Mist Rising

by Eve Langlais

  Having suckled a few, she knew the cry of a baby. She couldn’t ignore it.

  Torch held aloft, Agathe made her way to the tree that clung stubbornly to the edge of the flat ledge. Its fat trunk could have hidden any number of things. Still, she had to look. She placed a hand on the gnarled bole and mouthed a quick prayer for strength before daring to slowly peek around.

  At first, she saw nothing, the torch barely penetrating the fog. Even waving it around did nothing to dispel the thick mist. Her disquiet grew.

  The air felt heavy, full of portent. Danger.

  She should go back inside.

  Not yet.

  As if brushed aside by a ghostly hand—or a god—the mist parted, and she saw it on the ground. A bundle with a face.

  Agathe couldn’t have said who was more startled. The baby’s eyes widened, and its mouth opened. Agathe expected to hear it yell.

  Instead, the child smiled.

  And Agathe knew she’d found her purpose.

  Putting her torch down gave her the two hands needed to pick up the babe from the ground. Agathe stared into the chubby-cheeked face with its thick-lashed eyes. “How did you get here?”

  Obviously, the swaddled baby didn’t walk. Someone had abandoned their child for Agathe to find.

  Not unheard of. It happened quite often in the King’s Valley. If someone had a female child they couldn’t keep—born out of wedlock or one mouth too many to feed—they gave it to the Soraers of the Shield, which was better than families with superfluous boys, who sacrificed them to the old pagan gods.

  Was this child an offering to the Goddess? And if yes, then why here? No one ever made the trip to this forgotten place—unless they were desperate.

  Agathe cradled the child to her chest and felt a sense of rightness, as if the missing piece of her life had finally fallen into place.

  She whirled to return to the Abbae, only to pause as the mist closed in against her. She’d need her torch, or she might get lost. Holding the baby in one arm, she crouched to grab it, her joints creaking. No sooner had she stood than she cursed as the light on the end went out.

  The fog practically soaked her with moist glee as it surrounded her. She was blind for all intents and purposes, but she also knew this ledge. She’d guarded it long enough. She’d use the tree to guide her in the right direction. Her fingers felt the bark and looked for the marks on it, the arrow and symbol showing the path going up the mountain. Orienting herself by it, she took her first stride with confidence, the next with a little less surety. By the third, she shuffled. Surely, she should see the light by the door by now. The stone within the glass globe should last until morning. It had absorbed the pale suns’ rays for most of the day. Then again, so had the rock in her torch, and it had extinguished without even pretending to fade first.

  What if she moved in the wrong direction? How to tell? The fog pressed in all around her, and turning to look behind, she couldn’t see the tree. No keep. Where was the edge?

  She inched more carefully, and a good thing, too, as her left foot came down and began to slide before she caught herself.

  She’d found the cliff.

  If she did a half-revolution and walked straight, she should hit a wall. She turned and moved again.

  Teetered shortly after on another edge.

  Don’t panic. She must have veered. Off she shuffled once more. Again, she almost slipped off.

  It made no sense. While, at the same time, Agathe recalled the stories. The fog played tricks on minds.

  Some said it was the evil spirits trapped in the Abyss below, rising as a mist to cast their displeasure. It was as good a theory as any. And useless right now.

  “I want to get back inside the Abbae,” she muttered out loud before closing her eyes. She took a breath before uttering a soft prayer. “Niimweii, help your servant. And if not me, then at least show me how to bring this child to safety.”

  A breeze caressed her cheek, startling her, mostly because she’d expected a voice. She swayed on her feet, only to realize that she stood once more on the edge. She stumbled back, and the light wind tickled again, almost saying: This way.

  She turned to see it pushing the mist aside, parting it so she could see the soft glow alongside the Abbae’s door.

  “Thank you, Goddess.” For Agathe did not doubt that this was the answer to her prayer.

  Baby held tight, she ran for safety, knowing the fog could return at any moment.

  She’d almost made it when something emerged from the fog, a long, sinuous shape that tripped her!

