Mist Rising

by Eve Langlais

  “And turned back time,” Hiix stated. Then she scowled. “When is it my turn? Don’t suppose you left any spider freaks behind in the catacombs?”

  “Hiix!” Venna exclaimed. “You can’t go looking for danger.”

  “Why not? You said she killed the monsters by touching them.” Hiix glanced at Agathe. “And you just claimed the same thing happened with you, too.”

  Agathe nodded. “I thought I might have imagined it.”

  “I didn’t imagine it, and neither did you. Our baby can do magic,” Venna breathed.

  “Magic isn’t real,” Hiix repeated as if by rote.

  “Then explain what happened,” Venna argued.

  “What do you think, Agathe?” Hiix turned to her.

  For once, Agathe didn’t have an answer because given what the child did…magic was the only thing that fit. And yet, how could it be real? How could a baby, who couldn’t speak or even walk for too long without falling, wield something so deadly?

  Agathe chewed her lower lip. “I do wonder at the kind of magic that appears as if it requires monsters to power.”

  “A magic that kills them and helps us? Sounds like a fine tradeoff to me. It would be nice to get out of bed in the morning and not curse each bend of my knee.” Hiix’s voice held longing, and now that it had happened twice, who was to say it couldn’t happen a third time?

  “Why this child, though?” Agathe asked.

  “It must have something to do with the eyes,” Venna said with a sage nod. As if it weren’t obvious.

  “Which I’ll wager are either a deep purple or brown again,” Agathe mused aloud.

  “Maybe after using it all up, she has to recharge like the solarus stones,” Venna postulated.

  The idea had merit but for one fact. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never heard of the purple-gifted wielding power of any kind.” Agathe glanced at Hiix, someone who would know better than them. “Your children…”

  “Never did anything strange. Then again, they never had a reason to. The biggest monster they ever saw was a weevil in the pantry.” Hiix shrugged.

  “If the purple-eyed do have some kind of power, it would explain why they are rounded up each year during the festival.” Agathe further thought aloud.

  “You think the King wants them for their magic?” Venna couldn’t contain her shock.

  “It’s as good an explanation as any.” Agathe had always had a vague curiosity as to why the purple-eyed were special.

  It was Hiix, though, who said, “Does anyone remember the rhyme we sang when we skipped rope as children?”

  The change in topic brought a frown but also curiosity. “Which one? I know a few.”

  Venna began reciting.

  “Monsters, monsters sneak out to slay,

  When night does fall and shadows day.

  Close your doors and shutter your eaves,

  For death in the mist does roam the streets.

  The Goddess calls, and three will answer,

  Soraers to mothers, for a purple-eyed disaster.

  Monsters, monsters will come out and play,

  When the fog does hide the bright rays.

  The enemy comes for the orphan of night.

  The hope of the Kingdom has a terrible plight.

  One wrong choice and death will prevail,

  And then what will happen to the humans so frail?

  Monsters, monsters, have one thing to say—

  Crunch.”

  Venna clapped her hands at the last syllable.

  “It’s a silly nursery rhyme. What about it?” Hiix asked.

  “Actually,” Venna corrected, “it’s derived from a passage in the Goddess scriptures. Which you’d know if you ever read a book.”

  “Some of us have real work to do,” Hiix ranted right back.

  Agathe jumped in. “I’ve read our Bible. I don’t recall that poem being in there.”

  “I’ve only seen it in the older copies,” Venna explained. “Which we still have a few of. The newer ones don’t have the section on prophecies.”

  “Wait, there are prophecies?” Agathe repeated.

  “A few, most of which sound impossible. The one about monsters is one of them.”

  “What are the others?” Agathe asked.

  “One talks about original sin flooding the world to perform a great reset. There’s the version promising that a rock from the sky will destroy us if the waters are polluted. And a really weird one that just consists of three words repeated over and over. Mist and mirrors. Mist and mirrors.” Venna wrinkled her nose.

