Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

  The capital city, Faeloria is home to a magnificent palace made of seaglass, coral, and polished stones, intricate spires of colorful seaglass reaching for the border between sea and sky above. Faeloria is also home to the fabled Library of the Rising Tides, containing thousands of sea scrolls and tomes including written histories of Esternwhorl dating back to the days of the first Waterborn.

  Beyond the capital city sit clusters of Percecian cities scattered across the ocean floor. Lords and ladies of the Perscesian court live in beautiful homes of seaglass and coral while lesser subjects live in more modest dwellings made of coral and volcanic rock.

  Perscesians believe in peace and knowledge above all else, and most Perscesians, both male and female are educated at the university in the undrasea Daelhi Mountains far below Shroudania’s western coast. It’s a sharp contrast to the strict requirements needed to study at the universities in Vanyia and Shroudania’s capital city, Cloacvania.

  The royal family of Perscesia is beloved by their people. Twice each year thousands of Perscesians flock to Faeloria to celebrate the Queen’s birthday and the anniversary of their sea Goddess mother and mist God father.

  Those that choose to go to the surface and walk upon the land are free to do so, though relationships between Perscesians and Landborn and any child conceived between the species are thought to be abominations, unable to survive on either land or sea often perish soon after birth and their Perscesian parents are hunted down by the Queen’s bounty hunters and exiled to live the rest of their lives among the Landborn.

  Chapter 8

  Andromeda

  Beneath the iron mask Andromeda grimaces as she hears footsteps on the stairs again. Only hours have passed since the last round of her torture ended and she isn’t sure how much more pain she can endure. The footsteps stop at the foot of the stairs and a bright, pulsing red light reflects on the ceiling only barely visible through the slits in the mask.

  Andromeda whimpers in anticipation but she doesn’t hear any more footfalls on the stairs. The Warriors always come in groups, never alone, but this is different.

  “It is you,” an awed, lyrical male voice whispers near her ear.

  She cries out for help around the gag in her mouth and the sound comes out muffled through the iron mask over her face as Andromeda prays to whatever god or goddess will listen hoping this stranger will save her from the hands of the Watierai Warriors.

  “Hold still,” the voice whispers, “I have to do this quick then I’m getting you out of here.”

  Andromeda feels the tug on her wrists loosen as the chains snap apart in the stranger’s hands. Her skin is raw and burnt from struggling against her bonds and she rubs them and rips the iron mask off her face as the stranger breaks her ankles free. The brush of his fingers on her raw skin feels like a balm, a comfort she has never felt in a touch before.

  “Curse the seas,” the stranger swears as he takes in the sight of Andromeda’s face. “I swear on Mellouk’s name that the monsters responsible for those scars will pay for what they’ve done.”

  All Andromeda can see of her savior is a shadowed figure in the dark, her vision fuzzy from so many days trapped in the dark beneath the mask. The stranger scoops Andromeda’s limp body into his arms and something unexplainable happens. One minute she feels the comforting weight of the stranger’s bare chest at her side and the next she feels nothing at all, as if she is particles of dust on the wind and then the stranger’s feet are touching down on the rocky shoreline as Andromeda blinks against the morning sun rising across the sea on the horizon between Shroudania and Lostero.

  Squinting up into the brightening sky Andromeda beholds the face of her savior — a smooth-faced young man, perhaps a year or two older than her, with yards and yards of thick, braided black and silver hair and mismatched eyes; one molten gold and the other pure, milky white. But the thing that takes Andromeda’s breath away is his skin, only several shades lighter than her own unusual blue-gray flesh. He is easily the most handsome man Andromeda has ever lain eyes on, even more so than the dark, brooding Thane Cruelseas.

  The man watches her, absorbing the sight of her as she takes her fill of him.

  “Who are you?” Andromeda attempts speech, her voice rough and hoarse after screaming for so long around the gag.

  “My name is Daegan,” His voice is like a salve on Andromeda’s ears soothing her with a single sentence. “I’ve come to take you home, your highness.”

