Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘Mama …’ Dash said, nudging her.

  But Mama shot him a warning look. ‘Not now.’

  Nearby, the mourning horns were blown, and the black horses and carriages came into view, the sunlight glinting on the gold of the coffin. Some of the people threw flowers, others murmured their prayers to Enovius. As the royal procession passed, Dash tried to get a glimpse of Prince Jaxon within the carriage. He hadn’t seen Olena’s brother since her formal farewell in the castle courtyard. But the heavy curtains were drawn, and there was only darkness to be seen within. As the march of mourning finally entered the temple of the death god, Dash saw something flutter from the corner of his eye. A swarm of white butterflies, gracefully dipping amidst the crowd.

  Later that afternoon, Dash returned to the cottage with Mama. His whole body was heavy with exhaustion. From the garden, he could still see the plume of smoke from the temple. He wondered if that was the queen’s soul, finding its way to the gods.

  Dash didn’t eat that night. He at last collapsed into bed, utterly drained. He didn’t touch the quaveer books; he simply fell back into the pillow and closed his eyes. He dreamed of sandy plains and firestorms, of flames ripping through villages and spiralling across the desert. When he woke with a start in the early hours of the morning, he was drenched with sweat and shivering. The air was chilly on his damp skin, and he drew the covers up to his chin. He heard the front door click shut, and the crack of light shining through beneath his door told him that Mama had been waiting up for Pa. He listened.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘A messenger from Belbarrow.’

  ‘What? From him?’

  There was the scrape of a chair and the soft thunk of a mug being placed on the tabletop.

  ‘Yes. From him.’

  ‘He said he wouldn’t risk it.’

  ‘Dorothy …’ Silence hung between them. Pa must have been showing her something.

  ‘Emmett, this can’t … This can’t happen.’

  ‘We cannot stop it from happening. But we have to get out of here. We have to keep him safe.’

  What are they talking about? What’s happ— Dash made to push the covers back and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Pain tore through his lower half, and he cried out, losing his balance and falling to the floor.

  His bedroom door burst open and Mama and Pa rushed in, the light from the kitchen blinding him.

  ‘Dash, what’s —’

  But Mama fell silent as her eyes gazed upon his exposed legs. He looked down. Three wide, weeping sores covered his right thigh, raw and angry. Mama’s hand went to her mouth, and Pa turned to her.

  ‘We’re too late,’ he said, broken. ‘The plague is already here.’

  Chapter 16

  Bleak didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Memories and visions swam before her eyes amidst the pain, Langdon’s magic trapping her inside her own mind. Her undergarments were drenched in sweat, tear tracks ran down her face, and the torment in her head was a hot iron.

  She remembered Ermias, the little prince she’d played with as a child. Running through the castle hallways together. Crying over scraped knees together. Being torn away from one another.

  She remembered her parents, Gabriel and Gesa, in all their finery, taking to the ballroom floor as though it were their own personal stage. She remembered being dragged through the mist.

  Hurry, Alarise, hurry.

  There she was by the docks, playing hide-and-seek. She wove between the fishermen, Ma counting close behind her.

  Seven … Eight … Nin—

  And then a single bloodied finger pressed against her lips. Shhhh …

  Bleak was hauled through memory after memory, each burrowing deeper and deeper into the painful recesses of her mind.

  Bren was smiling, strands of his fair hair falling into his eyes. ‘Reckon we’ve earned ourselves a break?’ he said.

  ‘A break? It’s barely daylight. You met Senior?’

  Bren laughed and pulled a silver flask from inside his shirt. ‘A quick toast, then?’

  ‘Oh? To what?’

  ‘To new friends?’

  Bleak laughed. ‘How about to old ones?’

  ‘Won’t say no to that.’ He took a swig from the flask and handed it to Bleak.

  She saluted him, and took a long gulp. Whatever it was, it burned her insides, but she also felt the warmth of it settle over her mind and calm her anxieties. She sipped again and reluctantly passed it back.

  ‘Ya find what ya were looking for?’ Bren asked, making his way to the mainsail.

