13. Thunder and Wine

CASCADE

CHAPTER 13

Cascade awoke to thunder. Entin was still sleeping soundly beside him. He carefully pulled the furs up over the naked man's exposed buttocks and drew them up to his shoulders. They'd fallen asleep rather quickly after he'd pleasured Entin, and the recent memory of the act brought a boyish grin to his face. He could still taste him. His musky flavor caused Cascade's cock to ache with longing, but he pushed the lustful thoughts away. Instead, he rose and added a few sticks to the fire before passing out into the night to piss.

It was cool out. The rain plodded against his bare shoulders as he walked down the trail to relieve himself. His still-hard cock caused his stream to arc up and out in a way that made him chuckle. He tilted his head back and caught some raindrops in his mouth, enjoying their freshness as they splattered across his body. There was another crackle of thunder, and then the rain became a deluge.

The silhouette of the God loomed in the white crackle of the storm. But there was something else there, something wrong. A deep, dull glow—red-orange, barely visible—formed a halo that persisted even in the liminal spaces between lightning. The unrelenting rain continued, and Cascade watched the God with growing unease. The slopes of the monolith had always been forbidden. He'd stared at it all his life, yet it was the only peak he'd never summited of all the mountains in this valley. And now it was calling to him. It was reaching out into the night and beckoning him with otherworldly luminescence.

The spirits had never spoken to him before. He wasn't sure if they were speaking to him now. But his mind had always longed for meaning in a world that seemed to possess very little. Cascade couldn't help but wonder if that meaning had been all around him this whole time and he somehow just hadn't seen it until now. The notion tugged at him, drawing him back to it each time he tried to think of something else.

He stood there for some time after his piss—naked. Young. Wild. Bathed in naught but shadow and lightning. Cascade clenched his fists and stared down the mountains before him, willing himself stalwart in the face of the chaos that roiled within and without. But he'd begun to doubt himself. There was a whisper calling out to him from somewhere in his subconscious. It was an animal notion—an instinct—and it compelled him to believe in nature's patterns, to witness the phantom of a grand design all around him. It was a ghost that he could only ever catch ephemeral glimpses of. It was the very thing he'd spent his entire life disbelieving. And now, before him, a mountain was on fire. If a god were to speak, this was how he imagined they would do it.

"Eat. You will need your strength," Cascade's mother chided.

Shortly after morning had come, she'd brought them a board of charred meats, dried fruit, and a horn each of the berry wine she brewed every summer. Cascade had accepted the nourishment readily.

"Love you, Mom," Cascade said.

He kissed her on the cheek as she made to depart.

"When you hear the call, assemble with the others at Main Cave. Your uncle intends to begin training soon. I will see you there," she finished.

She looked at him worriedly, then gave Entin a weak smile before departing. Cascade tore into the food greedily. The meat was greasy and blackened in places, and the juices ran down his chin as he dug into it. He realized sheepishly that Entin, by custom or manners, had refrained from joining him.

"Eat!" Cascade implored.

He slapped Entin on the back and shoved a handful of meat into his hand.

"What's mine is yours," Cascade said. "It's the way here. Don't be shy."

He watched eagerly as Entin cautiously ripped a chunk of meat off with his teeth. His usually serious comportment relaxed instantly as he chewed the bite. Soon, however, the pair had finished not just the meat but the dried fruit as well.

Cascade handed one of the horns of wine to Entin.

"What is it?" Entin asked.

He sniffed at the blood-red liquid dubiously.

"Wine. Berries and blood. It will give you courage," Cascade explained.

He raised his horn to Entin, then took a sip. It was bittersweet, and the sour tang and slight effervescence caused his mouth to pucker. Cascade grinned as he watched Entin give it a try.

"Is it supposed to bubble?" Entin asked curiously.

"Yes," Cascade replied. "That's how we know it's ready."

He took another drink and watched as Entin did the same.

"I've been meaning to ask you something. Have you… ever spoken with the spirits?" Cascade said tentatively.

There was a long silence filled with the sound of the two sipping wine from their horns, and he worried he'd asked something too personal of the man or made himself look foolish.

"Once," Entin admitted at last.

Cascade looked at him, interested.

"When my parents died. It was just my twin, Nailah, and me after. I had what you might call a vision, I guess," Entin said.

"What sort of vision?"

Cascade was thinking of his own trip now, the one he'd had on the Dream Caps, and wondering once more if somehow it had been more than just an imagined experience.

"That's the thing," Entin began. "It was perfectly clear to me the morning after I had it. And then, as each day went by, it was like the sun set on the memory—and now I can barely see it. But I know it's there, just out of sight."

