Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  He secured the top button of his cloak and turned up the high collar. “There are extra blankets in the rear—” He stopped cold, the words frozen on his lips. Suddenly, he saw Adrina, her face colorless, deathly pale, and fear entered his thoughts and took control. He commanded the horses to halt.

  With trembling hands, he reached out and touched Adrina’s face. It was cold, sticky wet with perspiration and rain. He removed the extra blankets from the rear of the wagon and bundled Adrina in them. Then he drove the horses onward, faster and faster. Somewhere ahead he hoped to find a crossroads that would lead to a village.

  Anxiety swept over him as they sped along the road. He chastised himself repeatedly in his mind. Rain began to fall in mighty torrents as the storm engulfed them. Wind, rain and diminished visibility made the road treacherous but Jacob did not slow the horses. He continued to push the wagon to its limits.

  Lost to the frenzy of the moment, his mind stressed and incapable of clear thought, Jacob panicked. Frantically he scanned ahead, his thoughts running in a hundred different directions and many times he glanced worriedly at Adrina.

  He drove the team on, urging the animals still faster. The dirt trail quickly turned to mud and it was only the high sides of the road thankfully packed in a precisely built wall of rock on either side that held the mud in place. The horses raced through this muck, kicking up a splatter of mud and small stones. The droning thunder of hooves and the racing of wheels rose above the clamor of falling rain and mounting winds.

  Soon he gave up hope of finding a village ahead. Recalling the villages behind them, he now sought a place to turn the wagon around. Again and again, his eyes darted to Adrina’s still form. A relieved sigh came as he finally reached a spot with an adjacent path where he could turn the four-horse team and wagon around in a tight circle.

  He reined the team in and with a pair of leathers in each hand, guided the horses quickly through the twist. A sudden creaking of the wagon’s wheels whining above the sound of rain and wind caused him to start. He pulled the reins in the opposite direction. The team turned back, but his reaction came too late. The axle was surely cracked. The left front wheel was out of kilter and it would only be a short time before the wheel broke free.

  He shook with dread. Still, he forced himself to think through the situation. Alone he couldn’t fix the wheel should it snap. He would have to seek shelter from the storm and attempt to repair the damage later. He didn’t move for what seemed a long time. He just sat there, eyes wide, searching. He wanted to see a village along the horizon. The last village they had passed was quite a distance behind them. Perhaps he could reach it if the axle held long enough.

  The air around him, which was already cold, grew icy as the storm raged on. Father Jacob wanted to curse, wished his vocation would allow him to curse. To scream aloud just once would have satisfied all his pent up frustration. Instead he found the wisdom of his faith and prayed to Great-Father for guidance. Briefly afterward, the will of the Father flowed strongly through him, but then it was as if the storm sucked away the renewed vitality as readily as rain and wind beat down upon him.

  A portent of evil filled his mind like a sickness, yet even in this he attempted to find good. The will of the Father had found him even in this hellish squall. Faith maintained, he continued his scan of the vicinity, his eyes wandering along the adjacent trail while the heavy downpour obscured his vision.

  Abruptly he stopped. He squinted, and strained to fix his gaze ahead in the distance where he thought he saw the outline of some low structures. Were they dwellings? Could it truly be? Or was he imagining them?

  At a careful gallop, ensuring his pace did not upset the wagon too much, he ushered the four-horse team on. The tiny road was no more than a raised path but it did appear to lead toward a village of sorts. He held his breath with each bump, and prayed the axle would hold, and each time it did, he released it in a heavy sigh.

  The mighty structures he envisioned were no more than a collection of thatched huts clumped atop a mound of dirt. But in his mind, Jacob was sure he and Adrina would find warmth inside.

  The ailing axle finally gave way with a resonant crack and the wagon slid to an awkward halt. He held Adrina tightly as the wagon toppled to one side. Clinging to his faith, he wiped hopelessness from his face, then picked up Adrina in his arms—Great-Father would not let him fail. He would carry her the remaining distance. Relief was only a few steps away.

