Chains of Mist

by T. C. Metivier

  Talan sighed. Yes, this is how I repay him. Because I must. Because nothing is as simple as black and white.

  “I will come with you,” he said, his voice not betraying his internal turmoil. “Take me to the Admirals.”

  -6-

  A splitting headache brought Roger back to consciousness. Groaning, he opened his eyes, then was immediately forced to close them against blindingly bright sunlight. Only then did Roger realize that he was outside and that the material pressing against his cheek was not pavement or gravel but rather soft dirt. What the…? Where the hell am I?

  Rolling over, he clambered awkwardly to his feet. His body ached terribly in a very familiar way. That’s what the aftermath of a stun blast feels like. Was I in a fight? He took a step forward, swayed dangerously, almost fell, and caught himself against a nearby tree trunk. Where was I last? Pattagax? Yeah, but there was something after that, something…unusual. What was it again?

  Absentmindedly, he reached up and scratched his head. Something rough and cold scraped against his skull.

  As if a dam had been breached, the memories came flooding back. He remembered the chance encounter in the alley that had ended with a magic ring fused to his finger, then the confrontation at the ruins, then meeting Talan, who had brought them to…

  Espir. Nembane Mountain.

  Roger turned and saw the massive peak looming over him. Alright, so we got to Espir. So how’d I get…?

  And abruptly Roger remembered. They had landed partway up Nembane Mountain, left the ship…and walked right into an ambush that had materialized around them. They had never had a chance; Roger remembered that he had been gunned down before he’d been able to raise his weapon. There were too many of them, and they were too well-prepared.

  So, where does that leave me now?

  Roger was no longer on the mountain; although it was hard to tell exactly how far away he was, he judged that it was at least ten kilometers. So they took the trouble to lug me all the way out here after they knocked me out? Why the hell would they do that? Roger could think of no logical explanation. A smart enemy would have either killed him or imprisoned him, not stunned him and ditched him somewhere in the forest. He checked his par-gun holster and found it empty. Maybe they’re hoping I’ll die out here, either by starvation or wild animals, but that doesn’t make sense either. If they wanted me dead, there’s no need to cover their tracks so elaborately. Nobody else knows I’m here and nobody would care to look for me even if they did. Yeah, they took my gun, but I’m not getting the feeling that they left me out here to die.

  Obviously, there was something else going on here, but for the life of him Roger couldn’t figure out what.

  Experimentally, he called out Talan’s name several times, but—as he had expected—he got no response. If he’s not out here, then where is he? Somewhere else in the wilderness? It was possible—since their attackers had chosen not to kill or capture Roger, then it would make sense for them do the same to Talan. So that meant that the old man could be just about anywhere. Well, that’s not very helpful.

  Having reached a mental dead end, Roger changed directions. He had to get back to the mountain. If Talan was alive and out in the forest somewhere, that’s where he would go. If he was dead…if he’s dead, then I say a quick prayer, have a moment of silence, and then take my ship and get the hell away from here as fast as I can. When it came down to it, this wasn’t Roger’s fight; maybe it should be, and maybe one day it would be, but right now his priorities were on getting his memories back. Everything else came second to that.

  Satisfied with his decision, Roger oriented himself towards Nembane Mountain and set off through the forest.

  * * * *

  Roger hadn’t gone far when he felt a chill pass over him. Immediately alert, he froze, scanning the trees for movement. He saw nothing, but his feeling of danger did not pass. Yeah, there’s something out there, all right. Something predatory and dangerous and way too practiced at hunting for me to see it. And I have no weapon except my fists.

  Roger remained still for a few moments, considering his options while keeping both eyes on his surroundings. Best thing for me to do is get out of the trees, force it to attack me on open ground. Up until this point, he’d been trying to take the most direct path towards the mountain, regardless of whether it took him through forest or prairie, and he berated himself for his stupidity. He looked around, but the forest—and the network of thorn-covered vines that formed a thick web connecting tree to tree—stretched out around him in all directions. In his haste, he must have worked his way deep into the trees; there was no chance of him getting out before whatever was stalking him decided to stop stalking and start killing.

