Birds sang. Across rolling fields of grain gleamed the last rays of Ata, the larger of the two suns. Opposite this stellar fixture, dim Ela rose, casting competing light across the horizon.  This collision of light sources rendered the semi-translucent gelgrain iridescent; the acres of field swam with verdant rainbow.  It was a sight that had inspired poets and artists for centuries, but it only made Ket Gnell, the aged farmer who then was riding his carriage towards the nearest town, sigh. He sighed because the market season was ending, and the iridescence meant the crop was too young to harvest to sell until the next, when it would be old and unuseable for most tasks. He’d have to sell it for less in the city when it ripened, and hope the next field’s crop was better. This time last wave he’d had three cartfuls of grain, and had been able to hire a guard to go with him. Because of the mishap, Ket now had only enough to sell to feed himself for the dry season: the cartload he drove now, not quite full of bundled grain.
Ata sank finally behind the trees, themselves only monstrous relatives of the farmer’s crop. The gelgrain, field and distant forest, slowly lost their gleam, and became their usual light green, with echoes of Ela’s muted lavender light softly piercing through. Noting the change, Ket barked a quick Se to Gerra, his carrier bird. The bulky, flightless bird clacked its beak in reply and picked up the pace, pulling farmer and cart at a comfortable trot. After some time the forest loomed, and fields gave way to patchy grass and rock with intermittent trees. Ket reached into the cart for a weapon--an old pikesling, a short handled, long bladed spear with a tensile gelgrain sling attached near the base. A few hefty rocks were nestled in a sack next to him in case he actually had to use it.
Soon cart met forest and true darkness overtook them. Ket set about lighting his way. He lifted his pikesling and knocked the butt of it against the footrest of his cart four times, rhythmically. He repeated the pattern again. The metal spearhead flashed red and then burst into flame, casting light ahead of the cart. The beat was the call-drum of the Cathanic army. National mages enchanted the weapons en masse for the troops, giving the soldiers an infinite source of fire and an appreciation for the regency that supplied them. Ket held it upright in a passive position, remembering his military days. In the war of his youth, he’d been a champion cavalier, able to hit targets with deadly efficiency with the sling attached to his spear as well as the spear itself, usually while riding a swift serat alongside his squad. He’d heard sometime recently that the event was being called the Ehskaj, or “Second Storm”, after the Ta Kjesh thing. Ket supposed it fit, though in his opinion it had seemed to do much more than any storm on both counts.
A howl from the nearby woods startled him out of his reverie. He strained to hear over the heavy rolling of the cart, but didn’t dare stop it. It didn’t sound like a Boar, but that didn’t necessarily comfort him. Things did occasionally wander up from Vulð. The flickering of the flame made the deep shadows of the forest swim, exciting his imagination. His knuckles tightened around the haft of his pikesling. He heard scratching and snapping coming from somewhere in the darkness. He said “Se na!” and Gerra happily complied, moving from a trot to a full-speed run. The howl came again, closer this time and Ket’s blood chilled. Something about it sounded wrong; there was a strange wetness to its shrieking tone. Movement passed into his periphery. He grabbed a rock from his bag and loaded it into the cradle of his sling, pulled it back, and stepped up onto his seat to survey the area behind his carriage. A large shadow darted across the path; Ket aimed and released the stone. As it passed over the flaming blade of the spear, sparks flew and the now-firey rock hurtled much faster than its original momentum along its path. A sharp crack rang out as it struck a tree, echoing through the forest over the trundling racket of the cart. Ket loaded another and watched. Another movement. With steadier hands, he released. Again the stone zipped into the darkness. This time, something grunted in pain where the rock had flown; the light of the stone offered a quick glimpse of something indescript but organic and unnerving. Ket reached for another rock without looking and accidentally brushed the sack off the carriage seat; it clattered into the receding distance. He turned to face front with a pounding heart, cursing. His eyes darted back and forth trying to see into the thick forest, but the darkness was opaque outside his aura of light. A rustling sound came from the left and something hit the carriage hard, sending it toppling over. Ket flew and a tree knocked the air out of him. Gerra squawked in fear, now flailing sideways on the ground in her yoke. The thing howled again and it almost sounded like a scream; a stabbing pain struck the old farmer’s temples. He smelled something burning.

                                                                       * * *
Maj Hutan took a sip from a leather canteen and surveyed his surroundings, taking advantage of the dying light to confirm his course. He could see for thousands of field-lengths from his perch in the canopy, the highest tree he could find in the area. Unfortunately, the majority of it was featureless forest. A sound echoed from below somewhere. Hutan paid it no mind. A few ravens flew above. Stroking a thick black beard, he considered for a moment. He was coming from the direction of setting Ata (atan), and the distance he’d travelled meant that his destination should be between the direction of rising Ela (jael) and rising Ata (ataj). He gazed in this direction, and was surprised to see smoke billowing from between the branches. A debate of whether to investigate or not was suddenly decided by a panicked yell from the same direction. Maj dismounted his perch and hopped to a lower branch, where his greatmonkey Sarca sat resting and observing a bird’s nest. With a click and a syllable the lanky eighteen-hand-long primate—taller than Hutan-- was alert and at at Maj’s side. Hutan said, “Iraja” and hopped on the saddle-cuirass the monkey wore; Sarca leapt to a branch two lengths away from him. He climbed and hopped quickly towards the smoke, and upon reaching it clambered swiftly down to the overhanging low limbs; Hutan lay close to the monkey’s back to avoid wayward branches.
