The Fire and the Fog

by David Alloggia

  ‘Stay here, I’m going to look around’ Dan’r said quietly to Gel as he slipped over the low wall and into the village. He had avoided the road near the village on purpose; it wouldn’t do to be threatened at gunpoint again.

  The village had one main road to the south, branching into two smaller roads to the North, each surrounded by houses on both sides. Alleyways cut in between the houses by the roads, leading to larger houses near the outskirts of the town. The village would have started as a rest stop along the road, maybe a single inn. It had grown over the years, and as it grew, as more houses were added along the outskirts, the alleys grew as well, dark and twisted.

  The village was still small enough that most of the houses had little gardens in front of them; small enough that the alleyways were clean of the filth and detritus that so litter the side streets and by-ways of larger cities, and it was along one of these alleys that Dan’r now slunk, occasionally looking through windows of houses on the way.

  The alley in which he found himself was clean, yes, but it was also empty., as were the houses. Empty of people at least. Looking through one set of large, glazed windows, he saw a dinner table, its places all set, as if waiting.

  The problem was the silence. Normally in a village, even one so small, there would be noise at all times of the day. A cart trundling through, housewives gossiping in front of their homes, children running through the streets, something. Here though, the sun was high in the sky, and the village was silent.

  Mostly silent, anyway.

  The one bit of noise he could hear came from what must be the center of the town, and it was in that direction that he gravitated. He moved slowly, crouched, one of his arms and most of his back against the left wall of the alley.

  Even moving slow, and crouched, it only took him a few minutes to reach the alleyway entrance, to look cautiously out into the sun basked circle beyond.

  ***

  Gel was bored.

  He’d been sitting there a good five…maybe ten, maybe even twenty minutes. He wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was he’d been sitting there entirely too long. The wall behind him wasn’t even cool anymore.

  He put both his hands on the wall , and pushed himself up to a crouch, and turned. Looking over the low wall and into the village beyond, Gel could see…well, nothing. No Dan’r, no other people, nothing but houses.

  Gel smiled, then jumped at the wall, putting his left hand on top of it then rolling himself over, landing crouched, one knee bent and one straight, with his left hand on the ground and his right steadying his quiver of arrows, just like he imagined a hunter or hero might.

  ‘I look cool’ Gel thought to himself as he set off to the right, following the wall. He’d skirt around, avoid the direction Dan’r went, take a look at the village, and then get back before Dan’r noticed him gone. It was a perfect plan.

  Gel moved quickly and relatively quietly from house to house until he reached the entrance to the north west of the town, a torn-down barricade leaving the road open, then followed the road in, moving quickly in the shadows from house to house along the road as he went.

  As soon as he reached the road, he saw that there was a commotion ahead; a wagon in the road, someone standing atop it, and a dozen or so red uniformed Church soldiers.

  Gel moved closer ‘till he could make out what was being said.

  ***

  They had dragged her and the wagon into the town, taken the blanket from her, and now Erris sat, watching as the soldiers milled around her, laughing and nudging each other; watching as one red-faced sergeant grew more and more angry as he tried to hold himself back from yelling.

  ‘Tell me again, where did you get the wagon?’ the sergeant said, grinding his teeth and flexing his hands at his sides, his frustration rising.

  ‘It’s my family’s’ Erris said, again. She’d made excuses at the gate, before being brought in. The soldiers at the gate had taken her to the Sergeant, who was turning redder by the second, and he had sent for a Legnar, who had yet to show up.

  ‘And where are they?’

  ‘Gone’ Erris replied, stomping quickly down on memories that tried to well up out of the dark recesses of her mind.

  ‘Gone where?’ the Sergeant asked, breathing deeply in an effort to vent his frustration.

  Erris stayed silent.

  ‘And where did you get the books?’ he asked, kicking the bag the soldiers had taken from her, ‘and the sword?’ The bag and the sword lay on the ground where the sergeant had dropped them as he began his interrogation.

  Erris stayed silent.

