful Danas, who seemed to glow with anxiousness.
Within, a wide square room awaited, bedecked with tables of breads of all kinds. In the far corner, near the room’s only other door, sat a coiled black serpent of clouds. A single gleaming white eye stared out, casting a beam of light across them. When it spoke, the voice seemed far too deep for the small serpent form of the mighty storm demon.
“Partake, my foes. Your desired spirit of the wheat fields has provided this bounty, and I would have you enjoy it.” *
Lsi Nu Gon started toward the storm serpent, but his brother put a hand on his arm to stop him. He shook free and pointed toward the storm serpent.
“Where is Kya Besh Ko?” he demanded. “And tell me why you have taken her, fiend.”
“She is in this very house, do not fear. And I have taken the fragile thing only because I was paid to do so. My freedom from your enslaving monastery, in exchange for this service.”
Danas gasped. “You enslaved this creature? Even a demon does not deserve-”
“It deserves far worse,” Lsi Nu Gon snarled.
Lsi Pu shook his head. “No, actually. Our mentors thought this creature too destructive, so they tapped its power, using it to keep their monastery aloft, to train us in the magic of the winds. It wasn’t cruelty, but intelligence. Make another’s power your own.”
Doh Mwa Sy laughed, and the house shook with thunder. “You speak like a demon yourself. Please, eat. Do not let it go to waste.”
Taking a step toward the demon, Lsi Nu Gon said, “Hand over Kya Besh Ko, and tell me who is your master.”
Lsi Pu picked up a small loaf of bread and tore off a piece. He ate it, then offered a piece to Danas. She was too nervous to accept, and Lsi Pu shrugged.
The storm demon writhed and chuckled. “I have no master, but the one who hired me is named Pilus, a Seren, and the one responsible for your monastery’s destruction, much to my approval. Worry not, for you shall have a chance to meet him. He told me he would be here soon.”
“Where is Kya Besh Ko?” Lsi Nu Gon demanded. He raised his hand and fired a bolt of energy at the cloudy serpent. It roared when struck.
“Brother,” Lsi Pu said, disapproval in his voice. “Again, you should not demand from those who are not yours to command. Here, have a slice of bread.”
“Lsi Pu,” his brother hissed, “will you not help me?”
“Yes,” Danas said, “aren’t you going to destroy the demon? He waits here at the key to the power of the two winds. He has no place in these mountains.”
A chuckle escaped Lsi Pu’s lips, and he stroked his beard. To the demon he said, “Doh Mwa Sy, what did you master want with the spirit woman?”
“He did not say,” the demon grumbled.
“Did he ask you to cook her and serve her to us?” Lsi Pu tilted his head toward his brother, and smiled.
“No.” The demon laughed boisterously. “That was my idea alone. I had thought at first that a roast would be best, but when I discovered she was nothing but wheat herself, I believe I improvised nicely.”
Danas gasped. “Gods, no.”
“Kya Besh. . . ?” Lsi Nu Gon faltered, and he looked to his brother for an answer.
Lsi Pu cut a slice of bread and bit into it slowly, smiling.
“Brother,” Lsi Nu Gon said, “tell me my beloved is alright.”
Lsi Pu shrugged. “She’s a little overcooked, actually.”
His brother choked and fell to his knees, weeping. For a moment, even the rumble of the storm was subdued. Then, Lsi Nu Gon consulved, screaming in anguish.
Danas started to step away, but Lsi Pu turned to her and whispered the word to a spell, stopping her movement. She whimpered and struggled to speak. Lsi Pu walked over to her and smiled.
“You shouldn’t be running away. You may not have been part of my plan, but I am certainly still interested in you. The teachings encouraged us never to overlook a potential ally, tool, or source of power.
“Doh Mwa Sy,” he said, “please take this woman, and that she does not flutter away.”
The demon thrummed with thunder, and it roared at Lsi Pu, though its voice was almost drowned out by Lsi Nu Gon’s screaming. “Who are you to command me, human?”
“Not command,” he said, shaking his head. He reached within his robes and pulled forth a white mask, featureless except for its eyeslits. “I do not command what I can ask. I can pay you later if you like, demon. But my brother and I have business to attend to.”
