Jin’s cart pulled to a stop and his weary companion dismounted from the seat beside him and landed boots-first into a puddle. Muddy water splashed up and drenched the hem of his already wet trousers, which he observed without amusement before bringing out his flask and taking a quick sip to console himself. The rain which began as they left on their journey had continued for the entire four hours and the wheels of the cart were beginning to sink into the mud. Luckily, there was habitation nearby in Karnassass where they could hope to wait out the rest of storm, if their cart could make it that far before getting stuck.
“Hey!” Jin’s companion, Taro shouted from beside the cart. The oxs whinnied their displeasure at being worked for so long and in the wet. It had been Jin’s insistence that they carried on for the entire trip without seeking shelter, claiming the rain would let up soon enough. It had only gotten worse as the hours went by, and Taro was ready to knock him off the cart. “Hey!” Taro shouted louder. He was a big man and his voice carried over the fall of raindrop. He strained his throat a little too much and convulsed in a coughing fit. Eventually, the door of the shack opened up and a bald man peered out, first looking at the sky, then down at them. He made no move to leave the confines of the shack itself.
“What do you want?” the man grumbled. Jin had the impression that he’d been asleep, or practically near it, although sunset was still a ways off.
Taro gave him a look as if he were the stupidest man alive. “What does it look like we want? We’ve got the shipment,” Taro pointed back to the cart with the load from the Biggle Quarry.
“Do you want a reward?” the bald man, Semson, sneered. “Go drop it off and then head back for the next. Boss wants in by tomorrow.” He turned to go back inside.
“Wait! Taro stopped him. “Another shipment? That’s not even possible now! It’ll have to wait.” They could usually do two shipments a day if they were lucky, but the rains had slowed them down too much.
“Do you think I care? Get it done, or find another job,” Semson looked down at the water pooling around his shack and then slammed the door shut behind him.
“Damn him!” Taro screamed. “There’s no way we’re doing two shipments today. We shouldn’t have even done the one.” He climbed back on the cart, seeing as there was no one else around to help. Usually there was a small crew on hand to help them unload the stones into the ever-increasing pile by the road, but work had shut down early, it would seem. Jin flicked the reins and the oxs slowly trotted over to the side where they could tip the back of the cart over. Stones clattered onto the ground in a disorganized pile. Usually, a great dusty cloud would spread through the air, but everything was damp. “They can stack it themselves.” With their work done, Taro irritably waved Jin onward.
“The oxs are getting tired,” Jin said from under his big, shapeless hat.
“It’s miles to Karnassass still,” Taro told him. “They can rest when we get there.” It wasn’t simply that he had no desire to stay out in the rain in the open cart, it was that there simply wasn’t anywhere else to stay. It was a flat, barren wasteland, with barely a bush to dot the landscape on the one side until the hills where Karnassass lay over. Behind them, was the looming mountain shrouded in mist. No one went there unless they had to.
“We should at least give them some of their oats,” Jin said.
“They’ll live,” Taro said. He hadn’t eaten, either. “Anyway, we’ll spend the night in Karnassass, and head out fresh again in the morning if it stops raining tonight. If not, then we’ll wait until midday.”
“But Semson said…”
“Semson is an idiot, Jin. You know that. Why do you think they keep him cooped up in that little shack counting rocks? The boss knows what the weather can do to the roads. I won’t even have to explain things to him. If things get better, we’ll do two loads tomorrow.”
They rode in silence for a while along the desolate road, until Jin thought to ask, “Taro, do you think the mist is spreading?”
“What?” Taro, who’d been lost in his own thoughts about the tavern in Karnassass and a certain barmaid.
“The mist,” Jin pointed towards the mountain. “Doesn’t it seem like its further down the hills?”
Taro looked closely, and he couldn’t deny that it looked as if it had spread. “Yes,” he said a little uneasily. “Maybe its just the rain doing it.”