  Chapter Three

  Something knocked Agathe from her feet. She did her best to shift and hit the ground on her side, managing to shield the child, but she couldn’t hold on. Her arms loosened, and the baby rolled free.

  Not that Agathe cared as she dealt with the sudden burst of pain in her ribs. Probably broken. It certainly hurt to breathe. Lying on the ground and moaning about it wouldn’t save her from the thing wrapped around her ankle, dragging her toward the Abyss!

  “No,” Agathe screamed as she kicked, loosening its grip. Forget the sharp stitch in her side; she’d left the baby on the ground. She popped to her feet just as the tentacle shot at her like a whip.

  Agathe’s old bones protested the sideways dive. The ground wasn’t kind when she hit. It was the other side of her body, at least. Not that it helped. It still hurt. She’d be bruised in the morning.

  If there was a morning.

  Rising, she cursed herself for complacency. She should have brought her sword. Regardless that it hadn’t moved in a long, long time—not even for training. All she had were her hands and wits now, plus the memories of lessons from decades ago.

  “This won’t end well,” she muttered just as the tentacle once more shot from the fog. She managed to punch it and divert whatever it planned. A victory short-lived, as a second appendage snuck up, wrapped around her ankle… Yanked.

  “By the Goddess!” Agathe yelled as her bottom hit the ground hard. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Didn’t this monster understand that she had a purpose? She’d not waited this long only to have it taken from her.

  Old didn’t mean her body had forgotten the movements of her youth. She belonged to Niimweii, the Shield Goddess. The Goddess of Battle. Part of worshiping her was learning the intricate dance that dealt death. It didn’t matter that she’d not had any true adversaries in her life; she had still trained.

  And that knowledge bubbled forth.

  She twisted and, with her hands clenched together, clubbed the tentacle hard enough that something squished. It pleased Agathe to hear a high-pitched squeal. Even better, the monster loosened its grip on her leg, and she scrambled from it.

  Turning to the baby, illuminated by the single globe by the door, Agathe had a moment of horror as she saw a tentacle pausing over the child, quivering and turning side to side as if scenting the air.

  As it began to descend, Agathe dashed for the appendage, knowing she wouldn’t make it in time—which was when Hiix appeared, curly gray hair in wild wisps around her head, her robe sagging off one thin shoulder. But she had the strength to swing a hammer—the one from the kitchen, used to tenderize meat. It flattened the tentacle. Venna then stepped in and, with a dipping slash of a butcher knife—usually used for chopping vegetables—separated it.

  The loss of it drew some major bellowing from within the mist as ichor spurted, putrid and gag-worthy

  “Grab the baby and get inside,” yelled Agathe, drawing their gazes to the bundle on the ground.

  “What in the Goddess…?” Hiix muttered.

  Venna yelled, “Behind you!”

  Agathe ducked as her Soraer threw her weapon and sliced off the tentacle reaching for Agathe. The knife clattered to the ground. Agathe scooped it up, clutching the hilt. It felt good to have something to fight with, even as the monster disappeared.

  Agathe doubted it had left. There was a stillness to the air, an ominous portent.

&nbs
p; “Get inside,” was her soft command.

  Hiix bent to grab the baby just as the monster attacked!

  Tentacles shot out from all around them as if the mist itself were creating them. Or perhaps dozens of monsters surrounded them.

  One or a hundred, it didn’t matter when they fought for their lives, three women past their prime, former soldiers in an army that never had more than basic training. Were never once deployed. When the time came to fight, they barely remembered how, and their muscles protested the abuse. But they did discover one thing they had in abundance: courage.

  Adrenaline smothered the aches and pains, gave them strength. Back-to-back, they parried and swung, kicked and sliced. No matter how many times they struck or diced a piece, they couldn’t gain the upper hand.

  When a tentacle began dragging the blanket holding the baby, Agathe uttered a battle cry and charged after it, plunging into the mist with no fear, just one thought.

  Save the child.

  Within the fog, she lost all sense of direction and sound immediately. The mist clung to her skin, moistened it, gagged her. Filled her ears with batting. Dotted her lashes and made it hard to see.

