The Fire and the Fog

by David Alloggia

  ‘Hi’ he said, and as if that one word was a stopper holding back an ocean of water, the soldiers jumped into motion. There were ten of them, including the one Gel had felled.

  It meant nine that he had to worry about, and Dan’r watched them all.

  Four of the soldiers in the center were kneeling beside their fallen comrade, the one with the arrow in his throat. They were futilely trying to save him. Dan’r could ignore them for now.

  The one with the beet red face, the Sergeant, and the two men closest to him, all on the right near the wagon, were drawing their swords; they would rush him, get in close. But they were still a good twenty-five steps away. He had at least three seconds before they mattered.

  The two on the left were raising their rifles to their shoulders; they had unlimbered them when Gel killed their comrade. They were the most ready, and the most dangerous. He would deal with them first.

  His left hand flew to a pocket on the right side of his cloak, grabbed all the papers in it, and then flung out towards the two soldiers with the rifles. The air around his hand shimmered. The two soldiers fired, and then there was a wall of water, two feet thick and four tall, between him and the soldiers, and the round balls from the rifle lost all their energy in the water.

  Sweat pooled on Dan’r’s brow from effort as the water came crashing to the ground, gravity relieving it of the shape it had held so briefly. The rifle balls joined the expanding pool of water even as the smoke from the gunpowder drifted from the rifles.

  The two on the left were dealt with, for now. Shock would slow their reaction speeds, making them slower to draw their weapons. They would likely be ready at the same time as the four that were still rising from the fallen soldier. All six of them at once would be trouble.

  'Focus, Dan'r,' he said to himself as the three soldiers from the right of the pile, with their swords drawn, reached him, 'you have bigger, sharper things to worry about.'

  He jumped back as the first of the soldiers swung, flung out a ball of fire that took off the soldier's sword arm, and much of his torso. The soldier screamed briefly before lapsing into pain induced unconsciousness. Dan'r skipped back once more.

  The Sergeant and the other soldier were moving towards him, spreading apart, both with their swords held low, tips pointed up towards him. They were more wary now, more determined, and the other soldiers were spreading out too, now that they had their swords out.

  Which meant the odds were eight to one. And Dan'r was starting to get tired.

  He flicked both hands into his cloak, one on either side, and then threw them out towards the two advancing soldiers. Both dived out of the way, certain another blast of air or fire would be coming. Instead, Dan'r dove towards the four soldiers to the rear. In his right hand, a knife, which he threw at the chest of the leftmost of the four. In his left, a long, curved dagger.

  The knife was thrown true, and it sunk halfway into the left side of the soldier’s chest. Surprise and blood bloomed in equal amounts on the soldiers face and chest as his legs lost strength and his knees hit the ground.

  There had been four in that row, the leftmost was now down, and Dan'r ran for the soldier on the right. The soldier swung his sword backhand, but Dan'r moved in close, blocked the soldiers swing with his arm, and drove the dagger through the soldier's armpit. He took the sword from the soldier's limp hand and spun, planting it deep in the next soldier's stomach, and let go.

  He pulled the dagger from the first soldiers' chest as both fell to the ground and jumped at the third, his knees hitting the soldier's chest as he drove the dagger at an angle down into the soldiers’ neck.

  As the soldier's lungs started to fill with blood, and the red liquid frothed at his lips, Dan'r's momentum from the jump carried them both to the ground, Dan'r's hands already back inside his cloak.

  The four soldiers left were hesitant now, scared. Two of them held their swords in both hands, and the swords were visibly shaking, while the beat-red Sergeant had turned white. Admittedly, they had just seen five of their friends killed in seconds, and in spectacular fashion. Dan'r smiled, and tried to hide his panting as he fought for breath.

  'What...what do you want?' the Sergeant finally managed to croak out, stumbling over even those few, simple, words.

  Dan'r turned his head to the left, looked at the sergeant, and smiled as viciously as he could.

  'Run,' was all he said.

