Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

  “Having trouble keeping up, old man?” Lester ribs his friend as he dumps his rucksack on the ground.

  “Don’t forget, older also means wiser,” Hugo grins. “These ‘old bones’ foretell that Adventrya will bless us with a cooling rain and drive away the mist on the coast.”

  “Foolishness,” Lester disagrees. “The rain season isn’t to begin for three more weeks.”

  “Perhaps the goddess is too eager to wait,” Hugo shrugs.

  Andromeda looks to the darkening skies. The dark season seems to have stretched on for too long as it is, concealing their bleak lands in eerie darkness for all but three hours of the day. She’d always hated the dark season, Mellouk’s sacred season. Legends told around bonfires throughout the dark seasons of Andromeda’s childhood told wild stories of twisted creatures lurking in the dark and luring prey with the promise of a warm meal and a bright fire to stave off dark spirits. Dark creatures that, if legend told true, even caused Mistborn and long gone Waterborns to shrink away in fear.

  Andromeda much prefers the reaping season, the season of bright reds and oranges, a time of harvest and mischief — and sacrifice. For every year one man from every major village and city in the kingdom is selected as an offering to Zarouk to show their thanks for bringing them through a successful growing season and to keep them healthy and their bellies fed during the oppressive dry season. There is no honor, not even being a member of the Watierai Warriors, in Vacantia so great as to be a sacrifice to Zarouk. It was a mark upon your family that you were pure of soul and brave as the gods above.

  “Don’t just stand there girl,” Lester gestures to her. Hurriedly Andromeda snaps to attention, tearing her gaze away from the sky as she slides the heavy rucksack off her back. Her shoulders sag in relief as she groans rubbing the back of her neck to uncoil the knotted muscles in her shoulder blades. She’s not used to carrying so much weight on her back.

  “Lesson number two,” Hugo grins at Andromeda as he straightens and leans on his walking stick. “Honing your hunting skills.”

  Andromeda swallows hard and follows Hugo back into the foothills as Lester sharpens one of his swords on the whetstone he pulls from his rucksack.

  When they are sufficiently surrounded by tree cover Hugo pulls a strip of cloth from the pocket of his trousers.

  “Do you want to put this over your eyes or shall I?” Hugo inquires as he holds the cloth out to Andromeda. She gets the feeling if Lester were overseeing this exercise, he would not have given her the option.

  “I’ve got it,” Andromeda grabs the cloth and blindfolds herself, grateful to avoid direct contact. Her fingers deftly tie the cloth behind her head, the same muscle memory used to tie her hair back.

  Hugo doesn’t say anything for several long moments causing worry to build inside Andromeda that he and Lester plan to desert her out here, blindfolded and alone.

  “Can you see anything?” Hugo’s voice tickles her left ear.

  Shaking her head she says, “No, it’s all dark.”

  “Good,” Hugo checks the knot in the cloth to make sure. “Do you know that a blind person’s other senses sharpen to compensate for their lack of vision and their heightened senses allow them to move through life just as smoothly as a full-sighted person?”

  “I’m not blind, Hugo.” Andromeda reminds him wryly.

  “Ah, but for this exercise, you will be.” She can hear the grin in Hugo’s voice. “Tell me, girl. What do you hear?”

  Pausing for a moment, she strains to hear her surroundings. “Nothing.”

  “Try harder,” Hugo urges.

  Expelling a deep breath Andromeda concentrates harder. Quieting her breaths, she listens to the sounds of the forest around her. Nearby someone, most likely Hugo is breathing heavily, nearly to the point of wheezing. A drip-drip-dripping sound tells Andromeda rainwater from a recent downpour is trickling down from the canopy of leaves to lower branches and underbrush. A bird screeches overhead followed by a fevered scratching over the forest floor. A small animal, most likely a hare or a shrew.

  “Good,” Hugo murmurs sensing her awareness of the animal scurrying across the forest floor. Andromeda hears a scuffle of boots followed by rustling leaves and the snapping of bone. Something, the animal probably, thumps heavily to the ground at her feet. “Now what do you smell?”

