The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6)
Sneak Peak of A Plague of Shadows
Copyright © October, 2014 by Travis Simmons
The Revenant Wyrd Saga Book Six:
The Turquoise Tower
Published by: Wyrding Ways Press
Cover Design by:
Najla Qamber Designs
Formatting by:
Wyrding Ways Press
Editing by:
Word Vagabond
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, and people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Steuben rushed into the house, worry etched in every line of his dark face. “Mr. Daydren, you need to come look at this,” he said, holding the door of the plantation house open with one leg.
“What is it now?” Garrett Daydren mumbled, following the young man out of the house and down the knoll to the sun-bathed pastures beyond.
“Maple just finished birthing, and . . . you just have to see this.” The younger man vaulted the wooden fence and dashed some hundred yards to where Garrett could barely see the white lump of the goat, lying on her side in the swaying hay.
Being older than Steuben, Garrett wasn’t able to jump over the fence as Steuben had, so he climbed over, groaning against the pain it caused his hips.
Why couldn’t he have used the gate?
Garrett frowned.
“What is this about?” Garrett asked. Just last week they had a problem with all of the milk from their cows coming out of the udders rancid. He was still waiting for that to stop. In all of his time working the family farm, he had never known anything like that to happen.
He huffed his way to the goat and followed Steuben’s stare to the twisted form on the ground. At first all he saw was a stillborn baby goat lying in the hay, covered in blood and mucus.
“Dear Goddess,” Garrett whispered, hand going to his mouth. His eyes couldn’t quite make out what he was seeing. Or rather, his mind couldn’t fully comprehend it. Not one gray head and pink nose, but two. The baby goat had an extra neck, and an extra head. The second one looked oddly human, with a shorter snout, smaller, lidless eyes, and a wicked human grin on its lips. The skin around the skull was shrunken down, tight to the bone, giving it a withered, rotten appearance.
He couldn’t help it — he’d never thought of himself as a weak man, but in that moment Garrett averted his eyes. Only then did he see that the baby didn’t have a lower half like most goats. Its midsection gave way to scarlet red scales, which were nearly lost in the blood oozing from its mother. He squinted, crouching down to see the
thing
closer; he couldn’t think of this malformed being as a baby goat.
“Is it being eaten?” Garrett asked. Reuben couldn’t answer and instead shook his head. Likely Garrett wouldn’t have believed the other man if he had told him. With the tip of his boot he moved the baby goat. The corpse slopped to the side, boneless. But no, it wasn’t being eaten by a snake, it was
part
snake. “How in the Realms does this happen?” he wondered, taking an involuntary step back.
He’d seen enough. He turned away from the dead form of Maple and her misshapen, stillborn baby.
What was happening to his farm?
“Any news from the Grant Farm or Siclen Plantation, about whether they’re having any issues?” Steuben asked.
Garrett shook his head. “I haven’t gotten word back yet.” With the debacle of spoiled milk coming from the cows, Garrett had thought it might be something in the soil, or maybe a sickness the cows were catching. He had written his nearest farming neighbors, but hadn’t heard back yet what was going on.
But before he could think further on what to do, or what might even be happening, a scream split the still morning, shivering across his skin. It was coming from the barn.
“Strange things are happening in the mountains just west of here,” Steuben told him, as they rushed for the barn. “And it’s getting worse here.”
“Steu, there’s
nothing
west of here but the Barrier Mountains,” Garrett scowled. His farm was on the western-most reaches of the Realm of Water. Beyond his lands were nothing but treacherous mountains. To think
anything
could be within them other than animals was absurd.
Together they entered the cool darkness of the barn.
“No,
in
the mountains,” Steuben said, leading him down a hall to where they’d heard the scream come from. There was all kinds of commotion now, buckets slamming, raised voices, and panicked farm hands. Garrett was nearly knocked over as one young woman brushed past him, her face an unreadable mask of horror, her fist clamped over her mouth.
Garrett frowned. If Steuben had mentioned the rumors of what was happening in the mountains to him just a week ago, he would have scoffed. But he’d never known milk to go rancid in a cow’s udders, nor what he’d just witnessed with the baby goat. Now he was susceptible to believe any bit of heathen rumor.
The Turquoise Tower,
Garrett thought. That’s what Steuben was speaking of. Everyone was talking about it now, as if it were something that actually existed. He didn’t believe it for a minute.
He pushed through the gathered farm hands to where they congregated around one cow, Margie, lying on her side, breathing labored. Garrett let out a moan. This was his late wife’s favorite cow. On shaky legs he neared the cow. Someone had tipped over the wooden bucket of milk in their haste to be away from the scene, spilling the foul milk over the ground. It ran in white clumps in a way he hadn’t seen before now. There hadn’t been
lumps
of rotten milk in the udders before.
And what’s that?
He thought, kneeling beside the cow to inspect one of her tits.
Is that a worm?
Sure enough, wriggling out of Margie’s tit was a thin, white worm. As he inspected the udder he could see that it was moving, roiling underneath as if it was full of the worms.
He looked at the milk and realized now that it was rife with worms, slithering around the floor, seeking purchase in the cow once more. Margie turned a large black eye up to Garrett, begging him to help her, save her from the pain and horror inside of her own body.
“Steuben, go get my axe,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on Margie.
As Steuben turned to leave, the udder shuddered and split down the center, spilling milk, blood, and thousands of the white worms out onto the hard dirt floor. Garrett jumped away from Margie’s flailing feet as her pain-filled mewling swelled through the air.
The farmhands backed away from the mass of worms spilling over the ground, slithering toward all of them.
“Don’t let them touch you!” Ray, one of the older farmhands declared. Garrett frowned, but figured that was sound advice.
The barn broke into panic, and Garrett was knocked into a wall as farmhands and servants alike rushed from the milking room. He knocked his head against the wall and staggered forward, slipping on curdled milk and landing on Margie, who had now fallen still, dead.
He could feel the worms on him, slipping up his pant leg, and burrowing into his flesh like tongues of fire. Garret could feel the teeth of the worms — and he hadn’t even known they had teeth, but he could feel the bites as they ate tunnels into his flesh and slipped into his bloodstream.
