Make him stop

[moonshadows]

“…status on what’s riling up the elements?”

“No, Warchief,” the tauren shaman answers, but I don’t hear anything more because the vision takes me, hard.

It is as though a veil has been ripped from my eyes. The spirits throw me into the air, shake me, slam me down into the ground where the only sound is the moan of tortured rock. Then the first strike of metal on metal rings through the darkness, and suddenly I am six years old again, tiny in my father’s arms, crying as the agony of Azeroth wracks my small body. I know what’s coming, now. How could I ever have forgotten this? Each hammer-blow brings the memory back, terror clawing up my throat, but I can’t even hear myself whimper.

Make him stop! Make him stop!

Who, Mika? Make who stop?

He’s coming…NO! No, no, no, no! MAKE HIM STOP!

The first color appears now, red, the color of-

Pain…

-no, no, no, I don’t want to see this!

Agony…

Make him stop! But there’s no one to answer my plea, only the elements crying out to me for help. I can see the hammers now, blows coming like the beating of a unholy clockwork heart, molten metal casting flickering shadows.

My hatred BURNS through the cavernous deeps!

Molten rock, flowing like blood. Huge shapes crashing together with terrible precision, every blow a lance of pain. The huge shape writhes, screaming in anger with every strike of metal on metal, and the earth writhes with him.

Make him stop! Make him stop!

Helpless, I watch as the land of the Barrens trembles and heaves, as Honor’s Stand is flung to the ground in a wreckage of tangled timber and broken limbs.

Silence, but it brings no relief. I know what’s coming. In deceptively slow motion, the wall of water rises up, translucent green that blots out the sun and transforms day into a maritime twilight catastrophe as it crashes down on the statue I have never seen: a goblin, arms outstretched. I cry for whoever was on the boat caught up in that titanic wave, knowing that their last moments had to be terror at the realization that there was no sky, only a vengeful sea.

The world heaves with my torment!

Earth, water – next comes fire, I know all too well. Not content to merely writhe, the Barrens is rent apart, earth screaming at his command until the fire spurts like blood through the fissure. I want to reach out, to calm the earth and silence the fire, to put my country back together, but such things are denied me. I can only watch, and hope that this time, I remember.

Its wretched kingdoms quake…

A moored zeppelin thrashes on its leads as Orgrimmar’s flight tower dances to the beat of metal striking metal and the tune of searing flesh.  The fangs of the Hall of Champions bite deeply and the gasses explode. Fire billows out, frantic, and the dry timbers catch easily. It’s not long before half the city is ablaze.

...beneath my rage!

Another wall of water, this one rushing and full of fury, crashing around the spires of Thousand Needles. I can just barely make out Freewind Post before it is wiped off the top of its plateau. No, no, no! Make him stop! Warn them, warn-

Pistons as big as whole trees strike in succession, sparks flying from the impact. One enormous talon lifts up out of the liquid rock, flaming as he braces himself. Darkness and smoke retract, become his scales, his seared flesh, the metal plates fused over the cracks. His head lifts, he roars-

-a mountain explodes. Where? I don’t know. Not one I have seen. He’s flying now, wings trailing smoke and fire like enormous brushes spreading the pigment of death across the sky. He’s coming! He’s coming! Warn them, they’re going to burn! It’s no use, the elven buildings go up like dry grass just from the wind of his passing.

But at last, the whole of Azeroth will break…

The dam is enormous. The faces are dwarven, but that’s all I know. At least – they were dwarven before he passed overhead. Now they crack, and fall, and the water – no! Warn them, he’s coming! Get them out, they’ll all drown!

…and all will burn…

He’s coming, he’s coming! I don’t recognize the buildings at first, despite having seen this before. But then I see the towers, and I recognize Stormwind Keep.

…beneath the shadow of my wing.