  “I thought you ki-” She starts but Hugo cuts her off mid-sentence.

  “I did,” Hugo grunts. “We’re not finished with this exercise. A Mistborn can sneak upon you before you even realize they’re there unless you know the signs of spotting one. Even your ears can fail you if they’re moving too silently to detect. That’s where scent and taste come in, the smell of seaweed and the taste of salt on your lips are dead giveaways that a Mistborn is near. Learning to use your other senses will keep you alive when your eyes and ears fail you.”

  Andromeda shakes out her hands and grounds herself, inhaling deeply the scents of the forest filtering through her nose like grains of sand through a sieve. “Berries ripening on a bush,” she says slowly, “dampness in the air from the recent rainfall, and… decay. Something died here recently, within the last three days.”

  “Very good.” Hugo praises. “Finally, we’ll gauge your sense of feeling and touch. Tell me three physical indicators that something is amiss.”

  “Gooseflesh on your arms and legs,” Andromeda lists off automatically, “raised hair on the back of the neck, and some people feel physically sick, get the chills.”

  She waits for Hugo to praise her on a correct answer but the forest around her has gone suddenly silent. She strains to hear for Hugo’s wheezing breath but her ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with fabric.

  “Hugo?” Andromeda whispers hesitantly as the same chills she just described run up her back. Something is wrong. Where could Hugo have gone? Reaching up to tug the cloth from her eyes Andromeda lurches forward as a heavy weight descends onto her back.

  Andromeda shrieks but instinct kicks in and she reaches up, yanking the soft, heavy weight over her shoulder onto the ground in front of her and rips the rest of the cloth from her eyes.

  “Hugo?” Andromeda looks down at his crumpled form incredulously.

  “Gods girl, you didn’t have to throw me that hard.” Hugo replies gruffly as he pushes to his feet while fingering the side of his skull tenderly in search of lumps. “There’s only so much these old bones can take.”

  “You just jumped onto my back,” Andromeda sputters, “from — from where? Out of a tree?”

  “I was going for the element of surprise.” Hugo grins crookedly, revealing an untidy row of yellowed teeth.

  “What in the damned underworld of the gods was that?” Lester comes crashing through the brush.

  “Hugo jumped out of a tree onto my back,” Andromeda points a shaky finger in Hugo’s direction trying to stomp down the hysterical laughter rising in her throat.

  Lester looks at his friend for a minute, his face frozen in stricken horror. Then his too-thin lips curve into an amused smile as he slaps the side of his leg and bursts into laughter.

  Andromeda looks from one man to the other, her face contorted into a mask of confusion.

  “Not that shi’ite again, old man.” Lester howls. “The last recruit you tried that on pissed himself.”

  “I’m just weeding out the weaklings from the true warriors.” Hugo brushes leaves off of his shoulder indifferently.

  “And the one before that cried.” Lester adds.

  Hugo grins and claps his friend heartily on the shoulder as he passes him. “Worry not, I didn’t break this one.”

  “Yeah but it looks like she might have broken you,” Lester chuckles as he falls into step behind Hugo and his wobbling gait.

  “Come girl, I need your help preparing dinner.” Hugo calls over his shoulder.

  Shaking her head and rolling her shoulders to release the tension from standing still for so long, Andromeda jogs to keep up with Lester and Hugo.

&nb
sp; History of Esternwhorl #4

  The Seasons

  In those first few bleak days after Faeta left Zarouk for Mellouk, Zarouk batted the sun right out of the sky, leaving Esternwhorl in total darkness, without even a star in the sky to light the way. One day stretched into two then a week passed and a month. Zarouk’s dark phase lasted for two months before the skies lightened.

  On the first day of the third month the sky lightened to a dark gray and Zarouk’s tears washed over all of Esternwhorl, flooding the sea and the inlets and rivers across the lands. This went on for two more months as the fields became swamps and the Waterborn retreated to the mountains to avoid being swept away by flash floods.

