Fog Lifted

by William Tyler Davis

  He crept toward the first tower, his damp feet sinking into the dry path.

  Footsteps!

  The sound of running, panting breath, and hard slaps against the sand and gravel. The sound drew closer. Collus pressed his back into the tower wall.

  Two shadows passed from the path that led down the other side of the cliff.

  When Collus had scouted the town earlier in the day, he’d made a note that it led to a small cove. It had seemed unused, the boats and the harbor more bustling, but now it seemed the perfect place to store a pet beast.

  “They-ah killed-ah Frank,” one of the runners said through shallow breaths.

  “I know. I was there,” the other said. He had the raspy voice of the barman. “They killed more than just Frank. At least three others. And stop using that primitive talk.”

  “You-ah know-ah what-ah changing-ah does-ah to-ah us,” the other man said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

  “I know what you think it does.”

  “Are-ah—” the other started but then corrected, “you sure the Ranger is dead?”

  “Positive,” the barman said confidently. “No way a man could survive that close to the rocks.”

  “And the others?”

  “Believe they’re coming around to shore on this side.” The shadow pointed down to the harbor.

  “What should we do? Kill them?”

  “Well,” the barman hesitated. “We could leave them to it, but it’d grow our legend—too much. You know how dwarves can spin a yarn. And then there’s the other Ranger.”

  “True,” the other man said.

  More footsteps crescendoed up the road; three more shadows appeared. No, four.

  Collus’ mind struggled to piece together this new information. What were these men? What were they talking about?

  “I’m going to go get the boss,” the barman said to the others.

  “I-ah ain’t-ah gone-ah tell-ah Sue about-ah Frank,” one of the new men said.

  “No,” the barman said. “I’ll take care of all that. I need you all to go and finish off the rest.”

  “But-ah—”

  “No buts. I’m sure you can think of something.”

  Their shadows nodded.

  Again Collus was between two minds. As the barman’s shadow faded to the straight blackness of night, he wanted to follow—to see who this boss really was. He could let Rotrick and the dwarves deal with the others. They were just men after all. Weren’t they?

  Something that they’d said told him otherwise.

  “I-ah have an idea,” said the first voice.

  The group of now five men huddled together in a group hug.

  Their shadow morphed into something a lot more sinister than an orgy of five men. It looked like a giant crab, three times the size of any man. It tested its pincers in the air, then scuttled down the stone steps.

  “Changelings,” Collus muttered to himself.

  He followed.

  5

  The thing flew down the steps sideways, without much need for its legs to catch on the stone at all. Collus stayed well behind. Just enough to see it through the still thick fog and unwilling to give the changelings the opportunity to fight him without his sword.

  The steps were much harder to navigate in the night, but Coe’s naked feet did a decent enough job finding each stone. His feet were no longer wet, but the bottom of each pant leg clung to his heel. He could feel the pants fraying and cursed himself for losing his boots to the depths of the ocean.

  The crab’s silhouette darted in and out of view, as Coe worked down the cliff; he’d spent so much effort climbing, only now to go back down again. The fog had reached its full thickness. Several times he lost the crab to the mist, only to race forward and almost stumble too close. It stopped and seemed to sense him, spinning on the steps and looking up toward the town. But Collus jumped backward and was lost in the tendrils of fog.

  At the bottom of the steps, the creature veered away from the dock and looked as if it buried itself in the sand. Collus wasn’t sure why. Then he heard the unmuted shouts of the dwarves as the Company made their way down the dock, Rotrick leading the way.

  Collus wanted to shout to them, to warn them, but as the crab made no move, Coe did the same.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Two-finger bellowed. “All fer savin’ me dumb life.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Rotrick said. “He’s a good swimmer. He’ll probably wash up along the shore in the morning. No harm done.”

  “Aye,” Wellspoken chipped in. “Never seen a man get out of as much trouble as Coe. Now if it was you,” he nodded to Rotrick, “I’d be planning the wake.”

