Lingering Haze (The Elusive Strain Book 1)

by James Berardinelli

  “I don’t think we have a choice. I mean, we have to trust some people. We need allies. Besides, thus far our enemies have used straightforward methods to eliminate us. Acquiring agents and laying traps doesn’t seem to be their style.”

  “You’re assuming our only enemies are the reavers.”

  He had a point, but following that path led to paranoia. “I think he’s sincere. Secretive but sincere. A little like Backus in that he may be hiding things from us but we probably don’t need to know what he’s hiding and his desire to help is genuine.”

  Samell grinned his infectious grin. “That’s how I felt but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t deluding myself. Something about Marluk inspires trust.”

  Samell, ever the optimist. And me, the pessimist. I guessed we made a good team.

  I was up early the next morning, having gotten a poor night’s sleep more as a result of Esme’s tossing and turning than because of any nightmares or resurrected memories. Sandy-eyed and scowling, I splashed some cloudy, lukewarm water from a basin on my face, slipped my boots onto my blistered feet, and headed for the inn’s common room. Esme and Alyssa were still asleep and the men hadn’t stirred from their room yet. The sun was in the process of rising but a thick fog was making it difficult.

  The common room, where people from all across West Fork gathered in the evenings for a pint of their favorite alcoholic brew, a hunk of stale bread, and a drunken song, was almost eerie in its early-morning emptiness. The establishment’s barman was nowhere to be seen and the dozen tables were cleaned and empty - all except one, that is. Sitting there, waiting patiently was a dark-skinned woman who could only be Ramila. Her companion was familiar and the ghost of a smile creased my features when I saw him.

  “Gabriel!” I exclaimed.

  “Seems you can’t get rid of me,” he said. “I thought of offering yesterday once I realized it was going to be near-impossible to restart tinkering without an inventory but I didn’t know if you’d want me around. Then when Marluk put out the word…”

  I heard the tinker’s explanation but my attention was riveted on the girl. Ramila was perhaps the most gorgeous woman I had ever laid eyes on. Without makeup, she could rival the airbrushed images of Hollywood stars. Her deep brown eyes were almond-shaped. Her full lips were the color of ripe plums. And her straight black hair hung loosely over her shoulders. She regarded me with a quizzical but not hostile expression.

  “I’m Ramila,” she said. Her father’s voice had a slight accent. Hers didn’t. Of course, I wasn’t sure what that meant since I was apparently hearing a magical translation. None of the people around me were speaking the actual words I was hearing. If I thought about that too much, it would blow my mind.

  “Janelle,” I said, extending my hand. She looked at it as if uncertain how to respond. Gabriel helped out by clasping his hand in mine and shaking heartily. After seeing that, Ramila followed suit. Her grasp was firm and her skin cool and dry.

  “Has your father told you what we intend to do?”

  “He’s told me some, and what he hasn’t told me, I’ve guessed.”

  “You want to join us?”

  “You’re a new Summoner seeking to find your footing. I can help. Not with finding Bergeron - that’s Gabriel’s duty - but there are times when you may find my…insight…helpful. Not to mention my blade.” So saying, she reached behind and unsheathed a curved short sword that had been strapped to her back. The speed and fluidity with which she drew it was surprising - one moment, her hands were empty and the next, they were brandishing a beautifully crafted (not to mention deadly) katana.

  “She’s a feisty one,” opined Gabriel, eying the sword. “Much as I respect the weapons skills of your current companions, Ramila is of a different caliber. They’re farmers who dabble in hunting. She’s a fighter who dabbles in soothsaying.”

  “You’re father said you’re a princess.” Unsure how to raise the subject subtly, I opted to approach the matter in a straightforward fashion.

  “As he reckons it, I am. That has more to do with my bloodline than my upbringing. In the lands my father comes from, he’s named a prince. As his daughter, I’m a princess, although if I returned to claim my birthright, they’d probably take my head before placing a crown on it.” As interested as I was to hear the rest of the story, she mimicked her father’s reticence and didn’t elaborate. Perhaps it would come out when she got to know me better.

