Of Clouds and Bells

IV. Tempest

IV. Tempest-

The dagger flashed silver before thudded into the bark of the quite defenseless tree. Wood splinters burst around the tiny sliver of metal, sap welling like blood a moment later. Poppen smiled wanly as he went to retrieve his toy. The knife slid easily from the soft bark--he had picked this tree specifically because it was half rotted. It was easy to get the dagger in and out, and--with his severe lack of strength--that proved necessary if he wished to practice his aim.

 The tree was a fortunate find. As Poppen’s tribe neared the border and the sea, large plant life was becoming scarce. The fact that he could see all the way out to the horizon was disconcerting to say the least. Normally, this time of year, Poppen and his tribe would be closer north with the deer and coopi. However, City security had doubled since last season. This was one of the only places they could retreat to without running into countless border wardens and their remorseless mounts.

 A soft mew warned him of an intruder. Poppen leapt to his small feet, giving his cat--Cat, he called him--a grateful glance. The feline snorted and placed his orange striped head on his paws. However, the newcomer was not even aware of Poppen’s presence. Being just over three foot made it hard for another to see you in tall grass.

 This fact was fortunate for Poppen, as he recognised the person instantly. He was a year Poppen’s senior, but towered over the small child. His fair, nomad hair was short and cropped choppily. He was nearly as merciless as the border wardens of Tynum--and sometimes, even more so in Poppen’s sky-blue eyes. He embodied the strength and bravery the nomads cherished. His name was Lem and three other boys formed a brotherly circle around him.

 Normally, they had the element of surprise and--normally--they used to to their advantage. Poppen glared at them from afar; cringed as one suddenly gave a bark of a laugh. He dropped to the ground again, making sure not even his golden-haired head peered over the tall grasses. Cat jumped anxiously at the abrupt movement, narrowed his deep amber eyes, and proceeded to slumber again. However, Poppen then took the cat into his arms, waking the poor thing once again. The tiny beast was tempted to yowl in complaint, but decided the day was far too pleasant to do anything so horrid.

 “What should we do?” Poppen asked Cat. Cat yawned. Poppen frowned, disappointed in his pet’s lack of energy. He eyed his dagger that lay off to the side, gleaming in the pale sunlight. His mind flashed back to when one of Lem’s friends had attacked another with a knife--smaller and less fine than Poppen’s, but his family was not nearly as high as his. He had been tackled before he’d even reached the other and scolded harshly with the lash.

 “Metal must never be turned onto allies,” was the justification, and rightly so. They were taught from birth how sacred steel was, as it embodied all the shards of the world. Never could something so sacred spill the blood of a nomad. Poppen tried to fathom exactly what had gone on in that boy’s mind.

 Probably exactly what’s going on in mine, the younger boy thought glumly and discarded that idea. his mind started to wander and his gaze fell to his pack. A few colored inks sparkled like fresh dew, sticking out just slightly over the lip of the bag. Poppen pulled it over eagerly, emptying the contents. Three jars of ink, a feather pen, and an assortment of parchments littered the ground before him.

 “I think you’ll appreciate this, Cat,” Poppen said. He did not know the word for it, but he found it quite amusing that he would finally get back at his bullies with the one skill that they teased him for. There was a word for it--he was sure--but nothing came to mind. He sighed. Cat mewed.

 Poppen reached for the red ink and pen, lifting his heavy Cat from his lap. The small creature accepted this with little complaint. The cat’s master pulled forth several memories of his schooling, recalling the numerous runes he knew by heart. With great care, he drew the first hesitant lines on his paper.