  Then one day Zarouk wiped his eyes and saw the destruction he’d caused on Esternwhorl and tossed the sun back into the sky and installed his sister Nalley in the fields to dry up the rains and plant bountiful crops in their place. For three long months crops grew and grew, providing hay for the horses and cattle, food for the Landborn, and beautiful flowers for all to enjoy and revel in. Festivals were thrown in Nalley’s name and statues were sculpted in her honor.

  Finally when the Landborn had eaten and stored as much food away as they could, when their animals grew fat and lazy, Zarouk reached one great hand down from the land of the Gods and the reaping began. In one considerable pass Zarouk shorn crops and flowers from the fields, cutting them to the root and leaving barren land in his wake. In the same momentous cleansing, Zarouk gathered the souls of the recently departed and those in the last days of their life on Esternwhorl and delivered them directly to his brother Baster’s kingdom in the Undrawhorl.

  Once Zarouk had cleared Esternwhorl to his satisfaction he yawned deeply and settled in for a tremendous sleep. Down in Esternwhorl not a bud formed in the barren fields, neither new growth nor new babes came into the world during this time and all weather stopped save for the burning sunshine from the land of the Gods.

  This time stretched on for several miserable months until Zarouk awoke and drown Esternwhorl in his tears once more and the cycle began anew.

  Over time Landborn scholars came up for names for each cycle; the Dark season, the Rain season, the Ripening season, the Reaping season, and the Dry season. In the dark season the landborn kept their loved ones close and told stories of old around fires burning in the center of their homes. They laid offerings to Zarouk when the rains graced the land, softening the fields so that they may plant their crops in the following ripening season, and when their crops flourished in the ripening season they gave thanks to Zarouk’s sister Nalley that they may have nourishment for the long months ahead. The reaping season was always a somber one as loved ones were lost and remembered and honored and food was stored away for the beleaguered dry season. The dry season seemed to draw on the longest as the landborn were thankful for the crops they’d stored away for months in preparation. It was a time of reflection and hope for the next year to dawn upon them. And so it went on, a constant turning of the wheel, a never-ending cycle.

  Chapter 4

  Andromeda

  Andromeda and her escorts crest the final hill and descend into the valley called Ravenwing’s Point which hides the Watierai Warrior encampment as dusk approaches. Massive stone walls rise high into the sky, a turreted watchtower at each end guarded by warriors holding crossbows aloft.

  When they get near enough for the guards to recognize their brethren they hastily put away their crossbows and claim cornucopia shaped horns to signal their arrival to the warriors guarding the inside of the massive stone gates.

  Metal screeches inside the encampment as the gate opens with a stony creaking. Andromeda trails Hugo and Lester into the encampment, slipping between the widening gates. The trio’s arrival is marked with little interest as the other warriors continue upon their routines — a squadron training in a far sparring field, bladesmiths forge on weapons and armor in an open-air workshop, and warriors enter and exit small dwellings and larger meeting halls.

  A large, intimidating man with close cropped gray hair and intense violet-blue eyes pushes away from the bladesmithy and approaches Hugo and Lester, greeting them with bone-crunching pats on the back.

  “Well met, friends,” The warrior’s voice is as rough and gravelly as he is large and intimidating.

  “Garlyn,” Lester says in greeting as he clasps the larger man’s shoulder.

  Noticing Andromeda, Garlyn peers around his friends with predatory interest. “Who might this be?”

  “New recruit,” Lester grunts. “She hasn’t proven totally useless… yet.”

  Garlyn snorts, “This itty bitty girl?”

  Andromeda rolls her eyes. She supposes anyone would look small compared to the giant of a man that is Garlyn but she’s been called lots of things in her life — never an “itty bitty girl.” Andromeda is unusually tall for a Vacantian woman, standing at nearly five-foot-ten and her muscular legs and strong arms prove that she’s just as worthy to be a soldier as anyone and she’s sick of having to remind men of that fact. Unfortunately it’s her ample chest that is the focus of Garlyn’s attention. They’ve yet to exchange words and already Andromeda wants to kick the large man’s ass.

  Before Andromeda can come back with a snarky retort Hugo cuts in, “General Cruelseas says that King Pavo wants her fitted for armor and an aquaswift sword immediately.”