  The three of us sat and talked for a short while, our voices lowered conspiratorially. Although I hadn’t initially been sure how Ramila would fit into our group, after only a brief conversation I was convinced she would be an asset. Like her father, she exuded an almost hypnotic charisma. She was smart, humble (despite the “princess” title), and possessed a dry wit. She was guarded but not in a way that made her unapproachable. I was certain my male companions would fall hopelessly in love with her and, although I wasn’t bothered about Stepan, thinking of Ramila with Samell didn’t please me.

  “When do you plan to leave?” asked Gabriel soon after the inn’s owner strolled through the common room, gave us a curt nod, and went about the business of getting the place ready for the day’s trade.

  “I can’t think of a reason to delay. Quite the contrary, in fact.” The fire reavers, representing the barrel of a cocked pistol pointed at West Fork, made a compelling case for haste. Time wasn’t an ally. “Are you ready?”

  “Mostly. I’ll need to buy provisions - food and so forth - for the journey. It will probably take a week to reach Bergeron, assuming we can find him without having to look for too long, but it would be best to plan for a longer trip in case the unexpected happens.” By the unexpected, he was alluding to the possibility that we might not be able to find the Summoner at all or, if we found him, he might prove unwilling to help us. I hadn’t given either of those possibilities much consideration, not because they weren’t realistic but because I didn’t have a path forward in the event of a dead end. Yet I had known for a while that I was putting too much importance on one man’s helpfulness and knowledge.

  “I’ll rouse the others. Let’s meet back here in a half-cycle and we can get started.”

  Chapter Nineteen: The Westerlands

  We were being followed. I hadn’t been certain at first but, now that we were more than a half day out of West Fork, across the road and headed due west, the pursuit was unmistakable. The question, of course, was who was following us and, perhaps more importantly, why.

  The others weren’t aware of the situation. Our trailer was keeping his distance, well out of sight and hearing, but my mind-sense had easily detected him during one of my periodic “sweeps” for nearby dangers. I checked on him periodically but he wasn’t closing the distance. When we stopped for a short break, he stopped. I couldn’t determine intent but I didn’t feel anything overtly hostile. It was puzzling. I wondered whether the elders of West Fork were having us followed or whether this might be someone sent by Marluk. Neither of those possibilities seemed likely because I couldn’t think of any reason for us to be tracked. I wondered whether Ramila, with her “gifts”, sensed him as well but, if she did, she gave no indication of it. Her expression was serene and unchanging, a friendly inscrutability. I wondered if she would ever give any of us a peek beneath her cordial façade.

  Crossing the Fork South River proved to be a challenge. Due to unusually high rain amounts in this area during the past two seasons, the ford was washed out and, although not impassable, it would have required swimming - a prospect that didn’t excite any of us. So we wandered along the banks headed southward. Our mysterious pursuer matched our pace and course. Whoever he was, he was experienced.

  “If we don’t find a crossing point soon, do you want to backtrack?” asked Gabriel. “We could head a little north and try our luck with the Fork West River. The only danger is that would put us on the outskirts of The Rank Marsh and, although we’re going to have to skim along it closer to the mountains, I’d like to avoid it as much
as possible.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to backtrack. That would mean the loss of at least a half-day. Fortunately, circumstances didn’t force the decision. Not long after Gabriel had raised the possibility of turning back, we came to a shallow segment of the river where the current was gentle. It didn’t offer a dry crossing but at least we wouldn’t get wet above the waist.

  As I was about to step into the water, I noticed two odd things simultaneously. The first was the river’s smell: a faint odor of rotten eggs. It was so subtle that I doubted any of the others noticed it. The other was that our follower was no longer directly behind us. Somehow, while I hadn’t been paying attention, he had crossed the river and was waiting for us to catch up, although his position was about a mile upstream.

  “It stinks,” I said, wrinkling my nose and pointing at the water.

