Bound by the Mist (Mists of Eria)

by Kumar, Lisa

  Her blood tried to pound itself out of her veins, and her body shook uncontrollably. Inside the cocoon of her blankets, there was nothing but the darkness. She focused on her breath, the rasp of it as rose and fell. What would the fog do now? Would it take—

  She shook her head. No, there was nothing out there. Pretend the mist didn’t exist, and it wouldn’t. Denial was easier and less painful. It had always meant no pills or pitying glances.

  How long she stayed huddled under the covers, she couldn’t guess. Her thoughts turned to mush, fatigue and reality melding together in some kind of bizarre dance. Her bone-deep exhaustion finally took over, and sleep crept over her.

  Even in sleep, her chaotic mind retained a disjointed awareness. Images of black hair and eyes the color of an angry sea flowed through her mind. Nothing else of his appearance was important. Then the scene changed, and she appeared beside him. Acutely aware of his body inches away from hers, she shivered at the heat between them.

  Reaching out, he pulled her to him with a familiarity that settled deep into her bones. His touch burned through her like lightning as the callouses of his fingers left a lingering thrill of sensation on her skin. He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. The taste of mint hit her tongue. She groaned and deepened the kiss, wanting to crawl into his very being.

  The scene skipped forward. A bed appeared and bumped into the back of her knees as he pressed her down. Desire hummed though her at the feel of his body, of silk and muscle, bare against hers. Her hands roamed over him, and he moaned, the rasp of his breath in her ear. Settling over her, he joined their bodies, and hair of auburn and black lay fanned across the pillow.

  With that last image, she shot up in bed, her breath rapid. Her mind spiraled into chaos as shudders racked her. The dream seemed so real. She could still feel his hands on her body, her skin tingling from that ghostly touch. Cal frowned as she pushed herself into a seated position against the headboard. Was she forgetting something important?

  Slowly, the events of her day came back to her. Remembering the mysterious fog that formed on the floor, she crawled on trembling hands and knees to the edge of her bed. No mist lurked in the air. Now for the floor.

  She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut before looking down. Nothing. There was nothing, nothing except the old harvest gold shag carpet and her bag.

  Cal’s hands covered her face. Her life was spinning from the path she’d carved. She didn’t know what anything meant, didn’t want to know. All she wanted to be was a college student in her last year, getting ready to graduate. That was her definition of normal, one she’d thought possible.

  Her mind sought solace by attempting to place these outrageous events into some semblance of a pattern. Any pattern that would tell her why control of her life, of her dreams, slipped from her fingers like too many grains of rice piled high.

  Could he be the same male—the one from the tree-lined clearing ten years ago, the one in her recurring dreams? Every part of her cried out he was. There was also the hair fetish thing. Two separate times the mist took her hair. Every time, it and her elusive hair seemed to work in tandem, actively seeking him out.

  She’d only been twelve during that first encounter with the mist, and therapy convinced her the occurrence was merely a manifestation of a psychotic mind or, at least, of an overactive one. But even that knowledge, along with a bevy of medications, had failed to stop the dreams and visions.

  Her mind had, over the years, created a fantasy world—one he inhabited. And these improbable thoughts painfully intruded when she least expected it. She’d come to believe she embellished upon her original hallucination over the years, making him more awe-inspiring than reality demanded. No being could be so handsome and so...not human. Admittedly, all the mythical beings in that clearing had been shockingly attractive.

  While she hadn’t quite understood his pull over her when she was young, she now recognized the feeling as an attraction. He drew her physically, even while dread repelled her.

  Her control of that intruding world had been fragile before, but now it was nonexistent. She no longer imagined she saw shadows of a world in the peripherals of her vision. Now they appeared before her like translucent moving pictures, astounding her with their reality. Human-like beings, all with pointed ears, populated this lush, green world. However, she only caught snatches of the images before they floated away. Surely she couldn’t imagine such a place, let alone fabricate the intricacies she saw so briefly. But memory always quickly drifted away like mist, making her doubt the veracity of her beliefs.

