Arrow of the Mist
She grasped the leather pouch dangling against her chest. Her piece of home, the miniature quartz within gave her comfort, and its strange heat gave her a newfound mystery to ponder.
The day neared its zenith when the hills finally gave way to a vast sweep of grassland. The horses loped onto the plains, running for close to an hour before the band halted at a brook. Lia passed out figs and parsley bread. Everyone ate in silence, as if talking might add too much more to think about.
They rode a few more hours before Dunley Meadow sprawled out in front of them, a blanket of golden stalks bending to the whispering breeze. Lia traversed the edge of the valley every spring with Da, helping him deliver his handcrafted furniture to the seafaring village of Willowbrook. Though the meadow bloomed brighter that time of year, autumn’s rich hues shone just as beautifully.
A mountain grew in Lia’s throat. Now, instead of crossing the meadow alongside Da, she was crossing it to find a way to save him.
“We’ll get across the meadowland, then set up camp for the night,” Granda Luis called out.
Before long, the northern horizon turned gray and the ghastly wall of fog surrounding Brume grew tall before them. The chilling fog drew gasps of awe, but soon a grim calm took hold, and the small clan plowed quietly along for the rest of the day.
Dusk approached, and Lia glimpsed a shuffle in the tall stalks. A pair of brown-tipped ears jutted into view. She halted Merrie and slid to the ground.
She grabbed her crossbow, held her foot on the stirrup, and pulled the sinewy string back into the catch. With a keen hand and careful aim, she loaded the bolt and hit the trigger. The short arrow found the rabbit within seconds.
She trotted off to claim her prize, casting a quick glance toward Kelven. His brows were raised and his lips slightly parted, and Lia beamed with a marksman’s pride.
They set up camp in a small clearing and struck a fire. The ill-fated rabbit met with the spit, and after devouring the savory meat, Lia allowed some of the knots in her stomach to unravel. She unplaited her hair and brushed it until it shone like the flames of their fire.
Kelven sat across from her whittling a piece of wood. He carved with precision, his hands rubbing the wood smooth after each stroke, while the firelight danced little shadows across him. She caught him glancing up at her more than once, his dark hair partially hiding his eyes, and she remembered the first time they’d met when he told her his favorite color was red.
Everything he did, from commanding his horse to the soft tone of his voice to the way he wielded his knife revealed a calm assuredness Lia admired. It was this, she realized, more than his pleasing face and strong arms, which caused the warmth flooding her insides.
He must have several girls back in Kilnsgate pining for him. Or maybe there’s already that special one waiting for his return.
“Lee,” Wynn said, snapping his fingers in front of her stare.
“I, I was just trying to see what kind of wood he was using.” A rush of heat filled her cheeks. Kelven started to speak, but Lia jumped up and scurried from the fire. Her cousin snorted as she dashed into the sea of grasses.
What in blazing stars has gotten into me? She reminded herself of one of those insufferable ninnies back home.
She laid out her bedroll away from the campfire, away from everything but the meadow and the great wall of fog looming ahead. Her embarrassment vanished under the weight of Brume’s ominous border. It was both inviting and overwhelming. The more she stared at it, the more it seemed to draw her in, like a rope tugging at her core. Her mother’s warning echoed in her head, and a buzz of fear hummed within her.
Had Grandma Myrna felt this same pull before she first entered? Had she longed to discover its mysteries, even while fearing it might swallow her up for good?
Lia tucked lower into the grasses moving serenely in the evening breeze, unlike her insides. She reached into one of her pouches and drew out a tiny root, slipping it into her mouth. The sweet licorice root helped allay her nervous stomach, and she chewed it with vigor.
All her life Brume’s mysteries intrigued her, like a distant kinsman bonded by blood, but a stranger in every other way. Now, its misty gates pressed hard upon her eyes, cold and unyielding as it called out to her soul.
The changing of the seasons blew crisp across the meadow and Lia awoke shivering under Ma’s woolen cloak. Not my smartest move to sleep away from the fire. She’d be sure to add heavier coverings from now on.
