Heart of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  Heart hammering, Bleak looked down at young Luka, who was still peering through the crack in the timber. She had seen it, seen it all. The invisible rope around Bleak’s chest jerked her whole body, and she was out in the corridor again, her head spinning.

  What am I looking for? The question was unnerving, reminding her just how easy it was to lose herself here. A memory. A pivotal memory, Allehra had instructed Luka. Make it strong; the more emotion the memory holds, the more it will call out to Bleak. At least, that was the theory. But something was calling to her. Her boots tapped steadily against the hard stone floor, and she followed the pulse of magic.

  Dozens of kindred crowded around the training circuit, their eager bodies straining forward for the best view. Bleak looked on, somehow elevated above them, and immediately recognised the fiery-red braid whipping through the air as Luka twisted away from her advancing opponent. A sharp-featured girl struck out with her sword. Luka sidestepped easily but didn’t take the opportunity to strike where the girl had left her abdomen exposed. Clara, Bleak realised. She recognised her from the Sticks. She searched the crowd, and found Athene beside a younger Henri, standing feet apart on a platform with the other elite kindred. Athene’s face was tight with tension, and her eyes hard with anger, as it became obvious that the blows from each girl were not destined to hit their supposed target.

  ‘Quit playing with your food,’ someone yelled from the sidelines.

  The crowd’s gaze shot to Henri, anticipating her reaction to the outburst. But her eyes merely slid from the source and back to the two trainees in the ring. Clara aimed another weak blow at Luka, and Luka let it strike her shoulder. Bleak could hear the intake of breath from Athene. The dance continued, the pair matching each other blow for blow, a performance, not a fight.

  And then she heard what she knew no one else had.

  ‘Come with me,’ Clara whispered to Luka between her teeth.

  The friends locked eyes for a moment, weapons poised. Luka glanced up at her mother. Athene’s expression was blank, but the knuckles gripping her elbows were bone-white. Luka turned back to Clara.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said simply, and lunged.

  ‘You remind me of her,’ Luka said, when Bleak came back to consciousness, her body aching and her breathing uneven.

  ‘Who?’ she managed, her eyes adjusting to the forest, trying to determine how much time had passed.

  ‘Clara.’

  Bleak nodded. ‘That was the memory you chose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Luka shrugged.

  Bleak paused. ‘You don’t ever visit her?’

  ‘What, out in the Sticks?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Luka shook her head. ‘It’s not the Valian Way.’

  Bleak registered the cool sensation of the damp earth beneath her, and felt a hard grip on her shoulder. Allehra was still there.

  ‘How long?’ she asked, looking up. ‘How long was I out?’

  ‘Two hours,’ Allehra said, helping her stand on unsteady feet. ‘A huge improvement.’

  The ridge between Bleak’s breasts was slick with sweat, and her stomach churned. A pit of despair opened up inside her, a whirlpool threatening to suck her in. The unhappiness was sudden.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, mopping her brow with the hem of her shirt, ‘what use is this? I can’t defend myself with this ability – worse. I become a liability. This magic, this so-called power, is no power at all, it’s a weakness. I was right to seek a cure all this time.’

  Allehra frowned. ‘What happened in there? What did you see?’

  Bleak told Allehra of the final memory and nothing more. That was what she’d been sent to retrieve and she’d done it. She owed Allehra no further detail, and Luka was her friend. Bleak would spare her from whatever humiliation and interrogation she could. She left the two Valians by the stream and started back to the keep, eager to escape the concerned looks and probing questions. She was so focused on putting distance between them that she bumped straight into Fiore.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, walking away.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, and stepped to keep up with her. ‘Care for a walk?’

  She looked around dubiously at the dark forest. ‘It’s not exactly the royal gardens at this time.’

  Fiore smiled. ‘It’s just a walk.’

  Her head was throbbing and she desperately wanted a drink, but she looked at the man beside her; he was being kind to her. He had been kind to her from the beginning of this wretched ordeal.