  The next hundred yards seemed liked miles to Jacob. Step by step, he sloshed through the mud. His back ached and his arms were tired, but he did not stop. A wooden door loomed in the distance and eventually he came to stand before it. He cried out into the stormy sky a solemn thanks to Great-Father, and with a heavy fist he rapped on the door of the hut.

  The dull echo of his blows was the only response. In desperation Jacob tried to force the door open but apparently it was barred.

  “Go away!” said a meek voice from behind him.

  Jacob turned around wearily, his face expressionless as he looked upon the small boy in front of him. He said, “We need your help.”

  A middle-aged man appeared from out of the gloom. He approached the boy and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You must leave, we cannot help you.”

  Jacob didn’t move.

  “Please go, you must go.”

  “I am Father Jacob, First Minister to the King. I need your help.”

  “So,” said the boy.

  The man hushed the boy, and said, “You must go and if you truly be the First Minister to the King, you will know what peril it is to accept strangers during such an evil storm.”

  And with that, the man took the boy’s hand and hurried away.

  Chapter Four:

  Magic Shield

  A trek that would have taken many days by foot would be substantially shortened by wagon. Xith was deeply concerned about getting as far north as quickly as they possibly could. Time was running out. He could sense that now.

  Xith looked at the innocence spread out simply on Vilmos’ long face and was saddened by it. He wished he could explain to Vilmos the gravity of the situation they were in, how precarious the path ahead was, and how much of it relied on him, a mere boy. Xith only hoped when the time came for Vilmos to act that he would be prepared, that they both would be.

  “Beautiful morning!” exclaimed Xith, breaking the silence in the air and casting the shadows from his thoughts.

  “What?” asked Vilmos, broken from his own reverie.

  “Can’t you feel the energy in the air? Don’t you just want to draw it in?”

  Vilmos sniffed the air. It didn’t feel any different from normal. “Not really,” was his quick response.

  In and out of his mouth with hearty puffs, Xith began to breathe the moist morning air. Vilmos imagined that Xith was beginning to glow and became entranced by this fanciful notion. Then, subtle changes in skin tone became increasingly apparent until Xith actually did glow. His voice peaking in the middle, Vilmos asked, “Xith, what are you doing?”

  Playfulness cascaded away from Xith’s eyes. “Sorry,” he said after a long pause, “I was going to show you something, but now is not the time. We must wait a while longer.”

  The road Xith and Vilmos traveled along was arid. The horses’ hooves and the wagon’s wheels kicked up a large dusty plume, which marked their passage. Ahead in the distance lay a series of rocky hills covered mostly with tall grasses and patched with granite. Beyond, the trail disappeared as it wound through small canyons created by the hills, and beyond the hills was another open flat prairie, with dry tall grasses dancing in the gentle winds traveling lightly across its face. With the slow creaking of the wagon echoing in their ears, they made their way through the hills to the far side of the prairie and beyond.

  Vilmos’ eyes grew heavy and his yawns became more frequent. His thoughts drifted for a time, unfixed, and eventually settled on images of his mother, whom he missed. A happiness that had been abs
ent for days entered his heart as he pictured her face. His next conscious thought was not until some time later. A sudden shift of the wagon as it hit a large hole in the path thrust him from his sleep.

  Caught in the dilemma of how much he could teach Vilmos, not knowing if the boy was fully ready to begin the lessons, and, if he were, how fast was too fast to progress, Xith tried to reach a decision. It seemed there was time for one last lesson. He must teach it, but was Vilmos ready?

  Unable to solve this dilemma, Xith concentrated on the road, which was pockmarked and pitted. He slowed the team down to steady the wagon, and the sluggish pace made the day’s progress seem nonexistent. Xith retreated to thoughts of times past and old acquaintances, while Vilmos moved on to let his mind wander, and again enjoyed the passing serenity of the land.

  After they had eaten and had rested the horses and were back on the trail moving through a series of wooded knolls and open grasslands, Xith came to a decision. There was time for one last lesson. He would teach it as he had planned to.