  “I think you have me confused,” Andromeda shakes her head. “I am nobody. Definitely not royalty despite my mother charming her way onto the Vacantian throne.”

  Daegan looks confused as he begins to speak but a rippling in the sea interrupts him as their attention snags dragging their eyes to the water.

  The sea ripples, the way it does when a child skips stones from the beach, small circles casting out to bigger and bigger echoes as the wind picks up and whips Andromeda’s loose hair about her face. The rocky beach begins to shake and loose stones at the water’s edge break away disappearing into the murky water forever. The faster the ripples form on the water the wilder the wind becomes and the harder the ground shakes until she clings to Daegan’s chest and asks, “What’s going on?”

  “You’ll see.” Is all he says.

  The chaos reaches a crescendo as three large wooden beams breaks through the sea’s surface spearing toward the sky as the beams become the masts of a ship and a massive clipper ship bursts free from the sea. Andromeda gasps as an odd collection of men and women become visible standing along the starboard side of the ship in the thickening mist.

  Andromeda begins to flail in Daegan’s arms fighting against him as realization dawns on her. Despite her physical objections they become particles of sea and mist once more. This can’t be happening, Andromeda denies even though the proof was evident the moment Cutter drew her blood. I’m not whoever Daegan believes I am and I’m afraid that I’ve traded one hell for another. I’ll become nothing more than just another lost soul.

  “Please, let me go,” Andromeda urges as Daegan rematerialized still holding her in his arms as they appear on the deck of the ship. His grip on her tightens as the ship rocks in the surf.

  Andromeda’s head spins dizzily and her stomach clenches as she slaps Daegan’s naked chest. “I said put me down you foul breathed sea slug.”

  Around them the rag-tag crew snicker at her insult. Andromeda squirms until Daegan releases his hold on her and scrambles from his arms while fighting to stay in an upward position.

  “Who do we have here, Dae?” A massive beast of a man with eyes tattooed all over his face grins at Andromeda lasciviously.

  “Behold,” Daegan raises his voice to address his entire crew, “our stolen Princess returned to us at long last!”

  The tattooed male’s face slackens in shock as he takes a large step back.

  The combination of the Warrior’s torture, the dizziness causing her head to spin, and the gentle lapping of the sea against the hull of the ship causes Andromeda to sway on her feet as she protests, “You don’t understand. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  “There has been no mistake, Majesty,” Daegan sounds confident as he drops to one knee before her. Around her the crew of Mistborn follow suit. “We’ve been searching for you for a very long time.”

  “I’m no royalty,” Andromeda shakes her head while fighting a wave of nausea trying to make him, make all of them, see. “I grew up in the mountains of Vacantia. My father was a merchant and my mother left us when I was four or five to go live in the capital city.”

  “You were stolen from your birth mother shortly after you were born,” Daegan replies, advancing slowly like he’s approaching a scared animal. “The family that you speak of, the mother that you speak of, stole you from your true family. You belong to the sea, Highness. Your grandmother was Queen of Perscesia, as your true mother is now and someday you will sit upon the throne.”

  “You’re wrong,” Andromeda sha
kes her head sharply, “that’s not true, it can’t be. It just can’t be. I’m not Mistborn.”

  The ship’s crew flinches at the term and she shrinks into herself as her eyes dart around the deck searching, searching for a break in the monsters surrounding her. A way off of this ship. She’ll swim back to shore if she has to. She’ll endure any torture the Warriors inflict upon her so long as it prevents her from being drown and tossed into the sea by a crew of crazy Mistborn.

  Andromeda nearly cries in relief as she spies a gap between a woman with a starfish on the side of her face and a man with tentacles for arms.

  “I know this is a lot to take in at once,” Daegan is saying, “and I know it will be an adjustment for you but I think-"

  Andromeda doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence as she darts across the deck between the gap in beings and toward the side of the ship as fast as her wobbly legs will carry her with every intent to throw herself overboard and paddle as hard as she can against the current back to shore.

