Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

Returning to his quarters Thane paces from one room to another to work off his anger. His transition to General of the Watierai Warriors had not been a smooth one, that much was true. The older Warriors had been offended and felt that his appointment had been a personal snub by King Pavo and the youngling Warriors found it hard to take orders from a general barely older than themselves. It was that weird medium — the Warriors Thane came up through the ranks beside who were the closest and most loyal to him. Even so, Thane had never seen such down and out hostility toward a new recruit before and he was taking this incident personally.

  A track had been worn into the dirt floor of Thane’s dwelling by the time he stopped pacing and stopped in front of his window. Palms down on the cool stone of his hut Thane took a deep breath and inhaled the salty breeze blowing in from the sea.

  The girl-thief was proving to be more trouble than she was worth already and she’d only just arrived at the Warrior camp. Thane shuddered to think of the torture Andromeda silently endured at the hands of the five men he’d sentenced to death. But what puzzled Thane more was the way he’d found her, floating in the sea as if she were a piece of seaweed drifting on the current.

  Vacantia, like Thane’s mother’s native Lostero and Shroudania across the sea, was an island nation but although the sea was less than a day’s ride from any point in the country hardly any Vacantians knew how to swim. Fewer still would chance taking a swim in the sea over bathing in one of the lazy rivers running through the mountains yet Andromeda looked completely at ease. When Thane himself faltered it was Andromeda that dragged him from the churning waters.

  It was almost as if… Thane caught himself before the thought could even fully form. It wasn’t even something to joke about. The missing Mistborn Princess was an old wives’ tale to explain why the monsters from the deep hated Vacantia so much and why infants were stolen from their beds.

  Thane squinted as he recalled the details. Years and years ago, as the story went, a Mistborn Princess was sunning herself on a rock on the Vacantian coastline with her infant daughter when her child was ripped away from her never to be seen or heard from again. The Mistborn accused the people of Vacantia of either killing or kidnapping the child. This loss sent the Princess into fits of despair and long stretches of depression and, if the Mistborn rumors were to be believed, caused the early death of their queen. In retribution Mistborn maidens came ashore once per year and stole a child away to appease their grief-stricken royal family.

  It was one such maiden who had stolen Thane’s younger brother and nearly taken him as well. At four years old, Thane had been powerless to stop the monster who slipped into their bedroom window like a slimy fish and reached into his baby brother’s crib. With a coo and a bewitching lullaby the creature silenced Thane’s brother and began to climb back through the window. Thane, wanting to be the hero his mother always said he would be, climbed out of bed to save his brother.

  The monster, catching sight of the little boy with the fierce lavender eyes and sharp cheeks stopped and turned. Her hideous face transformed; gaunt cheeks filling out and taking a rosy tone, sharp teeth protruding between chapped lips shrinking back to normal, long, talon-like fingernails becoming soft fingers. The woman’s smile was glorious, drawing young Thane in despite the warnings screaming in his head.

  She’d reached out for Thane’s hand and Thane was about to slide his small hand into hers when a noise in his mother’s small home snapped him out from the maiden’s trance and had him crying out in the too-quiet night. The Mistborn monster shrunk back into herself, becoming a hideous creature once more as she leapt from the window with Thane’s brother in her arms.

  His mother darted into the room to see what was the matter but by that time it was too late. Thane’s brother was gone and he never came back. Harcule would be sixteen-years-old now if he lived and thoughts of the person he could have grown up to be haunted Thane’s dreams nearly every night.

  No, Andromeda couldn’t possibly be the lost Mistborn Princess. She was simply a girl who thought she was entitled to everything and who lived to prove she knew better than everyone else. She’d surely reveled in making a fool of Thane’s attempt to rescue her from the sea, curse the gods. But he wouldn’t let it happen again.

  “General Cruelseas?” One of the Warrior-Messengers knocks on Thane’s door.

  Yanking his door open Thane gazes down at the small boy cowering on his doorstep. The child can’t be older than nine or ten, the same age Thane was when his mother sent him to train with the intimidating Watierai Warriors. “What?” He demands gruffly.

