Chapter Thirteen
Jacindra awoke, and trembled in the cold. She rubbed her fists in her eyes, stretched and yawned; the candles she had left burning on her desk had long since gone out, all but one. It guttered and flickered in a chill draft offering scant illumination in the gloom. However, her bedchamber still seemed suffused with a soft white light stronger than a lone candle could account for. It took a moment but she soon realized this was the product of a fine mist that seemed to have arisen. No doubt she had left the window open and the fog or mist had blown in from outside. The reflected light of Silgaren or Neerie, perhaps, must have been the source of the glow. If one of the moons shone on the fog in just the right way, it may very well produce that odd flickering glimmer.
How could I have left the window open? she thought. Reaching forward, she grabbed the sheaf of papers lying on the desk in front of her and began leafing through them. She took a second look at a small list of students’ names. They numbered only three, but they had been serious discipline problems ever since coming to the guild to study. She frowned thoughtfully. Expulsion seemed so extreme. Nevertheless, the guild must have order. She removed the page from her stack for further study, and placed the rest inside her desk.
Standing up, Jacindra bumped her knee. The desk shook and the last candle fell, guttered once, then went out. Save for the much too dim light of the fog, she found herself in almost total darkness. “Damn,” she muttered.
Pushing back her chair, she made her way around the desk. She stumbled forward through the dark with her hands stretched out before her. It was difficult to see and, despite the light it shed, the mist did not help at all. It swirled about her in thick white eddies, doing more to obscure her vision than aid it.
Suddenly, pain shot up her leg and she nearly fell. Cursing, she reached down and carefully felt around for the object she had kicked. After groping for several moments, her hands finally came upon something hard and metal. Further study revealed a shaft of wood emanating from the object. She soon realized what it was: a chair—the ornate, decorative chair Ambrisia had given her on her last birthday. She had kicked the metal leg shod. Knowing what it was, she could now almost make out its form in the swirling fog. Apparently, it had fallen over at some point in the night, although exactly how and when remained a mystery.
She righted the chair and carefully proceeded on her way. A few steps more and she could see the window. It glowed a fuzzy white, an eerie mix of moonlight and fog. She paused in her tracks as a sudden, peculiar thought struck her. I’m on the second floor! How could the fog have gotten up here? She looked around, studying the swirling mist, watching it whirl in the dimness and suddenly seem to grow thin. No, it wasn’t thinning, it was moving… toward her desk.
A chill spread down Jacindra’s spine.
That’s impossible! Jacindra backed away from the fog, glanced toward the window, and stopped, suddenly very alarmed. The window was closed. The fog could not have entered her room from outside. There must be some explanation! She closed the remaining distance between her and the window, then threw the shutters wide to look out. She nearly choked in disbelief.
Silgaren hung just past its zenith, suspended in the night sky like a great white pearl; Neerie drifted beneath, its cracked golden surface looking like a wound on the sky. All about them the stars of heaven shone, glittering bright. By the pale celestial light of the midnight sky she saw the streets of Drisdak, cold and silent beneath her. And she saw them clearly. There was no fog, no mist, just an icy, blood-chilling wind. Dread filled her, and she turned, ever so slowly, trembling in expectation of whatever horror she knew must now be with her.
The fog had changed. She could see it clearly now by the penetrating light of the sky and its own unearthly glow. It had moved, and condensed. It swirled around in rapid circles growing thicker before her eyes and transforming itself into a pillar of white, coalescing in front of her desk. She stood transfixed before it, barely able to breathe. Even as she watched, it continued to change. Two points of light sprung forth near the top of the pillar and hung suspended in the fog. They shone like eyes, dead and grey, yet somehow, beneath the surface, something pulsed with an inner, unholy light.
Slowly, the thing grew arms, a chest, a head to bear the eyes… A brief thought flitted through her mind. Use your magic, send it from the room. But by then it was too late.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 20