  At the last second as Andromeda scrabbles over the ship’s side, thick fuchsia tentacles with large suction cup grips wrap around her waist tugging her back away from the ship’s edge. She wriggles and screams, “Put me down! Let go of me right now or I swear I will-"

  “I’m sorry, your highness,” the man with the tentacle arms sounds sincere as he holds her tight. “This is for your own good.”

  The mist swirls denser around her, wrapping Andromeda in a fluffy purple cocoon that smells like the saltwater taffy Father would bring back from Vanyia for her and Midge when they were children. She breathes it in, the scent becoming overwhelming as she chokes on it and begins to feel woozy. Andromeda feels her limbs grow heavy as her vision swims and she begins to sink. Down, down, down until all Andromeda sees is the sky breaking through the mist above.

  ❖

  Daegan

  Daegan didn’t want to have to manipulate the mist and put the princess to sleep but she wouldn’t listen. She was convinced that he was lying, that Daegan and his crew were nothing but a bunch of monstrous head-cases. When Daegan saw her lurch toward the port side and predicted that she would try to throw herself overboard he had no other choice. He had reached out to Mellouk, asking him for guidance and the father God had answered Daegan’s plea with a thickening mist drugged with a sweet smelling sedative to assist in slowing the princess’s efforts so one of his men could catch her in time.

  Thank the gods for Serpane and his tentacle arms for reaching the young princess before she could leap from the port side and reeling her into his arms. The sedative dragged her under seconds later and Daegan retrieved the princess from Serpane’s arms and personally laid her down in his quarters.

  Before returning to the deck Daegan sent Serpane’s twin sister Sithryn to watch over the princess and keep her company when she awoke. From there Daegan took his place at the helm and sent the Internment diving back into the sea and navigating the quickest route back to Faeloria.

  Daegan had done it, he’d found the missing princess and he would restore his family’s name all across the kingdom.

  “We did it,” Serpane sounds shocked as he echoes Daegan’s thoughts as he joins Daegan at the helm. “I can’t believe it. After all the men and women who have searched for years unsuccessfully for the princess we finally found her. Us; who everyone called a band of misfits. But her face-"

  “It will heal,” Daegan replies quickly before the image of the grotesque scars can reappear in his thoughts.

  Daegan nearly vomited on the spot when the princess had torn the iron mask from her face and revealed scorched flesh outlining her face and eyes. On her cheeks and forehead and traveling down the bridge of the princess’s nose were raised, veined scars where her skin had puckered and sizzled from the mask being place over her once-beautiful face.

  The bodysuit, which hung in tatters off her curvy figure was slippery in Daegan’s arms, likely seal or whale skin. But the warriors who’d tortured her had burned through the suit, leaving angry red welts all over her body. A few had burst and scabbed over only to be reopened, likely by one of the fearsome blades the Landborn king’s warriors forged with pieces of their own souls to drive the Perscesian people back to the sea or else open them up from neck to navel.

  The princess had been brutalized, her body broken, but she’d survived it. She’d survived it all — her initial kidnapping, the harsh life she most likely endured among a people who would never understand or accept her, never knowing what she truly was or how special she truly could become. Daegan could think of none more deserving to someday rule over his people, if only she could accept the truth of her birthright.

  ❖

  Thane

  Thane, Cutter, and Octavia had ridden hard throughout the night, pushing their horses to their limits and refusing to stop for a break, cutting the two-day journey down to twelve hours.

  To Thane the journey from one end of the country to the other felt sluggish and he feared that they would not reach the Warrior camp in time to stop Garlyn and his allies.

  The sun crept up over the horizon in the West only to be quickly smothered by a melancholy purple mist rolling in off the sea as the trio raced over the final hill into the valley that hid the Warrior camp.

  The guards in the watchtowers barely had time to sound the horns to alert the foot soldiers of their arrival so they could open the gates as Thane burst into the camp flanked by Cutter and Octavia.

