A Book Of The Lands: The One Who Would Be King

The One Who Would Be King Chapter IV: A Late Summer Storm

The violent, unyielding monster was already fleeing past him almost as soon as it was upon him, and Djar got his first – and hopefully his last – glimpse at a most violent natural phenomenon. Luckily for the companions, the storm was nearly a half-mile away, yet it seemed to Djar that it was right on top of them.  It loomed huge in his vision and he had trouble believing the amount of branches, leaves, dirt, water and other debris that the force effortlessly carried along on its wild, cycling rampage.

Just after the massive cone spun out of sight, continuing its ruinous winding course toward who knew what unfortunate souls, Djar breathed a great sigh of relief.  The shelter held – though about half the rocks had been displaced.  And all of them were okay – just a bit unnerved.  The storm seemed to be finished for them.

But there were a couple real problems with the whole thing.

*            *            *

Before resuming their journey, they took down the shelter, hanging it for a while.  They then checked on Snork, who was very wet and scared, but little worse for wear.  They then changed into clothes that were only damp – as opposed to completely soaked – and ate a good lunch.

About mid-way through the meal, Cookie pointed upwards at the sky.

“Look, the sun’s coming out.  Great!”

Trever laughed.  Though he had been out in the elements probably more than twice the other two combined, the storm had unnerved him the most.  It wasn’t as if he had lost his composure, or anything – he was just plain scared.

“Man, that was something.  I gotta’ admit, that was about the worst storm I’ve ever seen in my sixty-some odd years.”

Cookie glanced at him disapprovingly.

“I thought the storm was ‘no big deal’?”

“I lied.”

They finished the meal, and soon were packing the goods.  Glancing at Djar a couple times, Trever began wondering if maybe the storm had indeed upset the boy more than he had originally thought.  Maybe Djar had been foolishly sticking his head out of the tent and had actually been sharg-bent scared and acting irrationally because he was in shock, but he just didn’t seem like he was all that frightened at the time (which was oftentimes the case with younger boys – their foolish curiosity got the better of their common sense).  And the thing was, Djar didn’t exactly look scared or in shock right now – distant was a better way of putting it.

“You okay, Djar?  You’re bein’ kind of quiet.”

“Oh, yes.  I’m fine.  Just thinking how close that was.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.  For a minute, I was really worried.  Another thousand feet and we wouldn’t a had to worry about the gobbies anymore.”

Djar smiled, still looking lost in his own little world.  The old man resumed packing the last of the drying goods, and started the march again.  He decided to let the boy be – he’d be all right.

And, indeed Djar was caught up in his own thoughts – which came rolling over and over again in his racing mind:  It had been windy, loud, and visibility was poor at best, but he had seen that the tornado had a face!  And he knew that he had seen bodies – weird, rotten looking humanoid bodies caught up in the debris like so many more branches!

But he couldn’t very well tell his companions that, could he?

*            *            *

A couple uneventful days passed before they were in the vicinity of Dymorla’s keep, far south towards the border to the East Wilders. Djar was amazed at how far they had come. It was, in fact, the furthest Djar had ever been from Mahhrain.