Dawn of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  Her magic thrummed suddenly. She stepped back in shock. Magic filled her entire being, rich and vibrant in a way she’d never experienced before, until —

  Her power constricted around her. Its grip tightened to the point of pain, to the point at which she might burst. Magic was choking her, like a viper suffocating its prey —

  In the dark and early hours, Henri sat bolt upright, her sister’s name on her lips.

  ‘Sahara?’ she said again, hauling herself out of bed and peering up into the top bunk.

  But the bed was made.

  Henri pressed a palm to the pillow, finding the fabric cool beneath it.

  An unspeakable fear gripped her. She tugged on her leathers and boots and made for the door.

  Something is wrong.

  She followed her gut to the keep. What she found there only fuelled her terror.

  Allehra, along with her elites, Makena and Quinn, stood by a dying fire, their expressions grave.

  ‘Mother?’ Henri said as she reached them, the night air chill on her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d called Allehra that. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘I can’t find —’

  The Queen of Valia’s expression fell at the sight of her and she drew her arms across her chest, as though trying to keep herself warm. She took a dazed step toward Henri.

  ‘You had it too …’

  Henri couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. ‘Had what?’

  ‘The dream.’

  A feather of mist flashed in Henri’s mind. Fear curled in her stomach. Slowly, she nodded. ‘She’s not in her bed …’ The words were barely a whisper.

  ‘I know.’

  Something rustled in the bushes just beyond the keep and Henri’s heart soared. They’d been making a fuss for nothing. Sahara had just gone for a night-time wander. Henri mentally prepared all manner of reprimands for her sister for causing so much worry —

  But it was Athene who emerged from the trees.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ she said. ‘You asked for me?’

  Henri’s heart sank.

  ‘I did. You were stationed for sentry at the southeast post, correct?’

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  ‘With whom?’

  Athene frowned. ‘No one, Majesty. It was a solitary shift this evening.’

  Allehra took a fast step forward. ‘What?’

  ‘A solitary —’

  Henri couldn’t breathe as she watched Allehra battle internally with herself.

  ‘There are no solitary shifts, Athene,’ the queen said quietly. ‘Did you see anything out there?’

  ‘No, Majesty.’ Athene swallowed. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘You didn’t see Sahara?’

  Athene blinked. ‘No. I saw no one.’

  Henri opened her mouth to start protesting her friend’s interrogation – but her breath caught in her throat, snagging on what felt like a lick of fire.

  Her magic flared in her veins as an intense, panicked sensation filled her: the feeling of crossing a threshold. Mist danced once more before her eyes and she staggered.

  Allehra caught her just before she hit the ground.

  Henri gasped, her eyes locking with her mother’s. ‘Sahara’s gone,’ she croaked. ‘She’s not coming back —’

  And then, all Henri saw was black.

  Savage Seas

  Up on the deck of The Daybreaker, the midday sun soaked into Bleak’s skin. It warmed her blood in a way that only rays reflected from the sea could. She and Senior grappled with the nets at the stern, hauling them up from the dark waters below. Her arms ached with the effort. Usually there were a few more hands to help, but in low season, particularly this low season, it was just Bleak and her guardian. She didn’t mind hard work, with the briny breeze kissing her salt-cracked skin and whipping her sun-bleached hair from its tie. She relished the strain of her muscles as the net hit the deck at last.

  Empty.

  The net was empty, or as good as. Only a handful of bream flapped helplessly against the timber.

  Bleak frowned. Even for low season, this was bad. This catch wasn’t even worth a trip to the local markets, let alone Heathton. She raised her brows in Senior’s direction, but he was staring blankly at the horizon.

  Bleak didn’t need to be a mind whisperer to know where his thoughts lay. Her guardian’s face, which had always borne a weathered appearance, was now more haggard and wrinkled. Skin hung loose and thin from his cheekbones and his eyes were shadowed with purple. Grief had added another decade to him.