  Hiix latched onto that example. “It’s all rat poop if you ask me. It’s a silly poem the kids sing when skipping rope, only they count the number of bites the monster will take.”

  The reminder brought Agathe back to a time when she had no care in the world except making it over the swinging rope. One. Two. Three. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch, and the squeals of laughter that followed as the rope tangled.

  “So what if children sing it? The fact remains it originated from a prophecy for our Goddess.”

  “If you believe in that kind of drivel.”

  “After what happened to me?” Venna said with an arched brow. “I am a lot more open-minded now.”

  Agathe began to see what Venna was getting at. “The three in the poem, you think that’s us?”

  Hiix burst out laughing. “Ludicrous.”

  Indignant red spots colored Venna’s cheeks. “Is it? It fits. The Goddess calls, and three will answer. Soraers to mothers—

  “Enough. All I see is you stretching to fit some nursery rhyme to the situation.” Hiix remained skeptical.

  “Am I? She can do magic. She’s an orphan of night. She’s purple-eyed.”

  “But not a disaster,” Agathe interjected.

  “If I were to believe in this, then you’re saying that child”—Hiix pointed—“will save the Kingdom.”

  All three of them stared at the baby, who slept with a fist shoved into her mouth, snoring. She didn’t look like a savior. But then again, Agathe had only to touch her newly smooth skin to believe in miracles, so why not a prophecy?

  “The Goddess told us she was important.” Venna clasped her hands.

  “She’s obviously special.” Agathe cradled the child close.

  Trust Hiix to grumble, “If I’m going to save the world, then I’d like a dose of what the two of you got.”

  It took a while before Hiix got her wish.

  Chapter Eight

  Another year passed…

  Despite watching the brat constantly—to the point of creepiness—they could see no sign that she was anything other than a normal child. She ate, shat, even cried when she didn’t get her way.

  As a toddler, she liked chewing on everything—the stone chest she used as a bed, unsuspecting fingers, shoes—her swollen gums readying to pop out some brand-new teeth.

  The baby grew, not just in character but also ability. She went from yelling more to babbling—no and mine being her favorites. Like most children, she got into trouble the moment she started walking and climbing. Truly meriting her nickname.

  She was curious—too curious. Energetic, too. In order to give Venna and Hiix a break, and out of a leeriness of the edge to the Abyss, Agathe often took her down to the catacombs, where she checked the section they’d sealed off from the spider problem. Essentially, a door that they’d barricaded. It appeared untouched, and a thorough search of the antechamber showed no cracks. As Agathe finished her inspection, she turned around to find the child missing.

  It wasn’t as if she could go far. Agathe walked the old hallway, a few hand spans taller than her and wide enough she could stretch her arms and barely touch either side. The chiseled rock held inscriptions: symbols mostly interconnected along its length. If it was a language, it wasn’t one she recognized.

  She peeked into the chambers one by one, despite their doors being closed and the brat being too short to open them. No child. She still didn�
��t panic. The hall curved at the end before the stairs going up.

  “Where are you?”

  The child didn’t reply.

  Probably playing hide and seek. Brat. It was a good thing Agathe and Venna regained some of their youth, or they might have been dead at the effort it took to keep up.

  As she turned the corner, her heart began to beat harder.

  No toddler.

  Two more closed doors and the stairs. Had she climbed up? Agathe jogged up the steps to see the cellar and no sign of the little one. The next set of steps led to a closed door. Nowhere for a child to go.

  Agathe tugged at her braid. She had to be here somewhere. Probably hiding behind the old crates by the stairs.

  A glance behind showed only dust. The pantry cellar didn’t produce a small mischievous child. She must still be in the catacombs.

  Pulse racing a bit faster, Agathe headed back down and jogged the length of the single tunnel, once more checking behind all the doors.

  Panic threaded her yells. “Where are you? This isn’t funny.”

