The Storms of Dust, Part II

*continued from The Storms of Dust, Part I

***

Kolfrosta felt both euphoric and guilty from her experience with Áfastr. The euphoria, for obvious reasons. Áfastr was the man she loved, after all. And to share her very first sexual encounter with him was better than she had ever dreamed.

The guilt, however, was from the reason why the encounter happened in the first place. She didn't believe she could ever bring herself to tell Áfastr that, in some strange turn of events, the Hellenes identified Kolfrosta as an Oracle. Oracles, according to Hellenic belief, had the ability to foresee possible futures during acts of sex and, because of this, Líknvé ordered the intercourse to take place. That Líknvé did so in front of the entire Attican Ecclesia meant that, Kolfrosta knew, it was only a matter of time before Áfastr found out. More than anything, she feared breaking Áfastr's heart.

Strangely enough, Áfastr hadn't learned of the order while they were still in the Hellenes. They were well-through Anatolia on their journey when, during a sibling argument, Afvaldr brought it up. Kolfrosta had no idea where Afvaldr had heard the story, but it was clear that the brother was saving it for when he deemed Áfastr needed humiliating. The pain in Áfastr's eyes when he asked her if the story was true was almost too much for her to bear. She couldn't even blame or get angry with him when he called her a worthless whore. Her anger continued to remain dormant when he barraged her with questions about how she learned to fuck - "make love" was no longer in Áfastr's vocabulary. Instead, she replied calmly and lovingly, telling of how the women of the Northmen frequently and casually discuss sex among themselves, and how Líknvé and several Hellenic noblewomen coached Kolfrosta the night before the forced, but voluntary, seduction.

When Áfastr added "lying" to "worthless whore," her anger still refused to flourish. He refused to speak to her for several days afterward, which prompted her to write the poem. She tore the parchment from some of her packed Northmen clothing and wrote it in haste in the middle of the night. It was from pure emotion that she wrote, and she hoped that it would be honest enough to assuage Áfastr's heart.

She almost cried when he threw it into a puddle of mud the day she gave it to him... the day that she and Líknvé were to head to the easternmost river, the Indigna, and follow it to the Pars Sea, while Áfastr and his brother were to continue along the Buranun after linking up with Hellenic guides that had still yet to appear. Líknvé was unsympathetic and afforded Kolfrosta no time to try to comfort Áfastr, and Kolfrosta's last memory of him was that of a man no longer in love.

She did not see Áfastr pick the parchment up and clean it off, for he had waited until she and Líknvé disappeared beyond the horizon to do so.

***

The memories end, replaced by stinging grains of sand from the storm. Áfastr feels a tinge of sadness at not being able to embrace Kolfrosta's wondrous body, but takes solace in the torn parchment he grasps in his hand and, especially, the words that he knows are written on it.

But the wind, however, has other ideas. It takes no account for solace.

Áfastr screams out as an errant gust whips the parchment from his fingers and carries it quickly into the dust-ridden darkness. Reflexively, he lunges in the direction he thinks the parchment has taken flight, but the action is futile.

An instant away from feeling despair at the loss of the only thing his would-be lover has ever given him, he is instead thrown down the hill of sand by a sudden and powerful impact. Something had just struck the very spot Áfastr was sitting in.

Before the adrenaline surge is even over, Áfastr stands at the base of the sand dune with sword drawn, trying to see his enemy through tightly-squinted eyes. Instead, he hears it. Though this is only the second time he's encountered a member of the dragon family, he knows his adversary is a sand wyvern. The wind distorts the sound, but he had listened to a Bedouin merchant recreate the noise merely two days ago, and it was close enough. At once guttural and screeching, there is nothing else it can be.

Áfastr is no berserker, but something overtakes his sensibilities and he charges the creature - or, rather, where he thinks the creature is - swinging his double-edged sword wildly. Much to his delight, the sword connects with the wyvern's front leg, though Áfastr is initially unsure if he hit the beast or a random rock. The ensuing scream of agony, however, assures Áfastr that his strike was true. Áfastr might have smiled had the wyvern's wing not knocked him through the air. Suddenly afraid, accounting for the severity of the wing's blow, Áfastr goes prone and lies still.

The Hellenes call dragons, "drakeins." Translated into Áfastr's language, drakein means "to see clearly," which is why the Hellenes also refer to dragons as clairvoyants. This makes Áfastr sublimely aware that he may be wasting his efforts in hiding, but he knows that he has little hope of victory in a direction confrontation with the beast.

