Absence_Mist and Shadow

by J. B. Forsyth

  Awakening

  Griglis stood on the tower’s broken steps, staring across the courtyard. He had spent the last few days pacing the tower in nervous frustration, but now, as the implications of what he had seen in the witch’s eyes were sinking in, he felt a flutter of excitement.

  He had been in the service of Izle Rohn for a long time now. How long he couldn’t say. His best guess was more than ten years, but less than thirty. The trouble was, most of his time in the Eastland had passed in the soupy awareness of mental servitude.

  Of the fifteen exorcists who Izle had taken into the jungle he was one of only two that remained. And he, like the rest of them had trusted his then High Exorcist, believing his deep scours to be a necessary part of training. He knew now that they were no such thing. Izle had used his scours to subjugate them - ploughing their minds and sowing them with the seeds of servitude. He had taken each of them in turn, ensuring his complete dominance before moving on to the next; starting with the novices and working up through the ranks. And it might have gone all the way to the top if Kass Riole hadn’t discovered what he was doing.

  Years passed and he served Izle with the rest; shoring up defences in the glass tunnels, fashioning weapons, foraging food, snatching quaggar from their villages for scour development and more recently, snaring jungle horrors for new experiments.

  But over the last year Izle’s power over him had waned. His memories, reason and autonomy sprouting from his servile mind like stubborn weeds – a rebirth he had come to think of as his awakening. As far as he knew he was the only one of the fifteen to have undergone such a change. He had thought long and hard about why this was so and was at first convinced it was due to a superiority of mind. But as his reason sharpened, he understood the truth of the matter. He was one of Izle’s first conquests and as such he had been subjugated by an unrefined process. Those who were enslaved thereafter, were done so with a sharper tool.

  But he hadn’t come through the process unscathed. He looked at his pale hands and the veins that pulsed with green mist light after dark. The Wilderness had polluted him and the process could not be undone. He was enlisted into the ranks of the Caliste as a bright and noble young man; but that person was dead. The mist had poisoned his blood and now there was a fist of jet where his heart used to be.

  His awakening had been a slow process. But he was glad of it. Any faster and he would have been unable to adjust from the unquestionable obedience expected of him, to the pretence of it. Izle’s voice was once an undeniable authority, emanating from the centre of his head. But over the years its power abated until he heard it the same way he heard any other voice. His awakening was now complete and every day was an effort to keep it secret. It was hard to exhibit the right degree of deference and to acquiesce to all that was asked of him. He was sure to be discovered soon and if Izle wasn’t so obsessively focused on Irongate, he would have been already. He had thought of escape, but with all the spies Izle had at his disposal, he wouldn’t get very far. His only hope had been to abandon him after they crossed into the Westland, when he was too involved with the Reader Ceremony to pay any attention.

  But one look in the witch’s eyes had changed everything.

  Four days ago they were gathered at the tower and ready to move. Izle’s plan was going well. The King of the Westland was dead, and if the protocols of Irongate were observed there would be one week of mourning before a Reader Ceremony was called. Raphe was already in Irongate and would soon be in a position to assure Izle an advantageous position among the hopefuls.

  Only one thing remained to do.

  Kass Riole was expected to recall the exorcists once Raphe started all the trouble. Their numbers had dwindled in recent years, but collectively they were a threat that couldn’t be ignored. Izle’s plan was to eliminate them before they could assemble and organise. For this task he had employed one of his Eastland conquests – a remarkable creature able to mimic the form of anything it touched. It was a creature perfectly suited to infiltrate the Westland, but how it was supposed to find and deal with such a widely dispersed order was a detail that hadn’t been shared.

  Izle guided the shape shifter from the top of the tower by sending his scour after it in a thin ribbon. It was a technique developed over many years through tireless experiments with quaggar captives. He had been there to witness Izle’s breakthrough, when he managed to maintain a scour on a quaggar boy after lifting his fingers clear of his face. After that he had worked to increase the distance over which he could exert his influence. The distance now appeared to be limitless. He could project an invisible ribbon of consciousness across many miles – a stream of whispers that could be heard if you were close enough.

