Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle
Page 163
"Nothing. Rest," said Xith, relief in his voice, "we have a long trip ahead of us in the morning."
Vilmos sensed something was wrong, but whatever it was it seemed out of his grasp. He leaned back, touched head to pillow and closed his tired eyes once again. Images of the day's adventure danced before his sealed lids—the most profound of which was the image of the burly looking innkeeper whose figure played ominously in his thoughts, with his fat hands raised, pointing at him, provoking him, warning him.
After what seemed hours of restless tossing and turning, Vilmos opened his eyes in frustration and sat up in bed. The last light of day still had not given way to the darkness of night and as Vilmos peered about the room, he was shocked to find himself alone. Xith was gone.
Vilmos was puzzled. Would Xith leave him? Maybe he went to relieve himself or something, Vilmos thought. He ran into the hall, but finding only greetings of darkness he quickly returned to the room.
Frustrated he sat back on the bed, curled his feet up tight and wrapped his hands around his legs. He sat that way for hours, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the neighboring building. Periodically he looked toward the closed door.
The shadows in the room began to take on an eerie perspective, casting odd thoughts into his impressionable young mind. A half-burnt stub of a candle lay atop the stand beside the bed. Vilmos reached out and grabbed it. He thrust it back into the pricket it had been removed from, with the apparent intent of replacing it though the new one had never been brought and the old one had never been discarded.
With a flick of absent thought, Vilmos sparked the candle to life. The brilliant orange of the flame danced in front of his eyes as if it played out a song to him. Vilmos was captivated and motivated by it. Yet a heavy breath unwittingly extinguished its fragile flame, forcing him to re-ignite it. It had been quite accidental but Vilmos was amused by it. He took to blowing the candle out and then lighting it again and again with his mind. He laughed a soft, silent chuckle to himself as he did this.
He played with the candle for a time, flicking it off and on, the light of the fire reflecting off his face in the otherwise dark chamber.
Mesmerized by the candlelight, following its on and off blink, eventually, quite accidentally and without even realizing it, Vilmos learned to gingerly manipulate the flame with his mind. He could put it out and then touch it again with his power to relight it, which was quite an accomplishment if only he would have realized it.
With a sudden twist the doorknob turned and the door opened. Vilmos heard voices from the hall.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be of much help old friend. I'm sure you are right; Alderan is the key. They'll surely travel along the coastal highway."
"Goodnight, Misha. I am glad your other guests decided to depart ahead of schedule," Xith said. He laughed as he slipped into the room, and then took a sip of the drink in his cupped hand. "We will have to do this again sometime." He turned to look at someone Vilmos couldn't see. "Goodnight to you too, dearest. Thank you, you have again done well. I truly did not expect to see you so soon. Guard well the final two scrolls. I will not see you again until after all this is behind us." Xith whispered the last in a voice barely audible, and then took another swig from the half-empty mug he cradled almost tenderly. He waved and then closed the door, trying only now to be quiet.
The scene was quite comical when Xith turned around and prepared to creep to his bed. Vilmos was waiting, and Xith could only smile as if a child caught in the act of doing something he knows he's not supposed to be doing. Without a word Xith crossed to the bed opposite Vilmos, sat upon it, blew out the candle Vilmos held and then lay back and closed his eyes.
The long file entered the outer mire. The coolness of the air entwined with the warmth of the ground caused wisps of mist to swirl underfoot even in the early hours of afternoon, giving the area an eerie haze. Adrina felt her body begin to shiver uncontrollably at the cool touch, a touch similar to the play of cold fingers along the exposed areas of her skin.
She pulled her cloak tightly about her and brought its hood up stout, retreating far into the recesses of the cowl as she had that morning. Although the cloak was still moist from the rain, it did manage to provide a bit of extra warmth. She was thankful for its touch of comfort and hopeful that they would reach the castle soon for she was growing very weary. She sank languidly into the leathers of a saturated, irritating saddle.
