Osey

The late summer storm was the worst one that anyone could remember in over twenty years. Ships of every culture and nation and description were wrecked; some to vanish utterly, their passengers and crew were never seen again. Fishing fleets were decimated; villages disappeared, swept into the wild stormy seas. The Northlander’s raiding fleet was caught in the tempest. Frenzied ocean waves brought the hungry denizens from the depths as the possessed waves brought tragedy. In the torment that followed, feeding was good. Towering waves crashed onto the shoreline. Devastation ranged from the tip of the Scorpion Island in the far north, to the Land Bridge leading to the Kingdom of Jasper in the south. On the island of Osey, the trees on its plains and forest were thrashed into a frenzied dance as the torrential rains and screaming winds brutalized the island. Some of the younger, greener trees were torn asunder. Their splintered and broken remains littered the landscape.

After two days of death and destruction, the sky, still showed signs of its previous tumult. Green and gold light filtered down in an effort to let the sun through to the ravaged earth. Two men were picking their way carefully along the rocky coastline. The sea still swamped everything that moved along the battered, devastated coastline. They moved warily in the rain, for to get too near to the threatening waves would find them sucked out to sea and lost, or smashed against the jagged rocks. They also knew if any debris was to be found, it would have to be now. Any later and the hungry waves would drag the wreckage back out to be forever entombed in the abyss.

The older man carried a canvas bag over his shoulder. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a big man of the sea. His thick, black unruly hair whipped about in the wind. He wore a leather tunic and woolen pants. The hard boots came to his knees. His piercing blue eyes, etched with crow’s feet, took in every detail.

The younger version of the man poked through a shattered and wrecked wooden hull. Only fourteen years old, he stood close to six foot. He could work the rigging on the fishing vessel as good as any adult. Like his father, the son had the brightest blue eyes, which twinkled in constant mirth. He picked up some debris and looked at it critically, then threw them back into the surging water. He was about to move on, when something in the next breaking roller caught his attention. He peered intently for a minute; he could see what looked to be a body clinging to wreckage. He threw down his burlap sack, and hastily dropped to the wet sand, furiously pulling off his boots. Jumping to his feet, he charged into the sea, taking great bounding leaps. His father, seeing his son moving, raced around to where he had left his gear.

What is it Jeremiah? he shouted between cupped hands.

His son’s reply was lost in the howling wind. The sea was already surging rapidly past the father’s worn scuffed boots. The large man could see Jeremiah struggling with something in the heavy swell. A large rogue wave broke, smashing down on one side of the debris, forcing up the splintered side of the wreckage. The boy hung on to it and the limp bedraggled body for dear life. The flotsam rode the swell of the threatening wave, hovering momentarily and then flipping, dumping them into the freezing surf. Jeremiah instantly thrashed to the surface, coughing and spitting salt water. Immediately he dived under the heaving surf and seconds later reappeared holding the body. In an instant, the father tossed his sack aside and plunged into the swell in a haphazard, comical fashion, making his way to his son. A big wave caught the boy and overbalanced him; the youth fell. The big man grabbed his son by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him to his feet and grabbed a flopping arm of the body rolling, limp in the surf; a girl by the amount of hair spilling out around her. With little effort he dragged them both to the relative safety of the beach.

The boy lay gasping for breath, seconds later he vomited seawater coughing and spluttering. His father had the girl on her stomach, working her shoulders up and down. Nearly a full minute went by in which the boy began to despair that she had drowned, when she coughed violently, heaving and vomiting on the sand. At the first sign of life, the man turned her on her back and held her shoulders as she was sick all down her clothing. The raging sea smashed over the three of them; the retreating swell dragging at their frozen numb bodies.

It’s time to go! Grab our gear! I’ll bring the girl!

He had to lean over next to his son before his bellowed instructions could be heard. The boy nodded his understanding and staggered to his feet; he quickly found his boots and the sacks. The father picked up the girl, and leading the way, quickly left the turbulent, sucking sea behind them.

The journey to the cabin stretched interminably. The cabin was only a quarter mile away, normally the walk was covered in minutes however, this night was anything but normal. The boy clutched his arms about his torso, the howling wind tearing at him bringing tears to his eyes. The wet clinging clothing was freezing, and his teeth chattered violently. It got so bad he picked up a small stick, and put it between his teeth fearing they would shatter. Even his father, a giant among the fisherman of the village, was struggling with the fierce wind as it dragged at his encumbered body. Jeremiah felt like crying when the lights of the cabin came into sight.

