When The Changewinds Blow Page 10

  Charley looked at him strangely, then at Ladai. "How does she know?"

  "No traveler though this world is ever completely untouched by the changewind, and, once touched, you know."

  Suddenly Sam felt a tremendous throbbing in her temples; her ears stopped up and the cave and those in it seemed to vanish. Charley, Zenchur, and Ladai saw her suddenly get straight to her feet, looking not at anything they could see but somewhere else, and then Sam cried out-and-fainted.

  Zenchur was fast enough to break her fall, but even as Sam was lowered to the cave floor she seemed to come to, in a sense, her eyes opening wide, still staring at something none of the others could see and hearing things that none of the others could hear. Inside her, she felt awake, alert, the scenes she was now seeing clear and vivid to her as if she stood there with mem. She knew somehow that she was not really there, out as much as she wished that it was a dream she also knew with absolute certainty that it was no dream but reality she was witnessing. Somehow, in some way, she was getting her wish whether she wanted it or not.

  The coming of the changewind.

  Terror wafted in on a nice spring breeze, filling the air with intangible charged particles of fear. As always, the animals felt it first, stopping whatever they were doing and then raising their heads to the northeast, almost as one, looking for what could not be seen.

  The horses froze in the fields and turned to look, as did the cows. The dogs did more, emitting after a while a low growl, and the barn cats turned their ears back and arched their spines as if facing some immediate and tangible threat. Even the chickens, ordinarily too dumb to get out of the summer hail, stopped their incessant cackling and darting about and turned to look; turned to look at the northeastern horizon.

  It was a clear, warm day, the kind of day that comes but once in a while in early spring but which lifts the spirits and tells all that the majesty and life of summer is approaching. The sun shone brightly down on the small village and its farms and fields and illuminated the golden coating on the great castle that seemed carved out of the hills in back of the settlement, making the greatest and grandest of the buildings shine like some majestic fairyland jewel. The sky was a pale blue, broken here and there by fluffy cumulus clouds too white to hold the threat of moisture. It was the kind of day that wouldn't dare be rained on, yet it was suddenly bathed in silence.

  The lands of the hub were places of pure magic yet also places where such magic should never intrude.

  People, of course, were the last to notice, as usual. Still, eventually, they noticed the silence, and the animals, and soon they, too, began looking fearfully to the northeast.

  Perhaps it's nothing, they told themselves, trying to gain some measure of confidence and fight back the fear that was growing inside them. Perhaps it's not coming our way. There hasn't been one through here in generations. This is a charmed village, a safe place, in the solidity of the hub, protected from all harm by the sorcery of the Akhbreed and even from the changewinds by the great Mountains of Morning. So they had told themselves and each other for generations.

  The changewind blew down from its far north origin, though, ignorant and uncaring of such things. It had been riding well high in the weather patterns and had not touched ground or near ground, making it more a fearsome sight than something of lasting effect that might be seen and felt and known by those over which it passed. So far it had a pretty clear run along the air currents across the plains, but now it was caught in the twisting currents at the base of the Mountains of Morning and sucked in toward them. They were ancient, massive peaks, all purple in the distance and snow-clad, and they stood as a formidable barrier to all save the changewind. It was too dense to rise over the mountains, and too stubborn and powerful to allow them to get in its way.

  Nothing really could be seen from the castle or the village as yet; it was still too far away. Yet it could be felt, and sensed, even by those inside the castle who had grown fat and complacent over the decades of stability, and on Akahlar stability was everything. Even they could not ignore the behavior of their animals, or some of the signs from their instruments.

  The Royal Sorcerer made his way to the forward battlement, his blue robe flapping in the breeze, a tiny green monkey remaining expertly perched on his shoulder in spite of the sudden movement. The sorcerer had a large bronze telescope mounted there, pointing to the north and east, and he swung the thing but did not look in it himself. Rather, it was the small green monkey who looked in it, as the sorcerer moved the telescope, scanning the horizon, yet from the sorcerer's head movements one would swear that he was indeed peering in and looking hard, not for anything direct or obvious, but just for the signs he knew would be there.

  In the valley between the twin peaks they called the Two Brothers he found his signs, although they would have meant little to the untrained eye. Just a bit of a glow, pale crimson, beyond the peaks, and the peaks themselves framed slightly with a blue borderline, as if superimposed upon another scene beyond. It was enough. It was more than enough.

  "Captain of the Guard!" the little man yelled, and a soldier came running. "There is a changewind coming. A high probability, too, given the wind patterns aloft, that it will come straight down the valley. Alert His Majesty and Colonel Fristanna at once. Waste no time in preparing the shelters and sounding the alarm to the people."

  This was bad; a lot worse than either he or the king had originally thought. This was going to be the storm of the century for this old place.

  The Guardsman did nothing right away. Finally, licking his lips, he said, "Are you sure?" Ordinarily questioning or in any way failing to immediately carry out the order of an Akhbreed sorcerer would be unthinkable, but the sorcerer had just introduced the unthinkable and forced consideration of it.

  The little man in blue fumed. "Why do you hesitate? Time is of the essence! If you don't do as I say now you will see the changewind close up, from down there, outside the castle and Keep!"