  No child. Dread pitted in her stomach. How would she explain losing the brat to her Soraers? How could she have failed?”

  Head down, feet dragging, she was headed for the stairs when she heard a giggle.

  “Brat?”

  More laughter emerged, muffled, but enough to lead Agathe to the far side of the stairs, under them where it narrowed. Chunks of rock littered the floor, rubble that had fallen from a hole that she’d have sworn wasn’t there earlier.

  No need to wonder if the toddler was inside. One slipper remained on the ground amidst the broken stone.

  Agathe crouched and glanced through the opening, barely big enough for a child. “Are you in there?”

  More chuckling. “Aga!”

  The baby was in the hole, and full-blown panic hit. How would she get the child out? What if something lurked inside the hole?

  She waved her torch in front of the gap in the stone, squinting to see. Startled when a chubby set of fingers snatched her light source.

  “Mine!” the brat exclaimed, pulling it through.

  Good to know the child hadn’t succumbed to distress.

  Despite the baby gnawing on the light source, Agathe could see enough through the large crack to notice a space big enough to sit in. Further inspection revealed the brat seated on an actual floor with an ancient woven mat still covering it. A hidden room. But one for which Agathe had never seen a door. How would she retrieve the child?

  She tried the direct approach first. “Come here.” She held out her arms.

  “No.”

  Why anyone taught kids to speak baffled her.

  “Don’t you say ‘no’ to me. Get out of there right now.” She went for firm next.

  “No,” the baby said and then moved farther into the space she’d found.

  “Come here right now!”

  “No. No. No.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, brat.” Agathe would get the toddler out, but she’d need tools.

  She ran out of the catacombs and flew through the kitchen, past Venna stirring a pot, yelling, “Need a rock pick. Brat is stuck. Don’t worry. I got this!”

  What she had was an audience as she drove a hammer against a chisel, hoping she didn’t cause a cave-in but needing to widen the hole.

  Tap. Tap. Chunks broke off. Soon, she had a gap wide enough that she could wiggle through.

  The baby had discarded the torch, and it emitted enough light for Agathe to see that she could stand, the ceiling being higher than expected. She easily found the brat, sitting by the far wall, bouncing on her bum and laughing at her reflection in a handheld mirror.

  Agathe bent to scold the baby. “You shouldn’t hide from us like that.” She plucked the mirror from the brat.

  She protested—“Mine!”—and reached for the mirror. Her brown eyes, hinting of a soft purple, glowed.

  The surface of the mirror shimmered. For a second, a face appeared, that of a man, tall and swarthy. He had a scar running down his cheek. A male in his prime, wearing a ring of metal on his head. He appeared to be in a study with a large desk and giant windows that looked out over a blue sky.

  Who was it?

  And why did it seem as if he saw them, too?

  His eyes widened, and his mouth opened. “Who are—?”

  Agathe snatched the mirror out of the toddler’s hand, and the surface went dark. The child protested with a screech and grabbed for Agathe, her fingers causing Agathe to gasp.

  “Bad. No hurt,” she scolded as she placed the mirror out of reach.

  The child’s face scrunched as she readied to yell.

  “No crying. You’re not the one who got zapped. Gentle, baby.” Agathe snared the brat from the floor and rubbed her nose against the child’s before taking a proper look around.

  From outside the room, Hiix yelled, “Did you find her?”

  “Yes, and it seems she’s uncovered a secret.”

  “I want to see!” Venna declared.

  They had to widen the hole a bit more to accommodate Venna’s hips. Soon enough, they all crowded the tight space. The room was small, and yet it held a wealth of items. Shelves with many tomes, the pages leather-bound and surprisingly dust-free. A table lined with jars. A drawing on the wall that showed a map labeled in a language she couldn’t read. Obviously, a fictitious place. What she saw didn’t look at all like the Valley. For one, it appeared to have several large bodies of water. King’s Valley had only two lakes, carefully controlled. All water consumption was monitored because a drought would kill as surely as the monsters.

