01. When the Changewinds Blow (14 page)

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, would 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.

Malachan was less terrified than horrified at what he had become. Death he could accept, and had been willing to, but he had not died. He had become some son of monster.

The changewind was past now, and proceeding far up the valley, losing force as it did so. It was already rising, and losing some of its consistency. It would not travel on much farther. Malachan stood there, stunned, as the torrential rain came down upon him, masking and taking with them his very real tears.

The backwash of the storm was quickly through, though, and the clouds grew thinner and then began to break up. Sunlight dared peer down on a vastly different scene. It would be quite some time, perhaps months, before the climatoiogical changes stabilized and it was possible to really see what the changewind had made of this wonderful place, but it certainly was no longer the paradise that a previous changewind helped create.

The Golden Castle still stood, its golden sheen now a metallic blue-black, but it would be quite some time, perhaps days, before the assembled populace could free itself from the Refuge the way they got in. The great doors had held, but in the process they had melted a bit and been fused into a solid metallic wall.

The place was not without some familiarity. The Two Brothers no longer stood out in the distance, but the vast wall of the Mountains of Morning otherwise remained pretty much as it was. There was now a vast lake leading from just in front of the village back almost as far as the eye could see, yet it was not wide; patches of real green could be seen in the distance.

This side, however, had not fared so well. The soil was sandy, and rocky as well, and the vegetation was wild grasses, some waist high, and nasty and twisted plants unlike any known here before. Over where the grape vines were, intermixed with the trees, were strange looking bushes bearing large and beautiful pink and crimson flowers that looked like giant roses.

Hesitantly, Malachan moved toward them, and as he got within five or six feet of the first it barked at him. All of the flowers barked at him, and snarled, like a pack of angry dogs, and the beautiful bushes shook and flailed out blindly. He backed off quickly, very confused.

He looked down at himself and then at the vicious plants and shook his now massive head. He simply did not know what to do. He was still Malachan-at least, he
thought that
at least that part of him remained unchanged. Changewinds could alter anything, inside and out, even the very soul, but this one seemed to have limited itself to the physical.

He looked at the lake, and the menacing plants, and knew he could not go there. He looked back at the transformed village, so alien now, and beyond it. The last of the storm was leaving, but where the two lines of hills had once come together there was now unbroken plain littered with tall grasses and equally tall bright, huge flowers.
Everything
had changed, everything but the castle itself, and it would never be the same again any more than he would. He just wished he knew what to do.

He was still trying to determine this when the laborers and cutters up at the castle broke through and managed to peel away the remains of the armored doors at the top. Within minutes, a large troop of cavalry rode out, stopping just outside to survey the new scene and take it all in. The real survey, however, had to come later. Theirs was a different mission that had to come first.

The leader peered through field glasses, panning the scene, looking for what his
duty
required, and he finally found it. It wasn't hard, not against this new landscape and being the size and shape it was. He put down his glasses and pointed. "Down there, to the left and behind the village. See it?"

His sergeant squinted, then nodded. "Yes, sir. I had hoped we had gotten them all this time. Pray the gods this is the only one."

"We don't know if it was human or animal," the lieutenant shouted to his men, "or whether it will attack or flee. Weapons ready, then move down. Shoot first and study the thing later!"

Malachan saw and heard them, too, and for a moment didn't know whether to stand there or flee. When he saw that they had their weapons out, though, he turned and began to run at full speed through the tall grass.

He was fast, very fast, as if made for this sort of country, but the skilled men and superbly trained horses were faster and smarter and more experienced. He quickly realized that he could not outrun them and stopped, marveling that he was hardly breathing hard at all, and waited, his massive hands raised in a gesture of surrender. They were all around him in a minute, but none too close.

"Please!" he bellowed as they stared nervously and uncomfortably at him. "I am Malachan of the old village! The doors closed on me just a few steps before I could enter! Have mercy! I am hideous, but I am just a fourteen-year-old peasant boy!"

That startled some of the newer men, but not the officer and the sergeant who were morex experienced. It was usually kids.

"I know, son," sighed the lieutenant in a sad, almost tragic-sounding voice. "I just hope you're old enough to understand. Understand that what we must-do-now
is
out of mercy."

"No!"
wailed Malachan as the missiles struck and penetrated even his powerful body, again and again, with great pain, until he was so helpless that the officer had no problem administering the
coup de grace.

Up on the charred battlements, the sorcerer Boolean examined his old area. The telescope was gone, of course-sort of. What stood in its place was a very odd sort of weapon mounted on a similar tripod, a weapon not known in this land before, but one the Akhbreed sorcerer understood full well.

"Well I'll be damned," the wizard said under his breath. "Have to melt
that
one down for scrap pretty damned fast. Can't have 'em getting too many ideas of
that
sort around here. Things are rotten enough already." He turned and looked out at the changed landscape, the new lake, the missing hills, the strange trees and grass, and shook his head.

"Well," he sighed, again talking to himself, "there goes the neighborhood."

Sam awoke, sweat dripping from her, the scene fading gradually and being replaced by fuzzy images that resolved into the concerned faces of Charley and Zenchur.

"They killed him!" she shouted, slightly in shock. "They hunted him down and killed him! Just a kid who got caught in some bad luck! The bastards! The dirty bastards!"

"What did you see?" Zenchur asked curtly. "Tell me all of it-now!"

Ladai spoke to him a bit sharply and then brought some dry wine for Sam to drink. Once she had a bit of it down, she felt more and more in control of herself, and with a little prompting she told them the entire story.

Zenchur nodded. "It sounds right, although I can't understand how or why you would have such a vision, particularly of Malabar where neither of the ones involved in your own affairs here have much interest or influence. The Akhbreed tolerate no one not of their own kind to live in any of the kingdoms, and none may remain overnight except right on the edge, as we are here."

"But-but it changed
everything!
The houses, the plants, the dirt, the water, even that poor boy. Even if he was a victim, why'd they hav'ta
kill
him? Why not just send him off someplace?"

Zenchur sighed. "It is complicated. The Akhbreed believe themselves the superior race to all others. Therefore, it is unthinkable to them that any of their kind would even wish to live as some sort of-well, monster. They killed him as a mercy-to keep him from suffering in an inferior form. He was also probably one of a kind in Akahlar-that happens a lot with the big ones. He would be a freak, an outcast, and none would take him or accept him."

That was not an answer either girl could accept, and they were beginning to like this place less and less with each passing discovery. Still, Sam wanted to understand. "Where did those changes come from? His form, the houses, the barking bushes . . . ?"