Many of the men woke with the pounding headaches that come with excessive drinking and the old woman crafter a foul smelling concoction. I didn’t know if it was to punish the men or help as all of them winced when it was forced into their hands. I was surprised at the effectiveness as it worked to cure their pain.
I helped bring in more of the dry firewood as the rains continued the pound the small town. A lot of it was replaced by men chopping despite the rain and I began to worry for their health. I knew the cold and wet could bring terrible sickness to those not hardy enough to stand it. I was inspecting the clothes I had for any signs of wear and tear when the old woman approached.
“Fine storytelling stranger. Kids have been abuzz about it trying to spout it off to me and each other. Many of them debate on which dragon is better of the two you spoke of. I’d be curious, though, about Crafter.” She lowered herself and sat next to me. “What happened to her?”
I looked sideways at her and fought off a sigh, “It is a long and sad story. One of my least favorite to tell.”
“That bad huh,” she patted my thigh and looked off towards everyone else. “I won’t be pressing you on it. Maybe one of these rainy nights you’ll tell me.” Her eyes seemed to unfocus for a time and a frown creased her face. “There was another storyteller that came through this town when it was just barely started. I was a little girl then. You sound like him in a way.”
I fought off the urge to tell her it had been me but I was a different persona then. “Probably my master or his master. I was an orphan taken under the wing of a minstrel. That’s how I came to be the traveler I am today.”
“Might be, might be. Anyway I got to get to work on prepping some more ingredients for the communal stew. Too bad the spices in it are getting a tid low from all the watering down.” Her knees cracked as she stood. Rubbing them she turned to me one last time. “You wouldn’t happen to have any I could have?”
I reached for my bag and pulled out the small packet of peppercorns I kept for trade. In these lands they were considered a rare spice. Where I had got it though it was common. “Here, it’ll save me from having to do any work.”
The old woman took it gingerly and nodded, “Very kind of you.” She hobbled off towards the large cauldron. I watched as she pulled down a mortar and pestle to grind the pepper down to powder.
My clothes and gear seemed in order and I was tempted to look through the letters but I had no way of resealing them to hide my snooping. Plus the rare ability to read would make me stand out even more.
The day slipped by and the children wrapped up their daily chores. They had swept the entire longhouse and tended to packing away the winter laundry now that the air was warmer. As we all ate dinner the children quickly ate and came to sit in front of me. I could see the excitement in their eyes.
My bowl was taken from me as soon as I finished by one of the children and they ran it to the wash basin. I grabbed my lute and strummed quietly as a hush came across the longhouse.
“Let me tell you how Weaver handled things.”
Weaver watched as the other dragons began to descend from the mountain peak. He turned his head to the skies and whispered to the gods. “How will we know when we’ve won?”
A voice that sounded like every storyteller he had ever met in the years since his creation answered in a thousand hushed voices. “Once you understand the elementals to their core you will know when they have been defeated.”
He looked down at his feet and the remains of the golems that had attacked them. Crafter had found a way to quickly defeat them by attacking the very essence that had made them. It was like a primordial energy that defied and sought to destroy the energy that the living had.
Weaver moved and sifted through the remains and was amazed at what he found. Shreds of magic were still present in the stone. However a sense of dormancy and rest had filled it. The possibilities seemed to fill his mind as he tried to think about how they existed.
Weaver would have to find a living elemental and study it and its habits further to better understand this enemy that threatened the world. Looking to the west he descended the mountain slowly, his mind racing with every step. So few of the beings had come to battle the dragons. Was it because so few yet existed? Was this the beginning or an impossible struggle?
As the air became thick enough Weaver took to the skies with a mighty beat of his wings and started to soar ever downwards at a quick pace. The sooner he found a functioning elemental the better. Sure he knew he could snuff out what drove them with his own magic as Crafter had pointed out but what good would that do if they kept coming. As he soared through the skies with the setting sun before him, the cries and screams of a tribe came to his ears.
Weaver loved the people of this world. Enjoyed listening to their tales and telling his own. Even his wings were adorned with the paintings that would help tell a tale. He angled himself towards the sounds of distress and dove down towards the earth to gather more speed. Soon enough he spotted the cave that people streamed out of. Carrying torches and wounded.