"But you remember something, surely?" Cascade pried.

"I remember smoke. And fire. I remember love, and terror. And I remember seeing myself—except I had changed so much I hardly recognized who I'd become. And then there's another feeling—like there's something I must do or somewhere I must go, except I've never been anywhere. I've never done anything…" Entin's voice cracked.

Cascade reached out instinctively and comforted his companion.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pressed," he said.

"It's fine. Why did you ask, though?"

"If I'm honest, I've never really believed in the spirits myself, not until recently," Cascade admitted.

He eyed Entin keenly. Acknowledging he didn't believe in the spirits was akin to admitting that his father was gone for good. He searched Entin's face for judgment or rejection of his words but didn't find either. Instead, the other man looked at him with an expression of understanding.

"I used to doubt what I saw," Entin said.

"And you don't now? Why not?" Cascade asked.

"Because I think the spirits led me to you," Entin said quietly.

Cascade emptied his horn and watched as Entin did the same. From the valley below, a blaring call trumpeted out. It was time to go. Cascade rose and extended a hand to Entin, pulling him effortlessly to his feet.

"Then we shall hope your spirits know what they're doing. Now, get your spear. What comes next will not be easy," Cascade said.

Entin did as instructed and then joined him in leaving the cave. Cascade kissed him fiercely at its opening—though not for nearly as long as he wanted to. Then he slapped Entin on the ass, and the pair passed out into the rain.

The storm hadn't let up since he'd pissed during the night. If anything, it had grown more violent. The ground was muddy and slippery as they plodded along the sloping trail. Cascade was relieved that Entin seemed to fit comfortably into the footwear he'd given him. He'd also loaned him a set of leathers with fur lining he'd long outgrown. Between the oversized shoes and outerwear and the generally dismal weather, Entin didn't seem up to talking.

"Always keep your spear tip pointed up, like this. Or you might chip it on a rock or catch it in the mud," Cascade instructed.

He straightened out Entin's grip on the weapon. The man had been holding the implement at almost arm's length, still refusing to look directly at it.

"You're going to need to grow comfortable with it, Entin. If you don't, you'll never survive your Journey," Cascade warned.

They were nearly at Main Cave, and he could smell the Great Fire and cooking meat.

"What is this ‘Journey' you keep mentioning?" Entin asked.

But even as Cascade made to answer, a pair called out from behind them.

"Piss drinker!" a voice hollered.

"Dung collector!" another cried.

Cascade couldn't help but laugh. He turned to greet the familiar voices.

T'reer and Sivek grinned as they approached. Their charges—two red-haired men they'd captured during the first raid many moons ago—followed them obediently. The brothers had returned to Mountainhome long before Cascade had captured Entin. It was good to see them after all this time.

"Deer fuckers, the both of you," Cascade retorted.

The brothers greeted him with hearty forearm grasping and thumps on the back.

"We thought you'd died," T'reer said dramatically.

"And without even saying goodbye!" Sivek added in mock offense. He gave him a playful shove.

"Would have been just like you, mysterious right to the end," T'reer continued.

"Cascade, in all seriousness, our kin send their sorrow for what befell your father. He was a good man," Sivek said somberly.

"They do indeed," T'reer agreed. "If there's anything we can do, anything at all, let us know."

"Thanks, I'll do that," Cascade said hastily.

They'd just about crossed into Main Cave. He shuddered, knowing that somewhere in the shadows, his uncle was lurking. This conversation would have to wait for a better time.

"This is Entin," he said to distract them.

"Welcome, Entin. I wish we could have met under different circumstances," T'reer said.

"Aye, me as well," Sivek agreed.

"Me three, I suppose," Entin said darkly.

The brothers and even their charges laughed.

Cascade's eyes adjusted to the light in the cave. It was packed. Hundreds of tribe members and their trainees were chatting in groups or sitting around the fire. There was an air of tension mixed into the near-celebratory vibe—like a party before the end of the world.

And then Cascade spotted Harlak.

The bastard was seated near the center—where his father would have been had he still been alive. Aiel, the friend of Entin's he had kidnapped, was leashed to him by a leather cord knotted about her neck. She was staring into the fire blankly, obviously yet another victim of his uncle's hallmark cruelty.

Cascade looked at Entin, suddenly worried he might be unable to keep him safe the way he'd promised. But then he narrowed his eyes and turned back to the man who had murdered his father in cold blood. Cascade wasn't a child anymore. He was a man. The son of a chief—a dead chief. And he knew instinctively that his place wasn't here, timorously hiding from inevitable confrontation. He stepped toward his uncle and called out.