  ‘Right … Uh, okay.’

  ‘I’m overwhelmed by your enthusiasm,’ he said, still smiling broadly.

  ‘You’re not the first person to say that to me.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m kidding. Where do people go around here, anyway?’

  She shrugged, but found herself wandering the only path that was familiar to her, this time following the creek upstream, towards the Sticks.

  Fiore took a deep, appreciative breath. ‘This is better,’ he said.

  Bleak said nothing, but looked to the canopy to see if Henri had at some point peeled away from the kindred to follow her. Though she didn’t doubt the warrior queen could move above them undetected, Bleak got the feeling that they were alone.

  ‘Do you like it here?’ Fiore asked, catching her eye.

  Bleak rubbed her aching temples, trying to distract herself from dipping into Fiore’s thoughts as well. She wasn’t sure she could handle another mind scrambling her own so soon after Luka’s.

  ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I s’pose it’s better than Angove.’

  ‘You didn’t like Angove?’

  She shrugged. ‘I like being on the water. But Angove, no. Not after Senior died.’

  ‘Senior? The fisherman who took you in?’

  She nodded. ‘How’d you know about that?’

  Fiore’s brow furrowed in concentration. ‘You know, I don’t really know. Bleaker was pretty well-known at Port Morlock, and even in town, when he ventured inland. Guess it became common knowledge when he adopted a little beggar girl.’

  ‘I wasn’t a beggar.’

  ‘No? Sorry, that’s just what the rumours were.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter anyway.’

  ‘Well, who were you, then?’

  She bit down on the inside of her cheek and said nothing.

  ‘We don’t have to talk about it,’ he said, touching her shoulder.

  She ducked under his hand. ‘Good.’

  ‘So you’re an Ashai. What kind of ability do you have?’

  ‘You’ve got a lot of questions.’

  ‘I seem to remember you having a lot of questions when we met.’

  They reached the spot where only days before, she’d picked maladoms from the ground with Lyse. Nearby, the creek opened up to a small, clear-watered pool.

  ‘They upgraded your shoes.’ Fiore nodded to the black leather boots she was pushing off at the heel.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking into his eyes for the first time. ‘Thank you for … for that. And everything, during that ride.’

  His warm eyes were framed with dark, heavy lashes; they lingered over her. This time, he was the first to look away.

  ‘I should have done more,’ he said.

  ‘You did more than you had to.’

  On the balls of her feet, Bleak hopped across the mossy rocks, and sat, lowering her sweaty feet into the cool water below. She stifled a moan of relief. Fiore sat down a rock away from her, leaving his boots on.

  ‘I don’t think we were ever formally introduced. My name’s Fiore Murphadias, by the way. Everyone calls me Fi,’ he said, holding out his hand as though this was the first time they were meeting.

  ‘What a riveting tale,’ she said, leaving her hands in her lap. She didn’t need to get close to anyone. Closeness. It was overrated and generally brought her nothing but trouble.

  Fiore didn’t look hurt; he just shrugged and lowered his
hand. Bleak ran her fingertips across the rocks crowding the creek. Some of them were as smooth as pebbles and dull in appearance, while others glistened with unknown minerals in the moonlight, their rough finish catching along the calluses of her palms. Just as she was about to turn back to Fiore, one of the rocks just beyond her reach caught her eye. She stood in the shallows of the pool, feeling the fresh water swell and swirl around her ankles. She moved towards it. Markings had been carved into the stone – letters spelling out a word she’d never heard or read. Oremere.

  ‘What is it?’ Fiore asked, craning his neck to see.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, moving aside for him, ‘just someone’s scribble, I guess.’

  ‘Probably an old Valian word, from centuries ago when they spoke their own language. I’ve not seen it before, though. They stopped teaching the old dialects where I’m from.’

  ‘So you are from Battalon, right?’ she asked.

  Fiore laughed. ‘Yes. Belbarrow, no less.’