  “For you,” the boy’s hand quivers as he hands Thane a missive sealed with King Pavo’s wax seal.

  “Thanks,” Thane grunts before slamming the door shut.

  Ripping the seal open, Thane scans the missive and scowls. King Pavo demands an audience with Thane in Vanyia immediately. It’s barely a half-day since Thane arrived from the capital city and his irritation at the soft-minded king is palpable as he crumples the note and stomps out into the misty afternoon in search of Cutter.

  ❖

  Andromeda

  Andromeda covers her mouth to hide her yawn as she blinks in the early morning light. The sun has managed to peek between the clouds and the mist for a minute but the mist threatens to swallow it whole any minute now.

  The practice field is wet with dew and the fresh growth of grass tickles Andromeda’s ankles through her thin socks as she awaits Lester with the twelve other female Warriors. Her shadow, a cold looking girl with pale blonde hair and a constellation of star-shaped birthmarks covering the right side of her face stands off to Andromeda’s left side.

  The girl found Andromeda shortly before the evening meal last night insisting that General Cruelseas enlisted her to stay by Andromeda’s side in light of recent events. The bastard. Andromeda hadn’t even had the chance to speak with him about it and voice her protests because when she went to search him out before bed his second, Cutter Longbone, informed her the general had been called back to Vanyia for an urgent meeting.

  Andromeda’s shadow’s name was Octavia, that much she’d been able to pry from her. Octavia wasn’t exactly what Andromeda would call friendly but then neither was Andromeda so perhaps it was for the best that Octavia wasn’t too chatty.

  Lester appears at the mouth of the practice field, Cutter Longbone striding alongside him. They exchange a few words as they cross the field and Lester nods at Cutter in affirmation. So many of Thane’s inner circle of Warriors are younger men and Andromeda wonders how well the elder Warriors take to bowing to the younger mens’ orders.

  “At attention, ladies,” Lester voice commands the girls and women around Andromeda to fall silent. His eyes scan the neat lines of females, seeking Andromeda out, “Recruit Mistsplitter, Commander Longbone has been commissioned to test your skills one-on-one today by order of General Cruelseas. The rest of you pair off, you know where to begin. Octavia, you are relieved of your duties for now.”

  The women begin to pair off with their sparring partners and Andromeda frowns as Cutter crosses the field to single her out. The others spare curious glances in her direction as one or two snicker quiet enough to avoid being heard by Lester.

  Crossing her arms over her chest Andromeda glares at Cutter, “I don’t need the general singling me out. Everyone already hates me enough.”

  “He’s not singling you out,” Cutter smirks. “He’s assessing your skills.”

  Andromeda’s frown deepens, “Then why didn’t he instruct Octavia to ‘assess my skills’?”

  Tugging the end of her braid, Cutter laughs. “Are you afraid to spar with me, Mistsplitter? It’s understandable I suppose, I am a bit of a living legend. Sagas will be written about me someday.”

  “Sure they will, Cutter,” Octavia pats Cutter’s shoulder affectionately as she passes him. “Sagas of brawling and bedding and drink to be sure.”

  “She’s just jealous, of course,” Cutter winks at Andromeda putting
her nerves at ease.

  “Is that so?” Andromeda fights to hide her grin.

  “Aye,” Cutter flexes one arm, “not that I mean to brag or anything.”

  “Aye, of course not.” Andromeda nods solemnly. “So where is this one-on-one assessment to take place?”

  “The northern training field is empty for the moment,” Cutter nods in the direction of the practice field nearest to the gate.

  “All right then,” Andromeda shakes her arms out, “lead the way.”

  “How are you settling in?” Cutter asks when they’re out of earshot of the female Warriors.

  Raising an eyebrow Andromeda asks, “You mean besides being taken out of my bed in the middle of the night and being chained to a rock?”

  “Yes, precisely,” Cutter nods, “besides that.”

  “It’s an adjustment,” Andromeda says slowly. “Though joining the Warriors has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember, I just didn’t expect it to begin in the way that it did. I didn’t even have a chance to tell my family what had happened or where I’d gone. I finally just wrote a letter to my sister last night explaining my disappearance.”

