Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘What happened, Mama?’ he asked.

  Mama looked at him, tired and sad. ‘You’re too young to understand, Zachary,’ she said.

  Dash swallowed. ‘Am I in trouble?’ He was usually in trouble when Mama used his real name.

  Mama took a deep breath and stood. ‘Not yet, Master Dash,’ she said with her best smile. ‘But you will be soon if I don’t see that bed made.’

  Dash followed her gaze to where his bed covers trailed out of his bedroom. ‘Mamaaa …’

  ‘Quickly now,’ she added, taking the rattling pot from the stove. ‘You don’t want your pa to see that mess.’

  Dash was supposed to go to the stables to help Pa with the feed at dusk, but Mama insisted he help her wash, peel and boil the potatoes.

  ‘Pa will be cross,’ Dash said.

  ‘No, he won’t, he’ll be glad for a hot dinner in his belly. Now, peel.’

  Mama kept him busy all afternoon and all evening. So busy that Dash rarely had a second to let his mind wander to Olena’s special quaveer books, which he’d been reading at night and kept hidden beneath his mattress.

  Mama moved one of the chairs by the stove so Dash could stand and stir the gravy.

  ‘Make a figure eight with the spoon, Master Dash,’ Mama bristled. ‘Your father won’t want lumps.’

  The rich smell of the pork cooking in the oven made Dash’s mouth water. It had been some time since they’d had a roast dinner. More often than not it was some kind of broth or stew with hard bread and soggy vegetables. Mama had even put a mug of mead on the table for Pa.

  ‘Dorothy,’ Pa’s voice boomed from the doorway. ‘Where is that boy? He’s due for a hiding! I had to water and feed over forty —’

  Dash dropped the wooden spoon in the gravy.

  ‘Emmett,’ Mama said, her voice light as she used another spoon to retrieve Dash’s sodden one from the boiling sauce. ‘I needed Dash’s help this evening.’

  ‘What? Dore, do you know how long —’

  ‘Emmett,’ she said again. ‘I really needed the extra help.’

  Pa glanced from Mama to Dash, and then back to Mama. ‘Well … I imagine this dinner should be mighty fine, then.’

  ‘At the rate he’s going, he might be on track to being the next royal chef,’ Mama joked.

  ‘I don’t want to be a chef, I want to be a —’

  ‘A knight,’ Mama finished for him with a smile. ‘We know.’

  ‘Dash,’ Pa said, kissing Mama on the cheek. ‘Go clean yourself up before dinner. I can see dirt on your face.’

  Dash hopped down from where he stood on the chair, and ran to the bathing room. He couldn’t believe Ma had got him out of trouble with Pa just to cook dinner. Taking the pitcher of water by the vanity, he stood on the small stool Pa had made for him and poured the water into the basin. His face was indeed dirty, and he snatched a clean rag from the shelf and plunged it into the icy water.

  ‘Lucky he’s so small – he couldn’t see anything, and I covered his ears. Emmett, it was horrible. And the worst part was, I believed him. I truly believed he’d done nothing wrong, and they … They did that anyway.’

  ‘Is this all over the Valian?’

  ‘Yes. You didn’t lay eyes on her, did you?’

  There was a pause, and Dash splashed the water about in the bowl.

  ‘When she arrived with the commander. Though she didn’t look like a prisoner to me … Dore, something isn’t right about all of this.’

  ‘I know. And the commander is in Battalon?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘I don’t like this.’

  ‘Nor do I, but we must go about our business as usual. There is nothing to be done,’ Pa said.

  ‘Master Dash,’ Mama called. ‘I hope you haven’t drowned in there?’

  ‘Coming!’ he called back, though he desperately wanted to hear more of their conversation.

  ‘Have any Ashai come forward?’

  There was another pause.

  ‘They have, but the truth is, we never see them again.’

  Dash’s stomach swooped. The warrior woman had been a magic wielder … That didn’t mean they were all bad, did it? He stepped down from the stool, his legs wobbly.

  ‘I think you have magic,’ Olena had said to him. But he hadn’t believed her. Hadn’t wanted to. No one in his family had magic, he’d told her.