  Roger let out a deep breath. In the corner of his eye, there was a flicker of movement.

  Oh, stek…

  Willing himself to stay calm, Roger glanced about for a weapon. Given time—even a few minutes—he could fashion a reasonably hefty club from one of the dozens of low-hanging trees branches, but he didn’t have that luxury. The only reason that the hidden hunter hadn’t attacked yet was because it could sense Roger’s alertness. The beast knew that Roger was on his guard, and that gave it momentary pause. But the second Roger diverted his attention the beast would strike. He scanned the ground, searching for something he might use as a weapon, but found nothing; only a few small twigs were in reach. His hand instinctively and hopefully brushed against his hip where his pistol ought to be, but of course there was still nothing there. He still wore his custom-made spacer’s jacket, but he doubted it would do him much good. The thin nano-fiber weave sewn into the jacket’s lining was fairly handy at turning aside pulse-knives and blunting par-gun blasts, but it had not been made to stand up to large, ferocious forest predators.

  Damn it. Looks like I’m out of options. And almost out of time. At the moment, he and the beast were at an impasse…but that would not last for long. Roger could practically sense the creature readying to attack. A tingle of heat ran down his spine, emanating from his hand…

  My hand? Wait a minute—

  Maybe I’ve got one more card to play after all. It’s a long shot…but what’ve I got to lose?

  Roger cast his thoughts back to Pattagax, to the first times he had tapped into his ring’s power. He remembered how he had done it—by clearing his mind, by casting away his doubts and worries and fears, by slipping into a state of peace and serenity.

  Relax…

  Roger closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay calm despite his every survival sense screaming at him that closing one’s eyes while staring down a large carnivorous animal was always a very bad idea. There was nothing he could do about that; if it attacked him now, he would die—but he was dead anyway if he didn’t try something. This was his only chance to survive. It was the slenderest and meekest of chances, but it was a chance nonetheless.

  And he intended to take it.

  Relax…

  A dull heat began to pulse from his finger, and Roger’s hand went numb. He remained calm, allowing the numbness to work his way up his arm, then slowly spread through his torso. As before, the numbness then began to turn into pain, and with it came the same fear he had felt the first time. Now, however, he was ready for it, and he forced back his terror. This is a good thing, he told himself. This pain—this is what’s supposed to happen. This is what has to happen for this to work. Don’t fight it…accept it.

  Roger allowed the pain to spread through his body, letting the surge of heat swell from a tiny flame into a roaring inferno. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to relax. Every moment, he expected to feel fangs and claws rip into his back, but the beast did not attack.

  Roger let the pain build until he could no longer stand it. Alright, here goes, he thought—

  And opened his eyes.

  Even though he had prepared himself for what was coming, what Roger saw still made him gasp aloud in shock. The forest was now a bonfire, a solid mass of roaring yellow flames. R
oger lifted his arms and saw fires of all hues dancing along their lengths, the same as before. Now that fear was not consuming him, he had time to briefly wonder what the different colors meant, for he was sure they meant something. But before his mind could focus on that question, he suddenly felt a powerful tug, so strong that he staggered. Although he could see nothing through the canopy of trees, he knew that the direction of the tug had been the direction of Nembane Mountain. The pull was orders of magnitude greater than what he had felt on Pattagax, and now Roger felt an icy dagger of fear slip into his gut. That thing on Pattagax—it was powerful. Extraordinarily powerful. But next to Nembane Mountain, it might as well be a speck of dust.

  With a ferocious effort, Roger took a step away from the mountain. It’s not my problem. The thing that’s hunting me—that’s what I need to be worrying about. He focused, and suddenly he sensed a presence lurking behind him. He felt his mind somehow brush up against it, touching something bestial and ravenous. Whatever it was, it was huge and powerful—and about to attack.

