An Age of Mist

by Mathias G. B. Colwell

  It lifted burning red eyes to look at them and continued to drain the life from the dying man. Its stare petrified Santori so completely he couldn’t move a muscle. Exuding pure evil, it drank every last bit of its victim’s juicy, living body until only a husk of skin covering a skeleton was left. It discarded its meal and rose up to its normal height, hovering footless an arm’s length above the ground, its dark cloak rippling slightly even on this windless night. Slowly it meandered towards them and still Santori could not move.

  “What are you?” Santori whispered to himself, not expecting a response from the creature.

  The Wraith let out a dry, echoing sigh. “We are the dead,” it hissed from an open mouth, yet strangely its lips did not move to form the words, instead they remained slightly parted as if anticipating their next meal. “We are the devourers.” It cocked its head and smiled ghoulishly as it drifted ever nearer. “Bound in the world of the dead for eternity we waste away. Dry of throat, with our insatiable appetite for the living we must wait. We wait until the Moons herald our coming as the barriers fail and for a short while the worlds of life and death overlap.” It was near enough to touch now, and Santori recoiled from the fanged apparition. Tears of terror rolled down his face.

  “What are you?” Santori murmured once again to himself in mesmerized revulsion. How was it possible for something so terrible, so evil to exist?

  Again he was given an answer he did not expect to receive. “I was you once—a man. We were all men who gave in to the fear.” The Wraith stretched its neck forward silkily, stealthily preparing to bite. “Do you fear death?” it questioned softly, lulling Santori into a false sense of safety as it spoke. “Give in to the fear, and choose to join us. Never dying, you will be free to feast on the living and slake your parched throat on the mist, of this lovely, luscious world,” it whispered in its dusty, hypnotic voice. Its lips parted as it was about to sink its teeth into Santori’s unprotected throat. “All you need do is surrender. Let me drink your life’s blood, and as I do focus your desire onto being one of us with all your heart. If you do so it will be so,” it crooned, “you will never have to truly die.” The promise echoed quietly into the night.

  Asfyra screamed his name as the Wraith lunged forward in attack and startled Santori out of his reverie. He recoiled backward and reacted instinctively by bringing his arms up in front of his face. He had forgotten that he still grasped the torch of Hearth Fire and as he brought his arms up, the torch swung up as well. It buried itself in the face of the Wraith, and a fearsome wail echoed in the night as black smoked poured forth from underneath the dark hood on its cloak. It screeched horribly as if in terrible pain, and Santori now free from whatever spell that had bewitched him, plunged the Hearth Fire torch deeply into its head again to ensure its death. The Wraith shriveled and moaned, and emitted the foulest of stenches. It smelled like decaying, rotting flesh was being ignited. The creature of death wailed for what felt like an endless period of time before convulsing onto the dirt path and disappearing, leaving only a black cloak as a reminder that it had ever been there. What Santori had done to it he didn’t know. He didn’t know if you could kill something that was already dead, but two things were certain. One they were alive, and two the Hearth Fire truly could vanquish the evil beings, making their search for the oil spring even more crucial.

  They continued on the path searching desperately for any sign of the oil stream as all the while the sounds of other Wraiths approaching pushed them to the brink of panic. As they hunted for the spring, Santori vowed to not let the next Wraith talk him into a trance with its queerly addictive voice and seductive words.

  Just as hopelessness and despair threatened to consume him, Santori finally spotted the tiny trickle of oil from the night before. He knew he would not be able to prevail in more encounters with the Wraiths. He could not hope to meet them all individually, and the torch itself was burning low. They needed to create a protective ring of oil.

  They followed the tiny stream of oil into the underbrush. Grandpa was struggling mightily to keep up, and Santori ignored his grandfather’s self-sacrificing attempts to wave his grandchildren forward without him. They both knew Santori would travel more quickly if it was just Asfyra he need worry about, but Santori abandoned half of his family already tonight, and he was not about to do it again.

  Santori heard the approach of Wraiths close behind them. The keening calls sounded like nothing so much as the cries of predators alerting members of their pack that they were close on the trail of prey. The evil beings could follow them by some unknown means and had tracked them from where they left the trail.

  Desperation drove them into a tiny clearing in the woods, at the center of which bubbled a natural oil spring. The liquid welled up golden and pure in the torchlight as it spread down the mounded earth from which it originated. Feeling hope for the first time, Santori raced to the mound and began digging his hands into the moist soil. He thanked his blessings the mist kept this land so wet. It was easy to carve out a small moat around the earthen mound upon which they stood, and he quickly finished the circular groove for containing the oil. He then connected it through the earth to the mouth of the spring itself. The oil poured forth smoothly from the spring. It cascaded gently down the small canal he dug to the moat, filling a portion of the hand-sized moat and gradually continuing around in a circle.

  Santori looked up from his frenzied digging and saw the Wraiths pursuing them were entering the clearing from the woods and were no more than a few arms’ lengths away. Asfyra wept and Grandpa muttered prayers for their safety. Santori snatched up the Hearth Fire torch which he had plunged bottom first into the dirt as he dug, and ignited the golden oil. The flames shot upwards in front of Santori just as the Wraiths reached him, and the fire swirled beautifully in a circle. It was a wall of heat wrapping itself around them in a protective cocoon.

