Chains of Mist

by T. C. Metivier

  After Austin had finished, Taralen took a moment to think, still studying Austin intently. “I see,” he said finally. “Quite an impressive story, stranger. Surely worthy of inclusion into our tales of mythic heroes, if nothing else.” He paused and raised his hands, placing the first two fingers against his cheekbones—a gesture of deep concentration, Austin suspected. “I do not think that you are a spy,” he continued after several moments. “From your dress, your appearance, your mannerisms, and your equipment it is clear that you are not from here—I have traveled the length and breadth of this land, from sea to sea and up to the mountains of the north, and I have seen none who look and speak as you do. I am not sure if I believe that you come from the stars, however—it is more likely that you are simply from beyond the sea. Regardless, I do not think our people have anything to fear from you. If you are telling the truth, then wherever you come from, it is clearly a society far more advanced than we are; if your people wished to conquer us, they could easily do so without need of subterfuge. But—” and he raised his hand warningly “—that does not mean that I believe your claimed purpose here. Many parts of your tale seem incomplete, and there are times where you seem to doubt your own words. And yet you expect me to believe you?” He paused, glancing briefly down at his daughter before looking back at Austin. “It seems that much of what you do is dependent on this Vijjeer. You say that you came all the way to our land based on a vision he had, even though he declined to elaborate on exactly how to defeat this man Ro’kan Sellas. Is this behavior customary in your society?”

  “Not exactly.” Austin wondered just how much Taralen had understood of his description of the Vizier, and decided that it was more than the man was letting on. “But it was not so much that we decided to come here based on the vision as he ordered us to go. He wields a lot of power, and he’s the kind of man who doesn’t suggest—when he feels that something has to be done, he expects it to be done. And he seemed very sure that Rokan Sellas was here.”

  “I see. And you said that one of your companions was the leader of your entire fighting force, a man who would seem to be too indispensable to send on such a mission—yet this Vijjeer allowed him to go? And your Keeng did not intervene? It seems to me as though the Vijjeer is the one who is truly in charge.”

  “Yes, it does,” Austin admitted. The Admiral said as much while we were on our way to Leva, he remembered. “I have not had many dealings with the Vizier, but he does seem to be the leader, and the King his follower.”

  “Indeed.” Taralen’s expression turned musing. “From the way you have described him, he does not seem the kind of man I would wish to lead my people. He sounds like one who has partaken of too much bo’al, and has lost part of his grip on reality. Yet we must assume that he is not, in fact, like the bo’al’kana, or else he would have been removed from power long ago. Therefore, by allowing this Admeeral Ortega to come to our land, he must have decided that the gains outweigh the risk. Since the Vijjeer also claims that you will not be able to kill Ro’kan Sellas, there must be another reason that you are here. Perhaps that reason stems from information that he has and you do not—for he is clearly holding back, by his own admission—but for the time being let us assume that this is not the case. The only remaining variable is your friend. You are here to rescue him out of loyalty, which is admirable, but the Vijjeer does not care about your friendship. There must be more. Your friend is vitally important in some way. Does that sound like a fair assessment to you?”

  The speed of the other man’s speech left Austin completely bewildered for several moments. He thinks so fast! And so clearly—remarkable! To be able to so quickly deconstruct such a story—regarding people and planets he has never seen, and technology thousands of years ahead of his own. “I—I guess so,” he managed finally, regaining his composure. “When you say it like that, it makes sense—I just never had a chance to think about it. You have me at a disadvantage. I lived the story, but it seems like you were the one who was actually there.”

  “Told you he’s the smartest man in the world,” interrupted Katrina gleefully, but her father quickly raised a hand to forestall any further exclamations from the girl.

