Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  “I know,” said Myrial, “We’re worried for you.”

  “You know? You can’t know.”

  “Adrina was up all night pacing. She fell asleep a few hours ago. I’ll take you to her. I think she can help.”

  No! Galan thrust out harder with her mind than she intended and she hadn’t meant to slap away Myrial’s hand either—it just happened.

  Myrial was shivering uncontrollably. Her bones felt cold, her soul. “All this talk is frightening. I shouldn’t be in the middle of this, I’m nobody. I’m better with the floors and a broom than this. My mother always told me never to try to rise above your station. Look what I’ve done now. It’s—”

  “You’ve done nothing.” Galan touched her hand to Myrial’s. The hand was cold. Galan could feel Myrial’s chill reaching to her almost immediately. “What does anyone know of class and rank? I would be the first to tell you that anything is possible—your dream, the thing that frightens you is possible. You can rise above—you don’t have to be frightened by what you have achieved. There is no devilry in it, you are not being punished, you did not bring bad luck.”

  “I brought this on as surely as I broke a mirror—I should’ve broken a mirror. Why can’t I just keep to my own?”

  “You are very brave, Myrial. Your heart is true and you deserve whatever it is you desire. You can’t wish something into existence any more than you can bring bad luck.”

  You’re in my thoughts, aren’t you? whispered Myrial to herself.

  Yes, I am. I know it doesn’t offend you as it does others. You have a gift, Myrial, you have a pure heart. Now, do we sit and cry or do you help me find Seth?

  Myrial led Galan to the dressing partition. “First you have to look presentable for council. Then we’ll find Seth.”

  “Everything has its order, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” admitted Myrial as she handed Galan the clothes she had prepared.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  The Final Truth

  The council was gathered and in full readiness as Seth, Galan and Adrina arrived. This day there was no way Adrina would not be present, she felt she had earned the right to sit beside the two and so she did.

  When Father Jacob arrived, the proceedings began. Seth was not in a civil mood. From the moment he entered the council until the very instant he left he planned to seize the council’s attention. A heavy burden of duty pulled down upon him—failure meant disgrace, a yoke around his neck that he shouldered silently.

  He waited for the correct moment to seize the floor and when the time was right, he circled his voice around the room. What I am about to do may take you by surprise, but when I am finished I am confident you will have no more doubts concerning your obligations.

  Chancellor Yi stood. “Elf Seth, you are breaking protocol. We are to begin with a review of yesterday.”

  Seth glared at the chancellor. “Your eyes betray you, chancellor. You have not slept well this past night and you are haunted by conscience. Tell King Andrew of your secret desire.”

  Murmurs swept through the council. Several council members jumped to their feet. Chancellor Yi thumped his long staff against the floor. “Order!” he called out, “Order!” He turned to Seth. “No more outbursts or this proceeding will end, Elf Seth. I assure you.”

  Seth ignored the chancellor. He used the momentary disquiet to focus and gather his will. He closed his eyes and began a silent prayer. A glowing light, soft and pure began to enshroud his body. The rhythm of his chant reached out to all, though few understood the words.

  With each word Galan felt stabbing pain in her heart. She burst into tears. You promised you wouldn’t! she screamed into Seth’s mind.

  Seth ignored Galan, the chancellor’s continued demands for order and the King’s own command for silence. He launched his spirit upward, spiraling, soaring. His features changed and for an instant, it was as if another stood in his place.

  His voice followed the changing flow of his body, shifting from unnatural to captivating and finally to a strange echoing rasp. Slowly his facial features changed, blended and melted away. Then a form, beautiful and feminine, filled the place where he had been. The distortion ended. A woman’s face replaced Seth’s. The voice enthralling, almost delicate.

  I am Queen Mother of the Eastern Reaches, first to convey the will of the Mother and the Father. I have been long waiting for this day…

  Shocked silence followed. Disbelief showed. Some of the council members started praying. “Witchcraft! Devilry! Wizardry!” they shouted. “Devil be gone!”

