A Clap of Thunder

Written by P.S. Tiernon

Trigger Warning: Some descriptions of injuries and blood

Before the moon’s curls turned to curves and the sun’s roads turned to rays, the village made a simple decree. It was forbidden for any member of the clan to provide the old woman in the tattered cloth hut with sight. Her wails would sound morning until after the night fell; but no matter how much her noise angered their hearts, nor how much they longed to kill her, the villagers would not go near.

It was for their own good. They mused. It was how impairments had to be dealt. They insisted to themselves. But in the end, they knew it was out of fear for their own hearts that they stopped her from seeing what had torn her own apart.

Only the eldest of the village knew what had happened, to this creature called the Foudre, and they refused to tell. Any weakness of any sort posed a danger to the village’s survival. But despite hers, she survived year after year, howling always for her sight to be given back. The people soon questioned whether her skin truly contained the soul of a human, or of something more wicked in nature. None of the villagers found comfort or use in seeking answers further, save for the children. The grown among them relied on the wisdom that her fate was deserving. The children were fascinated that the village had not gone to kill her. The elders expected their people to accept that weakness was the only explanation they needed for her fate. The children, in private and only amongst themselves, told each other horror stories of what might have happened to her. The more frightful the tale, the more eager they were to test their nerve. It was for this reason that a group of them sought, the morning before the grown were set to return, for their next target.

***

Playing along the foothills to the west of her cliffside, a young boy stalked through a field of wheat stalks chasing a butterfly. His long sandy-brown head of hair disappeared briefly under the shade of the golden stalks. The purple blur of the butterfly’s wings dipped and dove and spun gracefully just beginning to climb upward, when his hand shot out and gently gripped the thing between his knuckles. He, who went by the name Polyvalent, was not the biggest nor the strongest of the children in the village. Yet his speed was the talk of much jealous dinner discussions. He could hunt for tiny spiny mice in the dirt and catch them by their whiskers. He could grapple with small carnivorous creatures sprouting bushy orange tails and strangle them better than some of the grown. Yet, he was troubled. Despite being raised by the man of medicine, like all the children, he found no joy in solitude or their hunting games. He preferred company and creating, the former being rebuked harshly. This left him often unsurprised and amused by the children’s frequent surprise attacks on him. Especially the ones lead by their leader, Geante.

Polyvalent stroked the swirls in the butterfly’s wings, ignoring the shifting stalks closing in around him. The dark masses formed a circle. Polyvalent cupped the butterfly tightly in one hand. One of the dark masses sprung up and pushed him from the wheat field.

“Polypeur! Here you are.” The form of Geante said as she stepped out to him. He groaned at the nickname and stood, brushing off his knees. She was named by the man of medicine, who raised all of them, for her rather large stature. She towered over the children; with the tops of their heads just reaching her messy, dark bun woven from her bangs and resting against the rest of a thick mane. Polyvalent was thankful she was only a head taller than himself. At that height, he felt her honey-colored eyes didn’t quite pose a threat to him as much as to the others. He even swore, on the multiple occasions where they tussled and he was close enough to notice, she had little purple flecks that ringed the outer edges of her inner black circles. Yet she made sure he never looked long enough to find out.

“Geante. You want to fight? You should know better than to test me.” Polyvalent laughed. He placed a hand on his hip and traced the edges of a stone dagger. “I have no need of climbing cliffs. I am faster than the rocks that would sooner crush your head!” He felt the butterfly’s tiny teeth sink into his thumb. He quickly hid it, and a wince, behind his back. Geante narrowed her eyes. She shook a stitched cattle skin cover off her shoulders and stepped forward.

“You do have fear.” She frowned and prodded him with her finger. The others crouched closer, sneering. “You have fear of the Foudre. You never come with us to see up the cliff. You never speak about her. You must have fear…” Geante spoke softly never taking her eyes from his. She looked up at the cliff briefly, then back at Polyvalent. Crossing her arms across her chest, she raised an eyebrow. “It must be her noise. It scares you. Of course. You do not need to explain this.” She paced around him, dragging her toes in the dirt.

“I do not!” Polyvalent reddened and tried to force his way out of the circle. The others pushed him back. The butterfly escaped his grasp and was quickly grabbed by Geante. She eyed it a moment, then ripped one of its four wings off. The children howled. Polyvalent’s eyes rested a moment or two on the creature buffed by wind as it tried to rise into the sky once more. Then he shook himself and laughed, “I do not seek her because I know our rules. You know we are not to go near the Foudre. You will bring trouble! And you have not the speed to escape. Last you went to the cliffside the man of medicine caught you! He made you rip roots out of the ground for a week.” The children snorted quietly. Geante clenched her fists.

