The Fire and the Fog

by David Alloggia

  Jayke was lifting the old, worn rifle to his shoulder when the first rifle ball took him. It caused his head to jerk slightly as it ripped through his throat, spraying a fine mist of blood over Marmot and Johan, just moments before a second ball tore open the side of his head.

  Erris could barely follow what was happening through the explosions and the screams, but she saw Yolan jump from the cart and start in towards a crumpling Jayke, as five more red-jacketed soldiers walked slowly out of the forest to the left of the wagon, three rifles pointing forward as two stood to reload.

  Erris wondered absently, in some strangely detached, still asleep, part of her mind if the jackets were coloured red to cover up the blood of the people they killed, or their own, as Johan yelled out, his single word somehow clearly audible in the chaos.

  ‘Run!’ he screamed, and he slapped Marmot hard before taking off towards the forest to the right of the cart himself. The three remaining soldiers with guns fired on him, and he stumbled and cried out as a ball took him in the shoulder, spraying a red mist on the grass in front of him. But he somehow kept his balance, and made it to the trees before the five newly appeared soldiers took after him, drawing their swords and turning to run around Marmot in pursuit.

  At the same time, his slap had done the trick. Marmot, already frightened by the screams and explosions of gunfire, took off. His eyes were wide from fear and the wagon behind him weighed heavily on his straining legs as he started to run.

  If there had been more room between them and the soldiers, if Marmot had been able to gain more speed, if the heavy wagon had not been slowing him down, they might have escaped. As it was, the wagon had barely made it to the soldiers when one reached out and grabbed the reins, pulling Marmot to a sharp stop at the side of the path.

  Serah looked quickly back at Erris as the wagon stopped, mouthing two short words before she jumped from the wagon, almost collapsing as her twisted leg hit the ground hard. She cried out quickly in pain, but then ran, limping heavily, towards the forest. Two of the soldiers took off after her, and had to go wide around the horse and wagon in their path, but they still made it to the forest only seconds after Serah had, swords drawn as they disappeared into the brush.

  There were only three soldiers remaining around the cart now. Five had disappeared after Johan, and two more after Serah. One, the soldier who had killed her father, held Marmot’s reins, and was calmly tying them off to a low tree branch. The other two, one the bandaged soldier from the fight at the tavern, the other the soldier that had leered at Serah, were struggling with a kneeling Yolan, trying to rip off her dress as she thrashed wildly, screaming and throwing blind, ineffectual punches and kicks.

  Serah’s mouthed words flashed in Erris’ head as she looked to the forgotten children. They had long ago abandoned the questionable safety of the canvas cover, and were crying together in the corner of the wagon.

  Erris started trying to talk to them as she grabbed their arms and pulled at them, trying to move them to the open back of the wagon.

  ‘Get up, get up, you have to run.’ she cried as she pulled, ‘please, you have to run.’ She realized she was crying too as she pulled at them, but they just shook their heads and pulled away.

  ‘I want Mama’ Joahn cried loudly, and Erris could think of nothing to say. She could hear the other two soldiers arguing as she worked her mouth noiselessly.

  ‘Ey, Fraen, Daegon said t’share’ one of the voices by Yolan said angrily, and Fraen, the soldier her father had knocked flying at the tavern, replied. ‘Shut it Caer. I got my arm broke fer this one. I’m takin’ her in the forest. Take th’older one if y’er so desperate.’ He started to drag Yolan by the hair as he talked, tugging her jerkily towards the woods. She screamed and thrashed as he pulled, but his grip with his uninjured hand was too strong for her to break, and he just grunted as he dragged her slowly, inexorably, towards the woods.

  Erris could hear Serah in the distance, sobbing loudly as the soldiers with her laughed, could hear Yolan start to yell at the injured soldier, could hear him curse as he tried to control her. But she could not hear Johan, or any of the soldiers that had gone after him. Had he escaped, or had they simply gone too far to be heard?

  Before she could really register the noises from the forest, before she could process what was happening to her sisters or think of a way to get the children to run away, Erris felt a hand grab her hair and lift her painfully into the air.

