Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  Vaelros opened his hand. In it was his Wyrd Stone.

  “The Stone will keep me safe.”

  “No,” Mithorden said. “The poison will hurt you in dreams or in life. Listen to Luthiel. Rest. We will return for you.”

  Vaelros looked first at Mithorden, then at Luthiel. There was a too-strong intensity in his eyes. “I don’t matter.”

  She felt a pang in her chest as she remembered the owl. He’d die for me too! What would I do if someone else died for me!? “Vaelros, listen to me,” she said. “I want you to stay here.”

  Vaelros slid down the tree to the ground. He made a second effort to stand, but failed. A grendilo helped him up. When he finally stood, Luthiel could see blood running from his nose.

  “I’m sorry, lady. I convinced you.”

  “It was my choice. My failure.” She looked away, wondering if she could go on. “We haven’t even left the Vale and already there’s so much violence.” Vaelros shook his head. He was about to say something. Struggling to maintain her sense of calm, she quieted him with a gesture. “Say you will stay with the Vyrl.”

  “If anything happens to you—”

  “That’s enough,” she said, with almost too much force. “Othalas, Mithorden, and Ecthellien are coming.”

  Vaelros looked as if he might argue. Then, he grimaced and clutched at his shoulder. When the pain passed, he nodded.

  “I will stay,” he said at last.

  Luthiel breathed a sigh of relief. Only an instant later, the worry came flooding back. She could see his eyes growing more bloodshot by the moment. His tongue was unnaturally red and little flecks of blood appeared under his finger nails. It was uncanny how fast the changes were coming over him and she wondered if he’d live.

  “Next time we meet, I hope to see you well,” she said in the strongest, most hopeful, voice she could muster.

  Despite the pain that was taking an ever stronger hold on him, Vaelros could tell Luthiel wavered on the verge of control. He watched her fists involuntarily clench and unclench as she prepared herself for the dangers that lay ahead. He wondered if it would all be too much for this fifteen-year-old girl. She’d surprised him before and, as the pain slowly overwhelmed him, he hoped she would again.

  “And I you,” he replied.

  There was something in the way he said it that made her laugh nervously. Vaelros nodded and, with a grunt of suppressed agony, held his sword up.

  “May your feet always walk in the light of two suns.”

  Luthiel’s breath caught for a moment as she remembered Vanye’s salute.

  “May the moonshadow never again fall upon you,” she whispered.

  The Lilani

  “Are you finished?” Othalas growled.

  “Yes,” Luthiel whispered.

  “Then get that sorcerer and Vyrl over here!”

  Mithorden heard the werewolf and climbed up behind Luthiel. Ecthellien soon followed.

  “Are you ready?” the werewolf growled.

  “Yes,” Luthiel said.

  “Farewell, Luthiel,” Vaelros said.

  “And you, Vaelros,” she replied.

  The Vyrl, grendilo and giants saluted them as Othalas bounded through their ranks. As they rode away and into the open wood Ecthellien sounded his horn—once, twice, three times. Three peals from Elshael’s horn rang out in reply.

  Othalas loped through the forest. Trees flashed by. Soon, they cleared the woodline and were running along the shore of Miruvoir. Its waters sparkled with the light of Soelee-set. On the far shore mists gathered in great billows, piling up against the Rim.

  “Mithorden,” Luthiel said as they came within sight of Ottomnos.

  “Yes?” the sorcerer replied.

  “You’re certain about Cauthraus?”

  “As certain as a sorcerer can be. We lost a few hours. We must hurry but we should still have time.”

  Luthiel looked at the bite mark on Othalas’ shoulder and shivered.

  And what of the wolf’s hurts? If he can’t make the journey—what then? She didn’t want to say it aloud. She didn’t want to let the werewolf hear her doubts.

  Let’s not think of such things, Ecthellien replied. The werewolf is strong. He will not fail.

  Despite Mithorden and Ecthellien’s assurance, she felt doubt. “I wish there was some other way.”

  Mithorden nodded silently. “As do I,” he said. “But there’s none I know of.”

  “Nor I,” said Ecthellien.