That answer seemed to please Jin somewhat, but Taro was still worried. Nothing scared him more than the shimmering mist. Anything that got too close to it simply vanished, including most of the trees, water and vegetation of the swamplands North of Karnassass. Now it was little more than a desert, and that was nothing compared to what lay on the other side of the mountain.
Coming this far North made him apprehensive, but it was his work. People in the Southlands near the capital had never even seen the mists, but they still whispered stories about them over their mugs. The stories still never came close to reality. They didn’t know you could feel the mists pulling at you, even from miles away. It was as if a wind was blowing you in that direction. Sometimes he dreamt it was pulling at him in his sleep, even when he was far back home. It poured down the mountains like a waterfall of smoke, but always seemed to stop short near the foothills now that it had been driven back. The Geomancers had erected the mountain stone by stone to keep it all at bay. The mists were hinged somewhere in the Lost Valley beyond and could go no further than its arms could reach it. No one rightfully knew what kept it in place, but they knew it had been working
It’d been twenty-six years since the war in which the lands North of Karnassass had been lost. Four cities and half of a province had been swallowed up by the cataclysm that claimed the lives of two armies and all else who resided within those lands. The resulting explosion had left a crater in the earth wide as a sea. The mountains had first been formed by the resulting earthquake and the mists soon followed. Some said it was made of the ghosts of those who’d been lost, but Taro knew better.
“Maybe we should tell someone,” Jin suggested. “I mean the Geomancers might like to know. Maybe it’d be foolish, but it’s our duty, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Taro readily agreed. The mists were receding behind them slowly as the road turned South, but her could still feel it.
The oxs slowed and the cart gave a jolt. Taro didn’t have to ask what that meant. “Damn it,” he looked behind the cart to see the one wheel stuck in the mud. “Give them a whip and see if they can pull us out.”
Jin did as he asked, but the oxs stubbornly refused after a few attempts. “They’re too tired and wet,” Jin said.
“I’m too tired and wet,” Taro told him. It was getting closer to dark and the rain wasn’t letting up. There was no place to set camp if they ended up getting stuck. “Let me try and give it a push.” He was a big enough man that he could usually get the cart unstuck on his own and the wheel didn’t look as if it was sunk too deep. He went behind the cart and leaned back against it with all his might. It rocked forward slightly, but then his boots slipped in the much and he fell.
Jin was a good enough friend that he didn’t laugh; not even a smirk. Instead, he craned his neck back to see if he was okay. That’s what Taro liked about Jin the most. He was never cruel, or mocking. He was also one of the few people who could stand Taro’s company for extended trips like this. Taro got up on his own and reached into his muddy shirt to pull out his flask. Opening it, he drained his last swig.
“Do you need help?” a woman asked.
Taro, despite himself, screamed and dropped his flask in the mud. He wheeled around to face the woman. There had been no one behind him a second ago, not for miles. Now he was faced with two figures on horseback. One horse was white, and the other black, as were the cloaks of figures riding them. The woman was the one dressed in white, with her hood pulled low over her head to keep out the rain. Underneath, the face was far fairer than any he’d ever seen before, with white locks spilling out of her hood, despite being youthful. Everything else beyond that was obscured by her billowing white cloak and gloves, which were both made out of tanned hide, but not of a beast Taro could name. Beside her was a man with an almost identical visage, but a sour look to him. Taro had a the peculiar sense he’d seen him before, but could not place his name. They wore no weapons upon their person that Taro could see, but their stout horses were laden with packs as if set for a long journey. He could see their hoofprints trailing behind them, assuring him that they had not just materialized out of the air. He told himself that he’d simply hadn’t noticed them before in the poor weather, nor heard them over the monotonous roll of the wheels.
The woman tittered a laugh at him, then leaned forward and repeated slowly, “I asked if you needed help?”