  “Where are you, baby?” She just needed a sign.

  No reply. She felt a breeze instead and followed its arrowing path until she came face-to-face with a beast. The warm wind pushed the mist aside enough for Agathe to see it in all its monstrous glory. A bulbous body balanced on the edge of the cliff, its skin oozing sores, its carapace slimy and smelly. The mouth was a gaping hole rimmed with teeth. The tentacles on the body remained plentiful despite those she and the Soraers had chopped.

  She shortened yet another as she sliced to free the child before the thing ate it. As the beast bellowed in annoyance, rather than run with the baby, Agathe suddenly knew what she had to do.

  My purpose.

  Kill the monster.

  She charged, not sure how to kill it, hoping her Goddess offered a tip or maybe a divine hand.

  The thing suddenly noticed her entering its personal space. It jolted into action. Her arm arced a little too soon. The blade she swung barely sliced across the beast.

  A shallow scratch, but it still bellowed hot gas right in her face, a poison she could see and not avoid. One fetid breath of air and she hit the ground. Paralyzed. Able only to see and hear as a tentacle dragged the baby across the ground, right past her face. A taunt at her inability to do the thing she’d spent her whole life waiting for. Would she lose another child?

  Don’t give up!

  Her fingers spasmed as fabric skimmed against the tips. She managed to hook them into the bundle, but the monster kept pulling, resulting in the child rolling out of its swaddling.

  It wore a simple tunic and a diaper. Its body was chubby, arms waving now that they were free. The fingers grasped and grabbed at anything within reach. The child crawled for Agathe, expression determined, not knowing that a tentacle hovered.

  The baby patted Agathe’s cheek just as the tentacle wrapped around the baby’s other wrist. A jolt went through the child and Agathe, a spasm that parted her lips just as the monster bellowed. She saw the tentacle release the babe, but those chubby, grasping fingers reached for it and clung tightly. Even as the infant kept one hand flat on Agathe’s cheek.

  She could only watch as the tentacle shivered and then began spasming, undulating, at times nearly pulling from the baby’s grasp. But the child held on with an intent expression, eyes aglow.

  If Agathe had not been paralyzed, she would have shoved away from those intent fingers pressing into her cheek, icy-cold and searing-hot all at once. If she could have screamed, she would have. Her eyes were open and fixed on the child’s. The glow intensified, burning her retinas and becoming brighter by the moment, starting out violet and then turning almost white.

  Agathe screamed as heat poured into her. So much heat. Surely, her flesh and blood boiled. The pain was intense, insane. Incapacitating.

  Gradually, it eased, and Agathe found herself blinking as she saw the baby’s eyes fade from incandescent to merely a purple glow, then nothing.

  Only then did the baby release the tentacle, and as Agathe watched, the monster shuddered and uttered a keening sound, thrashing and looking smaller than before. It appeared to shrink in on itself. It uttered one last long howl before bursting into nothing. No chunks of flesh, not even dust. It was as if it’d never existed—unless Agathe looked at the lopped-off limb lying not far away.

  The baby made a sound of complaint and then clapped its hands and gurgled. No sign that, just moments ago, its eyes had been glowing brighter than any stone.

  What was it? And what had it done?

  Should Agathe be nervous, considering the child finished clapping and turned to her to grab at her cheeks again?

  She flinched. Surely, she didn’t need to fear a baby. Still, she couldn’t help but tremble, wondering if she would explode next.

  It took her another second to realize that, rather than dying, she actually felt pretty good. And she could move. She scrambled to stand, half-crouched as if expecting an attack.

  “Gah.” The child sat, bouncing on its bottom, clapping its hands.

  No monster appeared; however, the mist overhead thinned, and Agathe saw stars and the crescent of one of the moons. The ominous sense of danger was gone. “Thank you, Goddess.”

  For, surely, she’d intervened to save her servant and healed her too, since Agathe felt no ill effects from the battle at all.

  The infant cooed and smiled—happy as could be. Looking normal and not like a demon baby with glowing eyes. There was probably a hallucinogen in the monster’s bad breath.

