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Book One of the Fire of Heaven Trilogy by Russell Kirkpatrick
It was still dark when the old man woke. For a moment he could not pinpoint what had caused him to awaken so suddenly; but, being a landsman, he knew something was amiss. Then he heard it: the shuddering moan of the wind, a soft, unsettling sound from far off, profoundly disturbing to the old man. He had not heard this particular sound for maybe twenty years or more, not since the night he lost his old barn, the barn built by the Haufuth’s grandfather. In a moment he was up and dressed, searching for his cloak. Another moment and he was peering outside.
A light snow filtered down in a calm air. It lay undisturbed, inches thick on the ground. But behind the calm came the sound of approaching violence, a low moaning that set the farmer’s teeth on edge.
After venturing outside to make sure his horse was adequately sheltered, he closed the door softly and sat heavily on a wooden chair, lines of concern etched on his expressive face. If he were at home, he would have secured the outbuildings of Stibbourne Farm, bolted all the doors and shutters of his house, moved all the furniture over to the walls, and sat the storm out. Well, as long as Tinei kept herself safe, he wouldn’t worry about his buildings. Please, Most High, don’t let that headstrong woman go outside to try to secure the farm! There was no chance of his making it home before the wind hit. But what should he do here? His hands fidgeted as he thought. The girl Indrett has probably never seen a real Iskelwen storm before. Will she know what to do? That fool Mahnum! Plenty of girls in the village to choose from! It was just as well that Modahl hadn’t lived to see it. His only son marrying a southerner!
He laughed. After all these years, he found himself thinking like a northerner far too often.
He took a deep breath and stood up, grimacing as the ominous sound seemed to mix itself up somewhere in his vitals. He had to do something. Just then the boy Leith came through from the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from heavy eyes. “What’s the noise? Sounds a bit like tomcats…” He faltered to a stop at the sight of the farmer’s worried frown.
“A real storm! Not the sort of wind you villagers call an Icewind, boy-this is a full-blown Iskelwen howler. Haven’t seen one for years. This sort doesn’t bring snow, it just picks it up from the ground where it lies and hurls it at you. Is your mother awake?”
Leith shook his head. “Don’t think so,” he mumbled sleepily.
The farmer grunted. “Wake her. We need to get this place ready.”
As they began moving furniture, first Indrett and then Hal came into the room. The farmer explained what they were doing, and soon Leith was busy bolting the storm shutters while the others cleared the room of anything that the wind might be able to throw about should it manage to break into the cabin. The farmer instructed them to extinguish the fire, and set Hal to work damping the embers in the grate. A single candle flickered in the middle of the bare floor. As they labored the dreadful noise drew closer, and the people in the cabin had to shout to each other in order to be heard. It developed into a shrieking wail; the sound someone might make, Leith imagined, were they being slowly torn limb from limb. Now the roar was overhead, but still no wind.
“Where’s the wind?” Leith shouted to the old man. Strangely, the farmer’s red-rimmed eyes were lit up with something that looked like excitement.
“Comes with a big cloud,” returned the farmer. Leith could barely hear him. “Like a breaking wave-sucks air up into it-wind drives the cloud ahead-” but Leith lost the rest. For a moment the shrieking tailed off, then a rumbling, rasping noise like the stampeding of a thousand hills beat at them and the wind struck. Leith thought he could see the northern wall of the cabin beginning to bend. Suddenly a sharp banging noise came from behind them. The farmer shouted something at Leith, waving wildly in the direction of the bedroom. Leith nodded and ran off. He could feel air rushing past him as he ran. A shutter had come loose in the bedroom. As he went to close it, the wind slammed it shut in front of him, nearly taking off his hand. He struggled to push the rusty old bolt properly closed, hammering it home finally using Hal’s staff.
The people in the room settled in to a tense wait. Conversation was all but impossible as the wind howled about them and the timber of the cabin protested with groaning and, more ominously, cracking noises. It was as though some giant had snatched up the cabin and was shaking it with a series of random jerks calculated to catch those inside off guard. Leith wondered how the other families in the village were coping with this monster wind. He wished it was light outside so he could see the storm; what stories he could tell the others! For a moment he began to think about Stella in her cabin at the northern end of the village, at the edge of the forest. Her gossipy, shrewish mother, her dour father, her brother the drunkard. How were they coping with the Icewind?
Then he forgot all about Stella as he saw a corner-post bend slowly, fractionally inwards. Such was the roar from the wind that none of the others seemed to have noticed.
With a loud report it broke in two.