“Ah, yes,” Taro was very distracted by her face. He hadn’t ever really seen a woman like her before with such exotic features. Her eyes seemed rather large, however, and her nose perhaps too long. Beyond that, she was perfection. He looked from her to her companion, who looked very much like herself, and very much like someone he’d seen before. He didn’t seem altogether large or capable, however. He was perhaps tall, but very lanky, It was obvious even with his matching cloak with it’s silver stitching. “That is to say I can probably manage. Just needs a few more heaves, is all.” Wanting to impress the woman as much as he wanted to be out of the rain, he pressed his shoulder against the back of the cart, but still to no avail.
“Brother, if you’d please help the gentleman? He’s too polite to ask for help,” the woman said.
Her brother looked over at her disdainfully. “Manual labour? You can’t be serious, woman.” The look she gave him made it entirely obvious that she was serious. There was also a veiled threat behind those large, owlish eyes. He fumed and threw back his cloak. “Do you see these boots? I had them specially made.” They were a rather fine pair of high-top leather boots as such a noble might wear, with barely a spec on them. Perhaps that’s where Taro had seen him before. “You want me to get in the mud and push like I’m a plough horse? Go do it yourself, if you’re so keen.”
The woman looked as if she was going to murder the man, then slid off her saddle. The man laughed. “You’re actually going to do it?” On foot, she was as tall as Taro himself, which was surprising as he towered over most men. The cloak split open to reveal a pale blue tunic over white trousers. Her brown boots went up past her knees and barely stopped below her wide belt dangling with silver coins for ornament. As the man on horse laughed uproariously she brushed past Taro while ignoring them both. Placing one hand on the cart, she pushed. It easily slid out of the rut and several feet more. Jin was jostled in his seat and nearly fell out head first. He had to cling on desperately to the cart to keep from flying. The man laughed even louder, although both Taro and Jin were astonished by the feat of strength. Taro couldn’t rightfully credit it to his earlier efforts, or the oxen helping. He honestly had no idea what to think.
“Next time, ask for help,” the woman told Taro curtly. He couldn’t help but noticed she smelled like flowers he’d never seen before. Walking back to her horse with her cloak barely not touching the ground, she waited. After a moment or two, she snapped back at him. “Well?”
“Excuse me?” Taro didn’t know what she wanted.
“Help me up,” she said to him with exasperation.
Desperate to do anything for this woman, Taro bounded forward. He cupped his hands together and she used it as a step up into her saddle. Taro had the impression that she could have easily mounted the horse by herself, but he was happy to help. Once she took up her reins, she looked down at him. “Well?”
“I…” Taro didn’t know what he was supposed to do now.
“Thank me,” her irritation was growing.
“Thank you, my lady,” Taro said gratefully.
“Manners!” the woman said as if she had just opened a present. “How I’ve missed them. Now tell me, good sir, where might we find… whatever it is you people have?”
“I’m sorry, my lady?” Taro was growing more confused and awkward by the moment.
“What she means to say is where is the closest town? Not that we need to ask. There’s one road, Silva,” he shook his head at her.
“Are you two lost?” Taro asked them both. “Karnassass is just ahead over these hills. There’s an inn there. We’re heading there if you’d like to follow, but as you said there’s just one road. Hard to miss anything.”
“Why would I want an inn?” the woman named Silva asked him curiously.
The man hung his head and shook it sadly. “Silva, please. Don’t try to talk to people. It’s just embarrassing.”
“The only embarrassment around here is my brother,” Silva snapped back.
“Why? Is Arkon here?” her brother looked around playfully.
She raised her hand as if to strike him, but he was too far away. She let it drop instead, and in a much more civilized tone, spoke to Taro directly. “Who should we want to speak to in this Karnassass of yours?”
“Well like I said, there’s the inn there. There’s not much else unless you want to speak with the Guild or his Lordship.” Suddenly the pair didn’t seem so strange as he remembered the Guild. The two were likely travellers on their way to speak with the representatives of the Guild there. With the Geomancers residing in the town, there were always strange travellers coming and going on official business.
“Lordship,” Silva brightened up. “That’s who we want. We want to speak with his Lordship.” It wasn’t that she remembered, ir was more as if the idea occurred to her. “Is he difficult to find?”
