The Coming Storm

They were coming.

"King Sarach's army," said Lenna, gathering her blanket close to her. A foreboding mass of black clouds had just blanketed the desert sun, turning the gentle breeze into an icy wind. Night was approaching.

"Dust storm," Brenit contradicted.

"No. We never get dust storms during the Time of Purity, and the messenger came this morning with news of the army."

"If there is no storm, then why is it so cold?" said Brenit, a sudden shiver running through him. It was not from cold; from fear. Brenit didn't like dust storms, especially the heavy, stifling iciness that felt a little like humidity but was different. Granyor had always said there were demons in the storms.

"It's a very small dust storm if that's what it is," said Lenna. "I say it's the army returning with their victory."

"What makes you so sure it was a victory?"

"Because Arkijt always wins," said Lenna simply.

Brenit glared at his cousin. He didn't like her, but her father was part of King Sarach's army; her mother was dead. She was staying in Brenit's home until the army returned.

He sighed. He hoped it was the army, but he would never say so in front of her.

Lenna ran out of the room before he could say anything to her. Impertinent girl she was, only a year younger but as annoying as a small child. Granyor had promised to watch her, but he had gone away to fight. As it was, Lenna had the run of the manor.

But the army was coming. And soon she would go back to the jungle where she belonged.

The freezing air was getting to him, and he shut the window. He knew his father would be calling for him soon, and before he had even finished that thought a servant ran in and hurriedly bowed. "Rochle!" he cried, in the thick accent that betrayed his jungle heritage and consequently, his inferiority. "Come quickly! The Roch sees you now!"

"What is it?"

"The army returns! Scouts have been coming from the east all day! They are nearly at our doors!"

The dust cloud was in the west. So there really was a storm coming. "I'll come in a bit."

"Roch demands you now! Wear your colors!"

Brenit grumbled and grabbed his dark green sash, which he put on over his thin white tunic with the black emblem on the collar. He followed the servant down the main stairwell, dodging excited servants who were cooking and cleaning for the king's arrival.

He entered the main courtroom, absently hailing his father before taking his place at his left. "Does the king really come?" he asked.

"As say the scouts," said the Roch, pointing to a group of panting men in the corner of the room. They looked as if they had ridden hard and long.

Brenit said nothing more; he was never comfortable around his father. Granyor had all but taken the man's place during Brenit's childhood. The room filled with servants and villagers come to see the king. Sarach was a mysterious man, known to almost none. Trumpets announcing the king's arrival filled the room, and Brenit straightened. Sarach would not see the future Roch of Vwery Keep slouching.

But his straight stance nearly faltered when the enormous wooden doors leading into the main courtroom were opened. An icy blast shot across the room, sparing no one from its sharp sting, so unfamiliar in the desert. Even the Roch flinched under the assault.

"By all gods!" he gasped. "What evil wind is this? Who has left open the outer doors?"

"Demons!" screeched a female voice, and Brenit quickly sought out Lenna. She was cowering next to a maid, her face white.

"No demons," whispered Brenit. "Demons are only stories Granyor told to scare me."

A tall man on a horse entered through the doors, followed by at least a hundred others. The common army was forced to wait outside. Brenit looked feverishly for Granyor, but the deeply tan, thin face was nowhere to be found among the officers.

He turned to ask his father where Granyor would be, but the Roch was standing straight up, an outraged expression on his face. "Where is the king?" his voice thundered through the room. "Where is Sarach? Are you friend or foe?"

The tall man in the front brought his horse close to the Roch, much closer than politeness would allow. He arched his black, bushy brows and tilted his head arrogantly. "My father is dead," he said. "I am your king. You are the Roch of Vwery?" It was a statement more than a question.

"Yes," said the Roch. "And who are you?"

The man glared, his pride wounded. "I am Saracht’ei!" he cried to the whole room. "My father fell on the battlefield, but we have conquered the northern empires!"

The room erupted in cheers. Brenit noticed most of the noise was coming from the soldiers. The people of the desert had little concern over what happened in the north.

