by Jim Galford
From the corner of Raeln’s eye, he watched as Feanne approached the mists with Turess at her side. She was going to do it at any moment. She was willing to subject herself to a near eternity of torture to save others, all because her husband was lost and likely dead. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself staring at Greth, trying to get him to say what he needed to do. He did not want to make this choice by himself.
Memories came of his first meeting with Estin. He had changed little from the haunted, abused person Raeln had met in the slave camp, but that was not what he thought most on. Instead, it was the children. Those two little foxes—looking to be more Feanne’s children than Estin’s, no matter his affection for them—with their eyes staring sadly at Raeln, as though he could make everything better. He had wanted so badly to help them, though there had been little he could do then. Now their father was dead and their mother was prepared to throw her life away to ensure the Turessians and the mists would never come looking for them.
That kind of sacrifice was more than he could bear. He could not allow that memory to consume him. Too many people had lost their families already. His oath had always been his life, but now he had to do something more important than a promise. He had to give those children hope again. He had to give them back what was left of their family.
“Greth,” Raeln said, his voice shaking. He noticed Greth’s ears tilted his way, even as his eyes drifted to the mists. “I’m sorry.”
Nodding, Greth turned his back on Raeln, though he said over his shoulder, “I can wait, you idiot. I knew this was coming. Think I don’t know you by now?”
Turning toward Feanne and Turess, who were talking softly at the edge of the mists, Raeln walked up to Feanne. Neither seemed to have heard him approach, their attention solely on some details of what Turess was going to attempt. Occasionally Dorralt would tell them something about the magic of the place, but Raeln understood none of it. They were kneeling, with Turess drawing a diagram in the dust of the floor while Feanne stared numbly at him.
“Feanne, we need to talk about one thing before you do this,” Raeln insisted.
Feanne sighed and did not look up. “Raeln, there will always be more to talk about. There is no time. Kharali will die soon. We need to do this now.”
“I need you to look me in the eye and talk about your children. I need to know you’ve thought this through.”
Feanne’s hands dropped to her sides. Closing her eyes briefly, she nodded. “You already know what they need to hear. Take the message to them and never tell them that I am here, or they will likely tear this world apart trying to find me. I know I would have at their age.”
“Estin’s death wasn’t your fault, Feanne.”
She bared her teeth briefly before letting her head fall forward in surrender. “Say that all you want. He was always there to save me. Every time I was in danger, he would come running, and he has yet to fail me. I wasn’t fast enough or strong enough. I failed him. My children will understand why I chose this. I cannot ever look them in the eyes, could never ask them to forgive me for losing Estin like this. I will forever regret my mistakes here. I will regret—something that I swore I never would do. This is my penance.”
Clenching his fists, Raeln barely noticed Yoska and the dwarf moving around past Feanne, placing themselves between her and the mists. The two men moved as though they were telling each other where to go, though Raeln heard nothing and saw no indicators that they were signaling each other.
“Look at me and tell me this is the right thing to do. Tell me this is what you have to do,” he demanded. “A thousand years of torture and then death, while your children—”
Feanne opened her eyes and looked at him as she got up. “Stop, Raeln. I have to—”
Raeln punched her on the side of the head as hard as he could manage, knocking her backward and spraying blood across Turess, who kept his eyes on the floor. Yoska and the dwarf caught Feanne as she fell, and when she blinked and tried to get up, the dwarf hit her again with the hilt of his dagger. This time, she lay still.
“Do the right thing, you fuzzy giant,” grumbled the dwarf. The two of them dragged Feanne away, Yoska pressing a cloth to her forehead to slow the bleeding. “Make it worth our time, given what she’ll do to us. I’m already dead and I’m still dreading this…”
Raeln stepped in as they carried Feanne away, taking her place at Turess’s side. He did not look up and honestly did not look surprised.
Before Raeln could force himself to say anything, Greth walked up beside him and pressed his body close to Raeln’s. “You’re going to try and do this without saying good-bye,” Greth said, taking his hand. “Not a chance. Say it this time or you don’t get to go. I’ll spend my last few minutes beating sense into you. The world can burn for all I care.”
“Greth—”
“Tell me the whole truth or I throw myself in there, whether it helps or not,” Greth snapped, squeezing Raeln’s hand tightly. “You do know lying to her was the first time I’ve heard you break your word, right? Don’t promise me anything. Just tell me the truth.”
Raeln pulled Greth to himself, staring down at the top of Greth’s head as they hugged. “A little longer, Greth. This isn’t forever. I love you. I’ll be with you in a few years.”
“It’s centuries or longer, you idiot.”
“Do you really have anywhere else to go?” Raeln asked, trying to be funny but instead barely managing to keep himself from bursting into tears.
“Always the clever one,” Greth muttered, burying his face in Raeln’s chest. “You know I’ll be waiting. Don’t make me wait too long.”
Clenching his jaw and fighting tears, Raeln stepped away from Greth and turned to Turess, who looked little better than he felt. He was rubbing nervously at the edge of his robe, watching the silhouette of Kharali in the mist cloud.
At Turess’s side, Dorralt was clawing at his head, whispering and muttering as he struggled to maintain control.