  Cal shook her head and withdrew her hands from her face before she straightened out of her slump. The parallels she’d drawn were neither helpful nor healthy. Madness would be her only companion down that road.

  She’d more important things to worry about such as school, her part-time job, and family. If her parents and brother suspected a relapse, they’d demand she transfer to be closer to them. Cal shuddered. Insanity, whether real or imagined, was not a priority on her list. Psychosis would just have to wait its turn like everything else.

  Throwing off the blankets, she pulled the sheets and comforter up and paused. Something was on her pillow, and the color of it tied her stomach into knots as she reached for it. Her hand paused before it reached its goal. No, impossible.

  With a shaking hand, she picked up the hair. In her palm rested reddish-brown strands that curved around longer black ones. She couldn’t be so crazy that she imagined what she held in her hand. The auburn and black strands behaved in a very peculiar manner, because no matter how many times untwined, they reunited moments later. Cal sat down with a thump on her bed, not moving for a very long time.

  Finally decided upon a course of action, she rose from the bed and phoned the little boutique and gift shop where she worked. It wasn’t much of a stretch to sound sick. After she clicked off the phone, she booted up her computer. Sleep would have to wait while she did a little investigative work. Answers came first because ignoring the past apparently wasn’t working. She would prove to herself she wasn’t delusional.

  ***

  Cal, against her better judgment, stopped in front of the brick façade of the Mists of Avalon bookstore. Her little Internet search of the week before, though informative, hadn’t truly shed any light on her situation. Desperate for an answer, she felt compelled to come here. She didn’t hold out much hope of discovering one at this place, but she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew.

  According to Maggie, the community recognized the store for its wide selection of all things fantastical. And Maggie would know, wouldn’t she? She’d lived here all her life. The owner was reputed to be missing more than a few brain cells, though, so many avoided the place.

  Cal hesitated, but the last grip of hot August air made the decision for her. She pushed the door open, and bells jingled.

  The smell of old books hit her nose and caused it to twitch. Great, her allergies were flaring up. She rubbed the back of her hand against the offending itch. Still, the place had an offbeat charm to it with knickknacks scattered around and incense softly burning. A short, plump woman smiled at her from behind a desk where an old-fashioned cash register stood. Her lightly lined face and silvery-blue hair made her look like perfect grandmother material. Cal offered a small smile in return.

  Surprisingly, quite a few people milled around in the aisles. This assortment included young college students in t-shirts and jeans to elderly churchgoers dressed in their Sunday best.

  At the back of the store, she found herself in a section entitled “Elves, Faeries, and other such Creatures.” Looking over the selection of titles, she didn’t know where to begin. She grimaced. Somewhere, anywhere—just take the first step. Plus, since it was the weekend, she’d finished her shift at work and didn’t want to go home. If she went home, she would sleep. If she slept she would dream, and that was too disturbing to contemplate right now.

  She rubbed her tir
ed eyes and reached out to pick a title at random. The small print of the pages caused her to squint while she flipped through the book for a few minutes, pausing now and then to read a promising passage. Her endeavor was impossible. The words blurred together. After snapping the book closed, she slid the tome back where it belonged. She wiped at her eyes again and grabbed another book. Then another. And still no real answers.

  Cal closed her eyes and leaned against the bookcase. A strong reference point to guide her, to tell her what was believable or not, would’ve been nice. She scoffed at herself. As if there would be such a thing for this. A neat and tidy book to wrap up all details. This wasn’t one of her classes. She couldn’t treat it as a research project to tackle and wrap up all prettily. What did she expect because, really, how common was her situation?

  Her Internet search had turned up such names as ljósálfar, Tuatha de Danann, aos sí, and daoine sídhe. Were these mythical beings all the same? Did it even matter? Maybe all those years of therapy pointed to the truth—that she’d lost it long ago.

