Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  Bleak had waited long enough. Had told Sahara enough of her story. ‘Who is “we”?’ she demanded. ‘What are all these plans for?’

  ‘It’s not enough for me to tell you. Let me show you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come with me, mist dweller,’ Sahara said with a wink, snatching up a pack from the floor. ‘We’re going to rebel headquarters.’

  Mist dweller. Bleak. Alarise. Thief. Drunk. Gutter rat. She’d been called so many names over the years, she didn’t know which, if any, were truly hers.

  ‘And if I don’t want to come?’

  Sahara shrugged. ‘Then you’ll get none of the answers you’re so desperately seeking.’

  ‘Have you found the answers you were looking for?’

  ‘I’ve found many answers here. Unfortunately, a lot of them simply led to more questions,’ Sahara replied, her eyes lingering on Bleak’s wrist markings once more.

  Bleak looked down at them herself. ‘This used to be a leather cuff,’ she said. ‘But when Arden took the cuff, the markings seeped into my skin.’

  Sahara tucked her hair behind her ear, shaking her head slightly. ‘That is some serious Valian magic … I hope Allehra knew what she was doing.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Because I don’t think my mother was trying to help control your power, Bleak. If, at removal by an enemy, the enchantment transferred to your skin … then I think she was trying to get you to unleash it.’

  Bleak had recovered enough to make the journey to rebel headquarters, as had Rion, much to Sahara’s dismay. He padded along through the ruins behind them, growling occasionally at any spider sparrows that dared to flutter too close to him. With her ribs still tender, Bleak wore a light pack, while Sahara carried the brunt of whatever equipment they needed. As they trekked through the rubble, avoiding slippery patches of loose gravel, Bleak marvelled anew at the immensity of the fortress. Even in its state of disrepair, it was breathtaking.

  ‘What happened to this place?’ she asked, struggling over the sharp remains of a fallen watchtower. Rion leaped effortlessly over it.

  Sahara paused, resting on her hiking stick, and wiped her brow with her sleeve. ‘Ines,’ she said. ‘This is where she breached Oremere’s defences and invaded.’

  Bleak swore under her breath. For someone to have the amount of power it would have taken to bring down the great fortress … She couldn’t fathom that type of power.

  They continued on, and the eerie silence of Oremere pulsed around them. They could have been the only two people left in the realm. But Sahara’s thoughts were never far, and Bleak, not usually one for conversation, found herself prompting Sahara, merely so her thoughts weren’t so loud.

  ‘You can ask about her, you know,’ she said in the evening as they made camp at the outskirts of the fortress. ‘Henri, I mean.’

  ‘I know,’ Sahara replied. ‘I’m trying to decide if I want to hear it or not. Sometimes, it’s easier to remain ignorant.’

  Bleak nodded. She knew all about wanting to remain ignorant.

  Sahara sighed, passing Bleak a piece of flatbread. ‘Tell me. What happened to her after you got to Heathton?’

  ‘I was told by one of our companions that she left for Valia.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Sahara’s brow furrowed.

  ‘It’s what I was told.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Commander Swinton.’

  ‘Ah yes, I remember him. Henri and I met him when we were children. No knighthood for him yet, then … Do you trust him?’

  Bleak’s history with Swinton was as brief as it was complex, but surely he would have had no reason to lie to her at that point? As far as he was concerned, she had been a day away from being shipped off to Moredon for life imprisonment.

  ‘I believed him,’ she told Sahara.

  Sahara ran her fingers through her hair, looking uneasy.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s just … It doesn’t seem like something Henri would do – go back to Valia, which had no doubt been threatened or compromised. The Henri I knew would have sought an ally. But then again, I don’t know her, not anymore.’

  Bleak didn’t know what to say. How well could you ever know someone? And if you could know someone well, did they ever change?