  “Are you two close?” Cutter asks.

  She nods, “As close as two sisters who have nothing in common could be.”

  “Ah, I see,” Cutter laughs.

  “Do you have any siblings?” Andromeda asks inanely.

  “My parents didn’t feel the need for more than me,” Cutter shakes his head. “Why mess with perfection, right?”

  Andromeda laughs.

  “Are you ready for this?” Cutter leaps in front of her as they reach the practice field.

  “Ready to kick your butt?” Andromeda teases.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of me grinding you into the dirt.” Cutter replies thoughtfully.

  “Is that so?” Andromeda snorts.

  “Aye.” Cutter’s eyes glitter mischievously. “I see you’re properly attired, now tell me, has Rian crafted your aquaswift sword yet?”

  “He has,” She confirms as she pats the scabbard at her side.

  “Perfect, now show me your stance.”

  Drawing her blade Andromeda sinks into the position Hugo showed her the night she arrived at the Warrior camp. Andromeda keeps her right foot ahead, slightly bent at the knee and her left leg extended, her weight settling in the toes of her left foot. The sword feels weighty in her hands as she raises it the way Hugo showed her.

  Cutter studies her stance then steps toward her, “Loosen your grip slightly. We don’t want you white knuckling the pommel. That’s it.”

  Cutter has her practice advancing and retreating before he draws his sword and begins to spar with her.

  “Do you know why the Watierai Warriors use aquaswift swords instead of plain old Shroudanian steel?” Cutter asks as he parries Andromeda’s advance.

  “Because they stand up better against the Mistborn?” Andromeda suggests as she blows a strand of hair fallen from her braid away from her eyes.

  “Partially,” Cutter captures her gaze, “an aquaswift sword can only harm the Mistborn. It’s completely harmless to land-dwellers, so it wouldn’t cut you if I were to cut you right now. Nor could I decapitate you or any of the other Warriors - or even anyone from the nearest village — because you were born on the land.”

  They spar in silence, the only sounds the clattering of metal on metal and Andromeda’s increasingly labored breath. Their footwork is like a dance, back and forth across the field as Andromeda feels sweat drip down her back beneath the tight fabric of the bodysuit Rian created for her.

  “You’re not bad,” Cutter remarks as Andromeda manages to land a strike across his chest.

  “Thanks,” she puffs out a breath.

  Cutter grins, “But I’m better. I’ve been training since I was nine years old.”

  He lunges forward and Andromeda bends away as she tries to parry Cutter’s advance but his aquaswift sword catches her left arm. She hisses and pivots away in pain.

  A minuscule line divides the sleeve of her bodysuit as a trickle of blood paints the ground of the training field.

  Distractedly turning back to Cutter feeling slightly woozy Andromeda frowns, “I thought you said your sword wouldn’t harm me.”

  When Cutter doesn’t immediately reply Andromeda looks up. The Warrior’s eyes are wide with horror as he takes one step back then another. “What’s wrong?” Andromeda asks.

  “It’s impossible…” Cutter’s face goes pale as a death mask. “That sword can only cut a Mistborn.”

  His words are carried away on the breeze, at once sounding like a whisper and a scream. Andromeda’s skin prickles beneath her bodysuit.

  Cutter’s attention is torn away by a figure at the mouth of the training field. “Themis,” Cutter calls out to the young male but it’s too late. The boy, barely into adolescence, tears off in a terrified run alerting Warriors to trouble by yelling, “Intruder, intruder! A Mistborn walks among us!”

  “Curse the gods,” Cutter swears beneath his breath and takes off after the boy. “Get back to your hut Mistsplitter and stay there until further notice.”

  Andromeda stands frozen in the middle of the field unable to heed Cutter’s command. A sword that only cuts through the flesh of Mistborn cut a sliver into her arm. Her blood, a red so dark it was nearly black, drips onto the soil at her feet. Thoughts, memories flash through her mind. Whispered rumors told in her old mountain village about her mother lying with a Mistborn and conceiving Andromeda; how Andromeda looks nothing like the rest of her family. Her skin, the strange blue-gray compared to the rich olive of her mother and sister’s complexion or the golden bronze of her father’s. Or her eyes, as gold as the finest metal compared to the violet and silver of Andromeda’s kin. Suddenly everything is in question and she fears the answer is a truth too horrible to voice.

