Evil Big Wind
Evil Big Wind
The swordsman called Seven Falling Black Feathers strode with a slow and confident swagger up through the wide and winding valleys of the Felldales, his heavy sky-steel great-blade glinting upon his bare back, his late father’s worn leather sandals strapped-tight upon his tanned feet, and a song thundering in his heart.
Today is good, the swordsman decided after a moment, breathing deep and closing his eyes.
Around his neck was a gift from his youngest daughter: tiny white snail shells – polished, glimmering like little beads – strung upon a knotted length of scavenged, lusterless grey rubber. He treasured it, and had sworn to wear it every day; his mother’s gift, a gnarled wineskin once half-full of fermented mushroom-tea, was already near empty. The violet mark of his wife’s savage love-bite at the right side of his throat – his favorite gift of all, in truth – ached, and the huge man’s pale, scarred face burned slightly to remember the mingled hunger and pride in her bright blue eyes as she sent him forth to go a-reaving.
Yes. It is a good day, the swordsman thought.
The braids of his long, ash-blonde hair caught at drifts of the cold breeze, ripe and raw and rippling on this early autumn afternoon … and the swordsman laughed to himself.
Ash and aluminum were on the air.
It smelled like killing, and the killing was good.
original image from here
Seven Falling Black Feathers was a full high-man of the tribe, this day. He had bedded his wife, bested a horde of summoned slave-fiends, and recited the many names of his honored ancestors, each, all in full view of his family and of his Lady, Speaker of the Evil Big Wind. He had been proven a worthy warrior, a proper husband, and rightful heir to a legacy of blood and thunder.
Each hunter, demon-caller & flame-seer of the tribe had been offered the chance to challenge him – one final time – in single combat, to the death, for the rights to his name; not a one had stepped forward.
By their silence, they had made Seven Falling Black Feathers a full voice in the Speaker’s Choir.
sky-steel blade on his back sung with him now, glowing; another strong baby
grew in his wife’s belly, soon to be born with a fierce name blessed by the
Today, he was the deadliest thing on the planet.
That was enough to make any man smile.