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“Is that a storm?”

Taras peeked out of the high second-story window of the house on the waterfront. They’d just finished loading another trade ship set for Sudraj, one of five. The King had been adamant that these be loaded quickly and set out immediately.

The refugee ships arrived two days prior. Their state was poor, and the commanders had been grim and short since the King’s men spent time speaking to them and walking about - inspecting the torn-up vessel from the East.

One of the dockworkers reporting the crates loaded for Taras’ books joined him at the window.

“Where did that come from…” The man muttered.

The horizon was almost entirely black. It spanned what they could see and crawled toward them at an almost perceptible speed - swallowing up the sky and water alike.

“Tell them we must delay deploying the trade ships,” Taras said. “We will wait it out. Best do that than to risk its winds running us into the cliffs.”

Words spoken remained suspended between the two men, neither moving as they watched the darkness spread. No wind disturbed the trees, and waves rocked the ships and boats as gently as they had all day.

“Something ain’t right.” The dockworker said, shaking his head. “The easterners are superstitious enough - but if that is what sunk their ships, perhaps it is wise to take heed.”

“Are the King’s men still outside?” Taras asked, pulling away from the window.

The other man frowned and shrugged.

“Go have them prepare for a storm.”

Men ran forward, scattering about on the docks. They secured the cargo and reinforced the mooring lines. The dockmaster yelled for some smaller ships to be taken to a more sheltered part of the harbor and anchored there. Chaos ensued with each moment the storm came closer.

Any breeze from the sea calmed, the air wet and still.

Taras found the King’s men on the pier. He urged them to return to the palace and bring soldiers, as something did not feel right. To his surprise, the captain did not ask questions.

The horizon was blacked out, and what remained visible where the bay met the sea had also darkened. They were not clouds; it seemed as if night had some spilling toward them.

That’s when he heard it.

At first, soft, an idea, a thought that sent shivers down his spine. A need.

Then, words.

Come to me, my love.

He felt the warmth spread through his body, the blood rushing lower. He stepped toward the dock, unsure, hesitant. He looked around him. Who was it that spoke?

Every man on the dock and shore stood still, facing the storm. Their hands limp at their sides, sailors and dockworkers dropped whatever they were doing and holding, turning as one.

What is your name, my love?

Taras felt a chill replace the warmth as he saw the other men’s lips move in silent words.

Complete silence fell all around them for just a moment.

And then they began to walk.

One and all, they stepped forward. They stood from where they were crouched or seated. They climbed over barriers and pushed past each other.

Toward the storm.

Taras shouted to them, but none seemed to hear him. He saw the King’s guard, too, walking to the water.

Why do you leave me, my love? Do you not wish to see me? Do you not wish to feel my embrace?

It sounded in his mind so sweet that his muscles weakened, and his head rolled back in complete surrender. But, somewhere at the back, fear and panic snapped it back.

“No…” He muttered, and the next moment, he was running.

He was running away. His back was to them when he heard the water breaking against men’s bodies as they stepped from the shore. He heard the splashes when they walked off the docks. He covered his ears, but still, he heard her.

What is your name that I may sigh it in my sleep? What is your name so that I may cherish your soul with my very being? Let me in, my love. Let me in.

Stolen story; please report.

He heard their cries as sudden consciousness arose in them as they began to drown. Even halfway up the hill, he heard them struggle as the waters ate them whole.

“No…” He cried out so loud that he hoped she would get out of his head.

The cold wind hit him, thrashing his clothes about. It carried the foul black ice of the Frozen Sea in the North. Behind him, he could hear the raging waters come. He heard them tear apart the docks. He heard the snapping of the mooring lines.

He turned for only a second, hoping to see other men follow suit. But no one was behind him. He was a lone man headed toward higher ground.

Below, ships were being tossed aside, colliding, shredding the sails and snapping the rigging as if it was made of fragile threads.

The waters frothed, and debris carried by the temptest’s fury overtook his sight. Mighty trade ships and smaller war vessels collided with explosive force and were sent crashing into the shoreline - taking out the homes and warehouses.

The waves came into the bay and the water began to rise. It rose past the dock supports - it rose past the stairs leading down to the pier.

Taras fell and covered his head with his arms as pieces of splintered wood cracked and whistled past him.

Do not be caught in the rain, lest you get soaked.

She called to him, beckoning him toward the water.

He could hear nothing around him but the wind. Taras prayed. He prayed to the Shattered God. He prayed to the All-Father. He prayed to any god that may hear him. The world around him darkened as the storm's black ate the coast.

Desperate, he crawled forward.

And again, he chanced a glance back over his shoulder. Not one Western ship remained, not a single home. Not a single soul, the flood waters overtaking them all and rising still.

Beyond the storm, in the calm, sparkling sea, he could see the mast with raggedy sails and the worn sides of a vessel. Bobbing gently on the waves was a single abandoned ship.

What is your name, my love?

The voice repeated above the screech of the wind.

“Taras!” He yelled out, even if he hoped no one would hear.