  Bending over, she picked up her bag to turn and leave when the old woman from behind the desk came up to her and spoke. “I see you were looking at books about elves, my dear? Did you find what you needed?” The woman’s sharp eyes watched her closely.

  Cal cringed mentally. She didn’t feel like talking, especially to an inquisitive stranger. “Very interesting stuff but not quite what I was looking for.”

  The woman gave a good-natured smile. “May I be of assistance? I’m the owner of the store, so I know every page and book here. I might be able to provide the knowledge you seek.”

  Cal laughed self-consciously. “No, thank you. I think I’m getting too caught up in those tales. It’s not like they truly happened or even—” Before she babbled on, she cut herself off.

  The woman gave a soft laugh. “Don’t be so quick to disbelieve. It’s been said reality has some basis in myth. For us, this may be a truth that is only hinting at other beings existing. Any other true knowledge may have been lost to time, seeping into memory as nearly forgotten tales. Many are all too ready to deny any magic in life. Are you?” She ran a loving hand over a row of books, and the numerous bracelets on her wrist clanked against each other. “I can't answer that for you, my dear, but use caution if you choose to play in their world. Elves, faeries, spirits—or whatever you prefer to call them—were not as they are now portrayed in popular children’s movies. They weren’t to be trifled with. It was play nicely or not at all,” she chided, as though Cal were a kindergartener who couldn’t keep her hands to herself.

  A feeling of wanting to run to safety overwhelmed her. Too bad she didn’t know the location of that coveted place. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? A possible answer? “I thought elves were beings of nature?” For some reason, she’d always equated nature lovers with peace. What she had read in mythology, though, didn’t comfort her much in that vein. Capricious, narcissistic, and other similar adjectives could be ascribed to the beings she read about—along with the fact they rarely tolerated humans well.

  “Oh, they were. You have to remember nature can be both beautiful and perilous. Although their wrath could be deadly, their kind didn’t seek to harm. At least, it was so in the old days…so I’ve heard. Mortals always treaded somewhat warily around the Fair Folk. For good reason I might add. Human foibles were often thought of as a weakness to be avoided.”

  Cal couldn’t believe she was encouraging the old woman. “So mortals were inferior to them, they believed?” And probably still believe. She shook an inward finger at herself, telling herself to stop this insane conversation. Whether she meant with herself or with the woman, she didn’t know.

  “Oh, my dear, I’ve never been inside the head of one, so I couldn’t rightfully give a motivation to their beliefs and thoughts.”

  “Well, they seemed sort of arrogant in their views.” Ambivalence leaked out of her voice. Her hands trembled, forcing her to interlace them in front of her. All this jibed too closely with her views of those mysterious people she saw years ago. It was consistent with dreams of her elf, too. Her elf? Her dream elf? That couldn’t be right. She didn’t even know him, despite starring in some strange and steamy dream with him.

  “Come off sounding arrogant to you, hmm?” The elderly woman laughed, her round face creasing into a smile. “That they did. Or at least, they could come across as so. Some had such an air of detachment about them, again lending to this impression. Whether that came naturally or was put on, I don’t know. Maybe their self-assurance sprang from seeing and knowing their place in the world. Of course, this all is conjecture.”

  Cal fought to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. “Of course.”

  This had to be the most bizarre conversation she ever had, and given her history, she’d had plenty. The woman could very well be a loon. But what if she wasn’t and spoke the truth? Cal didn’t trust her own rationality right now. Was she sinking fast, only armed with paddles of paranoia?

  When the woman didn’t speak, she cleared her throat. “Do you have any other words of wisdom?”

  “No, dear.” She reached out and touched Cal’s cheek. “What ails you can’t be found in a book. Or online. You would do well to remember that.”

  A chill of fear crawled up and down Cal’s spine, then took up residence in her heart. The previously subtle incense that drifted on the air intensified, smothering her. How…what did this woman know?