  “You’d have a wake for me?” Rotrick laughed. “I’m touched.”

  “Aye, we’d even sing a hymn or two.”

  “Thoughtful,” Rotrick said.

  He turned from the dock, and they headed in the other direction, away from the city. None of them noticed Coe standing in the shadows among sea oats and dunes. He didn’t want to startle them, afraid the changelings would choose that moment to attack. He thought he knew why they waited now. Even as large as the thing was, it would still be an unfair fight against three dwarves and a Ranger. It probably hoped to pick them off one by one. Or perhaps it waited for reinforcements.

  “We’ll make camp down the beach a way,” Rotrick said. “You heard Coe; the town’s in on it somehow.”

  “Aye,” both Wellspoken and Billy agreed.

  Two-finger stood back. He seemed to catch a glimpse of Collus but shook it off and followed the others.

  Collus waited. It wasn’t long before the crab-like creature unburied itself and shook off the sand. It followed at a safe distance within earshot.

  Coe followed, now closer to the crab.

  “You don’t um think that beast will be tryin’ to get us here on the beach?” Two-finger said after they’d walked for a while.

  “It looked injured,” Rotrick said.

  “No one ever told us it came outs the water,” Billy agreed.

  “No one ever said the town was in on it either,” Wellspoken said.

  “Coe never said it was after Rangers,” Two-finger said.

  It was true, Collus had led them here on pretense, the journey planned years ahead. He paid off story tellers to spin tales he’d gathered into something manageable for Rotrick and the dwarves ears. He needed their unwavering dedication to the cause.

  “Don’t matter,” Rotrick said. “I don’t know about you three, but there’s no way I’m sleeping tonight. Tomorrow we find Coe, and we get out of here.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “We will,” Rotrick said.

  “But if we don’t?” Two-finger said blankly.

  “We will!.” Rotrick’s voice took on the harsh tone of a Ranger. It wasn’t something that any of them heard often. Rotrick was the class clown, which was saying something in the company of dwarves.

  Speaking of dwarves, Billy and Wellspoken built a fire from driftwood they collected on the beach. Smartly, Rotrick made a sort of shelter around the flame. He pieced together a frame from yet more of the hollow wood that had washed up on shore, spreading a blanket over it and shielding the fire from view. While the fog made the cliff and the city all but invisible aside, there was no telling what could be seen from up on high.

  With the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the banter of dwarves, a shifting of sand went unheard.

  The crab-like changelings drew closer.

  Time was running short.

  With each passing moment, Rotrick and the dwarves let their guard down a bit further. Then a bit further. And it was only a matter of time before one, if not all of them, fell asleep.

  Collus drew as close as he could to the crab without drawing its attention. He kept well enough away from the swiping distance of its giant pincers.

  Without his weapon, he would be little help in a fight.

  He took a deep breath.
/>   “One of you mind throwing me my sword?” he yelled over the crash of a wave.

  The changelings paused, surprised before it jerked around and was on him.

  “It’s just there’s this big crustacean about to cut me in half.”

  The crab swiped wildly as Collus ducked below one claw. Then Coe jumped backward just in time as the other pincer passed right where his midriff had been.

  Both Rotrick and the dwarves seemed rooted to spots by the fire.

  “I’m somewhat serious,” Collus scolded them. “I could at least use my sword.”

  Finally, Rotrick smiled and drew Collus’ sword from their gear. He grabbed it by the scabbard and thrust the sword up in the air, unsheathing it in the single motion. The sword arced through the air and the hilt fell into Collus’ waiting grip.

  At that moment, the crab knew it was outmatched. Instead of attack, it went defensive. The thing waved both its pincers outside and then in, keeping a hundred and eighty-degree field of protection.

  In one swift motion, the Ranger’s sword cut down one of the pincers.

  It seemed all but over then—like they could all breathe a sigh of relief.

