by Jim Galford
She took a step forward, no longer caring what happened. Arturis was gone, so she no longer had any reason to struggle on. All that was left was the mists.
Her parents had always found her, so Oria’s mind whirled with the vague chance that they were alive and had found a way through the mists a second time. If they could, she could too. What were mere odds against the need to go to her parents? She was willing to take that gamble.
In the glowing wall, Oria saw destruction, as well as life. Glimpses of other places, some mundane and some exotic flashed briefly across her vision. For a second, she saw mountains and realized that this was a way home. She could forget everything that had happened and go back to the mountains. Even if her parents were not there, it was a familiar place and drew her closer.
Deep down, Oria thought about the very good chance that continuing forward would kill her. She hesitated, blinking to try to clear her mind.
In the mists, she then saw cities, one after another. These were places she had never seen before, but every one of them was burning or abandoned. Near many, she could make out vast armies and she saw enough detail through the mists to know that these were undead forces.
The world was theirs, she realized, and her hopes vanished with that thought. What sense was there in going on alone when this city might well be the last…making it the target for every Turessian that still walked Eldvar?
Another step and cool air washed over Oria, making her skin tingle. The next step, the mists seemed to part, inviting her in. The mountains grew clearer, beckoning her to walk through the mists and to somewhere better than where she was. Where that might be, she really no longer cared.
Oria lifted her foot to take the final step and was yanked off her feet, dragged away from the mists. As if in reaction to having their prey stolen, the mists swirled and rushed forward a few more feet, sweeping in more of the dead, tendrils reaching pleadingly toward Oria.
“Let me go,” whispered Oria, though she no longer had the strength to fight. “I need to go to my parents.”
The person carrying her—Phaesys, she soon realized—hoisted her onto his shoulder, practically running from the room, with Sirella, Lyra, and a few of the soldiers straggling.
Hanging limply over Phaesys’ shoulder, Oria watched behind them as the tunnel collapsed, taking with it several of the most injured soldiers. Even with rocks falling and closing the way, the mists continued after them, creeping around rocks unhindered.
They ran until they were outside the palace, joining a screaming throng of elves and humans, all fleeing in much the same direction. While the streets had been mostly empty earlier in the evening, now every living being in Corraith was running as a mob toward the south. Oria watched men, women, and even children get trampled by that mob in their blind race to escape.
Oria lifted her head from Phaesys’ back and saw that the whole north end of the city was gone, swept into the mists that came in off the desert like a sandstorm. Oria stared in amazement as the mist cloud pulled entire buildings into itself, as though nothing could ever sate its appetite. Fires had broken out in some of the remaining buildings on the north-end, illuminating the destruction that the mists themselves barely lit up.
Mists had always seemed low-hanging threats that drifted along the ground, in Oria’s experience. This time, the mists were taller than many of the buildings, rising up like a great wave to crash over the stone structures, washing them away from the world. Belying the amazing power of the mists, not once did Oria hear anything beyond the crowds around her, as if the mists were swallowing even the sound of the collapsing buildings they swept over.
Oria kept watching the mists as they fled the city, Phaesys leading the people toward Norum’s encampment. At first, Oria thought it a useless attempt to get away from Arturis’ forces, but then realized there was no longer a reason to hide. The only threat now was the mist. Any army that Arturis had built would now be on their own, likely either scattering to the far ends of the desert to save themselves, or standing mindlessly in the path of the very mist cloud that had taken their master.
When they did arrive at the camp, Phaesys was pulled away immediately, telling her that he had to organize the newcomers and assure everyone that they were safe. Oria was not entirely sure if that was true, but she half-heartedly listened as she stared numbly at the mists from the vantage point of the stone plateaus that encircled the camp.
Throughout that evening, Oria watched as the mists finally had consumed enough and began to move on, drifting northwest and away from Corraith. In their wake, nearly half the city was gone. Where once there had been historic buildings that had survived centuries—possibly dating back as far as the first Turessians—now there was only a long stretch of smooth bare sand. The southern part of the city was largely obscured by clouds of black smoke from burning homes.
Part way through the night, Alyana, Theldis, and Rinam joined Oria, silently crawling into her lap. They thankfully said nothing and required her to say nothing in return as the four of them watched the mists slowly drift into the distance.
Fighting tears as the night wore on, Oria could not bring herself to tell the three kits that she had lost their parents. Those three children would not understand for quite some time why their parents would not come home and Oria was in no rush to explain it. As she clung to them, she prayed they would not ask. If they did, she was certain she would break.
By morning, with all three of the kits asleep in her lap and Oria still sitting at the edge of the camp, she saw that the desert winds had begun to shape the sands that had once been northern Corraith, creating slight hills. Within a week, she thought it might look as if the city had never been there, like the original builders had just stopped halfway through building the place.
Carrying the sleeping kits back to the camp with the help of two elven women—her own right arm hanging uselessly at her side, the shoulder swollen badly—Oria slipped into her parents’ small tent and lay the kits down on their bedding. The elven women said something vaguely kind and left, but the words were lost on Oria. Oria watched the kits sleep for a little while, then covered them with Feanne’s old bearskin cloak.