  Andromeda falls to her knees, numb and shaking. The world around her, the training fields, the Warriors, the encampment walls separating her from the sea and forest beyond cease to exist.

  Large, calloused hands wrap around her biceps and yank her to her feet forcefully. Voices shout all around her but Andromeda doesn’t hear a word from the screams in her head. Dimly she’s aware of being dragged from the training field and into a windowless room then being shoved down a flight of stairs to the dark, dank underground. She’s roughly thrown into a barred-in cell and the door clangs shut behind her.

  Andromeda is left there, alone, for what feels like hours or days. The scent of dirt and decay overwhelms her and she chokes on the cloying, musty scent of root vegetables. The sweat from sparring with Cutter dries on her skin and she shivers despite the humid air of the underground bunker.

  Finally a heavy set of feet clomp down the stairs but in the pitch darkness Andromeda can’t make out the faces standing before the bars of her cell. A large hulking figure stands to the side, Garlyn perhaps. Two other men pull Andromeda from the cell as a third blindfolds and gags her. They pick her up and chain her to a stone slab in the corner of the room as Andromeda writhes in protest.

  “Was this your plan all along?” A harsh voice accuses, “To infiltrate the Watierai Warriors and signal for your Mistborn brethren to ambush us when we lease expect it?”

  Andromeda shakes her head wildly, trying to deny any knowledge of what they’re talking about through the gag in her mouth.

  She hears a sizzle in the air, the only warning she gets before a hot piece of iron is laid against her neck. Her skin blisters and burns and the smell of burnt flesh stings Andromeda’s nostrils as her eyes water beneath the blindfold.

  “What did you do to Queen Lyra to convince her that you were her daughter?” Andromeda’s captor demands. “Is it some sort of sea magic? I know your kind are known for their tricks.”

  Andromeda’s cries and whimpers are ignored as another blade of iron is thrust into her abdomen. Her hips lurch up from the stone slab as her cries turn to guttural howls through the gag.


  “She probably stole Malachi’s soul sword herself after she murdered him,” another voice, this time a younger male hisses.

  Andromeda’s throat burns from screaming as she tosses her head side to side, unable to avoid the pain of the searing irons.

  “We know about the Mistborn uprising, so you’re better off coming clean,” the first voice speaks again. “Why prolong your suffering, scum?”

  She’s sobbing now, drenching the blindfold over her eyes but nothing compares to the pain as a molten, blazing hot iron mask is placed over Andromeda’s face. Some goddess above takes pity on her and renders her unconscious from the pain so she doesn’t have to witness the other horrors the Warriors have in store for her.

  History of Esternwhorl #7

  Rumors of the Mistborn Uprising

  All throughout history the Mistborn have been confined to the sea by the Landborn. While they could survive above water and often snuck ashore and took Landborn lovers, toyed with their hearts and coaxed them to an early death in the dark, murky water beyond their coastal homes, were the Mistborn to venture any father inland the Landborn would band together and drive them back, wiping out as many monsters as they could.

  But the Mistborn would not go quietly, for years rumors of a Mistborn uprising ebbed and flowed in the war rooms of kings and correspondence flowed across the desks of captains and generals of the kingdoms of Vacantia, Shroudania, and Lostero.

  From the journal of King Shayne of Shroudania to his general comes this missive preserved with time:

  It is time for the three kingdoms to put differences aside and come together as a united force against the Mistborn. Each month more and more of their ghastly kind walk among us, looking like us, living as us. Soon they will outnumber us and conquer our lands in the name of their goddess-mother.

  I have prayed to our father, Zarouk, on this worldly matter and I believe my thoughts to be true. Lest we drive these monsters back to the deep once and for all they will only bide their time and become stronger so they can exact their revenge. Any man or woman found in the arms of a Mistborn lover shall be put to death and any child showing signs of mixed heritage must be returned to the sea or we will all be lost.