Storm God, chapter one
The Storm of Tarneb
“…but Tarneb’s might proved too great. The Sky Gods were cast back, fleeing before his wrath to hide behind great walls of spell-worked stone. In their absence, Tarneb’s hordes laid waste to the Lowlands. All seemed lost, and those of mortal kin thought themselves abandoned. Yet even in that darkest hour, four among the Sky Gods remained who still remembered their ancient oaths…”
-The Elder Zorath, The Book of the First Time.
Vorn and his twin sister, Thalsi, gazed out from the Skithiar’s prow. The only movement across the blackened wasteland hundreds of metres below were the hordes of Tarneb’s monstrosities: serpentine tides of mud and salt and smoke. Of the mortals that yet lived amongst the ruin, that had lit the beacons and called for aid, there was no sign.
“Tarneb’s power grows,” Zera said in an unusually solemn voice from behind him.
Vorn looked over his shoulder and down the length of the thirty metre skyship. His younger sister, sapphire skinned and white haired with eyes of turquoise flame, stood at the far end handling the steerboard. Despite the howling winds and distance between them, the enchantments worked into the Skithiar’s wood carried her voice to Vorn’s ears with as much clarity as if they were standing side by side. Beside Zera, their brother Aros, copper skinned and clad in golden mail, sat polishing his sword. Throughout the rest of the Skithiar, the crew–mortal humans, each about half the height of Vorn and his kin–scrambled about, working sail, rope, and oar.
“A bare year ago this land was lush and green,” Zera continued, shaking her head.
Vorn shifted his grip on his bearded great axe, seeking comfort in its familiar weight. “It won’t be long before the desolation reaches the Walls. Then the Elders will have no choice but to face Tarneb.”
“Father said that Tarneb wouldn’t be able to get through the Walls. We just need to get the last of the mortals behind them. Then we’ll all be safe.”
“Do you think he’s right?”
“It’s not his habit to be wrong.”
“Father doesn’t know everything. He admitted even his power was nothing next to Tarneb’s. His spellwork will not hold forever. Eventually we will be forced to fight. ”
“And if we are forced to fight, what then? If the old stories are true, Thoh was even more powerful than father and Tarneb destroyed him easily. Is that to be our fate as well?”
“Maybe.”
“It would be better that way,” Aros said without looking up from his sword. “I’d rather fight and die, than live like a coward.”
Vorn turned back to his vigil, then Thalsi tapped his shoulder and pointed out across the wasteland, her emerald eyes intent. In the distance, atop a rocky hilltop, a ragged band of humans huddled around a flickering bonfire. Tarneb’s horde pressed in close around them. Beyond the hill, far to the west, a great stormfront of thick, black cloud rapidly approached. A fork of red lightning arced across its face and for a moment a draconic silhouette writhed within its depths.
“The mortals are down there,” Vorn called to Zera. “But Tarneb comes as well.”
Zera shook her head. “We won’t make it to them in time.”
Aros chuckled. “I didn’t take you for a coward, Zera.”
Zera rolled her eyes. “I’m not. But us getting caught by Tarneb won’t do anyone any good.”
“We have no choice,” Vorn answered, stepping down from the prow and walking towards the middeck. Thalsi took up her long, hooked spear and followed. “The mortals called for our aid. By the ancient oaths, we are honour bound to rescue them.”
“This is not a good idea.”
“Just get the mortals on board, we’ll handle the rest.”
Zera grumbled under her breath, then barked orders to her crew. The Skithiar banked starboard and began a gentle descent towards the hill.
Aros met Vorn and Thalsi on the middeck where several crewmen were preparing Aros’ bronze skychariot. In place of any beasts of burden, the chariot’s iron yoke ended in two forward facing wheels wrought of rune-etched steel.
“This will be a day to remember, brother,” Aros said, clapping Vorn on the shoulder. “A day of glory.”
Vorn nodded grimly. He would not begrudge Aros his fun, but this was not about glory. This was about the fulfilment of the sacred oaths sworn by the Herazor Sky Gods to protect and guide the mortals of the Middle World. Oaths sworn by Vorn’s father long before he and his siblings had even been born. Oaths his father no longer seemed interested in upholding.
As the three of them boarded the skychariot, a burning gust of wind, carrying a low rolling growl hit the Skithiar. The skyship shuddered, lurching to the side.
“Hold her steady,” Vorn called.
“Let me worry about sailing my skyship,” Zera answered. “You worry about fighting the monsters.”
The gust rolled past and the Skithiar steadied. Aros snapped the reins and the wheels began spinning, their runic engravings rippling with light. The skychariot launched into the air and they hurtled towards the hill, leaving the Skithiar far behind. Vorn tightened his grip on his axe and lightning crackled over its surface. Thalsi stood silent and implacable. Aros grinned.
A cheer rose from the humans as they drew near. The chariot descended, and passed over the hill’s perimeter. Vorn leapt off and plummeted. He landed about halfway up the hill's side, striking like a meteor of white lightning in the midst of Tarneb’s hordes. The great tide of smoking mud and salt rose up around him in a writhing amalgam of vaguely serpentine forms, biting and clawing at him from all sides, sweeping over him like a flood. Vorn cried out in a voice like thunder, splintering the ground and throwing the tide back. Then he surged forward, laying waste to the monstrous mass with wide, sweeping axe strikes. But no matter how many monsters he felled more arose from the mud, covering the hillside faster than he could clear it.
