A Castrovel Adventure: Part 4, Chapter 15

In which Lady Vaeol and her housemates deal with the most dangerous weather on Castrovel.

From the Daylog of Vaeol-Zheieveil Yaranevae be’Son

3. Shenelae, 24,543 - Leiss-Farmhold, Lea (31 days since last log)
I will start with good news: we are safely come to Lea with Elarue’s kindred, though the southward wayfare proved grim. On the Eighth of Ashelae we bade farewell to Lady Vei, Clan Miniada, and Elarue, Devaeas, and little Shaess my nephew, who all headed eastward toward the Voliahu Rainwood and Tihes, while we came straight southward. For the first share, we made good time. Vosaeth set a strong stride, forwhy I think she begladdened at her strength after her hard birthtide on the northern ridefare. Yet, though I had told Lady Zhaene we would make a straight path to Lea, I also bade we should not kill our steeds to do so, forwhy the children came with us and we bore no life-threatening fetch. Even so, a strong stride served well, dolefully after what we met away.
A week into our wayfare, on the Fifteenth, we overcame a hill and beheld and a queer, dead wasteland stretching below. At once Vosaeth yelled halt. She bade us two and Honosil ride forward while the others waited, though within twenty strides of the waste our Shota balked and would go no nearer. We unsteeded, and reckfully Vosaeth led me forward until we stood upon the swath’s edge, where nothing stayed but crumbled dust, which might once be grass.
~Kendavi,~ hissed Vosaeth: “Moldstorm.”
Against my will, I quailed backward. Now the dead land made good thought: the moldstorm had blown through, and here the spores had fallen. All it besmirched had withered. I have learned that the great trees can withstand, though they lose all leaves, worts, and new shoots, which stunts their growth for a yeartide, though if the mold finds a crack in their bark, they may rot the wood within. Flesh, however, is not so stout. Even one spore’s touch may forespell lingering death, and the tally of wretches marred by cleansing fire-brand or beshorn a limb to forestall the mold’s growth would fill a war-host.
Neither could I unmind lore teaching that the Retaea is the most mold-blighted stead in the whole world. Some philosophers even teach it as the cause forwhy the moors have no trees. The elder Retaea Clans who were kin to the Warrior-Queens were outquelled in the Third Yearthousand when these banes happened unmatchedly, whereby Vosaeth, her kindred, and all the latter-day Retaea are afterborn from the northern folk who had dwelt in the Shemez Waste and had shunned that time’s doom to afterward wander southward.
At this time, I doubt not Vosaeth reckoned this news and more. She took my hand and led me back to our Shotalashu. Then she read the wind and, making sure it offblew, took a stone and cast it into the dead swath. At its fall, a sickly dust rose, hanging aloft. Straightway she bade us flee. ~Davi o’veari uqi.~ - “The mold is still quick,” she outlaid, and that we must shun at all dearth. Soon as we reached the others, we led them away to stay clear by more than a ~sem~.
That night, we made camp in an unlike wise. Vosaeth bade the Korasha set our tent within and under Voseath’s. Then she, Vohyd and Eneash read the weather. Since it had not rained (and moldstorms strike at drought while Blight-tide), they bade we should cast water upon the gumhide. Then we all gathered inside, shut all the windows, and forbore the tight, breathless room, unminding the children’s sobs. When I asked about the Shota, Vosaeth answered we could do nothing. Their best luck would lie in flight if a moldstorm inblew, and we should hope they could outrun it.
The next day, we shifted path to shun the blight. When we asked Vosaeth whether we should head eastward to Mother-Arasene, and thereby find some shelter under the shorewood, she naysaid. Instead, she led us westward, deeper onto the moors. She outlaid that, though the leaf-whelve indeed gives some shelter from falling spores, it can also catch mold and keep it yeasty longer than the open moor, which greatens threat of befallingly stepping in and getting berotten. When I asked how long the mold would stay quick, she told that we must let it bloom and die alone until no new spores arise, as she had shown with her cast stone. The further threat would stay, however, until Stormtide when the great rains will offcleanse with cooler weather. That day, it also rained, which Vosaeth and the other Retaea betook as good omen. We breathed easier, though still Vosaeth outwilled to camp under a twofold tent and keep keen watch.
After a weekfare westward, we reached the blight-swath’s end by a day and more, and again headed southward. I wondered how many days this lag would add to our wayfare, though bethought better than to ask. ~Retaea thana o’athi-li,~ - “The moors come in their own tide,” say the clanfolk. I doubted I would get any answer else. Still we overtented, even against the breathlessness. Also, Vosaeth bade us stack a bonfire ere nightfall, upwind of the tent.