The boy dug deep, using his last reserves as he hurried past his struggling father and opened the sturdy wooden door. His father almost fell inside as the boy slammed it closed. Instantly the quiet assaulted their senses. His numbed mind gradually understood they were no longer under attack by the elements.

Get your gear off boy, before you catch your death.

He had already put the girl in the boy’s bed that lined the wall. Without any thought for her modesty, he quickly stripped her and tucked her under the warm feather down quilt. He quickly stoked up the fire and soon had it burning brightly.

Jeremiah couldn’t help but stare at the unconscious girl. He had never really seen a girl with no clothes on close up before. He had seen his mother in the lake bathing once, but he had been so embarrassed he didn’t want to remember anything. She had died a year ago. A tear welled up at his mother’s memory, but he quickly fought it back. Sometimes, when his father was not there, he would cry by himself.

Jeremiah, shake yourself, boy. Get some warm clothes on and then get some broth.

The man knew they would be wet and cold when they returned, so he had a big pot of thick broth simmering while they were gone.

Father, will she be alright? his eyes lingered on the unconscious girl’s face.

His father thought about the adolescent body he had hastily undressed. She was close to Jeremiah’s age. She had good muscle development and her body wasn't malnourished. Her clothing, while a simple leather tunic and breeches, were well sewn. He’d bet a year’s catch, the girl was from a wealthy family.

I can’t see any reason why not. You did a brave thing tonight, son. You could have easily been swept out to sea.

The storm returned with renewed vengeance and hammered the island nation throughout the rest of the day and into the night.

* * *

The Cave

The frenzied, monstrous storm beat at the helpless, rain sodden county side, the hurricane strength winds tore at everything. The trees and shrubs swayed, fighting to stay entrenched in the saturated soil. Every now and then, one would give up the struggle and would be torn violently from the ground, roots and all. Inside the cave a feeble fire flickered miserably, sometime going almost completely out as the howling wind drove tiny whirlwinds before it to explore the dank and dark cave. In one corner a young woman huddled with the blanket pulled up over her head, leaving her lower half to the mercy of the elements that managed to sneak inside. She moaned in her sleep and cried out, thrashing against unseen terror. Suddenly she lunged upright, narrowly missing the cave roof, her eyes wide … unseeing, her breasts heaving as her starved lungs fought for air for her next scream. Gradually reality prevailed and sanity crept back into her hazel eyes. Abruptly a deafening thunderclap sounded, reverberating back and forth sending the woman scurrying for her blanket which she yanked up over her shoulders and covered her head, shroud like. The woman whimpered, she hated these storms, and especially this devastating fiend that killed without mercy, taking ships and buildings, sailors and farmers, rich and poor, everyone and everything was equal in the eyes of this killer.

Darcy hunched each time the thunder peeled; she desperately fought to pull her rampant emotion under control. She had been afraid of the thunder ever since she had been pulled from the sea when she was thirteen ... she was now twenty eight … for god’s sake, fifteen years ago. She gritted her teeth as another reverberation echoed around the rocky outcrop and lightning actually struck near her cave, lighting up the whole valley, making her pull back as the cave entrance briefly lit up. She suddenly spotted her backpack and lunged for it and dived back under the safety of the blanket before the next assault on her frazzled nerves could begin. Slowly with infinite patience she pulled a thick leather bound book from the bag and hugged it to her breast. Tears quickly formed. She didn’t even know if her husband, the man who gave her the book, was alive. Raiders from a renegade Dracons had finally found their little home and savagely attacked. Her husband lay in the mud, an arrow in him while the other men dragged the screaming children off to safety. Darcy had seen her seven year old son disappearing as she turned desperately as her mother Remi screamed, Darcy raised her bow to shoot. Already the riders were dragging Remi down, capturing her swiftly in a net before her mother even had a chance to defend herself. Darcy had rushed to her defense and soon she too lay trusted up in the back of a wagon. Thinking of her adopted mother made her eye’s tear again. The beautiful Dracons woman was Darcy’s adopted mother as she had never regained that part of her memory from when she was first rescued. Thunder rolled and the she cringed, gritting her teeth and suddenly Darcy remembered Jeremiah sweet words.

This is for my loving wife, every time you are afraid take it and write your fears away.

That alone had startled her; she never even knew she could write until that day. Others in their little group suspected she might have been of noble birth; it was rare for a peasant girl to be able to read and write. Once the quill was in her hand, the magic invaded her fingers and every incredible digit seemed to know what to do.