“Are you sure?” Turess asked, finally looking at him and Greth. “This is one-way. I don’t know that I can ever pull you out. Closing hole will kill you, and even that may be beyond our ability to accomplish. Once you go in, you will suffer until your body dies or we find another way. Unless another volunteers to take your place…”
“I’m sure,” Raeln said without hesitation, wiping the tears from his face. “I don’t want anyone else trying to put themselves through this. If you can’t close the hole in the world, I want you to bury this temple forever. Give us as many years as possible before the mists come back. I’ll fight them forever if I have to.”
Turess winced and bowed to Raeln. “I know that is what needs to be done. My brother has asked to be buried here as well, to explain to next generation what must be done. Are you sure you want to be the one stuck here? Feanne would happily—”
“Without a doubt. I would hate myself for the rest of my days if Feanne took my place. This is where I belong, Turess. This is what I came here to do. This is the man I was always meant to be. I was always taught that I had to be willing to sacrifice for others. If this really is my death, I’d call it a good one. I would certainly not regret it.”
“Then stand beside the mist, and I’ll make this as easy on you as I can using what little magic we have available. You only need to do one thing. When you step in, you must pull Kharali out, or she will remain in there and you will be torn apart. Estin helped us considerably by moving her, but it will still not be easy. Until we get you to exact right spot, the mist will tear your life away from you. Once you take her place, time will stop for you.”
Raeln let his head hang and approached the mists until he could feel their heat and cold through his fur. Turning back toward the others, he had eyes for only Greth, who was openly weeping. As Raeln watched, Greth examined his hand between sobs, and Raeln could see his claws were beginning to crumble—the magic keeping him alive was already fading. They had run out of time. Oramain was gone.
“It’s just a few hundred years,” Raeln said as Turess walked up beside him. “You’d think less of me if I let someone else’s wife die when I could save them. This is about more than her…I can’t let her orphan their children.”
“Bloody idiot,” Greth muttered, covering his face. “Always knew you’d do something like this…”
Beyond Greth, Raeln spotted Asha, who moved over to stand beside Greth. Taking him in her arms, she comforted him, holding him tightly and patting his neck. It had been like that when Raeln or Ilarra had woken from nightmares in their youth. Now his dead mother was consoling his dead lover, even as he was going to let himself die to save others. It was surreal. Still, the sooner he began the torture, the sooner he would be with them again in whatever afterlife awaited them.
“Do it.”
Magical energy slammed into Raeln, driving him into the mists. Pain and rapidly changing temperatures washed over him as the mists drew him in. Fingers reached through his flesh and bones, trying to tear him apart and failing. Agony drew scream after scream as he fought to free himself.
The sense of something near Raeln’s shoulder let him know he was nearing Kharali. Without being able to see anything clearly, he reached out and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, then threw her toward the entrance of the mists. Doing so shoved him even deeper, ensnaring him in a burning cloud that held him firmly, preventing him from moving his arms or legs. His whole body froze in place as the sensation of having his skin and muscles flayed washed over him.
Through the mists, Raeln watched as Kharali collapsed onto the stones outside the reach of the mists. She had barely emerged before Turess pulled her into a hug, kissing her muzzle as she passed out. Beyond, he could see Yoska watching him sadly, still holding Feanne in his lap. Near Yoska, Raeln’s mother watched him with tear-filled eyes—the first time he had ever seen her cry. In her arms, Greth cried like a pup, his head buried in her shoulder.
Then the world faded away and there was unending pain.
Chapter Seventeen
“End of the Fall”
Estin tumbled as Dorralt kicked him and tried to grab the uneven stone floor as his back came into contact with the mists. He felt the cloud wrap itself around him, pulling him in before he could get his claws into anything. His entire body burned as the mists completely sucked him in. For a second he thrashed in blind agony before remembering Kharali was just inside the hole he had gone through.
He tumbled uncontrollably, in so much pain he could barely think, let alone act. Estin tried to look around for the leopardess, hoping that if he could not save himself, he might be able to save her. A cool breeze seemed to wash over him, and momentarily, the pain was gone, giving him enough clarity to take in what he was seeing. He thought he caught a glimpse of Turess outside the mists, his hands pointed at Estin and his eyes clouded with concentration. But the image was gone so quickly that he could not be sure what he saw. If Turess was doing something to aid him magically, he had to be getting help from somewhere else. Estin could probably thank Mairlee or the Miharon for that.
Estin tumbled through sparkling mists, pulled deeper into the cloud as the mists tried to tear him apart. He could feel the tendrils tugging at his body and mind, ripping the magic from him, though it was bearable for the moment. He turned his head, trying to ignore the sensation, and spotted Kharali hanging limply nearby.
The snow leopardess was unconscious as far as Estin could see, her body suspended inside a gaping black hole he took to be the actual tear between worlds that Dorralt had spoken of. Faint tendrils of flame held her arms and legs, preventing her from drifting away from the dark spot.
Saving Kharali might not be possible. Estin thought of that hole as a drain through which the mists would either come or go. Removing the cork could change everything and might put him in her place, which could not possibly be worse than where he already was.