  ‘Were you in King Roswall’s guard there?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘I was in private security.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘My father, cousin and I looked after the Battalon nobles.’

  ‘Nobles looking after nobles? Sounds about right.’

  This time, Fiore’s smile was grim. ‘We guarded them, trailed them … Took care of their enemies.’

  ‘Took care of?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  Bleak nodded. It was none of her business. She didn’t even know why she’d asked.

  ‘What’s it like up north?’ she changed tact.

  ‘Hot.’

  ‘Hot? That’s it? You really painted a picture for me there.’

  He laughed again. ‘My family and I lived in the jewellery quarter. Right in the heart of Belbarrow. From our balconies, you could see the entire shiprock that contains the palace. It’s a formidable place. Beautiful, but formidable. There are firestorms every other week.’

  ‘Firestorms?’

  Fiore nodded. ‘They start out as little wind funnels in the Janhallow Desert, but they move so fast they catch alight and barrel towards the capital.’

  ‘Does everyone live underground, then?’

  ‘No. Our ancestors created a fire-retardant coating. All our buildings are built with it; it’s even in the paint.’

  ‘Sounds very different to where I’m from.’ Bleak kicked her feet in the pool. ‘Most of my days have been spent out on the open water, with salt stinging my eyes and the wind whipping my face.’

  ‘The desert and the sea. Very different.’

  ‘I’ll say. You grew up overlooking a palace. I came of age wiping fish guts from a deck.’ Bleak stepped out of the pool and walked back along the stones to where she’d left her boots.

  ‘In terms of differences, that’s probably the least of it,’ Fiore said.

  There was the snap of a branch, and the two of them froze.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Fiore called out.

  The darkness before them was silent.

  Fiore looked at Bleak. She shrugged and tugged her boots on over her wet feet.

  ‘Athene or Tilly, no doubt,’ she said.

  ‘We were followed?’

  She shrugged again. ‘I guess I’ve gotten used to it.’

  When they reached the outer keep, she bid Fiore goodnight and found her way back to the vine ladder she’d been using to get up onto the living bridges. As she pulled herself up, she realised she was getting stronger. On the first day, she’d struggled with all the climbing and travelling across the vast camp and canopy. Though she wasn’t an athlete by any stretch of the word, her muscles were more resilient and her legs seemed to take longer strides. She marvelled at this development as she navigated the mossy bridges and numerous paths. She was eating better, and hadn’t drunk in … a day? Or was it more? Despite the utter despair she’d felt after her training with Allehra and Luka, she felt okay now. Good, even. She reached Tilly’s apartments feeling lighter, and took off her boots at the door.

  Inside, Tilly’s bedroom door was ajar, a soft beam of light streaming into the living quarters. Bleak put her boots on the rack alongside Tilly’s and went to say goodnight. She pushed the door open and took a step forward. Candlelight flickered across the tanned, broad back that faced her, casting shadows across the dark, cresting waves that ran down the spine, and the smooth, milky-skinned arm draped over it.

  Chapter 21

  Swinton watched the glowing embers of the Valian campfire, rolling his coin between his thumb and forefinger. The small, bronze circle was engraved with the face of a mouthless woman – Yacinda, the goddess of secrets. Lady Yuliana, Swinton’s mother, had found it in the woods near their family’s estate many years ago. She hadn’t known about its power. But Swinton had felt it the moment he’d grasped it in his palm – as though a weight was suddenly lifted from his whole body. Until then, his visions had been crippling. He’d seen fire and mist swallow that sacred part of the Valia Forest, long before it ever happened. He’d said nothing. He’d seen Eliza, the woman he loved, die before death found her in the present. He hadn’t been able to get there in time. He’d seen so many things he wished to unsee but couldn’t. He had no idea who the coin had belonged to before him, but he suspected it had been treated with those rare Valian herbs, perhaps even had an enchantment cast on it. He’d soldered it to a metal chain himself, and hadn’t taken it off in years. He was done with seeing the future. It only offered despair. But now, the protective herbs of the coin had grown weaker, according to Henri. His stomach churned. There was only one place he knew it could be restored to its former strength.