  Chancellor Yi thumped his staff, attempting to restore order. Keeper Martin rose to his feet, waving his hands for calm. Father Jacob followed saying, “Please, good councilors, there is no devilry afoot! Listen, and we may all find the answers we seek!”

  The murmurs and disquiet continued.

  “Do not disbelieve,” said Queen Mother through Seth. “The crossing of the minds is an ancient gift. Our council had discussed at length how we could prove our need to any doubters. We had faith in Brother Seth’s resourcefulness and knew he would choose this method if the need was great. Please, I beg of you, listen. The link is taxing and cannot be maintained long.”

  Adrina gasped. She was so close to Seth that she could see his face beneath the mask of Queen Mother’s—as she imagined Galan could as well. Huge tears welled up in her eyes. She could see the link feed off Seth’s living soul. It was as if his life energy poured out of his body and into the image.

  “Father, bring order,” Adrina called out, “Do this for me, I beg of you!”

  Mesmerized by the images, King Andrew was slow to respond, but when he did instant silence followed.

  Queen Mother said, “Join hands all to complete the link… Quickly now!”

  Councilors returned to their seats, joined hands. Adrina grasped Seth’s right hand, Galan his left, completing the circle and the link.

  The completing of the link was as the turning of a switch. Suddenly, they were in a different place, seeing through another’s eyes. It was a strange and beautiful place wrapped in white. It was the royal palace seen through the eyes of a roaming hawk, soaring on puffs of air, zooming in through an open window, coming to rest just inside.

  The hawk cried out, a high piercing cry that echoed in the ears long after it passed. It launched from its perch, bringing with it a light breeze that trickled around the room, blowing in a downward spiral—the same downward spiral that the hawk descended.

  The hawk landed on a high-backed chair, calling out one final time before the vantage point changed. They saw through another’s eyes now—a view from the throne, through the eyes of the Queen Mother herself.

  Her eyes drew up, up to the window on high, waiting until the free-spirited hawk passed without, then returning to the calm crystalline walls about her.

  “High Council Hall of East Reach.” Queen Mother paused, continuing in a soothing whisper, “Chambers are chosen for specific reasons… as I am sure you know.”

  As the queen’s voice massaged their minds, the scene focused once more. High Council Hall at first seemed cluttered, designed without purpose. Then its purpose became clear, patterns in the walls told stories, depicted adventures, told the history of the elves, ever growing, ever changing.

  Keeper Martin held his breath as the focus turned to the oaken table that seemed a living thing, growing in the center of the hall.

  “Great structures house tremendous power and it is this power that you must understand.” Everyone in Kingdom Hall could feel Queen Mother’s mood grow dark. “The business at hand is unpleasant, but it must be. Sathar has returned from the Dark Journey and the end of our age is at hand. Whether we succumb or survive is in your hands.”

  The hall shook as the image began to fade, not a flutter or a falter but an emotion-filled tremble.

  Adrina screamed out even before the vision focused. A murmur rose, growing steadily loud and disquieted. Ripping winds swam across the chamber.
Hands gripped a porous crag as eyes looked down from a mountaintop. The wind was cool, the touch of the rock cold. The mountain trembled and shook. A great mass of soldiers could be seen in the fields below, spread out like ants, tiny specks of black moving by the thousands. The earth shook to the beat of their march.

  “Behold the great western plain! This mountain range marks the boundary between East and West Reach. The army on the western plain is the army of Sathar. Soon our mountain outposts will be overrun. They will pour through the mountain passes and not stop until our lands are his and then—”

  “Queen Mother,” said King Andrew, “Please, I beg of you, order. We have much else to discuss. We can see your need is great, but to send our people—”

  Silence! Listen Man-Child, Queen Mother commanded. “Listen to what will happen, this will be your future! When the Cursed returns from the Dark Journey, all will flock to his banner or fall. Any who oppose his total domination, any who resist, will be enslaved or killed. During the time of the Gathering the earth shall be torn asunder and thus will the Coming begin. The tormented will cry out in anguish for their blindness. For at the very end of their existence they will discover their grave error, but it will be too late, their kind will be lost.”