  Bleak paused. She’d never told Bren what she was looking for exactly; he didn’t know of her ability, but he was no fool. He knew she was after something, badly.

  ‘No,’ she said finally. She readied herself to climb the rigging, while Bren did the same beside her.

  He glanced at her. ‘There’s always next time, Half-Pint.’

  Hour after hour, day after day, the visions and memories poured into her mind. The pain was unimaginable, causing her mind to feel as though it would liquefy and leak from her eyes. She didn’t care if it did. She just wanted it to end.

  In states of semi-consciousness, she would hear snatches of conversation between Langdon and Ines.

  ‘Any more and she’ll die,’ said Langdon’s quiet voice.

  ‘Are you close?’ Ines’ silken voice countered.

  ‘I can’t feel the power at all, there is no pressure point I can find.’

  ‘Then you’re not trying hard enough.’

  Another memory pummelled into Bleak. Her heart soared as Senior came into view. Gods, she missed him.

  They climbed the hills of Angove together, and Bleak paused to take in the great expanse of sapphire water, stretching all the way out to the horizon. The wind whipped across its surface, creating cresting waves far out to sea and rocking the pleasure yachts moored in the harbour.

  ‘Best view in Angove, this,’ she said.

  Senior glanced down at her. He opened his mouth and closed it again, before turning back to the water.

  I’m glad, yer know. Glad I took ya in that day, he spoke to her mind. Glad you’ve come to call this place home, with me.

  Her eyes burned with tears, but she blinked them back.

  Senior had taken to doing that lately. When something was too much for him to say aloud, he would think it, knowing that sometimes, she could hear him.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Before we freeze to death. Or Mrs Clayton kills us.’

  Senior huffed a laugh and started after her.

  Down in the dungeons of Freyhill, time did not exist. The hours were measured in pain, and by the trickles of water Langdon poured into her parched mouth. Her body ached from shivering so much. Her undergarments were soiled with sweat and urine, and she could no longer feel her wrists or ankles, for the shackles had rubbed her skin raw. It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

  Langdon rarely spoke to her. Not aloud. Instead he used magic on her, again and again.

  Day. Night. He was there. She could always hear him breathing.

  Bleak woke to darkness. It was all the same as every other time she’d found herself conscious again. The dungeon was the same. The pain was the same. Except … She nearly cried out. She was holding something, gripping it so tightly, it was cutting into her hand.

  Wondering if she was hallucinating, she pressed its sharp edges into her palm.

  A key?

  Dazed, Bleak craned her neck and looked to her right hand. Silver glinted there.

  A key.

  Taking a deep breath, Bleak did the only thing she could think of. She twisted her wrist, ignoring the burn of her raw skin, and got the key between her fingers. The questions of who had given the key to her and why were brushed aside with the delirium of possible escape. She didn’t care if she died in the process. Anything was better than here. She twisted her wrist further, angling the key towards the lock in the shackles.

  Don’t drop it. Don’
t drop it. Those words became her new prayer as she fitted the key inside. She was about to break or dislocate her wrist.

  Just a little further …

  The right, top half of her body swung free. She bit her tongue, holding back a cry of pain, as her left wrist took her whole weight. She still had the key. She still had it.

  Emboldened now, she clutched at the other wrist shackle and freed her upper body completely. Heart racing, with unsteady hands, she made quick work of the ankle restraints. When she finally stood, her legs buckled. How long had it been? She leaned against the wall for support.

  Gods, how am I going to get out of here if I can’t even stand up? She took a moment to gather herself. She could do this. She was weak, but she could do this. She staggered towards the door, tears of frustration burning her eyes. She had to get out of here. Had to.

  The door wasn’t locked. Bleak peered out into the corridor, the bright torchlight forcing her hands up to shield her eyes. Pressing herself against the cold wall, she edged up a few stairs. It was a spiral staircase, and it made her already vulnerable head spin. But, seeing no one, she pressed on, her hands racked with tremors. She had no recollection of being brought here, and certainly hadn’t been down here as a child. She pictured the floorplans on the walls at Sahara’s camp. Three floors of dungeons. She had to go up. Step by step, she climbed. Gasping for breath, her undergarments grew wet with fresh sweat. She pushed on, her vision blurring.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she nearly tripped. A guard lay dead, his blood pooling onto the stone floor from his slit throat.

