Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 4 - THE STORMCRIER

​"What was that?" Mark shouted over the storm, his eyes glued to the spot in the sky where the massive creature had been visible moments before. Lightning lit up the world, exposing the beast once again. Large wings spread wide away from a body that appeared larger than the thickest of tree trunks, even from the great distance between them. Andrew stayed silent, not answering his son but he kept his eyes trained on the flying behemoth as well, trusting Charlotte to know the road before them. The creature turned in a wide arc, circling away from the direction of the house, incomprehensibly larger than the largest predatory bird that had ever menaced the farm. Andrew urged Charlotte to ride faster, cracking the reigns and shouting over the deafening storm, his eyes never leaving the sky. The creature's circle had given them a chance to win the race to the farm house and he was pressing for every second they could gain. The rain poured heavily out of the heavens, threatening to flood the road, the wheels slogging through the thickening mud, jolting heavy whenever they struck a slightly dryer patch. Another flash of lightning revealed the creature again, the breathtaking silhouette cutting across the night sky.

"A Stormcrier," Matt breathed in awe and fear. How could there possibly be a dragon above them? They had all been dead for a century.

   The dragon was now farther away from the farm house than the wagon was, it's wide arc having carried it back towards Clearfield, but it was gaining on them with every flap of its powerful wings. The wagon was fifty feet from the house, then twenty, and then they were there. There was no way his mother could see the dragon coming with the windows shuttered against the storm.

​"Ilene! Get in the wagon, qui-" Andrew bellowed as they stopped in front of the house.

    A violent gust of wind cut off Andrew's words lifting the wagon and horse fully off the ground. Matt's world turned upside down as the wagon slowly flipped through the air, the harness snapping from Charlotte as it left the earth. Fear gripped him as he clung to the sides of the wagon, holding for his life. He clenched his fingers tighter around the wood as he felt himself lifting off of the seat, but try as he might he could not maintain his grip and he was catapulted away from the wagon. His momentum kept him briefly in flight, images of the surrounding land flashed before his vision as he flew, Charlotte galloping away in fear, smoke billowing from something below, or was it above him, a wagon wheel rolling alone and disconnected across the fields, before he hit the ground hard. His breath was driven from his lungs in a violent expulsion of air as he bounced off of the muddy field, his chest connecting with the ground before his arms could break his fall. He skipped along the grass like a stone across water before finally coming to a halt with his face buried in the mud. A piece of wood from some part of the wagon struck the back of his head, stunning him further, his mind fuzzy from concussion and pain. His lungs felt much too tight to force a single breath into them. Panic filled his being as he pushed his body to roll over, bringing his face out of the mud, trying desperately to bring breath back into his lungs. Black spots filled his vision as his body starved for air.

   With a long shuddering breath, Matt managed to pull air back into his body. Every part of his being hurt. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and peered around at his surroundings. What he saw made him wish that he was still too hurt to see. His house was a ruin of smashed timber. Pieces of the wreckage were strewn across the meticulously sown fields, most of the furniture too smashed to discern what it used to be. His father was already on his feet aiming his small crossbow into the sky. Mark was nowhere to be seen.

He opened his mouth to call out for his brother but his starved lungs could not project his voice over the blistering gale. He scanned the wreckage of his home for any sight of his mother, but he did not allow himself much hope for her survival; it was near impossible that she could have lived through such an explosion. He choked back tears as he thought of his mother, if only they had gotten back faster, or if he had listened to his gut earlier, she still might be alive . Fearing what he would see, Matt turned his gaze skyward. The dragon was circling the farm like a vulture hovering above a fresh kill, wings spread wide against the darkened sky above.