The darkness of Tarneb’s storm drew closer, inching its way towards the hill. With it the winds grew stronger and the tide more ferocious, the serpentine forms within becoming ever more defined and sinister.
Above, the Skithiar circled, descending towards the hilltop.
Vorn fell back, cutting his way up the hill, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. His muscles ached and sweat beaded his skin, but his mind remained calm. Only a moment longer and Zera would–
Red lightning rippled through Tarneb’s storm, outlining the colossal draconic form within. It converged around the dragon’s head, then shot out, reaching for Skithiar and bathing the world in a crimson glow. The skyship pulled up. The bolt passed beneath, scoring a charred rent into the ship’s underside. The Skithiar banked around and down, attempting another descent.
Vorn broke through the tide, up onto the hill’s summit. Before him the tiny humans, garbed in ragged furs and skins, huddled in a group between Aros’ idle skychariot and their dying bonfire. Thalsi stood beyond them, holding the tide at bay on the summit’s far side with her deft spear work. From somewhere below, Aros' booming laughter echoed up to them.
Several humans wielding stone tipped spears sprang forward to stand with Vorn. The monsters tore them apart in seconds.
The stormfront reached the hill’s base, sending sheets of burning rain before it. The humans cried out, huddling in tighter.
The Skithiar drew near, almost close enough to land. The tide swelled, and Aros was forced onto the summit as well. The three fought a desperate defence around the humans. The stormwall loomed over them: a great mass of darkness, drawing closer and closer.
“I won’t make it,” Zera called from her ship. “Not in time to get them all on board. You three get in the skychariot. We need to flee. Now!”
“I will not forsake the mortals!” Vorn cried, cleaving through a swath of serpents.
Zera was right though. They wouldn’t get the humans on board before Tarneb was upon them, and if the Skithiar was caught in the storm they would all be lost. They needed more time, even if just a few more moments.
“Just get the mortals aboard!” Vorn cried. “Aros, your chariot. We need to get in there.” He pointed at the towering stormwall.
“Are you mad?” Aros bellowed back. “I’m not going in there. I’m with Zera. We should go.”
The stormwall crept over the summit’s rim.
“I’ll do it myself then,” Vorn growled, dashing towards the skychariot.
Aros moved to intercept him. “Don’t you dare.”
But Aros was too slow. Vorn dived into the skychariot and cracked the reins before Aros even came close. The chariot lurched into motion, hurtling up, into the darkness of the stormwall. Behind Vorn, Zera and Aros both yelled something, but the howling winds swept aside their voices.
The stormwinds tore at Vorn, in turns burning and freezing. Red lightning raged around him, striking at him and the chariot, searing flesh and burning metal. The chariot shuddered in flight and fell through the darkness, crashing into the earth and propelling Vorn forward. He landed in the mud, rolled and sprang to his feet, axe ready.
Before him, the terrible shape of Tarneb arose: A massive winged serpent, with many heads and many claws. Each head was eyeless, with a wide maw of jagged fangs, and amidst the heads, a single great reptilian eye, floated in the void, wreathed in purple flame.
The malice of Tarneb’s gaze struck Vorn, and he recoiled on shaking legs.
Mocking laughter rumbled around him. “Fool godling,” a harsh voice hissed through the wind. “Has your father not warned you of my might, oh Son of Miraz? When the world was young I slew your uncle just as I will slay you, just as I will slay all your kin. What hope do you have?”
Vorn surged forwards, fighting through the power radiating from Tarneb’s eye. He leapt into a thunderous overhead swing. Tarneb’s heads roared. One lashed out, hissing. Vorn struck with his axe. The two came together in a shockwave of ripping heat. The head recoiled but a web of cracks fractured Vorn’s axe. Tarneb laughed.
Vorn landed, then vaulted forward. Another head struck. Vorn jumped aside, rolled, and surged forwards again. Two heads struck at once, then three. Vorn swung at one and his axe exploded in a shower of smoking splinters. Another head wrapped him in its jaws, sinking arm length fangs deep into his flesh. Vorn cried out as hot agony consumed him. The head lifted him high into the air, shaking him violently.
Tarneb’s laughter filled him, reverberating up his spine and through his chest.
“Fool godling!” Tarneb’s voice came from everywhere at once: from the wind and the mud, from Tarneb's hundred mouths, from the depths of Vorn’s mind. “Before you and your usurper kin descended from the sky and slew my sister, this world was mine, and mine it shall be once again. I am the one true master of the Middle World.”
Tarneb flung Vorn into the ground. He tried to stand but his body was broken, leaking his life’s blood out onto the mud.
Tarneb laughed and another head lashed out at him.
Then through blurred vision, Vorn saw Thalsi between them, warding off the head with her long spear. Zera knelt beside him, and as his mind faded into darkness, she lifted him into her arms.
If you have any feedback regarding the story, either positive or negative, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m always looking to improve.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Oh wow. This was a desperate move by Vorn and it's great to see the enemy heads up. One can feel that inner voice rooting for the protagonist despite the slim chances of winning. Great first chapter.
Oh my goodness, what an opening chapter!
This truly felt like a climax - I love love love openings that are this exciting!
I know that Vorn is also a scary warrier 'godling' (love that word), but just through his actions, you can see that he is kind and loyal, not wanting to abandon us puny, little humans.
I am already invested!