Egris and the Silence of the Storm Read online

  Contents

  EGRIS And the Silence of The Storm A Temple of the storm story Robbie Ballew & Stephen Landry

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Journal

  EGRIS

  Author Bios

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the author. In such case neither the author, or distributor has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  If this book is being sold by a vendor other than the following large and established vendors / distributors: Createspace.com, Amazon.com, or any distributing partners listed on the aforementioned websites, there is a high degree of certainty this book was purchased as a pirated copy. It is requested that you contact the author immediately so that the vendor in question can be notified to cease and desist their practices. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of the author’s rights.

  Copyright © 2019 by Stephen William Landry

  [email protected]

  Cover Illustration by Purwa Gustira

  Editing by Adept Press / Guiding Thread

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database, retrieval system, or torrent web service, without the prior written permission of the author.

  For Family.

  “What happened here?” I spoke to no one. I was standing alone. My hands shaking. I had been digging for what seemed like hours. Trying to find something, anything alive in the ground. Even a small seed. What was once a lush field filled with vegetation had now turned to dust. Nothing left of the soil. I felt my heart race with fear of what was happening. My hands, the dirt, they looked like they were covered in blood. Deep down, sunken into the heart of the world. I could feel it with every step as if the ground was waiting for just the right moment to swallow me whole. Nothing. It wasn’t waiting for anything. It had all more or less just stopped.

  Many years ago my people lived in peace and solitude. We worked the land with our hands and ate of its fruit. We existed in harmony with all living things, and avoided any interactions with the other ‘intelligent’ beings who occupied the land. What they claimed as intelligence, separating them from the beasts, we saw as nothing more than a thirst for war. To conquer, destroy, possess.

  We fauns did not take ownership of the lands upon which we lived and worked, nor did we feel compelled to take the lands of others. Rather, we considered everything as a gift from the gods, who were gracious enough to grant us life and the means to enjoy it.

  In those days, the crops were plentiful, the wine flowed freely, and the dancing lasted all through the night. But those days ended long ago. The day the storm fell silent.

  I had been returning home from a two month voyage through the mountains to the north. I was unique among my people in that way. I knew that the gods had gifted us with unspeakable beauty beyond our own quiet village, and I wanted to experience all of it. My wife did not appreciate my extended absences, but tolerated them so long as I stayed home to work the fields during the summer months.

  The winter was coming to an end, and the time of sowing was nearly upon us. I was only a few hours from home when the first storm of spring hit, much earlier in the season than I had been expecting. It was already growing dark, so I had hardly noticed the clouds covering the sky until the rain fell in sheets, blanketing the ground in streams of flowing water.

  Streaks of lightning raced through the sky, casting bizarre, elongated shadows through the trees that surrounded me. The thunder that followed shook the earth so violently I lost my footing and grabbed a nearby branch to steady myself.

  Before long I came upon a crude dirt path that I knew to be a trade route between the various elvish villages scattered throughout the land. I could already see the streams of water cutting deep ruts into the road.

  The elves knew of our existence, of course, but chose to leave us to our solitude. They did not consider us ‘enlightened’, as they were; barely better than the beasts which roamed the land. Many fauns were offended by this designation, but I knew it to be a blessing. If we weren’t a useful ally in their wars, then we were of no use to them.

  I approached the edge of the path, careful not to be spotted by any elves who might be passing by, but I knew it was unlikely any would be traveling under these conditions. I stepped out onto the road and almost immediately heard the distant crack of splintering wood, and ran toward the sound. Under a flash of lightning I could just make out a toppled cart stuck in a rut ahead. When the thunder finally quieted I could hear a voice crying out for help in the elvish tongue.

  It is a gift of the faun, passed down through the generations, to speak and understand the languages of all living creatures. According to legend, when the first beings were scattered across the land in the aftermath of a great war between the gods, everything was in chaos. It was the first faun, Fennig, who sought to bring order to the world.

  He sorted the fish into the sea, the birds into the skies, and gave each of the creatures on land a home according to their kind. The Great Mother looked down upon his impossible task and took pity. She granted him the gift of tongues, and entrusted him to maintain the natural order of all living things. For centuries, the faun have taken that as our sacred trust, protecting the delicate balance of life.

  I approached the damaged cart and called out, “Greetings, friend!” as I rounded the corner. A bolt of lightning illuminated the area, and the man cried out in fear at the sight of me. He stumbled backward and unsheathed his sword, brandishing it shakily in my direction. It was not surprising that the sight of a towering, horned creature would strike fear in the heart of a lone traveler stuck in a storm at night. I held up my hands to show I meant no harm.

  When the crashing thunder finally abated, I shouted, “I can help! Come to my home and take shelter until the storm passes over!” I could barely hear myself over the pounding rain. I stepped toward the woods and beckoned him to follow, hoping he would understand.