  “It is a talent I have.” Taralen spoke without any hint of boasting. “I have always been able to see what others could not, to connect information and intuit what was left unsaid. It is why I was named Sho’nal—a title which I believe is a close equivalent to your Vijjeer. I like to think that this talent is at least partly why the Belayas have not been destroyed.” He sighed, and in that moment he looked suddenly a full decade older, weary beyond his years. “I believe that you are not a spy, Austin Forgera. I believe that, whatever the hidden motive of your Vijjeer, you are here for noble reasons, to save a friend from an unknown fate. I believe that this man Ro’kan Sellas has committed terrible crimes, for which he should be brought to justice.” He flicked a glance at his daughter, standing beside him as the physical embodiment of triumphant joy, then looked back at Austin. “I believe all of these things. But I am afraid that I cannot help you.”

  As soon as Taralen’s demeanor had shifted, Austin had known what the man was about to say. Actually, he had known it practically from the start, from his conversations with Darayan and Katrina and from the militant state of the village—the Sho’nal was merely confirming what had been obvious to Austin almost from the beginning. There is nothing to gain from helping me, and a lot to lose. No responsible leader could help me, unless he was a fool who did not love his people, and this man is clearly neither of those. Deep down, he might wish he could help me—but the reality of the situation is that he cannot. A difficult decision…but one that good leaders have the strength to make. Nodding respectfully, Austin said, “I understa—”

  “No!” Katrina’s voice sang out, keen and clear like a sunbeam. “No! You don’t mean that, Daddy—tell him you don’t mean it! You can’t mean it! You’ll help him, I know you will! You have to!”

  “Katrina—” her father began.

  But the girl wasn’t finished. “No! You can’t do this! You’re the one who told me that nothing is more important than a fai’la’if, remember? That evil has to be stopped, and only a fai’la’if can do it? And now you can help him, but you won’t! It’s not fair—”

  “Katrina,” said the Sho’nal, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Katrina, go and play with your friends and let me talk to Austin for a little while.”

  “But—”

  “Go.” Taralen’s voice brooked no argument. “This is important.”

  Katrina’s eyes still shone with outrage, but she bowed her head meekly. “Yes, Daddy.” With a final glance at Austin, she scampered outside and was gone.

  “I apologize for my daughter.” Taralen lowered himself into a crouch, a position that looked comfortable yet would allow him to spring to his feet in an instant in case of emergency. “When she thinks that something is morally obligatory, she can be very difficult to dissuade. Ever since I first told her of the fai’la’ifa of legend, she has been enamored with the concept. I am afraid that I did not explain it as clearly as I should have, but she was so excited with the idea of a righteous warrior that I did not have the heart to correct her. To dispel the innocence of a child is a difficult thing for a man to do…do you have any children, Austin Forgera?”

  Austin’s thoughts flew to Jordin, and memories began to cascade over him. One in particular stood out, of the time when his son had found a wounded luak behind the house and had determined to nurse the small rodent back to health. That determination had been matched only by his nearly inconsolable grief when the creature had died two days later despite his best efforts. “One,” he said. “A son, about the same age as Katrina, I believe.”

  “I thought as much.” Taralen made the same clicking with his tongue that Katrina had made earlier. “You have the look of a father—it is difficult to describe exactly what that is, but you know it when you see it. So you understand my dilemma.” He sig
hed, his eyes wistful. “Perhaps the time has come for me to talk with her about it. It would seem…appropriate…given the circumstances. You try to let them be young, as long as you can, to let them savor every moment of innocence—but easier to stop the rivers from flowing, and Kat’aia from rising and setting.”

  “Or the grass from growing.” Austin allowed his thoughts to linger fondly on his son for a little while longer, then brought himself back to the present. “The device that allows us to communicate is imperfect. There are some words you use that don’t translate into my language. I know a little, from talking with your daughter, but it would help if you could explain to me exactly what a fai’la’if is.”

