He opened his eyes and soon realized he was seeing the world through the serpent’s vertical pupils, hovering high above the heads of Juel, Khoronum, and his own body.

The smoke stood still, like scattered, dirty cotton balls.

The silence rang like that night in the crimson semidarkness of the cave crammed with handwalkers.

A jet of fire flashed through Kostya’s memory, bursting out of the serpent’s jaws and reducing the spiders to ash. It jerked him out of the thick smoke and lung-ripping stench of burning flesh, then cast a pale ray to that dawn at the campfire. Their dawn.

Then his memory flung him through the chilling winds of the East Ridge and into the stuffy hotbed of the Forecaster Valley. Same as the Forecaster, according to the insistent voice in his head.

He was about to plunge into the dark waters of another memory lapse to resurface across the mysterious Valley, among these black, wart-like hills, pulling Juel and Khoronum out after him.

But his memory wouldn’t have it.

He saw strange images that he could swear he had never seen before.

Then he remembered. Remembered everything that happened in the Valley. Which was somehow related to his point of view shifting to the serpent’s head and the world freezing. And he somehow knew he would forget it again once the serpent let time go.

But now he remembered it.

Juel’s face contorted with pain.

Her hand on her belly, another hand at the small of her back.

His own silent panic at realizing his complete uselessness. He knew nothing of how to deliver babies, and no magic insight would come to him.

Heavy footsteps behind his back. A booming voice coming from the sky once Kostya looked back. “Oh, at last. You’re here. Come, come.”

He jumped up with surprise.

Standing several feet away from them was a real giant, his face benevolent and humble.

“Is she going to give birth right here?”

Long hair. Big beard. He looked like a saint from some old painting. He even wore a floor-long robe. But his height…

Maybe real saints were eight feet tall too. Who knows? He must be the Forecaster.

Kostya had no idea what the Forecaster should look like. But the only thought surviving in his numbed mind was the one about the Forecaster Valley, so he grabbed at it without thinking, like a child would grab at a rubber duck in their bath, and applied it to the giant. He suspected that the word “forecaster” might have a completely different meaning in this crazy world.

“Yes, I am,” the old man boomed. “Come, come. Her water is about to break.”

Kostya was sure he hadn’t asked his question aloud; he hadn’t said anything at all, but the old man still answered him. Kostya stared at him, puzzled. But the stranger wasn’t going to give any explanations. He just went up to Juel, who was arching her back as she went into labor. “Come, dear. Just a few steps.”

The giant took her by the elbow as if she were a child and led her into the thickets. Looking back at Kostya over his shoulder, he said, “What’re you waiting for? Come, come.”

Kostya followed them.

The thickets only appeared to be impassable; his feet easily found a small path meandering through the tall grass. The Forecaster moved the branches away with the confidence of an icebreaker ship. Juel followed him, groaning. Kostya brought up the rear, dodging the branches. He could not see much through the leaves, but the path was definitely downhill.

Suddenly they came out into the open, the thickets cut off as though by an invisible knife.

Kostya looked around.

They were at the bottom of a deep canyon, apparently where the valley narrowed. Sticking out of the tall grass were the broken fragments of some giant structure. Rusty pipes. Twisted metal rods. Charred remnants of wooden stairs and scaffolds.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

A warm wind caressed the grass, sending ripples across the green sea, lapping at the broken things that looked like the wreckage of a ship that had been stranded in this grassy lagoon many years ago.

The Forecaster led them toward the wreckage.

The path under their feet winded around the rusty metal pieces. Now that they were close, Kostya could see that they resembled the remains of a drilling rig torn and twisted by an incredibly powerful explosion.

“Was there a war?” Kostya muttered under his breath as he looked at the oddly bent pipes on either side of him.

“There was,” the Forecaster boomed without looking back. “A civil war. Or even a feud. Between me… and me.”

Juel stopped again and gave a moan, clutching at her belly.

“Come, dear, come. We’re almost here.” The old man took her by the elbow.

After a few steps, the sea of grass gave way to a large crater; the path spiraled down into it.

“Look at what soul-searching comes to,” the Forecaster muttered while supporting Juel, who barely could walk.

Kostya stared into the crater overgrown with grass, pondering over what soul-searching could have to do with the smashed drilling rig.