  She gasped in surprise as she rose off the ground, and kicked back, but the man that had lifted her so easily just threw her to the ground by the side of the wagon, and kicked her in the side.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going, eh?’ the soldier asked as Erris curled into a ball and gasped for air, clutching the side of her stomach where the hard leather boot had made contact.

  Joahn and Boll were crying and trying to reach her when the soldier shoved them too, Boll crashing into Joahn and both landing hard on the ground.

  He was eying the children and reaching for his still sheathed sword when the other soldier on the path called out from where Erris’ mother lay.

  ‘Ey, Daegon, this one’s knocked out.’ He shouted, lifting Omah’s head by the hair and letting it fall limply back to the ground. Her face was already purpling from the blow Daegon had dealt.

  ‘So?’ Daegon called back over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the children or his hand off his sword hilt.

  ‘Well, I can’t hardly have no fun if she’s not awake, can I?’ The soldier said as he shoved Omah’s limp form with a booted foot.

  The soldier called Daegon stared at the children for a moment as they lay on the ground crying, trying slowly to rise. Then he shrugged and turned away, his hand leaving his sword.

  ‘Fine, Caer, Take these kids to the forest and deal with ‘em. Their whining’s distracting me’ he said as he turned to stare at Erris. ‘Maybe the old one’ll be awake when you get back.’ Erris still lay, curled in a ball on the ground, trying to catch her breath.

  ‘Iunno Daegon,’ Caer started, looking more confused than concerned, ‘I don’t feel right killin’ kids, quite’

  ‘Fine, fine’ Daegon said as he shook his head slightly, clearly exasperated, ‘Just take ‘em into the forest and knock ‘em out, they’ll live or die on their own, and you won’t ‘ave to feel bad.’

  ‘Ey, thas a great idea!’ the soldier Caer grinned as he walked to the children, and Erris tried to scream, to stand, to do anything as he effortlessly lifted Joahn and Boll, both kicking and screaming, and walked into the forest. He laughed all the way there, and Erris could still hear him laughing when Daegon grabbed her by her hair again, and dragged her, crying once more, to Marmot’s side.

  Marmot was still tied to the low tree branch, and Erris struggled vainly against Daegon as he lifted her and tied her hands tightly to Marmot’s pommel.

  ‘You’re not gonna enjoy this’ he whispered in her ear, and Erris felt something start cutting off her dress, stripping her slowly, piece by piece.

  He cut first along her left shoulder, a sharp knife cutting through the hem of her dress like a knife cuts through butter, meeting almost no resistance. In seconds the left sleeve of her dress was cut along the top. In no time, Erris’ dress fell softly to the dirt floor, and she was left standing in naught but her shift.

  Had she been able to think, she might have noticed that she was shivering in the warm, windless evening. Had she been able to think, she might have noticed all she could hear were her sobs, and the heavy, disturbed breathing of the man behind her. But she couldn’t think. She couldn’t understand what was happening. All Erris could do was lean her head against Marmot’s flank and cry into the horses rough coat.

  She heard, or maybe felt, Daegon put away his knife, or sword, or whatever it was he had stripped her with, as he too noticed. The only sounds came from Erris, Marmot and himself. From the forest came nothing. Where there had been laughter, cursing and screams before, now there was only silence.r />
  She could hear the sounds of a belt being unbuckled behind her, and she jumped slightly as a hairy, muscled arm snaked around her head to hang a sword and sheathe from Marmot’s saddle. The arm snaked back again, but it stopped at Erris’ neck, and she cringed as the hand grabbed her chin, one thumb rubbing forcefully against her cheek. She couldn’t tell if Daegon was trying to caress her or choke her as his hand moved slowly, sickeningly down the side of her neck. She wasn’t sure which she hoped for. The hand left her when it reached her shoulder, and Erris couldn’t decide if she felt more relief at its removal or fear for what it might touch next.