Estin threw himself sideways with as much force as he could muster, using his tail to control his spin in the water-like mists. He caught Kharali’s ankle with one hand and pulled. At first she did not move and he continued to drift toward and then past her. In a panic, Estin kicked her as hard as he could, knocking her free of the hole and breaking the thin lines of flame. Then the cool sensation faded and the mists burned his skin, blinding him with pain.
Minutes or hours passed as the mists buffeted him about, tugging and tearing at his body. Each time the agony grew to the point that he thought he would die from pain alone, the cooling sensation returned briefly. It spared him long enough that he managed to stay awake and continue fighting to endure. Whether the aid was coming from Turess or Mairlee—or anything else Estin had ever heard of—he hoped they knew how much he appreciated those seconds of respite.
The mists shifted, and Estin felt himself violently thrown out into cool air. Smiling despite the continued ache through his body, he then realized he was not actually touching anything. For a brief moment, he tumbled, feeling weightless. He fell backward and hit the ground so hard that he blacked out.
When he came to, his mouth was filled with both blood and sand. Attempting to push himself up, he fell again. He had put too much weight on his injured wrist, which was far from fully healed. Coughing and struggling to roll to a kneeling position, Estin fell back down as his legs gave out.
Reaching down, he felt along his legs for any major injuries, but he found nothing more than bruises under his fur. Despite that, his knees and ankles ached badly, making him really not want to stand up anytime soon. Even his tail and shoulders hurt. The pain was far less when he lay still, focusing on his breathing while he stayed on the sand. No matter how he poked and prodded at his knees, all he could find was a small amount of swelling.
Estin tried to open his eyes, only to find the light blinded him, forcing him to close them again.
To keep himself from having to get up sooner than he wanted to, Estin sniffed and listened. He tried to gauge where he might be and whether he was in any danger without the ability to see. He could smell water, and thousands of distinct scents that were foreign to him. The sand under him alone was enough to tell him he was nowhere near where he had entered the mists. The warm sunlight confirmed it, though the smells were nothing like Corraith, the only other place he had been with that much sand.
Estin finally gave up on letting his body fend for itself and sat up, ignoring the objections of his joints. The pain was not nearly as bad as he had first thought, but his knees and shoulders ached and burned. He could only imagine he had managed to bruise himself worse than he thought during the time in the mists. That, he could fix.
He reached up to heal his shoulder, stretching his thoughts out to the voices that were an intrinsic part of his magic. He found silence in his mind. There were no voices, no ambient flows of magic…just his own thoughts. It was not the first time the mists had left him helpless, but it was always inconvenient. He sighed and accepted it would take some time to recover in both mind and body. He honestly had not expected to still be alive, let alone have full control over his magic. A wait for a few hours to channel magic again would be an easy thing to endure.
Looking around when his eyes adjusted to the light. Estin found he lay on a small island, surrounded by blue-black water as far as he could see in every direction. There were a few trees and some stone outcroppings that might make a decent shelter, but little else. He likely could walk the entire isle within a day and not miss anything.
Estin’s grumbling stomach alerted him to his next problem. He was half-starved after healing himself repeatedly on the way into the temple. The dragon’s gift of magic had been a huge boon, but it had also sapped his strength far more than normal. He needed to eat and drink, or his body would revert back to its injured state. Given how many wounds he had healed during the last day, that could be fatal. Rolling his eyes at his own foolishness, he accepted that it might even be why his joints hurt so much. That and the repeated beatings from Dorralt and rough ride through
the mists.
“All right, I can’t eat trees,” he muttered. He eyed the tall trees and their massive green fronds far off the ground, which bore what appeared to be oversized nuts. He saw nothing that resembled fruit, though he hoped some of the smaller trees near the middle of the island might have something. “What else do I have?”
Searching the beach, Estin spotted a group of massive turtles, nearly as large as wolves in the mountains. Aside from them, there was no sign of wildlife other than a few birds circling overhead. If anything lived on the island, it was hiding from him and likely would put up a fight when he did find it. And he was in no shape to fight with anything.
“Guess it’s time to go full-on predator and resort to a meat diet,” he grumbled, rubbing his face. “I hate fish. Not the first time I had to eat something I hate, though.”
Estin lay back on the sand and stared up at the blue sky. He had survived, and that meant Feanne probably had too. He had to believe that. No matter where he was and what was to come, he forced himself to believe she was happy and safe far away from the mists. There was little else he could do to keep from screaming in frustration. She and the kits had to stay out of his mind if he was going to survive and find his way back to them. Once he was on the mainland, he could dedicate himself to finding them and figuring out what he had missed.
Climbing to his feet, Estin stopped and looked down at his hands. Normally the fur there was starkly black, but it now had grey tips in spots. As he stared at his fingers, turning his hands over and back, he realized both hands shook slightly. With some effort, he managed to steady them and forced himself to search the island again. The grey in his fur was likely little more than aftereffects of the mists, but the trembling was more worrisome.
“Too tired, getting shaky.” He clenched one hand into a fist. Doing so made his knuckles ache. He had gotten sick plenty of times by pushing himself, but joint pain was new.