  Later, he sat on the floor in his room in his nightshirt and bit into the peach Mama had bought, the juice trickling down his chin. He wiped it away and stared at the letter that had arrived two days ago. It was taking him forever to decipher it. He could only use the spare moments before bed each day to run his fingers along the perforated marks and consult Olena’s alphabet. Quaveer. He’d promised her he would learn.

  Dear Dash,

  You are sorely missed. Belbarrow is such a strange place, and friendships are not so easily forged when one is a blind, foreign princess.

  Though my tutor tells me my Battalonian speech is coming along, language is only one of the many barriers I face. I wish you were here, Dash. To help me see Belbarrow for all it is. The palace within the shiprock feels how I imagine the castle maze back home would, though I am slowly memorising the paths.

  I’m sorry to hear they’ve taken your books away. I would write to them to object, but I fear from here I do not have a say in such things.

  Prince Nazuri has had quaveer books shipped from Wildenhaven for me. I have found many tales you would like. As there is not much excitement to relay from my side of the realm, perhaps I will share them with you in these letters. No doubt they will help you practise reading quaveer.

  My favourite story so far has been of a faraway land, ruled differently to how our continents are governed. Instead of one ruler, this kingdom was led by two royal families, the Ashdowns and the Goldwells, and a third advising family. One of the kings, King Edric Goldwell, reminded me of my own father – a trained warrior, capable of leading men into battle. Only King Edric didn’t. He joined forces with King Valerio Ashdown and instead, they built grand fortresses together, and a gated land unlike anything I’ve ever heard of. It was the biggest fortress ever seen, stretching all the way down the entire coastline. A place for knights to train and ride. The sort of place you would love, no doubt.

  I do hope you’re not still upsetting the cook. Say hello to my brother for me if you see him.

  Your friend always,

  Olena

  Dash placed the gnawed peach pit on the ground and wiped his hands on his trousers. He missed Olena’s stories. He missed her witty remarks about the noblemen, and how she treated him like a friend, not a child. He missed her. After rummaging under his bed, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. Dash wasn’t going to let Olena down.

  Chapter 6

  Salvation. The word had churned in Bleak’s mind all night, the lure of hope making her stomach squirm. ‘Salvation’ was too heavy a word to be thrown around. It bared deepest desires and vulnerabilities, and had the potential to obliterate.

  Despite her utter exhaustion and the comfortable bed on offer, Bleak didn’t sleep at all. Instead, she tended to Rion above ground and practised her knots on her spare length of rope. The familiar rhythm of loops and pulls did nothing to soothe the initial ember of panic that had now set fire to a chasm of unease inside her.

  Our salvation, the Valian had said. She wasn’t alone out here, then. Who was she with? The man she’d been thinking about? How much did they know about Oremere? About what had happened here all those years ago? The past felt so far away that Bleak herself didn’t know. She had been so young, so scared.

  ‘Faster, Alarise …’

  Her mother’s warning rang through her head so clearly, it was as though she stood beside Bleak now. After all this time, it was one of the few things that hadn’t faded into obscurity. Bleak remembered the fear more than anything, the panic lacing her parents’ words. Sometimes, it felt as though these things had happened to a stranger, as though she wa
s looking in on someone else’s life from afar. She could feel so removed from it all, numb, apathetic. Then at other times, she felt everything.

  Salvation … Whose? And at what cost?

  Bleak did her best to gently clean Rion’s wounds. She dabbed thick salve over the heated gashes in his flesh, ignoring his half-hearted growls of protest.

  ‘If I didn’t know any better,’ she muttered to him, ‘I’d think you’d started to warm to me.’

  The next morning, the smell of frying meat tickled her nose, and Bleak woke to find herself beneath the open sky, pressed against Rion’s rising and falling side.

  I slept out here? She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. For how long?

  The muted colours and grey clouds of Oremere made it hard to discern how late in the day she’d slept. There was the clatter of a pan, followed by a curse from below.

  Stiff and aching, Bleak stood, clutching her ribs and gritting her teeth against the pain as she climbed down into the cavern. The smell of searing meat filled the bunker, and her mouth watered instantly.

  ‘Morning,’ Sahara said, lifting a chipped mug to her lips.