Five nights on this southbound leg, on the Ninth of Evelae, I was walking at dusk with Tesine and Lanaryel, one my house-daughter and the other my mate-daughter, each holding a hand, while their mothers busied in camp. On a hillock we watched the moors while Ess hunted snakes in the grass, and we laughed at his eager pounces. Then Tesine beckoned away over the land below. ~Omae. A thau!~ - “Look. Glowmotes!” she yelled.
My eyes followed her finger, even as my mind bethought her word’s queerness. I spotted a sparkling cloud gold and green lowering shaftlike over the further moor’s swath. Yet glowmotes bloom in Heaventide, four months hence, but for one other happendom I have heard. My heart stilled.
I knelt between the two girls while I called Ess near. When he dashed up, I lifted Tesine, set her aback, and bade her ride and tell her mother and Aunt Vosaeth what she had seen. Then I bade Ess run to camp with all his awesome swiftness. Even ere he leapt forth, I scooped Lanaryel in my arms and sprinted afterward.
I have undergone war, from the Darkfloor balethings’ fiendish stalk to the maddening crash of byrnies and beshelled hosts against the Formians. Yet that hopeless tide running through the dusk with my mate-daughter in my arms, under fear of a moldstorm falling at my back, outstands among my lifetime’s most frightsome. For the first tide ever I rued my thickening belly, my weight hindering, stealing breath long ere I should falter while our camp and glowing hearthfires offreached too far. I stumbled forth breathless, barely keeping afoot while I held Lanaryel tight and brought her into war-mind. Then I thought of my babe unborn, who would die within me, and somehow found strength to run.
Ahead, pawbeats thumped aground. I beheld Remaue riding her steed bareback, eyes wide, and her skin glowing so wan as I had ever seen. Her mouth opened yellingly, though what word I unheeded. Instead, I lifted her daughter high, the one deed I could do if one of us could be saved. She caught Lanaryel while her Shota skidded arear me. Then they swerved and bolted back campward.
An odd, sorrowful liss overtook while I watched my beloved Remaue flee, bent low over her Shota’s neck, Lanaryel tight to her breast, from the thought that at least the babe might outlive, even if I did not, through my growing breathlessnes and the dark dizziness creeping at my sight’s edge. I stumbled to knee, lurched onto my hands, and betook all my fading strength to stand again. I staggered forth, even while I forsoothed I could nowise timely reach the camp. Wonderingly I swerved backward and beheld a new shaft of glowing spores floating downward, nearer than the last. I prayed for a swift death.
Then a new thought burst in my head - not my own: dread, fear, and an overriding fierce will driven by love. Oshis! I swerved again and lifted arms, right while a bronze treelimb-like arm wrapped my breast, tightened, and swept me from foot. Then Tarami his Shotalashu swerved, which drift outswung my legs and beheaved to haul me onto his steed’s back. I clung to my manlove’s stony shoulder, stifling a sob.
On Tarami’s back we dashed to camp, where Lashunta and Shota were milling madly. Remaue was bearing Lanaryel into the tent, where most else were already gathered. Leief bore a brand, which he tossed upon the bonfire. In three breathtides oil-soaked wood was burning until the sky. While I watched, two more of Vosaeth’s stout harem-mates shoved our wagon against the bonfire: more fuel to burn spores from the loft and smoke to offdrive them.
Oshis set me down, whereat I swiftly fell to knee, no will to stir, mindful of my erstwhile foreseen death. After he unsteeded, he knelt before me and kissed my hands. ~Si orya karassya di shyaeldam~ - “I have not given you leave to die,” he said haughtily. Against my sob, I laughed and kissed his brow, this good and bold man kneeling before, the fulsome likeness of Korasha faith setting his bechild wifelove over himself.
Vosaeth yellingly overstrode the camp. She bade us inside right when Ess snuffled near, seeking my welfare. ~Dethili!~ she shouted - “Send them away!” Though my heart broke, I bade Ess flee so far as he could while Oshis did samely to Tarami, and prayed for their lives.
Kaure met me at the tent-flap and hauled me inside, fear greatening her strength with a boldness she would not wontfully brook on me. We introd a tight, musty room stinking of our own fear, which Istae’s outspread war-mind weakly bound, and maybe did the children some welfare, but not us grown. I stumbled to Erymi, who kissed me in wordless thanks for saving her daughter. I knelt by Remaue, who looked again with those same dread-stricken eyes from when she had upridden and taken Lanaryel from my arms. Her hands shook upon her daughter’s head. I hugged her, shielding Lanaryel under our bodies, and with my other hand likewise brought Kaure near.
