Red Wind

Red Wind

                The wind. It raged for days and days, but they paid it no heed. Their homes were of stone; and their livelihood the earth below. The raging wind was no trouble to them, so they ignored it. None in the isolated community of Norton (named after a traveller who had – according to legend – been first to reach the peak of the mountain the town was built upon) worried, or even mentioned it as they brought their loads of ore down to trade.

                But they should have listened. The wind was a warning, though not deliberate, of what was about to fall upon them. For deep in the mountain they had built their homes a terrible evil had finished growing, and was about to be set loose upon the world. The wind was the sound of their coming, howling out from the depths. When the evil rose from below, they were unprepared.

                Norton had been built atop a pair of sheer cliffs that jutted out from the mountain; the only easy path up the mountain sandwiched between them. A wide stone bridge straddled the divide, and about three hundred people lived on each side. Several mine entrances had been dug on each side, although below the ground the tunnels joined together. The ‘town’ owned the mines, and paid the miners according to the amount of labour they performed with the money made from selling the ore dug from within.

Three inns stood in the town, though they mostly held entertainments for the miners (who would come from towns all around to earn a living in the mines). Several smiths – and a couple of fine smiths – also worked in the town, smelting some of the ore to provide weapons and armour for the town’s guard, who were the most well-equipped in the region. Norton had been built on one of the most north-east peaks of the territory known as the territory of the ‘winged ones’; a winged but otherwise human people.

The region was not controlled by any central authority, but it was usually peaceful. The coastal people to the west were well known for their friendliness to any – smiling fishers, and always in good humour. To the south and south west lay mountains, mostly inhabited by winged ones; but they were never an aggressive people, tending towards isolation instead. All other directions (though not immediately) were deadlands; almost completely uninhabitable for various reasons. Caravans headed south-east around the mountains and north towards the ‘freed nations’ and ‘death lands’, but few towns lay along their routes. Most trade – slightly more than half – made its way north-west, to the coast and the ports along it.

The town kept watchers posted on the edges of the cliffs, gazing down below, ever-vigilant in case a large group of bandits decided to attack. Others – posted in a high tower at the far end of the path that also acted as an entrance to the town – kept an eye on the sky above, just in case. But late in the evening, when all miners had all left the depths, none kept an eye on the mines.

                The wind picked up in the early morning, drowning out all sound. Some slept on; others huddled and waited it out. A few glanced outside, before stuffing their heads under their pillows and ignoring the gale. Jokes were exchanged amongst the guards on duty as they stared down from the cliffs, or up from the tall tower.

                Silent and invisible a greater sylph crept from the mines. Behind her came other sylphs, her own creations. They were not like the others. They could not hide in the wind, as they were not entirely of it. People who walked the forests alone, who worked deep in the mines, or winged ones who flew alone had been taken. Deep in the mountain she had killed them. Drawing power from their blood and their very souls the greater sylph had made a new kind of sylph; one of not only wind, but also blood. The foul manner of their creation, and their creator’s lust for destruction, ensured that vicious and cruel monsters – no conscience, no kindness. Only a deep need to kill and torture; to see blood spray in the air; and to draw power from it.

                Behind her they came, a gust of flickering red. They were the red wind, something new and terrible created to avenge a long forgotten tragedy. The one who lead them screamed her name into the wind. Niophae! Those who were awake heard it, but could scarce tell it from the wind. Yet all felt a chill, so terrible was she.

                They fell upon the outermost houses all at once. Those within screamed as they were torn asunder by invisible claws, and when they saw the scarlet faces flicker. Each was a nightmare – they were not beauties formed of wind, they were demons. Creatures of claws and nightmarish mouths; eyes placed randomly one warped, impossible forms. As blood filled the air – torn from veins and arteries in a disgusting spray – the blood sylphs pulsed stronger, brighter. None were spared; the aged, children, women with child, even animals were all slaughtered. Each house they entered became a mess of red as the sylphs tore the inhabitants flesh to shreds.