  ‘Not a great catch, hey, Senior?’ Bleak said, waving to the empty net.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The catch,’ Bleak repeated. ‘Not what we’d hoped for, is it?’

  Senior’s gaze slowly took in the half-dozen fish. He shrugged. ‘Can’t control the seas, can we, Half-Pint?’

  ‘No, but —’

  ‘Get those in a barrel, will you? They’ll at least feed us and the Claytons for the next night or so.’

  Bleak didn’t have the heart to remind him that Mrs Clayton wasn’t accepting his fare. That any food left on the Claytons’ doorstep either landed in the hands of the town beggar, or off the side of the white-faced cliffs.

  Instead, Bleak just nodded. ‘At least they’re a decent size …’

  Senior grunted his agreement.

  Bleak sighed and glanced up at the crow’s nest. Usually Bren would be up there, looking to the waters ahead. But today, like the days and weeks before, no one manned the lookout.

  ‘When do you think Bren’ll come back?’ she ventured, scooping the flailing fish into a barrel of water and gathering the soaked net.

  ‘What’s that?’ Senior said again, his eyes vacant.

  Bleak clicked her tongue. ‘When do you think Bren will be back on deck?’

  ‘Oh.’ Senior looked at his boots. ‘I don’t know, Half-Pint. Mrs Clayton’s forbidden all her boys from working out on the water.’

  ‘But that won’t last forever,’ Bleak pushed. ‘Will it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Senior said again. ‘Can you blame her? The seas haven’t been kind to their family, eh? Maybe give it a rest for now.’

  ‘But Senior —’

  ‘No buts. That family’s been through a lot, ya hear?’

  ‘I know —’

  ‘End of discussion. Now tend to the sails, will ya? We want to get back before dark.’

  There was nothing for it. Bleak did as Senior bid and began to reel in the ropes.

  They hadn’t talked since it had happened, not properly. Out on the water, Senior was gruffer and more blunt than ever, but at home … Back at the cottage, things were different. He barely ate. He’d taken to drinking a particularly harsh amber liquid, often straight from the bottle, while he stared at the fire.

  It was nearly sundown when they moored The Daybreaker. Upon entering their small cottage, Senior headed straight for that amber bottle. Kicking his dirty boots off, he sank into the worn armchair before the cold hearth without so much as splashing the sea from his face. His thoughts slowly seeped into Bleak’s mind: If only I’d said no to that voyage … Stupid. My fault – poor Nora ... Two dead boys … At my hands —

  Bleak had to step away. Senior’s thoughts were a dark, vicious cycle of blame and self-loathing. They took up all the air in the room.

  ‘How about some stew?’ she called from the kitchen. Her attempt last night had been a far cry from the mouth-watering feasts Mrs Clayton made, but it was edible. Bleak didn’t wait for a response. She set the pot to heat on the stove.

  As she waited, she tended to the fire, stealing glances at Senior as she layered the kindling and firewood. She’d never truly acknowledged how much he’d done for her until now. Since she was little, he’d cooked their meals, simple but hearty. He’d washed and mended their clothes. He’d cleaned the cottage and looked after her in every respect of the phrase, all while embarking on deep-sea fishing trips and journeys to the capit
al. Now, the least Bleak could do was feed him.

  She placed a steaming bowl of stew on the table by his armchair. ‘Eat,’ she commanded. She’d learned in recent weeks not to ask. She stood over him while he slurped the food down, making sure he finished the bowl. When he was done, she topped up his glass with the pungent amber liquid, but took the bottle with her.

  On the way to her room, she paused in the doorway. ‘It wasn’t your fault, you know,’ she said, as she did every night. But like all the nights before, though his thoughts crashed into her stronger than any wave, Senior said nothing aloud.

  The next day, Senior was in no condition to leave the cottage. He hadn’t moved from the armchair, except to locate another bottle he’d hidden somewhere. In the harsh light of day, his eyes were bloodshot and his skin sallow. He also couldn’t stand. Bleak left him with a flagon of water and some bread. Donning his waxed coat, she set out to the wharves. If they wanted to keep eating, they needed a decent catch, and soon.