Their morning fare consisted of brown rolls and apples, consumed quickly before the small band headed off. They progressed in silence toward the massive wall of fog, its wispy arms reaching out to greet them. With every step closer, the mists devoured more of the meadow and sky, and Lia’s nerves dangled on tenterhooks.
Granda Luis halted and turned Dobbin to face his troop. The chilled air tugged at his cloak and swept through his winter white hair. His eyes shone from his face and the young trio drew their horses back a few steps.
“We’ve a straight and narrow trail ahead. We’ll go in single file—”
“A narrow trail?” Lia cut in. “But, I thought it’d be some kind of, well, secret passage or something. How is it that only you and Grandma made it through the fog safely? Why didn’t others just follow behind, track your steps?”
“There were many who tried.” His voice turned morose. “Even after all m’warnings. Men hovering in the wooded outskirts, creeping in the grasses, waiting till I was snug enough within the fog before charging in behind me, their lives over before I could utter a word. Because you see, as with most gates, there are guards.”
Lia’s eyes widened. She cast a glance at Wynn, whose jaw hung, and at Kelven whose face was like stone.
Granda Luis added, “But not to worry, our passage was assured long ago.”
Lia opened her mouth, but held her tongue as Granda turned Dobbin around and headed him toward the perilous boundary. Guards? How is that possible? The notion of it chilled her like an icy deluge. Then the words from the Grimoire echoed inside her head:
Fogged, bogged gates of Brume, barrier to my home;
Timeless, faceless watchers loom, but I am allowed to roam.
“Come on, Dobbin. ’Tis all right, boy, steady now,” Granda Luis cajoled. Dobbin snorted and flipped his head up and down. “I was afraid o’this. He’s strong as a bull, but nervous as a cat, nothing like his fearless sire who’d brazen out the fog without a wink. Come on, boy, walk!” He struggled to move Dobbin forward, but the animal reared and the other horses backed away.
Kelven rode up and neared the anxious horse. “Luis, sir, I think I can help.” He dismounted Koby and commanded him with a mere nod, and his mount stood stock-still.
Kelven approached Dobbin and whispered words that Lia couldn’t make out. He placed one hand on Dobbin’s muzzle and used his other to caress the sorrel-colored mane. Dobbin settled, finally stilled, and whinnied softly. Lia reveled in Kelven’s poise, her fears ebbing like a receding tide.
Kelven reached into his leather jerkin and brought out a carrot, feeding it to the calmed animal while he stroked his coat. “If you’ll allow me to lead as we go through this fog, we could pull him through to the other side. He’d feel better, I think, following another horse in.”
With his brow knitted, Granda Luis replied, “All right, but listen to me carefully; you must stay to the trail, keep your eyes to it at all times, as that’s the only way to ensure we don’t get lost in the mists. I’ll be stopping us mid-way to leave a few offerings.”
Well, that might explain the separate pack of ale and bread, Lia surmised. Then she shuddered to think about what sort of creature could subsist in the fog.
Ropes connected the small band, led by Kelven astride his horse Koby, with Wynn and his dapple-gray Nolan bringing up the rear. The procession eased into the mists, and the air turned frigid, like the breath of a cave.
Merrie’s ears twitched and she snorted. Light dimmed to mere shadows and Lia barely made out Dob
bin’s tail swishing in front of her. She pulled her cloak tighter, leaving only her face exposed to the chill. The wall of fog enveloped them, with only the horse’s rhythmic hoof beats to break its eerie silence.
No turning back now, Lia thought.
A small golden light shone through the fog and Lia’s heart skipped. Granda’s walking staff! The amber stone that topped it glowed like a sunny orb against the cold gray. He’s done it, he’s wielded magic. It was just like in the verse:
For within them is stored the marrow of might,
Ignited by a holder that can wield its light.
Lia placed her palm over her pouched crystal. It warmed against her touch, undeniable this time, another stone treasure waiting to be unlocked.
Before now, Granda had never revealed his use of magic. “Power’s in the plants,” he’d say with a playful wink, whenever she caught him mumbling over his blends. Then he usually followed it with, “Just gotta know how to ask for it.”