  ‘Morning,’ Bleak croaked.

  Sahara nodded to another steaming mug on the bench. ‘Yours.’

  Bleak picked it up and sniffed. ‘What is it?’ she asked, scrunching up her nose.

  ‘Vitamin supplement tea. Tastes like shit. But it’ll get some colour back into your cheeks and some energy back into your bones.’

  Bleak blew away the steam and sipped. Sahara wasn’t wrong. It tasted like dirt.

  ‘That’s why I make it hot. Tastes even worse cold.’

  Bleak forced herself to take a long swig, and watched Sahara knock the rest of hers back in one smooth gulp.

  ‘Best to get it over with.’ She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. ‘So,’ she said. ‘You didn’t feel like sleeping in a proper bed last night?’

  Bleak flushed. ‘I went to check on Rion. I … I must have fallen asleep out there, sorry. I hope you made use of the bed at least?’

  Sahara didn’t look fazed. ‘No. My lap of the perimeter took longer than I expected. I returned after first light. The beast looked much improved when I passed.’

  Bleak nodded. ‘I think so. And he hasn’t tried to kill me yet, so that’s something.’

  ‘Progress.’ Sahara scraped a pile of crisp meat from the pan. ‘Eat. Then we’ll take a look at those injuries. We should have done it last night.’

  As Bleak ate, Sahara prepared a basin of water and doused a clean cloth in clear liquor. The mere scent of the alcohol thwarted Bleak’s appetite and sent her yearning for a sip. But she chewed mechanically on the salted meat, distracting herself with the maps on the wall again.

  Salvation …

  Sahara took her plate and sat her down on a stool beneath one of the torches. Leaning close, she began to clean the cut on Bleak’s forehead.

  ‘This should have had stitches,’ the Valian said as Bleak’s hiss of pain whistled through her teeth.

  ‘I was short on physicians.’

  Sahara rinsed the bloody rag in the basin. ‘I’ll bet.’

  Bleak watched the water turn murky. ‘How long have you been here?’ she asked.

  ‘About ten years.’

  ‘Ten years?’

  Sahara nodded. ‘It took me a year to discover the fortress. My first twelve months in Oremere are a bit of a blur now. But I remember wondering if I was dead, and if this was some sort of deranged afterlife. I figured I was still alive when the agony of hunger didn’t abate. I started living off the land, though “living” is a term I’d use loosely. Munching on dried grass fronds and the occasional hare isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Eventually, I stumbled across this fortress. It stretches all the way down the south coast of Oremere.’ She gestured to the map on the wall.

  ‘Why … Why didn’t you go back? Once you knew …?’

  ‘Once I knew I wasn’t going to die?’

  Bleak nodded.

  ‘I tried. For a time. But after a while, I realised the future of the realm depends on what happens here, in Oremere.’

  Bleak frowned at the weight of those words, her thoughts drifting back to Valia. ‘You don’t think Henri has a right to know? That you’re still alive, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t presume to know what people have and don’t have rights to anymore. All I know is that this place, as lonely and brutal as it is, offers me a purpose, one that is more real, more justified than what I had back in Valia.’

  She smeared a paste into the wound on Bleak’s forehead and wiped her hands on a nearby rag. ‘In Valia, you learn discipline, tolerance for pain and brutality through tradition, not necessity. Here, it’s different.’

  ‘But your sister —’

  ‘Loved me fiercely, as I love her still. But she was made for Valia, and I was not.’

  ‘But Oremere … It’s barren … There’s no one here. What could you possibly find here?’

  ‘Answers, Bleak. Truth. A shot at a future not just for the Valians, but for the entire realm. What occurs on this continent in the months to come will rewrite the history books.’

  Bleak looked to the maps and logs pinned to the opposite wall. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but first, I need to know about you. Who you are. Where you came from. Then we can talk about the rebellion.’

  Goosebumps rushed in a wave across Bleak’s skin. It was really happening. Rebellion. There was a war underfoot. And Oremere was at its heart.

  She stood, bracing her aching ribs with her hand. She approached the maps, reached out and traced the sketch of Westerfort all the way down to the border of Valia.

  ‘I’m an Ashai,’ she said.