  “I don’t know why. But I dread it,” she said.

  “The red moon claims wary and unwary alike. It is a very dangerous place,” Mithorden said. “I wish I knew a safer road. But I think we just escaped from far greater danger.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Luthiel said.

  They continued on in silence until they rode through Ottomnos’ gaping gates. Rendillo was waiting for them in the courtyard. Before him lay a pile of bags.

  “Rendillo!” Luthiel called, surprised by how happy she was to see the grendilo. Slipping off Othalas’ back, she rushed up to him.

  “Lady,” he said with a bow. “The Khoraz told of your return. I thought it would be best to bring your supplies.”

  He had extra water skins ready. These he slung over Othalas’ back. Then, he gave them each three small pouches full of crystals.

  “What’s this?” Luthiel asked.

  “Salt,” Rendillo said. “You’ll need it on Cauthraus. It’ll be very hot. If you eat this, it will keep you from losing water too fast.” He held one up to her. “Place it on your tongue,” he said.

  She did as he instructed. The salt tingled as it dissolved and the taste was unpleasant. She washed it down with a big gulp from her waterskin.

  “Eat one every hour and it will help you. It should keep you feeling thirsty. But even if you don’t, keep drinking water. You’ll lose it as fast as you can drink it.”

  She nodded as he tucked the pouch into her belt.

  “Is it really so hot on Cauthraus?”

  “From what I know, it is hotter than even the deserts in the far south past Rimwold and the ebbs of Felduwaith.”

  “Ecthellien says the air burns,” she said with a glance to the Vyrl.

  “When Soelee rises,” Rendillo replied with a nod.

  “But why is it so hot? It is no closer to Soelee than Oesha. And why does it burn?”

  “It is said that the air of Cauthraus is much thicker. It traps the warmth. And something in the air burns when exposed to great heat or flame. In some places where the ground is hot or rich with the caustic metal—Cauthrim—there is always fire.”

  Luthiel tried to imagine but could not.

  “Also, the moon turns much slower than Oesha. So the day there lasts for a hundred of ours. The heat and fires build until sunset. But the air is so thick that even in the long night it doesn’t get much colder than early springtime here.”

  Rendillo gave her a bag filled with narrow wads of soft paper.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Nosebleeds. The air causes nosebleeds.”

  “What a terrible place!” Luthiel said.

  Rendillo nodded.

  Then he seemed to notice Othalas’ bite marks.

  “You’re bitten,” he said to the werewolf.

  “What of it?” Othalas snapped.

  The grendilo drew back from the werewolf. Rummaging among his bags, he pulled out a vial of black liquid.

  “Here, this will help,” Rendillo replied.

  “I don’t need your potions,” the werewolf growled.

  Undeterred, the grendilo moved closer, holding the vial up to the great wolf’s mouth.

  After a few more angry mutterings, the werewolf finally opened his mouth and let Rendillo pour antidote onto his tongue.

  The wolf coughed and licked at his jowls.

  “Fouler than the poison, I think.”

  “You might not feel the same way in a few hours,” Rendillo replied. “Here,” he said, handing the
vial to Luthiel. He motioned with his hand for her to lean closer.

  “If he starts to bleed, give him more of this,” he whispered. “But only use one vial at a time. Understand?”

  Luthiel nodded. She wanted to ask him if he thought Othalas could make it. But she kept quiet fearing the wolf, who stood only a few feet away, might overhear her.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Best wishes, lady, masters,” he said with a bow.

  “Thank you again, Rendillo,” she replied, letting Ecthellien help her back onto the werewolf.

  Then Othalas was walking again, padding silently into the charred glass fortress. Othalas’ powerful body rippled beneath her. With each step, her tender muscles throbbed and she was reminded of her hurts at the hands of Vyrl only days before.

  I am fortunate not to have suffered more, she thought as she glanced again at the bite on Othalas’ shoulder.

  The great corridor wound deeper, spiraling down into bedrock. Mists rolled up from somewhere far below like smoke rising in the throat of a dragon. It took Luthiel only a few moments to realize that they were heading toward the springs.