  “Who are you?” Agathe murmured aloud. Did it really matter? It was a baby, and it needed her help. “Come, little one.”

  She reached for the child, who immediately nestled in her arms. When Agathe pivoted to orient herself, she noticed remnants of the mist clinging to the ledge, receding as silently as it had invaded. Enough that she could see the rim and the tree, not at all where she’d expected them to be. She also caught sight of the door. As she headed for it, she saw Venna supporting Hiix, whose left knee appeared to have buckled.

  “Are you both okay?” Agathe asked, her stride quickening.

  “Just old bones. I’ll be fine,” Hiix scoffed.

  “Not if the monster comes back and finishes you off.” Venna couldn’t hide the concern in her abrupt observation.

  “I don’t think we need to worry,” Agathe replied as she stepped closer. “The monster is dead.” The part she kept to herself? The baby had killed it, because she really had to wonder if she had imagined it.

  Venna supported a hobbling Hiix, helping her into the Abbae, while Agathe kept an eye out for movement beyond the rim. She saw and heard nothing, not even the voice in her head.

  Stepping past the threshold of the keep, she found Hiix just inside, hammer tucked into her belt, leaning against the wall. Her eyes gleamed, and she actually grinned. “Well, that was a bit of excitement.”

  Venna snorted and tugged at her fat braid. “I’d have preferred to stay in my warm bed.” So she said. And yet the high spots of color in her cheeks spoke of her own adrenaline surge.

  “What possessed you to go outside in the first place?” Hiix asked, lighting the oil basin in the courtyard to give them some heat and light. It had little fuel left, but tonight deserved to waste some of it.

  “Someone rang the bell,” Agathe informed her, taking stock of her Soraers. Neither of them appeared to be bleeding, but their robes would need a wash and stitch. While Agathe felt fine for the moment. If the Goddess hadn’t healed her, then she imagined all the aches and pains would appear by morning.

  All in all, despite their first-ever Abyss monster, they’d come out ahead.

  Or so Agathe assumed until Venna exclaimed, “By the Goddess, Agathe, what happened to you?”

  Chapter Four

  What a dumb thing to ask. Agathe got snarky with her Soraer. �
�What do you think happened? Or in your senility, did you already forget the monster?” No need to mention that parts of the battle were fuzzy for her. How had the monster really died? Because what she recalled just wasn’t possible. A baby couldn’t touch a creature and kill it.

  “I wasn’t talking about the creature.” Venna waved a hand. “I meant…what happened to your face?”

  Agathe grimaced. “I smacked it off the ground when the monster tripped me.”

  “How come when I hit myself, I don’t lose any wrinkles?” Hiix noted.

  “What are you yammering on about?” Agathe barked as she slammed the door shut. It clanged, and the bolts snicked into place with ease. Only then did she relax. Once more, the adage of nothing good happened in the middle of the night had held true.

  Then again… She glanced at the baby and only caught part of Hiix’s words. “…magic is the only explanation.”

  “Magic is the explanation for what?” Agathe asked, looking up.

  “The fact that you appear to have lost a few decades.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the mist making you see things,” Agathe retorted.

  “Am I? Because Venna sees it, too.”

  Her other Soraer nodded. “You really should look in a mirror.”

  “We don’t have any,” she retorted. The Abbaes of the Shield frowned on frivolous extras. Polished metal was for weapons, not mirrors. Even if they did have one, she wasn’t vain enough that she needed to look right now. Hiix’s eyes were probably misbehaving. It happened at their age. What looked like an ostrawk in a clear blue sky now often turned out to be a bird the size of her fist.

  “If she wants to ignore the fact her face looks like it was dipped in a vat of youth, then let’s change subjects. I want to talk about the baby. Where did it come from?” Venna circled a finger over the child’s head, crowned in glossy black curls.

  “It’s not an it,” Agathe pointed out. “And I have no idea where the child came from or who left it here. All I know is that someone rang the bell numerous times, and when I emerged, I found the babe on the ground by the tree.”