  ‘She was always the better choice,’ Sahara said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘For queen. She was every bit the Valian ruler, and she didn’t even know it. She was so blinded by her fierce loyalty to me that she couldn’t see it. I had no magical abilities from Allehra. And I let despair get the better of me. I sank into it, relished it, until it took over those parts of my life that felt joy. Henri hated me for it. As I got closer to giving in, I began to dream. Strange, ethereal dreams where a voice would whisper one name – Oremere. It was at the forefront of my mind so much that I started to carve the name into trees, into anything, without even realising I was —’

  ‘It was you,’ Bleak blurted. ‘I found it carved into a stone down by one of the streams.’

  ‘Yes, that was me. Henri noticed, but never really asked. I think she thought it was the name of a lover. I was already convinced I was not a fit ruler for Valia, but the voice I heard soothed me – it led me to the border of mist. It told me that I was making the right choice, that Valia would flourish under Henri’s rule. I already missed my sister, even before I left, but I couldn’t find my way back to her. She couldn’t help me. I had to do right by her, and by the Valian people. The mist was the answer.’

  Bleak sat in stunned silence. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally.

  Sahara gave her a grim smile. ‘My friend Geraad likes to say, “we were not put on this realm to make apologies, only to make change”.’

  Bleak took another bite of her flatbread. The sentiment was all well and good, but sometimes, a person could be sorry all the same. ‘What about the mist?’ she asked instead.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I don’t understand it. It seems to change, killing some, and not others … How?’

  ‘It’s our understanding that originally, the mist was created by the ancestors of the kings of Oremere. It was designed to keep Oremere a secret from the outside world after the rulers of the other continents became threatened by the Ashai’s growing power. Our rulers agreed to cut themselves off from the rest of the realm, and Ellest, Battalon, Havennesse and Qatrola wiped Oremere from the history books. Ines, however, found a way to weaponise and control the mist …’

  Mist rolling through open windows and through the cracks under the doors flashed before Bleak’s eyes.

  ‘She meant to purge Oremere …’

  Sahara’s eyes had glazed over. ‘Yes. Exterminate and conquer,’ she said.

  After a day of heading south, the women and panther headed inland. Here, the mist was thicker, reaching knee height and dancing between their legs as they trekked through the long grass fronds. It tickled Bleak’s exposed skin, and whispered to her magic. It was a strange sensation. She felt as though she might drift off somewhere, to set her power free.

  Rion snarled from behind her and she jumped.

  ‘What is it?’ Sahara said, unsheathing her sword, looking around sharply for the threat.

  Bleak frowned. ‘I think … I think the mist calls to magic.’ She held out her hands, watching the mist rise and weave between her fingers. ‘I was floating away for a second there, being lured into it – Rion, he stopped me.’

  Wide-eyed, Sahara looked between Bleak and the beast. She sheathed her sword. ‘Good thing we kept him around, then.’

  Still startled, Bleak gave Rion a grateful glance and continued after Sahara. However, she fell back a little, to stay closer to the panther.

  Much of the journey was across the flat, grassy plains. The day remained grey and muted, making it hard to keep track of how long they’d been walking. As they travelled, they talked. Bleak told Sahara more about her last few months in Ellest, and Sahara list
ened, never interrupting or pushing her for more information. It felt good to talk to someone.

  Finally, the straight line of the horizon changed. Up ahead was a cluster of grassy hills and knolls. If Bleak squinted, she could just make out a tiny cottage nestled in the valley. Her heart sank. The way Sahara had been talking, she had expected something grander. Something worthier of a revolution. When they reached the foot of the hills, Bleak spotted movement. Goats. Dozens of goats grazing freely across the land. Some standing dangerously close to the edges on the rocky outcrops of the hills.

  ‘What is this place?’ she asked.

  ‘Our headquarters.’

  ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’

  ‘And I was afraid he was going to do that,’ Sahara said, pointing at Rion, who was prowling towards the livestock.

  Bleak swore. She knew she should decide against getting between a teerah panther and his next meal … She darted after him anyway. ‘Rion,’ she hissed. ‘Rion.’

  But Rion pounced, and without a sound, had a goat between his teeth, blood dripping from his maw. Bleak sighed. She couldn’t blame him. He was a wild animal, and how long had it been since he’d had the freedom and ability to catch his own prey?

  Sahara shook her head. ‘Let’s hope he’s satisfied with just one. This way.’