  The three soldiers stared at Dan'r, then glanced at their Sergeant, then at each other, then dropped their swords and ran. The Sergeant followed right behind.

  ***

  As soon as the soldiers were out of sight, Dan’r slouched, shambled a few feet away from the bodies, and collapsed, face up, breathing deeply.

  ‘That…was not…easy.’ He said, mostly to himself, as he rolled over onto his front, pushed himself up till he was standing, and slowly limped his way over to Gel, who was still swaying.

  ‘Hey, hey, kid, you’re okay kid,’ he said, kneeling down, patting the boy’s shoulder, and trying to sound comforting. His exhaustion didn’t make him any more convincing, but he doubted Gel would notice.

  ‘What…what happened?’ the boy asked as he slowly started to blink and shake the dizziness away.

  ‘Don’t worry kid, just…just sit here, catch your breath.’

  ‘The bearded man...where…where is he?’ Gel stuttered, trying to stand.

  ‘I’ll go look for him,’ Dan’r said as he stood again, looked over the wagon towards where he’d thrown the Legnar earlier.

  He saw him, lying against the brick wall of a home, one of his legs bent forwards at the knee.

  ‘Don’t worry Gel, he won’t be going anywhere for a while.’ Dan’r said. And then he noticed the girl.

  He had seen what happened to the girl earlier, but had forgotten about her in the melee that followed. She’d just been so quiet, so unnoticeable in the chaos and violence.

  Even now, she just stood there in her shift, eyes wide, making not a sound at all.

  ‘Don’t worry, girl,’ he said as calmly as he could, his hands open before him in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, ‘just sit down, everything will be alright. We won’t hurt you.’

  What surprised him most was that she did just that; she sat, without a word.

  ‘Well...that was easier than I expected.’ He thought to himself as he turned back to Gel.

  ***

  Dan’r was back at his shoulder again, and the world was slowly stopping its virulent turning and swaying, when Gel looked up.

  The old man’s lined face and close-cropped beard startled Gel as they moved into view.

  ‘How many fingers?’ Dan’r asked, holding up two.

  It was two, Gel was sure. He wasn’t seeing double anymore. That had to be good news.

  ‘Two many,’ he said, smiling wryly. Even through the joke, he hurt, and he groaned as he hauled himself slowly up from his slumped seat on the ground, using the wagon wheel at his back as leverage.

  ‘Good enough. Talk to the girl, Gel. I’ll go check on the Legnar.’ Dan’r said as he turned away.

  ‘He took my fingers from me; took my family from me.’

  Dan’r stopped for a second, looked back at Gel, ‘I’ll find out what he knows, Gel. Then…then we’ll see.’

  Gel nodded, took a step away from the wagon as Dan’r walked off.

  He was still thinking slowly, he knew. He should be angry still, should go after the bearded man, but…Dan’r had said something about a girl.

  He shook his head again as he looked up, and saw her sitting on the wagon bench.

  She was…

  She was nothing like any of the girls he’d seen before. She was…she was thin, tiny even, and tanned, She looked tall, and her arms had muscles, and…and freckles! And she was dirty. Images of Sheane and Mae darted into his head, prim; proper, plump…clean. Compared to them she was; well, she wasn’t pretty.

  But then, she was still a girl, and she was in her shift… />
  It took Gel a minute of staring at her before he even realized he was. There was just something about her blue eyes, all wide, and looking down at him, and the messy curled red hair, and how it framed her oval face, and her shift, and how it fell loosely over…

  Gel coughed.

  ‘uh…umm…Hi’ he started, taking a step forward and holding out a hand.

  She just stared at him, silent, unblinking.

  ‘ahh…my…my name’s Gel,’ he tried again, pulling his hand back slowly.

  ‘Would…would you like my jacket?’ he asked, motioning to pull off his overcoat.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded, and took a step back as she stood. Her shift only came up to her mid-thigh, and his breath caught as it fluttered higher as she jumped down from the wagon bench, her knees bending slightly as her bare feet hid the cobblestone.