  ‘Look, kid, if you don’t start giving me some answers soon, I’ll have to arrest you,’ the Sergeant said, eager to get on with more important tasks, ‘I’ve got more important things to do. I’ve got towns to evacuate, and people left to save, and I’m not going to let one brat delay me. Either tell me where all this came from, where you came from, or I’ll have you declared a rebel, and get you carted off to the stocks.’

  Erris was looking at her feet. They were bare still; she was still in her shift. It should have embarrassed her; the sergeant’s angry words and his threats should have frightened her, but she didn’t really care. Instead, she found herself wondering…’if they arrest me…will they feed me? Give me clothes, or a bath? Maybe it would be better that way…’

  She was still looking at her feet, her head tilted to one side, when the Sergeant’s tone changed completely.

  ‘Ah, Legnar, she hasn’t said anything more yet. I think we should arrest her, send her off, and be done with it.’

  ‘Thank you Sergeant, I’ll ask her some questions myself before we do anything’ a new voice said. Erris’ head started up as soon as she heard it.

  Standing there in his uniform, Legnar’s epaulets and golden buttons gleaming, burnished steel sword hanging at his side, was her brother. He had grown a large beard since she saw him last, but still…

  ‘Dom’, she muttered under her breath, her eyes wide in surprise.

  ‘Hello, little sister’ Dom said, smiling benevolently. ‘What have you gotten yourself into?’

  ‘They’re all dead, Dom. Mother, father, they’re…they’re all gone.’ Erris could feel tears come unbidden to her eyes.

  ‘What…?’ Dom asked, the rest of the question silent.

  ‘The…the soldiers. They attacked us, and…’

  ‘Ah’ Dom said, smiling sadly as he shook his head. ‘That’s too bad.’

  Erris looked up in sharp surprise as one of the soldiers let out a stifled laugh.

  ‘That’s really too bad, little bird,’ Dom continued, bending down and picking up the sword, and the bag of books, that lay on the ground, ‘but we have more pressing matters at hand. Where did these come from, sister?’

  Erris was crying now, tears flowing down her face. She had held out for so long, and now her brother was here, and he didn’t care? Her face widened in shock and confusion even as she cried. She could remember him being aloof, distant, but this was too much.

  ‘This,’ Dom said, hefting the sword, ‘this is clearly an officer’s sword’ he said, looking at the sword in his hand. ‘And I think you’re no officer’ he continued, handing the sword back behind him to the Sergeant.

  Erris heard more laughter from the soldiers.

  ‘And this?’ Dom continued, reaching into the bag and pulling out a book. ‘Where did these come from?’

  Dom looked at the book in his hand, flipped it open nonchalantly.

  ‘Banned.’ He said, throwing the book into the air over his shoulder, the books binding stretching and its pages flapping wildly as it flew. Erris heard herself whimper as the book landed, its pages bending and tearing under the weight of the toss.

  Dom reached into the bag again.

  ‘Banned.’

  ‘Banned.’

  ‘Banned.’

  Each time, a book flew over his shoulder to land unceremoniously, painfully, on the grey cobblestones of the street.

 
‘We clearly have a problem here, sister,’ Dom said as he stepped closer to her.

  She was still sitting on the wagon as Dom stepped closer, his head level with her shoulders, and she wasn’t sure if her legs would be able to support her if she tried to stand.

  ‘You show up here unclothed, in a stolen wagon, with a stolen Church sword, and a bag full of banned books. What am I supposed to do, sister dear? I don’t really want to have to take you in for questioning, little bird, I’m sure you understand that.’ Soldiers laughed again as Dom continued. ‘Like I said, I’m sure you understand, but unless you can explain, I’m not sure…’

  ‘Why are you doing this!’ Erris yelled at him, leaning forward in her seat, her hands clenched into fists on her knees.

  Dom leaned his head to one side, one eyebrow raised.

  Then his right arm lashed out, and he landed an open-palmed slap to Erris’ left cheek that sent her sprawling across the wagon’s seat, her hand flying to her face in shock.