  Galvanized, the Guardsman turned and ran off. Within two minutes the sound that all dreaded, highborn and low, rang out from the same battlements as Guardsmen turned the cranks on the howler boxes sounding a terrible siren call that reached for miles and penetrated the very soul.

  The man in blue looked down to see the castle's company springing into action. One, an officer, already mounted and ready to move, looked up and saw him. "How long, wizard?" he shouted. "Do we have a time frame?"

  "Hard to say," the little man shouted back. "Certainly an hour, most certainly not two. Keep an eye on the Brothers. If they change, then you have at best five to ten minutes. Understand? Watch the Brothers!"

  The officer nodded, turned, and began shouting orders.

  The sorcerer himself could do little. He of all the people was most vulnerable to the changewind; it might well be attracted to him like a magnet, and he knew his only real duty was to get inside and behind proper insulation until it passed. He sighed and looked out on the peaceful valley and the town below. A simple place, with rolling green fields newly fertilized and planted with summer maize, oats, com, and other grains, the vegetable regions newly tilled. Off to the west were the groves of grapes, hardly ready as yet for the harvest but promising a very good year. He sincerely hoped that they, at least, would be spared.

  The low stone buildings of the town with their thatched roofs newly repaired after a harder than usual winter looked somehow unreal, like a painting in the Great Hall.

  There would be little time to gather much in the way of personal belongings; those who dallied might well be caught outside, for when the howlers howled again it would signal the closing of the refuges and the closing of hope for anyone and anything left outside.

  Below the Golden Castle, at the base of the hill that-supported it, great teams of men and oxen turned massive gears that had been moved only in drills for the past fourteen years. Below, great doors slowly swung outward, revealing a massive cavity that went not only into the hill but down below it. Not even
hills were safe in a changewind; not even mountains.

  With the aid and none too gentle encouragement of the cavalry, the village began to move toward that cavity. The women and children first, of course; they were the least expendable: Then the men, some pulling hastily filled carts, others not bothering, while the fanners themselves herded cows and horses and as many sheep as they could quickly round up from the nearby meadows.

  Malachan was only fourteen, but that was old enough to make him a man in the village. He had been still in his mother's womb the last tune and knew of such things only in legends and tales told by his elders, but now one was coming and he was of age, subject to his father's orders, and it was partially his responsibility to see that all living things that could be saved be protected. The rest could be replaced or rebuilt, if need be. He was aware of the tales and legends of the change-winds and knew it might not be needed, that in fact they might gain better than they lost, if they but protected what could not be risked.

  Up on the battlement, the Captain of the Guard stared at the Two Brothers, which no longer seemed so distant or so permanent, and then he gasped and his heart leaped to his throat. For a brief moment he was paralyzed, this man who had fought a hundred battles and faced a hundred foes, by what he now saw.

  The Brothers were melting, melting down like ice on a hot summer's day, turning purple and white to a burnt orange color and revealing suddenly a huge pass through the Mountains of Morning, and beyond that pass the sky turned an ominous, yet beautiful cyan, a massive violet that was moving and twisting and writhing like something alive, and which flashed with bright sparks as it did so. Beyond it, on its fringes, the regular clouds coalesced into a dark, nasty storm that rumbled lightning and thunder and.accompanied the swirling mass.

  He broke free and ran to the far end, shouting as he did so. "It's through! It's through! Sound the alarm and take cover!"

  A wind came suddenly up from nowhere, rustling through the grasses and causing the trees to sway and speak the roaring tongue. And from the ground and the houses and the trees and the very air there seemed to come shapes; indistinct, wraithlike shapes large and small, gentle and fierce, and they rushed through the air as well, beating the wind to the great enclosure, going over the heads of the people and animals still going in.

  The siren call of the howlers wailed. Ten minutes! Last warning! But ten minutes was not ten at all, but five, for they had to be closed and all well below in the insulated, packed shelters by the time that mass got here, if indeed it was coming. Men dropped carts and abandoned what they had been carrying and ran for the great opening, and even the animals seemed to quicken and run for that last place of escape.

  Malachan prepared to run as well, when he heard a plaintive wailing cry off to his right. He stopped and then made for it, quickly spotting a very frightened small cat hunched up against the side of a house and mewing in terror. He picked it up and it clung to him, and he petted it for a moment, then turned, aware now that the howling had stopped. Clutching the kitten, he made as fast as he could for the doors which were even now beginning to close.

  It was not much distance; it was designed that way, but the usually clear and easy path to it was now littered with carts and dropped and spilled goods. Here a treasured picture, there an old clock, and over there bottles, some smashed. It was like running an obstacle course, and on top of that the kitten's claws were dug through his clothing to his skin.

  Still, he was going to make it. Perhaps at the last moment, but he was going to make it. The doors were only three-quarters shut, and he was small. At the same moment he made to leap a smashed basket of what looked like bowls and dishes, the kitten decided it had had enough and launched itself away toward the closing great doors. The action was enough to disorient him briefly, and he tripped over the box and fell hard on the ground. It didn't take him long to recover, although he was scraped and skinned up a bit, but it had cost him precious seconds and all his momentum. He looked at the doors and saw they were almost closed, and took off again on a run, screaming, "Wait! Wait! Just a few seconds more!"