Torches were mustered from the supplies and spread through the long line as insurance that, should the mists turn to fog, the group would not get lost. Captain Brodst, using his flint and steel and a few pieces of his precious stock of dry kindling—some of the torches had gotten damp—lit the initial torch, which he passed to the sentinel to bear at the front of the column. For the present, this was the only one to be lit. The others were not yet needed.
The sun's rays were soon lost in a shroud of haze and the hours appeared to drag by. Dampness was so thick in the air that moisture sank into the very souls of those present. Adrina was caught up in deep feelings of portentous dread and she petted her mare's mane to soothe it—or so she told herself. It was really herself that she sought to calm.
She tried to think pleasant thoughts. She didn't like the swamp they traversed and she liked the dense fog even less. The combination of the two elements overwhelmed her mind and only the thought of the castle that lay somewhere ahead in the distance turned her woes toward eventual ease.
She could imagine the Lord and Lady of the castle: him dressed in a purple overcoat and a blue silk shirt, his court best, and her in the long flowing gown of the day properly coordinated with the purple and blues of the Lord Fraddylwicke, her attendants forever at her side. She imagined their greeting a grand affair at the great castle gates. The castle walls were not a dead and dreary gray but cheerful silver.
The column marched farther and farther into the mire. It seemed as if they had suddenly passed under a great thick blanket of endless gray. Captain Brodst was forced to call another halt. The double file with which they had begun the gradual descent into the mire was dispensed and a long drawn-out single file unfolded into the shadows.
Torches were ignited from the sentinel's and though this would have been reassuring under most circumstances, it only assisted the uncanny veil's pervasion of their thoughts.
Progress through the ever-thickening sheets of fog materialized as a feeble inching forward. The cries of the cricket and the frog, the buzzing of insects and the stirrings of other smaller beasts stopped. Only the sloshing of the horses' hooves and boots on the soggy trail remained and it was as if nature itself had paused, waiting for the next puff of freshness and life.
Adrina witnessed the line of lights assemble in front of and behind her. Then as she watched, the former disappeared one by one into the veil ahead. Those behind she didn't turn to look at.
Carefully following the movements of those ahead when it was her turn, she coaxed her mount by gently slapping it with the reins to start it moving at a relaxed gait. Still she stroked the animal's mane with her free hand. Briefly she looked back now to ensure that the rider behind her noted her passage and followed her lead.
She gazed intently ahead and tried to maintain a bearing on the dim glow of the torch Keeper Martin carried in front of her. The fog seemed to swallow any hint of the flame, leaving only a slight trace of its glow to guide her movements. The pace appeared to quicken instantly to a slow gallop and then decrease suddenly to a slow trot, making it extremely difficult for her to preserve the integrity of the file. She wondered how the rider behind her faired in her wake. She hoped that the other could sustain a bearing on her torch. For now she dared not look back for fear of losing sight of the elusive glow in front of her.
The cold mire air grew steadily damp and stagnant as the last remaining hints of the earlier wind disappeared. Adrina began to shiver uncontrollably once more. It was as if the unseen hands groped their way across her skin and the touch was cold and sinewy.
Suddenly she was afraid to move. What if she raised her hands to her neck and really did find an unseen hand gripped about her throat?
She wanted to scream out for help, to lash out at the unseen specter, to cry out to the dead land that she did not want it to claim her. She began to whimper and plea with the unseen hands to release her but this only caused a flood of suppressed emotions—three years of pain and anguish, sorrow and denial—to descend upon her. The dead, gray walls of Imtal were around her, looming up dark and deadly before her—like in her dreams—and all the land was dead and she, Adrina, was dead.
The specter was there with her—like in her dreams—to take her away but now she didn't want the specter to take her away. The prune-faced man with his twisted wooden staff had saved her before, but he wasn't there now and this wasn't a dream. She began to scream. Frantically she kicked her mount and pulled on the reins sharply. Her shrill scream cut short by a rationalization that came too late.