  ‘I don’t like being interrupted, little bird,’ Dom said angrily as he stepped forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back towards the edge of the wagon. He pulled her down to his eye level, and loomed.

  ‘Now, what are we going to do with you?’ he asked, any sign of a smile on his face gone, and only religious fervor burning in his eyes.

  The soldiers behind him laughed again.

  ***

  Gel had crept close enough to make out more or less what was going on now. The wagon in the street was surrounded by soldiers, maybe ten, maybe twelve of them, and it looked like there was a girl sitting on it, her back facing him. The girl was talking with one of the soldiers it looked like, the rest of them laughing occasionally, but none of that mattered to Gel.

  He stopped creeping, stood and walked open-mouthed towards the wagon, towards the soldier talking to the girl, and he remembered.

  In through the doorway stepped a large, bearded man, who laughed as the fire from outside glittered madly off his eyes. He was wearing a large, gold buttoned red coat, and his large red beard seemed as wild and uncontrollable as the fire from Gel’s dreams. He grinned as he saw Gel abed and walked towards him, sword arm rising as he came. Each step he took, each time his thick boots hit the wooden floor of Gel’s room, sounded like a peal of a large clock, ringing out the time to Gel’s doom. The man’s footsteps were the sound of death approaching, the grinning man, with his fiery red beard, death himself.

  Still half lying under covers, Gel could only get his right arm free as the man reached the right side of his bed and swung his sword. Gel tried to protect himself, tried to grab the sword, to do anything, but there was nothing Gel could do as the man’s sword swung inwards towards his head.

  The last thing Gel saw through his splayed fingers, raised on instinct in a vain effort to protect himself, was firelight glinting off the metal blade as it angled towards his head.

  It was him. The man who had taken his parents, his village, his fingers, and his life from him. He was standing right in front of him, not thirty paces away. Standing there, with the same giant beard, the same gold-buttoned red coat, the same sword at his hip.

  Gel snarled without noticing it, his face a rictus of anger; hatred.

  His right hand was snaking for his quiver, reaching for an arrow, as the girl leaned forward and yelled.

  ‘Why are you doing this!’ Gel half-heard.

  His left hand pulled the bow from around his shoulder, held it tight, as the bearded man slapped the girl.

  As the man grabbed her wrist, pulled her closer, Gel knocked the arrow. The bearded man said something, and the soldiers around him laughed, as Gel drew the fletching to his cheek.

  ‘Die!’ he yelled as he released, and time seemed to slow.

  He watched as the arrow left his fingers, the bowstring snapping forward and backwards as the arrow flew forward.

  He watched as the arrow shifted up and down like…well…like nothing he could explain. The church soldiers looked to him as the arrow flew; the bearded soldier started to turn towards him, first his head, then his shoulders, then the rest of him, turning slowly to face Gel, to face his anger and hatred, as his death sped towards him.

  The bearded soldier let go of the girl, her arm dropping slowly as one of his feet moved forwards toward Gel, and the arrow was almost there. He had turned to face Gel, to face the arrow that would avenge Gel’s parents, his village, just as the arrow reached him.

  It was perfect, and an angry snarl of delight filled Gel’s face. He could almost feel the scar over his eye burning, could feel the heat of his missing fingers.

  Gel swore as he saw the bearded man twitch a smile, his eyes glancing to the side to watch the arrow miss by mere inches.

  And then it was past him, burying its steel head into the neck of another of the soldiers behind. Blood spurted from a severed artery; cries of surprise began to ring out from the lips of the other soldiers as the man with the arrow in his neck reached up to the wound, his hands scrabbling at the arrow as he pitched backwards.

  And then time was back to normal. Gel stood, shocked into immobility for a second as the soldiers cried, grabbed at their falling comrade, as the bearded man took a first running step towards Gel, the fire in his eyes and the grin on his face the same as the night Gel had lost everything.

