Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

  “Where is the girl-thief?” Thane demands without preamble.

  Lester surveys his trainees and shakes his head, “No clue, General. She has not been seen so far this morn.”

  “Have you checked her hut?” Thane growls impatiently.

  “It’s not my job to babysit her,” Lester sneers at his younger superior.

  “Is it not your concern, then, when one of your trainees fail to appear for morning training?” Thane counters.

  Lester shrugs, “There are punishments in place for recruits and Warriors who fail to rise in time for their lessons, it is not my place to chase them down in the meantime.”

  Thane growls angrily and tugs sharply on his stallion’s reins as he pushes the animal in a canter toward the women's section of the encampment.

  Between the feral look upon the captain’s face and the furious speed of the Scalptain stallion, Warriors and residents of the encampment dive out of the General’s way as he races by in a black and golden streak.

  “Which hut belongs to the new recruit, Andromeda?” Thane shouts down at a cowering woman, the wife of one of Thane’s commanders.

  With a shaking hand the woman points wordlessly to a hut near the end of the row. Thane slows his stallion to a trot and dismounts a few feet from the door. Crouching down Thane identifies five sets of large boot marks around the side and front of the hut. At the door there are signs of a struggle and two deep tracks of drag marks leading away from the hut. The thin wooden door of the structure lays in tatters and as Thane steps cautiously over the threshold his suspicions are confirmed. Someone, likely five someones, entered Andromeda’s dwelling and dragged her from her hut and into the night.

  “Curse the Gods!” Thane howls angrily and runs from the hut, leaping onto his waiting stallion and galloping down the dusty road in pursuit of the drag marks. To his dismay the drag marks disappear a few dozen feet down the gravel path, dusted away by a great, sweeping palm leaf.

  On cue Cutter trots toward Thane, sensing his general’s rage and urgency. “What is it, General?”

  “The girl-thief is gone,” Thane growls. “Someone has stolen her away in the night. Search the encampment and the grounds.”

  “Yes, General.” Cutter bows his head in acquiescence before turning his black mare back to the training fields and galloping to gather his men.

  Thane, meanwhile, sweeps the interior perimeter of the encampment before dashing from the gates toward the rocky beach beyond. The terrain blurs around him as the beach draws nearer.

  At the far end of the beach Thane is met with a grisly discovery.

  ❖

  Andromeda

  The night was long and cruel. The wind howled in from the sea, biting at Andromeda’s bare breasts. Her heart calls out for the sea, begging it to aid her, to keep her warm until someone discovers her or to rip her from her bonds and drag her away to the sea forever.

  Unbeknownst to Andromeda the sea hears her call and comes to her aid. Sea webbing tosses itself onto the shore, digging into the rocks like outstretched, ghostly fingers reaching for purchase. The wind howls in frustration as the waves crash onto the shore harder. Andromeda shivers, near hypothermia.

  Then, as if with a great force, the chains restraining her are ripped from the rock like the stone has come alive and expelled her from its face. Andromeda lands upon the rocky shore, her bones cracking and shuddering on impact.

  The sea caresses her cheek lovingly and she hears its’ voice singing upon the current, “Sleep child, rest your weary bones.”

  And so she does. Andromeda’s eyes drift shut, and she falls into a dreamless sleep as the sea watches over her like a protective guardian. As she sleeps the mist weaves itself into net and covers her like a blanket to keep her safe from the elements and the sea sings her to sleep with the lullaby of the waves.

  ❖

  When morning comes she’s strong enough to tug the sack from her head and rise into a sitting position. Her skin prickles from the nearness to the water as her stomach begins to growl. The sea hears Andromeda’s hunger and tosses fish upon the shore for her to eat in response.

  Andromeda tries to stand, her legs wobbly beneath her as she stumbles across the rock to find driftwood to build a fire and smoke the fish. Her arms ache, still partially out of socket as she rubs two pieces of drier driftwood together to start the fire. Finally sparking to life, Andromeda huddles close to the fire as she slips her wet shift off and rubs her hands over her puckered skin. The fish, the small kind with edible bones blacken and split as they cook on the skewered pieces of driftwood kabobs.

