Thunder and Lightning - A Tale of the Fool and the Fair (Book 2 Intro & Part 1)

INTRODUCTION

The Hall stands. As it has always stood. Indeed, even when it was not built, still… the Hall stood. And TaleSpinner? Where the words dance, then any that list close may hear the whisper of that one’s wings… As we dance and build the Tale, the Tale builds us also, each and all. So let the minstrels play and let feet lift, and let them fall.

Tales do not begin. Tales do not end. They wake, they sleep, they…. dance. And those who hear are as much a part as those who dance within. And now ye who gather these words… ye too are part of the Tale. The Long Tale of the Long Road.

What was Thunder? Who was Lightning? Why care?

There was a storm… and it gathered.

PROLOGUE: STORM WAKING

The world went away. For a moment, for a frozen moment, it was as it had been… alone. No storm of Oath, no silent, whispered voice of the one who was no more… just the one. And what was that one? The name was lost and long lost, but the name… names meant nothing. The words it had used so often came to it once more…

“ That which I am, I am.�

For an eternal moment, it was. And it knew… this time would be different.

And the moment was gone, and the world… was. And the Oath still called forth its price for what the one it Bound had done… but it was done. And the lands opened about a small, blue form flecked with red. And as the lands cleared, old eyes looked upon it. And had any been there, they would have seen the world hung reflected in two spinning mirrors…, but none were there. And the spinning slowed, and ceased… and shifted. And a youngling drake stood in bright sun.

And the Road waited. It was patient. The hatchling’s foreleg raised… and it stepped….

-----

The world went away.

Whenever Sonea was asked later, mayhap by one new woke to the lands, what it was to travel by one of the mage gates, that was all she could ever say. And this first time was no different. For a moment, one that of times lasted forever and of those same times was but the blink of an eye... the world went away. And was reborn, and formed about her and...

She found herself standing on a circular pad. The sun was bright, the sky was blue and the sounds of the world grew about her. And suddenly she realized a thing she had not first noticed, but that was strange about the place of the Halls. No sounds. No bird, no cough of bear or howl of wolf... save the ones she spoke to, not a single sound had been there... Strange... but as the Scout Master had said, strange was no stranger there it seemed.

As she stood on the pad, it almost seemed that there was some other near… and it waited. Though looking round, it was plain none watched. Yet still she had that sense of… waiting. Shaking her head as though to clear it, she looked about. Paths ran in different ways, and strange signs stood near. What to do? What path to take?

In her mind, she almost heard the chuckle. The Long Road lay before her, and it was all paths and none. Thus and so, to set her feet was all… And her foot raised… and she stepped….

Of course, stepping is one thing, and striding forth on the Long Road quite another. As Sonea made to stride forth from the portal pad in search of her destiny, her foot caught on the pad’s raised edge. Arms wind-milled in an attempt to save her balance, but it only made things worse. Sonea tumbled off the pad and landed in a heap on the ground. And thus rather than arriving proud and bold in the new land.. Sonea arrived to a bruised rear and wounded pride. But is that not the way of all birthings? And the rest was hers to make.

CHAPTER 1: A NEW HOME

Summer rode the day sky. The younglings of Mia’s Edge sought the seas, and the older ones sought the inn and, if they were twice lucky, Sonea’s well chilled ale. And TaleSpinner? She oft was seen curled upon the roof of the Hall, for to a drake the sun’s heat is but a tickle…

And of a tide, on a day more hot than most, TaleSpinner lay, and she dreamed… till voices she heard.

“She does!�

“Nay, not so, stupid. She does not! My granfer says…�

“Your granfer says that there be fish that fly! Momma says your granfer loves ale too much and talk the same!�

“ Don’t you say that about my granfer… I’ll…�

“Younglings? And granfers? What passes?�

TaleSpinner’s voice was amused… and she peered down over the edge of the Hall at the two youngsters who were now scuffling in the dirt before her. One dwarf and one human, if she was any judge…

Hearing her voice, the two suddenly stopped, each trying to hide behind the other at the same time. They looked uncertain, but stood their ground… though each was nudging the other.

“You…�

“No, you, coward…�

“It was thine idea!�

There was a swooshing, sliding sound, and there, in front of them, stood a small and amethyst scaled two leg.

“And what idea was this?�

Even in her Khutit form, none could mistake TaleSpinner’s voice.

After the childer had overcome their awe at being spoken to by the great TaleSpinner, they explained. It seemed they had been having a disagreement. For one had said that TaleSpinner lived in the Hall, that it was home to the dragon. And the other had said these were fool’s words, for the Hall was plainly a biped place. And TaleSpinner was clearly older than the Hall for the childer had seen it built. So how could the Hall be her home?