What emerged from the cave after them looked like a dried tree twisted in the form of an overly large man. Weaver landed before it and let loose his mightiest roar hoping to give it pause. It did nothing to slow it and a massive blow slammed into his neck, quickly he twisted his torso to soften the blow and prevent as much damage as he could. Even with that he could hear the crackling of his neck as it popped under the strain.
With a pounce he jumped onto the creature and pushed it back towards the cave. One of the many men rushed forward and with an excellent throw it landed in a twisting or dried roots. The fire took hold but it made things worse.
Weaver felt the being grab hold of the fire with its own magic and made it part of itself and the flames came to life forming and dancing in the shape of scales like that of a dragon. Still the heat crackled and ate at the wood in a destructive cycle. Weaver pounced once more and shoved it down deep in the dirt and tried to snuff out the flames.
The elemental fed magic into the dying fire. It’s being moved from the wood of the body to the flames it now became. It wasn’t attached to the wood in a way that Weaver had expected. No it was an energy that was seeking its best form to destroy those with hearts and minds. The flame burst forth searing the scales of Weaver and leaving black ash on his body. The flame moved like liquid around him and swept after the people.
Before Weaver could intervene the flames snatched up the man that had set it alight as if it was made of a solid body and not that of flame. The screams of the man echoed off the mountains around them as he was devoured. Weaver had kept his senses open to any shifts and changes in the elemental and felt a moment that was important.
The elemental consumed the spark of the man. The core of magic that all life had, the being of flame gobbled it up and swelled slightly larger. Weaver dashed between it and the fleeing tribespeople. With great buffeting of his wings he beat the flames back from his charges. As he beat he infused the winds with his magic and it wore away at the elemental like water wearing away sand. Before it was truly gone the nearest hint of its spark fled into the earth and disappeared below. Leaving only a charred skeleton in its passing.
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The smell of burned meat and wood filled the air as the embers of the elementals first form burned to charcoal. Weaver approached the cave and smelled the fresh viscera of fallen humans. Their blood pooled just inside the cave where those that weren’t quick enough had died. The tribe would never return to this place in fear of any dark spirits that would linger.
Weaver approached the people as they wept and cried into the night. The torches had all been snuffed out as soon as the being that attacked showed it could become even flame itself. Weaver could see several people that were too wounded to survive. Some of the adults were arguing and gesturing wildly in response to one another. Weaver could tell they were debating on ending those that couldn’t walk to give them swift deaths but who would carry such a burden amongst them.
Interrupting the group weaver grunted and signed to them, “I will give them a gentle passing. Stand back.”
The tribe spread out and looked on as Weaver pulled those that were dying together. Most of them were halfway gone already their eyes growing vacant. Weaver took in a deep lungful of air and blessed them with his breath. The air whispered of a thousand tales and smelled of camp smoke where stories were told. It rolled over the wounded and many of them sighed at the relief of pain. A cloud of many colors hovered in the air and Weaver spread his wings. The colors wove themselves into cave paintings that moved across his skin as it played out the simple lives of the fallen living in harmony before they settled in place.
The tribe cried and knelt, bowing to Weaver as if he were a god. Weaver did not feel this way. The feeling that he had not been fast enough and let the creature evolve in his own quest to understand the elementals rolled like an angry sea inside him. He could not know if the sacrifice would be worth it in the long term battle against the Calamity.
Still Weaver stood before them and spoke to them in the primitive language. “You will follow. We must find and protect more people. I will keep you safe. Gather what you can.
The men and women went about the grim task of picking the cave clean of what they could carry with them. Weaver brought them along and found more tribes. Each one was in danger from a dangerous foe. Weaver did not give them time to evolve their forms like the one that became flame. He charged into their midst and used his own magic to snuff out the cores of the elementals like a mighty wind snuffling out a candle.
Weeks passed as Weaver gathered seven tribes of all peoples and Weaver led them to an overhanging cliff. He bid the people surround themselves in a great circle and build a grand fire. He asked them to start a song together as one. He knew that inside them was the capability of magic. And he guessed that was what the elementals sought as nutrition to grow. As he soared into the song a deep rhythmic chant echoed from the collection of man, elf, and dwarf. A blend of each primitive language in a wordless praise to their protector and savior.
Weaver soared low in the air and kept his eyes scanning the lands. He opened his senses to anything that would show an elemental preparing to attack. Within a flash several cores of magic rocketed past towards a small mountain.