“You are Pilus?” the demon said. “You tricked me.”
“Very sorry about that,” Lsi Pu said. “I do enjoy puzzles, even if no one ever solves them. Now, like the shamans who founded my monastery, I will not destroy you, but use you as a tool. I, however, intend to repay the services you render. Is that arrangement sufficient?”
Without a word, the demon’s form swelled, and it surged past him, picking up the paralyzed Danas and thundering out of the house, carrying her away. Lsi Pu watched his new servant leave, and then he turned to taunt his brother. Instead, he found Lsi Nu Gon standing.
“How could you, brother? You betrayed me, murdered Kya Besh Ko, murdered our mentors and friends. Have you gone mad?”
Lsi Pu shrugged. “Madness is relative. You stole Kya Besh from me, and to be fair I had not intended to kill her. But I have a new plaything.”
“Lsi Pu,” his brother cried, “why?”
“I always gave you puzzles, brother, and you never figured them out yourself. Anyway, I believe I’ll use ‘Pilus’ now. It’s a simple anagram, but sufficient.”
Lsi Nu Gon screamed and leapt at his brother. Pilus tumbled away and flew for the door, firing a lightning bolt back at his brother. Lsi Nu Gon ducked and took the strike on his arm, then lashed out with his whip, catching Pilus’s foot and stopping him from fleeing.
“You bastard!” cried Lsi Nu Gon. He clenched his fist and pulled the breath from Pilus’s lungs, wrenching it free in a gurgled scream. “I’ll kill you. Damn you for your riddles.”
Pilus struggled on the ground, his body jerking from lack of breath. He kicked free of the whip and tried to stand, but he sagged, suffocating. One hand to his throat, one reaching out for his brother, Pilus slumped, a faint smile on his face.
Lsi Nu Gon kept his grip on his brother’s breath for a minute more, overwhelmed by what he had done. Then he screamed, rage and despair mixing in his cry of victory. His brother had always mocked him, always flaunting his intelligence, always jealous of his brother’s greater magical power. Now finally he was dead, and for a moment, Lsi Nu Gon was happy. Then understanding overtook him, and he collapsed, staring at his brother’s lifeless body.
“Lsi Pu, I’m sorry. I’d give anything to bring you back. I’m sorry.”
He sagged to the ground and wept, while far overhead, the thunder of the storm demon faded away. He wept for several minutes, and then he heard something.
In the doorway, the sweet amber wind blowing across him, Pilus drew a breath, and he laughed.
Lsi Nu Gon looked up in shock, then in joy. “Brother, you’re alive!”
Pilus nodded, rubbing his neck and coughing softly. “I am. Are you alright, brother?”
“Brother,” Lsi Nu Gon gasped, putting his face in his hands. “I tried to kill you. I was confused. The demon, it-”
“It lied to you,” Pilus said, sympathy in his voice. “It deceived us, played upon our fears. But we both survived, brother. And we can go home.”
“To what?” Lsi Nu Gon spoke weakly through sobs. “Brother, you didn’t-? You didn’t actually work with the demon? Destroy the monastery?”
Unseen by his brother, Pilus smirked, but his voice condemned. “You tried to kill me, and now you want to blame me still? You have nothing left but me now, brother. Are you trying to drive me away, or leave me dead too?”
“No! Please no, brother. I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”
“It will be alright.” Pilus knelt beside his brother and gently patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s put this behind us. We shall defeat the demon that killed Kya Besh Ko, that destroyed our mentors and friends, and then we will go home. Will you help me?”
“Yes brother.”
Pilus smiled and helped his brother to his feet, assuming an expression of concern. He turned to leave, but Lsi Nu Gon placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Brother, how . . . how did you survive? I thought I killed you.”
Facing away from his brother, Pilus put a hand to his chest. His heart no longer beat, but he could still breathe, as long as the two winds blew. This was yet another puzzle his brother would never learn the answer to. Without a reply, he looked up, and flew into the sky.
The Two Winds
By Ryan Nock
“Tell me of the two winds.”