  He rose to his feet and put his sword away, so I knew he trusted me. But he still seemed hesitant to follow as he glanced back at his cart. I looked over the edge to take stock of his cargo. There were two large, bulging sacks, and a few smaller cases that must have carried his personal belongings. I gathered he was a traveling merchant on his way to the remote villages. It was understandable that he wouldn’t want to abandon his wares for thieves or wild animals to have their way with. I took hold of the two sacks and hoisted them onto my shoulders. They were heavy, but soft. Likely some kind of clothing or fabric. I turned to the elf and his eyes were wide. He scrambled to grab the luggage cases and followed after me into the woods.

  We made the rest of the journey in silence. There wasn’t any point in trying to carry a conversation over the roar of the storm. As we came out into the clearing that marked the edge of my crop fields, I took note of the rain-soaked ground. It was much easier to work the land when it was still compacted from the harsh winter. I wasn’t looking forward to plowing through this muck.

  My family waited for me inside our home. A small structure with one room held together by the roots of the great trees that had given way from the ground and strung together by the vines of the youth that crawled up towards the sun. Wh
at wasn't fashioned by nature was fashioned by my own hands. I lived not far from my village. An hour, maybe less if I ran.

  "Daddy!" a young girl's voice cried out. I dropped the merchant’s bags just inside the door and dropped to one knee as my daughter, Chrysalis, jumped into my arms.

  I heard the door pull closed behind me, and both Chrysalis and my wife, Lavendra, turned to look at the stranger. I rose and turned to the man, who still held his luggage in his hands.

  “It isn’t much, but you’ll be safe for the night.” I spread my arms, indicating the small den. I still had to raise my voice over the rain pounding on the roof, but at least we could hear each other.

  The merchant clutched the handles of his luggage, glancing nervously at my claws. “I appreciate your hospitality, mister…”

  “Egris,” I said. “And this is my wife, Lavendra, and my daughter, Chrysalis.” I stepped toward my wife, who was sitting by a small fire in the middle of our den. She had been carving a Nanook from a piece of wood before I had entered. She was an excellent carver. More true an artist than a farmer like I was. Chrysalis, my flesh and blood, had the same natural talent.

  “I can make a cot in the barn, if you’d like,”Lavendra said to the stranger. “I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting company.”

  “I’m afraid I should be the one apologizing,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to intrude --”

  “Not at all,” I interrupted him as I walked up to my wife and lowered my head. Our two horns touched and I kissed her lips, smiling as I always did when I returned home.

  I turned back to the visitor. “I don’t believe I caught your name,” I said.

  “Malk,” he replied. “Purveyor of fine linens.”

  “Fine linens? Those bags must be very valuable, then.”

  “Perhaps you think me selfish for refusing to leave them behind --”

  “Nonsense,” I replied. “A merchant's wares are his livelihood.”

  “Indeed,” Malk said. “I was afraid I would lose everything to the storm.”

  I could sense that Malk was still uncomfortable as he stood in the doorway holding his luggage, but I wasn’t sure how to ease the awkwardness of the situation.

  Thankfully, Lavendra intervened. “Why don’t you come dry off by the fire?” She always knew just what to say. Malk was visibly relieved as he set his luggage down and stepped up to the fire.

  “Yes, and I’ll go get that cot ready,” I said. I turned to Chrysalis and picked her up in my arms. “And as for you, little lady, you should have been in bed hours ago.”

  “I can’t sleep, daddy. I’m scared of the dragon.”

  “Dragon?” I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise. I glanced at Lavendra, who returned my look with a knowing smile. “What dragon?”

  “The dragon who will eat the rain!” Chrysalis replied, very sure of herself. “I’ve been dreaming about it all week.”

  “Well, dreams must be taken very seriously,” I said in a grave tone, trying hard to suppress a chuckle. “Perhaps you should meditate on the meaning of the dream, and I’m sure you’ll doze off in no time.”

  I set her down on her bed and looked back to my wife. She was preparing a plate and a flask of wine for our guest. We rarely played host even to other fauns, much less to strangers such as Malk. Did he eat the same food as us?

  I could hear the fire crackling as I made my way to the door to prepare Malk’s cot in the barn. I froze with my hand on the doorknob and turned to look at the fire. I could hear it crackling.

  “That’s odd.” I said. Everyone looked at me, confused. “The rain, it’s stopped.” I opened the door and looked out on the starlit fields. The storm had ended so abruptly that none of us even noticed the moment everything fell silent.

  I stepped out of the house and looked up at the cloudless sky. The Great Mother and Father, our two moons, shone blood red as they hung ominously low in the sky. I looked back inside at the others.

  “Perhaps a dragon ate the rain after all.”

  The next morning I carried Malk’s linens back to his cart and helped him repair a broken wheel. He tried to give me an ornately embroidered tunic for my trouble, but I insisted I had no need for such finery. It would only get ruined if I wore it to work in the fields. I returned home and set straight to work preparing the ground for planting.

  Plowing through the mud proved to be difficult as I had predicted. Chrysalis was old enough to help now, though keeping track of her only made things more complicated. Still, it was important that she learn.