  A Wraith reached its arm inside the circle just as the wall of fire completed its revolution, and the wispy limb was burnt black and vanished in a puff of foul smoke while a scream of rage and pain came from the outside of the fire. The fire itself was an impressive curtain, and Santori didn’t know whether it was the fresh oil that made it burn so high, or some innate ability Hearth Fire possessed which enabled it to bring such a strong protection.

  Santori breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the shadows spin around their haven testing the hot barrier but unable to penetrate the Hearth Fire. Asfyra could not stop weeping and clutched tightly to her elder brother’s leg. Grandpa’s rare mental clarity continued, and he recognized the little girl needed to be distracted.

  “Would you like me to tell you a story little one,” he asked his granddaughter as his grandson surveyed the night through a wall of flame. The little girl nodded her head. She could never refuse a good story. “Very well,” the old man began in a quavering voice, and he proceeded to recount a random tale of wonder and awe to Asfyra, effectively distracting her.

  It was a sleepless night for Santori as he watched for any sign of trouble. However, the oil spring never ceased its steady flow and the fire never waned in its fearsome heat. The Wraiths eventually left the clearing in search of easier prey, but the boy, the old man, and the little girl never left their protective circle.

  On towards dawn the sound of a wind raging more loudly than Santori had ever witnessed before startled him, and he woke his sleeping grandpa to ask him what it was. The old man blinked groggily, then recognition appeared on his face.

  “Ahh, my boy, they have finished their feasting.” There was no need to ask who ‘they’ were. The look on his grandpa’s face was a mix of pain and relief. If he was indeed correct, it meant that their harrowing night was almost over, however it also meant that many of their friends and loved ones were likely dead.

  “How do you know, Grandpa?” Santori asked, puzzled.

  His grandpa’s weary eyes gazed back at him, “Because I have heard this sound before, when the Red Moon came when I was very you
ng.” The wind whipped through the small clearing and the light of the coming dawn could not hide the speckled sky above them. Santori had never witnessed such a clear sky as the fog and mist disappeared from the air. “That sound like the wind is them drinking in our mist. They have appeased their hunger on mankind and can now focus on slaking their thirst until the dawn comes when they must return to the grave.” His grandpa sighed sadly. “The mist will be completely gone soon.” Santori couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder and anticipation at that dire news. He knew that drought and famine were said to follow the loss of the mist, but he had never seen the sun before. The clouds never broke during the day, and they only broke for brief moments at night, so in all his years he had never seen this mythical ball of fire in the sky. A small, guilty part of him looked forward to what was to come.

  The clear night sky faded gradually, lighting first on the horizon and then the light dissipating throughout the atmosphere until it was completely light outside without clouds or mist. However, he still could not see the sun because of the trees surrounding him, heightening his anticipation of the moment.

  “Do you think it’s safe to leave the fire circle, Grandpa?” Santori asked. An affirming nod met his question.

  “Yes, my boy, the Wraiths cannot stay during the day. They have satisfied their urges and will not return in either of our lifetimes. Fear not lad, the worst is over.”

  Santori wasn’t sure he agreed. He had a good idea of what might await them outside the woods, and he wasn’t sure that he was prepared to deal with the death of his family. The three of them waited for some time, until Santori was able to pile enough earth over a section of the moat to create a break in the fire allowing them to depart their haven. Holding Asfyra’s hand and guiding his Grandpa, Santori lead them out of the safety of the smoldering flames and out of the clearing back to the path. He carried with them a branch lit with the special fire even though the myths said that once the day came, the Wraiths could not stay. But after the night they’d endured, Santori figured it would not hurt to take precautions.

  They walked slowly, at Grandpa’s pace, and for once Santori did not chafe at the slowness. He was in no rush to reach the meadow where the festival had been held. They followed paths through the woods until they reached the meadow. It was odd to see the sky above. He had never imagined the sky was so very blue. It was always grey with clouds and it had never occurred to him that with the clouds gone it might be another color. His silent wonderings at the world were shattered when he saw the carnage that had been the festival. Even knowing what to expect couldn’t have prepared Santori for the devastation.

  Numbly he stumbled through the carcasses. The dry husks of people he used to know were indistinguishable from one another. The skin draped loosely over the skeleton of one body was nearly identical to the body beside it. Only by their clothing could he tell his family from the rest. The blue of his mother’s plain dress cried out at him sharply and his sister Maeri’s necklace and his father’s many finger rings told Santori where his family was. Grandpa’s cheeks were soaked with tears. Asfyra clutched Santori’s hand tightly, and he lifted her up into his arms more to comfort himself than her. What was he to do now? How was he to do it all alone? His eyes grew moist thinking of all the times his father had told him to be a man, and to do what needed to be done. It seemed those words had been purposed for exactly such a time as this.

  They wandered the meadow, not looking for anyone else in particular, simply because the immensity of what had occurred was too much to take in all at once. Everything sank in slowly. It felt like the world moved in slow motion as they stepped randomly over and about the corpses.