  Two days after Izle sent the shape shifter over the mountain Griglis felt a meteoric pulse in the whispers, followed by a shriek from the top of the tower. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and thumped on Izle’s door. Not because he cared what happened to him, but because it was expected. Izle sent him away without opening the door, giving orders not to disturb him again for any reason. The whispers resumed shortly afterwards, but they were much weaker than before.

  When Izle finally came down, he brought with him a change of plan. The mountain crossing was to be postponed as the shape shifter had discovered a powerful witch who was a threat to their success. Karkus was to acquire the witch from Irongate with any means necessary and bring her to Joebel. And once she was taken care of they would proceed with their original plan. He was ordered to wait at the tower for Karkus and to assist in the witch’s safe transit to Joebel. But under no circumstances was he to touch or even question her. He was to speak to her only to give instruction or reprimand.

  The unelaborated threat from the witch and sudden change of plan had intrigued him, but he neither probed his master or expressed interest. He simply nodded as if it all made sense and got on with his preparations. But there had been much to think about.

  When Izle came down from his room he looked twenty years older; lowering himself from step to step with a shaky hand braced on the wall. He looked so pathetic and vulnerable that he was gripped by an almost undeniable urge to spring up the steps and plunge a dagger into his chest. But Karkus was standing right beside him and he suppressed the urge, forcing himself to wait patiently. If Izle had looked at him during those few seconds his eyes would have betrayed everything he was fighting so hard to conceal. But by the time they were face to face, he had hidden it all away behind a placid screen of deference.

  Something had gone seriously wrong and he had been left alone in the tower to fester on what it might be. But now, after all the waiting, the witch had arrived with the answer in her eyes.

  When she looked at him it was like looking at Izle. He couldn’t say exactly what it was in her startling blue eyes that gave him that impression, except that he felt his old master’s cold glare upon him. And he’d had that feeling before, whenever he looked into the eyes of the quaggar captives while they were under the influence of Izle’s extended scour. The feeling was so strong he had looked at Karkus; sure he must have seen the same thing. But he hadn’t. Perhaps, he thought, a toruck’s coarse intellect was insensitive to such things. When he looked back at the girl, the feeling was gone and all he saw were the frightened eyes of a little girl far away from home.

  It hadn’t taken long to imagine what had happened. Izle’s extended consciousness had crossed paths with the witch and part of him was now trapped inside her. He was divided and weak and had retreated to Joebel until he could take back what she had taken from him.

  He smiled at the revelation - the smile of a cutthroat who hears the footsteps of his intended victim. For such a reunion was never going to happen. At the first opportunity he was going to reach inside the witch and burn Izle’s consciousness right out of her; leaving him in a permanent state of vulnerability. A situation he would fully exploit. The only problem was getting access to the witch. He only needed a few minutes with her, but Karkus was guarding
her like a dog. He still had hope though. There were many miles between the tower and Joebel and there would be plenty of time for an opportunity to present itself.

  He forced his mind back to more immediate concerns and looked across at the well, feeling the first wave of revulsion for what waited within. He descended the steps and crossed the courtyard. He had come through his awakening to find himself, not in the service of an exorcist, but some other sort of practitioner. Izle had perfected his scour techniques and now he was using them in conjunction with spirit melds - forging subservient entities by binding the souls of his followers to those of jungle horrors. One such example waited in the well. He still found it difficult to believe that the mind powering the crawling ensemble at the bottom of the shaft was Tyrus – one of the exorcists with whom he had once shared a dormitory.

  There was a strong possibility he was next in line for a similar fate. A few weeks ago he had helped Raphe and the torucks set a trap for a giant moleworm. They had set many such traps before, and whatever they caught soon became one half of a spirit meld. The other half being one of the remaining exorcists. Of the original fifteen, only Raphe and he remained. And given that Izle had entrusted Raphe with important duties in Irongate, he had seen his name written clearly on the moleworm’s slippery back. So when the trap was completed he sabotaged it, pulling the linchpin free and severing some of the big ropes the torucks had fixed in place. He earned himself some time that day, but he didn’t have forever.