And TaleSpinner had first smiled, but then the smile had turned more pensive… for this was a thing both Wise and wise. After a time, she spoke.

“Go. Gather thy friends. Mayhap… mayhap it is time for a tale for thee, ye young ones…�

And she walked into the Hall, and the young ones were amazed. A Tale? For them? And they ran to gather their friends, that they might all see this thing come to be…

The seats were filled. Not so full as with other tellings, for younglings are small, but they were filled. Nearly each and all the childer of Mia’s Edge sat there, eager and waiting. In front of them, TaleSpinner stood, the perpetual faint smile of the drake kind about her jaw.

“Homes are strange things. There be walls, aye and roof. And when the rain comes, we call it home and shelter. And there be fights and lost friends, and broken toys and wounds from falling. And then we seek mayhap a mother or father, and we find them and all is well and that also we call home and shelter. And when we wake in the night, and the night terrors are about us, and we start up in our nest and we are scared… then we look about, and there is a cast off jerkin, and here is a fish with wings, mayhap carved by a granfer…�

TaleSpinner paused at the ripple of laughter that ran through the Hall.

“… and we find us quieted and calmer, and the night terror is but a shadow and it is gone. For we are… home.

But what if home ye had none, and mother and father gone also, and no friend and ye were wandering? Then where might ye call home?�

And TaleSpinner stopped speaking. And she waited. And waited… but the childer knew, for this was ever their part.

"A tale... a tale.... a tale...."

And the light went, and the room was dark. But no fear took them. And from the dark came a voice…

"Did ye ever hear tell of Thunder and Lightning? Of the Fool and the Fair?"

As TaleSpinner spoke, a light began to grow in the Hall, a pale and yet bright light, as of dawn. And as it grew, the tap-tapping of the spirit hammer and the trilling of the bird was heard from this corner, then that.

Sonea was a maker, so Sonea made her way
Sonea was a seeker, of what she would not say
Sonea born and died her, the circle came around
Sonea born again, by the Hawk she was found…

New though she was to these lands, and whether they were her own she knew not, but there was one thing that ever caught Sonea’s heart and could make a coin or three mayhap. And that was making. And making was a thing she felt might set her feet to the road and her spirit to quiet, for all she wished to run seeking blue scales.

Upon looking around to get her bearings, Sonea noticed paths. By the sun's place in the sky, they lead off to both the North and South. And upon a large stone nearby was carved a sign with an arrow pointing towards the town of New Brommel. And on another was an arrow pointing to...

The word was not clear, but the picture sigil was plain. That way lay blood and rending and the business of her bow. And however ill her spirit found it, she must of a time become close friend with her bow and its business if she was not to come closer friends with the cold ground. Though as Gifted, mayhap only for a time. Sonea smiled to herself. New woken and the world was hers. Blood could wait.

Tools she had from the Training Hall. So she went into the place called New Brommel. Once there, she asked as to where one who had some knowing of metal might find ore and fire, and places of making. And surely enough, some were near. And there she went… and went, and went. And each sun that rose would find her seeking ore and smelting it, and the work pleased her spirit well.

Each time her pack was full, Sonea would hie to a smelter and form it into bronze bars. When she had made enough bars to form a stack as wide as her arms could reach to each side and as tall as she could lift the bars to add to the top of the stack, she was ready to work. She moved to an anvil that was near to the smelter. Standing before it, she dug in her pack for her smithing tools. She pulled out a hammer and hefted it, getting a feel for its weight and balance. Hrm… heavy it was and much too large for the fine-work that she had learned from Bori. She laid the hammer on the anvil and dug in her pack again, seeking the small tools used in making filigree, but none other did she find.

Sonea sighed. It seemed that she would not be making the fanciful forest creatures out of thin-hammered metals until she had made herself a set of small tools. Ah well, Bori had been a master craftsman. And though he had trained Sonea in fine-work, she had oft run the bellows or toted water as he crafted to fill orders for weapons and tools. She thought long on each day she had spent before, and the wisdom Bori had passed her. And she saw again in her mind each move of his hands as he had crafted.

Sonea smiled at a memory of Bori muttering as he worked, oft times cajoling and other times near cursing the metal or the winds or the sun that the thing he made would come as he wished it. And she remembered the smile that had come to him, at a time he thought she saw him not, when first she had brought a thing forth from anvil and fire and it met his full approval. Ah... were he only here... and Sonea took bar and fire and the heavy hammer... and with tears forming dirt trails down her cheeks, she made.