  But the forces turning the great gears that controlled the gate ignored him, as was their duty, if, indeed, they had heard him at all.

  He was but three steps from the doors when they closed tight with a mighty clang and echoing roar that seemed to rebound across the entire valley. Malachan hurled himself at the doors and beat upon them with all his might, shouting loudly, but it did no good at all.

  He wasted little time once he realized this, running back and then over toward the road leading up to the Golden Castle. There would still be someone there, probably until the last minute. There were ways in and down from there, he knew. The Stormholders and Guardsmen would have their own privileges.

  The wind was picking up, reaching almost gale force, however, and it drove him back. The air was full of dust and debris, and everything loose began to shake and shimmer and take on a life of its own. He knew now it was no use; the storm would be upon him before he could reach the top gates, and by that time no one would be left. He tried to think.

  If you are caught by a changewind, and have any warning, go as low as you can, below ground if possible, and cover yourself with earth, they'd taught him. Let no part of your body be exposed to the air and wind.

  He looked around. That was easy to say, but hardly useful right now. The defense of the village was predicated on and dependent on the Refuge carefully built below and lined with the best of insulators. Even the golden coating on the castle was an insulating substance that might work if it were not directly hit, but it would do him little good. He knew that you had to stay away from such substances if you were on the outside, since any forces that were repelled would build up and concentrate there.

  And so he found what shelter he could against the conventional winds behind a stone wall and peered out at the coming great storm. It was both beautiful and awesome. It was preceded by a rolling bank of black clouds that seemed to advance like some great carpet, a carpet fit for a king or a god. Lightning flared out from this leading edge, dancing along the ground and sounding mighty reverberant thunderclaps throughout the valley.

  The changewind also had its attendants; more clouds, racing with a speed he had never seen before, giving off not only lightning but darker shapes, funnel-like clouds marching beside the changewind and sucking up whatever they trod upon.

  In the center of it all was the changewind, most beautiful and awesome of all. Everyone was properly frightened to death of it, but none had ever spoken of its great beauty and majesty. Swirling clouds like violet oil in a sky full of clear water; that's what it looked like at first. The closer it got, though, the less color it seemed to have and it became paradoxically more and less complex. A sea of infinite stars, blinking and wavering, in a vaguely violet universe unlike any known to any people of his own world. It was a vastness that covered, engulfed, all that it rolled across. The air was thick and heavy, drawing the great wind down until nothing but it could be seen in the center of the valley. The changewind, finally, rode only a hundred feet or so above the ground and influenced all that was below it. Had it reached the ground it would have been grabbed by enormous friction, slowed, and absorbed, its effect major but localized, and it would have quickly died.

  This one would not oblige.

  Malachan knew nothing of its physics, which was just as well, for in truth the learned wizard who had first spied it had vastly more questions than answers, but he understood well that it was coining and that there was no way really for him to get out of its way.

  Strangely, he found himself suddenly drained of fear, taken up only in the awesome beauty and wonder of that force he could neither comprehend nor do anything at all about. He knew he was going to die, and he only hoped that his reincarnation would be swift and his judgment fair, for he had been a good boy. For a brief moment he thought of his family, all safe inside and huddled there in the torchlit darkness, and knew that his loss, when discovered, wo
uld bring them grief. He hoped it would not be too much or too long. He would get his experiences in the next life; this was almost worth the price.

  The changewind advanced into the valley and did what it always did. All below its pulsing form took on an eerie glow and became outlined in brilliant, electric blue. Grass, trees, everything-even the very air seemed altered and illuminated with a glow. The grape vines shimmered and writhed and changed, becoming strange, gnarled trees with dark, huge blossoms unlike anything he'd ever seen before. The maize field shimmered and melted and part of it became watery pushed by the storms. The rest became taller, wilder grasses in spots, and yellow sand in others.

  The changewind began to pass over the thatched cottages and stables of the village. They glowed and flowed and changed as well, becoming blocky, multi-story structures made of some reddish-brown material, a form totally alien to him. He could already see beneath and beyond the changewind to a fierce rainstorm on the back side, while over on the edges there seemed to be clearing and even the start of breaks in the clouds.

  And then it was over and upon him. Curiously, there was no sensation, no pain, nothing. Just a light tingling sensation, nothing more. He held out his arms and saw that he was bathed in the changewind glow. He grew, and his clothing burst and then seemed to melt away within him. His arms became thick and muscular, his fingers long and powerful, with steel-like claws as nails. His skin turned thick and brown as he watched, then was covered down to the wrists and even on the backs of his huge hands with very short thick brown hair like an animal's.

  Below his waist the hair changed, becoming thick and woolly, and his legs throbbed and twisted and changed as well.

  They were animal legs, although not exactly like any animal he had ever known, and they terminated in great, cloven hooves which would be fine for running but provided less than the best balance standing still. He went backward a bit, but found himself well supported on his long, thick brown tail.