For the next few minutes, Áfastr listens as the wyvern bellows out hunting calls, and he swears he can feel the ground shake with the wyvern's movements.  Áfastr hears the thuds and dispersal of sand while the creature leaps and strikes at areas it believes Áfastr to be. Through it all, the man remains motionless.

Hours pass in relative silence - only the howl of the wind - yet Áfastr waits hours more until he is satisfied that the creature is gone and the clairvoyant title is inaccurate. Unburying himself from the accumulated sand and no longer under the influence of adrenaline, Áfastr's body lets him know that it is exhausted. As with people, he's never been one to dwell on being at the whim of nature, and he quickly falls asleep.

***

He gasps for air as he wakes, subconsciously assuming that he's waking while completely buried, but his chest is well above the level of the sand. Scanning his surroundings, appearing almost ridiculous in his half-buried state, he attempts in vain to locate Kolfrosta's parchment. Upset for a moment, it dawns on him that if he hadn't lost the parchment to the wind, he would most certainly be dead. Thankful that he's alive, he digs himself out and starts knocking the sand off of - and out of, apparently - his body.

There's still no sign of his horse or his brother. Áfastr mentally shrugs and sets off toward the southeast, where he hopes to reunite with the Buranun River and find the missing Hellenic guides. The Abyss waits, after all, and there is nothing else to do but continue on.

And to recall the intimate scent of cinnamon.

The Storms of Dust, Part I

*a sequel to A Dragon in Winter. Fair warning: adult content.

Áfastr is, indeed, a long way from home. He's survived many a storm, flurry, and blizzard, of water, snow, and even ice. But this is his first time in a sandstorm.

Long separated from his brother, Afvaldr, and regretting the decision to not switch his horse out for a local dromedary, Áfastr sits nearly defeated on a small slope comprised of sand. He feels the loose earth beneath him shifting, but he doesn't care. With his back to the wind and wrapped in local garb that offers his body some protection from the storm - he's thankful that he agreed to that, at least - he holds a torn parchment in his hand.

Oh, lover, my lover... your presence; missed
remember, our last kiss? I cried; realized bliss
as sweat replaced the scent of perfumed mist
and our hearts collided between the touch of hips

He can't see the words, of course, for the sand and dust blot out the sun, and the constant barrage of rock and mineral particles encourages him to keep his eyes closed. But it's no matter; Áfastr's long since memorized the poem Kolfrosta gave to him the day their quest forced their paths to split. Though, in Áfastr's opinion, it's not a particularly good poem, it is unforgettable. For even stronger in his memory - if such a thing were possible - is what the poem is about.

***

It happened over two months ago, when they were still in the Hellenes. Líknvé had arranged for an audience with the Attican Ecclesia, an audience that Áfastr and his brother were not allowed to attend, despite their purported Hellenic ancestry. Not that it mattered, for neither brother spoke the language. That Líknvé did might have been a surprise, but the old woman's revelations had ceased to surprise him long before they passed the Dinarides Mountains on their way to the Hellenes.

Kolfrosta, however, was allowed to attend. Though she did not, to Áfastr's knowledge, speak the language either, Líknvé was resolute in her determination to teach Kolfrosta everything she knew. It was obvious to  Áfastr that the old woman was grooming a protégé, though doing so without the permission of Kolfrosta's father was a severe breach of Northmen protocol. Líknvé's attitude that it was okay since Kolfrosta's father was not around to object offended Áfastr greatly, but it was not the place for a 24-year old Northman hunter to rebuke the actions of an adviser to his King.

So, Áfastr and Afvaldr waited in quarters provided to each of them by the Hellenes. Áfastr's preference was to share a room with his brother, for Áfastr was uneasy with being a stranger in a strange land, but their hosts wouldn't allow it. The Hellenes, too, were leery of their strange guests and felt that segregation would provide better security for all parties by eliminating as many misunderstandings as possible. Never one to dwell on being at the whim of others, Áfastr quickly fell asleep.

Just before dawn, he was awakened by Hellene slaves bringing breakfast and local attire. To his surprise, Kolfrosta, dressed in a red peplos, accompanied them. Though Áfastr had previously joked that Hellenic garments reminded him of cheap drapery, he was overwhelmed with the realization that he'd never seen Kolfrosta so... exquisitely beautiful.