“Not at all. His manor is finest looking house at the Eastern end of the town, next to the orchards. It’s a left at the next fork in the road.”
“Thank you. And what is an, ‘inn?’” she asked, and her brother moaned.
Taro looked at her for a long moment before answering. She definitely had an accent, but it was more like the Northernmen than anything else, and she spoke fluently. “It’s a place where you can stay,” he said in way of an answer.
“I have to apologize for her,” her brother said. “She’s a bit… I don’t even want to get into it,” he decided. “Come along. You’ll have plenty of time to talk to the peasant folk later,” he said as he cantered off. Silva watched him go, then decided to follow. She nodded simply to Taro, then left with her brother.
Taro stood in the mud and watched her go, wondering if he’d get to see her in town. Jin, next to him, was a bit shaken. “They came out of the mist,” Jin whispered to him.
“Don’t be silly,” Taro snorted. “Nothing comes out of the mist. Especially not pretty girls.”
Chapter One:
Grey looked lislessly out the window at the rain falling as he tapped the table with his knife. He knew the rains would last for three days, but this was his own private knowledge and he did not wish to divulge it to anyone unless asked directly. He thought conversations on the weather were tedious at best, although his current studies centred on such matters. It was an unenviable situation.
Elith’s hand closed over his own to stop his incessant tapping, although it hadn’t been particularly loud. She was highly irritable of late and he almost wished he hadn’t sat beside her at the table, but she was one of his few remaining friends outside of his own family members and his mentor, Console. Grey took it as his cue to resume his attention of the meeting in progress, but he spared his friend a look. By looking at her, you couldn’t tell that she was well over twice his age. She appeared younger than himself at age twenty, and by her elven standards, she was. Her peculiar, single-pointed ears were concealed by her dark hair. She tried to hide her heritage while in Karnassass, as she was something of an oddity outside of the cities. Their present company were no strangers to her kind or to herself, but she kept up the custom nevertheless. She appeared small and frail, as all elves did, but she was neither of those things. She wore her simple, scholarly robes of red linen with few adornments save for some ribbon and her mother’s black opal ring on the hand that lingered over his own. She frowned at him, but eventually broke into a smile as if at a private joke. It must had been the expression on his face, or the fact he was staring at her for an uncomfortable period of time. She hid her smile behind her napkin, which she dabbed at her face, and when she put it down again, her thin, small lips were set in a straight line.
Near the head of the table, Markay of the Geomancer Guild was standing with his one hand on top his winecup on the table, addressing those gathered. He wore a frilled collar that made his curly beard seem even larger and more ridiculous, but his demeanour was quite serious. “We’ve had numerous reports as of late that the mist is spreading further down the mountainside and onto the plains,” he confirmed.
“Impossible,” Yagan countered. He was a withered old man from the Guild with a bald head with a flat, black cap upon it. He waved the hand with his Guild ring on it dismissively. “We know well that such a thing can never happen. The mist has been in recession for years. Our efforts towards protecting this land with the very land itself has proven itself as the only sustainable defense against the darkness beyond, and I grow weary of any claim to the contrary. These sighting are the imaginations of simple peasant folk scared by their own shadows. We’ve been over every inch of the mountainside, and we’ve never been able to collaborate any of these stories that crop up every few months or so.”
“This time we have confirmation from our Mountainmen,” Markay gave the nickname of the Rangers who patrolled along the mountainside. “The report a consistent pattern of the mist flowing ever farther into our realms, as well as that of the Northmen.”
“The Mounainmen are no strangers to idle fancy,” Yagan protested.
“Please take these claims seriously,” Markay practically groaned. “It’s our livelihood at stake, if not our lives.”