  But in that same instant, a man wielding a broad sword and a spider as big as the man itself came crashing into the melee.

  Rotrick, with his sword at the ready, fended off the man. They parried out into the small waves, the sound of steel on steel piercing the crisp night air.

  Both Billy and Wellspoken turned to take on the spider. And as they did so, Billy missed his footing, sinking down into some wet sand. The crab had scuttled back, and it swept its pincer at him, catching the dwarf exactly on the left eye. Billy let out a howl of anguish. He put a hand on the eye, but caught up in the momentum of the fight and bent on landing at least one blow, with his right hand, he took his hammer and swung.

  The spider was knocked back. It hissed, then arched its backside at the dwarves, beginning to spin them in a web.

  At Coe’s feet, what was once the crab’s pincer was now back to the form of a man.

  “What’re we dealin’ with here?” Two-finger sliced his axe at the crab. The giant thing retreated as both the man and the spider carried on.

  “Changelings,” Collus said.

  “Ah, believe I heard o’ them.”

  Two-finger was also able to take the next pincer. Now the crab was really in trouble. It tried to scuttle back into the ocean. But before it was able, Collus quickly stabbed his sword through the thing’s face, then chest.

  The three men who had made up the middle of the thing, all changed form, back to their human shape, each with a wound of some significance. Two of them died shortly while the other fell back into the ocean, his arm dangling at his side.

  Collus took him down.

  He and Two-finger turned on the spider but were too late. It hissed in pain as Wellspoken took his pick axe and smashed its brains. Billy peeled gossamers from his clothes and beard.

  The magic of the metamorphosis happened in a blink. What was once a black and hairy spider turned into the limp form of the barman at Wellspoken’s feet.

  Another battle waged in the shallows, yet to be won.

  The clink of the swords and the splash of the men in the water came in flurries.

  As Coe ran to the edge of the shore, ready to help his friend, Rotrick let out a howl of pain. The man had clipped Rotrick on the shoulder.

  And now he held Rotrick with a knife at his throat. The man’s sword hand was wrapped around Rotrick; he pulled the other Ranger back toward the beach.

  “Take another step and watch your friend die,” the man said.

  Through the fog Collus recognized him. It was the old man from the bar, Marty.

  Only he didn’t move like an old man; he didn’t fight like an old man either. And now he too wore the jerkin and the hat of a Ranger.

  “You?” Collus said.

  “Me,” the man said, laughing. “Isn’t this always how it comes to an end? Never who you suspect.”

  Collus shrugged. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Two-finger do the same.

  “Well not usually,” Two-finger said.

  “Aye,” Billy said, still holding his eye. “Usually we just kill the damn thing.”

  “Aye,” Wellspoken agreed.

  “Really?” the man, Marty, said. “Just like that? There’s no twist?”

  “Not usually,” Rotrick said, through gritted teeth. The knife on his throat drew closer, piercing flesh.

  “Probably best you don’t speak,” Marty said.

  “Aye,” the dwarves agreed.

  “Fair,” Rotrick gargled.

  “So, how does this end?” Collus asked. “You seem to know how things like this go.”

  “Ah, I guess you’ll have to find out.” He drew Rotrick back with him as effortless as holding a puppy. “You probably think I could kill your friend and then you four could take care of me. But you’d be wrong. And your friend would be without his life.”

  “I was actually thinking through about four different ways it could end with only your life taken,” Collus said confidently.

  “Again, you’d be wrong.” The old man smiled. “If I was any other man, maybe.”

  “Then, who are you?”

  “I’m someone of consequence.”

  “But who?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me? I could show you though.”

  “Then show me,” Collus said.

  In a flash, the man let Rotrick go. His sword navigated toward Collus who only barely found himself able to defend each blow. The dwarves joined the melee, hammers and axes flew at the old man but were well defended. Each dwarf ended up on their back in the shallow water. Then Coe found his sword locked between the old man’s own and the blade of the old man’s knife. He tried to force himself away, but each movement barely phased the old man.