  Two months later I found myself standing in the middle of a field, bewildered. The crops should have come up to my knees, but they were maybe ankle high.

  “What is happening?” I asked Lavendra as she stood beside me, wiping her sweaty brow. She had no words. The answer was obvious. There hadn't been water in weeks. Nothing. Not a drop since the storm.

  "I will go speak to Brau-Na tomorrow," I said, rubbing my chin.

  "The village leaders are just as confused as we are,” she replied. “Arctis and Ethyos stopped by while you were at the river. They were on their way to request aid from another village, and were hoping to see you before they left.” Her voice was soft and sure of itself but her eyes told me a different story. She was scared. Worried.

  “Even the river is running slower than I’ve ever seen it,” I said. “I’m afraid if the drought doesn’t let up soon it may run dry.” We had already started rationing our stores of grain and vegetables. I knew whatever meager harvest we might manage to glean would hardly last us through the winter.

  "Daddy?" it was Chrysalis' voice. She was clinging to my leg.

  "Yes?" I knelt down to her level.

  “I’m scared. What if it never rains again?”

  "It's alright honey, the rain will come, and the fields will recover. Next year the crops will grow twice as strong." I picked her up in my arms and together the three of us walked back to the house.

  The next day I awoke early in the morning, kissed both my wife and daughter goodbye, then took up my staff and started off in the direction of the village. I decided to walk at a leisurely pace. There was no use in wasting more energy than I had. The elders were not expecting me and I would have to wait for my turn to speak to them, as I was sure many others would be seeking guidance, as well.

  The village itself was home to nearly a hundred faun. Some were young and strong and worked on farms like mine in the valley while others tended to herds of sheep or other livestock and kept the predators that wandered in from the wilds out. As I approached the outskirts of the village I saw a group of shepherds trying to chase off a pack of wild dogs. The dogs looked emaciated. Without stores of food to rely on, the beasts of the wild were fighting for what few scraps remained to be found. They were wandering into our fields with increasing regularity.

  I joined with the fauns, barking and growling in the dog-tongue. One of the hounds bit down on the tip of my staff and attempted to wrest it from my hands, but my grip was strong. I hurled the creature back and it whimpered as it hit the ground. Within a few minutes we had pushed the dogs back to the forest edge and they retreated.

  We were not warriors. We had no weapons. We used traps, loud noises, and magnificently painted pieces of cloth to scare away the larger creatures, such as Praeg, that would wander once or twice a year into our valley.

  I was not old for a faun. Not yet anyway. I was as strong as any of the younglings that ran around the village and wise enough to know my limits. I had been a farmer since my early years, learning from my mother and father how to grow and harvest. The farm was my inheritance, and a gift I intended to give my daughter one day. Not that I presumed to own the land, but that it was my charge to nurture and protect. The land gave me what I needed to support my family and to trade for whatever we couldn’t provide ourselves.

  My horns had grown down like my mothers and yet I had the darker hair of my father, covering the top of my head down to my shoulders and down across the bottom of my
chin. I wore a brown leather shirt across my chest that had faded over time and use, and trousers sewn from the pelts of wild scab. I looked like no one special and yet every time I walked into the village I was welcomed as a guest. At least I used to feel welcome. This time I felt like an outcast. The faun around me looked at me with envy. Wondering how it was I was keeping so healthy.

  I could feel their eyes on me as I passed through the orchard where they worked. What few fruits there were to be found in the trees were small; the last few gleanings not already pillaged by birds or insects.

  One of the younger fauns, a malnourished teenager, came up to me and begged me for water. I had none. In return she grabbed my bag and started to run away before tripping over her own feet. The carving of the Nanook fell out of my bag. Lavendra must have slipped it inside as a tome of luck. A part of me wanted to laugh but it wasn't the right time for such cheer. Instead, I reached out my hand and helped the young woman to her feet. I showed her the strange artifact.

  "I saw one once," I said, smiling. She looked up at me wide-eyed, perplexed by my calm tone in lieu of whatever anger and punishment she had been expecting. I knew we were all just trying to survive.

  "How? What was it like?" she asked, astonished.

  "Magnificent. It lived in a cave deep in the mountains to the north.”

  She had never seen such a creature. Like a bear but bigger, larger claws and a more narrow head. I smiled and told her if she wanted she could keep it. To learn to trust others.

  "Young one, what is your name?" I asked.

  "Miev," she answered before thanking me again for the Nanook tome. I told her our paths would cross again someday and then continued on my way. I found myself reminiscing about how crowded the streets had once been. How empty they were now.

  When I reached Brau-Na’s tent, I saw a small crowd gathered, and knew I would have to wait my turn to speak with him. While waiting I thought about Chrysalis at home with her mother, wondering what we would do when winter came. We could hunt but neither I nor my wife had a taste for meat, and Chrysalis’ stomach was weak. I was so sure in my heart both would rather starve. It would do more harm than good. We couldn't survive that way alone. We would still need greens, reds, and water.