“Gentlemen,” Warchess cleared his throat as he rose. Warchess was a minor noble, if the Northmen could be said to have nobility. In every sense of his aspect, he seemed the part. He was imposing with a sturdy stature, piercing eyes, and most notably long, braided blonde hair, much in the Northern style. It was the envy and object of lust amongst many of the women around Karnassass, where he had built a small homestead, and beyond. He wore a short white robe with dark violet and blue embroidery, with a tunic and trousers. Every finger had a ring on it, and every ring a different metal. On the left hand, on the middle finger, he wore his Guild ring. He had his ring for many years, despite being only slightly older than Grey himself. It was a credit to his abilities, as well as his connections. “We shall set upon an expedition at once to verify these claims,” he commanded, although it was not in his authority to do so. The Guild council was democratic and largely autonomous, with the highest ranking member, Console deciding matters in the event a of a split decision. Still, most differed to Warchess, as he was commonly not unreasonable or unwarranted in his requests. Only a few like Yagan voted against him, and it was typically out of spite or foolishness. Grey, himself, admired the man to an extent, even if he found him insufferable at times. Most of his complaints involved Warchess being a romantic rival around the village. In those matters, Warchess was always the victor as well. “This in a matter of the gravest importance, and it demands all the attention we can muster to settle it. We shall divide ourselves equally and head out in opposite directions, with but a few of us remaining to tend to matters here at home. Console, of course, as our erstwhile leader shall remain and determine the appropriate course of action once we have found our results, and Yagan as well, as he is unfit to ride such a treacherous path,” it was not certain if his suggestions were a slight against either man, or unintentional. “If we find any proof of these claims, we will report back to Console immediately. All in favour?” he put it to a vote with a raise of his hands more out of custom than anything else. Everyone save Yagan raised their hands. Grey and Elith sustained because they did not have authority in such matters, and were merely observers. “All opposed?” Yagan still did not raise his hand, but looked sullen as Warchess looked upon him expectantly. “It is agreed. We shall leave as early as possible, pending the weather and road conditions. Honourable Grey Tracis, do you have any inkling when this storm might subside?”
Grey winced at the mention of his name, knowing he had no choice but to confess his knowledge. “Three days from now, by noon,” Grey told him.
“Three days?” Warchess was disappointed, as were a few others. They knew he was never wrong on such subjects, though, and did not press him. “Very well, that gives us time to prepare. I volunteer myself to ride all the way round the mountain range, if need be, to give a full report.” Being a Northman, Warchess had no fear of the Northern tribes, or hazardous snows. “If there are any who wish to undertake this journey with me, please speak with me later. All of this brings forth a concerning matter. After all these years, we are still no closer to unravelling what is the source of this calamity. Insofar, we have only had the elven Exodus as our source of information, but they have taken whatever knowledge they had with them, and none dare follow them to discover that secret, for fear and certainty of never returning. This mist, the Ending, was wrought by the Gods themselves, and to claim we can ever truly understand it is a blasphemy. Still, we must try, for our lives are at stake. This village -or should I say, ‘township,’ as it is ever growing- is at stake. What is the mist? Where does it come from? How long will it last? Don’t these questions still vex you, or have you contented yourselfs to merely piling up dirt in front of it in the vain hopes that it will go away? We are building a dam to keep out destruction itself, and that damn is collapsing.”
“Well said,” Console nodded in sage agreement. The tip of his stiff, black beard brushed the linen of his white shirt as he nodded. Console always dressed simply, like a common villager, but he was the most revered man in Karnassass, and his name and legend were known far and wide. He, along with Grey’s father Rekon, were two of the only survivors of the Ending in town. Console himself had actually witnessed it, though he would never speak of it in public. Console was respected for this, but more for his power. He was one of the highest ranking members in the Geomancer Guild, despite once belonging to the Shadow Guild. Very few men, if any, could claim to have such raw, natural talent that they could master two disciplines as he had. He transferred over to the Geomancers Guild shortly after the ending to oversee the construction of the Barricade, or mountain, but still kept up his practices in the Shadow arts, and often conferred with the Shadow Guild itself. He had even taken up Grey as his apprentice once it became clear he was developing his powers, although Grey’s inclination was in another field of study entirely. Console was such an accomplished scholar that he could teach any subject at whim, including his adopted daughter, Elith’s own Nature studies. Truth be told, he was more comfortable as a teacher than he was in the Geomancers Guild, and had been bolstering Warchess as his eventual replacement at the helm, though protocol demanded many more years of service and accolades from Warchess before that could happen. Console had once been a Dean at the Magi Academy, but that was before the War. He still took trips back to the Academy itself to give lectures and attend important ceremonies. “We have all but abandoned our studies in favour of brute labour. It has proven effective in only delaying the inevitable. We’ve been trying to wait out this proverbial storm, but now it appears as if the dam’s been breached.”