"We have brought back prisoners for slaves!" cried Sarachte'i.

More cheers.

"We have brought back wealth!"

Almost screaming now.

"We have destroyed the demon kingdom!"

Silence.

Brenit nearly fell over from surprise. The soldiers were silent, shifting uncomfortably. Sarachte'i motioned toward three soldiers. "Bring in the demon prisoner!" he said. "Show our fellow Arkijti what we have found in the wilds of the north!"

The indicated men didn't move. They stared at Sarachte'i, a pleading look in their eyes. They didn't want to bring in the thing, whatever it was.

"Move!" snapped Sarachte'i. "I'll have you gutted for disobedience!"

They moved. Brenit watched as they disappeared through the doors. The Roch was still standing, a frown on his face.

"What nonsense is this?" he demanded. "Demons? What kind of joke are you playing?"

"We found them in their city," said Sarachte'i. "They ruled the north, until we arrived! We killed their leader, slayed thousands. Their evil magic will never terrorize our people again!"

Magic? wondered Brenit. The soldiers came back in, struggling under the weight of a large cage. The people in the courtroom gasped, and Brenit stared. Sitting in the cage was a being. It was wearing strange clothing, but it looked nearly human. Nearly. Along its bare back, running all the way down the spine, was a strip of thick yellowish fur. The rest of its skin was without hair of any kind, and it was perfectly white.

Whispers of "Demon!" quickly traveled through the room. Sarachte'i gestured, and the cage was placed between him and the Roch. The creature in the cage had his head hidden, but there was a messy shock of light brown hair on its head.

"Look up!" demanded Sarachte'i. When the creature didn't reply, the man kicked the cage. "Look up, you demon!"

The creature looked up slowly, its eyes resting on Brenit. The boy took an involuntary step back. The creature's eyes were yellow, the same shade as the fur on its back. Its hair fell back a little, revealing pointed ears.

The eyes surveyed the room quickly before finally returning to Brenit. "Ma'e teri," it said in a miserable voice. The tongue was foreign to Brenit, who knew at least ten languages and hundreds of dialects.

"I don't understand you," whispered Brenit apologetically. He felt more sorry than afraid now. It was such a pathetic thing.

"Neither does it understand you," said Sarachte'i coldly. "Their language is nothing more than grunts and mutters. They're stupid, living only by their cruel instincts."

"What is it?" asked the Roch, staring. "It doesn't look like a standard demon from the Book of Law. If it has magic, why does it not use it?"

"Its magic is gone," laughed Sarachte'i. "It is a crippled demon. I wanted to keep it, but it's too disobedient and stupid. I want it killed. Would you do me this favor?"

"Of course," said the Roch. He looked at the creature and shivered. "I'll gladly dispose of it as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow morning, then." snapped Sarachte'i. “So all may see.”

"Put it in the dungeon!" said the Roch, gesturing to two guards. They complied reluctantly, and the creature was taken away.

"I will be back tomorrow," grinned Sarachte'i. "It is interesting to watch these idiot creatures die."

Idiot creatures. But Brenit had seen the thing's face as it was taken out. Nothing that stupid could look so terrified. That creature had understood every word being said.

#

The clouds had gone away, and the moon was bright. Brenit wrapped the overcoat more tightly around him, shielding himself against the strong, cold wind. It had not died down, but gotten worse. He turned to quiet Lenna one more time. She had woken when he was sneaking out, and she refused to leave. She wanted to see the demon in the cage.

Brenit himself was strangely fascinated with the creature. He knew there was more to this story than was being said.

After struggling with the dungeon door for several minutes, Brenit got inside. He lit a torch and descended into the deepest parts, where the demon was being kept. He approached the cell door and opened it, letting the torchlight flood the room.

The creature was still sitting in the same position in the cage, but it flinched a bit when Brenit approached. It lifted his head and stared at the boy.

"Hello," said Brenit softly. Lenna gasped.

"It's really a demon!" she cried. The creature put its head back down.

"Shut up or get out!" snapped Brenit. "You're scaring it!"

Lenna glared, but kept quiet.