  Someone is helping me. Bleak clutched desperately at the thought. She needed all the help she could get. She stumbled through a dimly lit passage, discovering another dead guard. She must be going the right way.

  Follow the bodies, she told herself, her breathing ragged. She spotted a door ajar at the end of the corridor. She was nearly there. She practically fell through the door, into the open courtyard of Freyhill.

  Something exploded. Bleak’s sensitive eyes were blinded by the light. Freyhill was under attack. One of the turrets crumbled in a blaze of fire and smoke. She didn’t know how or who, but Bleak could only focus on the iron gates ahead. For the second time in her life, she would escape through them, she had to. She limped across the grounds, ignoring the clang of steel upon steel, and the shouts of guards around her.

  ‘You,’ a voice nearby snagged her memory. Langdon. ‘You took too long,’ he managed, shoving a sword through a rebel’s heart. ‘Your friends can’t win this.’

  Bleak stared. Him? He was the one who —

  Langdon threw himself at her, and she skidded across the stones, dirt grazing her skin.

  ‘I tried to give you your life,’ he hissed. ‘Now, I can only give you a swift death.’

  Before she could say anything, Bleak felt a rough shove and the air beneath her – she was falling. She hit the earth with a solid thud, and saw stars spin.

  Snarling filled her ears. Fifteen ragged, scarred beasts prowled towards her, white saliva foaming at their mouths as they advanced.

  The bottom of the teerah pit. That’s where she was. One swipe of a claw. That’s all it would take.

  The teerah panthers stalked towards her, death gleaming in their eyes. Bleak readied herself. This was it.

  Chapter 17

  A thunderous roar echoed through the teerah pit, vibrating in Bleak’s chest. The sound drowned out the chaos above and sent a jolt of icy fear through her. Yet, Bleak felt no fangs tear at her flesh, smelled no sour pant on her face. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes.

  Rion. Standing with his silvery back to her, he roared again, his muscular body expanding as he drew breath, long white canines gnashing. He was bigger, stronger than before, than all of the others. Their yellow eyes darted from Rion to Bleak and …

  The fifteen teerah panthers backed up, pressing their stomachs to the ground in surrender to their alpha. Rion turned to Bleak, nudging his wet nose under her limp arm.

  ‘Rion …’ she croaked, finding his fur between her fingers, hot tears stinging her eyes.

  He growled softly, and nudged her again.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. She didn’t have the strength to pull herself up onto his back.

  Rion turned back to the pride and growled low. They padded forward, only this time, there was no violence in their eyes. Two beasts nudged themselves under her arms, others provided gentle cushioning, while Rion crawled beneath her, shuffling until she rested upon his back. They were helping her. She clutched his fur as he stood up on all fours, his powerful muscles shifting beneath her, lending her his strength. She knew his intentions as though they were a part of her, and she clung to him as he leaped from the pit, up into the madness above.

  Thick smoke caught in Bleak’s throat. Much of the castle’s courtyard was ablaze. One of the turrets had collapsed, stone rubble spilling into the flowerbeds. A guard was crushed beneath, his blood flooding across the red blooms like a river.

  All around, a force of rebels fought guards in a blur of steel and crimson capes. Dazed, Bleak spotted Sahara duelling Langdon. A fist of fear clenched around her heart. But Sahara met each of Langdon’s blows strike for strike with her longsword, and then some. Geraad kept two masked warriors at bay with a spear, while Kyden and Jaida fought as a duo, whirling spiked maces in unison, smattering their enemies to a bloody pulp. A guard by Rion’s side went down with a gasp of shock, an arrow protruding from his eye. Bleak’s head snapped up to see Fletch raining arrows down on them. And Casimir … Casimir had left a trail of dead, elderly people in his wake.