  They left Rion at the foot of the hills, while Sahara led Bleak up into the valley, towards the cottage. Upon closer inspection, it looked terrible. The door had been kicked in and its windows were boarded up. It was covered in a decade’s worth of dirt and cobwebs. Most offensive of all was the smell coming from within. Apparently, the goats used the cottage as shelter; droppings and matted fur carpeted the dusty floorboards.

  How can a rebellion be planned in a dump like this? Bleak bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from commenting aloud.

  Sahara strode across the room to the fireplace and crouched to remove the grate. Bleak folded her arms across her chest and waited. There was a loud screech, and Bleak peered over Sahara’s shoulder to find that she’d removed not only the grate, but the lid to a trapdoor.

  Relief washed over Bleak.

  ‘Follow me,’ Sahara said. ‘Pull the lid back across the top when you’re in.’

  Bleak clung tightly to each rung of the metal ladder as they descended down a dark shaft. She couldn’t see Sahara below her, or anything for that matter. It took an age to reach the bottom. When Bleak finally stepped down onto flat ground, she felt dizzy.

  She heard Sahara groping in the dark for something and —

  Light filled the chamber, and Sahara tugged her sleeve, pulling her out into an underground village. It was unlike anything Bleak had ever seen. The hills had been hollowed out and transformed into a network of torchlit passageways and doors, a fully functioning hub of activity.

  And there were people. From Oremere. Oremians, as Sahara called them. Some were carrying baskets of food, others were loitering in alcoves chatting, and there were children. Bleak stared after a group of ten or more who passed in single file, clutching books to their chests.

  ‘You’re here,’ said a deep voice.

  It was the bearded man Bleak had seen in Sahara’s thoughts. His deep-auburn hair was unkempt, and he looked older in the flesh, perhaps in his mid-forties. He strode towards them.

  ‘Geraad.’ Sahara smiled, pulling him into an embrace.

  ‘You’re two days early,’ he said by way of greeting, though his eyes brightened at the sight of her.

  ‘I know. And I brought a friend.’ Sahara pulled away and motioned to Bleak to come forward.

  ‘So I see,’ Geraad said, studying her with suspicion, noting her odd-coloured irises.

  ‘She’s not a spy.’ Sahara rolled her eyes. Then to Bleak, ‘Geraad thinks everyone’s a spy.’

  ‘Everyone’s a spy until proven otherwise,’ he quipped, at last tearing his eyes away from Bleak and back to Sahara. ‘We have much to discuss.’

  ‘Bleak will sit in on the meeting.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Have I led you astray yet?’

  ‘That’s not the point, we don’t know her —’

  ‘I’m the last one to have seen King Arden,’ Bleak interjected.

  Geraad opened his mouth to protest, but she forged on. ‘I’m an Ashai. A mind whisperer. I could prove useful.’

  Geraad didn’t hide his surprise. He looked to Sahara for confirmation.

  ‘That’s right. And Bleak’s got a much better understanding of all the shit going on in Ellest than any of our sources. The information we receive is usually two months out of date.’

  ‘Let me listen,’ Bleak said. ‘Then I can at least tell you everything I know.’

  Geraad shook his head in disbelief at Sahara. ‘She’s on you,’ he told her.

  ‘Fine.’ Sahara reached across to a golden bell hanging from the wall. In three quick motions, she rang it.

  With a final sigh, Geraad led them down one of the passages, and stopped to unlock an iron door.

  ‘This is headquarters,’ Sahara told Bleak under her breath. ‘The rest of the compound is a surviving colony of Oremians.’

  ‘What? How? How does Ines not know? How did they survive her invasion?’

  ‘Casimir.’

  Casimir? There was that damn supposed hero’s name again. The supposed saviour of the Ashai folk who’d died in the second wave of plague all those years ago.

  ‘Casimir had this place built in secret, knowing he’d be unable to stop the plague, the invasion.’

  There were actual people living beyond the mist. Despite the proof in her surroundings, Bleak could hardly believe it.

  ‘Are they all from here? The people?’ she managed, as Geraad led them through another thick door.