 	A red flickering light told Hutan the fire was unnatural, and he deftly dismounted Sarca and flashed the handsignal for “quiet”. A movement drew his eye and, as his sight adjusted, he pulled a javelin from a canvas slot on Sarca’s saddle. The scene he witnessed was an odd one. A carriage lay on its side, with the grain spilling out of its barrow engulfed in red flame and a large carrierbird attempting to pull its head out of the yoke. A pikesling lay in the grain appeared to be the culprit of the conflagration,   causing the spilled grain to burn into a thick, black smoke. The gash left in the earth and undergrowth told Hutan the cart had been struck with something, something large--it’d have to be, to topple a bird-drawn carriage of this size. Cautiously, he signaled for Sarca to wait, and dropped down to help.
First he approached the man. A poke with Hutan’s foot got a groan in reply, and he stirred. He was hairy and grey, with blunt features and the wiry, yet strong build of a man who has worked all his life and gotten little out of it. Hutan extended a hand and pulled him up, then set about freeing the bird. The man groaned again, and then started. He said something first in a local Cathanic dialect Hutan didn’t understand, and then repeated it with frustration in choppy Sennyai:
“We must going, now! There something-is out here.” He grabbed his pikesling and held it ahead of him, then moved to mount Gerra. Before he could manage it, a shrieking bellow erupted from their left and a blur of something alive and larger than either of the men tackled the bird. The thing bit at the bird’s neck and silenced it, then recoiled with a whining roar as Hutan’s javelin stuck in its shoulder. Ket stepped to attack and the blade cast light on the creature. Hutan’s stomach dropped and Ket cursed. The thing appeared to be a horrifying mixture of creatures: a lion’s head missing half its upper jaw and with the goring horn of a bull jutting out of its neck was supported by a broad, muscular torso, itself held on brawny, misshapen legs, three of which supported the muscular trunk of the thing. A couple others sprouted here and there; one appeared withered and useless while another, slightly feathered, brandished cruel shurat talons.  Not all of it appeared to have as much flesh or skin as it needed, and bone could be seen protuding, bloody and shining in the dark. A tortured, angry eye glared out of the thing’s face, lit with the fire of the pikesling, while deep shadows were cast into the socket of the skull that protruded on the other side.
 It took advantage of the mens’ momentary hesitation and slapped Ket to the ground, then swiped at Hutan, who narrowly dodged and pulled a slightly curved sabre from a sheath. The creature swiped again and was punished with a quick chop to the wrist-joint. It howled, and the men grimaced as their heads throbbed painfully. Hutan swung at a vulnerable looking tendon in one of its legs before being cast away by a powerful blow. He hit the ground with a grunt. Ket scrabbled for and grabbed a rock lying next to him, loaded it into the sling and sent it flying into the thing’s face; the exposed skull cracked and the creature hissed through misaligned teeth. The flames began to spread from the grain to the brush around it. The thing advanced on Ket. Hutan yelled for Sarca; the monkey fell out of the branches above onto the beast and the two interlocked, beginning a whirlwind of movement which ended suddenly with a cracking noise. The beast groaned and kicked a hoofed leg into Sarca’s side, pushing him off. One of its limbs hung at a new angle. Before it could recover, Ket ran forward and stabbed the thing with his pike, then hopped back out of danger; flame spurted from the new wound for a moment after and the creature bellowed.
 	The fire spread to encompass one side of the path. Maj moved to put the beast between him and the inferno. Ket joined him and the two feinted and thrusted at the creature, driving it backwards closer to the conflagration. Sarca appeared in front of them and grappled with the thing again, pushing it towards the flames; as its rear foot was singed it shrieked and pushed back all the harder. Another rock zipped from Ket’s sling, hitting the monster with a wet smack; its counterpush weakened as it recoiled. Maj and Ket ran forward and stabbed the thing together, Hutan’s sword, hilt-deep in the chest of it, became a handle; Ket’s pike causing new flames to pour from the beast. The men strained together, pushing with their blade arms and pulling Sarca away from the grasp of the monster. The creature fell into the flames and let out a wail far more piercing than anything it’d emitted so far; the duo grimaced and clutched at their heads; Sarca screeched. It rose again. Ket kicked the end of the javelin lodged in the thing’s neck, which put it on the ground. Hutan went for his weapon; a swipe that would have permanently disabled him was ceased by a deft chop of Ket’s pike. The offending claw now hung by a sinew. Hutan grasped his sword and pulled it from the beast, bracing with his foot against it. He then held his sabre by the base of the blade and hammered the pommel into the thing’s skull until it cracked and splintered into shards of bone and flesh. Sounds of solid striking diminished into wet smacks. The beast died, finally. The men stood panting for a moment, then remembered the fire, which was now engulfing the trees around it.