The aerial monastery of San Hwe Zu, a floating collection of graceful towers and arching bridges, whirled at the edge of a night storm. The speaker stood at the tip of the Darker Span, the furthest edge of the monastery, where none of the shamans within would see him.
A flare of white light beamed out from the darkness, illuminating the bridge, and amid the moaning winds of the storm, a throaty voice thundered. *
“I am Doh Mwa Sy. None command me. Seek your answers elsewhere.”
“I bring payment for my questions.”
The speaker shoved a young boy onto his knees at the edge of the bridge, then looked up into the storm’s flashing eye. The beam of light swept down to examine the whimpering boy, then back up to the speaker’s face. The man’s face was covered in a white mask, featureless but for two eyeslits. The storm rumbled, displeased.
“A mask. You dare hide yourself from me? Tell me your name, fool, so that my dark winds may devour you.”
“Pilus.”
Doh Mwa Sy growled at the name. “What business has a Seren in Xaopin lands?”
“Is my payment sufficient, demon? I can easily get you others if you want. This is the son of the shaman who built this monastery and trapped you. He has a daughter, you know.”
The storm demon chuckled, and the boy cried out in fear, trying to crawl away. Pilus grabbed the back of the boy’s neck and held him.
“I approve,” said the demon, and the storm crashed in agreement. “You seek the path to eternal life, Seren?”
“Yes,” Pilus said, his voice resonant with desire.
The bridge shuddered, and the boy was pulled screaming into the storm. The scream ended abruptly, and then the bound storm demon Doh Mwa Sy spoke:
“It was said that a wonderfully cruel mage once sought to bind his spirit to the two winds, so as long as they blew, he could not die. The two winds refused, fleeing from their birthplace to the lands of North and South.
“The fierce North wind vowed not to yield except to the victorious cry of an enemy, and the cunning South wind pledged not to yield except to the anguished cry of a loved one. With this, they sought to never be bound, and that if one were endangered, the other would free its sibling.
“Enemies the mage had many of, but none loved this cruel man. Stymied, the mage abandoned his goal, and died a fool’s death many hundred years ago.”
“Where,” Pilus asked, “is their birthplace?”
“The mountains that separate north and south,” said Doh Mwa Sy. “Seek the mouth of the amber-scented winds.”
“Excellent,” Pilus said. “Now, I have one last task for you, and you may ask whatever price you wish.”
That night, the monastery of San Hwe Zu fell from the sky, and a storm ravaged the land.
* * *
At the border of forest and field, the brothers Lsi Pu and Lsi Nu Gon battled. Last night’s storm had brought great destruction, leaving only sparse trees with bare branches. The wheat fields beyond rustled with wild freedom under the strong southern breeze. No man or beast was witness to the brothers’ duel. *
Lsi Pu, the elder brother, strong and square-faced with a short graying beard, leapt down from the high branches and swept a kick at his brother. Lsi Nu Gon, younger, slender, shaven, flew away and cartwheeled backward, weaving through a cluster of branches to avoid his brother’s attacks. He took cover behind the trunk and steadied himself as he cast a spell. The air around him whirled with light, and then he was gone.
Lsi Pu, having lost sight of his younger brother in the tangle of leaves and branches, kept in a fighting stance as he hovered from tree top to tree top. The magic he and his brother used to fly in their duels was advanced, but they had been two of the strongest apprentices of the monastery San Hwe Zu. They could remain aloft indefinitely.
A breeze pressed lightly down on Lsi Pu from above, enough for him to sense his brother’s invisible approach. The attack was too fast for him to dodge, so he swept his hands in two deflecting arcs. His right hand struck the oncoming thrust of Lsi Nu Gon’s kick, and the blow aimed for his face instead hit his chest. Lsi Pu’s left hand lashed upward, and he grasped at the loose leg of his brother’s pants, while his right hand twisted around the ankle of the leg that had just struck him. Lsi Pu commanded the winds, and he spun vertically, wrenching his brother past him and downward, into a patch of wiry branches.
