Lingering Haze (The Elusive Strain Book 1)

by James Berardinelli

  I thought back to the night I had spent in Marluk’s company. “I don’t think it ever came up.”

  “A pity. He’s wise in the lore of plants and healing and may have been able to suggest something. With headaches, there are many remedies. When one doesn’t work, another might.”

  At the moment, I was pinning all my hopes on Bergeron. If he wasn’t able to solve the problem… I doubted that a soothsayer would be able to cure an affliction where a wild wizard and trained Summoner had both failed.

  “Could you make the trail food taste any better?” asked Alyssa with a giggle, spitting a seed into the fire, where it flared briefly.

  I smiled but couldn’t help but wonder about the question. Could I? Could I give taste to the bland food? Could I transform dirt into something edible? It was obvious to envision how magic could be useful in battles but what about its more esoteric implications? So much to learn, so many areas to explore…

  Wrapped in cloaks and blankets dried and warmed by the fire, we hunkered down for the night with Ramila and Willem taking first watch. I lay in cocoon of silence broken only by the crackling of the flames as they drew sustenance from the ground. A chorus of snores soon joined the fire’s peculiar melody. With my mind, I reached out tentatively toward the blackness of The Rank only to draw back when I sensed the presence. It was out there, somewhere, watching. If it didn’t know where we were, I didn’t want to call attention to our location by seeking it openly. Did it even have a physical essence or did it lurk in some non-material plane?

  Sleep resisted me, pushing me away every time I got close. The smell was part of the problem; my mind was unusually restless. As I lay quietly, I picked up snippets of the whispered conversation between Ramila and Willem. I felt like an eavesdropper but, my curiosity piqued and my ability to understand unimpeded by a language barrier, I listened anyway.

  Most of what they were saying didn’t relate to the expedition, at least at first - the kinds of inconsequential things close friends would say when they had hours ahead of them and wanted to fill up the darkness with the comfortable sound of each other’s voices. Then they spoke about Marluk’s motivations; both were sure this was a test of some sort - that he was probing to learn how devoted Willem was to Ramila. Then the conversation turned to me.

  “She’s not what I expected. Or at least not what I supposed when my father told me I would be accompanying her.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s…soft.” As soon as she uttered the word, I felt a flush of anger. Soft? Would she still think that if she had seen me in Aeris or on the road to West Fork? “I expected someone battle-hardened. A natural leader whose voice would get things done.”

  “You misread her,” said Willem. “Remember, she is not of this world. Her former life still clings to her like a shawl. But there is steel in her. I’m surprised that someone with your talents would take such a superficial view. Look deeper, my love. See her for what she truly is. It may surprise you.”

  His words calmed the irritation that Ramila’s comment had instigated.

  “I don’t mean to disparage her,” said Ramila. “But she seems more like a pampered princess than someone fit for the hardships that lie ahead.”

  “Ahhhh. I see where this comes from! I noticed the resemblance to Delphine as well, but they’re very different people. Don’t let your dislike for your cousin color your feelings about Janelle. Delphine is a ‘pampered princess’ unfit for most any kind of hardship. I knew that about her after spending only a few minutes with her.”

  “I would never…”

  “Not consciously, perhaps, but you have a tendency to judge harshly and delay reversing your opinions when warranted. However similar their faces and forms, Janelle and Delphine aren’t related. They couldn’t be. They aren’t from the same world.”

  Although the conversation gave me new insight into Ramila and what she thought about me, I tuned it out when they began talking about intimate things no outsider had the right to overhear. Soon they were cuddled together, kissing and embracing. I closed my eyes tight and wished for something to take my mind away from the present - either a memory or a dream. It didn’t take long for the smell of the swamp to grant my wish.

  I was 13 years old. It was my second day at “Camp Harmony”, a traditional ordeal foisted on all eighth graders at my school since time immemorial. School policy decreed that, during the third week of September, all students in the science/social studies/English classes of Gilbert, McElroy, and Swiezicky would make the long trip to the New Jersey Pine Barrens where they would spend a week without television, cell phones, and all the other comforts of home. This was deemed by someone in authority to be an “educational experience” and it took an act of God (or a parent’s refusal to sign the permission slip) to get out of it. Needless to say, neither God nor my parents were in sympathy with my desire to stay home.