Kolfrosta easily noticed Áfastr's attention and partially hid her smile. "What is it?" she asked. To Áfastr, her tone was that of Líknvé's: playful, yet subversively manipulative. The old woman had been training her well. Before he could answer, Kolfrosta continued. "You should put those on," she said, pointing to the Hellenic clothes.

"Why?" His own tone caused Áfastr to wince. It was immature and lacking thought. Kolfrosta's new grin might have angered him, but he was still half-entranced by her beauty. The red of the peplos was a striking and complementary contrast to her black hair and slightly bronzed skin. He always remembered her with pale skin, however, though her skin took to the southern sun much more readily than his own.

"Líknvé convinced the Hellenes to help us," Kolfrosta replied, more seriously. "They know a lot more about these creatures than we do, and guides are being summoned to take us to the Abyss."

Though Áfastr had no idea what the Abyss was, he knew he didn't like the sound of it. Kolfrosta sensed his momentary fear and waited for the slaves to leave. When they did, she picked up the garments left for Áfastr and motioned for him to follow her.

"Where are you going?" Áfastr hadn't noticed her gesture.

"To my room. It's more secure and less-likely to be eavesdropped." Áfastr watched Kolfrosta's body carefully as she exited.  She paused in the doorway, nodded to a Hellene guard, and gave Áfastr enough time to enjoy her silhouette. "Come on," she finally said, "we're wasting the morning."

There was something in Kolfrosta's voice that spurred Áfastr's compliance.

***

The first thing Áfastr noticed about Kolfrosta's quarters was that they were much more elaborate than his. Where he had a simple room with a small window, Kolfrosta had multi-chambered quarters that not only offered expansive views of the city, but a balcony overlooking the square below.

The second thing he noticed was the odor.

"What's that smell?" he asked, as Kolfrosta worked her way into the bed chamber, placing his clothes on a small table near the bed.

She turned and smiled. "The bed's been perfumed with herbs and spices. Cinnamon, myrrh, aloe. It's some custom they have."

Wanting to ask why - for it seemed more a cooking pot than a bed - he instead asked, "Cinnamon?"

She approached him, moving slowly, her eyes on his. "A rare spice. From an island world far to the east."

Áfastr was about to admit that the odor was rather pleasant, but Kolfrosta's inexplicable disrobing and her sudden kiss froze him in place.

***

Kolfrosta alternated between aggressive and submissive, and Áfastr was taken aback by the shifting. It took mere seconds to maneuver Áfastr to the bed and remove his clothing. Initially, Áfastr didn't know what to do, but Kolfrosta's aggressiveness was more than enough to disguise Áfastr's indecision and the confusion only made the situation more exciting. There was a hint of embarrassment from both of them. Áfastr was a virgin, and he was under the impression that Kolfrosta was, as well, but as she took him into her mouth, he began to doubt that. Encroached anger burst and dissipated at the softness of Kolfrosta's lips and the tip of her tongue before Áfastr had a chance to protest. A gentle suction removed any thought of resistance from Áfastr's mind. Oddly enough, he kept his eyes mostly closed, preferring to imagine Kolfrosta still wearing the red peplos instead of gazing upon her nude form. Perhaps it was because he was unsure any of this was really happening, or perhaps the scent of sex among cinnamon was stronger when voluntarily blind. Whatever the reason, he was in his own paradise. And with the very woman he desired to be in it with.

As the morning progressed, Áfastr experienced many sensations that he, up until then, had only imagined. The dry-wet of Kolfrosta's mouth, both on his own lips and his phallic heartbeat; the smooth thrust into her vagina and the gentle pull out as she flexed invisible pelvic muscles; the sensation of acidic fluids down his erection and into his mouth; the ticklish and arousing caress of erect nipples brushing his torso. There was some brief discomfort, when Kolfrosta, still mounting him, turned around and faced away. As she leaned forward, bending part of him downward with her, she commanded him to penetrate her with a thumb. Were Áfastr sound of mind at that moment, he'd have refused, but she played his body and desires like a Hellenic minstrel played a lyre.

He learned, very quickly, that he preferred to be on top. While on top, he learned that he preferred Kolfrosta to be flat on her stomach. He didn't know if it was the soft impact of her buttocks against his pelvis, or the fact that she turned her head and looked back upon him as if he were some sort of god, but the position was undeniably the most arousing to him.