Vosaeth and Leief last came into the tent. While he tied the flap, she bade gum-cloaks and shrouds should overlay us all, anything that might offstall mold from our skin or slow spores from our breath. We stirred to listen. Then Taiase bade me join her in the tent’s midst. She bade we should cast a warding-ring that might shield most of the tent. So with her, under a dank cloak we sat, held hands, twined antennae, and sang. Slowly our witch-might grew. We stretched its breadth so great as we dared.
We waited a tight, endless nighttide where no din came outside, and nothing stirred but we within the overfull tent. Children whined. Someone might stir a stiff limb. Yet we were shed from the whole world, caught within this flimsy shelter under the greatest dread Lashunta know, waiting for the first sting of a mold-spore finding skin ere it began eating our flesh. If I had not shared our prayer-song with Taiase, the fear might madden me.
Somewhile later, maybe after midnight, a drop upon the tent startled us all. Another followed, and then another as rain began. We gasped, loosened, and wept, for the water would quell the mold, offwash it, and even slow its bloom. Vosaeth bade us stay under whelve, lest any spores had come through the tent-hide.
The rain upkept the latter nighttide, under which we got some thankful sleep. At dawn we took reckful stock. Vosaeth’s housemates heedfully overlooked the inner tent walls. With nothing unseemly, they untied the tent-flap and softly laid it open, using a spearhead, since metal is rotless. Then we looked outside.
Though it still rained, the moor had shifted overnight. The grass had faded brown and gold, with tassles withered.
Vosaeth bade us take gumhides, cut them to rags, wrap our feet, and tie them at our ankles. It reminded me of the heavy shut-toe sandals Brand and the Aslanta had worn when we first found them wandering the rainwood. Though it might seem silly, we also donned harness, for we must carry all with, and all stocks were packed. Then softly, fighting dread striving to run our hearts, we outtrod upon the withered moor without touching the tent’s sides, and outgiving the packs, which we slung ashoulder or upon billshaft. Anyone with a spare arm took a child.
When all stood outside, we looked back at the tent. The peak was stained: hide marred red and yellow. Vosaeth bade us forsake the tent, and also our saddles, since they were too heavy to carry. We fled afoot, shelterless, Shota-less, over the blighted moor, bearing our children and all we owned.
Under the gods’ liss, a drizzle still fell, for Vosaeth told the next plight lay in the mold drying, blooming, and rising up as spores to spread the blight. This hap gave us a daytide, maybe more if luck outheld, to find safeness. Vosaeth’s housemates led us upwind, further southwestward, forwhy if a new moldstorm bloomed from the blighted land we were fleeing, it would not blow upon us. We hastened so swiftly as we could under our dear burdens, following the heights to read the land’s hue, and hopefully catch sight of grass not sickly red and brown. Our hope outstayed far.
I shrive I reached a tide where fear overcame, that we would never reach unblighted land, that we would topple from weariness ere we found safeness, and we would die rotten and withered of the mold festering all about. Yet we had no choice but to trudge onward, for falter, or even halt, would mean upyieldship to death. The children whined, at which we brought them tighter into war-mind and traded them among us to share the load. At last, when we were all staggering after a great daytide until afternoon, Vohyd, Vosaeth’s haremmate, yelled and beckoned forward. From the slope whereon we stood, blue-green grass growed at length. Our limbs found new strength to cross the last ~sem~, and we even had to warn ourselves not to overhasten, lest we topple ere the goal. At last we reached the blight’s edge and trod unsickened ground.
A deed outstayed. After we set the children down and dropped our packs, Vosaeth bade us cut the thongs tying the gumhide rags to our feet. Heedfully we outstepped, and then offwashed our legs with water, wine, and soapwort. After we did, Vosaeth beckoned back to our foot-swathes coming from the blight: the grass we had trod was already withering yellow. We again upshouldered our gear and fled another ~sem~ upon the unblighted moor, until we toppled and weariness overcame.
I slept through the whole last daytide and night. I awoke the next morn beside Remaue, and lying upon Kaure’s mighty shoulder, who lay curled wardingly over Lanaryel, and who had tirelessly borne our dear mate-daughter for half of yesterday’s dayfare, along with the greater share of our gear. I tried to stand, but outwon merely to crawl a few strides from my loves, for I was weary until sickness, such as I had not undergone the first months after I learned my bechildness. Remaue woke at my retch and brought rainwater. Then I laid head on her thigh while she soothed my hair and antennae.