  ‘Most of them. We have the occasional Ashai who moved here from the other continents, when the land was prosperous, when it was a haven of sorts for people with magic. From what we know, Oremere has been shielded from the rest of the realm for a long time, but for much of that, it was in peace, until Ines. She changed everything.’

  Footsteps sounded behind them and Bleak whirled around to find a young woman with blonde hair shaved close to her skull, jogging to catch up with them. A quiver of arrows and a bow swayed on her back.

  ‘Didn’t think you were due back so soon,’ she called, clapping Sahara on the shoulder when she reached them.

  ‘You know I like to keep you lot on your toes,’ Sahara said.

  ‘That you do. I see you’ve adopted a stray?’

  ‘Introductions later,’ Geraad’s voice growled up ahead. ‘Council room, five minutes.’

  ‘I see he’s in a good mood today,’ said the woman. ‘Should be pleasant for your newcomer.’

  Bleak tried not to shrink as she was about to be scrutinised yet again. But the woman just smiled and followed them through to an antechamber. It was a simple space: various weapons hung from the wall and on the bench below, and someone had laid out a platter of fruit and bread.

  ‘Grab something to eat,’ Sahara said, helping herself. ‘Not sure how long we’ll be in there.’

  Feeling completely out of her depth, Bleak followed Sahara’s lead, and with their plates piled high, they went through yet another door. A well-lit council room awaited them. In the centre was a large oak table surrounded by chairs and stools, while the walls … The walls made the display in Sahara’s cabin look like child’s play. Here there were dozens of maps and charts, profile drawings of people, scraps of what looked like uniform material, and numerous tallies and figures that made no sense to Bleak.

  Geraad was already seated, surprisingly not at the head of the table, talking with a younger man and woman on either side of him. Sahara sat down at the head, and Bleak slid into the seat next to her, finding herself suddenly without an appetite. The woman from the passageway dropped into the chair next to Bleak, dumping her bow and quiver on the floor with a satisfied sigh.

  ‘Who are we waiting on?’ Sah
ara called out, looking around the table.

  ‘Daleren,’ Geraad said. ‘He was doing watch on the outer perimeter, so word —’

  A door on the other side of the room burst open. ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ said a weathered, grey-haired man in between wheezes.

  ‘Don’t kill yourself on our account,’ said the younger-looking man on Geraad’s right.

  ‘Geraad, tell your brat offspring to shut it, will you?’ snapped Daleren. ‘You know how I feel about impromptu meetings.’

  ‘My fault, Daleren,’ Sahara said, standing to full height.

  Silence fell over the group of rebels as they looked from Sahara to Bleak. Bleak tried not to squirm in her seat. Their gazes were intense, and their questions pummelled into her mind without mercy. She rubbed her temples and waited for Sahara.

  Sahara sat down and leaned back in her chair with the relaxed air of someone who’d done this a million times before. ‘Everyone, this is Bleak.’

  Bleak waited for the rebels to question and protest as Geraad had done. But they simply waited.

  ‘Bleak,’ the Valian continued. ‘Meet Oremere’s Council of Rebels. You’ve been introduced to the charming Geraad already, and Fletch.’ She waved in the direction of the archer. ‘Daleren’s made his usual dramatic entrance. And the youngsters over there are Jaida and Geraad’s son, Kyden. Together, we’re the leaders and schemers of Oremere’s uprising.’

  It sounded impressive enough, but looking around the room, Bleak wasn’t filled with confidence.

  Sahara forged on. She explained that each person in the room led a particular aspect of the rebellion. ‘I direct the combat training for this colony. I’m also in charge of planning our military tactics,’ she told Bleak.

  ‘Made sense to put a Valian in charge of all that fighting,’ Daleren offered.

  For a moment, his weathered, tanned skin reminded Bleak of her guardian, Senior, and she was hit with a sudden wave of grief. She missed his gruff nature, his southerner’s accent and his reassuring presence in the thick of any storm. Death was like that, Bleak knew. Often lulling the bereaved into a false sense of normalcy, until a small detail triggered a memory. Sometimes, it was as though she had to come to terms with the fact that Senior had died all over again.