Making soft purring noises in their sleep, the three children wrapped themselves tightly in the heavy cloak. Deep down, Oria wondered if that was the last thing she had to offer them of their mother. Aside from her father’s stories Oria had taken from his notebook months earlier, she had nothing from him to offer them, either. Their entire legacy was gone in a single night.
Oria put a hand to her eyes, trying hard not to cry as she thought about just how young the kits were. They likely would only barely remember their parents, maybe as little as a fleeting memory of how they looked. A worse punishment she could not imagine.
When Oria finally could pull herself away from the kits, she went out into the camp, not really sure what she was looking for as she stumbled past the two old elven women, who had stayed nearby after leaving the tent. Oria barely noticed the women go into the tent behind her to watch the kits in her absence.
Food would be wise, she thought, realizing that it had been nearly a full day since she had eaten anything. Still, she was so lost in her own thoughts, she wandered aimlessly, not even able to acknowledge the occasional kind words from the other refugees that knew who she was and who had been lost.
Oria walked on, taking in the misery of those displaced by the mists and the crying children everywhere. For all the grief she felt at her own losses, she could see many hundreds of others who had their own stories of loss. It was not fair for her to feel so broken when everyone here was hurting just as much as she was.
Oria tried to stagger past a large man, but he caught her as her balance wavered. Looking up, she saw that it was Norum, his eyes swelling with concern.
“I know you have much to think about already,” the man said, taking his hands off her as soon as she could stand on her own, “but I wanted to ask if you were planning on having the people return
to the wells in the city tomorrow, or begin marching west to the nearest cities.”
“We wouldn’t survive the walk,” Oria answered in a near-mumble, barely able to think through the question, let alone why he was asking her. “Shouldn’t their leaders be answering that? Phaesys, or someone…?”
“They have no one left. Your father was the last known member of the council, making you his voice until a new council is formed,” Norum admitted. He looked pointedly at a nearby tent, from which Oria could smell someone familiar, though she did not have the presence of mind to immediately connect the scent with a face. “With your parents gone, the soldiers are looking for someone…until they settle back in, you’re the only one even related to nobility. The only others were the Herroulns, but no one here would follow them after the last few weeks’ events. Phaesys tried to give some direction last night, but they sent him away. I doubt he’ll ever be allowed to lead, after what he did to your family.”
“Why is he still alive?” asked Oria, only barely realizing she had said the words.
“Not my place, given what happened. I was going to ask, once you were in a better place.”
Glancing at the tent, Oria drew her brother’s knife and walked straight in through the closed flap, unconcerned with formalities.
On the far side of the tent, Phaesys sat facing the entrance. Between them lay his sword, unsheathed, with the hilt set to face the tent flap. Phaesys wore no shirt and Oria could see freshly-tended wounds all over his arms and chest. Judging by the amount of lost fur and skin, he had likely bled severely in the battle.
“I was wondering when you would come,” he said, his eyes on the sword. “Now is as good as later.”
Oria started to turn and walk from the tent in a moment of weakness, but she stopped herself, making herself face Phaesys. All of her anger solidified and gave her strength to confront what Phaesys had done. In a second, she went from numb to raging with anger.
“This is your fault,” she snarled, letting the tent close behind her. The knife in her hand felt lighter than it had a moment earlier.
“Yes, it is.”
“We could have avoided him completely. My parents would be alive now, if you hadn’t betrayed us.”
“I agree.”
“You should die for what you let happen to them.”
“Then kill me. Please. I deserve this. You can put an end to my father’s legacy of betrayal tonight. I never wanted to be like him…death is far better.”
Oria’s anger wilted as she stared at Phaesys, calmly kneeling and agreeing with everything she threw at him. She had to struggle to maintain her rage, kicking aside the sword he had been staring at, rather than her.
“What makes you think I won’t?” she asked, laying the blade of her knife alongside his neck.
Phaesys did not look up, but leaned slightly into the blade.
Oria dearly wanted to kill him. He had lied to her, to her parents, and nearly gotten them all killed, just for his own honor. It was unforgivable to Oria, but she could not quite bring herself to do it.
Taking a step closer, Oria pressed the blade into Phaesys’ neck until she saw a hint of blood mar his pale fur. Still, he made no effort to stop her.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Oria demanded, moving to Phaesys’ side. From where she stood, the blade rested on the back of his neck like an executioner’s axe. “I need to hear why you would do it. Why would you destroy our trust like this? I know you said what you would get out of it…but why?”
“I have nothing to say that would forgive what I’ve done,” he confessed. “Doing the wrong thing for the right reason is still wrong. I know better, but that does not undo the mistake I made. I wanted something I could not have. I wanted a clean conscience before leaving these lands with you. My honor made me do something beyond dishonorable. I cannot possibly apologize enough for what I’ve done.”
Oria watched Phaesys for anything that would give her the strength to finish the job. Instead, she saw the matted fur around his eyes, as tears ran down his muzzle to fall to the floor. That upset her even more, thinking that he was crying for himself.
