Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  Xith continued through the myriad of small tents and open stalls. He still had not found the one place he actually had sought, although he imagined it still lay somewhere near the center if he could reach the center. Hesitantly, he began to pass by things that he would otherwise have jumped at the opportunity to buy; yet as always the list of things he would later discover he had neglected would be enormous. He winked to Noman as he snaked through a twisted course that brought him at long last to his destination: a place where shipwrights and ship’s mates gathered in the market.

  “Where can I find the day’s Master of Records?” he asked the sailors seated within the high-ceilinged tent. Soon after finding the master and making an inquiry about passage to the northlands, his voice was booming over the noise of the market. “What do you mean, there are no ships bound for the North?”

  “Just that, I am afraid,” said the acting Master of Records. “There are no ships bound for the North.”

  “The season is yet weeks from its end. Lead me to a captain that has an eye for gold.”

  “I am afraid I cannot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the day is long and I must retire.”

  “It is only mid-day!”

  “Mid-day is closing time in the market.”

  “I know, I know,” muttered Xith.

  Noman held back an urge to do something vile to the Master of Records. “Where can I find one of the shipwrights?”

  “At this hour?”

  “Yes, at this hour?”

  “Most likely at an inn, taking a bit of lunch.”

  “And which inn would that be?”

  “Take your pick. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I must be off, or I’ll miss my own lunch.”

  “Would this change your mind or delay your retreat?” asked Nijal, waving a small bag weighted with coin.

  “No,” replied the man flatly.

  “Come,” spoke Noman, “the others will have missed us by now.”

  “Wait,” offered Xith, “I have something that will slow your retreat.” Xith shuffled through one of the satchels and procured a small, blue bottle. “Last one in the market, my friend, and it’s yours if you just help us on our way.”

  The man stopped and looked, eyeing Xith carefully. “I take it you have been here before?”

  “Many, many times,” returned Xith.

  “You must forgive me; I thought otherwise.”

  “No offense given, none taken.”

  The man smiled and nodded. “Two Hands is the place you seek.”

  “Still the same,” replied Xith.

  “Yes. But if you knew that already, then why did you trouble me?”

  “I see now that you do not understand. This is good.”

  “Wait—do I know you?”

  “Probably so, for I know you. The most curt officer of them all.”

  “Obviously you have not met my company’s captain.”

  “I am not sure.”

  “Come and I’ll take you to the Two Hands, but once there you are on your own. And I still cannot guarantee you will find what you seek.”

  “I seek no guarantees, my friend.”

  “Good, good. As I said, I offered none, even with your gift.”

  “No problem. We will wait and see.”

  “Come quickly and follow at a goodly step or you’ll most likely find you’ve lost your way and your guide.”

  Xith cast a glum stare at Noman, his dark thoughts from earlier in the day returning. Surely the trap was set and they were within its throes. But who were the conspirators in the dark plot against them? Did they dare trust anyone at all?

  Father Jacob paced nervously back and forth, cautiously eyeing the threatening sky. He was not pleased with the turn of events. The timing just was not right; too much seemed beyond his control. The will of the Father had been barely perceivable for some time now. It was as if he were alone. He marked this as the third time this had occurred, and the growing number of occurrences frightened him.

  Both Liyan and Seth sat quietly watching Jacob, reading his every thought unbeknownst to the good father. Their intent was not to intrude on Jacob’s privacy, but to clarify their own muddled thoughts with another viewpoint. They could sense a portent drawing near though they didn’t know what it was. Perhaps, they thought, it was the storm that carried the ill tidings to them.

  Liyan slowly turned his consciousness inward for a time of reflection, wavering from the link he held with Seth and unintentionally severing that link. In his mind, he pictured the paths, and he began to piece them together, beginning at the time when Seth had left for the kingdoms of men and methodically moving forward towards the present.

  Beyond the relative safety of the confines of the small tent the three occupied, the camp was teeming with frenzied activity. S’tryil, the newly appointed captain, moved about the camp, striving to maintain order. He still disliked the new authority given to him. It felt like a great weight. He was neither great nor proud like his father although he did inherit his father’s values, which were simple and true.

  Extra stakes were being driven into the ground around each tent with ropes being attached and anchored. The hope was to give better support against the coming high winds. Stores of food and supplies were being moved under cover. Small bands of sailors were returning to their ships to ready them for rough seas. The harbor would give some protection from the winds and high seas, but it would not shield everything. The elements of wind and rain would still find them. The sea would most likely claim a boat with a heavy anchor.

  S’tryil eventually found his way back to Jacob as did the five lieutenants. Their work was now complete; very soon they would know whether they had erred or had been successful. For a time, they moved to a warm spot near the small hearth that was erected at one end of the tent, but they soon found themselves surrounding Jacob as he stared beyond the table, beyond the doorway, into the festering sky.

  Chapter Three

  Cagan fought a losing battle to gain control of the sinking ship in the vile storm. He had turned her about and aimed her at the shore. Though the course never held true as they were tossed about, they still would hopefully reach safety before the ship was claimed by the seas, which would devastate him.