  As the day ended and early night settled in, Vilmos and Xith set up camp in the safety of a clearing within a small woodland oasis. The rather large stand, an oddity this far south, was a hearty growth of fine northern fir, the clipped boughs of which served as an excellent mattress upon which to rest. Lying upon these soft, scented pine boughs, arms crossed and head propped up, tired eyes were allowed a tranquil view, a sedate, star-filled night sky with a gently shining liquid moon.

  It was an autumn moon, a moon that was not quite full and loomed low in the sky with the distant, unseen sun casting a cool orange luminescence upon its face. In other times Xith would have called it a blooded moon and the portent would have been one of ominous foreboding, but under the current circumstances it merely moved him into a somber introspective mood.

  While he didn’t give the omen much thought, he did not cast it away either. Rather, it hung there in the back of his mind while he floated off to sleep and later invaded his few moments of private dreams.

  Vilmos was the first to wake. Wet droplets of morning dew were the first things to greet him. He didn’t want to leave the warmth of his blankets or the soft gentle fir bed to enter the cold uncaring air. A foot, an arm, a leg, slowly probed, and eventually Vilmos slipped from comforts into the cold. As he stood there not moving, adjusting, the only thought in his mind was to find some dry wood. With it, he’d make a fire to take the chill away. After a long gradual coaxing, he set himself to the task.

  Xith awoke a short while later to the pleasant crackling sounds of a blazing fire, the warmth of which felt good against his face and hands. He sat up and edged his body closer to the fire, surprised that he hadn’t even felt the energy expenditure Vilmos had used to start the healthy blaze with. Perhaps, Xith thought to himself, the boy was ready for the lesson after all.

  “Well good morning,” Xith said.

  Vilmos returned the shaman’s warm greeting with one of his own and went in search of the food supplies that had been left in the wagon. He grabbed a little of this and of that, items that appeared most desirable to his sense of smell.

  The horses were still loosely tied to a low hanging branch next to the wagon. Thankfully, they had not gotten free. Vilmos stroked one of the mares, which was agitated for some reason, until she calmed, then walked back to the fire and sat across from Xith. He offered the shaman a small portion of the carefully selected prizes he had brought back with him. Then he gingerly picked at the food before him, those selections he had not given away to Xith, hard pressed to decide which to eat first because too many arousing scents arose from the stores Misha had prepared.

  Vilmos ate a honey cake first, then nibbled on a bit of spiced beef, salted pork and finally a tiny mincemeat pie. He washed it all down with several long swigs from a water bag filled with a sweet drink that tasted of grapes.

  When Xith finished, he stood. “Are you ready?” he asked, patting Vilmos on the shoulder, a subdued deviousness was mixed over with half-warm tones.

  “Sure,” said Vilmos. He stood and crossed to the wagon. He started to climb onto the wagon’s running board and stopped abruptly as something hard hit him in the back with a resonant thud.

  Vilmos whirled around. “Ouch!”

  “You said you were ready.” Xith laughed and threw another rock at Vilmos, forcing him to dodge it.

  “But you didn’t say you were going to throw a rock at me!”

  “You should always be prepared for the unexpected. This is the next lesson, our second lesson. You have learned well the forces of fire. Now you shall learn those of air…” So saying, Xith hurled two rocks at Vilmos.

  The first Vilmos had expected and dodged successfully, but the second hit him in the back of the hand. Angry, frustrated and not understanding the point Xith was trying to make, Vilmos climbed into the wagon.

  “Vilmos, will you ever learn,” Xith said. “Here, pick up this rock with your mind.” Xith pointed to the small stone in his hand.

  “I can’t, I don’t know how.”

  “Yes, you do. Midori told me all about your magical pranks. Why do you think I came when I did? I came because I thought you were ready. You have done this before. Think!”

  Xith threw the stone at Vilmos. After waiting a moment, he then picked up another and did the same. Vilmos stood, unmoving and unyielding, not knowing what to do.