  The moments of waiting, painfully tensing against wherever Daegon might touch her next were long, and painful, and they grew more painful the longer they went, as Erris wound herself up more and more, trying to anticipate what might happen next, trying to prepare herself for it, to prepare herself for being unable to stop whatever it was. The moments dragged and dragged as so many that evening, until finally the soldier spoke.

  ‘Something’s wrong’ Daegon muttered to himself as he looked around slowly. She felt one rough hand grab her bottom over her shift, and another grab her hair and roughly pull her head to the side. ‘Don’t be running away on me now, whore’ he said to Erris, who winced as he tugged once more on her hair before letting go. Erris stood, tied to Marmot and feeling more helpless than she ever thought possible, as he began walking around the horse and wagon towards the woods, moving with practiced caution.

  He approached the spot where the soldier called Caer had taken the children in, and slowly made his way into the thick underbrush, step by cautious step.

  ‘Ey you lot, what’re you all doin?’ he yelled as he went, but there was no answer, only silence.

  Erris held her breath, hoping he would disappear into the dark forest, and she started struggling with her ropes silently. Maybe she could get herself free. If she could, she could grab the sword that hung on Marmot’s saddle, and do… something. What came after getting the sword could come later. For now all she could do was free herself.

  She was wriggling fiercely, the thick ropes chafing her when Daegon screamed and turned at the very edge of the forest, tripping over himself as he tried to run out of the low underbrush that came up to his knees.

  ‘No no no no no’ was all he said, over and over again as he tried to claw his way out. He was halfway out, and Erris was struggling harder and harder with her ropes, when she saw it. Attached to the lower half of his body, slowly inching over the legs that he was dragging along the ground, hands digging frantically at the moist soil to pull himself along, was a thick, grey fog. It slowly covered him as he pulled, inching up his body inexorably, and he shouted the same word over and over as he crawled.

  ‘No no no’ he cried, tears now streaming down his face as he reached forward and dug his hands into the soft dirt, digging thick streaks in the earth as he tried to haul himself to safety. He had barely made it out of the forest, the fog connected to his body reaching all the way back into the darkness, when the fog reached his neck. Erris watched as it slowly flowed over his screaming face, cutting off his desperate protests suddenly as it flowed into his stretched, pleading mouth. And then his body was still.

  The fog was not though. It crept slowly from his body, thickening as more and more tendrils poked out through the forest’s leaves. Marmot began to snort, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring in fear as he tried to break free from the reins that held him. Erris continued her struggle, continued trying to set herself free, but she made no progress in loosening the tight knots that dug into her skin, she succeeded only in rubbing her wrists more raw. She watched in abject horror as the entire forest transformed into a wall of fog, billowing slowly, inexorably towards the wagon.

  It was Marmot that saved her in the end, saved them both in the end. As the fog inched ever closer, his thrashing became more and more frantic, until finally he reared up and snapped the low branch he was tied to.

  Erris fell to her knees as he turned, her arms stretched above her, her wrists still bound to Marmot’s saddle. The wagon bounced behind Marmot slowly, barely avoiding the reaching tendrils of fog, as he turned. Then Marmot took off at a run, slowly picking up speed along the path back to Oortain’s Copse. Erris, clad only in her shift and still tied to his side, bounced painfully alongside as he ran, her knees and feet scraping along the dirt road as she stumbled alongside Marmot, half dragged. Her feet started to bruise and bleed almost immediately. She cried out in pain as they cracked against rocks and caught in the dirt, but there was no-one to hear her. She was alone with Marmot in the dark, cold, brutal night, with only the moon and stars above her for company.

  She would never remember Marmot finally slowing, would never remember the pain of slowly throwing a bleeding leg over his heaving back. She would not remember laying, cold, bruised and bleeding, as he trod slowly and unnoticed over the cobblestone road of the virtually empty Oortain’s Copse, the wagon bouncing slowly over the road behind them. She would never know that the only thing that kept her from falling off were the ropes that bound her hands. She would never recall her slow, unconscious trip into the heart of Rognia as Marmot took the long road to the south. But she would never forget the beginning of that long, painful night.