  Teren played with the voices in his head that called to him. “Why do you leave us?” they asked. He shied away from all save one—the one that was just at the furthest reaches of his will. A large wave swept over the deck and nearly toppled him and several others. Thankfully, his grip was strong, and the rope between his fingers burned into his hands only slightly.

  All had moved topside to escape the rushing waters below deck. With each new crest and trough, the wind changed direction in the sails. Some were only slight course deviations but others nearly overcame the masts, causing them to bend and bow beneath the heavy strain. Rains came first as a light mist but immediately turned thick and heavy as the storm descended upon them.

  The deck of the ship became slick as did the safety ropes. A second set of hands toiled at the helm. Valam had made his way slowly and carefully to the forward deck. He took a stout rope and lashed himself to the wheel as Cagan had. A voice from within the ship called out the depth of the rising waters.

  Already, Cagan noticed the sluggishness of the response from the wheel. The ship would soon flounder beyond his control if the masts did not yield first. He cursed loudly in a steady stream of words, which were his commands to his bosun. The calls still sent able-bodied men to action though the response time was slow.

  The first spark of lightning to strike close at hand sent a shiver through Cagan. As if rain, wind, and wave were not bad enough, now the storm lashed out at them with yet another of its treacheries. Each new bolt echoed both in his eyes and in his ears. He laughed at his folly, mocking his own thoughts. The lightning gave him a new source of light in the darkness of the storm, and whether it was good fortune or misfortune to see the line of the coast highlighted in the distance he did not know.

  Cag
an saw only the shadows of rock and crag ahead. He noted a shift in the balance of the ship as it sought to settle to one side. Quickly he called out to correct the sails. The bosun’s alarm rang, and the men responded when the top deck first encountered the crest of the gigantic wave. Screams of despair rose. Several were swept into the seas and readily claimed. Their screams of panic did not last long.

  The ship surprisingly did not give in. As it was whirled about at the bottom of the wave, it righted itself though it was still heavy in the water. Cagan gazed through the flashes, searching the shadows. Cautious thoughts carried his mind to the two longboats they carried. He marked them as their last resort and had them readied, even though he knew they would be of little use in this storm.

  A sound almost like a clap of thunder stifled his senses. Cagan held his breath deadly still. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. As the center mast crashed to the deck, the rigging and sails went with it, draping the onlookers. Mercilessly the waves turned the ship and overcame her, even as she flopped from side to side.

  Many hands went to the longboats and launched them into churning waters. Those that were close enough scrambled inside, and the sea claimed even a few of those. Neither Cagan nor Valam had left the wheel; there they remained. They watched the small boats being brutally battered by the rough waters. They chose not to die in that manner. They would rather come to an honorable end, dying the way they had lived.

  The dull glow of a light suddenly came into sight. The storm played among the shadows around them, offering them no clues to its origin. As if in anger, the rain increased in velocity, pelting them with an ever-thickening volley. A shimmer in the distance caught their eye. A murmur resounded in their ears as yet another clap of thunder fell upon them. The bolt struck dead in front of them, lighting the area in a great circle, and for the first time, a glimmer of hope was revealed.

  Midori woke from a dream. Frightened, she shivered alone in the dank corner in which she slept. A tear marked the outline of her face, and just as it dripped to the floor, a smile, a mocking smile touched her lips. Her enemy knew her soul well, she thought for a moment. She found little comfort in the knowing, and quickly turned away from it.

  A voice pierced the silence and the darkness about her. Though she heard it, she did not listen. She still grasped the images from the dream in her mind and would not turn away from them. The Mother had called out to her, or perhaps it was only a wish in her dream; she did not know, but the voice could not be mistaken. She did not know if the message was one of her own creation or of reality, but she held to it.

  “Today,” she thought, “today is the day when I will know the truth of it.” She groped for her blanket in the darkness and pulled it snug around her. The cold stone beneath her negated the little warmth it offered. She closed her eyes in an attempt to find peace in sleep and her dreams again.

  “Outside the sun is already high in the sky,” spoke a voice in close proximity to her.

  “I do not care. I only know that it is dark in here and cold, and I am tired. My soul is weary and wants to rest. So please leave me in peace this day, or night.”

  “My dear Midori, princess so fair, first daughter of the Mother, heir to all.”

  “Don’t start with that today. Please let me rest. I—I—” began Midori, “I am so tired.”

  “Your mind is awake, and your body grows weary but not from lack of sleep. You have slept too long; it is time you woke up. Move about. Move your feet. Do not sit and stagnate this day.”

  “You were the one who told me to sleep. What do you wish me to do?”

  “Yet that was some time ago. That is long since past. We have much to discuss and times grows short. So listen to my words, and regard them for a time. Then when you are ready, respond to them in any manner you see fit.”

  “I think we will have plenty of time for as many discussions as you please. I don’t think we are going anywhere soon.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Have you not returned to your senses yet? Are you a princess, or are you the first to the Mother? Well, a response would expedite matters.”

  “I’m thinking; give me a moment.”