  “Certainly. A fai’la’if is someone who has suffered a loss at the hands of a specific person or group of people. Yet that is not enough on its own. The fai’la’if’s loss must be something very personal and absolute—the most common tale is of someone who has simultaneously lost spouse and children. Moreover, the individual who inflicted the loss must have done so for personal reasons.” He paused for a moment, studying Austin’s reaction. “It is a difficult concept to explain, especially to someone outside of our culture, and there is still more to it that I fear you would not understand. If you truly wish to understand what a fai’la’if is, you should listen to some of the tales of the fai’la’ifa of legend, and let them paint a picture that my mere description cannot.” His brow furrowed in consternation. “I am sorry, Austin Forgera—that was a poor explanation. I am trying to frame my thoughts into words that I am certain will translate into your language, and I fear that much of the meaning has been lost.”

  He seemed genuinely distressed, and Austin realized that the ability to clearly and effectively communicate his thoughts was a point of pride for this man. “No, I think I understand. I’ve actually encountered other societies with a similar sort of word, so I have a pretty good idea of what you mean. But—” and it’s a pretty big ‘but,’ which will probably eliminate any chance that these Belayas will help me…but this man has been honest with me, and he deserves my honesty in return “—I’m afraid that, unless I really misunderstood, I am not a fai’la’if. It is true that I have lost a friend—but it wasn’t personal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll stand in line for my chance to finally kill Rokan Sellas…but he hasn’t done anything against me personally. He doesn’t even know me. I’m sorry.”

  Taralen did not seem surprised. “From the tale you told me, I suspected as much,” he said. “But I am gladdened to hear the admission from your own mouth. That kind of honesty is commendable.”

  “Thank you.” Austin stood more quickly than his still-weary joints would have preferred. “I apologize for wasting your time. I’ll be going now, and I’ll leave the Belayas in peace—”

  “Hold, now.” The Belayas Sho’nal raised a hand. “Let us not be hasty here. I did not say that you had to leave.”

  Austin froze mid-step, eyeing the other man curiously. “I thought you said you couldn’t help me.”

  “Hmmm…I did, did I not?” The Sho’nal tilted his head and looked thoughtful. “And I was right to say so, I suppose—to offer you aid would be to disrupt a very fragile peace with the Traika. It is an action that my people cannot afford to take. And yet…” His eyes glinted mischievously. “I am a good judge of character, Austin Forgera, and good men and women are far too rare to discard out of hand. If you had lied, and claimed to be something that you were not, I would have run you out of our lands without a second thought. But you did not—even though you knew that your best chance of securing my aid was by appealing to me through my daughter. She is mistaken in her belief that a fai’la’if’s quest automatically supersedes all else…yet it would also be incorrect to claim that only a fai’la’if may hold the moral high ground. Simply because one has not lost everything he holds dear, that does not disqualify him from serving a just cause, do you not agree? If this Rokan Sellas truly wishes, as you claim, to unleash a war that will kill entire worlds, then he should be stopped, regardless of whether or not he has caused one man personal harm. I suppose, in Jala’s grand design, that if aiding you resulted in the death of such a man, it would be worth sacrificing my tribe to achieve that?”

  Austin said nothing. He sensed a trap, but Taralen was speaking so quickly that his mind was having trouble keeping up. Better to say nothing than to say the wrong thing, he recalled. How many times did my instructors drill that into me at the Academy?

  After a few moments of silence, Taralen realized that Austin wasn’t going to speak, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. “We both know that is not true. With no insult personally intended towards you, my little tribe is worth more to me than all the stars and worlds of your people. The grand design is a terrific ideal, but you would not convince the kat’ara with such an argument, and rightly so—the survival of a few people whom we know and love is worth far more than the survival of a great many people whom we do not know and will never meet. No…if you are wondering whether I will force my people to be the agents of their own destruction by leading you to Kil’la’ril, simply because your cause is morally right, the answer is no. Even if I had the authority to do so—which I do not—I would not give such an order.”

