Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  The blacksmith appeared at the door. ‘Laddie,’ he said, peering up towards the castle. ‘You best take this and be heading home.’

  Dash took the paper bag offered, frowning as the man closed the shutters over his shop windows.

  ‘Are you closing already?’ asked Dash.

  ‘Aye. You know what that bell means, don’t you, laddie?’ the man said over the noise.

  Dash shook his head.

  ‘Get back to your pa, boy,’ the blacksmith said. ‘It means there’s been a death in the royal family.’

  Chapter 10

  From the grassy knolls above rebel headquarters, Bleak sat beside Rion and watched the dawn break upon Oremere. Her fingers worked her length of rope into various knots as shades of blush and gold bled into the sky, fighting the deep greys and eeriness of the mist.

  The rebels had sat in the council chamber detailing their plan until the wee hours of the morning. Bleak had been left feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, still unable to fully comprehend the scope of their organisation, their ambition. And the fact that, according to them, the legendary Casimir was still alive. She’d opted to sleep out in the open, beneath the stars, away from the constant hum of the new minds she had to contend with. Since her time in the dungeons at Heathton Castle, the idea of confined spaces for long periods of time made her nauseous. Here, the land stretched out before her, vast and desolate, the mist still whispering between the blades of grass. But with Rion nearby, she felt safe. Her instincts told her that he wouldn’t let her be lured away by its song. His sturdy flank beside her seemed to act as a blanket over her ever-eager magic.

  ‘Wondered where you’d got to,’ said Sahara, appearing from below. She eyed the dried blood on Rion’s muzzle and chest. ‘Hope he hasn’t depleted our livestock supply …’ She was still wary of him, as he only seemed to tolerate her for Bleak’s sake.

  Bleak merely shrugged and turned back to the horizon.

  ‘Have you thought about joining us?’ Sahara sat down on the grass.

  Bleak had thought about it. A lot. Her mind was buzzing with their plans, with the risks. ‘I thought Casimir was dead,’ she said.

  Sahara shook her head. ‘Ines spread that rumour when the plague hit. You know who he is, then? What he means for this continent? The realm, even.’

  ‘He was a famous Ashai – a healer, a leader, years ago …?’

  ‘Of sorts. I was only young myself when he was most prominent, but my mother told me stories. He is one of the most powerful Ashai ever known. He travelled the realm helping other Ashai. His counsel was always highly sought after. He’s an Oremian, a mist dweller, like you.’

  Bleak didn’t say anything.

  ‘And not just any mist dweller,’ Sahara, undeterred, continued. ‘He’s a member of one of the original ruling families of Oremere.’

  Bleak’s breath caught in her throat. ‘As in, he’s a king?’

  ‘He was prince at the time of Ines’ takeover. One of two.’

  ‘He had a brother?’

  Sahara shook her head. ‘Oremere had a unique ruling system. Two royal families shared the monarchy equally, with a mediating family alongside them. It meant that in a realm of power, one person never had too much. Ines slaughtered them all. Casimir was the only survivor, and we intend to put him back on the Oremian throne. To restore the original rule of this place, and free the Oremian people.’

  ‘You’re all mad.’

  ‘Bleak, if we do nothing, the mist will continue to spread. She will take the entire realm as her own.’

  Bren. And all of the Claytons. Their faces flashed before Bleak’s eyes and she felt a pang of loneliness. She missed them, missed Bren most of all.

  ‘She’ll set more plagues upon the continents —’

  ‘Plagues? Ines was responsible for those?’ Bleak’s hand went to her thigh, where beneath her pants, her own skin was scarred and mangled from the disease. Only Bren knew of what had happened to her, had seen the wound fresh and seeping after Senior had taken her back to shore. Bleak rubbed her leg, where her marred skin tingled. Were it not for Senior and Bren, her fate might have been very different.