 	“There’s little we can do,” said Hutan, retrieving his now bloodstained javelin and placing it in the loop on Sarca’s cuirass, “besides give a shinu for rain.”
“There something-is,” said Ket. “We need proof.” He kicked the creature down to the ground, raised his pike and with a chop that became a flame-assisted sawing, removed the beast's head, right below the horn jutting from its neck. He picked it up by the horn, said, “We better get going.”  They did so gingerly, but quickly, and soon the blaze fell behind and was only a red glow from the distance. They walked in silence for a while, half dazed from what they’d been through and fully listening in case there were more. Eventually Hutan requested a stop.
“What for?” asked the farmer.
“I’m going to take a look above, to see what’s ahead.” replied Hutan, lifting a boot into a footstrap on Sarca’s saddle.
“Konu hre,” said Ket. A waste of time. “This path lead to Foelni, the closest town. I was go there to sell my grain, but now I must warn my fellows. And I owe you a meal.”
Hutan thanked him, suddenly relieved. He had been searching for a town for some time now, though he said nothing about that. They continued on like that for a while; lost in their own thoughts. Ela had risen to the center of the sky and sent light violet rays through the trees, improving visibility and morale. In the time it took the men’s shadows to diminish beneath their feet, the forest began to break, and the men remarked at their relief to be in the open. At this point Ket got his first good look at Hutan. He was a tall, bearded man, with dark skin and a curved, blunt nose. His eyes were a pale, almost gray yellow, and his hair seemed black at first glance, but had a reddish tint to it. He wore a dusty, dinged breastplate, under which were loose, flowing sleeves, pulled tight where a bracer was clasped around each forearm. Wide, thick leather straps tied to the bottom of the breastplate were threaded through his belt and served as some protection to his thighs and groin. His pants were baggy, but tucked into his calf-high boots, which had metal plating on the front and back. It was a soldier’s field uniform, though not one analogous to the man wearing it. The ultimate effect of this was that the old farmer remarked with awe and horror:
“You…you are Takesh!”
Hutan sighed. “Yes, I am Kjeshi.” He emphasized the title; it seemed every country in Atwe had a different misnomer. The farmer didn’t appear to notice. “This makes thing hard for me. First to convince my town of a raferc, and then to bring Takesh into town? Everyone will be sending shinua to Sennyat for weeks, and if I’m lucky they won’t exile me first!”
Hutan was fairly indignant at this. “I assure you I carry no curse. If I had, you likely would not be travelling out of that forest. Besides, you don’t have to arrive alongside me. Sarca and I will just leave you to walk alone, and you can explain by yourself what happened, with nobody to back up your story. They might blame you and say you used a spell to do it.”
The old man didn’t appear to like this idea much. He gruffly apologized and the two continued on, the air now tense.
He spoke again a short time later, breaking a silence that had hung heavily and somewhat sullenly between them. “I saw Takesh, you know.”
Ta Kjesh, thought Maj irritably, though what he said was, “Is that right?”
“Yes,” said Ket. “In market season before the Storm, I was training for the Cathanic Army. I was part of survival”—here he snapped his fingers, searching for the right word—“exercise, in the wilds at the border of Takesh. We had to fend for ourselves a week. We got lost and crossed over the border. Soon we ran out of water, and grew weak. Eventually we each collapsed, and a local Takesh found us. I wake up to water, splashed in my face. He gave me drink. I was confused. When I felt better I asked him where he got the water, and he showed me a Command he knew, and told me something in Takesh I didn’t understand. I asked one of my peers who did and he said it meant ‘Spread knowledge as a vine through the tree of life.’ Old Takesh saying, I guess.”
Ket uttered a few syllables melodically and turned his hand in an odd way, and nothing happened. He tried again fruitlessly and frowned. “I did it right, then. But I’m old, and not Learned anyway.”
. His brow lowered in contemplation of this, but it rose up again a moment later. “See that smoke? That’s Foelni. They must be feeding the town bonfire now.”
“Sounds to me like breakfast is in order.” said Hutan, whose stomach had been fairly vocal for the last few elaghurr, and didn’t feel quite up to eating the smoked meat he carried, after the night’s events.
“Smells like it, too,” said Ket, who didn’t mind the idea of cooked meat at all. “I can’t wait to sink my teeth into whatever they’ve got burning up there. Which reminds me--“He set the raferc head on the ground, pointed towards the forest. It looked even grislier in the light, and now the flesh seemed to be sloughing off slightly.
“I can’t bring that into town, it will be seen to carry bad luck. We’ll bring the people out here to prove ourselves.”
	Hutan nodded at this. In the interest of causing as little fuss as possible, he removed his saber from his belt and put it in a loop on Sarca’s cuirass. He shook his leg slightly to ensure the dagger he kept concealed in his boot was still present without tipping off Ket, and with that the trio walked together into town.