The horse beneath her confused by the mixture of opposing signs given it, reared upward. To regain a tight grip on the reins, Adrina twisted the leathers in her hands. This again sent misleading signals to the confounded and uneasy animal beneath her. It reared again.
A second pull on the reins caused the mare to shift sideways as it landed. The steed stumbled, then faltered as it lost its footing on the uneven roadside. Adrina's tumultuous, wanton eyes spun around as she tumbled.
No longer a participant, Adrina became an observer. The torchlight seemed to dance around in circles before her as she felt herself falling to the ground. Her head was still spinning and her thoughts yet dazed as she landed with a splash into the murky waters and mud of the mire.
In a blur of frenzied thought, she felt herself sinking downward. A split second passed and she relived the fall into the water, eyes wide, cheeks puffed gasping at air, hands flailing, the light of the torch spinning wildly before her and then dying the instant it hit the dark waters with a sizzle.
A scramble to free feet from stirrups ended as she felt the movement of her body come to a sudden stop. Had she hit bottom? Was this it?
She held all the time in the world in the palm of her hands and she released a sigh of thankfulness, cut short by the horse landing on top of her with a horrific crunch. Adrina's pain was sudden, excruciating and vividly real as her world careened to darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Seth looked to Galan who was still sleeping and wondered if dreams of the forest still swept through her mind. He knew little of the sea and winds, but unlike Bryan and Galan, he had been on the canals of Kapital with Sailmaster Cagan. He used a makeshift hook and tied bits of colored cloth to it, then cast out his line, a length of string from his robe. Over these past days, he had enjoyed no luck and while it truly seemed there was no life in the deep sea, he was not about to give up.
A hazy dawn eventually gave way to day as the sun made its inevitable climb. With irony, Seth remembered now that he had once prayed for the day's arrival to end the bitter cold of night. But the night didn't steal precious moisture from his weary body, the sun did.
The day gradually grew hot and dry. Seth found that his thoughts were beginning to wander. He maintained consciousness, only barely so, while he cast the line out and pulled it in slowly, as he had once been shown.
At one point out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw Bryan moving about the raft, but inevitably as the sun beat down upon him, thirst and hunger took over. His thoughts began to wander and shift despite his best efforts. He attempted to clear his thoughts, but this required a complete conscious effort, which under the torment of the blistering sun, with strength draining from his body little by little, he could not give it. He could only mourn the loss he could do nothing to regain. He perceived himself as a hapless child. He, First of the Red, with all his knowledge and skills could not resolve their dilemma.
Seth soon found himself drifting back to sleep and it was then that the warning from Bryan came. We're in danger, krens!
Seth came alert in an instant. It seemed he had just closed his eyes, but then he took note of the light of a virgining day on the horizon. Suddenly Bryan's warning registered in his mind. He called out By the Father, Galan, Everrelle!… Everrelle?
Galan awoke. Everrelle didn't. For some reason one of the great gray beasts began attacking the bottom of the raft. Bryan pulled in the fishing line. Seth noticed there was something on it. Seth asked, You caught something?
Bryan started to reply, In a way—
Bryan's voice was drowned out by Galan's scream. Dear Father! Everrelle, Everrelle?
Galan directed thoughts to Seth. The infection, it's worse… Then she turned back to Everrelle. Stay with me, stay with us, don't go. 'We'll survive the journey together,' you said. Hold on, promise me you'll hold on…
Another of the gray beasts that lurked just beneath the surface of the water nudged the raft as Bryan told them Get Everrelle away from the edge!
Days without food meant exhaustion. Galan too was exhausted, and the exhaustion only magnified her alarm and her panic. Seth could see it in her eyes. He directed Bryan to crawl to the other side of the raft and help Galan with Everrelle. He concentrated on angry thoughts and sent them into the minds of the dark shapes beneath the water.