The doors opened and Grey’s father entered into his dining hall, which he graciously had lent out to the Guild for so many years. He was also a gracious host, and had reason to be. The Guild brought in more business than he could ever hope to see without. He had not yet obtained his lordship from his father when the Guild had first planted its roots in Karnassass, but ever since his position had been elevated from a noble in title and holdings only to a true power. He had more authority than most Dukes, and had a place in the King’s court, not that a former general of his stature wouldn’t have had such a seat to begin with. Recon had shocking red hair that showed no grey despite his years. Grey, his second son, could not say the same. He was as his name told. Rekon had a wineglass in his hand, and had likely be refilled a few times before he had entered. It was empty now, and one of his loyal servants filled it for him again with his favourite red. He had a business making cider right on the premises from their extensive apple orchards the manor was once primarily known for, but he always preferred red eleven wine, a habit that Elith quite approved of. She had inherited a vineyard from her family after the War, which she had late sold some of the right to Rekon in order to restore it to some of it’s former glory. It had yet to turn a profit, but Rekon was well pleased with the fruits of it’s labour. Out of the two of them, Rekon was far more interested in the business than Elith would ever be. She had to be reminded at times that she even had a source of income.
“How is everyone tonight?” Rekon inquired. They all simply nodded at him at best as he made his way to the head of the table. While the rest of them were enjoying a late dinner prepared by Rekon’s cooks, he had already eaten. Still, he instructed his servant to bring him something to dine on. The Guild met weekly at Rekon’s estate, and he provided for them all that they required, and then more. In exchange, both the Guild and the King paid him handsomely. There had been some talk about building a separate hall in Karnassas exclusively, but it had never gone beyond the design stages. Still, it seemed like an eventuality, but in the meantime, Rekon made sure to see to everyone’s whims to keep it from becoming a reality. He instead pressed for the creation of an actual Academy in Karnassass where the Geomancer Guild could take residence over. Grey welcomed that day. Studying under Console had given him dreams of one day teaching himself. All the better to do it from his own doorstep. “What are we discussing?” Rekon was welcomed to the meetings as an impartial observer, and as their host. He also acted as an intermediary between them and the local residents, although Grey often filled that role himself. The locals by-and-large welcomed the Guild, but there were often issues and points on which they clashed. There were also those who held a deep-seated superstition against those who wielded magic, but they were few and easily undermined. There was no arguing with the economic benefit that the Guild brought in.
“An expedition to determine if the mists have spread into your lands, sire,” Warchess said graciously. “There are rumours about that they have.”
“I have heard these rumours, and believe them. When my own son tells me, I believe it to be the truth,” he swigged his wine.
Grey was confused for a moment, then understood. “Father, are you saying that Arolas has returned?”
“I do indeed say that. The Mountainmen have come round and your brother has spoken to me privately. He has confirmed what you’ve been alluding to here this evening. The mists are spreading. Beyond mere observation, what are your plans?” Rekon inquired.
“We shall shore up whatever defenses are found lacking, sire,” Warchess assured him.
Rekon was not reassured, however. “Is that it? You’re going to play in the dirt? Nothing else?”
“There is nothing else we can do, sire. That is all in our power to do,” Warchess said regretfully.
“Don’t take it so hard, son,” Rekon said affectionately. He had a soft spot for Warchess, as did many. “I know you’re doing all you can. Sometimes, I can only wonder if it’s enough.” He drained the last of his wine.