Lsi Nu Gon coughed at the impact and kicked free, flying upward and away, seeking to turn his invisibility to his advantage again. But Lsi Pu spotted a few snapped pieces of branches and twigs caught in his brother’s clothes, and he followed them.
“Damned leaves,” muttered Lsi Nu Gon, and invisible hands brushed at the debris that was betraying his location.
Lsi Nu Gon was above the treetops now, nearly impossible to see against the gray vastness of the sky. Not wanting to continue a melee duel, Lsi Pu wove his hands in a dance to conjure the energies of the sky, and lightning flashed overhead.
“Come down, brother,” he called, holding out his hand, which glowed faintly with a crackle of electricity.
Something invisible moved beside Lsi Pu, and the snapping leather of a whip wrapped around his hand, wrenching it to the side. His lightning bolt discharged harmlessly into the air, and then a fist impacted his face. Lsi Pu shoved at his invisible brother and struggled to free his hand from his brother’s whip, but Lsi Nu Gon flew away, down toward the wheatfield outside the forest. The whip still enwrapping Lsi Pu’s hand dragged him along.
Lsi Pu managed a quick spell and slashed off the tip of his brother’s whip, and then he started another lightning spell. He saw the outline of his brother’s body, standing in the waving wheat. Before he could release his spell, though, he spotted the woman beside him.
“Brother, wait.” Lsi Nu Gon stepped free from his invisibility and held up forestalling hands.
Lsi Pu took a deep breath and dismissed his lightning, then descended to the ground as well. His brother laughed and slapped him on his shoulder.
“If you try not to use lightning so much, I’ll make sure not to hide so much. I don’t want to get that hurt. Fair?”
Lsi Pu smiled grimly. “Of course, brother. We’ll finish the duel later.”
The two brothers turned to the woman who had just arrived. She was fey, her form shimmering at the edges, indistinct from the golden wheat. Waves of brown hair fell across the shoulders of her white dress, and she smiled to Lsi Nu Gon.
Lsi Pu said, “You’re early.”
Lsi Nu Gon added, “And thank you for that. It is never too early for me to see my beloved Kya Besh Ko.”
She extended her hand, and Lsi Nu Gon kissed it. She asked, “Are you ready for your meal? I have it prepared at my home.”
Wind breathed cooly over them, and the strands of wheat swayed, as did Kya Besh Ko’s hair. For a moment, all three of them looked to the sky, bleak and gray.
“The storm?” Lsi Nu Gon asked. As he spoke, he wound up the damaged remains of his whip, and mended the weapon. “Were you harmed, beloved?”
She shook her head. “The storm would destroy trees, but merely frighten the fields. I know we had planned to eat in the forest, but the spirits there are disturbed, and it pains me to hear their weeping.”
Lsi Pu stepped forward. “Brother, we can certainly enjoy whatever meal she has prepared indoors as well as out. The wind will still be here when we’re done.”
The younger brother nodded, then hugged Kya Besh Ko. Lsi Pu looked away, hiding his frown.
Lsi Nu Gon reluctantly ended his embrace with the spirit of the fields, and he looked east. “We’ll walk there, my love. I know you don’t like to fly.”
“Thank you, Lsi Nu Gon. You’ll enjoy the food I’ve prepared.”
“Bread again?” Lsi Pu asked, stroking his beard.
“Of course.”
* * *
They ate warm breads with creamy oils and sauces, relaxing in Kya Besh Ko’s wooden home. Lsi Nu Gon listened as she played a koto, and Lsi Pu sat across from them, aligning black and white stones on the floor.
Outside, it began to rain just as Kya Besh Ko’s song ended, and the two lovers turned with interest to Lsi Pu’s creation.
“What is it, brother?”
“A puzzle,” Lsi Pu stated proudly. “If you can solve it, you’ll learn a secret.” *
With a few quick brush strokes he painted the last few symbols on the white stones, then aligned them into a long grid. Two lines of black stones with white letters along the top, and two lines of white stones with black letters along the bottom. He watched with pleasure as the other two squinted in confusion.
Kya Besh Ko chuckled nervously. “I was never good at your puzzles, Lsi Pu. Is this another anagram?”
