Lingering Haze (The Elusive Strain Book 1)

by James Berardinelli

  “Do these storms come often?” I asked Samell. I had to bend close to his ear to be heard over the tumult of nearly constant thunder and the torrent of rain and hail assaulting the roof. Since my arrival, there had been periods of precipitation but this was the first time I had experienced anything like this.

  “Once or twice a year, usually around this time. Backus explained why but you’d have to ask him if you want the specifics. This one’s a little more energetic than usual.”

  Aside from a few leaky roofs and other minor damage, Aeris escaped the wrath of the storm relatively unscathed. By the time I lay down to sleep that night, the thunder was still booming but, as it receded, it had the hollow, almost gentle quality of a danger that was past. For me, however, the storm was but a prelude to the true ordeal.

  The remembrance that came to me that night, swift and violent as a thief, slipped into my mind at the precise moment when waking became sleep. Its veracity was difficult to determine. Was it a genuine memory pulled from behind the lingering haze in my mind or was it a nightmare masquerading as something legitimate?

  The distant thunder rumbling beyond Aeris transported me into the recollection.

  I was on some kind of hill. I had been running. My heart was beating twice its normal rate. My breath was coming in great, heaving sobs. My face was wet from tears. Someone or something was coming after me. My life was collapsing around me. Everything I had considered solid and sacred had been despoiled in one night. And now this…

  Lightning searing the sky. The smell of ozone. A scream in the distance and an explosion of thunder so loud that it shook the ground. Rain pouring from the clouds, camouflaging the tears that still flowed.

  I had been betrayed and the betrayal had led me to do something so rash, so stupid... I had never been good at reining in strong emotion and this time, it had gotten the better of me. So I had lashed out and run, putting myself in harm’s way.

  Jarrod, my Jarrod, and my sister. Images of those two that nothing would ever wipe away. Chloe Wendel had been bad enough but now this… That was the root source of the pain I now felt, but it didn’t explain the guilt or the fear. Something else was happening. Something monstrous. Another bolt of lightning, another clap of thunder - this one so loud I could feel it in my bones.

  I wasn’t alone out here on this hill. I had seen him oh-so-briefly by the lightning’s strobe-like flash. He was approaching from the southeast, ascending the hill toward my position, his gait unhurried. I never should have fired that gun. I never should have run out of the house like that. I never should have come here. A series of horrible mistakes culminating in this moment.

  More lightning, more thunder then a flash so loud that I was sure I must have been struck. A white-hot, searing pain…

  I woke up screaming.

  Chapter Thirteen: The One-Handed Tinker

  I awakened to the soft sunlight of an early dawn. For the briefest of moments, I was wrapped in a gossamer blanket of contentment. I lay in Samell’s arms; I could feel the warmth of his body and smell his unique scent. It took only a moment, however, to remember why he was holding me and what had led to our being so close. After the nightmare, I had been hysterical, inconsolable. Sobs, tears, piteous moans… Only Samell’s strong, comforting arms wrapping me in a bear’s hug had stopped the shaking. And only his constant, reassuring presence had allowed me to fall back asleep. Strangely, despite the trauma, my subsequent rest had been deep and undisturbed. My body felt restored. My mind…that was a different matter.

  Integrating my newest memories into the patchwork of my past was a tricky and uncertain process. The preeminent question was whether my vision had been an accurate remembrance of a fragment of my life or whether it was the fabrication of a fevered and fatigued subconscious. Had it been a nightmare, a memory, or some twisted combination of both? Even if I was to accept that it was an unvarnished recollection, there were many unanswered questions. Although I now knew that I had a sister (something I had previously suspected), what had happened at the house between us? How did Jarrod - my ex-boyfriend turned her lover - fit into this? And who was my stalker? The concussion that had ended the dream/memory likely represented the moment of my transition to this world, but what to make of the disturbing events preceding it?

  “You okay?” asked Samell, aware that I was awake and disentangling his body from mine. The closeness became remote; the sense of loss was palpable.

  I tried without success to smile. “Better this morning. I had a vision of something that happened right before I came here. I thought that somehow regaining my past would make me whole. Now, I’m not sure.” The implications, if true, might reveal a very different Janelle from the one I wanted to find. Could I have changed that much in such a short time?

  “Whatever happened to you, whatever you may have done before you came here, is of no matter. You told me once that in your old world you were ‘just another girl’ who did ‘ordinary things.’ Here, in Aeris, you aren’t ‘just another girl’ doing ‘ordinary things.’ You are a Summoner. Your past is immaterial. Maybe that’s why you can’t remember it clearly, because it doesn’t matter. Because you’re no longer the same person you once were.”

  Deep thoughts for a farmer. I almost said it aloud but decided not to. Sarcasm wasn’t widely used or understood here and my words might be misconstrued. Instead, I said, “You may be right. But it’s not that simple. You have…continuity…in your head. It might be easier if I couldn’t remember anything before I came here - if it was all a blank. But remembering some things…it’s frustrating. And the memory or nightmare or whatever it was last night, was terrifying. It opens the possibility that I may have done something terrible before I came here or that something bad was going to happen to me. I can recall those moments but not the ones that came before and understanding requires a wider picture - one I can’t get until I remember more.”