“Sire,” the servant who filled his cup returned to the room after a short absence and kneeled down beside him to speak formally. “There’s a pair of strangers outside requesting your audience.”
“Strangers?” Rekon was curious. “My favourite kind of people. Send them in!”
The servant left after refilling his wine from the decanter. It was not uncommon for Rekon to accept any invite. He waited patiently at the table until practically forgetting them at all. The Guild recommenced with their discussion and plans. Markay had vowed to lead the opposite team to Warchess. The pair were rivals, of a sort. Both differed to the other on many points, and it led to a more effective Guild.
A while had passed, and the guild dove in quotas. Rekon and the rest had practically forgotten about the invitation when the door opened once more. In walked a pair of oppositely dressed siblings, as Grey could immediately fathom from their similar features. The man in particular looked very familiar, although he couldn’t place where he had seen him before. The woman, on the other hand, was one of the most striking females he had ever seen, but with pure white hair, although she seemed to be the same age as himself. They wore white and black cloaks, and rivalled Warchess in their height. Upon seeing the pair, Warchess rose and bowed to them, as he instinctively knew them to be nobles as himself. Rekon remained reclined in his chair and observed them curiously.
“My lord, might I introduce both Lord Desious and Lady Silva,” the servant announced.
“Lady Silva and Desious,” the Lady corrected, although Desious did not approve. Her voice was as strange as her appearance, but not unpleasant in either respect. They were soaked to the bone and dripping on the floor, but neither showed any discomfort.
“Aye? Lord and Lady?” Rekon regarded them suspiciously. “And where do you hail from?”
“From beyond the mountains,” Desious answered for them. “In a land you have no name for.”
“Excuse me?” Rekon sat up. “To which mountains do your refer?”
“Which mountains do you think I mean? The bloody Assards? Look North, you fool. We come from beyond that range,” Desious told him.
“I am no fool,” Rekon immediately warned him. “If you come from the North, you be Northmen, though none I’ve ever heard of before.”
“Really? You don’t get it?” Desious shook his head. “We come from the mists, and the darkness within. We are lord and lady of that place. Do you understand now?”
“I must admit that I don’t,” Rekon laughed impatiently and held out his glass to be refilled. Beside Grey, Console rose unsteadily, his breathing ragged. If Grey wasn’t certain of himself, he thought it might have been fear he saw in his mentor’s eyes.
“I know this must be hard for you to understand, sheltered as you are,” Desious said as he boldly strode into the room. “But beyond the mists, there is another land, as there has always been. Since the Ending, though, it’s been hidden from you and changed dramatically, but it exists. We were born and raised there, and now as adults, we’ve come to you to extend our hand in peace, and to give you a dire warning.”
“Peace and dire warnings do not go intertwined,” Rekon laughed to himself and drained his glass in one gulp.
“True, it is we who offer our peace, but it is our brother who offers war,” Desious explained. He looked at those gathered and saw he had lost them, if in fact he had ever gained them to begin with. “I realize this all come as a shock to you. We know you are ignorant to our existence, and think the lands beyond the mountains lost to all time. They’re not, however. Inside the mists there’s an entire civilization. The lands you once knew as Orakrt have been reformed under our brother’s hand to become Asard. It is populated by the armies you thought destroyed in the Ending, and many more besides.”
“Blasphemy!” Tagard proclaimed as he struck his palm on the table. “Rekon, call the guard and have these fools imprisoned at once!”
“Who are you, old man?” the woman stepped forward and pointed a long finger at Tagard.
“Please, sister, let me handle this,” Desious begged as he tried to pry her away. Tagard shrank before the presence of the domineering woman, who glared at him with utter disdain. “Please, good sirs, listen to our pleas. We come to warn you of times to come. Our brother has taken the two armies of the Ending, and made them one. He had forged them into a weapon he will use to crush your Kingdom with and all Kingdoms of this world. I….” he looked at Rekon as saw he was not reaching him. “This sounds like nonsense to you, doesn’t it? I don’t blame you. Our two world have been completely cut off as yours is to the Elven world. You don’t even know what the mist even is, do you? It’s a dimensional barrier. Our father, Tokojite, and his killer Rekamyot created this dimension by way of their mutual destruction…”
“Blasphemy!” Tagard cried, and others took up his cause. “You claim the evil God Tokojite as your father? Rekon, this is worthy of an execution!”