Lsi Nu Gon held up a finger. “Don’t tell me yet. It’s more complicated than that. There’s a pattern. You move forward or backward as many letters as the number over that letter says. Or that’s what I’m guessing.”
He sat back and put a hand on his forehead. “It’s too complicated for me.”
With a deep chuckle, Lsi Pu nodded. “You were close, though. And I won’t tell you.”
Thunder rumbled outside, and Kya Besh Ko stood to close a window that was blown open. As she pressed the window closed and lashed its binding, she asked, “Why do you make so many puzzles, Lsi Pu?”
Lsi Nu Gon laughed. “He had to be better than me at something. This was the only thing he could find. Kya Besh Ko, could you bring me my pipe, please?”
She nodded, but looked to Lsi Pu for an answer.
He swept the stones into a pouch, not meeting her eyes. “When the Serens invaded, we sent messages in code. We were not only warriors, Kya Besh. We had to outwit the Serens as well.”
She hesitated at the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry if I offended. You were very brave, even if you could not defeat the Serens. But we are able to live in peace here, at least.”
Lsi Pu did not speak for a moment, but then he took a remaining slice of bread, dipped it into butter, and took a bite.
“The meal was delicious, Kya Besh.”
Lsi Nu Gon nodded eagerly. “It certainly was. The scent of all this baking is wonder-”
Suddenly, the walls of the house began to shake. Thunder roared, and the ground trembled. Kya Besh Ko stepped away from the walls, looking upward, fear in her golden eyes.
“That is the voice of the storm from last night. Lsi Nu Gon, it has returned.”
A voice boomed from the sky, and the ceiling cracked under its force. “I am Doh Mwa Sy, one-time bearer of your accursed monastery.”
Rain seared through the rents in the ceiling, and an angered wind swept through the house. The house cracked, timbers tore away, and it was open to the sky overhead. A white beam glared downward from the blackness of the storm, sweeping across each of them, stopping on Kya Besh Ko. Black winds reached down like claws, grasping her, and she screamed.
Lsi Nu Gon leapt from the ground and flew to her as she was carried into the air, but the storm battered him away, its massive force driving him through the walls of the house. Lsi Pu moved to his brother, pulling him clear as the house disintegrated and fell upon them. Kya Besh Ko’s screams filled the air as the storm fled, and Lsi Pu stood in the ruined remains of the house, beside his unconscious brother, following the demon storm’s flight with his gaze.
“Brother, wake up,” he said. “The demon heads north. It is a fool if it thinks it can escape us.”
* * *
Lsi Pu tended his brother’s wounds and divined the path the demon took. Lsi Nu Gon studied what books they had on demons, hoping to find a way to defeat it and rescue Kya Besh Ko. Then news came of the destruction of their old monastery, of the deaths of many of their old friends and teachers. They left the next day, flying north to lands they had never seen, deep within the borders of the Seren Empire.
Lsi Nu Gon was distraught, and he did not talk much. Lsi Pu seldom talked normally, and so they flew mostly in silence, listening only to the winds that carried them.
After eight days, they found a new wind, blowing from the north, from a jagged line of mountains that Lsi Pu’s divinations had claimed to be the demon’s retreat. They landed in a canyon high in the mountain range, fearful of facing the storm demon in the sky. The air smelled sweet, and the ground was covered in soft green grasses, but there were no flowers to explain the scent. Butterflies floated everywhere around them, seeming curious of their presence. *
“Don’t worry, brother,” Lsi Pu said. “We’ll find her. We simply need to find the right cave.”
“The demon,” Lsi Nu Gon stumbled over his words, then took a breath to steady himself. “What kind of cave can house a demon the size of a storm. And, even if we do find it, how will we rescue Kya Besh Ko?”
A woman’s voice fluttered out from the air somewhere near them, asking, “Who is Kya Besh Ko?”
The two brothers looked around, nervous. They were masters of the powers of the air, but they could not sense anyone invisible amid the butterflies.
“Do not torment me,” Lsi Nu Gon said. “Kya Besh Ko is the woman I love. Show yourself!”