  Roger sensed it, tensing to strike…but he no longer felt any fear. You think you can hide from me? You think you can catch me off guard?

  Slowly, he turned. Within the searing walls of yellow fire, a mass of blue flames crouched.

  I see you, Roger thought.

  The beast lunged—

  And Roger leapt to meet it. Claws of blazing cyan slashed for him, but Roger was faster. Time slowed to a crawl within the strange world of the ring’s power. The creature seemed to hang in the air in front of him, helpless. Ducking under the attack, Roger seized the beast’s head and wrenched with impossible strength.

  There was a sharp crack, and the creature abruptly went limp.

  In the same moment, the power pulsing through Roger suddenly extinguished. The roaring inferno around him vanished, as did the inexorable force pulling him towards Nembane Mountain. In their place was a searing headache that forced Roger to his knees but then was gone as quickly as it came. Still kneeling, Roger gasped for breath. Fires of Muntûrek! Now that was something!

  He glanced at the ring with newfound appreciation. I’m not sure how helpful that particular trick would be under other circumstances, but it sure is useful in a tight spot. And he had a feeling he was only scratching the surface of what it could do. He thought back to the days after he had first had the ring fused to his finger—which he had mostly spent cursing it and the strange alien who had bound it to him. Guess I owe you an apology, pal. Looks like you knew what you were doing after all.

  But the burst of power had come with a price. Roger was exhausted—his arms and legs shook, and his breath came in short gasps. He staggered to his feet, steadying himself against a tree. Damn it. Well, I won’t say it wasn’t worth it, but if another one of those things comes along I’m dead. I’ve got to get out of these trees—and fast.

  Roger rested for a few more minutes. Then, after breaking off a short, stout tree branch for a club, he set off as quickly as he could. Fortunately, the aftereffects of his exertion were temporary; he could already feel his strength returning. Eventually he came to the edge of the forest, bursting out onto an open field with a sigh of relief. He wasn’t foolish enough to think himself perfectly safe, but at least he’d be able to see anything that tried to attack him. And that’s better than nothing. A whole lot better.

  Roger continued on, moving much more quickly now that he was out of the trees. He soon came to a point where the tree line was running parallel to the mountain’s base. Roger looked left, then right, but the forest stretched as far as he could see. Trying to go around could take hours, even days. Dusk was at most a few hours away, and Roger had no intention of spending the night out here if he could help it. Hefting his club, he reluctantly headed back into the teeth of the forest.

  * * * *

  Ducking under a tree branch, Roger emerged into a small clearing in the heart of the forest. He judged that he was a little over a kilometer from the mountain. I’m making pretty good time, and I haven’t seen any more wild animals—heard ‘em, yeah, but not seen ‘em, which hopefully means they’ve decided to leave me alone. He lowered his impromptu club, taking a moment to revel in his glorious view of the mountain—

  And suddenly felt something sharp prick against the back of his neck. A voice barked out a command in a language Roger didn’t understand, and Roger berated himself for lowering his guard. Talan said there were natives here—and I bet they’re probably a lot more dangerous than that creature I fought earlier. However, he didn’t panic. Standing perfectly still, he scanned the clearing and didn’t see anyone else. So hopefully the guy behind me is alone. And I like my odds one-on-one against just about anyone. He contemplated trying to harness his newfound magic but decided against it. I don’t know how much help that’d be. I’m in a clearing, so I won’t need to worry about seeing my enemies. Plus, now that I’m so close to the mountain, the pull towards it would probably drag me right off my feet—and I definitely don’t want that. Instead, he gripped his club tighter. It’s just a matter of waiting for the right moment…

  Roger threw himself to the ground, rolling once and springing back to his feet. He saw a flash of motion and struck out with his club. The weapon connected with a sickening crunch, sending the native sprawling to the ground. He landed and did not move again.