He glanced up at the dense grass gilded by the rays of the setting sun. It was darker and colder down here. No more grass. The path gave place to a set of earthen steps spiraling deeper and deeper underground.

On his right was a dry earth wall with protruding roots. On his left, a dark gap with a cool, damp breath coming out of it. The stairs were rather broad, but the height was making him uneasy.

Juel stopped again. She seemed to pay no heed to the scary gap; she just wanted to reach a safe place and end her suffering.

Kostya wanted just the same.

He glanced up again and saw just a tiny spot of distant light overhead. Looking down, he found himself standing on a small patch of trampled earth.

Alone.

His heart sank.

His distraction lasted but for a moment. Where could’ve they have gone?

“Hey! Where are you?” The deep, muffled voice came from his right.

As Kostya’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a small niche in the wall. The voice was coming from there. “How long do we have to wait? Come in. Come, come. Her water has broken.”

Stepping into the niche, Kostya saw the distant, yellow gleam of a torch.

“Breathe, dear. Breathe. With your mouth. Yes. Bear down when I tell you. Not now!” The Forecaster boomed.

Kostya stood at Juel’s head, holding her hand as she was sprawled on a tall bed that looked like an examination table.

That was the only thing he could do for her...apart from keeping himself from fainting.

She was in steady labor, breathing heavily, beads of sweat gleaming on her forehead. Kostya would brush her sweaty hair off her face, whispering reassurance into her ear. Juel would clench her teeth and nod back until another contraction distracted her.

“Here’s the head. Now stop!” the old man bellowed, the echo of his voice shaking the walls. “Stop, you! Relax.”

Juel bit her lip, moaning.

Kostya felt like they were frozen in time.

An eternity passed before the Forecaster boomed, “Here! Look at it!”

Kostya saw the light from the torch fall across some wet, hair-covered thing.

“Now bear down. Not that strong!”

The giant’s fingers holding the baby’s head moved down and pulled out a tiny shoulder, then another. Then the Forecaster straightened up, holding a lilac baby, still connected to Juel by a twisted hose, in his arms.

Kostya felt like fainting.

Before slipping into the dark, he heard a high-pitched scream pierce the darkness like a needle.

“Hey, wake up. Come, come. You have things to do.” Giant hands were lightly slapping him on the cheeks, almost sweeping his head off.

Kostya opened his eyes and saw the Forecaster.

It was the first time he could get a proper look at the old man. His skin had a metal tint. He was no doubt a living person, his face had pores and wrinkles, but Kostya couldn’t help feeling like his body was just artistic, lifelike metalwork.

“Oh, here you are. Good.” The giant straightened up and ran his metal fingers with big rivets on the knuckles through his beard, his steel eyes shooting sly gleams from beneath the bushy eyebrows.

Is his beard made of metal too? What does it feel like to touch?

“It’s your brain that’s made of metal,” the Forecaster boomed. “Yet another one. What’s wrong with you? And no, you can’t touch it.”

Kostya closed his eyes. Damn mind reader.

“Hey, you!” The booming voice came again.

Kostya smiled, remembering the Shaman of the North Peak and the abominable snowman holding a baby with swollen eyes in its big, hairy hands. This world has a great variety of obstetricians. Hey. Did that really happen less than a week ago?

Seeing another baby delivered within just a few days was a bit too much.

Where is it? Kostya turned his head and saw Juel sitting next to him with a boy of about two on her lap. The boy stared at Kostya blankly, the torchlight dancing in his eyes.

A stunning theory came to him. He’s blind.

“Yes, he is,” the Forecaster said, reading his mind again. “Khoronum is to live his eternal life in the caves. He must not see the Upper World, or these memories will poison his life in the dark. Now leave. Come, come. The Volcanites are waiting.”

Kostya stood, his mind buzzing with questions. What crater was this? What was this valley? And who was the Fore—

“Don’t ask,” the Forecaster interrupted. “Go. Come, come. You will forget it anyway.” The Forecaster smiled under his metal-gleaming beard and locked his colorless gaze with Kostya’s.

Who was seeing the world through the serpent’s vertical pupils, hovering high above the heads of Juel, Khoronum, and his own body.

The smoke stood still, like scattered, dirty cotton balls.

The silence rang like that night in the crimson semi-dark of the cave crammed with handwalkers.

His memory had come full circle.

Kostya slid the serpent’s gaze forward to where the flash and the blast had come from.