I looked up into her lovely eyes and touched her face. ~Vaeafa~, she said: “We are alive.”
The rain ended, and Vosaeth upstirred us early, forwhy we wished to be well far from the blightstead ere the mold had time to bloom, dry, and dust upon the wind. I witted Leief, who was kneeling toward the blight, hands lifted prayer-wise, and singing. Afterward I asked what he had done. He told he had prayed to ~Davyofaza~ - the Mold-Sower, which is a god I know not. He outlaid, to his best knowledge, only the Retaea worship this god, to safeward from the moldstorm, and even among these folk, this god is not greatly worshiped or beloved.
The reason forwhy this god is so unfolksome, he shared, is that it is Moqeva.
His word rang my yestermind. Our oldest legends, of the fell wars between the Warrior-Queens and the Moqeva, tell that the Moqeva wielded unholy weirdlore to work a dreadful weapon, a bane that would fly through loft and slay all it touched. That weapon was the Moldstorm, which they loosened upon our foremothers, to great loss and death in that elder time when we Lashunta built the first cities on Father-Yaro’s banks. Quoth some tellers, the Moqeva had behooved to strike fecklessly against the Warrior-Queens. Yet other historians outspoke that the Moqeva had been even so woundsome as Lashunta under the Moldstorm’s bane, and so had fallen to its blight even so widely. Thus the root of the Moqeva’s downfall lay not from us Lashunta (though we willingly afterhunted), but in their own sin.
We also asked what had befallen our Shotalashu and the Shieldhead. When we took rest, Taiase and I brooked the tide to outsend our minds and seek over the blight-reft moors. Blessingly we found them most but a few ~sem~ away, for they had stayed gathered apack and had fled upwind, samely as we. We hailed and bade them come, at which my Ess and Taiase’s Taunu led the pack to us. Soon we gladly met them, cheered their stalwartness, and gave many hugs and scratches. Over the next daytide we likewise found the others. Then we upsteeded bareback, for we had lost the saddles with no room in the tent, and fared forth with a little more speed, if not ease while their backbones jarred our rears.
Luck blessed us in outliving the moldstorm. I fully recked how near death had come, and to me dolefully. At night I dreamed of running with Lanaryel in my arms, of looking backward, breathless and helpless, while the blighttide glowmotes floated downward. And then another kind of bliss when Oshis swept me into his mighty arm and onto Tarami’s back, bearing me to safeness. Such thankfulness my heart bore, and even an odd unworthiness.
Our next night after flight from the mold’s blight, I beheld Oshis watching the Shota. Since my bechildness, Remaue had forbidden me men. Waring that all others gathered at the hearthfire, talking after duskmeal, I witted we were alone. I stole forth, picking way among the Shotalashu, soothing them if they stirred, and bade Ess stand between us and the camp to hide sight.
Oshis saw me while he scratched Tarami. He smiled wearily, the look of a man who has dared and done much, and has outwon. I felt the first touch of his mind, so easy to reach, ringing with that share of myself stemming from him, and reminding my life he had saved and more, the babe growing in my womb.
I spoke: ~A Valantas, aeruaelam ezimya.~ - “Beloved, I owe you much.”
He answered: ~Ae Ilevalante, lomara hiruaelm, o’niloni-mei.~ - “Beloved lady, I would give it all to you again, and more.”
I could not withhold, but rushed, leapt into his arms, and thundered kisses on his brow. He upbore me easily while my legs wrapped his waist.

Lashunta Words & Phrases:

• ~Kendavi~: moldstorm
• ~Davi o’veari uqi.~ - “The mold is still quick,”
• ~Sem~: a measure of distance, equivalent to what can be traveled in belltide, about four miles, or 6.5 kilometers.
• ~Retaea thana o’athi-li,~ - “The moors come in their own tide.”
• ~Omae. A thau!~ - “Look. Glowmotes!”
• ~Si orya karassya di shyaeldam~ - “I have not given you leave to die."
• ~Dethili!~ - “Send [them] away."
• ~Vaeafa~ - “We are alive.”
• Davyofaza - The Mold-Sower, the Retaean god of moldstorms
• ~A Valantas, aeruaelam ezimya.~ - “Beloved, I owe you much.”
• ~Ae Ilevalante, lomara hiruaelm, o’niloni-mei.~ - “Beloved lady, I would give it all to you again, and more.”