  ‘She unleashes it upon the cities,’ Sahara was saying. ‘And then has her lackeys search for the marked victims who are still alive. They get taken to Moredon and Oremere. During the last plague, Casimir was captured. And as far as we know, he’s been imprisoned at Freyhill ever since. However, we’ve just received word from our sources that he’s not being kept in the heavily guarded dungeons. Ines has allowed him to wander the castle keep. Which is why we have to strike now.’

  ‘If he’s been a prisoner for the past decade, what use do you think he’ll be?’ It came out much harsher than Bleak had intended.

  ‘Casimir is no ordinary man! His power is the only one of its kind in existence.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘He can age people.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘At his touch, he can age a person, whether it be by a few years, or by decades to the point of death. As long as he has physical contact with the person, he can age them.’

  ‘What in the realm’s the point of that?’

  ‘Every time he ages someone, he buys himself more time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that Casimir himself doesn’t age.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly how it works. There has only ever been one other Ashai of his kind in history – his grandfather, who had the same name. It’s why some people think Casimir’s immortal; they don’t realise they were two separate people. Anyway, the ageing process seemed to freeze once the grandfather reached peak physical condition. The same could be said for our Casimir.’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’

  ‘From afar, when I’ve been scouting. I’ve seen him inspect the teerah pits with Ines.’ Sahara glanced at Rion, pity in her eyes.

  ‘If he’s by Ines’ side, what makes you think she hasn’t turned him?’

  ‘He has time on his side. He’s been waiting.’

  ‘Waiting? For whom? Does he know there’s a bunch of rebels in Oremere plotting his rescue?’

  ‘I don’t have all the answers.’

  ‘Then what makes you think that when the time comes, if by some miracle you get to him, he won’t kill you or hand you over to Ines?’

  Sahara smiled sadly. ‘The man saved three colonies’ worth of Oremians with his secret bunkers. When he’s ready, he’ll unite his people once more.’

  ‘I don’t think —’

  The sound of rocks falling nearby jolted both of them, and sent Sahara’s hands flying to her sword.

  ‘Bloody nuisance,’ Geraad’s gruff voice sounded as he came into view, and Sahara’s shoulders sagged with relief.

  Then, he noticed Rion. In an instant, Rion was up on all fours, snarling as he prowled towards them, claws out.

  ‘Liir help us,’ Geraad yelped, stepping back and pushing Sahara behind him.

  Bleak ran to Rion and stood before him. ‘He’s a friend,’ she said, pressing a palm to the beast’s muscular chest. ‘An ally.’

  He hissed, not taking his eyes from the stranger.

  ‘Rion,’ Bleak said softly, moving her hand up to his neck and drawing his head down to hers.

  The teerah panther broke his stare with Geraad and met her gaze. He huffed loudly, his warm breath hitting her face. A growl rumbled, but he gazed at her a moment longer, before stalking off, disappearing down into the valley.

  Bleak turned back to Geraad’s gobsmacked face.

  ‘What in the name of all the gods did I just witness?’ he spluttered. ‘Was that …? That was a teerah panther.’

  ‘It was,’ Sahara said, smiling widely.

  ‘And he …’ Geraad stared at Bleak. ‘You …’

  ‘You’ll find the words soon enough,’ Sahara told him. ‘Bleak and Rion have a special bond.’

  She emphasised the word ‘bond’ in a way that Bleak didn’t und
erstand, as though Sahara understood something about Rion that she herself did not.

  ‘I saved him,’ she told Geraad. ‘He was dying, and I gave him my food. I think he’s decided not to kill me to return the favour.’

  Geraad craned his neck to peer down into the valley, but the silvery-black coat was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘An Ashai from Oremere, in league with a teerah panther …’ he muttered, stealing a meaningful glance at Sahara. Then he gathered himself. ‘We need an answer,’ he said to Bleak. ‘About whether or not you’ll join us. We have to move quickly, while we know Casimir is still out in the open. A person with your talents could prove valuable to our mission, and we need every advantage we can get. But, if you’re with us, you’re with us all the way. Fletch explained the risks last night well enough.’

  Bleak nodded. Yes, Fletch had gone into extensive detail about the dangers of being involved with the rebels of Oremere.

