Taranis lay silent in his cradle, just moments after birth. He didn’t cry, didn’t scream only watched with wide, storm-coloured eyes. I sat by his side, listening to the rising argument between our father and eldest brother, Drax.
“No one will hurt you, baby brother,” I whispered, “not while I and the others still draw breath.”
“Lore,” came our mother’s voice, tired but clear, “you’ll be good to him, won’t you? He’s weak…”
I turned to her and gave a gentle nod. “Yes, Mother. And so will you. You’ll teach him to gather berries and cook. And Father will teach him to hunt. He has eleven older brothers, we’ll teach him everything. But… what is Father going to do about Drax?”
I cradled Taranis in my arms, gently rocking him the way I’d done with the others. Even then, he felt… different. Lighter and heavier at the same time.
“We’ll protect him,” Mother whispered. “But if Drax doesn’t stay quiet, your father may have him silenced.”
There was pain in her voice, thick with grief.
“Drax is being ostracised,” Father said later that day.
“He’s moved to the empty hut. My men are watching him. But Lore my boy you are to be chief when I enter the eternal sleep. Drax has forfeited his claim.”
“Yes, Father,” I replied, handing the baby to him before leaving for council training.
Many moons passed.
Drax had become more unstable touched by something dark. He talked to shadows. He thrashed like a wild animal when approached. Still, Father refused to have him killed.
But Drax had never been allowed near Taranis unbound not since the moment of his birth.
One afternoon, I sat carving a storm sigil into a flat stone when a scream echoed across the camp. It was Stone, a tribal woman and healer. I dropped my tools and ran.
Inside the birthing hut, Taranis barely four months old was standing unaided.
“L… Lore?” the baby said softly.
I froze. My heart thundered in my chest. “Yes… I’m Lore. You’re Taranis the stormborne one.”
No child had ever spoken or walked at that age. He was already taller than most children twice his age. His voice was clear. His steps were steady.
Our parents rushed in.
“Conan, he’s doing it,” Mother said, her voice laced with awe and fear. “But it’s far too early.”
Father’s eyes scanned the room. He bent down and lifted Taranis, pride and dread wrestling in his expression.
“Stone,” he said quietly, “you saw nothing. And neither did you, Lore.”
“Drax is here for visitation today,” I reminded him, uneasy.
“The shaman has blessed him. He’s… clear enough,” Father replied. “But I will not kill my own blood.”
“Dadda?” Taranis said with a toothless grin. “Momma. Daddy. Lore.”
“That’s right, my charmed one,” Father said softly. “And you are?”
“Tabaris,” he chirped, mispronouncing his own name.
“Close. It’s Taranis,” Father corrected gently.
“Taranis,” he said again, tapping his chest. “Me Tanaris. You Daddy. That Mommy Sweet Voice. That Lore.”
I chuckled. “That’s right, little one. I’m your brother Lore. That’s Stone. And these are your other brothers. Do you know their names?”
“Lore… Oak, Willow… River, Sky… Star…”
He paused, hiding his face bashfully.
“You did brilliantly,” I reassured him. “You’re only three moons old and already speaking better than most of us at one year!”
Time flew.
Taranis walked and talked far too early. At one year old, he was disappearing from sight vanishing, even. He was growing rapidly, faster than any child the tribe had ever seen.
One morning, he wandered toward the hut where Drax now lived, under guard by two warriors.
“What you doing, little brother?” Rain asked, trailing behind him.
“Why Drax in there alone?” Taranis asked, blinking up at the warriors.
“He’s touched,” Rain said. “They say a vengeful spirit cursed him.”
Taranis tilted his head. “I heal him,” he said matter-of-factly.
Before I stop him, he dashed toward the door.
“TARANIS! NO! STOP RIGHT NOW!” I shouted.
“I heal!” he giggled.
Rain and I exchanged looks. “Get Father!” I barked.
We followed him inside. Drax sat cross-legged, staring at the wall. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Taranis approached him with no fear and touched his hand. A strange, gentle glow pulsed from his palm.
“I call on my sacred friends,” he whispered, “to heal my brother Drax.”
And in that moment, something ancient stirred.
To be continued…
Further Reading
StormborneLore 