  It wasn’t all bad, though. There were six students to a cabin (plus one adult supervisor) and, for the most part, we were given autonomy about how to spend our non-structured time. We had one two-hour class each morning, one two-hour class each afternoon, and a “group activity” after dinner. Two of my best middle school friends were with me during the Camp Harmony week: Chloe Wendel and BethAnn Avery. BethAnn preferred to spend her free time in self-imposed solitary confinement. She sat on her bunk in the unheated cabin wearing an oversized cardigan and reading Jane Austen. Chloe and I chose the outdoors (primarily because it smelled less like must and mildew). We both liked sneaking beyond the “allowed areas” and roaming out into the wilds. Truthfully, the act of disobedience was more exhilarating than the fresh air. Rule #1 was “Don’t go outside the marked areas” so, of course, that’s immediately where we headed.

  Camp Harmony was situated in a part of the Pine Barrens dominated by a large cedar swamp. The characteristic smell of a bog hung in the air. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant as long as I didn’t breathe too deeply. The swamp itself was only dangerous if you didn’t pay attention. The trees rose from hummocks covered by moss and, while there were areas of quagmire, they weren’t likely to suck in anything more significant than a loosely-tied boot. The water was deep enough in the rust-colored lakes to drown in but only if you were stupid enough to swim out too far. I wasn’t about to get wet in 55-degree water. The biggest concern was a twisted ankle. There were countless places where a person could misstep.

  This afternoon, I was on a pitcher plant expedition. Pitcher plants were small carnivorous plants that grew in cool, swampy areas. They were also endangered. One of my teachers, the irrepressible woodsman Mr. Parker, had seen a large one this morning and, following his admittedly vague directions, I went looking. I was driven more by morbid curiosity than anything else - I wanted to see one of these insect-devouring vegetables for myself. I suspected it wouldn’t live up to its reputation, but how else was I going to kill the two hours between my afternoon class and dinner?

  Chloe had fallen so far behind me that I could no longer see her. She moved slowly in the swamp, overly concerned (even on the dry paths) about getting her shoes muddy. She had lacked the foresight to come prepared with a pair of boots like everyone else. So, for all intents and purposes, I was alone. It was just me, the chirping birds, the small animals rustling through the reeds… and the peculiar man squatting by a dead stump directly ahead.

  He looked beyond odd in his ill-fitting clothing and I felt a prickling of dread. He was stooped, wizened, and very dirty. He peered at me through squinty eyes. I recognized immediately what he was - a “Piney”, one of the civilization-averse, inbred denizens of the deeper Pine Barrens who were whispered about around campfires, usually in association with kidnapping, rape, and the Jersey Devil. My mother’s admonition not to talk to strangers echoed in my brain. People didn’t get stranger than this.

  “You’re late!” he muttered, almost to himself. Then, after sizing me up again with an indiscreet stare - an act that sent a shiver up my spine - he spat, “Too young! Too y
oung! Not yet ripe! I’ve come to the wrong time!”

  I stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape, unable to either advance or flee. Somewhere behind me I heard Chloe shout a curse word - apparently she had misstepped.

  The man continued to look at me, running a tongue over toothless gums, as he scratched at the stubble on his chin with long fingernails. I could tell he was wrestling with a decision. Kill me and dismember me or just kill me?

  “Come with me, girl! Come with me or I’ll just have to find you again.”

  He stared at me with an intensity that bored into my soul. Strangely, though, there didn’t seem to be any malevolence there. Instead, perhaps…desperation?

  I found enough strength to break the paralysis and get my limbs moving. I began backing away from him. Initially, he didn’t move, opting to continue watching me. Then we he realized he might lose me, he started forward. His movement provided me with the impetus I needed; I turned and fled at full speed, heedless of the uneven ground and the squelching mud. I only stopped when I nearly ran headlong into Chloe.