  Roger didn’t have time to savor his victory. Another man, taller than Roger and clothed in a material that camouflaged him almost perfectly with the forest, was suddenly on top of him, jabbing with a flint-tipped spear. Roger barely dodged, enough to save his life but not enough to keep the spear from smashing into his side. The nano-weave lining in his jacket absorbed the worst of it, blunting the blade enough to keep it from stabbing through his kidney, but he still felt shooting pain lance through him. As he sank to his knees with a gasp, his brain registered with shock that the natives who had attacked him was Human. A little taller than normal, perhaps—no doubt a result of Espir’s lower gravity—but otherwise little different from the inhabitants of Tellaria, Despasan, or any of a hundred other worlds throughout the galaxy.

  That’s why I thought the name Espir was familiar. There are Humans here—not just close approximations, but the real thing. I thought it was just a myth, some faked-up special that the researchers used to drum up sponsors…but here they are.

  Just my luck…to run into the most dangerous animal of them all.

  More warriors appeared, too many for Roger to count. He gripped his weapon, eyes sweeping over his attackers, waiting for them to make their move. Come and get me. I’ll take all of you, all at once or one at a time. Take your pick—

  He never even saw the man behind him. All he felt was a sharp blow to his head before he fell into unconsciousness.

  -7-

  Austin awoke to the shrill cries of birds and the resonant hums of the forest. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at a canopy of green and red and orange, a thousand different hues swaying gently in the breeze. He inhaled, and tasted an intoxicating aroma of earthy smells, as gently comforting as a parent’s embrace. He tried to move his head, found that he couldn’t, and then wondered why he would want to. What could possibly be more comfortable than this? I could just stay here forever.

  Closing his eyes, he took several more deep breaths, filling his lungs with the sweet forest air. Gradually, he became aware of dull aches in his arms, legs, torso—everywhere, really—but the pain seemed somehow distant, as if it were happening to someone else. It was certainly not troublesome enough to make him move, even if he could. Probably some spinal damage, noted a remote corner of his mind. That’s a shame.

  As Austin lay there, slender rodent-like creatures no larger than his palm scurried all around him, chittering madly and carrying away for some unknown purpose the yellow, star-shaped leaves that lay sprinkled liberally across the forest floor. A few of the more adventurous ones crawled onto Austin’s legs and chest, investigating him with long, hairy noses. One even dared to ven
ture all the way to his face. Its fur had a bitter scent, and its prickly whiskers tickled Austin’s nose and caused him to sneeze, an action that was excruciatingly painful for Austin and which sent the tiny furry beasts scrambling for cover. They left him alone after that.

  Seeing the rodents reminded Austin that this part of Espir was supposedly home to several very large and very nasty predators. One of them, a giant lizard-like creature called a koffa, had a predilection for attacking lone, helpless prey. As that was a description that fit him perfectly at the moment, Austin reasoned that he should probably think about getting up and finding someplace less exposed. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Caring would require energy, and right now he had none of that. There’ll be plenty of time to worry about it later, he decided. Now, rest…

  Luck was on Austin’s side, however, for no roving predators came by to turn him into their lunch. For a long time he simply lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness. Slowly the pain permeating his body grew, until finally, sometime just past mid-day, he shook off the haze of sleep to realize that he was no longer comfortable. Experimentally he flexed his fingers, and the digits bent with the stiff sluggishness of poorly oiled gears. Reassured that he was not, in fact, paralyzed, he rolled over and raised himself painfully to a sitting position. Cautiously, he ran his hands along his legs and back, checking for points of extreme pain that would indicate a break, but miraculously he found none. Looking back up at the trees above him, he saw the tattered remains of his parachute hanging limply from the branches and realized that it, along with the light but tough fiber armor that he’d been wearing when he’d jumped, had slowed his descent just enough to make the landing non-lethal. Hurts like hell—but the pain means that at least I’m still alive.