  He pulled the bolt on the well’s flaky iron cover and flipped it over, stepping back as it squealed on its hinge and clanged down on the other side. There was no need for the cover, as the vile ensemble at the bottom would wait until called. But he was glad it was there. It eased his mind to have a lid on his old friend. He inched toward the rim, angled back like someone looking over the edge of a cliff. Twilight reached into the well, but it had not the strength, or perhaps the stomach, to illuminate the bottom.

  ‘A party of eight are tracking Karkus here,’ he said, projecting his voice into its black throat. ‘They are a few miles to the west. Find them and kill them.’

  Beyond the reach of the light something seethed in the shadows. It was more than enough for him. His message had been received and it was time to go. He turned from the well as it rose from the depths, clicking against its stone lining like pine needles spiralling on a wind. As he hurried back to the tower, something vile poured over the rim. It constructed itself from hundreds of tiny bodies and thousands of little legs, before setting off through the broken gates in a skittering run.

  hhhhhhhhhh

  The forest was thick with shadows when they entered a diamond shaped clearing. Suula was waiting for them - her lithe form poised on top of a fallen tree. Ormis saw the question in her dark eyes, gave her an approving nod and signalled the rest to make camp.

  ‘You’ll find a hammock in your backpack,’ he said to Kye. ‘Lash it between those oaks over there and I’ll check your knots when I’m done with mine.’

  Kye frowned. ‘What about Della? It’s not dark yet.’

  Ormis tipped his head to the canopy. The sun was low in the sky and its rays no longer touched even the highest leaves. ‘The shadow of the mountains is upon us and it continues east. When it reaches the Abyss the mist will come and to walk through it is folly. Karkus knows this, and he’ll be making camp too. If we set out at dawn, we’ll lose no ground on him.’

  Kye had never heard of the Abyss and he wondered how the exorcist could be sure a mist was on its way. He was about to ask when Kring joined them. ‘I’ll help the lad with his hammock.’ Ormis regarded him for a moment before nodding consent and going about his business.

  Kring led Kye to the oaks and took the hammock from his backpack. Then he circled each of the trees, inspecting the foliage and shaking some of the low branches. Once satisfied, he flicked the hammock out and laid it on the ground. He caught Kye staring at his tattoos and straightened.

  ‘You’re wondering what they mean?’ he said, holding all four arms out from his sides. ‘They mean nothing until we bring them together like this.’ He aligned both of his left forearms in front of his chest making a strange symbol from two of his tattoos. ‘See... I can’t tell you what it means though, cos it’s our secret. But I can tell you this much. We form some symbols for love and others for war… Some can bag me a mate and others can get me a belly full of steel.’

  ‘What about the symbols you made for your friend?’ Kye asked, referring to the way Kring had arranged the dead toruck’s arms.

  ‘It’s our secret remember.’

  Kye blushed, but Kring just smiled again. He turned away and began lashing the hammock to one of the oaks, his big hands making quick work of it. ‘It was a nasty thing you had to see back there,’ he said as he took up the other end. The image of Della’s severed finger had plagued Kye for most of the afternoon and the mere mention of it brought it back with vivid brilliance. ‘He shouldn’t have cut her like that, no matter what she’s done… It’s not our way.’ He finished the lashings then fixed Kye with a look of ferocious sincerity. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with my brother, but I promise to do all I can to help get your friend back.’ He crossed his lower forearms, one palm facing forward and one facing back, making another symbol. Kye didn’t need to be told what it meant, because taken with his solemn face and blazing eyes it was obvious. It was a way of sealing an oath - like spitting on hands before shaking, or writing in blood.