Darcy quickly stoked up the fire and threw more pieces of wood she had found already inside the cave. Soon the happily dancing flame compensated for the fear outside. Darcy’s quivering fingers found the ink bottle and carefully pulled out the cork; she dipped the quill inside and began to write.

"My name is Darcy, I am unable to remember my name or where I live. I have no knowledge of my former life and now I call this place home. The people I love the most are here, my adopted mother, father and my husband and my beautiful son Aaron.

Terin, Jeremiah’s father did all he could to help find my family, my former life and where I come from. Months would pass before he finally gave up, as no word from the capital, any fishing village or the ships that passed, could shed a clue on who I was. Gradually the importance of a past I couldn't remember began to fade as the struggle of routine day to day living gradually pushed out such luxuries. My memories might be gone, but the urge to know is only temporally buried. I picked today for my special day, as I have no idea what day I should celebrate. Each year my family has remembered, except this year. I fight the anger and despair that threatens to overwhelm me. I want my mother and father back, I want my husband and son back, all of us together with our friends where we can all celebrate because … today is my birthday."

* * *

DARCY

She looked about the cabin from the shelter of her bed. Her eyes widened, seeing her clothes hanging on a chair next to her bed. She tried to remember what had happened, but couldn’t latch onto anything. The girl looked about. The cabin was solidly built, mainly from what looked to be mud bricks reinforced with heavy logs. The sturdy shutters on the windows were folded back allowing the sun to get in. The furniture was rustic, but well made. Snuggling back into her quilt and stretching leisurely, she could hear the chirp of birds in the trees and a rhythmic chopping close by. The girl tried hard to recall what had happened, but all she got was a headache. She put her hand to her forehead, rubbing the ache. When she touched a tremendous goose egg, she winced as her probing fingers touched three pieces of thread.

Ow! she gasped, screwing her face up in pain. That wasn't a good idea.

The girl grimaced as nausea surged through her body. When the room stopped spinning and the dizziness passed, she became aware of another pressing need. Quickly pushing back the covers, she reached for her clothes.

Jeremiah swung the axe in a smooth, well-practiced arc. The mid-morning sun had already burned off the sea mist. The air was clean and clear. He leaned on the ax handle and gazed at the peaks that provided a beautiful scenic backdrop for the cabin to nestle against. The upper peaks still had snow on them, they would all year round. If the island was further south, his father said, the snow would be gone. He loved the white; the way it crunched under his feet when he walked. The mist that formed from his breathing was fascinating to watch. He straightened and continued chopping; it wouldn’t be long now until the first snowfall. Father and the other fishermen didn’t like winter, as the seas were treacherous, even without the winter storms that howled from the north. The fishing fleet was usually anchored in the sheltered cove on the far side of the island. Jeremiah downed the ax momentarily.

His father, like the other men of the fleet, usually spent most of the winter at the cove. The two months of the flyer migration, the big four-foot long fish with little wings that allowed it to fly a short distance to escape predators, was too good not to risk the rough conditions.

He swung the ax, and the head bit deeply into the wood. This year the girl might be here. He stopped when the log split and fell rocking on the ground. He sat on the chopping stump and pulled a rag from his pocket, wiping his sweating face. He looked at the cabin. There was something about the red haired girl that excited and troubled him at the same time. She was about his own age, maybe closer to twelve or thirteen. She seemed totally different from the other girls in the village. The freckles on her nose were just so, he groped for the right word, cute, that’s right. The freckles were cute. He sat watching the cabin; thinking about her smooth body.

Last night when his father was asleep, he had crept to her side and gently lifted the blanket. Her body looked so perfect, the young breasts just beginning to swell, they looked so inviting. He had actually reached out to touch them when his father snorted in his sleep. Jeremiah was so scared he jumped. His heart hammering, he could feel the blood rush from one part of his body to his head. He frantically jumped back to his makeshift pallet near the fire, cracking his head on something unseen in the faint flickering light cast by the banked fire.

Now as he watched the cabin, he felt shame. His father had always taught him to respect and protect women. He had tried to treat this unknown girl like Maggie from the city. She had let him touch her a couple of times. But then, she let other boys as well. He remembered once out in the hay barn one day with her. She had unlaced her shirt as she sat on her knees; head back and eyes closed, enjoying the feeling as Jeremiah caressed her soft supple skin. Then Brad came in. The older boy had beaten him to a pulp for touching her there. As Jeremiah lay whimpering from the beating, wondering if his nose had been broken, they had done things. She had made a lot of noise, and Jeremiah had been afraid Brad had been hurting her. Jeremiah had raced to her rescue and found Maggie on her hands and knees with Brad kneeling behind her. This time, when Brad was finished with him, his nose was broken, as well as two teeth loosened. After that, he didn’t go to the village a lot and left girls completely alone. When his father had asked about the bruises and the thick split lip, Jeremiah was too embarrassed to say anything.

