novelODS Chapter 223: The Storm Born
Chapter 223: The Storm Born
An Unknown Land.
Rumble!
The sky above the Nameless Valley tore open with a deafening thunder. Sheets of icy rain battered the thatched roofs of the small village. Lightning violently illuminated the muddy streets, followed instantly by thunder that shook the very foundations of the wooden huts.
Inside the largest house at the center of the village, the chaos of the storm was matched by the frantic shouts of a grueling labor.
"Push, Elara!" Martha yelled over the roaring wind.
"I am pushing!" Elara screamed back. She gripped the wooden bedframe so hard her knuckles turned entirely white.
"Keep your voice down, woman! The storm is loud enough!" Borum boomed.
The Village Chief was a massive, jovial brute of a man. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his wild, bushy beard completely covered his neck. He paced back and forth across the small room, his heavy boots making the floorboards groan in protest.
"Get out of my way, you useless mountain of meat!" Martha snapped.
The elderly midwife shoved the giant Chief aside with a wet towel.
"Pacing like a trapped bear will not help her! Bring me more hot water!"
"I brought all the water we have!" Borum shouted back, throwing his massive hands in the air. "Just get the boy out!"
RUMBLE!
Just then, a massive bolt of lightning struck the old oak tree just outside the window. The room flashed blind-white.
In that exact moment of blinding light, Elara let out one final, agonizing cry.
Then, absolute silence fell over the room. Even the thunder seemed to hold its breath for a single second.
"Is it done?" Borum asked. He slowly approached the bed, his jovial face suddenly tight with genuine worry.
"Why is there no crying? Martha, why is the baby not crying?"
Martha did not answer immediately. She held the small, squirming bundle wrapped in a linen cloth. She stared at the newborn’s face with a look of utter bewilderment.
"Martha!" Borum bellowed, his panic rising. "Give me my son!"
"He is breathing fine, Borum," Martha finally said.
She slowly turned around and handed the bundle to the giant brute.
"See, he is perfectly healthy. But he is entirely strange."
Borum looked down into the linen cloth. He expected a red, wrinkled, screaming infant. Instead, he saw a perfectly calm baby with a tuft of jet-black hair. The newborn’s eyes were wide open. They were a striking, piercing shade of deep violet.
Suddenly, another violent crash of thunder shook the hut. Any normal infant would have wailed in absolute terror.
The baby did not cry. Instead, the corners of his tiny mouth curled upward. He reached a chubby little hand toward the window and let out a bright, joyful giggle.
Borum blinked. He looked at his exhausted wife, who was smiling weakly from the bed. Then he looked back at the laughing infant.
"Did you hear that, Elara?" Borum let out a massive, booming laugh that rivaled the thunder. "The sky screams, and my son laughs right back at it! He is completely fearless!"
"No, he is highly unnatural," Martha muttered, crossing her arms. "Babies are supposed to cry. It clears their lungs. This one looks like he is plotting something."
"Tch, my son is perfect," Borum declared loudly, raising the baby up toward the wooden ceiling.
"He thrives in the storm. Look at those violet eyes. He is a little ball of pure, unadulterated trouble. I will name him Khaos!"
"Khaos," Elara whispered softly, her eyes heavy with sleep. "It fits him perfectly."
---
Four years later, the name proved to be a terrifying prophecy.
The morning sun shone brightly over the village square. The storm that birthed him was long gone, but Khaos brought his own daily hurricane to the peaceful settlement.
"Borum!"
The shrill voice of Yara, the tavern keeper, echoed across the dusty marketplace. She marched toward the Village Chief’s hut, completely covered in white flour and dripping with sticky yellow egg yolks.
Borum stepped out of his front door, holding a massive wooden mug of ale. He took one look at Yara and burst into his signature, booming laughter.
"Good morning, Yara! Are you baking a cake, or are you wearing one?" Borum chuckled, taking a large gulp of his ale.
"Do not play the fool with me, you oversized ape!" Yara screamed, wiping a glob of yolk from her forehead. "Your spawn is a menace! I left the kitchen door open for exactly two seconds. Two seconds! I walked back in, and my entire pantry was completely reorganized."
"Reorganized?" Borum asked, raising a thick eyebrow. "That sounds quite helpful."
"He put the live chickens inside the flour barrels!" Yara yelled, her face turning bright red. "And he stacked all my eggs on top of the sleeping hounds! When the dogs woke up, the entire kitchen became a battlefield!"
Borum tried to hide his smile behind his wooden mug.
"He is just curious, Yara. He has an analytical mind."
"He is a demon!" Yara corrected him sharply. "Where is he? I am going to wring his little neck!"
Right on cue, a small figure darted out from underneath the tavern porch.
It was Khaos. He was a small, incredibly agile four-year-old boy. His jet-black hair was wildly unkempt, and his bright violet eyes sparkled with absolute mischief. He was currently holding a large, highly agitated bullfrog in each hand.
"There he is!" Yara pointed a flour-covered finger at the boy. "Get over here, you little monster!"
Khaos stopped running. He looked up at the towering, angry tavern keeper. He did not look scared. He simply tilted his head to the side, his messy black hair falling over his forehead. He blinked his large, violet eyes twice. Then, his lower lip began to quiver in a masterful display of absolute, heartbreaking innocence.
"I am sorry, Auntie Yara," Khaos whispered. His voice was soft, sweet, and entirely devoid of the malice he possessed just five minutes prior. "I thought the chickens wanted to play in the snow. And the frogs looked thirsty."
Yara froze. She raised her hand to smack his bottom, but she could not bring herself to do it. Those massive, innocent violet eyes looked up at her like a wounded puppy.
"Oh, by the heavens," Yara sighed heavily, dropping her hand. "Do not look at me like that. You know I cannot stay mad at you when you do the face."
Khaos immediately dropped the quivering lip. He offered her a bright, beaming smile that completely melted her anger.
"Can I have a sweet bun, Auntie?" Khaos asked politely.
"Yes, fine. Go to the kitchen and ask my husband," Yara grumbled, shaking her head as she turned to walk away. "But wash the frog slime off your hands first!"
"Thank you!" Khaos chirped. As he ran past his massive father, he looked up and gave Borum a wicked, knowing smirk.
Borum roared with laughter, spilling ale onto his tunic. "The boy is a genius! He plays the entire village like a fiddle!"
A Day in the Life of Trouble
By midday, Khaos had successfully terrorized three more villagers.
He had painted Old Man Higgins’ prize-winning pig entirely pink using crushed wild berries. He had swapped the blacksmith’s cooling water with a bucket of sticky tree sap. And he had convinced the village children that burying the elder’s walking sticks would result in a massive harvest of candy trees.
"Chief Borum, we need to have a serious discussion."
Throm, the village blacksmith, stood in the center of the square. His thick, muscular arms were completely covered in sticky, hardened pine sap. Several other villagers stood behind him, nodding in firm agreement.
Borum sat on a large wooden stump, carving a piece of wood with a hunting knife.
"What is the matter, Throm? Did you discover a new way to forge iron?"