When the thing she made was done, she looked at it. And she looked and looked and frowned. Taking the new-made thing, she threw it far from her. And it sailed away into the grass. Oh, a hammer it might be to some. Aye, as a rock was a hammer. For it had come forth unbalanced, and the handle a little twisted... and the head some misshapen. Why Bori would have chided a child for making such!

Sonea stamped her foot in frustration. This should have been easier than the precise work needed to craft filigree. Then she paced and paced, back and forth in front of the anvil. Each step of the making of the hammer she went over in her mind. Thus, and so... heat and then... aye, the making she knew. But somehow... somehow her hands had, it seemed, not followed her thoughts. And thus... that twisted thing! But why? And more, how could it be mended?

After pondering for some time, a thought came to Sonea. Well, had she not, after a fashion, been born new? And what did a babe know of smithing, or anything? And if it were told, what would it know save words? And smithing was much more than words. It was making and making and thrice making, and each time gaining more knowing of the metal than the last. And each time hearing more of the metal's song than before, that it might be bent to the smith's will. Aye, and smiths did not throw good metal away to suffer for their own poor work either!

Sonea searched the grass till she found the hammer she had thrown. And she went again to the fire, and the hammer she un-made, and took more bar. And she made the old with the new till it was pure. And she took the pure and she made... Hmmmm. Well, charity might call it a chisel. But charity did not feed a smith worthy of the name.

Sonea smiled wryly. It seemed that fire and anvil and she would have time to become close friends indeed ere the metal knew her again and she knew it. Again she took the thing she had made to the fire. And in this manner, with each making and unmaking, she did gain skill. And with a pack full of ore, though some metal was lost each time, she crafted the hammer. Many a bar she used and many times the hammer was born, and lived, and died... and was born again.

In her mind she had even come to give it a name, and that name Gifted, for it seemed the hammer might also never die though she slew it a thousand times. Having full memory of being a master crafter, and feeling anxious to once more become as proficient, there came a point at which she almost despaired of ever gaining enough skill to achieve her former status.

One waking, Sonea took her again to the ore. Now sometimes many worked and sometimes few, but most oft each was busy about their business and had words only to greet others in passing. But this time, another was there… and Sonea heard one greet him as ‘Lord Laek’.

Sonea began the day as she had each other, gathering ore until she had a disk full. And then she drug her disk to the smelter and formed bars which she proceeded to make into hammers. And then unmake and remake and unmake. On this day, Sonea knew that Laek was watching, but she worked on. And Laek watched her work. Had she been watching also, then she would have seen the half joy, half puzzled and half concerned tilt of an eyebrow, the twitch of a smile. And if that look was one of more halves than nature might allow, then that was right and proper.

For the young maker was indeed clearly one who delighted in her work, and had no small talent and focus, but there was about her a shimmer... a shadow... a thing that Laek was not ever sure he saw. A thing that was not quite itself of the natural as he knew it. And there lay the rub. For the thing itself might be of ill, and the unclear knowing of it more so. But what to do? What to... He shook his head, as if to clear it. Why think when the path was there before him? Did the old saw not say .. keep thy friend close, but thine enemy closer yet? And if there was one who might be both, then why not keep them twice closer till the matter was more clear! And so Laek bespoke her.

He bowed and introduced himself as a trades master in the Circle of the Hawk, a guild of crafters and adventurers. Sonea stood back from the anvil, wiped the back of a sweaty ash-stained hand across her forehead, and with a tired smile introduced herself and wished him joy of the day.

They chatted for a few minutes and Lord Laek did ask Sonea if she would mind showing him what she had learned thus far. Now, Sonea was a bit embarrassed to show the little progress that she had made. But he had asked. And so she showed him how she carefully made and unmade each tool. And then she did sigh and exclaim that there ought to be a better way to do this!

Lord Laek’s eyes sparkled as he remarked on the quality of her workmanship and the care with which she crafted each and every tool. And then he asked her why she did not make and unmake the tools in quantity. For surely, if she had each one to see the flaws as she made it, and set it by another, she could see in what manner and wise that improvement was needed. And Sonea’s jaw dropped. When she had worked with Bori, he had crafted a weapon here, a tool there, each to fit the design and need of his customer. Since Bori had never done so, it had not occurred to her to craft in quantity! But the benefit of doing so was obvious. Why the time saved would be incredible!

And so Lord Laek rolled up his sleeves and he did stand next to Sonea at the anvil. And just as Bori Grimbattle had taught her at the make-shift forge in the mountains, Lord Laek did also show Sonea anew the secrets of smithing. He taught her the way of rapidly crafting a full pack of ore into tools.