  III

  Gel woke with a start, blinking his eyes in the low grey light of the pre-dawn. Sometime in the night he must have fallen asleep. Cursing himself, he picked up his lute again and continued to play, ignoring the dark storm clouds that swept in over the plains and began to empty themselves over the smoldering village, slowly putting out the last embers of its fires. Gel and his lute were safe under the Oak’s broad, sheltering leaves, and so he continued to play, on and on, carrying on his dark, black song.

  IV

  The noise in the tavern was loud, its occupants boisterous. Filled with street toughs, guards, and soldiers, the atmosphere, the air of machismo and barely contained hostility, was comforting. People came here to drink, fight, and forget. It was not a particularly nice tavern. There were no women, no families enjoying a nice stew in the corner. The floor was dirty, the beer weak and inexpensive, the food barely edible. The two serving maids were more concerned with getting to and from tables unmolested than anything else, and they tended to get tips and gropes in equal amounts. Not that they were attractive, but the patrons of the Rusty Nail tavern were not picky.

  Most of the men in the tavern, and all of the men at the table, were large, either in muscle or girth, and Dan’r was no different. You had to be able to fight in a tavern like the Rusty Nail, it was why he enjoyed them so much. There were one or two in almost every city, and Dan’r found himself in them frequently. You had to fight to survive in these taverns, had to be strong. You generally had to be strong to fight anywhere, Dan’r thought to himself absently, scratching at the back of his head. Here though, with low ceilings, sturdy tables and chairs, and a very few lanterns hung out of the way in heavy glass and metal cages to reduce the likelihood of a fire during a brawl; here the fighting was expected. It wasn’t a matter of if but when, Dan’r thought as he caught a glimpse of something small and dark scurrying over the half rotted and beer-soaked straw that sparsely covered the floor. Rat or mouse, it didn’t matter; he quickly pulled his attention back to the table, and the game.

  He sighed to himself as he glanced briefly at the cards in his hand, and those on the table in front of him. They hadn’t changed since the last time he had looked, they never did, so he took another long drink from the mug at his right hand instead.

  ‘I’m in for three copper’ the man to his left said, angrily throwing the coin into the center of the round wooden table. The others at the table had passed it around, seeing who would bet first, and how much. Three coppers was the price of a drink at the tavern, the cheapest drink anyway, and entrance price to a new round was always the cost of a drink. It was one of those standard, unspoken rules that could be found everywhere working men drank; part of that sacred, un
written code of men. Bet a beer. Don’t touch another man’s beer, coat, or woman.

  There were more, of course, more rules, but Dan’r lost interest in that train of thought quickly. The other four men at the table had paid in, and none had raised, so Dan’r matched them wordlessly, drinking once more from his mug as he tossed three dull copper coins from the small pile in front of him into the center, the coins clinking cheaply as they landed.

  The man across from him, a short, stocky, man with a shaved head who had the look of an ex-soldier about him, played a fourth card onto the table, and the betting went around again, more copper pennies flashing through the air in the dim torchlight.

  There were five of them at the table, including Dan’r and the short, balding dealer; a good number for a game of Rush. Neither he nor the current dealer were winning, but neither were they so badly off as the man to Dan’r’s left. The man’s thin, balding head held a grimace as he looked at his hand, and felt at his dwindling coin, and his last few moves seemed to be made in rash anger. He had already lost a good three or four copper marks on the game, more than most men would lose and continue playing.

  The two men on Dan’r’s right, however, were enjoying the balding man’s bad luck. One, who had long, shaggy hair that came in tangles to his shoulders, and several missing teeth, kept grinning, showing off the empty holes in his mouth as he chuckled absently to himself. He would not have been out of place begging in one of the larger cities, but he seemed to have both money and a good knowledge of how to play. Not that this excluded him from being a beggar, just that it made him more interesting than other beggars Dan’r had met.

  The other man, the one closest to him on the right, had the best Rush face Dan’r had ever seen. He was tall, tanned, wide, and silent. Almost as well muscled as the two bouncers that stood by the door, watching over the tavern floor with crossed arms; the large man to Dan’r’s right was easily the most intimidating man in the tavern.