The raft shook as it was buffeted by tail and fin. Angrily and relentlessly, Seth, Galan and Bryan beat at the dark shapes until the raft shook no more. The three stood quietly, huddled together, and stared into the dark waters.
One by one, fatigue overwhelmed them. Bryan was the first to collapse, Seth the last. Silence followed.
Galan broke the long silence with a very soft whisper, Everrelle is gone… She promised she'd hold on, she promised.
Seth didn't answer immediately. Sleep was trying to lull him. He felt Everrelle's passing but could do nothing more than wish her a safe journey.
After a few minutes, he directed a response to Galan, Sleep, my brother, save your strength.
Vilmos scrutinized the small kitchen. He could have sworn he had heard more than two voices last night.
"Beautiful morning, Mish'!" Xith exclaimed. He walked over to the large man and patted him on the back.
The innkeeper smiled and tossed Vilmos a wink, and then he showed the two to a table that was tucked cleanly away in one of the kitchen's many corners. While they ate, Misha stuffed several satchels with fresh baked breads, smoked meats and an assortment of various other foodstuffs. The aromas wafted through the air to the place where Vilmos and Xith sat and mingled with the pleasant smells already present, creating a feast for the senses of a king.
Not long after breakfast, Xith and Vilmos departed the inn. Misha had graciously offered them his wagon, and although old, worn and lead by a pair of jades, the wagon was comfortable and proved a very great respite from walking.
Vilmos thought Xith had been rather rude for not introducing him to his apparently good friend. He tossed Xith a snarled grimace but then turned to other subjects, visions of what lay ahead. Although he had never been to the Alder's Kingdom, he knew much about its lore from the Great Book. The Alder had been a very wise king. In signing the treaty with the southern kingdoms, he had ended the longest and bloodiest war in the history of all the lands.
The Race Wars, as those few who had survived later called them, had lasted generations. During that time whole peoples and nations had perished.
A nearly forgotten lesson echoed in Vilmos' mind. He thought of the once great kingdoms of the North. Lycya, mightiest of the kingdoms, swallowed by barren desert. Queen of Elves and all her people washed into West Deep. North Reach and the clans over-mountain consumed by the twenty-year snow.
Xith drove the pair of jades faster than they seemed to want to go.
Vilmos knew without doubt the rest was over. Something dread lay ahead, but what it was he did not know. He started to shiver and though he wrapped his cloak close about him, he could not chase away the cold.
Hot, it's so damned hot…
Endless waiting played heavily on Seth's faith. He knew it was faith that he must maintain, for there was nothing else. Only Mother-Earth would carry them to safety or deliver them from life.
Ah, please… please… make the sun go away… make it end…
A full-day sun blossomed overhead. The struggle to keep eyes open was borne. Once closed under the beating sun, blisters would return and with them infection, and then eyes might open no more. The ruinous combination of sun and salt water had already desiccated and blistered his body, yet it was his eyes that seemed his most sacred pride.
Seth struggled to his knees. He tested the strength of the pieces of ropes and tattered clothing that held the raft together. Salt water despoiled them. Still, they held well. Thank you…
A sudden tremor in his mind sent Seth's thoughts careening outward. Bryan! Seth called out.
He perceived no return response, though he could feel the other's anguish.
Oh please… please, hold on…
Seth carefully removed the cap from the last water bag they possessed and put a single droplet to his own parched lips.
Give me strength… He wanted more; he wanted every drop the bottle contained. Give me strength…
The water's caress as it moistened his lips caused a shiver throughout his body. The yearning for more increased, yet he could not, would not, allow himself to partake of it.
His hands were shaking. Give me strength… He implored.
Seth lowered the water bag. He reached over to where Bryan lay, and cradled his companion's head upward. Slowly and painstakingly, he dropped the precious liquid to Bryan's lips, savoring every drop as if it touched his own lips. He continued to drop the water to Bryan's lips, drop by precious drop, until the brother could swallow. Afterward, he did the same for Galan.