“What if he did? I felt no pain! But you, you will feel pain now if you don’t go!” She shoved Polyvalent forward. He backed up towards the rocky pathway that led up to the tattered hut. She stalked after him, “Give us proof of your bravery, that you are braver than us, or you will be banished from the village!”

“Ha! The man of medicine will banish you if you banish me!” Polyvalent said shoving her back. The children gathered around them and hushed expectantly.

“Not so! He knows I am brave. He knows I have gone up to see the Foudre.” Geante said, taking a swing at Polyvalent’s shoulder. He ducked and twisted around to kick out her knee.

“Yes so! And he does not! You have not!” Polyvalent gasped as Geante countered with a fist into his gut, as hard as a twelve-year-old can manage.

“I have! I saw her go slowly around her hut crying. I saw from there!” Geante pointed at a set of twin boulders resting against the cliffside. At about three-quarters of the way up, they were still high enough for hawks to nest. Polyvalent scowled and tried to catch his breath. Geante turned back and said, “She puts her hands to the sky and chants for evil spirits to kill her. She will take her sight back and kill any who goes near! But she never saw me! Maybe when you go, your rotted down cloth and goat-feed size will kill her for us!”

“Your pig-house smell is what will kill her!” Polyvalent snapped and feigned a tackle. He rolled under her legs as she dipped to grab him. He came up with a fist but Geante caught it and sent her other fist into the side of his head. She circled him, low to the ground. Polyvalent gripped his ear. Trying to stand, he found a small stone by his feet. He flung it high. As Geante looked up, he launched himself forward and tackled her to the ground. The two rolled and grappled until the rock completed its arc and came down, shattering against Geante’s back. She rolled away hard and Polyvalent collapsed to the side.

“Cheating.” Geante gasped as she met his eye. She smiled. The fight fell from Polyvalent’s shoulders and he grinned back. This is how all their fights would end. He bent down to help her. Geante’s smile widened and she flipped; curling one leg under her and propelling the other forward into his chest. He went tumbling towards the cliff’s base where an outcropping of stones scraped into his arm. He shook himself, groaning.

“I let you do that.” He sniffed and rubbed his arm. Geante stuck out her chin. She moved forward, hand extended and smiling, until she caught sight of the group growing restless. They stalked in place and grunted at her. She looked back at Polyvalent, and made a small gesture with her head. Polyvalent tilted his. Talking it as challenge, the children whooped and rushed forward.

Stopping them with a hand, Geante gestured at Polyvalent again. He blinked at her. She shook herself and pinched her expression. Growling again, she pointed up. “We went up the cliff, Polypeur. We are like the hunters. Prove you are a hunter. Prove you will someday be. If not, we’ll all show you how to be one.” Her voice carried long and loud over the wind and echoed off the basin of the cliff. The children stepped forward; arms raised. Polyvalent wavered. He looked at them, then up at the cliff side. He steeled himself, squared his shoulders, and shouted above his heartbeat,

“Fine. Fine! I will show I am brave. Braver than even you! I will go the farthest! I will touch the hut itself!” The group erupted with laughter but Geante’s grin fell. Polyvalent clutched his fists. “And when I am back, I will be leader! You will have to be brave then to avoid my knife!” And with that, Polyvalent turned on his heels and raced up the cliff’s path. He ran until the path turned northward and the ground was steep with rock. Then he ran until his breathing distracted him from the climb still to come. He climbed higher and higher as the sun climbed farther and farther west. As he arrived near the top, right at the twin boulders, he glanced over the side. The group was watching him. They were no longer laughing. Geante had moved and was at the base of the cliff, poised to run. Her eyes never left him. Polyvalent grinned and waved; the tattered hut was in his sights.