  Her stomach filled, Andromeda warms herself as the sea speaks to her, whispering words too low for her to decipher over the wind. She can feel the sea calling to her the way it has ever since her father moved her and Midge from the mountains to the coastline, the secret she’s kept to herself for so long that she feels a dark connection to the sea, a kinship.

  The call grows louder, becoming unbearable as the sea begs Andromeda to join with it. She scans the beach for the Warriors who dragged her there, waiting for them to slip from the mist and torture her further but as the minutes tick by and she remains the solitary soul on the rocky beach she rises and drags herself on unsteady legs, as wobbly as bitterberry jelly, to the water’s edge.

  Andromeda dips one toe in the water, then the whole foot expecting the water to be as cold as ice but instead finds the sea as comfortable as a lukewarm bath. Sighing in pleasure she wades into the water, leaving the fire and her ruined shift behind on the beach as the water embraces her. Wading through the sea feels like coming home, like a babe swaddled in the softest cloth, like a steaming mug of carcoa tea on a chill morning. She leans back in the water, now up to her chest and casts her arms out, paddling through the comforting depths. It’s hard to picture anyone afraid of these waters and for a moment she forgets that she’s just a girl and allows herself to drift on the current like a piece of seaweed.

  ❖

  Thane

  The air is sucked from Thane’s lungs as he beholds the girl-thief drifting motionless in the sea and dismounts his stallion, his boots landing on the rocky coast with a thunderous crash. Behind him Cutter gallops to join him in his search.

  Throwing his shield and sword to the ground and stripping off his tunic and pants Thane races for the sea, diving into the still depths, paddling hard against the resistance of the sea to save the motionless girl bobbing up and down with the gentle current without a stitch of clothing to cover her.

  When he reaches the girl, her face still and serene and oh-so-young looking he pulls her into a standing position and hoists her over his shoulder.

  Andromeda, the calmness of her drifting ripped away, snaps out of her daze and shrieks. Her legs kick at the solid torso of the man holding her as her fists pound against his solid back before she recognizes the identity of the man whose arms are circled tightly around her waist.

  “General?” Andromeda whispers as her cheeks redden. Beneath her the strong, capable general begins to thrash in the water as the waves lap and reach for Andromeda.

  Thane’s mind goes blank as Andromeda slips from his grip back into the sea as the water churns trying to drag him beneath the surface. Old nightmares resurface in Thane’s mind and all he can see is dark water and reaching hands. Thane is drowning and his breath has stalled.

  Thick, ropey threads of mist cast out toward Thane, wrapping around his waist anchoring him in place. Thane’s heart thunders as he chokes on seawater. Suddenly, miraculously, small, soft hands wrap around his waist, tugging him up to the surface and toward the shore. Strands of chestnut brown hair cling to him like tentacles as he is dragged ashore.

  A gray-blue face with wide, golden eyes appears above him as Thane blinks water out of his eyes. Andromeda.

  “What in the name of Baster were you thinking?” Andromeda demands.

  “I thought you were dead,” Thane gasps for air, spitting water from his mouth with every word.


  “Why would you dive in after me if you couldn’t swim?” Andromeda scowls.

  “Gut reaction,” Thane coughs. “I thought you were drowning.”

  “Well, I wasn’t,” Andromeda narrows her eyes studying the lingering fright and ashen skin making up Thane’s expression. Cocking an eyebrow she asks, “Are you afraid of the sea, General?”

  “What?” Thane sputters, red hot embarrassment chasing the ashen pallor from his skin. “Me? Afraid? ‘Course not.”

  “You are,” Andromeda grins, “the big, tough Warrior is afraid of the sea. How do you battle the Mistborn if you are afraid of the water they lurk in?”

  “Everyone is at least a little afraid of the sea,” Thane replies gruffly as he sees Cutter in his peripheral vision.

  “But none as stellarly afraid of a bit of dark water as you, General.” Cutter teases him.