                In some houses, someone was quick – grabbing a spear, sword, axe, anything – and fought back. Often it had no effect; but some were lucky, cutting the sylphs instead of the air. But there were many blood sylphs – more than two hundred. A few losses were nothing to their number. Yet there was worse. Niophae rose above the town, and drew power from the souls of the dead and from her dark servants as they feasted. With the power that flowed into her she made new blood sylphs, growing her army. For every death inflicted, she gained enough power to create two foul servants.

                When she had first discovered that she was able to channel the magic of souls and blood, she had created sylphs much like the lesser sylphs she had been taught to make. Beautiful creatures, the epitome of feminine beauty despite their invisibility. Ah, the wonders so few had seen. She herself was such a beauty, though created by Oophoo himself. But creating such creatures took time. Initially she took shortcuts, paying little attention to form and focusing on function. Her creations became ugly, disproportionate, and eventually barely human in shape. Then she had discovered that they need not be human at all. A simple image – teeth, claws, eyes. That was all that was needed to create a servant that would follow her will that would die for her and was eternally bound to her.

                Not only were they quicker to create, they were also easier to control and required less power. Her early creations – capable of speech, though just as vicious and devoted – acted as sergeants and lieutenants, each leading a swarm of nigh mindless horrors. She could make more when she needed more, which she expected to one day occur.

                But on that night she created only nightmares. Her red wind fell upon house after house, tearing all to pieces. Screams echoed within; but once outside were swept away, lost to the wind. Still, those few who made it outside, who made it to as yet untouched houses, slowly spread the world. “The wind is red! The sylphs have come for us!” they shouted. People started fleeing; hammering on doors, running to the pass. Those who had armed themselves readied their weapons, slicing the flickering red horrors that came at them.

                Niophae saw this happening. She descended from above, ceasing creation of new sylphs yet still drawing power. Once above the pass, as the first few – the fastest cowards, and several who had mounted – reached the tower and gate, she created an incredible wind. Those who had started to flee through the gate were blown back and pressed against it, some becoming crushed beneath their horses. There would be no escape.

                On the other side of the gate, those still alive drew together, forming a ring of protection against the wind at the direction of the guard captains. Around two hundred stood there. The sylphs left them alone for a time, as they finished making their way through the houses. Some still slept, or had not been warned. As the survivors made panicked plans, the sylphs slaughtered those left behind.

                Then all became quiet, beyond the mighty gale flowing through the gate. Even it abated somewhat, giving those pressed against the wall time to hurry inside and join the circle. In the quiet, as those of import planned and argued, the townspeople looked around, confused. Some lit torches, adding to the illumination from the sealed mining lamps. After a couple of moments, several looked up. And they screamed.

                Above the circle was a mass of red, almost solid, growing larger as it hurtled down towards them at incredible speed. More screamed as it drew close, and others readied their weapons. It struck them with an incredible boom, sending most of those present flying. Several sylphs were slain as they dived upon weapons that remained raised against all odds, but most tore into their targets, killing them in seconds.

                Niophae flowed through the gate, and battered down those who managed to stay on their feet one by one, gathering power all the while. Finally the last living creature – an old, mostly blind and deaf horse that had not had the mind to flee – was attacked, and died. Niophae felt herself overflowing with power, pulsing through her entire being.

                Rather than creating more horrors, she turned the power inwards, into her very self, and soul. She corrupted her very essence – the magic of Oophoo that had made her so long ago – into something else. Something dark, and foul. She gained the power of the blood sylphs she had created; becoming one of them herself. Before, she had merely a taste of that darkness and the power to channel it. But with the magic of two hundred slaughtered souls warping and empowering her, she could tear even a bear to bloody shreds in under a second.

                Euphoric from the infusion of dark power, Niophae floated up above the slaughter, above the charnel house the town of Norton had become. Her wind, her form, had become the colour of just-spilt blood. In a faint cloud of whirling red her shape could be seen, a scarlet beauty grinning with mad glee. The first part of her plan of vengeance against the winged ones was a success. Looking at her arm, which she was for the first time ever unable to hide, she though, They may see me coming; but that won’t stop them from bleeding. And oh, how they’ll bleed.