The Crusades of Captain Rye and his Renegades - Book One: Tyranny

Chapter 4: Captain Rye and the Roses Two

When the world was still young, ere the sprawl of the kingdoms of men and the advent of the Virtues and Evils, the Winds toiled to shape the land. And as the ages blew by they grew weary, and longed for rest. And so it was that man came to be, to till the soil and carve the earth for the spirits of the sky.

And so it was also that the Winds turned their minds to the affaires of men, to reward their works and curse their crimes. And some of these rewards begat offspring, for men are not the only ones who crave and desire and love. And these offspring would be known as the Wind Children, and some dwelt in the skies, and some swam through the deeps, and some walked the earth, and some, it is said, did not yet know their true nature.

But all these things are the concerns of those who do not wander jungles at night. For this is where our Captain now finds himself, on a path leading to his camp, swatting at mosquitos and other unseen things that brush his face and catch in his hair. And there are other things yet that crunch and pop underfoot, and more still that gurgle and hiss and whoop from the black beyond the reach of his lantern.

Arriving in camp, he calls for Pretty Patti to take watch, she who might be thought to have no lids if she did not blink on occasion. Grant and Mandy find suitable spots to sleep, after considering Patti's suggestions of course, and the Captain turns the dial on his lantern. An unnatural darkness shrouds them, and an uneasy slumber settles in.

With nought but the stars peering through the opening in the trees, the Captain awakens to the sound of wind in the canopy. And within the wind is another familiar sound from long ago, and it is as if the branches had sprouted a thousand needles. It is the creaking and cracking that accompanies the first frost, though summer has hardly begun to wane.

His eyes are suddenly drawn to a dull glow from within the fire pit, which grows until it is a blue flame, flowing tall enough to take the form of a woman within its flickering ripples. It is enough for him to see the shadows of the jungle dancing, and that all but he are asleep, even Patti. His mind is soothed and his heart filled as a whisper finds its way on the breeze. "A ship without its captain is soon lost at sea...", her voice is soft but pregnant with command. The Captain lies silent, for what can be said to the North Wind which she does not already know?

He closes his eyes and opens them to a silver morning light, speckled with the dark underside of leaves, and surrounded by the dull browns and greens of the waking jungle. The warmth is already rising as though he were lying on the back of some great prickly beast. On the edge of the clearing Pretty Patti is as vigilant as she had been the night before. He stands and stretches, brushing himself down, and approaches rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He opens his mouth to ask about the night's events and she raises a palm and purses her lips, "Something approaches, Captain..."

He stops and listens but hears nothing but the living jungle. "Three, walking almost in unison, could be guards. And something else, approaching through the jungle..." The Captain quickly considers the possibilities and options as he glances about the clearing. He rouses his companions and directs them behind two boulders on one side of their camp, and Patti offers to provide eyes on the situation from the high branch of a nearby tree. The Captain nods and takes position behind a third boulder on the opposite side of the clearing.

Pretty Patti appraises the smooth bark and slight curvature of the trunk. This would be no childhood escapade with convenient hand holds and leg-ups, rather a thirty foot test of upper body strength and coordination that would leave her sweating, flushed and out of breath. She takes hold of the back of the trunk, entwining her fingers, and confidently hops, planting her feet firmly against it, knees bent against her chest, defiance in her eyes. She slides her hands up, and hops her feet higher. In this manner she climbs, like an inch-worm from a fire, with a slide and a hop until she has almost reached the top. There she pauses for a moment to gain her bearings, and peers down the path from where her targets would appear.