  “Yes, well,” Thane fumbles for a comeback. “Don’t you have something you should be doing?”

  “You have the whole encampment on high alert looking for the girl-thief.” Cutter replies wryly as he shoots a glance in Andromeda’s direction. “You must be the one, then. I’m Cutter Longbone, Second-in-Command to General Thane Cruelseas.”

  “Andromeda,” the girl-thief’s voice comes out rougher than normal as she realizes for the first time that she stands before two strange men completely unclothed. Andromeda dives for her sopping wet shift and tosses it over her head. Unfortunately it does little to cover her.

  Sobering, Cutter turns his attention back to Thane, “Garlyn and Lester have rounded up those responsible for this… incident. After their exchange with Garlyn they are now very interested in talking upon your return.”

  “Good,” Thane nods as he tears his gaze from the girl-thief now shivering in the wet scrap of fabric. “First we must get Recruit Mistsplitter to the medic for a once-over.”

  “I’m fine,” Andromeda hisses as she wraps her arms around her stomach.

  “The medic will be the judge of that,” Thane replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will not be cleared for training until you allow him to check you out.”

  “Fine.” Andromeda glares up at him and stomps past him, her bare feet slipping on the wet rocks.

  Cutter mounts his horse and offers Andromeda a hand up. She swings onto the back of Cutter’s horse without a backward glance at Thane. Thane mounts his own stallion and trails Cutter and Andromeda back to the encampment. Thane notices that for a poor girl from the coast, Andromeda rides as smoothly as if she’d been born astride Cutter’s testy equine.

  History of Esternwhorl #6

  The Peasant Who Would Be Queen

  Queen Lyra may sit upon the throne now but she was born as far from royalty as one can be. On a stormy night in the midst of the rain season Lyra tore her way into this world. Her arrival was unattended save for her Waterborn mother whose screams echoed off the cave walls as her babe left her womb.

  Lyra was a curious child, wild and beautiful with sensual silver eyes that could cast a spell on even the most devout man. Though Lyra never knew her father and her mother never spoke of him, her mother made up for the slight by teaching her daughter the craft as soon as she could sit up on her own.

  By the age of ten Lyra could strike down a village crone with nary a thought simply for speaking ill of her or her mother but by her teens Lyra longed for something more besides the small smoky mountain top village she’d grown up outside. When she was seventeen she caught the eye of a traveling merchant named Grus. Grus Mistsplitter would never be described as handsome but he was young and naive and most of all rich so Lyra placed him under her spell and by the following growing season she lived in a fine home in a bustling mountain trading hub with their first babe growing inside her.

  With Grus away for long weeks at a time on trading trips back and forth to Vanyia and the coastline on either side of the mountains that rose up from the center of Vacantia like a ridged spine reaching up for the clouds, Lyra was free to run wild through the forest with men powerless to resist her seductive charm.

  By the time Grus caught on to the village whisperings of his wife’s infidelity and the neglect of their daughter and was about to throw her out for good Lyra claimed she was once again with child and promised that things would be different.

  Lyra had no interest in the child growing inside her and had grown bored of her life in the mountains. She wanted to live in the capital city, Vanyia and brush elbows with the lords and ladies at King Pavo’s court.

  Everything began to unravel when Lyra gave birth to a stillborn son late in the reaping season. Zarouk had looked upon her and cursed her womb for being a child of water and land. Lyra knew if Grus returned and found their child dead it would be the end of the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to. She’d have to return to her mother’s mountain cave and begin anew. Instead she stole another mother’s babe and claimed it as her own and Grus was none the wiser.

  Lyra bided her time, tending to her demanding daughters and dallying behind Grus’s back, teaching her daughters in the ways of the Waterborn witches — how to use herbs to season and kill in a single meal - until the day Andromeda fell from a tree, landing on her left arm with the white of her thin arm bone sticking out through the skin. Lyra was finally able to slip away in the chaos of Grus carrying Andromeda to the village healer.