Whatever the case, when the act was over and Áfastr and Kolfrosta embraced, covered in the dust of perfume and the moisture of sweat, he decided to ask Kolfrosta to betroth him.

He had not been ready for her response.

"No."

*** 

*continued in The Storms of Dust, Part II

A Dragon in Winter

*This piece, like Gateway, is less a complete story and more a summary/excerpt of larger stories that I'm working on. It's primarily an exercise, but I think it's developed enough to share and be read and criticized.

A day that was ending unusually had begun unusually, in retrospect. Áfastr had never been hunting with a woman, but for some reason - probably the knee-shaking nervousness that comes with courting someone for the first time - he invited Kolfrosta with him. The intention was to hunt for food, as his family's meat stores were getting low, but when Kolfrosta agreed to accompany him, Áfastr modified what was to have been a deer hunt into a hunt for wolves. What better way to show his masculinity to a hopeful bride than to hunt another of Nature's hunters, after all? There was an attempt at protest by his brother, Afvaldr, but as Áfastr is the elder sibling, the protest was a moot point.

Despite being the elder, Áfastr is still young, and his decision to include the pale-skinned, raven-haired beauty - for Kolfrosta certainly reflected her name - caused him to worry needlessly for the entire hunt. While some of that worry was responsibly directed at Kolfrosta and his brother's safety, much of it was concerned with embarrassing himself somehow. The last thing he wanted was to appear foolish in front of this object of desire, especially with a witness present. That the witness was related by blood ensured that any indiscretion would remain a topic of conversation for ages to come, should one have occurred.

As fate willed it, Áfastr's concerns proved themselves fruitless and, in a sort of twisted benevolence, practically guaranteed those concerns be forever forgotten. For the three would-be hunters had found no wolves. Nor had they found deer, for that matter. What they found instead, however, had a much larger implication regarding their immediate futures. Eating through winter, it seemed, suddenly became of less importance.

***

The rest of the villagers - the ones who could fit in the village's relatively small main hall - eye Áfastr and his brother with disdain. Not only is their tale practically unbelievable, there is the issue concerning their ancestry. Áfastr and Afvaldr were, as the stories go, not of a Northmen bloodline, but of a people once found far to the south. Legends referred to those people as Hellenes and many of the old stories are rife with encounters, friendly and otherwise, with them. Áfastr smiles a bit, finding it odd that the matter of his ancestry had never come up before, not even from Kolfrosta's father - who already knew of Áfastr's family history - when Áfastr had approached him for permission to court his daughter. But now that he and his brother were witnesses to what some villagers interpret as the prophetic harbinger, those same villagers look for reasons to blame Áfastr and Afvaldr for the harbinger's arrival. Áfastr cracks another smile, this time wondering what the villagers would be doing were they attempting to solve the problem, rather than lay the blame.

Afvaldr leans into his brother's ear and whispers, "But it was Kolfrosta who saw it first."

Turning to Afvaldr, Áfastr responds, "Mouth shut." Though the taint of love and lust is what is ultimately preventing Áfastr from publicly revealing this fact, he is also wise enough to know that Kolfrosta is from one of the oldest recorded bloodlines in the region and she would not be blamed regardless. She may have, were the brothers of a local heraldry, but they were not, and Áfastr rarely allows himself to engage in futile confrontations. His father had taught him that before he died.

Though both of the brothers are on display in front of the villagers, only Afvaldr appears nervous. He is only 19 - five years younger than Áfastr - and has had a more sheltered upbringing. Already suffering from being a younger sibling, Afvaldr had to endure a mother's over-protectiveness after his father was killed. Áfastr is sublimely aware of his brother's unease and maintains his presence of calm primarily to support what little calm Afvaldr has left. One of the results of their mother's over-protection is that Afvaldr has never gotten into any serious trouble, and despite the fact that he is merely a witness, this incident would be recorded as Afvaldr's first altercation. Were it not for its seriousness, Áfastr would be attempting to help his brother to laugh it off, but until the Council arrives, Áfastr has no idea if they are even facing capital punishment.