Roughly shaped; like hollowed-out tree roots after a flood, the hut was covered in pieces of dirty ram skins and broken twigs. Decaying pieces fluttered off the skins and created a hazy air that stifled his footsteps and smothered his breath. One piece of cloth loosely cut had left a sizable hole in the roof. Polyvalent heard the echoes of the children cheering madly below him. He leaned over the side to wave. He pounded his chest three times and stepped forward. Everything grew quiet. Polyvalent was only a few feet from the hut. The sky did not seem so bright anymore. The wind whispered warnings to his skin. It sent shivers running down his back. He took another step forward. His toes gripped the dirt tightly as his ankle sank into the earth. He took another step. His fingers shook like they were still holding the wounded butterfly. He took another step. The hut smelled like a ram that had been left outside in the rain. It was mucky and soggy with dirty bowls and uprooted plants lying next to the remains of a fire. Polyvalent was two steps from the entrance of the hut. He reached out slowly with quaking fingers. His thumb rubbed against the cloth. He gripped the hut’s doorframe. Then something screamed.

Polyvalent jumped back and turned to run. He made it three steps. He was thrust face-first into the dirt when a boney hand closed tightly around his knee. It pulled him backwards, inch by inch. Polyvalent kicked and screamed but could not stop the pull. The children below scattered; each sprinting back towards the village. Geante, caught in the middle of their retreat and unable to look away, was the only one to see how the wrinkled hands drug him farther and farther back until he was pulled from the sunlight and into the darkness of the hut. Clawed hands pulled a sopping cloth over the front of the entrance that left only a small sliver of light from the roof to see. And from that small light, filling his heart with fear, Polyvalent could just make out the blue-orbed eyes of the Foudre.

***

“GET OFF! OFF! LET ME GO!” He gasped and thrashed in her grip.

“When you want to breathe, just tell me.” Her voice cackled. Worn and stern, with a touch of crude laughter, the Foudre poked the tip of her finger against his ribs from her perch on his chest. Polyvalent; struggling hard enough he found he was choking, had no choice but to settle. When he stopped kicking, the Foudre got up off his chest and he scurried into the corner of the hut. Catching his breath, he took in the creature that had haunted his village’s night terrors. The eyes, were covered in gunk and bloody veins that hid the pupil entirely and just lightly let blue pop through. The veins crisscrossed over the white and raced outward where it connected to ugly, poorly healed scars that branched out like splintered leaf stems from her eye, scattering down her face, and leveling all the way onto her neck. The scar would run further down, but was covered by a long cloak of rubbery black pelt and wooly fur. Everything about her, Polyvalent shuttered to see, was wrinkled and swollen. From her toes, to her chewed-raw lips that twisted into a crooked grin when she hesitantly took a step toward him. Polyvalent flung himself backwards as far as he could, fumbling for his stone knife. The Foudre cackled,

“I’ve waited a long time to get my hands on one of you- child of the village. Is it that you don’t fear the elders, or that you don’t fear me, that drives you all here?” Her eyes darted back and forth. She took another step closer.

“We, I, have no fear. Of anything. Foudre.” He whispered. Her head twisted in his direction. He fumbled against the back of the hut and held the knife out. The Foudre’s bones cracked as she lowered herself to the ground. She reached a clawed hand out, tapping along the ground. She touched his knee; Polyvalent swatted her off and curled himself tighter against the corner.

“There’s no need for that. I’m a weak old woman. Not long until I’m gone. I just want something small from you and I’ll let you go. Just my sight is all. Grant it to me, and I have no need of anything else.” She said and sat back on her heels.

“I know nothing of your sight Foudre! The elders never talk of you. Let me go! Let me go!” Polyvalent shrieked and made to leap over her. The Foudre reached up and pulled backwards. She grappled for him, pinning his leg down. He tried to kick her off. In his struggling, something deep within his foot snapped. Polyvalent yelped. The Foudre’s grip slackened.

“Come and stay! I promise to take good care of you. You are better off without them. You wouldn’t have to fight any more!” The Foudre gasped. By the sound of his voice and lack of strength in his bones, The Foudre discovered he could not have been older than 12 years of age. Polyvalent, bursting upwards; slashed across her back with the blunt end of his knife. He twisted out of her grip and out past her reach. The Foudre stood frantically and growled, but Polyvalent was already running from the hut.

“You know nothing of us! You were exiled! You are weak!” He shouted then lost his footing on loose stones. He tumbled down the path as the Foudre wailed after him,

“Come back! Please come back! I don’t have much time! Please!” Her shrieks pierced through the beginnings of summer rain and echoed from the cliff walls. Polyvalent’s heart faltered oddly at her words, but he did not look back. He was down the cliff and half-way through the wheat fields before he realized he could no longer feel his ankle.

