Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire #1)

“That’s not good,” Gifford said. “I’ve only seen them blown out once. That was when the top came off the lodge.”

Another gust made his whole set of cups ring together. Two more toppled, rolling on their sides and making half circles on the tabletop. The thatch on his little house rustled. Still on the ground, Gifford felt dirt and grass hitting his face and arms.

Roan, frustrated with the buckle, reached into one of her two new pockets. She pulled out her snips and cut the leather straps, freeing him. “There, now we can—”

Lightning struck the lodge.

Splinters, sparks, and a plume of white smoke were followed by a clap so loud that Gifford felt it pass through him. Thunder rolled like an angry growl. One section of the lodge’s roof had sheered off, giant logs split, and the thatch had caught fire.

“Did you see—” Gifford started to say when another bolt of lightning struck the other side of the lodge. “Whoa!”

He and Roan stared in shock as a third and then a fourth bolt pelted the log building. Cobb and Bergin were the first to react, and the two ran for the well, picking up water gourds on their way. Then another clap of lightning hit the well’s windlass, bursting the pole in a cloud of splinters. Both men hit the ground.

More bolts of lightning rained down, both inside and outside the dahl. With each blast came screams, fire, and smoke. All around them people ran to their homes. The Galantians, Fhrey warriors who had been welcomed to the dahl when exiled, came out of their tents and stared up at the sky. They looked just as scared as everyone else, which was as disturbing as the cataclysmic storm. Until recently, Rhunes had thought Fhrey were indestructible gods.

Gelston the shepherd ran past. While making his way between the new woodpile and the patch of near-ripe beans in the Killians’ garden, he became struck. Gifford didn’t see much, just a snaking, blinding brilliance. When his sight returned, Gelston was on the ground, his hair on fire.

Gifford shouted to Roan, “We need to get to the sto’age pits. Wight now!”

He pushed himself up with his crutch and started hopping toward the storehouses.

“Roan! Gifford!” Raithe and Malcolm ran up. Raithe still carried his two swords, the broken copper slung on his back and the Fhrey blade hanging naked from his belt. Malcolm held his spear with both hands. “Do you know where Persephone is?”

Gifford shook his head. “But we need to get to the pits!”

Raithe nodded. “I’ll spread the word. Malcolm, help them.”

Malcolm moved to Gifford’s side and put his shoulder under the potter’s arm. He mostly carried Gifford to the big storage pit, while Roan followed close behind. With the first harvest still more than a month away, the pits were nearly empty. Lined in mud brick, the hole retained the smell of musty vegetables, grain, and straw. Other members of the dahl were already there. The Bakers and their two boys and one daughter huddled against the back wall, eyes wide. Engleton and Farmer Wedon peered out the open door at the violence of the storm. Brin, the dahl’s newly appointed Keeper of Ways, was there as well, but she seemed to be on her way out.

“Have you seen my parents?” Brin shouted the moment she saw them.

“No,” Roan replied.

Outside the thunder cracked and rolled continually. Gifford could only imagine the lightning strikes that accompanied them. Being down in the pit, he couldn’t see the yard, just a small square of sky.

Brin started to bolt from the pit. The young girl sprang like a fawn, but Gifford had anticipated her dash. Unlike the crippled potter, Brin could win a footrace and was easily the fastest person on the dahl. The fifteen-year-old girl regularly won all the sprints during the Summerule’s festival, but Gifford caught her by the arm.

“Let me go!” She pulled and jerked. “I need to find my parents.”

“It’s too dangewous.”

“I don’t care!” Brin jerked hard, so hard she fell, but Gifford still hung on. “Let me go!”

Gifford’s legs, even his good one, were mostly useless, and his lips slid down the side of his face because he didn’t have enough muscle to support them. But he relied on his arms and hands for everything. Thurgin and Krier, who had always picked on him, once made the mistake of challenging Gifford to a hand-squeezing contest. He had humiliated Krier, making him cry—his name only made the embarrassment worse. Thurgin was determined not to suffer a similar fate and cheated by using both hands. Gifford had held back with Krier but didn’t see the need with a cheater. He broke Thurgin’s little finger and the tiny bone that ran from his fourth knuckle to his wrist.

There was no possibility that Brin would break free.

Autumn, Fig, and Tressa stumbled through the door, all of them exhausted and out of breath. Heath Coswall, the Killians, and Filson the lamp-maker came through just after. They dragged Gelston, who remained unconscious, his hair mostly gone but no longer on fire. Bergin followed them. Covered in dirt and grass, he reported that the lodge was burning like a harvest-moon bonfire.

“Has anyone seen my parents?” Brin shouted. No one had.

As if the wind and lightning weren’t enough, hail began to fall. Apple-sized chunks of ice clattered, leaving craters in the turf where they impacted.

More people raced into the shelter of the granary, running with arms, pots, and boards over their heads. They filed to the back, crying and hugging each other. Brin watched them come in, always looking but not finding the faces she sought. Finally, the Fhrey, with shields protecting their heads, charged in along with Moya, Cobb, and Habet.

“Where’s my mother!” Brin pleaded. Once again the girl charged for the door. This time Moya assisted Gifford by catching her as well.

“You can’t,” Moya said, her hair a wild mess. “Your house is burning, there’s nothing—”

Outside a roar grew like the angry growl of a colossal beast. Everyone stared out the doorway as the sky grew darker still, and the wind blew with even more force. Then, as everyone watched, the Bakers’ roundhouse was ripped apart. First the thatch was blown away, then the wood beams were ripped free, and finally the walls succumbed. They didn’t fall. The logs were sucked into the air. Then the foundation of mud bricks was sheered and scattered. After that, the entire world outside the storage pit was lost to a whirlwind cloud of dirt and debris.

“Close the door,” Nyphron ordered. Grygor, the giant, started to haul it shut just as Raithe arrived.

“Has anyone seen Persephone?”

“She’s gone. Went to the forest,” Moya shouted as she grabbed and pulled him in.

Grygor slammed the door closed.

“No!” Brin screamed. “My parents are still out there!”

Gifford let go of her then, and the girl fell to her knees, weeping.

Raithe drew close to Moya. “Did Seph really go into the forest?”

Moya nodded. “Her, Suri, and Arion. They went to that oak tree again, to ask it more questions.”

“That’s on top of a big hill, up in the open glade,” he said to nobody in particular. Raithe looked like he might be sick. There had been rumors that the Dureyan was in love with their chieftain, but then a lot of recent rumors had turned out to be untrue. Seeing Raithe’s face, Gifford lacked any doubt. If Roan was still outside, he would have looked the same way.

They all sat or knelt in tearful silence as the roaring grew louder. All around Gifford, people quivered, whimpered, and stared at the dark ceiling, no doubt wondering if it would rip away or cave in and bury them.