  Finally, Marty shoved Collus away. And before any of them knew it, he had grabbed Rotrick back within his clasp. And the knife was tucked back under the other Ranger’s chin.

  “Was that a good enough clue for you?”

  The old man smiled mischievously.

  At first, it didn’t seem like a good clue at all. Any man could be a great swordsman. Coe had defeated many such men—men that had labored, practiced for nine, ten hours a day for years only to be outwitted by a Ranger’s slight—a swift kick. An elbow to the ribs. Hell, Collus had even bitten off a chunk of a man’s ear once. Winning was all that mattered.

  But this man was more than a fencer, Collus could see that. And he wore a Ranger’s garb, the tunic, the boots, and the hat.

  Coe looked at the old man once more, studying each feature of his face. A scar twisted from the man’s lips to his ear, faded and unmoving in the man’s sneer. Before, at the bar, it had only seemed another wrinkle on the man’s face. Now, it was a distinguishing mark.

  “The Great Ranger?” Collus whispered.

  “What?” Two-finger said. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  The old man bowed; Rotrick too, forced to do so by the Great Ranger’s bend at the hip.

  “You’re sharp,” he said. “I hope I’ve proven my mettle. If not, we can gladly go again. I can slit throats.”

  “I don’t care what you prove,” Collus said. “More important, what do you want? Why are you here among changelings?”

  “I cannot answer either of those questions. Not right now. But I’ll offer you this. Stay tonight at the pub.” He looked down at the limp figure of the barman on the beach. “No harm will come to you tonight; I assure you that. At dawn’s light, you,” he said to Collus, “and only you, meet me at the top of the center tower—the one with the blue light like a Ranger’s eyes.”

  “And what of Rotrick?” Collus said.

  The old man brought Rotrick closer, choking out his breath. “Him?” he said. “Nothing to worry about. Just a little leverage I need to keep. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Um,” Two-finger sputtered. “If I may, can I
ask why dawn’s light? I mean, couldn’t you three just go on and get it over with? Save us a bitta time, ya know.”

  “Aye,” Billy and Wellspoken agreed.

  Billy had taken his hand off the eye. It was black and swollen and dribbled with blood down his cheek.

  “You really don’t know how these things work, do ya?” the Great Ranger said. “I have to give your man here some time to think. At least an hour or so. He needs to filter through every dumb idea in his head. He needs time to piece together properly why I might be here. How he can rescue his friend. Save his and your necks.”

  “Aye,” Two-finger nodded, “good enough for me.”

  “Aye,” the other two dwarves said.

  6

  Before Collus had any chance to protest, Rotrick and the Great Ranger disappeared into the mist. The dwarves gathered up their things as Coe followed. They left the remains of the changelings on the beach. Already, the real crabs had found their bodies and began to dismantle the remains.

  The pub was deserted; the town quiet, only the lights on the three towers hummed with some unknown energy. The faint spray of the ocean against the cliff repeated itself each minute, an everlasting battle between solid and liquid.

  “Who the bloody blazes is the Great Ranger?” Two-finger asked. He had commandeered the tap and served ales all around. Collus’ mug went untouched between his legs. Billy found an old rag and tied it taut around the side of his face, covering his left eye in the makeshift bandage. The three dwarves sat at the bar, high on the barstools like children in highchairs. While Collus was sprawled on the floor below the bar, his head rested against the wooden panel. He did his best to ignore them.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Wellspoken said. “He’s got to be thinking about things and getting ready. He doesn’t have time for your questions.”

  Coe was meant to be coming up with some solution. Some answer to why the Great Ranger was still alive. Why he had lured other Rangers to their deaths.

  But his mind felt oddly blank. He was barely able to call up the faces of his boys. Even Tristan, always the easiest to snare, eluded him. The boy’s face was shrouded by the fog of the mind.