  She wasn’t pretty like Sheane or Mae was, but she was…she was so much more…

  Gel felt his face heating up, colouring, and he turned away from her; held his jacket out behind him.

  He could have sworn he felt sparks, or something, fly when her fingers brushed his as she grabbed the jacket.

  ***

  Erris took the jacket from the boy. She supposed it was a nice gesture, for all that it did no good. She watched him as she slipped the jacket over her shoulders, her hands hidden inside, holding it closed at the front.

  He was…young. Young to be scarred like that, a jagged, still red gash all across the right side of his face. Young, yes, but still lucky to be alive; lucky to have his eye. She was also taller than him, and found herself looking down at his curly hair.

  ***

  Erris gave a start and coughed awkwardly; he’d turned back around, and she’d been staring at him. His cheeks were reddening slowly, but she didn’t bother to stop. Instead, she simply furrowed her brow, and stared further.

  ‘Ahh…you could say thanks or, you know, something,’ the boy said, keeping his eyes averted.

  ‘Do you have any food?’ Erris asked, still staring intently.

  ‘I, ahh…no, I don’t have any, I…Dan’r might have some’ he said, turning away and moving quickly in the direction the old man had gone.

  Erris followed him, bare feet silent on the cool cobblestone.

  ***

  Dan’r knuckled the small of his back as he walked away from Gel, towards the bearded man he had sent flying. He was certainly feeling better since the night with the rain, since he had stopped drinking, but he was also too old to be moving that much, and that fast; to be throwing around that much power with his Art, that quickly.

  ‘No choice,’ he said to himself, rolling a shoulder, wincing as it popped and groaned back at him. As much as they hurt now, it would likely be all he could do to move when morning came.

  He knelt as he reached the Legnar. The bearded man was breathing haggardly and lying in a slump on his left side, his back to the wall he had hit, his right leg bent forward at the knee. A slow trickle of blood slid down from his nose, only to get lost in the big, bushy beard he sported, and there were various other minor cuts and abrasions marking the man’s face and hands. Dan’r grabbed the man’s jacket, hauled him to a sitting position.

  ‘Right, you awake?’ he asked, exhaustion evident on his voice.

  The bearded man didn’t respond.

  ‘Oy, wake up,’ he said, slapping the man once, twice, across the face.

  On the third slap, the man groaned, his eyes fluttering open.

  ‘Right. Here’s the deal. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer me,’ Dan’r said, leaning forward, locking eyes with the bearded man. He saw hatred and pain in them, and what he thought might be madness.

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘You’ve got one broken leg already. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll break the other. Then I’ll break your left arm, then your right. And then I’ll leave you here. Maybe you’ll die of thirst before the wolves show up, but I doubt it.’ Dan’r said, keeping his voice cool.

  ‘You’ll freeze for this. Ragn will take away his warmth, his protection, and you will freeze for all eternity, conscious, frozen, unmoving…’ specks of blood-flecked spit started to fly as the man started to rage, his voice quickly rising till Dan’r cut him off with another backhand across the jaw.

  ‘Yeah, I get it. I’ll be cold. Now where’re the boy’s parents?’ Dan’r asked; the bearded man glared up at Dan’r, grinning.

  ‘That looks like it must be painful,’ Dan’r said, looking at the man’s right knee, jutting out at an impossible angle, ‘I wonder what it feels like if I move it around’ he wondered aloud calmly as he grabbed the man’s ankle and bent the knee back and forth.

  The man grunted and ground his teeth; it must have hurt, but he stayed silent. Dan’r shrugged, bent the knee back towards its normal position, then back the other direction again.

  The man yelled in pain, ‘Gone! They’re gone.’ He growled, his fists clenching in pain as Dan’r nodded and let go of his leg.

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘The village was sent to the Camp,’ the Legnar gasped, breathing heavily. ‘They’ll be used to, to try to find a way to stop the Fog.’ His breathing was laboured.

  ‘Where’s this camp?’