  “I smell it as well,” said Ramila who, like me, was holding back from entering.

  Gabriel made a show of inhaling. “Don’t smell anything. But it wouldn’t surprise me if you two do. This here river is a tributary of the Fork West, which runs through The Rank Marsh. Who knows what it picks up there. This far away, I imagine it’s safe. Just don’t drink it if you’re worried, although folks from West Fork bathe in it.”

  “We’re being followed.”

  That pronouncement stopped everyone. When I realized what they thought that meant, I hastily amended my words. “Not anything dangerous. One man, I think. He’s been trailing us since West Fork.”

  “I wondered if he would come,” said Ramila quietly, almost to herself. Then, louder and with more assurance, she added, “He means no harm. He has sworn a vow to keep me safe and this is his way of honoring it even though he promised my father he wouldn’t come with me.”

  I was relieved and annoyed in equal parts. I didn’t mind that Ramila had secrets but if they interfered with what I was trying to do…

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “Willem. A captain of the West Fork Watch. He…is courting me. He wants to marry me but my father doesn’t approve. No doubt one of the reasons I was sent on this mission was to separate me from Willem.”

  Wonderful. Now I was caught in the middle of a romantic drama. If we had been closer to town, I would have taken Ramila back to Marluk and let them work out the situation. But I couldn’t afford to lose what would amount to two days, not with West Fork’s future so uncertain. This would be up to me to resolve. One thing was certain - I couldn’t have this man dogging our footsteps all the way into the Westerlands. Not only that but, by himself, no matter how capable he might be, he represented easy prey for a reaver.

  “Go get him,” I said to Ramila. She was surprised, although I couldn’t decide whether her reaction resulted from the command itself or the steel in my voice. She wasn’t used to being told what to do. “Bring him back here.” When she hesitated, I added, “Or I will.” The remnants of my earlier sunny disposition were in tatters.

  After crossing the river, we waited, munching on this world’s answer to trail mix and engaging in small talk.

  “Are you going to send him back?” asked Samell, his voice low enough that the others couldn’t hear.

  I didn’t know. I wanted to get a measure of him, to see if he seemed like the kind of person who would be good in a crisis. I said as much.

  “Ramila will be more comfortable with him along and more biddable. If you send him away, she may resent you and there’s no guarantee he’ll go anyway.”

  “And conspire to defy Marluk? Our most influential ally thus far?”

  “If Marluk is a true soothsayer, he knew this would happen. In fact, he may have manipulated it into happening. Maybe this is his way of determining the man’s worth. If you decide to admit this Willem into our company, I doubt he’ll fault you for it. If he had wanted to keep the captain away from Ramila, he would have found a more sure way to do it.”

  Samell’s words made sense. Marluk was no ordinary man. Even without supernatural foresight, an insight into human nature would have shown him Willem’s likely path. He hadn’t blocked it. I wondered if that had occurred to Ramila. Of course, without understanding the whole story, it was impossible to know how accurate Samell’s assessment might be.

  It didn’t take long for Ramila to re-appear, now striding alongside a tall, lanky man who was wearing a vest of chain-link mail and black leather pants. Even at a distance, I could tell that Willem was an imposing presence. He had a full, well-maintained beard and his long, ebony hair was pulled back into a single ponytail that trailed halfway down his back. His eyes were deep blue and his fair complexion had been darkened to bronze by sun exposure. A huge broadsword was strapped to his back and daggers were sheathed on the outside of both boots. Although it was difficult to say for sure, I guessed he was probably several years older than Gabriel, making him the eldest member of our group by a fair amount. I wondered if that was going to be a problem. How was he going to feel about taking orders from a girl who was more than a decade his junior?

  When he got close enough, I was able to see that what I had mistaken for a scowl was a more serene expression. Despite his warlike appearance, he exuded an almost ethereal calm. He greeted me with a smile that touched not only his lips but his eyes. As I shook his rough, calloused hand, I instinctively knew why someone as young and beautiful as Ramila might be attracted to him. I wondered how Marluk saw Willem - as potentially worthy of his daughter or an interloper?