"Uncle. It is good to see you alive and well." Cascade's voice came out louder than he'd intended, and it resounded off the walls of the vast cavern.

A silence rippled across the space as others from the raiding party took notice of him.

"He's alive!" someone cried.

"By the gods, it's Cascade!" someone else whispered.

He realized then what he had meant to these people—what he still meant. His uncle looked at him coldly, a thin, twisted smile barely covering his snarl.

"Nephew. I thought I'd seen you fall to the god's wrath, same as your father. It would seem the spirits favor you more than he. Welcome home. And just in time to begin training, too."

"You speak of the gods and their wrath, Uncle. It's good to know you believe in their justice," Cascade retorted.

"Indeed I do," Harlak dodged. "Now, seeing as our tribe is reunited, I propose we begin. There is no time to waste. Wolf raiding parties have been spotted by two nearby tribes in the past week."

He rose to his feet and yanked Aiel to hers by the collar. Cascade sensed Entin's fury and grabbed him firmly by the hand, disallowing him the mistake of reacting. He knew his uncle clung to the old ideas of obedience and punishment, and where his father had been progressive and open, his uncle was undoubtedly brutal and closed.

"Outside. All of you. Pair with a trainee, and we will teach them to spar. The Wolves are coming. We fight them and win, or we die. All of us have the same thing at stake now. And if we don't stop the Wolves here, at Mountainhome, they will continue their hunt. They will come for what remains of your villages. They will kill your children. They will raze your societies to ruin. What we do now is for all of us… all of you. We fight because we must," Harlak bellowed.

There was a shout. And then another. Then, a low rumbling of foot-stomping and chest-beating signified that his speech had done its part to rally support for his leadership. The idea of driving his spear through Harlak's throat left Cascade. He could never prove what he'd seen back at the slide. It would be his word against his uncle's. He feared he might dishonor his family if he were to confront him and lose, looking like the bitter offspring of a tragically departed chief and tarnishing his father's legacy. So he'd have to wait.

"You! You will be my partner today," Harlak said with a sneer.

To Cascade's horror, Harlak was pointing at Entin.

"Here, nephew. This one is quite fun to spar with. She handles my spear expertly. I think you'll enjoy her more than this useless whelp," Harlak spat.

He shoved Aiel to the ground before Cascade, then violently pushed Entin toward the pouring rain outside before Cascade could stop him. Cascade watched helplessly as the crowd moved around him, forcing Entin and his uncle farther and farther away. Cascade gulped, then helped Aiel to her feet as the others streamed by, though she didn't appear to trust or appreciate his presence. Far from. She spat in his face.

"You're all monsters," she hissed.

"Not all of us," Cascade said.

"You better not have laid a hand on him, or I'll kill you myself. Not even the spirits will be able to stop me," Aiel growled.

She yanked at the cord about her neck.

Cascade regarded her anxiously, then led her outside by the leash—understanding now why it might have been necessary. She pulled and strained against it with surprising strength. As much as he wanted to be gentle with her, his only focus at the moment was ensuring Entin was okay, and the urgency of that concern led him to tug her along more aggressively than he would have otherwise.

As he and Aiel emerged behind the others, a crackle of thunder made him jump. Harlak was squaring off against Entin while the crowd began to encircle them. Entin's eyes were frenzied with fear. Cascade watched helplessly as he looked this way and that for respite that would not come. His spear trembled visibly in his hand.

"Strike me, worm," Harlak shouted.

His uncle wasn't even holding a spear.

"I said, strike me!" he yelled.

He kicked Entin to the ground, and Cascade nearly raised and hurled his spear at the man.

"Easy," Sivek warned.

"Your mother told us everything last night," T'reer said.

They had appeared on either side of him and were doing their best to make the conversation appear casual.

"Blood must be spilled. But not here. Not now," Sivek said in a low voice.

"Give me a blade, and I'll do it for you," Aiel interjected.

Cascade looked at her and realized her expression had softened somewhat, though it was still inscrutable.

"This is a son's vengeance; I fear it is mine to see through," Cascade said.

He winced as he watched Entin scramble in the mud, still unwilling to use the spear against his uncle. Harlak kicked him again, this time in the face, and the brothers had to physically hold Cascade back from interceding as it went on.

"You're not alone. You have us. Your tribe. You are the rightful chief. Patience," Sivek murmured in his ear.

But he barely heard the words. All he could see was red. Big, blaring red. He felt consumed by an anger that clouded his judgment and boiled the blood in his veins. Cascade promised himself, then and there, that the last thing his uncle would ever see would be his fury. He gritted his jaw and watched on helplessly as his lover took blow after blow from the man who had killed his father.

If the gods were real, they had a sick sense of humor.