Áfastr takes a moment to scan the villagers, taking in the budding hatred for the two brothers that was all but absent a few hours ago. He wonders, for a moment, if reporting what they saw had been a wise decision and concludes that it had been. Not doing so could potentially result in everyone present, as well as everyone not present, being killed. Even if Áfastr and his brother are executed for being "harbingers," the alternative would be the same, and Áfastr would rather die knowing that Kolfrosta would be alive without him, instead of being dead with him. As he has this thought, he spies Kolfrosta in the audience. There is an instant of sprouting fear as he theorizes that she, too, might hate him, but a recognizable interest in her eyes immediately suggests otherwise. Almost in reflex, he winks. He is too far to see, but the wink elicits a blush. He does see Kolfrosta quickly hide a return smile behind her hood.

A horn blows outside in the distance, signaling the remainder of the Council's arrival. Áfastr inhales deeply, clearing his thoughts and preparing his defense, and he pats his brother on the hand. Without realizing it, he tells his brother that they will be all right.

***

"And you're certain this is what you saw?" asks the old woman, Líknvé, as she holds up an artist's sketch of what the brothers had described.

Áfastr nods and the old woman glares at him. He returns the glare, noticing a strange emotion creeping into her eyes. Áfastr has, since almost infancy, had a reputation for being extremely empathic. Is she afraid? She turns her gaze to Afvaldr, prompting Áfastr to interrupt. "It's what he saw, as well."

The old woman hackles. "You would be better served to show proper respect, foreign-born. This is your hearing, not mine."

"I was born here, Líknvé. My great-great grandfather is reputed to be foreign-born. Not me."

She hackles again and writes something down on a scroll. She approaches the Village Elder, what some might refer to as a King, and hands him the scroll. "I am done here, Hólmlaugr. I should go."

Hólmlaugr nods and the woman leaves the stage. Áfastr finds it curious that the Elder essentially just allowed an old hag to give him an order, but given the stories surrounding Líknvé, Áfastr reasons that he shouldn't be surprised.

"What do we do with them?" Hólmlaugr yells towards the shadows that Líknvé disappeared into as he realizes that no decision regarding the brothers has been made.

"Let them go," comes the response from seemingly nowhere. "This is not their fault."

The villagers, who until now simply watched the proceedings in silence, suddenly erupt in despair and anger, upset that they have no one to blame. "Then whose fault is it?" someone asks above the din and growing chaos.

"The weather's," says a voice that sounds like Líknvé's as it fades into echoes.

Her answer causes Áfastr to flinch in confusion.

***

She is known as many things, Líknvé is. Seer, prophet, medicine woman, and even prostitute. The truth is that she has been all of these, but the one thing she has been for nearly her entire life is an animalist. Animals have always intrigued her. Their behaviors, their anatomies, what makes them tick and, in some cases, what makes them taste so good. As an educated woman - an extreme rarity in her culture - she is often viewed with suspicion and experience had informed her that maintaining the seedy reputation of the professions she is known for has its advantages. But, studying the animal kingdom is and always will be her primary love.

As she enters her hovel in the foothills northeast of the main village, she heads immediately to her library. Impressive by any measure - nearly 5,000 volumes of scientific lore - she has spent her lifetime traveling abroad and collecting anything in print. She has even traveled to the southlands, the Hellenic world, of which Áfastr and Afvaldr's family is purported to originally be from. It is for this reason that she is afraid, for she has seen the flying lizards with her own eyes and has witnesses their destructive capabilities. She has no idea if Áfastr and Afvaldr's family is from there, though she has noticed their resemblance to peoples of that area, but she does know that if their family did indeed migrate north and assimilate with the Northmen, it was precisely because of those flying creatures and the death that they wrought to their habitats.

Why she is afraid has nothing to do with prophecy - she, for one, thinks that prophecies are nothing more than the result of uneducated men trying to control other uneducated men - and has everything to do with physiology. Lizards, she knows, do not fare well in cold climates such as the one her people live in and, as a rule, avoid the tundra.

That the brothers and Kolfrosta - she picked up on the fact that Kolfrosta was present at the scene very quickly... something to do with the young woman's guilty eyes - had seen a dragon in the dead of winter, and here, means that something is wrong. The careful balance of the world is being tipped, but from what?

Líknvé pulls some biology books off of one of the library's bookshelves and wraps them in a blanket. There is a trip to be taken, for more information needs gathering. And Líknvé trusts no one save Líknvé to acquire and interpret that information. Evil is afoot, and as she did once a long time ago, she intends to chase it.

***