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A horse’s hooves dug into the muddy road, taking a chunk of dirt with them as it moved forward. Past the skeletal markers on the main road. Past the fork where the road signed the split off to Chelkalka. Nine riders came.

Nine more rode to the northwest and another nine to the southwest. Each group came at a trot, and each only went as fast as the very last horse of the procession. A large, sturdy Ardennes horse came with each of them. No rider was on them, but thick leather straps wound about their torsos and chests. They were being led, each more valuable than the next - carrying the most precious cargo.

To each of them was fastened a thick, heavy chain.

One gold. One silver. And one iron.

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“Why don’t you trust me.”

“Marat, please.”

It was morning. The cellar door had burned clean off, but a partially collapsed tunnel was beyond it. Ivan had gone to make sure they could get through. Yaro, still angry from being left without someone on watch the night before, was off hunting.

Valeria stood at the edge of the well, watching Arachne build a web across it. The spider had been at it since the wraith was slain, it seemed she took the opportunity to claim her real estate fast.

“Were this the first time, Valeria,” He shook his head. “I would let it go. I let it go when you left Barzah without so much as a goodbye. I let it go when you walked into a sandstorm on your own. Why don’t you trust me.”

She could not meet his eyes.

“I do.”

“Your actions betray the words on your lips.”

“It is not about you, Marat.” She said. “There are things I must do. On my own.”

He glanced around them, and his voice hushed.

“You are my wife.”

She looked up, and the intensity of his face made a chill run down her spine, but she said nothing.

“By gods, Val!” He grew frustrated, and her silence only fueled the rage threatening to burst forth. “After all that–”

“Marat.” She interrupted him, and her hand found its way to his. “I trust you with the entirety of what I am. I trusted you across forests, plains, cities, and deserts. I trust you still. But a time will come when I have to ask of you something you will not want to give.”

“What are you talking about?” His face was still stern, and his eyes ran over every detail, looking for the meaning in her expression.

“There is a great possibility that I will not survive this.” She said, squeezing his hand tighter as his frown deepened. “And I do not doubt you would be there by my side. I cannot have that. You are needed here. You cannot save me this time.”

“That is ridiculous, Val.” He shook his head. “Do not try to protect me from yourself. You either trust me, or you don’t. Should I decide to walk into the flame for you a second time, that will be my choice to make.”

She dropped her gaze, and it landed on the spider’s creation. The sun reflected off every strand, swaying against the well’s depths. It was intricate and uneven, with gaps and seemingly random patterns scattered about.

Val’s eyebrows drew together as she followed each twist and turn.

Marat turned to where she was looking, accepting that the conversation was over.

“That is the ugliest web I have ever seen.” He muttered. “Did that thing get into Yaro’s flask?”

“It’s the Wound…” She said softly. “I asked her to show me before I go.”

“What will you do with this?” He studied the complicated design. Arachne sat at the edge, the face on its back radiating self-satisfaction.

“I’m not sure…” Val said, “Maybe I’ll know when I am there.”

She felt his hands cup her face, and his own drew closer, resting against her forehead.

“I am sorry. I do not wish our parting words to be this.”

A knot in her throat rose from the very depths that, to this point, had only been anxieties.

“I am sorry that I have not come to you.” She whispered. “I am afraid. I am afraid that I cannot do this, and I want to protect you from my failure.”

“You have a bad track record of protecting me.” He smiled against her, and she grinned, drawing him into an embrace.

“Hate to… be here for thi-s.” Yaro’s voice broke through the courtyard. “But Ivan-s back.”

The four gathered at the opening of the tunnel. Ivan confirmed they could get through, but it would be a tight squeeze, especially for Yaro. The forest in the canyon had not burned down after all, the firestarter feathers only taking with them a grove of trees near the entrance to the cave.

“Any sign of the serpent?” Marat asked.

Ivan shook his head.

“I could not get too far into the trees. It is too much like the Deep Wood there. But I saw no signs that something that large came near.”

Marat nodded.

“We thould prepare for it anyway,” Yaro said. “Bas-ed on what you told me, getting caught off guard with that thing i-s a death s-entens-e.”

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The Iron Wall was dark against the sky ahead, the gates of Titan’s Pass standing even taller. The horse was stopped, and the nine men dismounted. They hammered large metal spikes into the ground - fastening the links in place and releasing the animals as they did.

Not a man was left when evening came. They were long gone from Titan’s Pass. They rode north and south to join the others. The chains would grow taut there.

Somewhere, a bird’s neck snapped as it flew into the Iron Wall. Its small, delicate body falling to the ground. And then, another. Then, ten more.

A figure appeared in the distance. It was preceded by a chilling wind, and behind it came a deep winter frost that smothered every plant and animal alike in its path.

It stopped before the gates, everything around it growing quiet and still. But only for a heartbeat.

Then, a low, deep groaning echoed through the mountain pass as the iron that the very gates were built of began to rust rapidly and twist under an unseen force.

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