  Gel scrambled backwards as the bearded man came closer. Panicking, he reached for another arrow, but his fingers were sweaty, they wouldn’t grab on. Why wouldn’t one fall into his fingertips. He just needed an arrow, just one arrow, he wouldn’t miss again.

  He looked back over his shoulder to grab one, his eyes guiding his unsteady hand to an arrow as he pulled it from the quiver, dropped his gaze to his lowered bow to knock the arrow, and began to draw.

  He looked up to aim in time to see the bearded man reach him, watched in impotent silence as the man’s hand reached out and ripped the bow from his grasp, threw it, clattering, to the cobblestones. The man’s right arm flashed out, grabbed Gel by the tunic, and picked him up, dangling feet off the ground, pulled Gel’s face up to his level.

  Gel could smell the man’s breath as he spoke, feel the spittle hitting him.

  ‘You just tried to kill me,’ the man said, grinning madly, ‘I don’t like it when people try to kill me.

  Then he turned, pivoting on his left leg, and Gel was thrown bodily through the air.

  Gel flew, weightless for a few uncomfortable, shocked instants, and hit the cobblestones hard, rolling when he did. For a second, nothing made sense, and then there was pain everywhere. His head, his shoulders, his knees. And then he hit something solid, wooden. He tried to pull himself up with it, shaking his head to try to clear it as his hands pawed for purchase.

  It was the wagon wheel. Pulling himself up its spokes into a sitting position, breathing heavily and swaying, he felt he might throw up.

  He looked up, head spinning further, and saw three of the bearded man walking towards him, swords drawn. There were three of him…three…and they were moving too slow…

  Gel closed his eyes, tried to stop himself from spinning, tried to make the world stop swaying.

  He opened them again, and the bearded man was right in front of him.

  ‘I remember you’ he said, as Gel’s head rolled, came back upright.

  ‘I think I killed you once. I don’t normally have to kill people again. So be it.’

  Gel, mirroring the night when his town had burned, raised his right hand weakly again in a vain effort to protect himself as the bearded man raised his sword high.

  Some strange part of him in the back of his head laughed. ‘Well, this seems ironic,’ he said to himself. He chuckled weakly. He knew he was about to die.

  Footsteps rushed closer. The bearded man was turning. There was something behind him; a fluttering cloak and legs were all Gel could see as he slowly slid down the wagon wheel to sit in a slump.

  The bearded man stopped in surprise, and then a thump. Not just the sound, but the feel
ing; the feeling of something bursting through the air, of something giant falling to the ground. Gel wasn’t sure what, but he felt it in his chest.

  And then the bearded man flew backwards over Gel; over the wagon, and Dan’r was there, crouched, his arms thrust forward. Two Dan’r’s were there. Or one.

  Gel really couldn’t tell anymore.

  ***

  Dan’r had watched in uncomfortable silence as the soldiers questioned the girl.

  He had watched in stunned silence as Gel appeared from nowhere, as he shot at the bearded man. As he missed.

  Dan’r opened his cloak, took stock of what he had. The man walked up to Gel, picked him up, and threw him. Dan’r grabbed the slips of paper he wanted, curled them into his hands, and then crouched, setting himself firmly against the ground.

  The bearded soldier started towards Gel again, drawing his sword as he moved.

  Dan’r exploded forwards, like a sprinter leaving the starting block.

  He ran directly at the bearded soldier’s back, slid and braced himself as the soldier began to turn, and then thrust his arms forward at the man’s midsection and activated the papers in his hand.

  The papers were drawings of air. Difficult to draw, most artists wouldn’t even think of it, but…well. When you filled a space with way too much air all of a sudden…

  Dan’r braced himself against the street below him and bowed his head, but even as prepared as he was, the resulting shock shook him, made him gasp for breath.

  Looking ahead at Gel, the boy clearly couldn’t focus. His head was bobbing up and down as he tried to stay aware of what was happening. He must have hit his head.

  Still, Dan’r couldn’t worry about him yet.

  He stood, looked at the soldiers standing on his left, and twisted his neck to hear a crack.