Callisto

Bad Wind Rising

Father-Mother sat silently in meditation, their great burning braziers flickering beside them, throwing an ethereal shadow of dark sapphire across their tent. In this otherworldly light did their War Council continue its deliberations, and Father-Mother listened to each voice with growing dismay, playing the words of the Elders over the vision that swam before their eyes:

"She has had enough time!"

"She is surely dead. We must strike now."

"Or she is returning to us this minute! The greatest Hawk of the tribe trained her. Have some faith in your sister."

"Bah! She was young and foolish. Even the Hawk himself admitted that."

"If we attack now, we die. The Guthra are strong in the ways of war and magick. Callisto was our only chance, our only-"

"Silence."

The final voice was Father-Mother's. Their word rose above the crowd of Elders that had gathered together, and the flames of the tent blazed with fury. Instantly the council was cowed into submission. All of them, even those with nary a thread of hair remaining on their aging skulls, bowed with reverence to the Great One, Eldest of Elders, wisest of them all.

Then, softer, Father-Mother spoke again:

"We have a guest," they said. "Step forward, Great Hawk."

Ragged-Brow wiped his sweat-filled forehead from outside the tent. He had been waiting until he was called and was unsure of the reason behind Father-Mother's odd sense of theatricality. He had rushed here with words meant only for the Great One, words that pained his chest and brought sweat to his brow. Why the Great One had kept him waiting out here like some actor in a play was beyond his ken.

He entered the tent and bowed to all the Elders assembled, resplendent in their war paint and feathered tunics. Then he knelt before the burning azure flames that flanked the Great One. Though their eyes were closed, Father-Mother inclined their head a fraction of an inch to acknowledge the warrior's presence.

"Speak, Ragged-Brow," they said. "Tell us what voices blow on the winds of The Deadlands."

Ragged-Brow steadied himself, lowering his bow and bowing deeply till his forehead kissed the tent's floor.

"Father-Mother," he said through shivering lips. "Bad winds have come to assail the people of the Canyon. I bring word of a Guthra raiding camp burned to the ground, the women and children slaughtered without mercy."

The assembled Elders whispered amongst themselves as Father-Mother nodded, and Ragged-Brow thought he could detect a faint smile cross their lips.

"Yes," Father-Mother replied after a minute of contemplation. She spoke not just to Ragged-Brow, but to them all. "We have seen this thing as we dreamt many moons ago. The Guthra were burned by the fire of a black wyrm, carrying warriors of the Old World."

Ragged-Brow shuddered with the rest of the Elders. He had heard of the might of the Old Ones and the Deathspitters they carried with the power to fell an entire tribe. They were like children, fumbling through the world with toys they used without thought.

"We await your command, Father-Mother. My hunters stand ready. Shall we rise up and hunt this dragon and its charges?"

Father-Mother's withered head shook. "No," they said.

Ragged-Brow waited, confused. And then he saw that Father-Mother was indeed smiling.

"They have not come for us, Ragged-Brow. They have been seen approaching the Swamp of Many-Eyes. They look for Callisto just as your sister does. But they will find nothing."