  How do you feel? Ecthellien thought.

  Achy. Tired. Afraid, she replied.

  Conserve your strength as best you can.

  They rode on in silence for a few moments.

  “Is the Lilani near the baths?” she said.

  “It is among them, a special pool separated from the rest,” Mithorden said.

  They passed the lighted area and then traveled deeper. Luthiel touched her finger to her forehead and blinked her eyes. Starlight bloomed from her Netherduel and flooded into the chamber, reflecting off the water and glistening upon the walls. Farther down the passageway, she could see light flickering off the springs. Soon, they were riding through the pools, making their way deeper into the caves beneath Ottomnos. Othalas waded in and soon steaming water was lapping against her legs.

  “Isn’t it dangerous, having a Lilani beneath your castle?” she asked.

  “It only opens from this side. Those on Cauthraus can’t use it to come here,” Othalas growled. His voice was tense. To Luthiel, it sounded as if he were in great pain.

  “Ah,” she said hoping all the while that the wolf’s strength would hold. “But doesn’t that mean we can’t return once we’re there?”

  “Once we go through, there’s no coming back the same way,” the werewolf growled.

  They continued through the water, coming to an island surrounded by springs. At the island’s center was a bubbling pool that shone with red light. The light had no apparent source, seeming to come from the water itself. They came to a halt directly above the pool.

  “Have you ever used a Lilani?” Mithorden asked.

  “No,” Luthiel replied.

  “Do you know how they work?”

  “I only know they are connections between two distant places.”

  “That’s mostly right. The moons and Oesha itself are criss-crossed with lines of energy. In these places Wyrd is stronger, flowing like rivers from point to point. Sometimes the river is so strong it will push through into our world. In these places, Lilani form. You can use them to travel to distant places that are in the direction of the Wyrd’s flow. All you need do is step into the stream.”

  Luthiel nodded. “I understand.” Even as she said the words, she wasn’t certain she did and she wondered where all the Wyrd came from. Why did it emerge here beneath Ottomnos? If you mapped all the flows what would you find? Would they all eventually lead to some hidden place? Now I’m thinking like Leowin, she chided herself even as she wished she had time to ask her questions.

  “You’ll feel cold at first,” The sorcerer continued. “Next comes disorientation. It might make you a little sick. But it’s over soon. Travel happens in an instant.”

  “All right,” she said.

  Despite her outward calm, her heart was pounding in her throat. It didn’t seem natural to travel to a place so far away in so little time. All her life she had gazed on the moon Cauthraus. Now, in little less than an instant, she would set foot there. She’d heard tales of Lilani and of great travelers using them to journey to the moons or to the other side of Oesha. But she didn’t consider herself to be one of them.

  What talent have I for survival and adventure? she thought to herself.

  More than most, Ecthellien replied.

  Startled by the sudden intrusion of his thoughts, she jumped.

  “Are you well?” Mithorden asked, giving her a concerned look.

  “Yes,” she replied. “It’s nothing.”

  Mithorden nodded, then dismounted, walking over to the pool. Rolling up his sleeve, he stretched out a hand and lowered it so it barely touched the red surface. His eyes closed and he murmured in concentration.

  What’s he doing? She thought to Ecthellien.

  Looking through the pool to see if there’s anything on the other side, the Vyrl replied.

  Luthiel felt her muscles tense at the Vyrl’s thoughts. She hadn’t considered that something may be waiting in ambush for them.

  Finally, Mithorden stood up. “It’s clear,” he said with a nod to Ecthellien. Then he climbed onto Othalas’ back and spoke in a low voice to the great wolf.

  Othalas started into the water with a growl. When it touched her legs, she gasped at the cold. It felt close to freezing and was much thicker than normal water. Any movement she made met resistance. It sucked at her legs. Despite its thickness, there was a noticeable current pulling slow but strong toward the Lilani’s center. Soon the frigid water was rising up to her waist.

  She looked down and realized she couldn’t see her legs. She couldn’t feel them either. It was as if they didn’t exist. A panic rushed through her as the waters rose to her waist, chest, neck.

  It’s devouring me!