  The brat perched on her hip, she moved closer to the desk for a peek. The baby immediately reached for the mirror.

  “No!” Agathe snatched it out of reach, holding her breath in sudden fear, worrying she’d see the man again. Or that he’d see her…

  Nothing happened, and Agathe placed it on a shelf high enough that the baby couldn’t see it when she set her on the floor. She then resumed her inspection of the desk, holding an inkwell long-dried alongside a blank parchment.

  “This is odd. How did it get blocked off?” Hiix asked, looking around. “There’s no door.”

  It took Agathe two revolutions before she agreed. “It appears to all be rock.” Except for the hole they’d widened.

  They eyed each other, then the baby, who had decided to lick the stone floor.

  Please don’t let the fate of the world depend on this child.

  One thing was for certain. Since her arrival, life had gotten more interesting and dangerous. As time went on, more and more monsters gathered outside the Abbae at night. Hissing. Scratching. Thumping against the solid stone and the reinforced door.

  Around the time the brat turned five—Baree visited twice during that time—Agathe made the long trip up the path to fetch supplies and news. At night, she barricaded herself in the Abbaes along the way and discovered the Ninth Shield Abbae wasn’t the only one experiencing issues with monsters.

  Apparently, the night before her arrival, a beast made it to the rim town of King’s Aerie and rampaged within until the townsfolk killed it. The mayor had already sent a messenger to the King, requesting aid.

  The King’s Elite wouldn’t be ceremonial for much longer. Especially since the Soraers of the Shield had diminished in number. Nine Abbaes, and only five still active. But for how long? The Soraers of the Seventh spoke of abandoning their Abbae for a safer one in the King’s Valley.

  Agathe ran her errands and finished by midafternoon. Since she couldn’t make it to the Seventh Abbae—the first place of rest down the path—before nightfall, she spent the night at the Third Shield, which resided alongside the town called King’s Aerie. No one paid any mind to the elderly Soraer. She might have shaved twenty or more years off, but she remained a generation often overlooked given her advanced age. It meant she caught snippets of rumors.

  Despite it having been many years, soldiers still randomly searched houses
, looking for a purple-eyed child. Rumors floated that with the monster attack, the mayor was thinking of enforcing the King’s curfew law that said people should remain indoors after dark.

  Another interesting tidbit? This year’s Vionox Festival was said to be particularly ominous, as many of the towns and villages had few purple-eyed people to offer. Many claimed it was an omen. Not the good kind.

  The Shield Soraers in the Third Abbae didn’t talk much about the mists rising and the increased monster activity. They should have been all over the situation, sending out patrols, finding ways to secure the townsfolk. Improving security.

  Instead, they sang, lounged, ate, and talked. A few trained, but nothing like the rigorous exercises Agathe had read about in the old training journals. Perhaps what they said about the Ninth Shield was true, that they were actually not the last line of defense but the first. The one to stand against the threat boiling up from the mist.

  A study of the old stories, which spoke of the last time the fog had risen this high, described varied monsters with descriptions defying imagination. In the tales of old, the people emerged victorious. However, it should be noted that they did have to fight. They hadn’t grown complacent like the folk of today.

  Would they take the growing threat seriously and begin to prepare? Agathe could only hope because she feared the worst was yet to come. It made her wonder how their ancestors had stopped the wave of monsters the last time.

  A glance through the Third Abbae’s library didn’t reveal anything she’d not already read. Years of trying to locate clues within the books they’d found hidden in the catacombs had led to Venna only deciphering bits and pieces thus far.

  The answer to the mist, the monsters, and even magical, purple eyes surely existed somewhere. If only they could find it.

  Agathe returned home, making better time with the old goat she purchased, pulling a cart laden with supplies that thankfully nobody questioned.

  She’d been gone five days. Not long, and yet enough to return to a noticeably younger, more energetic, and freakily smiling Hiix.

  Chapter Nine