***

An afternoon’s journey or so from the cliff’s base; past the gentle flowing stream, the waves of golden wheat, the climbing trees planted as guards, and down into a weather worn gorge, Polyvalent limped into his home. A village of aggressors who kept mostly to themselves; they did not welcome strangers warmly and would sooner bury them under their wheat stalks than offer them a share of their meat. Organized roughly, homes of hardened clay and plucked-from-the-cliff stone rested in points of three around a centered pit of man-high flames. Ducking out of sight, Polyvalent watched as all the grown came out of their homes, ready for meal. His mouth watered when the whiff of the kill reached his nose. The hunters, it seemed, had been blessed. Polyvalent eyed them dragging in the remains of a large whale. Uncommon in summer months, be one that must have been stuck too far inland for its stubby legs to walk it back to its waters. The grown had started to roast its meat atop the flames and passed the skin around the circle to be given as clothing. As soon as the meat was cooked, it would be fought over and devoured. Polyvalent knew if he wanted even a small taste of the dinner, he would need to be coming out of the man of medicine’s hut as soon as the first slice was tossed from the flames. He rushed as fast as his leg allowed toward a large hut placed far inwards from the flames. It was built so the rising sun would not wake the children before all the grown were already working and gone.

Polyvalent peaked around the cloth covering of his home and groaned. It was not empty. The man of medicine, who took to training all the children, was blocking the doorway. They raced from bed to bed, trying to find a way around him as he snorted and swatted them away. One of the younger girls leaped but was calmly flicked from his arm before she had a chance to bite down.

“Fight children! Those who cannot get past me will not receive dinner!” He brought down his long staff, one covered in cracks that disturbed the dirt as he walked, onto a young boy’s head hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. He got up snarling and began circling the man of medicine again. The only one not circling was Geante. She stood at the back of the room, eyes darting back and forth. She eyed the man of medicine, where each child was, and where they tried to attack. She squared her shoulders, stopped. Did it again, they hesitated. She made a third motion before her eyes found the gap in the cloth door where Polyvalent was watching. She blinked. A small ‘o’ appeared on her lips before it melted into a scowl. She let out a furious scream, forgoing any strategy, and charged. Polyvalent dove out of sight, quickly followed by the man of medicine who jumped sideways out the door; taking three of the closest children with him as he fell. Geante rushed past and was halfway to the fire before finally sliding to a halt. She turned. Polyvalent raised a hand and waved. Geante stared at him. Before she could speak, the rest of the hut emptied out and the children rushed her. They shoved hard, all making their way to dinner. The man of medicine chuckled in the doorway and brushed off his hands. He scooped up a pair of gray ram horns and tied them around his neck. Then he froze. He picked up his staff slowly, holding the beads in place so they wouldn’t chime. Then he turned and brought it down with a crack where Polyvalent had just been standing. Polyvalent dropped as the man of medicine brought his foot down onto his chest.

“Wait! It is me! Polyvalent!” He wheezed.

“Polyvalent? You’re here? You are alive? How did…?” The man of medicine gaped and removed his foot. Glancing about, he quickly shoved Polyvalent inside the hut. The man of medicine followed and let fall the cloth door behind him. The cloth did not stay shut for long, as Geante rushed in only a moment after.

“Polyvalent!” She gasped. Upon seeing him standing and alive, she held out a breath then shoved him to the ground. He hid a yelp between clenched teeth and fell back. Rather than stand, he pealed back his pant leg and finally looked at his foot. Swollen at twice it’s normal size, it throbbed and burned to touch. Ignoring his gasp, Geante paced roughly in front of him.

“The Foudre took you… you Polypeur! We all saw! She took you into her hut and…” She stopped to glared down at him. Polyvalent, eyeing a twitch that ran along her fingertips, raised an eyebrow.

“Geante? Were you… worried for me?” He smirked.

“No! We just, if you were killed, you could not be leader. You are the bravest now.” She grumbled. Polyvalent laughed. Geante gave a small grin in return and reached her hand to help him up. Behind them, the man of medicine cleared his throat. Geante jumped, tucking back her bangs. “And! We told the Medicine everything, and we were on our way to get you after meal.”

“That is not quite true.” The Medicine’s raspy cough answered. She ignored him and kneeled in front of Polyvalent.

“You have an injury? What has the Foudre done? What has she said?” She asked as he limped over and collapsed on a bed. Polyvalent quickly recalled his ordeal as the man of medicine came forward to examine his ankle. The Medicine pulled herbs from his horns and spoke in tongues, rubbing the wound. Polyvalent winced but did not cry out. Geante winced; eyeing the cuts on his arms and neck. After chanting, the man of medicine sat back. He closed his eyes.