  Kye felt a need to respond, but all he could do was shift his weight and give the giant an awkward nod. But Kring seemed satisfied. He turned back to the hammock and tested it by leaning into the centre of its droop. ‘All done,’ he said, stepping away. All we have to do now is wait.’ He placed a callused hand on Kye’s shoulder and turned him around. ‘If you look to the east, you’ll see the mist when it comes.’ The light was draining from the forest quickly now, the leaves turning a darker green and the trees becoming pillars of shadow.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ Kye said, after staring for some time.

  ‘Patience lad. It won’t be long now.’

  And it wasn’t.

  The words had just left the giant’s mouth when the mist appeared between distant tree trunks - a broken band of pulsating green light that became a swirling carpet of knee deep mist. Wispy tendrils led the charge, snaking around trees and bushes and turning them into islands in a huge witch’s broth. As it billowed into the clearing Kye saw faces with yawning mouths and orb like eyes boiling up on its leading edge. He jerked away and would have fallen if Kring hadn’t grabbed him.

  ‘Steady on lad. No need to panic as long as you keep your feet. Your boots and britches are soaked in alushia sap and resistant to it.’

  Kye looked down at them, remembering the strong smell of pine and rose petal when he first put them on. The mist was running through his legs now like an eerie river. Its perpetual light pulsed in a steady rhythm; radiating one moment and contained the next - a constant cycle that chased shadows up trees and let them down again. He turned to watch it roll west and got a fright. The others were looking at him just as the mist was at the top of its pulse and it gave them the look of undead warriors. The effect was lost when shadow reclaimed their faces and some of them looked away.

  Ormis came over and the three of them stood in a line, looking east. ‘The mist is the poison that perverts the land,’ he said, his face glowing sickly green in each pulse of light. ‘Hypnotic isn’t it? But if you stare into it too long, you’ll forget who you are and what you are doing… Stand quiet now and hear its foul breath.’ Kye listened and after a few seconds he heard a constant exhalation, as though the exorcist had put a seashell to his ear – hhhhhhhhhh.

  ‘Up from the Abyss it comes, pouring out all night long. And when the sun rises every last wisp soaks into the land, perverting all life this side of the Wall. The vegetation has learnt to thrive on the mist and needs neither sunshine or rain. In Rockspur they have grown trees in d
ark rooms without water or soil - placing seeds in empty pots and feeding them nothing but mist… There are no seasons here. In the dead of winter, when the streets of Irongate are covered with snow, the forests and jungles of the Eastland continue to flourish.’ He lifted an arm to point. ‘See where the mist spirals down around the bushes, and at the base of that tree?’ Kye nodded dreamily, thinking how it looked like water draining from a basin. ‘Some of the flora has developed a greater thirst than others. The shredder you saw this morning is one such plant. We’ve been avoiding others like it all day.’ There wasn’t a sound to challenge the exorcist’s voice and it had the tone and gravity of a fireside storyteller.

  ‘But don’t be fooled into thinking such clues make the mist safe to walk. There are creatures that hunt beneath it and use it for cover. The only thing to do once it comes, is to find safe ground and stay there till dawn.’ He walked away leaving him alone with the giant once more.

  ‘Jump into your hammock,’ said Kring after a time, ‘and let’s see how well it holds.’

  He wrenched his gaze from the mist and staggered. But Kring kept him from falling again. ‘Remember, don’t go staring at it lad. If you have to look then keep your eyes moving the whole time.’

  He jumped into the hammock, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it twisted against its lashings, nearly discarding him into the mist.

  Kring laughed. ‘Just takes a bit of getting used to that’s all.’

  ‘Where’s your hammock?’ he asked once he was settled.

  ‘I don’t need one. Us torucks sleep on our feet. Besides, even if they could take my weight, I’d likely get tangled up.’ He lifted his four arms in explanation. ‘Now try to get some sleep.’ He trudged away, making a trail of disturbance in the mist.

  Ormis came over soon after. ‘Heed our words and don’t look into it too long... The soldiers will keep watch, but if there’s any trouble in the night, move to the centre of the clearing and stay there. Understand?’