  The woman’s eyes twinkled before she turned around, effectively dismissing Cal. “Goodbye. And remember, life is rarely as it seems. There are always choices. Maybe not ones you prefer, but they are still there, nevertheless.”

  “B…but….”

  The old lady shook her head, already walking away. “Now is not the time. Don’t come back until the time is right.” Her affable tone carried a hint of warning that discouraged further questions.

  When the time was right? What the heck did that mean? She followed the woman out of the cramped aisle. The old lady slipped behind the desk as Cal all but ran to the door and exited without a backward glance. The bells chimed overhead but soon ceased their song when the door shut, leaving her adrift in her confusion.

  Chapter 3

  From the balcony Relian watched the morning sun come up over the ridge of mountains that flanked the valley. The coolness of the railing he leaned against seeped through his thin tunic and trousers. He welcomed the feeling, for it settled the heat of his mind and body.

  His sleep hadn’t been restful, but that was nothing new. She—the woman, the girl—haunted him as surely as any spirit could. And now he knew why. They were one and the same.

  Memory hammered at him, and his mind drifted back to an evening ten years ago. The celebration started normally. The participants danced, sang, and feasted—until they noticed her, the young human girl who observed them through the forming veil. Her feat caused surprise, and yes, fear. Rarely were humans sensitive enough to feel the veil’s magic, let alone have ‘the sight’ to be able to peer through the rift it sometimes formed between the two dimensions. His people attributed the incident to her young age and the condition of the veil. In the past when elf and human mingled, children often saw what their parents could not.

  But none of the other humans with her in the glade-like setting had been aware of the veil, not even the other children. A shudder ran up Relian’s spine. That time seemed so long ago. Yet ten years was nothing to an elf. What bothered him the most—something he would never admit to anyone—was the lingering effect she had on him. A human who probably hadn’t seen any more then thirteen summers shouldn’t have any pull on an elf. He felt a connection, an affinity to her he could never reason out. She’d been but a human girl and a child at that.

  And then when the veil had taken…. Relian slammed his hand down on the balustrade. No, he wasn’t going there. Humans weren’t meant for Eria. His dreams had to remain a secret, and he must forget her. Too bad his mind and body didn’t s
eem to know that.

  He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temples. All this pondering upon humanity, matched with his disturbingly sexual dreams, made his head pound. The present needed his thoughts. The past did not. Hollow words, echoed a voice in his mind, chilling in its truthfulness.

  The air, fresh and beguiling, called to him. He luxuriated in its caress, taking it deep into his lungs. He sent one longing glance over the distant landscape before he turned away. How he wished he could roam out there free. Unfortunately, there was no time for such indulgence this morning, not for Relian, the prince. Right now, his role as one of his father’s advisors, not to mention his position as heir, called him to duty. And after those roles had been dispatched for the day, he would become a captain of the guard once again.

  He set his teacup down by the remains of his breakfast. Entering his chamber, he slipped on formal robes. Early morning light trickled through the shutters and threw shadows into relief against the cream-colored walls.

  The silk sheets on his bed beckoned. But his father had called a council meeting of his advisors to be held after breakfast. Relian couldn’t be late. Every morning for the last couple weeks, he ate his meal from the comfort of his balcony, not going to the great hall every other day or so as customary—something he knew caused whispers. If he were late to a meeting, it would only cause the questioning murmurs to grow in magnitude.

  Going to the table, he poured herb water into a basin. He dried his hands off and picked up the silver circlet that lay in a silver box. Adjusting it upon his brow, he deemed himself ready. Relian opened the door and saw a chambermaid poised to knock, her hand raised. Her startled eyes met his. He gave her a slight smile and left the chamber, the familiar swish of his robes comforting him.

  He arrived at the council meeting. The air, rife with a sense of frustrated helplessness, mimicked his mood perfectly as the council dragged on. White-washed walls closed in about him. Relian shifted in his cushioned chair. Though quite comfortable, the seat threatened to become molded to his rear.