Seeing that Sonea grasped the new learning with ease, Lord Laek then showed her another secret. Ye see, after she had made a number of tools and compared them each to the other that she might see how her skill improved with each making, it would be time to unmake them and start anew. So Laek showed Sonea the secret of unmaking many tools at once. And Sonea looked on with wonder, for this was how she might increase the pace at which she gained skill. Eager to use this new learning, she took up some new-made bars and quickly began to make and then unmake them in numbers.

"Sonea... that is thy name, aye? Sonea, ye show rare talent... but talent alone makes no bright blade, nor yet any other thing. There is a path I think ye might follow well, and both ye and the path benefit from that following. There's more to making than bright steel and the blood beyond... I have some skill and none to pass it to at this time. What say you to Sonea Finder taking the road as Sonea Tinker, if only..."

As the words left his lips, as he spoke the word ‘Tinker’, the darkness in Sonea laughed, and it laughed loud. And it rose within her like a roaring storm-wind, and the sound of the wind was the laughing she had heard on the night of the wing-spread moon. And behind that laugh ran the whisper of a Fiend as it slid its evil words through walls mud-sealed to the weather, but not to malice. And both laugh and whisper turned to the screams of her mother, ranting in anger...

And Laek saw no maker, but a lost young woman that beat her head and hands against the anvil's unforgiving iron, that bled red and dripped terror and fear... and more. That burned with a fire that might consume those about it or burn the Foe. And it seemed to him that he heard the distant howl of a storm, though no wind blew near. And the distant sound came closer...

And as Sonea screamed, and howled, her voice harmony to the growing storm, she felt herself coming lost... lost as she had been that other time... lost and this time none to find her, for the finding was hers... lost... But as she felt the world slipping from her, she caught a sound, faint at first. As she strove to hear, it gained strength, another voice. Nay... voices... And they spoke, but as though to the very lands, and but two words. In a rumble soft as a whisper but deep as the earth came the word.... Lightning. And in a voice higher, but sharp as a mithril blade... Thunder. Lightning... Thunder... Lightning... Thunder... LIGHTNING... THUNDER...

And the voice that spoke Thunder, at last she knew. And it was hers. And the voice that spoke Lightning... that voice she had known, and would know again. And the voice of the Tinker and the evil laughter of the drake... were gone. And then she heard another voice, calling her... calling Sonea. And it was Laek.


Sonea stood. The blood yet ran from her hands and stained the anvil. She looked at Laek for fear, for horror. And saw that it was not there.

Laek waited. And at last she spoke.

" That which was is that which was. That which will be... will be. And as another told me once, that which I am, I am."

Sonea smiled. And a Sonea smile is a thing to melt the very rock....

" I'll follow your Tinker road, Lord Laek. If ye and it will have me. For I have a long way to go, long indeed. And to travel, ye must first set foot from your door. Let us see where my feet will take me."

And Laek knew there was much and more to Sonea than ever he knew, or might know. But it was better that she be taught and watched by the Circle than left to be found by... by whatever had made her or found her before... or so he thought. And he braced his shoulders as though they took up a heavy load, but also he smiled, for it seemed to him that this load was no ill burden... no, he thought as he watched her. No ill at all...

" Then come, young maker. The Circle awaits thee, and the Tower of Craft. Aye, and many a road as well... let us see where they wend!"

TaleSpinner stopped speaking. She had taken care when speaking of Sonea’s terror that none before her were too feared, but childer are not so weak as some might think. They had clutched one or other close, but they had not lost a single word.

“ Do ye see, home… home is not a place, though we may find home there. Home is not this one or that one, though we may find some special ones most oft where we are home. Home is… where we set ourselves among those that have care for us, and where we care for others. Home is the fire that warms us when the cold night comes or when we are lost and alone. Home is a place we choose. And thus and so. There was a one it seemed to me that had thought of my home. And this I say.�

TaleSpinner looked about at the sea of rapt faces, and thought of the Tale she had told.

“ I am home.�

And TaleSpinner walked from the Hall and she lifted wings, and she took herself to the roof. And the sun was hot, and the air sweet. And she curled herself on the roof… and TaleSpinner dreamed.

And in the Hall, the childer looked at each other, and some looked puzzled and some knowing… but as they looked each at the other, smiles dawned and they clasped hands with some near or special friend. And they nodded. And one among them spoke up, and he said

“ There will be a sign, won’t there? There is always a sign… where is it?�

And they ran about the Hall looking, but nothing they found. And they sat again, dejected, that there was no sign for them. Then one stood and turned to leave, and the one next to her gasped, and pointed. For where she had sat, a faintly glowing circle was fading from view. And that one rose, and there was another circle… and he ran and sat in another place, and when he rose… the circle was there. And each did the same, and looked, and where each had been sat, however they moved, the circle was found. And so it was.