  “Willem is a wanderer who only recently settled in West Fork. He has seen nearly as much of the world as my father, although different parts of it. He doesn’t speak the Common Tongue well, however, so he won’t join in many conversations. When he’s with people who speak his language, he talks a lot. Most of the time, he’s not the strong, silent type. Strong - yes. Silent - no.”

  Having caught the gist of her words, Willem chuckled. It was a deep, pleasant sound.

  “Welcome to our company,” I said, making a stab at being hospitable. Expressions of surprise all around greeted my pronouncement. For a moment, I thought I had made a terrible gaffe then I realized what had happened. It was easy to forget how magic influenced my ability to communicate.

  “You speak my native language?” asked Willem, his voice a bass rumble.

  Apparently, I did. Or at least that’s what everyone heard. How to explain this…?

  “A Summoner’s gift. We understand all languages.” The problem for me wasn’t knowing what I was saying but in what language I was saying it. I could see how that might become confusing.

  “I’m not surprised,” mused Samell. “I thought it was odd how easily you picked up our language and there were a few times when it appeared as if the way your mouth formed words didn’t match what you were saying.”

  “It makes communication less difficult,” said Ramila. The way everyone looked at her, I suspected she was trying another language. For me, the words were translated into English without inflection so I couldn’t be sure.

  “It certainly does.”

  She nodded with satisfaction, as if I had passed a test. “Then, since you have a better understanding of Willem than even I, you can translate when he finds it difficult to express himself.”

  “You’re here against Marluk’s wishes?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. He’s a difficult man to figure out, that Marluk. He says I’m not worthy of Ramila, that she was born to be with someone of noble birth, not a rootless wanderer. But I’m wondering if all of this is some kind of test of my worth. He doesn’t seem like a man who cares about class. For a mystic, he’s practical. And it would be practical to want his daughter bonded to someone who could use his hands and defend what’s his. That’s me.”

  “I’ve seen you around,” said Gabriel. “Friends of mine spoke well of you so it’s good to have you along. I have a suspicion that, where we’re going, we’ll be able to use another sword arm.”

  That didn’t inspire confidence. It was worth remembering, I sup
pose, that a river wasn’t likely to be the most formidable obstacle on the path to Bergeron.

  For the rest of the day, the trek took us across plains where the brush grew nearly to my shoulders. It was slow going as some of the seemingly innocuous grasses had leaves as sharp as blades. These had to be cut away to proceed. Gabriel had brought a scimitar designed for this but Ramila and Willem grumbled about dulling and nicking their blades for such a mundane purpose. My companions from Aeris had no such compunctions since their weapons were of a cruder sort to begin with and could easily be re-sharpened with a whetstone.

  When it came time to camp, we cleared a sizable swath of grass, set up a fire for cooking, light, and warmth, and determined a guard rotation. No one deemed this an especially dangerous place to spend the night and a quick scan with my mind-sense confirmed this. After the sun set, the air temperature dropped precipitously, an indication that the warmer part of the year was coming to a close. We needed the fire, which burned hot and gave off a lot of smoke. It had to be fed constantly because, although there was abundant food for its sustenance, it consumed the grass and brambles greedily.

  “Feels a little like Aeris during the Fading season. At harvest’s end, we’d light bonfires in the cleared fields and spend all night gathered around them, singing songs and toasting the year’s yield. I wonder if they’ll be doing that this year.” Samell’s tone was wistful. It sounded to me like he was describing what the pagans used to do on Halloween.

  “I’ve seen some strange Fading customs in my travels,” said Willem. His words were halting, making me think he was speaking in what Ramila had called the ‘Common Tongue.’ “But almost everyone across the world celebrates the harvest. Some with fire. Some with much drink. Some with other pleasures.” He didn’t go into details about the latter for which I was grateful.