  “Is that so,” Garlyn inspects Andromeda closer as he circles around her. “What is she to the King? His mistress?”

  “She is the daughter of Queen Lyra.” Hugo raises an eyebrow.

  Garlyn swallows hard but doesn’t look the least bit apologetic for his crude remark. “Aye, well then, right this way.”

  Andromeda follows him back to the bladesmithy where a scarred bladesmith pauses his work at their approach. Andromeda’s first glance at the bladesmith had her assuming him to be a middle-aged man but as they join him she realizes he’s only a few years older than herself.

  “This is…” Garlyn gestures to her awkwardly. Squinting he says, “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Andromeda,” she supplies.

  “Andromeda,” Garlyn repeats, “she’s a new recruit. Needs to be fitted for gear and a sword.”

  The bladesmith sizes her up, not in a lewd way like Garlyn but in a measuring way as if Andromeda is a human mannequin he’s sizing up. “Right this way,” he motions for her.

  “When you’re done, get your fine ass to the training field.” Garlyn orders. “We’ll see what you can do with a regular sword.”

  “One more inappropriate comment and I’ll be glad to show you just how skilled I am with a sword.” Andromeda snaps.

  She turns her back to him and follows the bladesmith into the interior workshop before Garlyn can reply. The workshop is dark and cool, a faint woodsy scent blankets the smell of hot metal. In the corner a dummy sits partially covered by an unfinished suit of armor.

  “Undress and step onto the pedestal,” the bladesmith instructs.

  “You want me to take my clothes off?” Andromeda wrinkles her nose.

  “How else am I supposed to fit you for armor?” The bladesmith looks incredulous.

  “I thought it went over clothing,” Andromeda frowns, confused.

  The bladesmith shakes his head, “You're a Watierai Warrior now, not a simple soldier. You need armor that’s sleek and fits like a second skin, not something bulky as you face off against the Mistborn.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now up you go,” the bladesmith gestures. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  “I usually like to know a guy’s name before I get naked in his presence,” Andromeda protests even as she unties her boots.

  “Rian,” the bladesmith introduces himself as he drapes a measuring tape around his neck and reaches for a bolt of shiny black fabric.

  “Andromeda,” she replies, “but everyone calls me Eda.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Rian murmurs as he sticks a couple straight pins in his mouth.r />
  While Rian busies himself collecting materials Andromeda slips out of her tunic and pants, stripping down to her underclothes and stepping onto the pedestal.

  “Shift off too,” Rian comments without turning around.

  “Seriously?” Andromeda groans.

  “Afraid so,” Rian’s voice is laced with humor.

  “You’re loving this aren’t you?” she growls as she casts off her cotton shift and crosses her arms over her bare chest.

  “We don’t have many female recruits,” Rian grins and shrugs.

  Andromeda groans again as Rian gets down to business, “I need you to put your arms down so I can take your measurements.”

  She reluctantly obliges and allows him to wrap the measuring tape around her chest, waist and hips as he marks the measurements down on a piece of parchment with a charcoal stick. Next he grabs the slick black fabric and wraps it around her.

  “Hold the ends together for me?” Rian requests and she holds the ends tightly together at her side.

  “What is this?” Andromeda asks as she fingers the material.

  “Seal skin,” Rian explains, “it molds to the body.”

  “It feels so weird,” Andromeda smooths her hand over the fabric. “Slippery.”

  “All the better to slide out of the clutches of the Mistborn with.” Rian mumbles through the pins in his mouth. He begins fitting the fabric to Andromeda’s torso, creating a work of art on her body. The pins he places melt into stitches, the fabric molds to her in the way Rian told her it would. At last he tuts and steps back, “Yes, yes — a nip here and a hem there and it will be a masterpiece.”

  Andromeda gazes down at the suit, black fabric molded to her legs and bodice, a black holster around her right thigh to conceal a dagger, a black cloak trimmed in gold satin flowing out from her shoulders, and thick black material that feels like fish scales cover her hands and arms up and around her shoulder and down over her chest completing the suit, “How will this protect me from the Mistborn?”