With horror he felt the earth rumble. The mountain cracked and moved. Great massive boulders fell and turned to dust in the wake of destruction. Weaver landed dumbfounded at the sheer size of the being. He knew having the people weave something together would gather them. How could he have expected them to form into a mountain though?
One shuffling step wiped out an entire forest of trees as it couldn’t raise its gargantuan feet from the earth. A rent in its chest formed and molten rock flowed like thick blood from the crack. As the mountain moved it revealed a crater filled with molten stone. Weaver could not let it get close. If it even stumbled it would crush the haven he had made for the people.
Weaver took to the air and soared as fast as he could towards the mountain. As he grew closer the sheer heat of the magic pulsing within it stole the breath from his lungs as he started a slow circle. Pushing his senses as far as he could he searched within the thing for its center. Like massive rivers magic flowed around its limbs with the magma that coursed through it.
Then he felt it, the heart of the elemental. It was deep in its cracked chest. Magic oozed from it. He quickly turned and flew towards its chest and it took another massive shuffling step that wiped hills from the earth. Furiously he beat his wings to fly faster, for as slow as it moved its titanic size covered great distances. With claws extended he latched onto the chest of the mountainous being and climbed towards the crack. He folded his wings tightly against his own back and scrambled for every foothold he could.
The heat was oppressive from the molten stone. Weaver pulled some of his magic and willed cool air to flow around himself to fight off the heat as he crawled inside the elemental’s chest. Cracks in the walls gave him places to grip as he climbed deep within. Another massive step shook stone from the ceiling and a guttering of magma flowed outwards almost colliding with Weaver.
Like climbing through the most dangerous and deep cave weaver squeezed himself through tighter and tighter spaces. Forcing himself to the point where scales were being torn free. Then he emerged into a cavern like opening.
A fountain of magma poured continuously as if being pulled from the center of the earth far below. A massive crackling ball of magical energy pulsed. It felt like staring into the sun and buzzed like a billion angry wasps. Weaver’s skin prickled and began to burn from the excessive magic. With dawning realization he knew he could not snuff it out.
Anger, outrage at the living, a search to be more complete. His mind raced with the possibilities. Me knew these feelings, from before he was created. From when he was just a thought in a god's mind.
This wasn’t just a calamity. It was the birth of something greater. This would be greater than any dragon. This could be the birth of a god. What did gods need?
“Praise be the elements!” Weaver shouted. The earth around him stilled and the buzzing grew quieter. So he shouted again. “Praise be a new god!”
The energy coalesced into to eyes that bore into Weaver. One work sounding like grinding stone spoke, “MORE!”
“Praise be-“
“NO!” The magic swirled chaotically and coalesced into the images of people bowing and praising a stone high above. Scenes of animals laying themselves before elementals to be turned to mulch. “MORE!”
“I understand! I will go to the people!” Weaver yelled.
The hatred lessened. The great rumbling of stone settled and the liquid rock cooled and hardened. “GO! CALL ME MOTHER!”
It was painful to walk on the cooling stone but one did not let a birthing god wait. He staggered as he erupted and stared down at the massive lands below. Taking wing he flew as quickly as he could to the people. The mountain stood placid.
Weaver landed among them and started to shout and wave, “Give praise to Mother Elemental! Calm the mountain! Spread the word!” Confusion filled the air until the earth shook behind him.
Everyone bowed and cried out, “Praise be!”
Men grabbed what they could and ran out to the lands. They would spread the world.
The world shook, “RETURN! GIVE!”
I could not deny it. I returned to the mountain and its heart. The energy buzzed as it coalesced slowly and became focused.
“TELL OF LAND, OF PEOPLE,” Rumbled the voice.
So Weaver told the new god of the land and its many peoples. Of the creatures that made it their home. Of herds and hunters. It soothed the god as it was born into the world. Each day the mountain settled more into the land. The flow of magma calmed and cooled into black stone. The new god of elements was born, the name went through many changes. That was the birth of Klaxu, Mother Nature.
The kids stood amazed at the story as they whispered to one another. Parents looked at me oddly as they collected the children. Gregory approached.
“We don’t tell the kids of the gods. They ain’t doing nothing for us and we don’t appreciate you spouting such a story.”
I put my hands up in surrender and softened my voice, “I couldn’t have known that. I’m a believer in the gods myself. But that tale ends that way, I don’t change my stories.”
“No more of them that involve the gods.” He pointed menacingly at my face. “Or you're out on your arse.”