“Don’t cry like a child,” she snapped, though she felt tears on her own face. “What you did doesn’t leave room for you to feel anything more than a traitor’s death.”
Phaesys looked up at her, tears still running freely. “I’m not crying for myself. I’m crying for what I’ve done to you and your family. No tears should be shed for me by anyone. I know the people of Corraith would not even consider weeping for me.”
“Would you have let them die?” Oria asked, letting the knife fall to her side. “My parents. When you betrayed them, would you have stood by and watched Arturis kill them?”
Phaesys shook his head slowly and said, “No. I would have died to save them, even as it was my mistake that put them there. I tried to get to them before the mists took them, but I was too slow. That, too, is unforgivable. I should have died trying. I actually was hoping to.”
“Beg for me to forgive you,” Oria growled, her arms trembling with anger as she paced around Phaesys. She knew she could put the knife in his back and kill him before he could breathe if she wanted. “Give me a reason not to kill you right now.”
Phaesys took a slow breath and said nothing.
“You would let me kill you, just to make amends?”
“Not to make amends,” Phaesys answered softly. “To give you revenge. Nothing either of us does will make ever amends for my foolishness. I have nothing else to give you, other than revenge. I deserve far worse, but this is what I can offer you. It is all I have left. I threw away trust and love, just to have proper formalities in my life. My father cast aside anything else that had meaning for our family…what we had was the only thing left to me and I destroyed it.”
Snarling, Oria threw the knife aside, sending it crashing into a clay jar of water that shattered and poured out on the sandy floor.
Oria grabbed Phaesys and threw him onto his back. Dropping onto his stomach, she clamped her fingers down on his throat, choking him as she leaned her face near his, baring her teeth instinctively near his eye.
“I won’t kill you,” she hissed, easing her grip only slightly. “Not today. I want you to live with what you’ve done every time you see me, until I’m ready to put you down.”
“Then when?” Phaesys asked, closing his eyes tightly.
Oria felt the fight go out of her as her resolve wavered and the day’s sorrow hit her. She wanted to lean forward and nuzzle at Phaesys, to remember how they had been before he had chosen poorly, but she could not bring herself to forgive him that easily. She wanted to kill him, but deep down, knew that she still loved him. It would take time to let that go.
Wiping away tears that tried to come despite her best efforts, Oria managed to say, “Ask me again tomorrow. If I let you live then, ask me the next day. I’ll probably let you live until my parents come home…if…”
Oria nearly choked on a sob and quickly stood up, running from the tent as the tears came in a great flood. She ran away from the majority of the people in the camp, deeper into the tall rocks, where she knew they would not see her cry. If they were looking to her for answers, she had to be strong, at least when they were watching. When she could not be strong, she would need to hide.
Curling up behind a stone that offered almost complete cover, Oria buried her face in her hands, weeping so hard that she could barely breathe. Her mind filled with images of her siblings, of Atall, and of her parents. Even Phaesys, when he was still hers, came unbidden.
She was entirely alone and expected to raise three children with no idea how and no one to help her. People expected her to have answers that she could not possibly guess at. Anyone she might have confided in to help her through the pain was gone.
Clutching her knees to her chin as she tried to control the tears, to find some inner strength to go on, Oria realized that someone had quietly come into her hiding place and was
waiting in front of her. The tears kept her nose snuffly, so she could not smell the newcomer, and she could not bring herself to look up.
“Please…go…” she managed, covering her face to hide the tears that had soaked her facial fur.
The newcomer did not move.
“I just need to be alone,” Oria pleaded, finally looking up.
Kneeling at her feet, Phaesys had his head low, as if he were waiting for her to say something.
“I said to leave me alone,” Oria tried to tell him more firmly, but the thickness in her throat made the words sound far less than commanding. “You are the last person I want to see right now.”
Lowering himself further in his kneeling posture, Phaesys put his forehead to the ground just in front of Oria and placed his hands on her feet.
“My life is in your hands,” he said softly, clinging to her when she tried to pull away. “It always has been, but now I owe you far more than love…I owe you loyalty. Tell me what you need and I will do it without question. I will serve until I die, whether by your choice or not. I am yours to command.”
Laughing despite herself, Oria pulled Phaesys up from the ground.
“I can’t lead, Phaesys. I just can’t do it. Norum is looking to me for answers that I just don’t have. I can fight like mom taught me…but I can’t even make a decision on what will happen to you. Please don’t ask me to make more decisions.”
“Oria, ask me anything and I’ll help however I can, if you want me to. Norum is an old friend and I can probably get you through whatever he needs.”
Tears still running down her cheeks, Oria gave Phaesys her best attempt at a smile, still holding his chin to keep him from prostrating himself again.
“I need help,” she confessed, leaning forward to touch her forehead against his. “I don’t trust you…I can’t, not yet and maybe not ever. But I do need someone to help me. I need your help with the kits, Phaesys. I can’t do this by myself. They need a family, not an angry sister who’s still in mourning. I need help leading. I need…I just need you. At least for now. At least until I know what I need to do with my life.”