Even after all her years of being his trusted helper, Lia still marveled at the way he hovered his hands like loving umbrellas over the herbs, or how he chatted away in the gardens to some invisible audience. She tagged behind him like a puppy, eager to learn, eager to please, prattling away scores of questions. When he stopped and answered her, his words were slow and deliberate, like a steady drizzle of rain seeping deep into the soil.
Lia wondered what other secrets Granda might unveil on this journey. And how many Grimoire riddles might finally unravel.
She stared down at the barren strip that made up the trail. Besides the radiant gold shining from Granda’s staff, the narrow path was the only thing visible in the gray soup surrounding them. Without Kelven’s keen eye to the trail and the ropes connecting them, they’d have no sense of direction. The tangled scrub grass edging the path gave Lia a glimpse of the land hidden beyond. She couldn’t imagine much else growing in such gloom.
Their trek drew on, long and dreary, an endless march through the cold murk without incident. The rocking cadence of her horse lulled Lia, and her thoughts began to wander. Certainly, they were getting close to the other side. Perhaps the guards in Brume’s fog no longer existed.
She knew Granda hadn’t come through in years, and there’d been no word of attempts by others since the soldiers had come to Rockberg. The king’s men had lingered long enough to convince most people that Brume was nothing but barren sea cliffs and frozen mountains. Laws forbidding passage had squelched any remaining desire to seek out what might lay in and beyond Brume’s fog.
Lia sighed and rubbed her eyes. To stay alert, she sang her favorite tune,
Sow, sow, the seeds we sow,
We watch them sprout, we watch them grow;
Hum, hum, the bees do hum,
For nectar’s flow, beneath the sun;
Time—
All at once, the hairs on her neck stood up. The mist’s icy fingers turned sharp, grating across her face, and whispers called out to her. A moment later, the air quieted, and she thought her ears must be playing tricks. She continued singing,
—time, it’s harvest time,
When the dew has fallen, and the weather is fine—
Her words froze like treacle in her throat as, “Lia … Lia …” chorused over and over, undeniably real. Fear gripped her gut, her knuckles went white, and her legs turned to water.
A gust of wind whipped past, its force unraveling her hair from the silver bodkin that pinned it. Another gale tore at her face like a razor. Her mind froze in terror. She clawed at her hood, pulling it to block the blasts of air that one after another razed her flesh. It was no use. The treacherous blusters raged against her and the horrid moans became shriller, piercing like knives into her frenzied mind.
She shook her head back and forth, fighting the heavy curtain closing over her thoughts. Merrie snorted and Lia clung to the reins, the leather straps serving as her only anchor. She wondered why her horse wasn’t panicking in the storm, and why Kelven hadn’t hurried their pace. Perhaps they were all as frozen in fear as she was.
Then, like shreds torn from a midnight sky, ink-black images suddenly swam before her eyes. Their long wispy forms flew like tattered cloth through the roaring winds. What are they? They encircled themselves around her in a whirlwind, and Lia’s mind grappled to remain lucid.
The whispers grew more urgent, though she could make out none of the words. Is that laughter in the distance? She didn’t know what was real anymore. A prickling sensation covered her body, as if she’d fallen into a patch of nettles, and the black forms whirled closer around her. Please, let me be! Her body fell limp and her mouth tasted like sand, but with a tiny reserve of will, she freed her imprisoned voice. “Nooo!”
A powerful gust slammed against her chest, its force knocking her from Merrie and onto the hard ground. Sparks flashed before her eyes and she struggled to regain her breath.
“In the name o’Myrna, keep to the pact. Take your fare and be off with you.” Granda Luis tossed a stuffed pouch into the fog. He dismounted Dobbin and reached his hand down. “Lia, we’ve got to keep moving.”
“I’ve got her.” Wynn jumped to Lia’s side, grabbed hold of her, and lifted her back up onto Merrie. Instead of mounting Nolan, he hoisted himself behind his cousin and took Merrie’s reins.
Lia shuddered at the maniacal shrieks carried on the dying winds, and “Myrna,” the call of Grandma’s name, echoed inside her head.