  ‘I gathered,’ Sahara replied and pointed to Bleak’s wrist. ‘My mother would have only given you those markings if you were. What’s your ability?’

  Bleak strongly debated not telling her. Her magic had already invaded Sahara’s mind. What if the Valian decided she didn’t want Bleak around? What if …? No, Sahara was Henri’s sister. And despite Bleak and the Valian queen’s rocky start, she trusted her, and by extension, she would trust Sahara.

  ‘I’m a mind whisperer,’ she told her.

  Sahara let out a low appreciative whistle. ‘Good thing I found you when I did. Ines would have paid a massive bounty to get her hands on you.’

  A chill ran down Bleak’s spine. ‘I think … I think I came from here. From Oremere. But before – before it was like this.’

  ‘You’re a mist dweller.’

  It’s not every day you bring a mist dweller into our keep.

  ‘The last person to call me that was your mother. I still don’t understand it completely,’ Bleak said.

  But Sahara offered no further explanation.

  ‘We fled,’ Bleak continued. ‘My parents and I. I don’t know where from exactly. I was only a child.’

  ‘Do you remember any details? About the home from which you fled?’

  Feeling anxious, Bleak pulled her length of rope from her pocket, its coarse texture comforting her. She sighed. ‘I remember the gates. Huge iron gates at the entrance of the city. When we left, there was blood dripping from them.’

  ‘Freyhill,’ Sahara started. ‘You’re from Freyhill? The capital of Oremere?’

  Bleak didn’t answer.

  ‘Do you remember your name?’ Sahara pressed. ‘I’m guessing it’s not …’

  Bleak shot her a look. ‘Bleaker Senior was my guardian in Angove. The name is his, and I’ve had it as my own for as long as I can remember. It’s more my name now than the one my parents gave me will ever be.’

  Sahara touched Bleak’s shoulder again. ‘I understand. You need not tell me if you’re not ready.’

  Another stark difference between Sahara and her twin. Empathy.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what you do remember, then? About your life in Ellest. How you came to be camped out in
Westerfort with a teerah panther …’

  Bleak cleared her throat and looped the length of rope between her fingers. Loop, pull, tighten. All these years later, she could still hear Senior barking instructions at her.

  ‘I was careless,’ she found herself saying. ‘I’d been seeking a cure for my magic, and King Arden, he found out. Someone tipped him off. A force from the King’s Army showed up in Angove and summoned me to the capital …’

  The words began to flow freely, and Bleak realised she hadn’t been given the opportunity to tell her story in a long time. She fell into a rhythm, telling Sahara how Henri and the Valians had saved her in the Hawthorne Ranges. How she’d met with Allehra and Athene’s daughter, Luka, both of whom had helped her try to control her magic. About how Commander Swinton and Fiore had arrived in Valia to escort Henri and her to the capital. And of Bren, her voice softening, how her best friend had followed her across the continent to ensure her safety, only to be left behind in the forest.

  Sahara drank her words in, obviously starved for news from her homeland. Her eyes brightened at each mention of her sister and mother.

  It wasn’t until Bleak got to the part about the inn in Hoddinott that she faltered. She remembered falling into that darkness, the darkness within herself. The way that her power had buzzed through her entire being and slaughtered a dozen men.

  The rope stilled in Bleak’s hands as she spotted something on the wall she hadn’t seen before. A triangle, with a name at each point. ‘Ines’ scrawled at the top, ‘Arden’ at the bottom left, and ‘Roswall’ at the bottom right. Bleak’s skin crawled.

  ‘He knew,’ she said. ‘King Arden knew when I tried to use my magic on him.’

  Sahara was quiet.

  Bleak struggled to find the words. ‘There was something not quite right about it … It wasn’t as though he had the ability to block magic himself, and it wasn’t the same muffled sensation the Valian herbs produce. It was different, unnatural, if that makes sense?’

  Sahara nodded, and pulled the triangle diagram from its pin in the wall. ‘It does make sense. You see, King Arden is getting his power through Ines – she channels it down to him. We know that she’s been working her way into the other continents. We have reports that she’s spent years in each, getting to know the lands, establishing followers.’