  ‘This is just as much your fight as it is ours,’ Sahara said quietly. ‘Ines threatens your kind most of all.’

  Bleak took a deep breath. ‘You really think I’m from Freyhill?’

  ‘Yes. The gates you described to me are those at the entrance to the castle.’

  ‘And you truly think Casimir will have answers? That he’ll be able to help take on Ines?’

  Sahara nodded.

  Bleak swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Then I’ll join you.’

  The Valian beamed at her.

  Geraad simply gave her a curt nod. ‘We leave at dawn.’

  The next morning, the sky yawned daybreak, and the group of rebel leaders and their underlings shouldered their packs. Sahara had insisted it was safer to travel by day, given that the pride of teerah panthers often roamed free during the night, and were on the hunt for rebels to maul. Bleak didn’t have the guts to ask if Sahara or any of the others had ever been attacked by Rion’s companions.

  Even in the golden light of dawn, the plains of Oremere were grey and misty. Bleak waited with Rion outside the rundown cottage. The beast seemed to know that they were going somewhere, and he wasn’t to be left behind. He sat on his haunches beside her, his silvery-black coat gleaming across his muscular back in the fresh light. He laid a heavy paw across the scar on her thigh.

  Could he sense it? What had happened to her?

  She placed a hand over his paw. They sat together in silence, and waited some more.

  What is this thing between us? she wondered. She got the distinct feeling that it was more than a shared handful of dried meat and half a canteen of water.

  They were joined by the others, long before the sun had reached its full height. Geraad glanced at Rion with unease but said nothing, opting to move to the front of the company rather than stand beside the hulking beast.

  Bleak smiled to herself. For once, no one was game enough to challenge her; Rion would be joining them whether they liked it or not. And that made Bleak feel safer than she ever had before.

  Hoisting packs and weapons high onto their backs, they started the journey with no formalities or flourish. Bleak looked back at the grazing goats, oblivious to the scarred history of the land, and the looming danger. But as the rebels began their descent into the grassy plains, Bleak realised that for the first time in a long while, her hands were steady and her head was clear. Although the hum of thoughts from the Oremians around her was present, panic did not rise in her chest.

  The long grass scratched at their exposed skin and the mist swirled around their ankles. At the rear of the group, Bleak walked beside Rion, who cast a long shadow over half the company and left deep pawprints in the earth. She got the impression the rebels didn’t exactly like having a giant panther at their backs, but they kept their feelings to themselves, only glancing occasionally at him with nervous eyes.

  The problem with big journeys, Bleak realised, was that there was too much time to think. She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to Bren, questioning where he was now. Had he stayed in Angove with his family? Or had he perhaps journeyed back to Valia, to see Tilly? Her stomach dropped to her feet at the thought of them together. Had he forgotten about her already? Did he even know what had become of her? She knew it was selfish. Bren had offered her everything, had been there for her through her worst days. All she’d given him was pain. He deserved to be happy. But she found herself constantly revisiting their last few conversations, their arguments, and for some reason, that one drunken night almost two years ago. A memory that both embarrassed and excited her all at once. She didn’t know how she felt about it anymore. She had always thought of it as a mistake, but now …

  She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d had a drink, a real drink. And while the thought of wine still filled her mouth with saliva and set fire to a burning thirst within her, she was glad for it. She suspected that while many of her ailments were cured by the drink, numerous ones were also caused by it.

  Sighing, she looked to the muted sage-green surroundings. The mist made the ground beneath their boots soft and damp. They’d been walking since dawn, for how many hours she didn’t know; she only knew that she was tired.

  Two more days of this … The sleep she’d had the night before had been one of the worst in her life, leaving her eyes puffy and irritated. She didn’t know whether the mist further inland was stronger, or whether the fears and paranoia of the others had leaked into her mind, but she had tossed and turned so much that she was now covered in patches of dry mud.