  The sun hadn’t even fully risen when she cast off and set sail. As the wind picked up, she looked to the empty deck and crow’s nest. Gods, she missed Bren. She’d barely seen him since Willem and Tobias had died, though not from lack of trying. Mrs Clayton had turned her away several times, and Bren had been working long hours down in Felder’s Bay, helping to construct a nobleman’s new property.

  Bleak felt selfish admitting it, even just to herself, but … she was lonely. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an extended conversation with someone. One where both people were invested in each other’s thoughts and opinions.

  Selfish. She was being selfish. Willem and Tobias had died. Bren had lost his brothers. Mrs Clayton had lost two sons. And Senior … Senior had lost them and himself.

  Bleak shook her head, willing the self-pity away, and set to work casting the nets.

  That night, having moored The Daybreaker and fed Senior, Bleak ventured up the hill towards the town. She needed to be around people, needed to hear a voice other than her own.

  She passed the Claytons’ on the way and left a small bucket of fish on their doorstep. It felt wrong not to, now. Hopefully Bren would come upon them. He knew how to scale and fillet them, and he did have a way with seasoning.

  There was only one place she could go at this time: the Angove Inn, a local alehouse. She entered to find it as it always was: buzzing with patrons, but not too rowdy – yet. She ordered an ale and found her usual table in the corner. There, she sat sipping her drink, studying the people around her. She’d come to learn to scrutinise their words, their body language, before dipping into their thoughts and seeing if they matched. More often than not, they didn’t. It was a sad reality of the realm, one Bleak felt intensely as she sat drinking alone.

  Someone slid into the seat beside hers.

  ‘Long day?’ a light voice said. Maz, the blacksmith’s son.

  ‘Long month,’ Bleak quipped, taking a long draught, feeling it numb her magic.

  ‘I heard,’ he replied, swigging from his own mug.

  ‘Nice bracelet,’ Bleak said, eyeing the leather braid around Maz’s tanned wrist.

  He glanced down at it. ‘Thanks. My ma made it for me.’

  Bleak knew that Maz’s mother had died in the bout of plague that had nearly claimed her own life when she was younger.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she heard herself say. ‘About your ma.’

  Maz toyed with the bracelet. ‘Thanks.’ He looked around. ‘Who are you here with, anyway?’

  ‘No one. You?’

  Maz shrugged. ‘No one important. Mind if I stay a while?’

  Bleak didn’t know why the handsome apprentice was choosing to sit with her rather than the group of friends he’d no doubt come with, but she didn’t object. She could use the company.

  Over the next few hours, they drank and talked quietly, just the two of them. They spoke of the town’s latest gossip, and of the Eery Brothers’ performance (Bleak had heard one or two melodies before Senior had broken the news about the Clayton boys). To Bleak’s surprise, she found that she was enjoying herself, and it helped that Maz’s thoughts were somehow kept at bay, not intruding on her own mind.

  It was past eleven o’clock when they parted at the path down by the cliffs. They agreed to meet again in two nights’ time. Bleak felt as though a weight had been lifted.

  The next two days followed the same pattern as those preceding. Bleak woke before dawn, left Senior with water and food, and then set sail. She didn’t know what to do about Senior, didn’t know how to help Bren – or even see him, for that matter. It wasn’t until she was on her way to meet Maz that she came upon her friend at the outskirts of the village.

  Bren was riding atop an old farm horse. He looked different. Thinner, mostly, his face more hollowed out.

  ‘Bren!’ she called, having to stop herself from running up to him and startling the horse.

  ‘Bleak,’ he said, swinging a leg over the saddle and dismounting nimbly.

  Without thinking, she lunged for him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle.

  After his initial surprise wore off, he returned the embrace, squeezing her firmly.