  Queen Mother paused. “Behold Sathar the Dark,” she said casting the image of the dark lord into their minds.

  As the image of Sathar faded, thousands of marching soldiers and riders swarmed over the land, coming to rest before a great castle. The viewpoint was the same, a far-off rocky precipice, but the location was different. The rock was cold, as was the wind.

  Behind the army came other armies, spreading across the horizon as a black wave. A city at the edge of the castle burned. Amid endless pillars of black smoke and red flames, fields burned. The dead lay scattered about the land and the living cried out.

  Hands clutched bitterly the cold, cold rock, while eyes swept toward the castle that stood defiantly, resisting thunderous blows upon its walls. The hollow knocking on the walls resounded in their ears and chased their thoughts.

  A valiant few protected the walls while the swarm gathered. The thrashing grew. Walls that had held secure fell away.

  The great castle and the city were not unknown to the Kingdomers. The castle and the city were Imtal, and the vision allowed much more than simple sight. The air about them filled with flames from the burning houses and land, dark smoke brought tears to their eyes and made breathing difficult. The anger and fear of the fleeing, the agony and pain of the dying, the putrid stench of scorched flesh, all flowed to them.

  Queen Mother didn’t hold back a single overwhelming emotion or sensation. Terror filled their hearts and minds, growing to the point where they just wanted it to stop so the pain would end. Almost believing that when it did end it would take them with it, and even this they would have welcomed.

  Brought to the threshold of life and survival, then to the brink of what lay beyond, Queen Mother carried them swiftly back. Latched onto only the pain, making it linger as the scene dissolved. A face, a face of untainted beauty, filled their minds. One could not stare into a countenance of such magnitude, so powerful and yet so very exquisite, for very long.

  Galan whispered, Oh my, Queen Mother, may they see your wisdom clearly.

  The Queen of the Elves shouted into their minds then, I am sorry to be harsh, but it is the only way to bring resolve! You must understand, you must see. The path can only be changed now. If you delay there can be no hope. Time is everything—and we have little to spare.

  In an avalanche of silence the pain ended, leaving most beyond the capacity for words, even the most loquacious of the group. King Andrew regretted his earlier words, and now words were beyond him.

  Father Jacob took the initiative, “I think I speak for the council Your Grace.” He looked at each of the council members, and they each in turn nodded approval. And lastly he looked to the king, who also nodded approval.

  “Your Grace,” began Father Jacob as King Andrew touched his hand and with his eyes urged the priest to sit.

  King Andrew found the courage of words in his heart. “We have heard your plea and we shall heed your warning. However you must also know that action will take time. We wish politics were a simple thing but they are not. Others will also be skeptical. The king’s word is law but we must have the backing of the alliance and our people. Without this backing our kingdom would fall before our army returns. We are convinced of the sincerity of your words. We will do what we can.”

  I trust in your word and your honor, King Andrew. Thanks to all of you gathered in council. I am afraid I must leave you now. The link has lasted overly long. My son’s spirit yearns to journey to the Father.

  Hours passed. Vilmos floated on the breezes churning up from the valley floor. The eagle’s keen eyes scoured, expecting to find nothing, and found nothing. He was alone with his thoughts as he liked to be, alone and free.

  He was about to land and change into human form when a voice rang out in his mind and he awoke. Propelled back to reality, he sprang to his feet. A muffled noise in the distance brought him through the kitchen to the porch. As he listened close, the noise sounded like hooves upon dry leaves.