Jeremiah watched the cabin, imagining being with this girl, doing things like Maggie and Brad had been. Suddenly, the door opened and the red haired girl was standing there. She was dressed in her three quarter woolen pants and leather tunic. Jeremiah jumped to his feet mortified about what he had been thinking, the painful stab in his groin made him look down.

Gods, he wailed and took a step back, and fell unceremoniously over the chopping stump.

He twisted about and leaned on the stump. The girl was twitching from foot to foot peering anxiously around.

It’s behind the cabin, ten feet or so in the trees.

She flashed him a quick thank you smile and dashed around the back. Jeremiah involuntarily looked down at his waist and knew the pressure was gone. He stood and took up the ax; with a mighty yell of mortification he swung again, this time the sharp blade split the log with a single stroke.

The red haired girl sat and waited for the boy to come back. When she had returned, taking care of her urgent need, he was nowhere to be seen. As she looked about the small site, she tried to think back over the last, what? Days, weeks, months? She couldn’t remember much of anything, only small tidbits and flashes of pictures. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t catch a glimpse of anything recognizable; a will-o-wisp that danced just outside her vision. After a time, she decided to go looking for the boy. The girl walked past the chopping stump, and could see the ax laying a short distance from the trees. So she headed out in that direction. Soon the foliage closed in about her. The sun beat down in filtered streams. She stopped and turned her face upward and closed her eyes, basking in the warmth.

Suddenly, she could hear the sound of an animal moving in the underbrush. The girl looked around quickly; she could hear the animal’s heart beating urgently. No, hear wasn’t the right word; she could feel the heart beating madly in panic stricken terror. She uttered a gasp of her own, as an unfamiliar wall of terror threatened to engulf her, the girl actually turned to run. She looked back over her shoulder, her foot snagged on a root, and she fell heavily to the ground. She sobbed and fought for breath, suddenly winded. The foliage rustled and a branch snapped. A huge lizard smashed into the clearing. She screamed.

Jeremiah had fled in humiliation at what he wanted from the girl. He ran for the forest, dropping his ax at the edge. His feet pounded on the uneven ground where he tried to jump a small creek. He slipped on the muddy bank and fell to the sodden ground. Suddenly, he heard the girl scream. Fear lent his legs wings and adrenalin surged through his body. He leapt to his feet, charging off in the direction of her cry. The scream came again and he changed direction. She was returning to the small meadow.

Hold on, I’m coming! he bellowed.

The girl retreated back to the clearing, the reptile hiding behind her. She shrieked again as three men stormed out of the forest.

Ho, missy what do you have there? one asked, his eyes moving from the lizard to the young woman.

The redhead could feel the fear racing though the reptile and instinctively knew it was a youngster.

Move away from the dragon, so we can kill it, another said roughly.

She picked up the ax, and held it out in an intimidating manner. Leave us alone. Her voice broke with fear.

That monster has killed my sheep. I will not leave it! thundered the first man, his eyes blazing with fury.

The men moved warily, for the young woman handled the ax with the ease of one who knew what she was about.

‘I was hungry. I was lost in the storm,’ wailed the voice in her head.

She spun, looking at the beast incredulously. Her eyes widened in disbelief. What did you say?

I said the friggin monster ate one of my bloody sheep! You friggin deaf, lass? Now get out of the way! he growled.

The man moved forward, and the terrified girl instinctively swung. He barely jumped clear. But now the girl showed she wasn't afraid to use the weapon, they advanced carefully. The man in the middle nodded, and jerked his head to the men on each side; with a hurried step they moved sideways. The girl tried to follow all three. Then with a cry, they all rushed.

The girl screamed and swung. The lizard screeched in her mind and in panic, snorted. Jeremiah charged into the clearing. The man in the middle clumsily struck out with a pitchfork. The ax shattered the wooden handle with ease. The man on the side cried out as the small pathetic ball of flame singed his eyebrows and beard. The man on the left went down under the charging boy.

Brad, of all the bloody people. I should have known it would be you! Jeremiah thundered, his eyes flashing in contempt.

As the surprised youth started to babble, Jeremiah hit him hard and fast, and he went down under a flurry of fists. Brad was shocked by the attack, never had Jeremiah stood up to him before. Though he was bigger and stronger, Brad never had a chance. The painful memory of the beating, and the