  A clanging noise startled Swinton and he hastily tucked the coin back into his shirt. Bleak was scouring the benchtops and tables, shaking discarded flasks and peering into empty wine decanters. She looked exhausted. Her ash-blonde hair had escaped its tie and now fell into her harried face. She shoved it behind her ears as she continued her desperate search. She tipped containers upside down, tossed them aside and swore.

  ‘Looking for something?’ he said, resting his elbows on his knees.

  She whirled around and regarded him with a cold glare. ‘What’s it to you?’ she snapped, peering into another ceramic jug.

  ‘Are you … alright?’

  ‘Like you care.’

  He deserved that. He hadn’t treated her well during their brief travels together. But now, they were both outsiders.

  ‘We’re not so different, you and I,’ he found himself saying.

  Bleak laughed sardonically. ‘Yes, the Commander of the King’s Army and the gutter rat from Angove have so much in common. We should share a meal together, get to know each other.’ Her words were laced with bitterness.

  Swinton wondered if perhaps the Valian matriarch was rubbing off on her too much. He got to his feet.

  ‘Have you seen the captain?’ he asked.

  Bleak jerked her thumb in a vague direction behind her, and continued her scavenger hunt.

  ‘Helpful,’ he said, and left.

  If he was honest, he found Valia Forest utterly disorientating. All the towering trees looked the same, there were no clear-cut paths through the undergrowth, and the thought of the kindred traipsing about above him in their treetop city made him uneasy.

  ‘Lost?’ Athene appeared from the darkness.

  Swinton swore. He should have known she’d be lurking nearby. Henri was too cautious, too smart, to let members of the King’s Army wander through her forests unchecked. Athene studied him, her eyes catching on the royal sigil embroidered on his chest. Her nose crinkled in distaste.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said.

  ‘I was wondering where you were heading off to.’

  ‘I’m looking for the captain.’

  ‘Of course.’ Athene looked bored, but didn’t leave.

  ‘You’re truly going to follow my every step?’

  ‘Would you
expect anything less?’

  ‘Do you wish to watch me bathe as well?’

  Her gaze trailed leisurely down his body. ‘You’re not my type, Commander.’

  ‘Don’t test me,’ he growled.

  ‘I’d love to test you. See what Sir Caleb’s son is really made of.’

  Swinton knew better than to bite. ‘If you see the captain —’

  ‘I’ll give him a proper Valian welcome.’

  Swinton suppressed the urge to throttle her. Valians were insufferable.

  He found Fiore back at the campfire, stoking the orange embers back to life and nurturing the flames with carefully tended kindling. Bleak was nowhere in sight.

  ‘You’re popular around here,’ Fiore said, prodding the fire.

  ‘What?’

  Fiore shrugged. Swinton took up his place on the bench and toyed with the chain around his neck as he watched his friend. Fiore hadn’t said much since they’d arrived. It was strange, not to have the Battalonian’s chatter filling the quiet.

  ‘Spit it out,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something’s on your mind.’

  Fiore met his gaze. ‘What’s going to happen to them?’

  ‘To who?’

  ‘Bleak and Henri.’

  Swinton couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Doesn’t that bother you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The fact that we could be marching them to their deaths doesn’t bother you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How can you be like that?’

  ‘Like what? Loyal to the crown? Someone who does their duty?’

  Fiore stood abruptly, frustration etched on his face. ‘How —’

  ‘You like her,’ Swinton interjected.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Angovian girl. Bleak. She’s not one of your tavern girls, Fiore, she’s been summoned by the king, you cannot —’

  ‘I can’t believe this.’

  ‘It’s not some trivial —’

  ‘How dare you,’ Fi said quietly. ‘You have no right to question me.’