  Santori saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked his head around in fear and worry at what it might be. A human face poked out from the forest on the opposite side of the clearing and then tentatively the rest of the person’s body appeared as well. Apparently someone else had survived the night as well. Santori didn’t recognize him, and was in too much shock to make conversation with a stranger. Satisfied he was not a threat, Santori went back to his absent-minded wandering of the massive grave site. It was only after failing to find that for which he had been subconsciously searching, that Santori realized what was missing from the horrific scene in the meadow. All over he had looked numbly, but he could find no body with a dress to match the one he remembered. It was a green dress with a blue sash around the waist that was all too familiar from the night before. Only a short time had elapsed, but it felt like a lifetime ago that he had stood before the girl wearing that green dress and stammered excuses for why he could not dance. Why had he not agreed to dance with her before? Life was full of opportunities that often went untaken. However, the absence of her dress meant that maybe she was still alive, and the possibility that Veira might have survived managed to ignite a tiny flame of hope in his chest. The flame flickered wanly yet was determined to grow.

  “We cannot stay any longer.” Grandpa appeared at his side and tugged him in the direction of the trail to their house. “We must return home and tend the Hearth Fire. Nobody has been there all night and it cannot be allowed to go out.” Santori knew the truth of his statement. They could come back and bury their dead later. Right now the most important thing was securing safety for the future. The Hearth Fire had to be protected and cared for at all costs. For the future generations that might have to face what they had faced last night.

  They set off along the trail home and the trip felt longer than it ever had before. Time seemed stretched out now. They reached the edge of the tree line and exited the woods. Santori gaped in awe at the sight before him. The horizon lay ahead, and Santori held Asfyra in his arms as they stared at the sun from the top of the sea cliff. It burned brightly, a molten orb of fire hanging in the sky. Never in all his life had he imagined a fire that big floating in the air. It was so close it looked like you could touch it, and he reached his hand upwards as if to try. The heat from the sun was nearly unbearable to one so unaccustomed to its hot temperatures. Asfyra immediately began complaining of being too warm.

  “You are named for fire, Asfyra,” Santori comforted her, “if anyone can withstand the heat you can.” His words bolstered her resistance and she ceased her complaints although she did tuck her head face first into the crook of his neck as if to hide.

  “Mermaids won’t like the sun,” Grandpa observed fuzzily, “they don’t like the heat. We probably won’t see them except for at night now.” His head wobbled loosely on his shoulders and his entire body jerked as he hiccupped suddenly. It appeared that Grandpa’s lucidity had passed and he was back to his telling of tales and embellishing reality. Although Santori had to admit there might be more truth to the tales his grandpa told than anyone had previously given him credit. If last night’s experiences taught him anything, it was that nightmares could exist, and if nightmares could exist then why not fairytales as well. The world was a bigger, less defined world now. There were more questions than for which he knew answers. It was a small feeling, the not knowing, not understanding. A bell tolled forlornly from one of the more distant villages. Its solid notes intertwined melodically with the haunting cry of a gull wheeling overhead. At least the bell being rung indicated that somewhere out there were other people in the world still alive to share his questions.

  He turned his head to survey the land. It was amazing how far he could see without the fog. The Mountain tops were visible and the ocean stretched for miles until it reached the horizon. He saw wisps of grey at the tips of a few of the mountains and pointed it out to Asfyra and Grandpa.

  “See, the Heavenly Grottos are already reforming the mist and before long it will all be normal again,” he whispered to Asfyra, although who he was actually trying to reassure he didn’t know. She nodded her head in agreement, but didn’t remove it from where it was wedged in his neck. He understood her fear. Not only were they separated from the rest of their family now, but the world was new. It was unkno
wn and if the legends held any truth, then the sun was not their friend. For all its awesome beauty it would only burn the land dry and scorch the earth. Hard years were ahead. But the mist would return, already it was forming in the high places, newly birthed fog tentatively poking its head out of its mountain womb and into the vicious heat of the sun.

  One day grey would again consume the world. The Age of Fire would not return this was just a heat spell. Soon enough the world would return to normal and The Age of Mist would continue. As Santori turned toward the house to tend the precious Hearth Fire, he took courage from that fact. Despite his grief at the loss of his family, he also gained strength from the hope that somewhere on the island there might still be a girl in a green dress, with a blue sash who had asked him to dance.

  The End

  About the Author

  Mathias Colwell grew up in far Northern California exploring redwood forests and cloudy beaches. He loves God, his family, and friends. Mathias has been a writer for most of his life, drafting his first stories as young as eight years of age. His desire to write fantasy was inspired by such authors as J.R.R. Tolkien, David Eddings and the late Robert Jordan. He is an avid traveler and all-around adventurer, having visited or lived in 27 countries. His travels have led him around the world to five continents including stays in Siberia, Spain, and Chile, and he attributes many of his passions and goals in life to these experiences. In his free time he enjoys reading, outdoor activities such as soccer, snowboarding and water sports. Mathias has a passion for issues pertaining to social justice and human rights and hopes to influence these areas in the future.