Garren, chapter 2

Thunder howled far off in the distance, but it still sounded as though it was a few feet away. Garren peered at the blackened edges of the storm clouds on the tree-lined horizon. The storm’s presence already affected him: the hair on his arms and stood up as though awakened by each crack of thunder. He continued to look on, anxiety building within him.

The remoteness in Malvor’s eyes proved he was greatly interested in the storm as well, which was understood. He wanted to see the exact cause of his father’s death. He didn’t care what could happen to him if he remained out during the storm.

That wasn’t the case, however, with Garren. He remembered Denmont’s cave where he had witnessed the storm for the first time. “We shouldn’t stay out here during the storm. Come, I’ll show you a place where we can watch it safely.” Garren stood and pointed off toward the forest in the approximate direction of the cave. Malvor followed suit, his knees cracking from sitting on the ground so long.

Going by memory alone, Garren managed to find the way to the cave. It seemed a lot further from the cabin than Garren remembered. Perhaps it was the apprehension of the coming storm, Garren thought, or maybe Denmont had taken a quicker route. Finding the cave was a relief. A tree fallen across the opening, but Malvor and Garren moved it away easily. Malvor looked up at the sky, which grew darker by the minute. He could smell a change in the air; it wouldn’t be long now before the rain would start to pour. The two quickly ducked into the opening of the cave and leaned up against its smooth, round sides as they awaited the coming of the storm.

* * *

Denmont stepped out of the cabin, shaking his head. He had been thinking about his treatment of Garren. Was it possible that the visions that Garren had seen were prophetic? If so, he had been rather hard on the boy. Ashamed at his outburst, Denmont searched for Garren in the usual places: the stump and the river, but Garren was nowhere to be found. Denmont grew worried, for the storm was coming.

The first drops of rain pattered against the ground. These raindrops were safe, but it still was the calm before the storm. The worse was yet to come; the rain that was supposed to be deadly would not come for a while yet. A sudden thought struck Denmont’s mind: the cave where he had taken Garren to see his first storm. Denmont dashed off toward the cave, hoping that that was where Garren was. His heart pounded and his legs ached as he ran. The rain was getting harder now, beating against his head and shoulders. Would he get to the cave in time, and if so, would Garren be there? The storm was much closer than it was the first time.

* * *

The rain was coming down much harder now. Garren recognized the familiar beating of raindrop against stone as it mixed harmoniously with the booms of thunder. But this music was no happy tune; it was more like a funeral dirge that preceded the deaths of the storm’s next victims.

“I wish I could see what happens to a person caught out in that storm.” Malvor crawled closer to the cave entrance, a curious twinkle in his eye.

“Stop! Remember what happened to your father.” Garren’s words stopped Malvor in mid-step. He turned around, face paled. That reminder was enough. Malvor returned to the back of the cave, closing his eyes and trying to purge the bad thoughts from his mind.

Looking at his friend, Garren wished that he hadn’t mentioned Malvor’s father. Even then he started to feel a slight tinge of guilt for leaving Denmont without any word of where he was.

* * *

Denmont held his cloak over his head to keep the rain off his head, but it was of little use. The acid-like rain melted right through the thick cloth, and it would not be long before he would have no cloak left.

“Garren!!” Denmont shouted at the top of his lungs. He tuned his ears in for any hopeful sounds of Garren’s reply. Unfortunately, the loud downpour drowned out his voice into the deep howling winds.

Out of breath, Denmont continued racing toward the cave despite the twisted brambles that constantly caught his legs in their pointy webs, tripping him. He fell to the ground, face landing in a pile of animal dung. That was only a minor concern. The rain continued to fall upon his body, and his skin already stung from the raindrops. Denmont’s age finally was catching up to him. He wasn’t as dexterous as he was when he was Garren’s age, and he couldn’t pull himself up quickly enough.

Denmont sank again into the grass. His muscles ached. His flesh burned where the rain had ripped through his clothes. It was all over, and Denmont hoped that Garren was safe from the storm. Burying his face into the dirt, Denmont cried his own rain of tears. He choked, melting into the ground. The life was gone from his body.

* * *

It was quiet. Garren, who had fallen asleep watching the storm, stretched and looked outside of the cave. The storm was over, and the forest returned to its normal tranquility. But Garren knew he wouldn’t find any peace after this storm. Denmont was dead out in the forest somewhere.

“I’ve got to get back. Denmont is looking for me.” Garren bolted out of the cave. Malvor said nothing. He knew how Garren felt.

Garren sprinted through the windy paths that circled through the forest, cutting corners when he could. He saw the shack as it had been before it left, undamaged by the storm. Hopefully Denmont would be inside, and Garren didn’t care if he was going to be reprimanded, just as long as Denmont was here and alive.

But there was no one. The shack was empty.

“Denmont!” Garren’s throat ripped as he shouted. He took off again, breathing heavily. He took another route this time; the way Denmont had shown him. Sure enough, Garren noticed a cadaverous stench in the air. A body lay by a large bush, almost unidentifiable, but Garren knew who it was.

Garren loomed above the deformed body of Denmont, dropping to his knees and holding the body against his chest. Tears poured from his eyes like the rain that had just stopped. “Damn you, Denmont, why did you have to come after me in the storm?”

Guilt tore out Garren’s heart and shredded it to pieces. It was his own fault that Denmont was caught out in the storm. If he hadn’t gone off without saying where he’d be, Denmont would be safe in the cave with him and Malvor or back in the cabin.

But no, it was the storm that was the cause of Denmont’s death. Multan’s storm, the womb of such evil, brining death upon the world with each drop of rain. Garren reached for Denmont’s belt and took the black dagger that was strapped there. “I will go after Multan, my master, and avenge you.” Garren closed his eyes for a few moments, clenching the dagger tightly.

A rustle in the brush behind Garren caused his to jump. “Sorry for startling you, Garren. When you didn’t return to the cave I began to get worried.”

“I was too late, Malvor. The storm got him.” Garren choked back a sob.

“Now that makes two of us that lost a close one to the storms.”

Garren nodded. “Well I’m going to do something about it instead of crying over it.”

“What can you do?” The doubt was apparent in Malvor’s tone.

“I’m going to find Lord Multan and put an end to his reign of terror.” Garren pointed off into the distance, not caring whether or not it was the right direction.

Malvor let out a loud mocking laugh. “Ha! You think you can find your way to Multan’s castle, get inside and kill him all by yourself, just like that?”

“Then you’ll help me…”

“No-o-o-o. I don’t like Multan’s rule any more than you do, Garren, but I’m no fool. Count me out.” Malvor departed off into the forest, shaking his head. Garren knew there was no way of changing his mind. He would have to go off on his own, but first he would need provisions. He headed back home.

* * *

Garren gathered all the possessions he could carry. Looking around the shack, all the memories he had lived here all seemed to fade as he walked out. He closed the door and made no look at the shack again as he departed.

The backpack he held over his shoulder, filled to its capacity with food, clothes, and supplies, was like a feather compared to the burden of the journey he would have to face. He had no idea how he would get to Multan’s castle, for he never traveled beyond the borders of forest. The river was the farthest he ever traveled.