  Fletch had laughed at the sight of her. ‘Anyone would think you’d slept in the sty,’ she’d said. The smile had died on the archer’s lips when she’d spotted Rion, growling softly behind Bleak.

  Now Sahara, Geraad and Daleren were leading the group, while Bleak remained at the back. It was best for her not to be in the middle of all those minds.

  As the light began to fade on their second day, Sahara fell back to walk beside her. ‘You recognise anything?’ she asked.

  Bleak shook her head. ‘I don’t really expect to. I was young, maybe five, younger even.’

  ‘Still, something might jog your memory.’

  She hoped so. She didn’t know what exactly had occurred here with her parents all those years ago. Casimir would have the answers for her. He had to.

  ‘You spoke in your sleep last night,’ Sahara said, putting a hand on Bleak’s shoulder.

  ‘I did? What did I say?’

  ‘You said you were sorry.’

  ‘For what? To who?’

  Sahara shrugged. ‘Don’t know. You just kept saying sorry.’

  A sinking feeling eased its way into Bleak’s stomach. She was sorry for a lot of things.

  They set up camp moments before the sun sank below the horizon. Without its warmth, the air turned chilly, and Bleak found herself huddling up to Rion to stop herself from shivering.

  Sahara warned against a fire, explaining to Bleak that the Freyhill watchtowers weren’t too far out, and that if they spotted smoke this close to the capital, they wouldn’t hesitate to investigate, or worse still, set the teerah panthers on them.

  Bleak ran her hands along Rion’s side, her fingers catching on his jagged scabs and bald scars. When they heard the roaring in the distance, he tensed beside her, as though he was feeling the pain of his pride, wherever they were out there in the darkness.

  Fletch and Kyden took first watch, while the rest of the group settled down on their bedrolls for the night. But the mist tickled Bleak’s skin, and the echoing roars of the teerah pride punctuated the quiet. Neither she nor Rion slept.

  Chapter 11

  On the third night, Bleak and the rebels reached the borders of Freyhill. The plains dropped off, revealing the walls and sprawling city below. Fletch and Jaida, who’d been the source of much jovial banter, grew quiet. Sahara swung her pack around to the front of her body and began emptying its contents. Guard tunics. They were simple: black with long sleeves and a single red bloom embroidered on the breast.

  ‘Put
these on,’ she told them.

  Bleak’s pulse began to race. They’d gone over the plan a dozen times, but now … It was real.

  She turned away from the group and swapped her dirty tunic for the new, pulling the scratchy material over her head. The collar was higher, and it irritated the soft skin above her collarbone. It was then she realised that she could no longer feel Rion’s hot breath on the back of her neck. She whirled around but saw nothing in the empty night air. He had gone. Hot tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. There was no room for feelings here. She could only hope that Rion had left Freyhill, could only pray that he wouldn’t be captured by Ines.

  She rejoined the group and surveyed the vast city below, sleeping in the mist. Around the townhouses and taverns was a wall, the thickest Bleak had ever seen. If she squinted, she could make out the movements of the guards on patrol between each of the watchtowers. The maps she’d seen at the rebel headquarters hadn’t done it justice. Beyond the first wall, at the heart of the city, stood another, surrounding Freyhill Castle. The stronghold was four times the size of the castle in Heathton.

  ‘How in the realm are we going to get through all of that?’ she hissed at Sahara. The underarms of her tunic were already damp with sweat. Though she knew the plan by heart, it didn’t make it any less ludicrous. ‘More importantly, how in the realm do you think we’re going to get back out?’ she added.

  ‘There.’ Sahara pointed to a small gate on the west side. ‘That’s where they bring in the livestock, that’s how we —’

  ‘I know,’ Bleak said. ‘I just —’

  Geraad shifted beside Sahara. ‘You agreed to this,’ he growled.

  ‘I know.’ Bleak ground her teeth. The tetchy rebel was beginning to get on her nerves. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  Sahara gave Fletch a nod. The archer knelt on one knee and nocked an arrow onto her bowstring.

  ‘Ready,’ she said, not taking her eyes from her targets.