Lsi Pu put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Calm down. We should not make demands, especially not out of anger.”
He looked outward and addressed the unseen voice. “Whoever this is, she might know where the cave we seek is.”
The air chittered with a delighted laugh. “Gentleman never come to these parts. I am sorry for what has happened to this woman you have lost, but I thought perhaps you could help us. And it looks like we might have the same interest.”
The voice was humming from every direction, and Lsi Nu Gon spun, angrily looking for the speaker. “Why do you hide?”
The voice was close and whispering. “Most who come here, come to seek power. You may have secrets, and I can’t know if I can trust you yet.”
Calmly, Lsi Pu said, “Though I do enjoy a good secret, we have none that we would need to hide from you. You mentioned an interest. Has the same demon that we seek disturbed you?”
“Indeed,” the voice cried, and the wings of the butterflies seemed to clap with pleasure. “It disrupts the purity of the wind, and I fear it seeks to steal a power that should not belong to it. Can you defeat this monster?”
“We are warriors, dear lady,” Lsi Pu chuckled. “And my brother fights for the woman he loves. The demon shall not be an obstacle.”
The voice said, “Then we can help you.”
The butterflies began to flutter close together, whirling, melding, taking on a solid shape.
Watching, Lsi Nu Gon whispered grimly to his brother, “You’re far more optimistic than I.”
Lsi Pu whispered back, “No, brother. I simply lie better than you do.”
Soon the butterflies had stopped spiralling, and in there place was a woman, kneeling, draped in many-colored robes. She stood and tossed her head back, flicking her curling brown hair behind her. Her face was Seren, but she was still beautiful, creamy-skinned, as delicate as a butterfly herself. Lsi Nu Gon watched with wariness, but Lsi Pu beheld her with awe.
“My name is Danas,” she said.
“Lsi Pu, and my brother, Lsi Nu Gon. Danas, you’re a shapeshifter? Can you assume many forms?”
“Before, yes,” she said, then sighed. “But here, even though it’s beautiful and the air hums with magic, I am limited to the forms of natural creatures. In these mountains there live nothing but butterflies. And now, humans.”
Lsi Pu nodded slowly, understanding. “When we are finished here, would you be willing to leave this place, come with us? The magic of forms intrigues me. I certainly had not expected to find in this remote place a woman so beautiful, and so skilled in its powers.”
“Brother,” Lsi Nu Gon interrupted, “my woman is still in danger. Now can this Seren woman help us, or is my beloved doomed?”
Danas bit her lip, then nodded. She flashed a brief smile to Lsi Pu, then turned and pointed slightly east. “Two mountains beyond is the cave that gave birth to the two winds. This amber-scented wind blows from its mouth. I can show you. Be careful, though. They say there is a great power hidden in the depths of the cave, and that only a strange prophecy can unleash it. You may have been lured here.”
“Accursed demon,” Lsi Nu Gon said, sneering. “Let us go.”
“Yes,” Lsi Pu said, smiling to Danas. “Let’s.”
* * *
The two brothers landed at the base of the steps leading up to the cave, and Danas’s fluttering form swirled beside them, returning to human form. The massive stone steps seemed cut for a beast hundreds of feet long, but they had no difficulty gliding over them. Lsi Pu carried Danas over the more difficult steps, and Lsi Nu Gon tried to hide his displeasure at his brother’s lack of concern.
At the top of the steps, warm, sweet air breathed out from the mouth of the cave. An old stone house sat just inside the shadow of the cave, and thunder rumbled out from it. Before they headed in, Lsi Nu Gon placed spells upon them to turn them silent and invisible, so only they could hear and see each other.
They advanced, reaching the door to the house. It had no windows and was only large enough for two or three rooms. A chimney on the roof released a faint line of smoke into the amber wind, and this close they could detect the faint scent of bread baking.
The ground rumbled, and the voice of the storm demon shook around them.
“You may enter. I am here to bargain, not fight. Not yet. I even have a meal for you.”
Resigned that their disguises would be of no use to a creature that was one with the air, they entered to the deep chuckling of the demon. Lsi Nu Gon went first, tense and ready to defend himself. Lsi Pu followed, glancing back to the beautiful Danas, who seemed to glow with anxiousness.