  “There should be nothing to consider. Has your mind grown that clouded? Is your judgment impaired beyond even my grasp? First consider this: is the darkness all that bad? Is this the only thought in your mind? If it is, you need to seriously reconsider your woes.”

  “I do not think I can. I fear the dark, to be truthful with you. You cannot see in the dark, and without sight, you are lost.”

  “On the contrary, there is much one can see in the dark if you only have the will to look. Did not your teacher pass on to you the lessons of your senses? Your eyes are but one of many.”

  “This is the second time you have spoken of my teacher. Which do you speak of, as I have had many?”

  “Your first of course, for in truth there were no others before or since.”

  “You knew the shaman?”

  “Yes, for as long as the wind has blown across the northern mountains.”

  “Then you are—”

  “But of course I am.”

  “Am I dreaming, or am I awake?”

  “You are very much awake. Now, will you listen?”

  “Yes. Please forgive me.”

  Xith and Noman pressed on, following their guide. The others returned with the heavy bags of goods Xith had procured to the place where the remainder of the party waited. Nijal was hesitant to part from the two but did as he was told. Xith grinned ear to ear, and Noman knew at once why. Xith had not known the name of the man who was now their guide; in fact he had probably never seen him before this day, but that did not matter. The man wholly believed that Xith had. Just as importantly, this belief would be relayed, discussed by those who watched.

  The pace did prove to proceed at a very fast pace. Their guide turned corners, crossed street and alley, detoured around obstacles, both animate and inanimate, without a moment’s warning. His demeanor did improve greatly though as they walked a ceaseless string of words issued from his lips, which most often was heard as an unintelligible mumble.

  He did offer his name, which was Vajlar Kapriz. Xith had managed to salvage that much from the man’s unbroken soliloquy. Xith took it in the old tongue, and it did indeed fit one of Vajlar’s demeanor. Xith wondered at the confidence the man had in them, or perhaps he thought Xith already knew his name in full, which was not often given to friend or stranger.

  At length, they finally arrived at a place where a somewhat odd sign hung, on which was scrawled, not printed, the words “Two Hands.” Vajlar paused for a time outside the door and caught his breath, pulling himself up to his full height as he did so. His stride was no longer quick and sloppy but crisp as he entered and crossed to a table.

  He bade the others to join him and ordered three draughts, for which Xith paid at Noman’s insistence as Vajlar never reached for coin or purse. Their guide drank two full tankards before anything passed his lips other than ale. As he began to speak, it was clear that his mood had changed; and, although he was not rude, he made it clear that they were outsiders here and should watch their step at all times.

  Vajlar drank two more draughts, still at Xith’s expense. His cheeks grew bright red and his eyes began to gloss over. It seemed that he was in a talking mood once more as words spewed from him endlessly again; and though they were now slow, they were slurred with the liquor. Xith smiled politely, knowingly. The guild was the true gatekeeper of Krepost’ and indeed, as myth and legend implied, there was great danger for unwelcome travelers.

  The story that Vajlar embarked on was in no way related to what they wanted to hear. As it drew to a close, the hour was growing late. The sun outside, if they had been able to see it, would have been past afternoon and leaning toward dusk; but this afternoon the two were saints of patience, or at least Noman was. They offered no complaints, bent only on listening intently. After a few too many tankards of ale had passed their lips even though
there were lengthy pauses in between, they began again only at Vajlar’s insistence. They began to lose sight of their objective, and they even started to understand the story they listened to. Xith acted extremely nervous, as was expected, and especially since the table was littered with a line of tankards, all of which he had paid for.

  After the table had been cleared and then filled, Xith, who seemed to be the only one with his wits attached, lost his will to wait. “Vajlar, my friend—” Xith paused for a lengthy burp, playing the part a bit too over-the-top as far as Noman was concerned, “Are you ever going to tell us—point out to us—the one we seek?”

  Vajlar pretended not to notice that Xith had spoken and continued on with his conversation, which was now completely one-sided. He had, after all, still one willing listener. Noman, who had one hand pressed against his face with his elbow resting on the table, was indeed listening. Noman turned his attention to Xith, only after it became clear that Xith was not going to let his words pass.

  “He doesn’t know,” responded Noman, nodding his head slightly to let Xith know everything was proceeding as expected. There was also a much more subtle message in the gesture: don’t worry so.

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t know? Then what are we doing here wasting time?”

  “Listening to the story of course.”

  “You are following that?”

  “Yes. Now if you’ll be silent, I can return to it. Please continue, Master Vajlar. Pay him no heed.”

  A sharp shift in the wind raised the flap of the tent and threw it back. Mist from the rain reached the table in short spurts. Jacob moved to close the flap, but Ylsa had already done so. She pulled the flap taut, and secured it tightly this time. Father Jacob offered her a wink as a gesture of thanks.

  The atmosphere in the room had been gloomy for hours. Some wandered next to the hearth, warming their feet and hands, while some just sat at the table looking forlorn. Jacob absently scratched words onto bits of parchment. His thoughts were elsewhere, floating beyond the waters of the sea.