  Out-of-breath, I tried to tell her to run but, when I glanced behind me, there was no one there. My friend regarded me with a mixture of bemusement and surprise before smiling and saying, “Met the Jersey Devil, didya?”

  Then I woke up.

  The night was still cold and cloudy. The fire burned healthily. But time had moved on. Ramila and Willem were asleep, lying close together across the camp from where I was, the fingers of his left hand entwined with those of her right. Samell and Esme were to my immediate right and left, the former snoring lightly and the latter curled into a ball. Gabriel stood guard alone, his back to me as he gazed into the darkness of The Rank.

  I tried to go back to sleep but to no avail. My mind was active, reliving the new memory and fitting it into place in my fragmented past. Suspicion was beginning to dawn. Was this the same stranger who had watched me from the street outside my house? The same man who had pursued me on the night when I had been brought to this land? I didn’t know. Perhaps there were other lost memories that would provide more clues. But I was almost certain that this person, or these people, didn’t come from my world. They had been sent to watch or stalk me. And if it was possible for them to cross over, could I also go back? Perhaps I wasn’t as trapped as I had previously believed.

  Chapter Twenty-One: The First Day of Fading

  “It’s the first day of Fading,” announced Samell conversationally as we started the day’s journey. The proclamation didn’t surprise me. The chilly gloom of the swamp seemed suitably Halloween-ish. The first day of autumn. It put me in mind of pumpkins, ghosts, and ghouls. This world might not have the first of those (at least not that I’d seen so far) but I wasn’t so sure about the other two.

  Fading: the time when life, light, and vitality all dimmed as the angle of the sun dropped lower in the sky. Fields were harvested and homes were prepared for the season of Ice. I wondered how cold it would get here and hoped I might live long enough to find out. Back in my old world, autumn had been my favorite season. I loved the colors, the rich smell of wood fires on cool nights, and the general feeling that things were going into hibernation. “Fading” was an apt description. I wondered whether the leaves here would change color or drop. So far, I hadn’t seen signs of it but it had been over a week since I’d been around a forest.

  I was grateful for the cloak I had brought with me. Although made from the hides of small animals, it had been brushed with some kind of resin that made it water-resistant. It had kept me from being soaked yesterday and today, as we walked through a thick fog, it deflected the worst of the chill.

  “How long until Aeris’ harvest?” I asked.

  “Not long,” replied Samell. “It varies from year-to-year depending on the weather. This year has been warm so far so the harvest will be later. I’m not sure whether there will be a festival, not after losing so many people and with the danger not past. They may be content to strip the fields of their yield and start getting this ready for the cold weather. Plus, they’ll have to send wagons out farther this year to get cords of unblighted wood. The more the Blight spreads, the harder it is to get wood for building and burning. Once everything is blighted, Aeris may die. You can’t survive Ice in this part of the world without a healthy supply of wood for every house and the smoke from blighted wood can kill.”

  Not me. But I understood his worry. Only the fringes of The Verdant Blight still contained untainted wood. In another few years, that might all be gone. Then what? Even if The Long Orchard remained viable, it was too far away to supply every house in Aeris for an entire cold season. The men and women folk of Aeris would have to relocate. It was a depressing prospect and aggressive reaver patrols could hasten its occurrence.

  Meanwhile, it was still out there. Unchanged, at least insofar as I could tell, from yesterday. Were we walking into a trap? It seemed a very real possibility but I had no idea what the trap might entail. My mind conjured up hoards of the dead rising up from the fens. Probably the result of having seen too many zombie movies in my previous life.

  Although the razor grass no longer impeded our progress, the fog slowed us down. It wasn’t so thick that we couldn’t see each other but since we didn’t want to inadvertently wander deeper into the swamp, we had to pay attention to the solidness of our footing. The softer the mud got, the greater the risk that we were going off track. In this pea soup, it was impossible to tell for sure that we were headed in the right direction, although Gabriel assured us that we were.