Within, a wide square room awaited, bedecked with tables of breads of all kinds. In the far corner, near the room’s only other door, sat a coiled black serpent of clouds. A single gleaming white eye stared out, casting a beam of light across them. When it spoke, the voice seemed far too deep for the small serpent form of the mighty storm demon.
“Partake, my foes. Your desired spirit of the wheat fields has provided this bounty, and I would have you enjoy it.” *
Lsi Nu Gon started toward the storm serpent, but his brother put a hand on his arm to stop him. He shook free and pointed toward the storm serpent.
“Where is Kya Besh Ko?” he demanded. “And tell me why you have taken her, fiend.”
“She is in this very house, do not fear. And I have taken the fragile thing only because I was paid to do so. My freedom from your enslaving monastery, in exchange for this service.”
Danas gasped. “You enslaved this creature? Even a demon does not deserve-”
“It deserves far worse,” Lsi Nu Gon snarled.
Lsi Pu shook his head. “No, actually. Our mentors thought this creature too destructive, so they tapped its power, using it to keep their monastery aloft, to train us in the magic of the winds. It wasn’t cruelty, but intelligence. Make another’s power your own.”
Doh Mwa Sy laughed, and the house shook with thunder. “You speak like a demon yourself. Please, eat. Do not let it go to waste.”
Taking a step toward the demon, Lsi Nu Gon said, “Hand over Kya Besh Ko, and tell me who is your master.”
Lsi Pu picked up a small loaf of bread and tore off a piece. He ate it, then offered a piece to Danas. She was too nervous to accept, and Lsi Pu shrugged.
The storm demon writhed and chuckled. “I have no master, but the one who hired me is named Pilus, a Seren, and the one responsible for your monastery’s destruction, much to my approval. Worry not, for you shall have a chance to meet him. He told me he would be here soon.”
“Where is Kya Besh Ko?” Lsi Nu Gon demanded. He raised his hand and fired a bolt of energy at the cloudy serpent. It roared when struck.
“Brother,” Lsi Pu said, disapproval in his voice. “Again, you should not demand from those who are not yours to command. Here, have a slice of bread.”
“Lsi Pu,” his brother hissed, “will you not help me?”
“Yes,” Danas said, “aren’t you going to destroy the demon? He waits here at the key to the power of the two winds. He has no place in these mountains.”
A chuckle escaped Lsi Pu’s lips, and he stroked his beard. To the demon he said, “Doh Mwa Sy, what did you master want with the spirit woman?”
“He did not say,” the demon grumbled.
“Did he ask you to cook her and serve her to us?” Lsi Pu tilted his head toward his brother, and smiled.
“No.” The demon laughed boisterously. “That was my idea alone. I had thought at first that a roast would be best, but when I discovered she was nothing but wheat herself, I believe I improvised nicely.”
Danas gasped. “Gods, no.”
“Kya Besh. . . ?” Lsi Nu Gon faltered, and he looked to his brother for an answer.
Lsi Pu cut a slice of bread and bit into it slowly, smiling.
“Brother,” Lsi Nu Gon said, “tell me my beloved is alright.”
Lsi Pu shrugged. “She’s a little overcooked, actually.”
His brother choked and fell to his knees, weeping. For a moment, even the rumble of the storm was subdued. Then, Lsi Nu Gon consulved, screaming in anguish.
Danas started to step away, but Lsi Pu turned to her and whispered the word to a spell, stopping her movement. She whimpered and struggled to speak. Lsi Pu walked over to her and smiled.
“You shouldn’t be running away. You may not have been part of my plan, but I am certainly still interested in you. The teachings encouraged us never to overlook a potential ally, tool, or source of power.
“Doh Mwa Sy,” he said, “please take this woman, and that she does not flutter away.”
The demon thrummed with thunder, and it roared at Lsi Pu, though its voice was almost drowned out by Lsi Nu Gon’s screaming. “Who are you to command me, human?”
