Continued from Chapter 1 - Part IV
Chapter 1
A Cold Wind Blows
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(Part V)
The world spreads below, a wide swath of crass green covering one half of the horizon, with a patchwork of darker hues just below and running through to the southern sky. Here and there are the thin sparkling bands that mark the few rivers and narrow lakes of the region, but aside from these, green is the only sight to see. As always, green below, blue above, the boy between. But the boy is no longer to be seen. Even from such heights there is no sign of him. Morn screeches in the old speech, blasting commands into the mind of his host and warden, blinding it to its own will and breaking it to his. Matt must be unconscious still, knocked senseless by his captors, and in such a state Morn cannot bring him clearly to mind, but the one he rides suffers not from such inadequacies. If Matt is anywhere below he will be found.
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A bucket of icy water is thrown over his head and Matt wakes with a start, squinting and half regretting that he's still alive. His leg aches, the dull throbbing periodically given a bit of flavor from a lance of lightning arcing through his veins. He pushes down the pain as best he can and scans the narrow green in which he is sitting, searching for some sign of where he is, how he might preserve himself, and finally his vision alights on a gruff man of middling age and indistinct origin. The man is sitting on a stump, staring at him with eyes like an eagle's, eyes of a predator, but he says nothing.
Matt stares back, his jaw set and chin upraised. For perhaps a minute they remain so, their gazes locked, until eventually another wildfire of agony burns its way down the boy's side, forcing him to wince and turn away. The man chuckles briefly, but not entirely unkindly, sounding for the merest moment like an old uncle who's seen his nephew fall into a ditch. A joke at Matt's expense, to be sure, but a joke between individuals of some understanding. It could be a start.
Matt breathes deeply, feeling the sting and hurt slowly ebbing with each intake of air. "That'll do, boy." the man says softly, stepping toward him. He comes within a bound of Matt, but then stays himself, showing well his wits. "When we found you boy, you were talking and such. Who's it you were talking to?"
"Huh?"
"Who's with you, boy? Is it another child like yourself, or is there a man skulking in my woods." Matt remains silent. His woods he had said, but these woods belonged to no man. And he had called Matt 'boy'. "Do you understand me, boy?" the man continues uncertainly.
Matt opens his mouth and then abruptly closes it again, unsure of whether he should say anything. There is no guarantee the man will treat him better if they communicate with one another, but then again, there is also no guarantee he will treat him worse. Any choice would be a gamble. Matt again opens his mouth to speak, this time resolved to actually use his voice, when over the wind cuts into his mind the piercing cry of a great bird in the distance. His eyes widen and flash across the open sky above, searching frantically for the source of the sound.
Seeing his darting gaze the man also turns briefly to the blue dome, careful to keep a wary eye on Matt all the while, and after a moment of seeing nothing he again speaks, this time more slowly, as though he is speaking to a child or a very, shall we say, quaint, adult. "Boy, can you hear me?" he says. "Do you know where you are?"
Matt's eyes lock with the man's, boring into his captor, but he stays his tongue. "Suit yourself, boy, but I think you can understand me, and so I'll tell you how things are." the man says. He then begins to tell Matt about the "free men's" camp, which is to say, the bandit camp, explaining that Matt had ventured too close, forcing them to capture him and ensure he wasn't a spy or sellsword. After binding his arms and legs -- there it is again.
Matt's eyes dart back to the sky. There is nothing to be seen, but that cry was unmistakable. Wait. It was unmistakable, but the man was still talking, in fact hadn't broken his speech for even a moment. His brows pinched together, Matt cocks his head to one side, listening carefully. Another cry splits the sky, but again the man fails to notice, and Matt's face breaks into a broad smile.
"Oh, so you do understand me then, boy. Well, I can tell you, you won't be treated poorly, but you cannot leave here. You're one of us now!" the man smiles with the last words, extending a hand toward Matt. He steps forward to help him to his feet but before he can a screeching bolt of sky-stone comes hurtling from the heavens with the voice of hell trailing behind it.
Morn comes tumbling down from the blue vault and strikes through the man's arm, lopping it off at the elbow. His edges flash golden and sapphire briefly and he screams with the fury and hatred of a great eagle. There is then an odd sensation in Matt's mind, like someone is coughing lightly in embarrassment, after which Morn's voice comes clear, scraping into Matt's thoughts like an old file. "I tell ye, lad, a burdie is a daft mind to take under yer wing. He nearly dropped me mor'n you'd care to knoo, and that scritching sound has me teeth on edge. Or it would, if A had any teeth to begin with."
"Weel, are yoo just gonnae sit there all day? I didnae drop in to say 'Hi', so git yer self over here so's we can gie these gobshites a guid kicking before we're on our way!"
Continues with Chapter 1 - Part VI