  But seeing no way to escape without legs, hips or stomach, she sat there atop a disappearing Othalas, sinking into the Lilani. As the waters advanced up her body, she lifted her arms above her head.

  “Don’t worry,” Melkion said. “You’re going to be fine. It’s easier if you go all at once.”

  With that, he leapt off her shoulder, plunging himself full-bodied into the water.

  But Luthiel didn’t hear him. The panic within her was overtaking her reason and she struggled to escape. Then the waters rose over her head and she felt nothing.

  The Air Burns

  There came a jolt and a feeling of spinning round and round at impossible speed. Almost as soon as the terrible spinning had begun it stopped with another jolt. An instant later, her head broke the water and she was rising out of a pool at the center of a rocky hill top. The first thing she saw was an endless expanse of sky. To her left, one horizon burned with a hellish glow. On her right, storm clouds ran away toward the night. The storms marched off on legs of lightning, their tops rimmed with violet.

  Hot wind gusted out of the red horizon, blasting into her left side. It swept past her—rushing away toward the storms. On it, she could smell smoke and burning life. Wispy things blew about her. One stuck to her cheek. She pulled it away, looked down, and saw a flower petal. When she looked up again, they had risen completely out of the pool. Othalas stepped out, claws clicking on hard rock.

  She gazed out at the land around her. Before them a mountain rose up. Its top, a great gaping maw, vomited a cloud of smoke and fire. The cloud swirled into the sky. Up and up it climbed, spreading into a roof of yellow, orange, and black. Fire seemed to flow through the smoke like lightning. Awful and beautiful at the same time, it meandered and swelled, seeming to claw at the stars. She stared for several heartbeats before tearing her eyes away. When she finally did, she saw rivers rushing through the landscape, winding away from beneath the storms. All about her, plants and animals floated and flew, rolled and skittered. Plants were brown, red, or yellow—possessing none of the greens of Mother Oesha. Animals all seemed hard and hairless with skin like gravel. Those who couldn’t escape gave
up their leaves, seed, and tiny eggs to the hot wind. All fled in the same direction—toward night.

  Mithorden looked left, his face lit up by the fiery glow. “Soelee has yet to rise but already the eastern sky burns.”

  She turned, following Mithorden’s gaze. A wind like air blowing from an open oven blasted her face. She choked. That oven was all the eastern sky and in the distance, she saw a rim of tiny red feathers and cloudy puffs marching across the edge of the world.

  “Still far away,” the sorcerer said.

  She took another breath and choked again. The air was too thick, too hot to breathe. She tried to take shallower breaths and after a few tentative tries, was able to hold back the choking. Still her lungs felt heavy. Her chest burned and her limbs tingled with strain even though she was only sitting on Othalas’ back. Sweat started to flow down her brow, into her eyes, over her nose—falling off in large drops.

  It is worse than I imagined, she thought.

  Ecthellien handed her a dripping cloth.

  Tie this over your mouth and nose. It should help.

  She did as Ecthellien instructed and the burning sensation in her throat and chest subsided a little.

  Mithorden also tied a wet rag over his face.

  “Your lights—it may not be wise to show them here,” the sorcerer said. His voice sounded muffled from beneath the cloth.

  He was right. They must move through the land like ghosts. There were trolls here and worse things, or so Gormtoth said. She raised her finger to her forehead and blinked her eyes. The starlight faded and the harsh light seemed to creep closer.

  “Drink water whenever you can,” Mithorden said. “The road will be hot and hard—hotter and harder as we near its end. Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered. But she didn’t feel ready. The caustic air seeped through cracks in the rag—stinging her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She choked, cursing herself for speaking.

  Talk only when you must, Ecthellien thought.

  Let’s start, she thought. I don’t want to stay here one moment more than I have to.

  Without another thought, Othalas turned from the Lilani and wound his way down the rough path that led from the high outcropping. Once they reached the valley floor, he broke into a run. His great muscles moved like a wave rolling beneath her. She hung on. But her arms and hands were already beginning to fatigue. She didn’t know how she was going to keep it up for the next half-day or more.