  They didn’t stop or slow down until they reached the structure sitting over the entrance to the dungeon. Thane leapt from his stallion and thrust the reins into a young stableboy’s fumbling hands before kicking down the flimsy wooden door and storming down the dungeon stairs.

  The dungeon was darker than normal and the pungent metallic scent of blood mingled with the charred smell of burnt flesh and the strong, sour odor of human waste. Thane growled and prowled about the cells looking for signs of the girl-thief.

  A set of manacles lay broken atop a stone slab laden with dark, viscous stains on its surface in the corner of the dungeon and the ground was littered with metal rods. A iron mask with two slits for eyes lay half-buried in a heap of straw on the end of the stone slab and Thane nearly retched when he put two and two together.

  The torture Andromeda had suffered would have been horrible — but where was she? There was no sign of her anywhere in the din of the dungeon.

  His footfalls thundered on the stairs as he burst into the fresh, chill air and scanned the camp. Rian, the bladesmith, leans against the wall of the workshop smoking a pipe of dried seaweed as Thane charges toward him.

  “Where is the girl-thief?” Thane roars as he slams into the bladesmith. The walls of the workshop groan and shake, splintering on impact as Rian’s head snaps back.

  Rian gurgles as blood drips from his lips. “I don’t know, General. I haven’t seen her. Nobody has.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Thane shoves him into the wall harder.

  “I speak the truth,” Rian sputters through the blood in his mouth, his eyes wide with fear. “It’s like she vanished into the dungeon walls. Garlyn is beside himself with rage. He planned to kill her this morning at sunrise but when he went to retrieve her she was just… gone.”

  “General,” Cutter places his hand on Thane’s shoulder. “Thane, I believe him. He knows no more.”

  Thane shakes off his second’s hand not yet ready to release the man in his clutches.

  “Please,” Rian begs. “Please General Cruelseas, I meant the girl no ill will. We all have our secrets. I have no quarrel with the Mistborn.”

  “And why is that?” Octavia cocks her head as she comes shoulder to shoulder with Thane.

  “I - I-" Rian stutters as his pupils double in size. “My family worships the old gods, before Father Zarouk turned his back on the Waterborn.”

  Thane releases the bladesmith, dumbstruck by his confession. “Why? Why would you worship as the Mistborn and Waterborn do?”

  Ri
an coughs and straightens, “It is just what my family does. Better to not anger any gods, than to ostracize a single group of people.”

  Octavia narrows her eyes on the bladesmith, but whatever thoughts run through her head she doesn’t voice them to Thane or Cutter.

  “So nobody saw anything?” Cutter interjects. “A girl doesn’t just escape from chains and disappear from camp unseen, after all.”

  “Nay,” Rian shakes his head as he wipes away a trickle of blood from his nose. “She was there last night. Garlyn and his men tortured her so long and so brutally that her screams echoed off the walls of the encampment until screams became hoarse pleas.”

  “And nobody tried to stop them?” Thane questions. “The girl was a warrior in training, her Mistborn heritage only witnessed by my second and the child-messenger that ran off to cry the truth to the rest of camp.”

  Rian shrugs, “You know how some of these Warriors are, their hatred for Mistborn run deep and the assumption that the girl - Eda - was hiding her true heritage? Well, she already had strikes against her what with Malachi’s aquaswift and then the incident with the Warriors who attacked her previously. And if anyone had stepped up in her defense? Well, you know what our Warriors do to Mistborn sympathizers.”

  “I do,” Thane exhales hard as he thinks of the young Warrior who came up through the ranks with him and Cutter who was seduced by a Mistborn maiden. He was skinned alive and tossed into the sea by a dissident faction of Warriors.

  “What do we do now, General?” Cutter asks quietly, no doubt thinking of the same memory.

  Thane sighs and scrubs his hands over his face, “I want you, Octavia, Hugo, Lester, and Rian to search the camp and the surrounding area for any signs of Andromeda. Check for signs of broken twigs and disturbed sand — you know how to spot something that is not right. Meanwhile I will gather several of our inner circle and deal with Garlyn and his companions.”