Rekon laughed to himself, as he did not believe any of what he had heard. “This is truly a yarn worthy of our most incapable bards. Yet, Tagard is right. You speak of blasphemy. Tokojite has no children, and nothing remains of the lands beyond the mountain. Please, spare yourselves the wrath, and recant your claims.”
To answer him, Desious produced a dagger from his belt. Warchess, already standing, moved forward, as if to protect Rekon, but the Lord seemed unafraid. As they watched, Desious pressed the tip of the blade to his own neck and pressed down.The blade first bent, then snapped, sending the tip of the blade scattering onto the table. Markay picked it up and inspected it, with a shocked expression. He obviously found the blade not lacking. “I think you’ll find our executions near impossible, if that’s what you’re aiming for. We’re godlings. Little gods and quite immortal. That’s neither here, nor there, however, as we are more concerned with your continuing lives than our own. Asrat means to raze these lands in the name of our father. We have come to warn you.”
Rekon held out his hand to Markay, who passed the piece of dagger onto him. He examined it carefully, then looked up at Desious. “Would you submit yourself to a demonstration?” Rekon asked.
“If that’s what it takes,” Desious told him.
Rekon rose unsteadily from his chair and approached Desious cautiously. Grey rose from his own and followed him, fearing for his father. The woman, Silva, watched him intently as he came, as if he were the only person in the room. For a moment, to him, she was the only one as well. It was a peculiar feeling, and it slowly passed as he came to stand beside his father. Desious looked between him and his father, until he satisfied himself of their kinship. Besides the hair, the two did not look so different. Rekon produce a knife from the table and held it out. “Your arm, if you please,” Rekon told the men claiming to be part God. Desious held out his hand, and in anticipating his request, removed his black glove. Rekon looked at him curiously, then told him, “I’m going to make a small cut on you hand. If you’re truly immortal, this won’t be an inconvenience to you.” Desious merely smiled in response. Shrugging to himself, Rekon raised the knife and put it to the man’s palm. Grey watched as his father strained himself. Rekon clasped the man by the wrist with his free hand and pressed all the harder. Eventually, the blade slid off harmlessly and Rekon lost his grip. It scattered across the floor. Desious’s hand, meanwhile, was uncut.
“Satisfied?” Desious asked.
“Somewhat,” Rekon admitted. “That little trick of yours with the knife doesn’t seem to be all for show. I won’t bother to test the lady, as it’s impolite to stab a woman,” he laughed to himself. “You would still claim to be Tokojite’s own kin?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Desious put his glove back on.
“Rekon,” Console swallowed hard. “Look at them. Truly look at them. Tell me what you see.”
Rekon looked over to his old friend, who was practically cowering, then back at the pair. He looked at them for a long while, then blanched. He backed against the table, and would have fell if not for it. “You look just like him,” he realized.
“Thank you,” Desious said. “My mother always said I had my father’s eyes.”
At this cue, Grey held out his hand and began summoning his magic. The fear in his father’s eyes and quaver to his voice was not something he had ever seen before.
Silva interjected herself between Grey and her brother. She snatched out and grabbed Grey by the wrist. It felt as if two boulders hand just fallen on his wrist. Crying out, he went down to one knee. He was certain he had felt his own bones snap, although it wasn’t a sensation he was familiar with. As he writhed, she reached out with her other hand and stroked a lock of his hair that had fallen over his face. “Your hair is grey,” she said wonderously. “How peculiar. Quite handsome, though.” She let go, and all his pain left him. He touched his wrist gingerly and felt it unharmed.
“I’m sorry for my sister,” Desious apologized. “She’s overprotective. If I’m not mistaken, though, you were all discussing the mist before we entered.