  As the day wore on, the fog first lightened then retreated. To the left and behind, the grasslands stretched to the horizon. Ahead and to the right, the swamp, with its reeds, cattails, and stunted trees, dominated. Gabriel was doing a good job keeping us skirting the edge of the wetlands. He maintained a course that didn’t take us back into the tall grass but never allowed our boots to sink more than an inch into the muck. Chloe Wendel, my once-friend turned romantic rival, wouldn’t have been pleased with how filthy her $200 shoes would have gotten.

  For me, traversing the bog’s southern reaches was more mentally draining than physically demanding. By now, I was used to walking long distances. My leg and butt muscles had toughened up to the point where I could keep moving for hours on end without soreness. But a combination of the almost overpowering stench and the looming presence made it difficult to maintain my forward momentum. My stomach rebelled against any food. Even the cool, clear water we carried in our skins caused it to churn.

  Although the heaviest of the fog had evaporated by the time the sun reached its zenith, a residual mist remained, layering everything in a ghostly white. It made the trek surreal, a journey through a sinister, ethereal realm.

  Dusk found us camping alongside The Rank for the second night. I started a fire then sat and stared into its depths as the others busied themselves getting things ready for the night.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Samell, crouching next to me. The mother hen worried about her vulnerable chick.

  “Everything about this place. I can feel that thing in my head. It’s out there and it never goes away.”

  “We’ll protect you.” He meant it. I could hear the determination in his voice - a resolve not to fail the way he had on the road to West Fork. It caused me to smile. But he didn’t know what he was talking about any more than I did, and chances were good that swords and knives might not work. The more I contemplated the creature, the more certain I was that it didn’t have a physical form, at least not at the moment. Was it stalking us or waiting for us to spring a trap?

  “What’s that?” There was a faint tremble in Esme’s voice. Her finger pointed to the north, toward the heart of The Rank. At first, I didn’t see anything, then it caught my attention - a faint, flickering light, greenish in color and hovering about ten feet above the ground. I couldn’t be sure how far away it was but it wasn’t close. My mind-sense indicated nothing beyond the omnipresent soul-ripper.

  “Will o�
�� the wisp,” I said, putting the best name I could to what we were seeing. Apparently, the term translated because Gabriel nodded grimly.

  “Aye. Those things are common around swamps. Many a traveler’s gone to his death, sucked into the mud when he thought he was following a torch to a fellow journeyman.”

  “Are they dangerous?” Esme’s eyes were fixed on the distant light.

  “Only if you follow them. Don’t rightly know if they’re even living. One of my friends suggested they’re like glow-lichen in a cave. They exist and give off light but they’re not alive like you and me.”

  “They’re creepy. It’s like they’re watching me.”

  I woke once during the night, shocked out of a light slumber by a sense of wrongness. I sat bolt upright - an action that caught the attention of Willem, who was standing sole watch. I motioned to him that I was okay although I was trembling under my cloak. Out over the swamp, a half-dozen will o’ the wisps were twinkling wildly while, up in the sky, both moons were making their nightly excursions from horizon-to-horizon, although the mists softened and blurred their waxing faces. Still, there was enough illumination to bathe everything in a pale light that leeched color.

  Something had changed about the soul-ripper. I could tell this immediately. Its presence was stronger and more forceful. It didn’t feel closer, exactly, but it had begun to act. Esme’s comment about being watched made me wonder whether the will o’ the wisps might be the soul-ripper’s eyes. Regardless, I knew our time was almost up. I doubted we’d get through another day without an encounter. I only hoped it would wait until after dawn.

  Morning seemingly took forever to arrive and I was awake for every agonizing second. I was the first to rise and was pacing agitatedly by the time the others began to stir. Ramila, who had last watch, observed me with a look of concern. If she had enhanced senses, she would be as aware as I was that all was not well. The soul-ripper now had achieved at least a partial physical form and it wasn’t far away - perhaps no more than a few miles. Right where the will o’ the wisps had been.