“Not command,” he said, shaking his head. He reached within his robes and pulled forth a white mask, featureless except for its eyeslits. “I do not command what I can ask. I can pay you later if you like, demon. But my brother and I have business to attend to.”
“You are Pilus?” the demon said. “You tricked me.”
“Very sorry about that,” Lsi Pu said. “I do enjoy puzzles, even if no one ever solves them. Now, like the shamans who founded my monastery, I will not destroy you, but use you as a tool. I, however, intend to repay the services you render. Is that arrangement sufficient?”
Without a word, the demon’s form swelled, and it surged past him, picking up the paralyzed Danas and thundering out of the house, carrying her away. Lsi Pu watched his new servant leave, and then he turned to taunt his brother. Instead, he found Lsi Nu Gon standing.
“How could you, brother? You betrayed me, murdered Kya Besh Ko, murdered our mentors and friends. Have you gone mad?”
Lsi Pu shrugged. “Madness is relative. You stole Kya Besh from me, and to be fair I had not intended to kill her. But I have a new plaything.”
“Lsi Pu,” his brother cried, “why?”
“I always gave you puzzles, brother, and you never figured them out yourself. Anyway, I believe I’ll use ‘Pilus’ now. It’s a simple anagram, but sufficient.”
Lsi Nu Gon screamed and leapt at his brother. Pilus tumbled away and flew for the door, firing a lightning bolt back at his brother. Lsi Nu Gon ducked and took the strike on his arm, then lashed out with his whip, catching Pilus’s foot and stopping him from fleeing.
“You bastard!” cried Lsi Nu Gon. He clenched his fist and pulled the breath from Pilus’s lungs, wrenching it free in a gurgled scream. “I’ll kill you. Damn you for your riddles.”
Pilus struggled on the ground, his body jerking from lack of breath. He kicked free of the whip and tried to stand, but he sagged, suffocating. One hand to his throat, one reaching out for his brother, Pilus slumped, a faint smile on his face.
Lsi Nu Gon kept his grip on his brother’s breath for a minute more, overwhelmed by what he had done. Then he screamed, rage and despair mixing in his cry of victory. His brother had always mocked him, always flaunting his intelligence, always jealous of his brother’s greater magical power. Now finally he was dead, and for a moment, Lsi Nu Gon was happy. Then understanding overtook him, and he collapsed, staring at his brother’s lifeless body.
“Lsi Pu, I’m sorry. I’d give anything to bring you back. I’m sorry.”
He sagged to the ground and wept, while far overhead, the thunder of the storm demon faded away. He wept for several minutes, and then he heard something.
In the doorway, the sweet amber wind blowing across him, Pilus drew a breath, and he laughed.
Lsi Nu Gon looked up in shock, then in joy. “Brother, you’re alive!”
Pilus nodded, rubbing his neck and coughing softly. “I am. Are you alright, brother?”
“Brother,” Lsi Nu Gon gasped, putting his face in his hands. “I tried to kill you. I was confused. The demon, it-”
“It lied to you,” Pilus said, sympathy in his voice. “It deceived us, played upon our fears. But we both survived, brother. And we can go home.”
“To what?” Lsi Nu Gon spoke weakly through sobs. “Brother, you didn’t-? You didn’t actually work with the demon? Destroy the monastery?”
Unseen by his brother, Pilus smirked, but his voice condemned. “You tried to kill me, and now you want to blame me still? You have nothing left but me now, brother. Are you trying to drive me away, or leave me dead too?”
“No! Please no, brother. I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”
“It will be alright.” Pilus knelt beside his brother and gently patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s put this behind us. We shall defeat the demon that killed Kya Besh Ko, that destroyed our mentors and friends, and then we will go home. Will you help me?”
“Yes brother.”
Pilus smiled and helped his brother to his feet, assuming an expression of concern. He turned to leave, but Lsi Nu Gon placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Brother, how . . . how did you survive? I thought I killed you.”
Facing away from his brother, Pilus put a hand to his chest. His heart no longer beat, but he could still breathe, as long as the two winds blew. This was yet another puzzle his brother would never learn the answer to. Without a reply, he looked up, and flew into the sky.