“She has weakened, Geante saw,” Polyvalent said wiggling one toe. “I escaped her! She could not keep hold of me. We can send the village to kill her now!” He jumped up. He glanced behind the Medicine as Geante nodded and cracked her knuckles.

“This is… not for the best.” The Medicine mused. He traced shapes with his finger along his staff, as if asking it to speak to Polyvalent itself. “I… what the Foudre has done, what you have allowed her to do, makes it difficult for the lives of our people.” Polyvalent’s heart stopped beating.

“What is meant, Medicine?”

“You are beyond my healing. You have an impairment now. Like her. You have a wound that prevents your body from moving. You cannot run. You cannot fight. And it will never heal as it was. You do not belong now. We would have gone tonight to see if you were alive, as is the job of the man of medicine, but you will not have life long enough now, with your foot in such a state. You must go.”

Geante gaped. Polyvalent shook. He touched the staff of the man of medicine. “You are telling me, I am…?”

“You are banished Polyvalent. You broke our law and are impaired. There is nothing that can be done to undo it. It is for the best. Best for our survival. I’m sorry, but that is the way.” The man of medicine set his hand on Polyvalent’s shoulder. “You must understand. Go now before the rest of our people know. I will say you were killed by the Foudre. They will accept. They will not go near her, but you must not come back.”

He nudged Polyvalent off the bed. He fell roughly to the floor. The Medicine helped him stand. He paused a moment, then cupped Polyvalent’s hand over his staff.

“Where am I to go?” Polyvalent whispered. He did not hide his tears. The man of medicine’s hands stayed firm over Polyvalent’s but his eyes looked ahead.

“I cannot know. But you must go quickly.” He spoke, nudging Polyvalent again a bit harder. He let his hands drop from the staff, but Polyvalent let it fall to the ground.

“Can I not do anything?” Polyvalent persisted. The man of medicine shook his head. Geante’s voice spoke up,

“Kill the Foudre.” She said, her eyes hidden and dark. “If he kills the Foudre, will it end his impairment and banishment?”

The man of medicine felt the side of Polyvalent’s ankle and squeezed it. Polyvalent yelped. Geante pulled on his cloak roughly. The Medicine looked between the two children. He pulled at his lip. “If he were to… successfully kill the Foudre… perhaps the wound would heal and the village would see the necessity of him to our survival.” He nodded once and turned to Polyvalent. “If you return with her head, then you may return. But you must do it on your own. And, for now, you are banished. And we must go back to meal.”

He stood and took a step backwards out the door. The children followed. The first strips of meat were just being thrown into the crowd. Polyvalent kept his eyes on his feet and on the feet of Geante who stepped in front of him.

“But Medicine…” She tried. The man of medicine grabbed her by her hood and threw her forward.

“You are not to go near him or the cliff again, Geante. If you do, we’ll banish you too!” He cuffed her ear as he walked past and made his way to the fire. Geante did not turn, but kept her eyes on Polyvalent as she followed the Medicine. Polyvalent looked from her, to the man of medicine’s back side, then hobbled behind the huts.

Using the staff for aid he never needed before, he followed the worn paths and limped up the gorge’s side. He staggered past the tree cove. He made it past the wheat fields and splashed over the stream. He did not rest until evening had long fallen and he was back at the cliffside. He stopped only at the twin boulders, gasping and clutching at his ankle. It was throbbing and purple and his stomach cramped. He gazed up at the boulders, took in the cliffside air, and climbed. Blood ran from slits in his fingers as he dragged one half of his feet upwards. He did not stop until he sat at the top with the staff across his legs. He looked out. He looked past all he had just left behind to stare at the smoke rising from the depths of the lowest part of the gorge; where his old home was already comfortably full and fast asleep. Polyvalent, his stomach empty and his eyes full, laid his head on his knees and wept.

---

P.S. Tiernonis the author of A Clap of Thunder. While attending Ohio University, she, who wishes to remain anonymous; P.S Tiernon is a penname they selected to maintain this anonymity. She has studied screenwriting, animation, creative writing, and film analysis, earning a degree in Integrated Media and a minor in English. She is inspired by her love for her family and storytelling, specifically the works of Disney, Pixar, and Studio Ghibli, and is working towards a career in story development post-graduation. She is a current Child Care Provider for the YMCAs of Central Ohio and is continuing the story of "A Clap of Thunder" with the intention of turning it into a screenplay and eventual film or television show.