  Again, Austin said nothing. Taralen’s argument was giving him a headache; he felt like a pet who was being simultaneously punched and hugged. First, he tells me that he can’t help me. Then, when I try to leave, he implies that he will help me. Then, he lists all the reasons why he won’t help me. Does he want me to say something? If so, what? Or is this simply his way of thinking out loud? Austin couldn’t tell, so once again he decided that the most prudent response would be to let the Sho’nal finish whatever elaborate line of thought he was working on.

  “Ah, I can see the caution in your eyes.” The half-smile widened into a full smile. “You wonder why I appear to be contradicting myself at every step. I apologize for alarming you—I am used to vocalizing my arguments, as it helps me to better understand the main issue…and to trick others into betraying any lies that they might have told. I can see that you are too smart for me to fool you, so I will be plain. My people will not risk the wrath of the Traika by escorting you through their lands. At the moment, I can think of no other way for you to get to Kil’la’ril. However, I have often found that the best solutions are the ones that are not readily visible. Just because I cannot think of a solution now does not mean that there is not one. Therefore, I would like to extend to you an offer to stay with us for a few days. If you would prefer to venture out on your own, you are welcome to do so…but you will find that the bortath’ana will offer you even less aid than the Belayas.”

  Austin knew from his briefings that Taralen was talking about one of the local carnivorous beasts, a canine species with wickedly serrated claws capable of running at speeds well in excess of a hundred kilometers per hour. Austin certainly had no interest in tackling such a creature on his own.

  The Sho’nal’s offer sounded like a good one, but Austin was learning quickly not to take anything this man said at face value. “You would do this for a stranger?”

  “Why not? We have ample space, and at most it will cost us a little food. I do not believe you wish to cause us harm…but, if I am wrong, we have many warriors who will gladly kill you where you stand. There is minimal risk on our part. What say you?”

  Something about the way Taralen said ‘gladly kill you’ sent a shiver down Austin’s spine, but he decided that being a guest of the Sho’nal should be enough to keep him safe. If the tribesmen were anything like Darayan, they were disciplined enough that they wouldn’t kill him unless he gave them a reason. It’s either this, or try to go it alone. “I say: thank you.” And I hope neither of us comes to regret this.

  “Excellent.” Taralen placed his right fist across his chest, and Austin did the same. “Austin Forgera, welcome to the Belayas tribe.”

  * * * *

  The night after his meeting with Sho’nal Taralen, Au
stin lay in the clearing just outside the Belayas village, contemplating the stars. The view was perfectly clear, far clearer than he had ever experienced on Tellaria, though he had heard that there were areas on the poles of his homeworld where the stars were so pristine it felt to the observer as if time itself were afraid to breathe. Even Davin, where strict laws forbid over-industrialization, was not as fine as this—there was usually a Federation fleet in orbit, whose lights and shadows obscured some of the stars. Austin felt as if he had stepped through a doorway in time, into a landscape long extinct.

  Yet he could not enjoy the moment. Looming in the background, huge and terrifyingly ominous, stood Nembane Mountain. The massive peak was a constant reminder of why he was here. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do—I’ll save you, Justin. I promise.

  The Belayas tribe was holding a feast, a ritual festival to honor one of their gods. Austin had been told politely but firmly that he was not welcome and had been given a portion of food to eat wherever he wished, so long as did not disturb the feast. The message was clear: his presence was tolerated because the Sho’nal had vouched for him, but he was not part of the tribe.

  “So, what do I do now?” Austin wondered aloud. He had the support of Taralen, and perhaps a few others who held the Sho’nal in high esteem, but the rest of the Belayas seemed to have labeled Austin as an outcast, a man who should be avoided at all costs. Certainly he was not well liked by the warriors, and he suspected that he had Darayan to thank for that. In fact, for some strange reason his friendship with the Sho’nal seemed to have lowered his standing with the warrior class. Clearly, the warriors did not hold Taralen in very high regard; when speaking of him, their voices had been scornful and they had called him an a’di, a word whose meaning Austin did not know but which was obviously a pejorative. Curious, how blatantly they insult him—as if they do not care if he knows. Curious…and not good for me.