The caravan finally quickened its pace. The world grew quiet and Lia lifted her head. She sucked the air in deeply, calming some of her panic. They’re gone. The black images, the voices, the laughter … of what?
The fog thinned and the sky brightened, and Lia saw past Dobbin’s backside to Granda, the amber stone set upon his staff dimmed to a subtle sheen.
“Let’s untie here, we’ve come through,” Granda Luis said.
Everyone dismounted the horses. Wynn slid off Merrie first and Lia followed on wobbling legs. She leaned against her mare for support and watched Kelven untie the lead ropes. Dobbin nudged and nickered at his new best friend. A measure of Lia’s terror subsided as Kelven stroked the horse’s muzzle.
His eyes lifted to her, and he was at her side before her next breath. “Here, let me help.”
He drew up the edge of his cloak and dabbed her cheek with it. Lia eyed the bloodstained cloth. She brushed trembling fingers over her flesh and found several raised gashes on her cheekbone. Confusion and fear over what happened in the fog battled with the comfort Kelven gave her.
Granda Luis hobbled over and put a hand on Lia’s shoulder. “A bit of holigolde should heal them up without a mark. The Scalach shades are tricksters, fatal sentries to most.”
“Shades?” Lia’s voice broke from her parched throat. “The guards of Brume are ghosts?”
“Of the darker sort. The Scalach’s are ruthless keepers of the gates. They create strange winds, powerful enough to tear a body apart.”
Icy fear gripped Lia once more. “Then they were trying to kill me.”
“No, m’dear. If that were the case, you’d not be standing here now. You were knocked from Merrie, yes, but I’m guessing they hoped to get your attention.” His face softened. “You look an awful lot like her you know, your grandma I mean.”
Lia’s mind spun in confusion. Had the shades thought I was Grandma Myrna come back again young?
“Granda, they knew me, they knew my name.”
His brow slammed together. “You heard them speak? They called to you?”
“They screamed at me; I couldn’t get them out of my head. Then I saw a bunch of black things, like shreds of cloth.”
Shock painted Wynn and Kelven’s faces. Lia looked from one to the other. “Nobody else heard them, saw anything?”
Wynn shook his head, but then offered, “I, uh, noticed the winds picking up a bit.”
Kelven’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Lia. I heard nothing until your granda called out for me to halt.”
A
heavy silence followed. Lia battled with her confusion. The raging winds, the voices, the inky forms, all of it unnoticed by the others. Why?
Granda Luis cleared his throat and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve given me much to ponder on, child. But for now let us stick to the task at hand and be on our way.”
Granda started to turn, but Lia reached out to his walking staff. “Granda, you used magic, made your amber glow like a tiny sun.”
“Magic’s in the stone, an enchantment set by your grandma. This rare amber was her talisman. She wielded it in the fog to allow passage past the shades. Now, its power imparts the rights of passage to all o’her kith and kin.”
“What sort of power would cause them to give way to her, or to us?”
“The offerings o’food and drink are enhanced by the amber. Her stone tenders a kind of enchantment, an illusion that gives the wraiths a momentary pleasure o’tasting the fare as the living can.”
Lia wondered at such zealous craving for a moment of pleasure. How bleak the existence of a shade must be. What sort of souls were doomed to such a fate? And why had they focused their attention on her?
Granda Luis changed to a lighter tone. “’Tis a strange place we’ve entered. You’ll find everything you come across more extraordinary than the last. But take heart. You’ll be pleased at where we’re headed next.” He squeezed Lia’s shoulder before he limped away, leading them all farther into Brume.
With a queasy stomach and an aching head, Lia ambled on, determined not to let the shades haunt her. They continued on foot with the horses following, Wynn keeping a quiet stride beside her. She fingered the tangles from her hair and decided to let it hang freely down her back.
The air blew mild and clear and the scrubby grassland gave way to woods. Thin, white bark peeled down the trunks of numerous birch trees. Granda Luis stopped at one, placed a flat palm on a smooth section, and after a few moments, began cutting away some of the bark. He did this with several trunks, collecting enough to fill a small pouch.