After much prodding, Brenit convinced the creature to raise its head again. "Hello," he said. "I am Brenit. Who are you?"

The creature said nothing. Brenit sighed. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

"Tlick," said the creature. He raised one hand, and Brenit saw that the fingers were long and thin, and each had an extra joint. "Zhy ma'e teri?"

"I don't understand," said Brenit. "I don't know your language."

"It's just a stupid animal," said Lenna. "That's what my maid said."

The creature shook its head. "No herut. Stupid, you say. No."

"You speak our language!" gasped Brenit.

"Little. Learn. Listen hayj. Know hayj?"

"Is that a name?" asked Brenit.

“No. Males-who-kill-salkiys. Hayj."

"Oh, the army!" cried Lenna. "He's talking about the army!"

"Is that the name for your kind?" asked Brenit. "Salkiys?"

"Fas," said Tlick. "Yes. Army kill salkiys. Gone. Why?"

"King Sarach wanted to take over all the land he could," explained Brenit. "You lived in the northern wilds. It was unclaimed land."

"No know 'unclaimed'. My derin there. Lynt. Brenit know?"

"No. The land was not taken. None owned it. Do you understand now?"

"No. Salkiys own it!" Plick looked at him, angry. "No unclaim. Taken!"

"You're not human," said Brenit. "Only humans can own land. We have legal papers and laws. Anyway, if you were beaten, it doesn't belong to you anymore."

"Legal? Laws? What this? Salkiys do nothing to army. Why kill?"

"I've told you!" said Brenit, frustrated by the language barrier. "Sarach wanted land! Arkijt is the most powerful kingdom in the world! We need land!"

"Lynt have power," said Plick. "Lynt big. Salkiys need grah, land."

"You were defeated," said Brenit, but his own argument sounded weak. What had these creatures done to deserve this horrible fate?

"And you're going to die tomorrow," crowed Lenna suddenly. "I don't care what you call yourself. You're a demon."

"No know 'demon'. Maybe ekalap? Salkiys no ekalaps. Ekalaps evil."

"You use magic?" asked Brenit.

"Magic?” The creature paused for a moment, mouthing the unfamiliar word. “Ethestras? No. Magic gone. Ekalaps take. Ekalaps help army kill."

"The ekalaps helped Sarach destroy your kingdom?" gasped Brenit. Had the king used real demons to annihilate a peaceful race?

"Fas," said Tlick. "Humans bad. No 'fraid die. Tlick go to Goddess."

"Not all humans are bad," argued Brenit. "I'm not."

"You no help. You watch Tlick die."

"There's nothing I can do," whispered Brenit. "I have no power here. And I won't watch your death, don't worry." He froze as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Jukne come," said Tlick, panicked. "Brenit leave!"

"The guards!" said Brenit. "Come on, Lenna. We'll go out the back stairs. And you'll never tell of this, will you?"

Lenna nodded, her face pale. She didn't want to be caught in the dungeon, either. Brenit shivered. "I don't want to go out in the cold," he said.

"Cold bad," said Tlick. "Cold from hate. Humans stop kill, cold go away. Cold evil magic."

Brenit left the salkiy to his muttering and rushed outside, running to get away from the wind. This was no childish fear. The salkiy had been right; there were real demons in this storm.

The next morning the salkiy was killed. Brenit watched sadly as the creature was taken to the gallows. He didn't watch, as he'd promised, but he felt the creature's eyes on him as it was led away. He stood behind a tree until he heard the cheers of the crowd and knew it was over. He faced west, to the ominous dust cloud coming ever closer. The crowd left, and Brenit was standing all alone, staring at the horizon. The storm. Would it hold the hate of the unfair war fought by Sarach? Would it bring demons, or those terrible ekalaps Tlick had been so frightened of? Would Arkijt one day pay for its misdeeds?

The hate gathers, thought Brenit. One day it will boil over, and it will be the end of us all. What a thought. Using his overcoat as a shield against the wind, Brenit went inside.

"The Coming Storm" is copyright © K. B. Cunningham 2000

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