  “And you're not sure if you want to.”

  Now he understood. Ever since I had arrived naked and defenseless in The Verdant Blight, one of my goals had been regaining my sense of identity. Did I need the memories of my old self to achieve that? “I’m starting to think I might not like who I was.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? It shows growth. Whatever the case, you can start over here. Dwelling on the past isn’t positive in the best of circumstances and if your past distresses you, make new memories with us.”

  Now I managed a smile, although a sad one. If I didn’t find out, it would always be a scab - something to pick at and worry over. Was I really two different people? Had I been ‘born again’ and not in a religious sense? “Can I like myself now if it turns out that I did horrible things before I came here?” That was my fear. And horrible truly meant that.

  “Why not? I like you fine just as you are now. And asking these questions makes me like you even more. If it didn’t matter to you, that would concern me.” He squeezed my hand for reassurance. “I’m glad I met you, Janelle, and I know everyone else in Aeris would say the same thing. However much you struggle with your past, don’t lose sight of who you have become. Most people are anchored by their past but not you.”

  As the days of a seemingly endless summer passed, a sense of normalcy returned to Aeris, yet things weren’t precisely as they had been. There were too many fresh graves for that to be the case and, even after all the damage had been repaired, the memory of the battle hung over everything like a gray cloud on a sunny day. For those who had lost someone close, the grief hadn’t aged enough to have receded. For the others, one of the great cornerstones of their lives had been sundered - the village was no longer the bastion of safety and security they had believed it to be. And everyone wondered, although few voiced the concern, whether the earth reavers might return.

  As a Summoner, I could have abdicated my responsibilities as a washer girl. Samell said that if I wanted to, I could join the Council of Elders - a possibility I immediately dismissed. Even if they wanted me (rather than grudgingl
y accepting me), it would bind me to Aeris. Much as a part of me wanted to stay, I knew this was merely a way station. Every morning when I woke up, I felt closer to the day of my departure.

  One reason I was delaying the inevitable was because I knew that my leaving would plunge the village into a state of near-panic. While it was flattering to be acknowledged as the Savior of Aeris, it also placed a mantle of responsibility over my shoulders that, in my current fragile state, I wasn’t ready for. Rightly or wrongly, the men and women of this hamlet saw me as their defense against a future attack. If I left...when I left… I would take that surety with me.

  How long had I been in this world? It was difficult to be sure. Days here weren’t the same length as they were where I was from. Seasons were different. I had arrived in summer - or “Warmth” as it was called here - and the daytime high temperatures hadn't varied much in the intervening days. But the nights were cooler, leading me to believe we might not be far from “Fading”, this world’s analog for autumn. By my reckoning, I had been here four or five weeks of my old life’s time. This nameless world didn’t have weeks or months - only days, seasons, years, and generations.

  “How long until you leave Aeris?” asked Backus conversationally one morning. He spoke as if it was a foregone conclusion, not a momentous decision that required consideration and discussion. His casual tone took me aback.

  When I didn’t respond, he pressed, “We both know you’ve reached the limits of what you can learn here. I wish that wasn’t the case. I wish I could be a suitable mentor but my deficiencies have constrained what I can teach you. I know my limitations and I suspect that, by now, you recognize them as well. I can tell you're becoming frustrated by my ‘lessons’. And, as much as I personally would like you to stay here and act as Aeris’ protector, that wouldn’t be fair to you, the world in general, and the Summoner who brought you here. He didn’t intend for you to remain in one obscure village. More importantly, many untrained Summoners exceed their reach and perish. Magic isn’t something to be trifled with.”

  “Do you think the earth reavers will attack again?” I might not have been capable of great feats but I knew I could make a difference if there was another battle.

  “If you remain here, yes. I suspect you draw them like iron to a lodestone. If you go elsewhere, possibly not. As we’ve discussed, it’s not clear whether you were the earth reavers’ objective or whether it was eliminating a human habitation in an area they wanted to claim as their own. It’s possible that Aeris will be safer with you gone.”

  “And it’s possible that they’ll need me if there’s another attack.”

  “Janelle, I’m not a soothsayer. I can’t see the future or read the signs. It’s a risk either way. What’s clear to me is that the fate of this village is a small thing compared to your need to become conversant with the ways of a Summoner. You may think what you did against the earth reavers was impressive and in a way it was, but it was crude magic and used far more energy than was necessary. You need to understand how to budget your emotions - how to control and sort them - and how to manage the headaches. Trial and error can only get you so far and it’s more likely to get you killed than make you into a master Summoner.”

  “That’s not very helpful.” I know it sounded petulant but I couldn’t help it.

  “It’s the best I can offer. Generations of life may not have made me powerful but I’d like to think they have imparted wisdom and perspective. So when are you planning to leave? I can understand your trepidation but this isn’t a decision that can be put off indefinitely. Procrastinating won’t make it go away.”

  That single word - “procrastinating” - triggered another memory, my first substantive one since the nightmare.