  ‘I don’t know. They were sent to Wraegn for processing. It won’t matter anyway. They’ll be thrown in long before you could ever reach them.’ He added as Dan’r reached slowly for his leg again.

  ‘And the Fog. What does it do; where does it come from?’

  ‘I don’t know. It came from the sea, swept down through Rege. It just grabs people, and they disappear, and nothing we’ve done has stopped it yet. It’s Ragn, it must be, sending punishment against us, against the unbelievers to the North. He’s angry we haven’t eradicated them yet, we must…’

  The bearded man rambled, his eyes glazing over slowly as he slid to the side down the wall, the pain overwhelming him again, throwing him back into unconsciousness.

  Dan’r stood slowly, staring at nothing ahead of him as he thought madly, trying to remember small bits of ignored lessons he had been given years earlier at the Academy. It was like trying to herd a kaleidoscope of butterflies; virtually impossible, and almost completely useless. But there was something there, something that seemed to click.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Dan’r’s reverie was interrupted by Gel, standing several feet from the collapsed form lying prostrate against the wall.

  ‘Not yet, Gel,’ Dan’r said, turning to the boy, seeing the anger evident on his face.

  ‘Good,’ Gel replied, staring at the man a moment before turning on one heel and stalking angrily toward where his bow had been thrown, mere minutes ago.

  The redheaded girl had been standing behind Gel, his jacket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She stood staring at the man on the ground as Gel walked past her.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Dan’r asked as he stepped closer to the girl.

  ‘That’s my brother,’ she replied without looking, nodding her head towards the unconscious man.

  ‘What…what happened to you?’ Dan’r asked, glancing at Gel, who was picking his bow off the cobblestone street.

  ‘They’re gone,’ she replied, looking up at him, ‘my parents, my sisters…they’re all gone now,’ she looked back down at her brother, ‘he’s all I have left,’ she said with a short, wry laugh. She looked almost haunting, standing there in her shift and Gel’s coat, one dirty hand reaching out of the coat to wipe away at the grime and tears on her cheek.

  Dan’r was shocked as he knelt; put a hand to her shoulder. ‘It’ll be alright,’ he said, ‘come with us, and it’ll be alright.’

  ***

  Erris wanted to laugh in the old man’s face, as he told her it’d be alright. It was a platitude, she knew, but it was just so…so wrong. Of course it wouldn’t be alright.

  ‘Then again,’ she thought to herself as she nodded, ‘he probably knows that too.’

/>   With that nod, the old man was up and moving towards the wagon. ‘There’s no time for that, Gel, get in the wagon,’ he said as he put one hand on the wagon seat and looked at the boy, already on his way back towards her brother, ‘we’re leaving.’

  Erris walked away from her brother. She couldn’t stand to look at him. He was all she had left in the world, and he’d hit her, thrown the loss of their family in her face like it was a joke; like it was justified. She found herself wondering why all this was happening, what she could have possibly done to make Ragn so angry at her. As she picked up the books lying on the ground, she could hear the old man and the boy arguing about something in the background. But her mind was elsewhere as she reached for the book of essays she had been reading on the road earlier.

  The book had blamed the church, the military, not Ragn, and if the book had, couldn’t she? Could she blame what had happened to her on the military, on the people who had hurt her and her family? And if she could blame them, and not Ragn, then maybe Ragn didn’t have a hand in everything. All the lessons she had had, all the scriptures she had read, they had said that Ragn had a hand in all that happened, but what if they were wrong?

  ‘Girl’

  Erris found herself standing in the middle of the road, book in hand, wishing she could write, wishing she could put her thoughts down on paper, line them up and organize them, have them flow and make sense like they had in all the books she’d read; all the stories they’d told.

  ‘Girl’

  It took her a moment to break out of her reverie, to realize that someone was calling for her: the old man. Startled, she looked at him.

  He was sitting on the front bench of the wagon, holding Marmot’s reigns. The boy was sitting in the back, looking at her over his shoulder and glaring at her.