This is the worst part. I want to hide, to cover my head, but I can’t move. I sit there, helpless, as he lands on the towers I once passed beneath, and then he looks at me. That’s when I realize that he doesn’t want everyone to die, no – he wants everything to suffer. His claws make the brick and stone glow: sullen orange at first, then searing red as he screams his rage and pain for all to hear. One of the statues falls as though cringing away. Make him stop! Make him stop, he’s coming! He’s-

“Who’s coming, Mikanna?”

The vision ends, spitting me back into my body where my hands are clenched on the edge of the table so tightly that at first, I can’t let go. I look around the at the faces of my father’s Council and see wariness, fear – but not the right kind of fear. Fear that I have gone mad. My cheeks are wet, and I feel like my six-year-old self again as I look to my father for reassurance – and find it. His eyes are sad and determined, like this is nothing new, but it wouldn’t be. Not if I had these same visions as a child. No wonder he was so certain I would have the shaman’s gift.

“Death spreads beneath his wing.” The words are torn out of me; the images are all jumbled in my head, I can’t make sense of them yet.

“Deathwing.” That’s Aunt Ryxl, calm and certain – but why wouldn’t she be? She has an Arikara.

“Earth is patient, shaman. What did you see?” My father’s voice grounds me, reminds me to pull on the earth which is not yet frenzied with pain.

“A great cataclysm. Fire, earthquakes, walls of water.”

“Where?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to sort the images out. “Thousand Needles – get them all out, they’ll drown. Freewind Post isn’t safe. A giant statue of a goblin, I don’t know where-”

“Booty Bay,” Aunt Ryxl says calmly.

“They’re doomed. The wave blocked the sun. A giant dam with three faces, dwarven – it cracked. Everyone below that needs to be evacuated or they’ll be washed out to sea.”

“Pah. Let them, they’re Alliance.” That would be one of the generals.

His words cause something to crystalize in me. Suddenly, even though I’m still shaking with reaction, I feel like I’m made of tempered steel. “No.”

My father looks at me as though I’ve grown another head.

“They don’t deserve that. No one does, Horde or Alliance or even kobolds. They have to be warned, and if you-“ I glance around again, indicating the entire council, “won’t tell them, I will.”

“And just how will you do that? The Alliance will never believe a warning that comes from the Horde.”

The newfound determination in my heart pounces on Thrall’s cautious question. “I have friends among the druids in Thunder Bluff. Hamuul Runetotem can deliver a warning to the Cenarian Circle; Archdruid Stormrage will pass it on to the Kal’dorei. The spirits can carry my words to Farseer Nobundo among the draenei; he’ll pass it on to Prophet Valen. And there’s not a man in Theramore that wouldn’t take a message to Stormwind for me. Without my seal, I may not be able to guarantee that Anduin sees it, but sailors talk and I’ll make sure the people are warned.”

“What about the dwarves?” he asks quietly.

I bite my lip to keep from crying. “I don’t know. I’ll find a way somehow, even if I have to go there myself.”

He nods calmly, as though this has confirmed something. “You’ll need the authority of the Warchief if you’re going to be taken seriously.” He looks at me critically. “You’re older than I was, at least.”

“…what?” I can’t tell whose disbelieving question that was, or if it was just my own thought.

“Mikanna, my heir, child of my blood and spirit – in one month’s time I will pass on to you the title of Warchief.” He smiles as his council erupts into protests. “This vision, this…cataclysm…this is bigger than the petty squabbles of Horde and Alliance. We will need to work together to overcome it. That will be your task. I, the son of war, forged the Horde and held it together. I will remain in Orgrimmar to keep holding it together while you, the daughter of peace, do whatever you need to do in order to keep our world from splitting apart.”

“I….I am not worthy of this honor.” I’m crying again, but I don’t think anyone notices.

He smiles proudly at me. “You are worthy. The Horde needs you, Mikanna. Will you abandon it?”

“No, never!”

“One month. In the meantime, Ryxl, could you call Arikara? Mika, I want you to work with Arikara and Ryxl to pinpoint the locations you saw, and what was happening there. We may not know when Deathwing will strike, but we can be prepared for him.”