  He longed to see a single, horse-drawn coach approach with two occupants. The driver a stern-faced man with a whip in one hand and the reigns tucked in the other hand—that was how his father liked to ride. The other occupant would sit quietly beside him, her face would be gentle and kind, aged pleasantly with the years. A familiar figure did eventually approach, not from the road, but from the path that led to the forest, and not until hours later.

  All delusion faded as the beckoning voice called out. “Vilmos come!” it commanded.

  Vilmos walked to the path, saying, “I thought it was all a dream.” Something along the path caught Vilmos’ attention, but only for an instant. “How did you find me?”

  The reply came in a voice that could only be Xith’s but the figure was strange, as if Vilmos was trapped in a dream that warped the world around him, “You found me, but that is beside the point.”

  “Edward, is he…?”

  “Edward is in a good place and would be happy to know you are safe.”

  After a lengthy walk the two came to an opening that led to a point overlooking the valley. The suspicion that his life was moving in circles and that no matter how far away he went he would always come back to the same place occurred to Vilmos, just as Xith said “We’ll stop here to rest for a few moments.”

  Vilmos sat down on the ground with a thump. He was about to ask if there was anything to eat when Xith stopped him.

  “Silence!” Vilmos had only seen Xith like this once before and he didn’t like the expression he saw. He started to say something again, and again Xith cut him off.

  Xith didn’t make a sound after that or move. Vilmos knew better than to move or speak.

  A moment later Xith yelled, “Duck!”

  Vilmos fell to the ground on his belly. As he lay motionless, he had a strong feeling that he had been in this situation before. He looked to the shaman who nodded in agreement. Vilmos asked, “But why?”

  The shaman turned his eyes heavenward, seeing things that Vilmos couldn’t. He waited for a moment before responding, indicating as he did so that it was all right for Vilmos to sit back up.

  “Vilmos, life can be complicated or simple, often times you take a step forward only to find that you have taken two steps backward. Do you understand?”

  Vilmos wavered his head. He had no idea what Xith was talking about.

  “That is good,” said Xith, “don’t try to understand. It is best just to accept it. Life is a series of circles that sometimes lead you back to the beginning, so instead of giving up you must keep your head high and start again. There will be times when you are not sure whether you are in the past or the present or whether perhaps you are without time and that you are never really far away from the place you are trying to reach. Do you understand?”
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br />   “I don’t,” admitted Vilmos honestly.

  Sullenness fell over Xith’s face and Vilmos could see dark circles under his companion’s eyes. “You will, I promise. Edward would not have sacrificed himself for you otherwise. You see, he was the first; one that was taken from me long before you. You are truly he, Vilmos, and the time will soon be upon us.”

  “You’re real,” said Vilmos. “That’s all that matters!” Vilmos grabbed Xith in a great bear hug. He couldn’t help himself. “It is good to see you, it is good to be with you again. Don’t leave me alone anymore. Promise?”

  The shaman raised his eyes to meet Vilmos’ then and as he did so a glowing orb of brilliant white appeared in his outstretched hand. In the orb, Vilmos saw the visage of the Princess Adrina and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. As the image grew clearer he could see that she sat at a great table around which many were gathered. To her left was the elf Seth, and to Seth’s left was Galan. Seth’s skin was pale and his great round eyes stared up at the heavens.

  Queen Mother’s words hung in the air about the chamber. A tear, single and crystalline, shimmered down Seth’s cheek. Tiny though it was, it conveyed a feeling of deepest sadness.

  Galan clasped Seth’s hand tightly; his will had nearly drained away. Her heart raced and her tears flowed without end.

  Adrina gripped Seth’s other hand, feeling it grow from warm, full of life, to cool and balmy. Her anguish matched the deep unbroken lines of tears cascading down her cheeks.

  My son, you have done all that you could. You have done what you must, what you were meant to do. You shall be remembered, you shall not be forgotten, the sacrifice shall not go unaccounted for… and in a barely audible voice Queen Mother added, … may Great Father grant you passage into his very house, so that you may sit by his side, my son.