  For a mere moment, the fighting paused as both parties took in the sight of Bleak, atop the giant teerah panther’s back. Panicked, the combat burst to life once more, both sides throwing themselves behind their strikes with deadly force.

  ‘Rion,’ Bleak managed, tugging on the beast’s ear and gesturing back to the teerah pit. ‘We cannot leave them here.’

  Bleak looked around, finding her energy and strength surge back as she decided on her task. At the eastern wall, a group of rebels had been entangled in a vast net that was now hanging from the stone wall.

  ‘Over there,’ Bleak directed Rion, and the panther thundered towards them at her bidding. With a few swipes of Rion’s razor claws, the rebels were free and the net came cascading down the stones. Bleak slid down from Rion’s back, the pain taking her breath away as she supported her own weight. Ignoring it, she picked up the loose net and broke into a staggering run back towards the pit. She had a bowline knotted in a matter of seconds, and secured the netting to a lamp post, before throwing the rest of it down into the pit. It was the best she could do. The rebels were losing ground, fast. More soldiers and guards began pouring from the great castle.

  A figure stood between the doors, blocking the light from within. Ines. Black armour was strapped across her chest and waist, her skirts billowing in the night’s wind.

  ‘Did you think we would leave her?’ Sahara shouted across the chaos.

  Ines stepped forward, her eyes solely on Bleak. There was a darkness to her gaze that Bleak hadn’t seen down in the dungeons. A hunger driven by malice and contempt.

  A tremor shook the ground, causing the loose stones of damaged walls to cascade down. Bleak’s knees went weak. She didn’t want to know the extent of Ines’ power. It was too terrible.

  But it was not Ines’ power that shook the earth. Behind Bleak, fifteen teerah panthers leaped from their torture pit, teeth gnashing and silver claws out. Rion was at her side, and Bleak found the strength to pull herself up.

  ‘Sahara!’ she called.

  Sahara’s eyes found her.

  ‘We need to go!’ Bleak yelled, eyeing the seemingly never-ending force of masked guards spilling from all around them.

  Rion roared and swiped at a group of Ines’ men, sending them sprawling, bloody and moaning, across the courtyard.

  He’d kill them all, Bleak realised, were it not
for me and the others.

  To Bleak’s shock, the other teerah panthers suddenly bore riders as well – Geraad, Kyden, Daleren, Casimir and the rest.

  Rion made his way through the fighting to Sahara, who was still duelling Langdon. As the torturer sidestepped one of Sahara’s well-placed blows, Rion’s teeth closed around his arm.

  Langdon cried out, his blood pulsing from where Rion’s teeth punctured flesh. Rion flung him away with all his might, and the torturer went flying. There was a loud crack as his skull smacked against stone.

  ‘Sahara,’ Bleak panted, reaching down to offer her friend a hand. Sahara took it and hauled herself up behind Bleak on the panther’s back. Bleak gasped as her broken body was knocked, and gritted her teeth as Sahara’s arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Bleak said, throwing a final glance around at the devastation. Rion’s body gave a massive lurch beneath them as he bounded into a powerful run.

  There was nothing like it. The grassy plains passed them in a blur, and the cool wind hit Bleak’s face and tangled her hair.

  Dozens of foreign thoughts floated into her head, but they were muted. She could ignore them. The open air of Oremere was like a soothing salve on her mind.

  Freedom. This was what it was like.

  They were not heading back down south towards Westerfort or the rebel headquarters. To go back would be to lead Ines and her forces straight to the heart of the rebel movement. There was no going back now. Instead, Rion led them north, in a whirlwind of speed and determination, not stumbling once in the dark night around them.

  How far had her beast companion roamed, Bleak wondered, what had he mapped of these lands in his head? She had no answers, only that she trusted him with her life.

  The pride ran until dawn, and though they were weak, injured and malnourished, the panthers did not stop until Rion bid them do so. They halted at the most northern point of Oremere, where salty sea water sprayed the protruding stretch of land, overlooking the perilous Northern Passage between Oremere and Qatrola. At the furthest, narrowest part of land, a great ship was docked.