  “Stop the rocks from hitting you! Do it now!” said Xith in a voice that shook Vilmos’ mind and stirred his thoughts, but his response was still, “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

  “Think! It is a very simple process if you have already mastered the forces of levitation. Remember, when you were at home and often you circled things around you? How did you do it? Do you remember?”

  “Maybe.” Vilmos knew the pranks he had used to drive tutors away, but he didn’t understand how it related to a rock being thrown at him.

  “Levitation is the process in which you use the element of air to force an object to float. Remember flying, floating above your valley?”

  Vilmos’ thoughts returned for the first time in a long time to his special place, which he had thought lost, and understood. “That is easy, but I don’t—”

  “Hush. Listen!” Xith said, slipping again into the compelling voice to grab Vilmos’ attention. “Instead of using a positive force to lift the object, exert the force out as a wall and repel the object away from you. This is the first lesson, it is the easiest way to repel an object from you. The second lesson is a little trickier and requires a great deal more energy. Watch!”

  Purposefully sluggish as he overemphasized the strain and the concentration, Xith called the rocks from the ground. One at a time, he slowly lifted the stones and pebbles around them until the air was filled with rocks of all sizes floating through the air. With a summons and a wave of the hand, Xith stirred them to movement as one would a swarm of angry bees. He hurled them through the air, then directed them at himself, where they were reflected harmlessly off an invisible barrier. “Now, do you see?”

  “If someone is throwing rocks at you, I guess so.”

  An immediate pained expression crossed Xith’s face, it was clear he was upset. One by one the rocks took flight again, yet this time they were volleyed at Vilmos. Several hit him before he collected his thoughts, his hand hurt, his legs hurt, and he was really getting angry.

  It took a stone hitting him square in the face, knocking him to the ground, before he decided this was no longer a game. Vilmos had sudden flashbacks to a barren ridge and raging winds. Vilmos stood and brushed the dust and dirt from his clothes. For a moment, he paid no attention to the debris flying around him.

  He collected energy into himself, slowly as Xith had taught him, pulling the energies of creation inside. His only problem was that he didn’t know how to properly release it. The energy welled within him until he let it ebb and subside. He cast infuriated eyes upon Xith.

  “Continue,” Vilmos said simply, haughtily.

&n
bsp; Xith smiled an eager smile and slowed the rate of the barrage to a steady, constant attack with fair interval between each wave. “Push them away, Vilmos.” Again Xith paused and waited for Vilmos to gather his thoughts. A single pebble at a time, started moving again in slow motion.

  One stone was propelling its way toward him. Vilmos pushed out with his energy. It wavered and fell to the ground.

  “Yes,” Vilmos cried out. He had successfully repelled it. The wall wasn’t in place around him, but it was building. His concentration was building as well and so was his confidence.

  “Very good,” said Xith, “try two.”

  Two rocks launched at Vilmos at a steady pace. He managed to stop one, but the second one hit him and broke his concentration. He threw his hands up in the air as a sign he wanted to quit. His head ached. He had enough for one day. “Can’t we wait till tomorrow?”

  “Try again. You can do it.” The use of Voice made it mandatory.

  As always, Xith’s words of praise inspired Vilmos. He knew this time he would not fail. Two stones fell away harmlessly, successfully repelled, but he wasn’t prepared for the third that hit him from behind, again on the buttocks.

  “Build the wall,” Xith said. “Try again.”

  Especially goaded on by Xith’s perky smirk as the last rock had hit him, Vilmos grew angry. He was not going to let Xith or anyone else get the best of him. He stopped one, two, three, four, five and even a sixth stone.

  Xith picked up the tempo and changed the directions from which the stones came. Two and three pebbles in groups homed in like beacons on Vilmos from different directions, but again he successfully warded them off.

  Sweat dripped off Vilmos’ brow. He was tired but Xith would not stop. The air was filled, a clutter of tiny objects, launched at Vilmos. Vilmos cast Xith a lopsided smile, equal to Xith’s own menacing grimace. He had built his invisible wall and nothing would get through.