  My mother and I were arguing about some important school assignment. Due in less than two weeks, it was mandatory for high school graduation but I hadn’t started it yet. My mother, thanks to a heads-up from my spiteful sister, had learned of my dereliction. Her sermon was predictable - a long diatribe about how I would never amount to anything if I didn’t become more focused, how someone of my intelligence and talents was wasting “God’s gifts”, and so on… I had heard it all before. This time, however, I didn’t listen meekly. I snapped back, using language my mother had never before heard come out of my mouth. After I was finished, red-faced and a little embarrassed that I had lost control, my ashen mother turned and left my room, shutting the door quietly behind her. I think I would have preferred for her to have slammed it. At that moment, I knew things would never be the same. Vanquishing a parent in such a cruel manner would have consequences, and not just a firm talking-to by my father after he got home from work. Something fundamental in my life had changed.

  “Janelle? Are you all right?”

  I blinked twice in rapid succession, slipping back into the present. The uneasy feeling relaxed its grip and the knot in my stomach untied. Repairing the fabric of my memory was becoming a traumatic experience. How many people had I hurt? Was this new life a chance at redemption?

  “Just another memory,” I murmured. “One at a time, piece by piece.”

  “The past is overrated,” said Backus, echoing Samell’s thesis. I got the impression he was trying to comfort me in his own unsentimental way. “If you get to be my age, you won’t remember most of it. You remember a few incidents - moments of importance one way or another - but most of it is forgotten and you don’t realize what’s missing or worry about it. Whole decades vanish, claimed by the passage of time. Most of my ‘active’ memories are from the last few years. It’s different when you’re young, though. You have so few years to look back on that any deterioration is substantial. I’d like to tell you that I can empathize but the truth is that I remember less of my adolescence than you do.”

  I departed his house that morning without answering his question about when I would leave because I didn’t know. He was right, but if the newest memory was an indicator of my past behavior, procrastination might be an enduring trait. It also wasn’t just about leaving - it was about having a destination. I felt certain that Backus had one in mind. Maybe he knew, or thought he knew, where I could find a trained Summoner.

  As I walked across the village toward my spot for the day’s chores, I noticed a large group of people congregating near Healer Drabek’s cottage. Between twenty and thirty people were milling around as if in anticipation of something. I approached Samell, who was standing there with two of his friends, Octavius and Matrick.

  Octavius saw me first and waved in greeting. My arrival didn’t excite much interest, which was unusual. As something of a local celebrity, people normally noticed my comings and goings.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “A tinker arrived from NewTown a little while ago. He was attacked on the road a few cycles from here.”

  “An earth reaver?”

  “That was my first thought but he said it was flying and buzzed like an angry insect. It cut off one of his hands, killed the horses pulling his wagon, and destroyed the wagon. He said the wreckage looked like he had been hit by a whirlwind.”

  “An air reaver?”

  Samell shrugged. “We can assume. No one really knows. No one around here has seen an air reaver.”

  Until recently, no one had seen an earth reaver, either.

  “I have to leave. Leave Aeris, I mean.” This news made it more important, advanced the timing from “sometime” to “imminent.”

  “I know. I’m surprised you’ve stayed this long. We all knew this was coming and, as I told you before, I’ll be by your side when you decide to go. I’ve talked to Esme about it and she’ll come as well. And a few of the others. You’ll need good people around you, people you can trust and who know the ways of this world better than you do.”

  I was grateful for his words. I knew he’d previously agreed to be one of my companions but, when he had made the statement, my departure had been a possibility not a certainty. Now that it was tangible and approach
ing, I was relieved that his support hadn’t wavered. I needed people with me; this wasn’t something I could accomplish on my own.

  “Can I talk to the tinker?” If we were going south, which seemed likely based on my limited understanding of the local geography, I needed to get an idea of what we could be facing and where the danger might lie.

  “After the healer has mended him. He was probably given a sleeping draught. From what I saw, it wasn’t a clean wound and he may have a touch of fever.”

  “I have to get started on my chores.” I was already late. Such was the way with procrastinators. “If he’s able to talk, have someone fetch me.”

  Although I spent the rest of the day in a state of expectation, no one came with an invitation to visit the tinker. When I arrived home for supper, I learned that he was unconscious. His injuries had been mended to the best of Drabek’s abilities but the fever had become serious. The healer was using potions to keep him in a deep sleep in the hope that his body would be able to fight off the infection. With no antibiotics, that was the best they could hope for. I suspected that a trained Summoner might be able to cure him but, unsure and untried, I wasn’t about to make an attempt that could result in killing a man who might be able to survive on his own.

  Two days later, the recovering patient sent word that he was willing to receive visitors. When I entered the side chamber of the healer’s cottage where he was convalescing, I was surprised by his appearance. I had expected to see a sickly, older man near to death’s door but the tinker was young - perhaps only four or five years older than me - and in good shape and good spirits. His left arm was heavily bandaged where it ended below the elbow. His swarthy skin, or at least what I could see of it under his bushy black beard and mustache, was a healthy color, showing none of the pallor one might expect from someone near death’s door.