  Days later Lyra was in Vanyia and soon after she’d acquired a position as the queen’s nursemaid. The queen was weak from a recent miscarriage and beside herself with grief and it was all too easy to slip a poisonous herb into the frail woman’s evening meal.

  Once the old queen was in her grave, Lyra used her charm and her wiles to seduce King Pavo. As the courtiers whispered about Pavo’s impropriety to become entwined with another woman so soon after his beloved wife’s death Lyra trapped the besotted fool King in her web like a spider preparing for the kill. Barely a month after the late queen’s death, Lyra sat upon the throne to the horror and dismay of the King’s friends and loyal subjects.

  After her coronation Queen Lyra began plotting once more. With each passing season King Pavo became weaker and weaker, his memory at times sharp as ever and others as vague as the mist rolling in from the sea beyond the walls of the capital city. To further her hold on the throne of Vacantia, Lyra bore Pavo two children, a son and a daughter, next in line to the throne after Pavo’s eldest son Cygni.

  The peasant who dreamed of something more found her place at last, sitting upon the throne of Vacantia. If you see her there, her face a mask of icy disinterest, slouched in her seat in glittering gowns of black and oranges and reds do not mistake her for a beautiful trophy at the king’s side. Her eyes are ever watching, ever calculating, ever waiting for the right moment.

  Chapter 6

  “Other than a few scrapes and bruises from being hit and kicked, she appears to be in good physical health,” Frayen, the Warrior Medic, reports to Thane after stepping out of the stone structure housing his surgical and examination rooms. “She suffers from a slight case of Baster’s breath after spending the night chained to the rocks partially dressed but after a day or so to warm up from the inside out and plenty of warm fluids I expect her to make a full recovery.”

  “Did she say anything?” Thane asks, “As you examined her?”

  “Oh she had plenty to say about my methods,” Frayen chuckles. “She’s quite a mouthy one. You’ll have your hands full with her for sure. But as to her ordeal? Nay, she said not a word about it.”

  “I see,” Thane frowns. “Very well. Send her back to her quarters. I’ll have one of the female warriors keep an eye on her.”

  “Yes, General.” Frayen nods and retreats into the warmth of his clinic.

  Hands fisted at his sides, Thane storms across the encampment to the tiny windowless building over the underground cell containing the five Warriors that attacked Andromeda. Down the stairs in the frigid mud-caked room the five young Warriors stand chained to the walls similar to the fashion they de
scribed rigging Andromeda to the rock. Several of the mens’ faces are purple, bloody, and bruising, one — the ringleader most likely - staring up through narrowed, nearly swollen shut eyes.

  “What do you have to say for yourselves?” Thane’s voice thunders off the walls.

  “The swampy wench had it coming,” the ringleader croaks through bloodied lips. “She captured Malachi’s soul.”

  “We was just havin’ some fun with her,” Groans another bloodied Warrior. “It’s tradition. An initiation. We’ve all done it.”

  “What ‘initiation’ do you speak of?” Thane glares at the speaker, a skinny kid only accepted into the Watierai Warriors as a legacy to his fallen father. “I have no knowledge of a ritual in which you chain your fellow Warriors to a rock and leave them for dead overnight.”

  “One night in the cold is nothing,” a third Warrior pitches in, this one missing several teeth thanks to Lester and Garlyn’s handiwork, “if she survived unharmed she would prove she’s worthy of joining our ranks.”

  “You left her stripped from the waist up!” Thane snarls as he grabs the chained young man’s tunic.

  The Warriors merely laugh at the humiliation they forced Andromeda to endure. “Poor little swamp wench, her wares bared to the gods above.”

  Faster than light Thane appears before the ringleader and slams his head against the wall, “Your fellow Warrior was delirious with hypothermia, she managed to slip free from the chains and wander into the sea.”

  “So?” The ringleader replies brazenly.

  Thane forces himself to retreat before the boiling hot rage climbing up his spine explodes into a flurry of blood and gore. To Cutter he says, “Toss them into the sea. Perhaps the Mistborn monsters will teach them a lesson.”

  ❖