  ‘How are you?’ she said, finally stepping back to look at him. Immediately, she regretted the stupid question. She couldn’t take it back now. Instead, she took in his appearance. He was indeed thinner. His usually sun-streaked hair was dull, and his wintry-blue gaze had lost its usual brightness.

  Bren ran a calloused hand through his hair and let out a puff of air. ‘I don’t know,’ he told her, his other hand toying with the horse’s bridle. ‘Between comforting Ma, feeding the others and working in the bay, I’ve barely had time to think … or feel. And I don’t feel their absence like the others do because I’m barely there. I keep thinking they’re both just gonna stride through the door one evening, ya know?’

  Bleak didn’t know. Nor did she know what to say. It must have shown on her face.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bren said with a sad smile. ‘There’s nothing to be done. Or if there is, yer already doing it. We’ve been getting the food – thanks. I’ve made sure Ma’s keeping it. We let her rant for a bit, but we eat it all the same.’

  Bleak nodded slowly. ‘It … it wasn’t his fault, Bren.’

  Bren met her gaze, and for a moment Bleak waited for the onslaught of accusations. But they didn’t come. Instead, his memories of Willem and Tobias flared before her. There were many, spanning from childhood to the very recent. All laced with sorrow and regret.

  Bren cleared his throat. ‘I know it wasn’t,’ he said. ‘Ma knows it too, deep down. But grief doesn’t always follow sense. She’ll come round when she can.’

  ‘It’s eating away at Senior. Couldn’t you talk —’

  But Bren was already shaking his head, and Bleak cursed herself for being so insensitive.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —’

  Bren waved her away. ‘I know. There’s just only so much I can do right now, eh? Where are you off to now, anyway?’

  Bleak hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  Bren and Maz had never gotten along, but she couldn’t lie – not to Bren. ‘I’m meeting Maz.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘I’m meeting —’

  Bren’s eyes narrowed. ‘I heard you,’ he snapped. ‘I just can’t believe you’d be so naïve.’

  ‘I’m not! We talked the other night. He was really nice —’

  Bren was shaking his head, cheeks suddenly flushed. He started to lead his horse away.

  ‘Bren!’

  But Bren didn’t turn around. Instead, he called back to her in a steely tone, ‘I can’t deal with this right now. Go make yer own mistakes then, Bleak.’

  Bleak didn’t follow him. Chewing her lip, she wandered slowly towards the alehouse, trying to stop the burning tears from falling.

  ‘Everything alright?’ Maz asked, pushing off from the wall he’d been leaning against and opening the door f
or her.

  She nodded.

  Maz raised an eyebrow. ‘Let’s get you a drink.’

  They occupied the same table as last time, only this time on the side with the bench. Bleak noticed that Maz was closer to her than before, but it might have simply been because the inn was louder tonight. He pushed a foam-topped mug towards her and lifted his own.

  ‘Here’s to new friends,’ he said.

  ‘To new friends,’ Bleak echoed. She clinked her cup against his and took a long swig of the cold ale. It was just what she needed to steady herself, to get Bren’s words out of her head. She drank again. And again.

  When the cup was empty, she ordered another and leaned back. With a relieved sigh, she realised she had, at last, started to relax. She listened to Maz talk about his father’s workshop, about how unorganised and chaotic it was.

  ‘It’s not how I’d run a smithy,’ Maz said boldly. ‘But if my father ever heard me say that …’

  It was known around town that Maz’s father was a bit of a brute. That he had the inclination to take a belt, among other things, to his son more often than not.

  ‘He won’t hear it from me,’ Bleak said, drawing into the condensation on her mug with her finger.

  Senior had never hit her. Had never even come close, even when she’d been younger and more mischievous. In fact, Senior had barely even raised his voice to her. She’d gotten lucky – more than lucky. Maz’s father, Bren’s … They were a different sort of man.

  ‘Where’d you go, then?’ Maz was staring at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘Oh.’ Bleak drained her drink again and signalled for another. ‘Nothing, really.’

  ‘Didn’t look like nothing.’