Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

  At the time, no such uprising occurred but in every generation rumors swirl once again, promising an end to the three kingdoms if the Mistborn are not stopped.

  Chapter 7

  Thane

  A Mistborn maiden had been found among the courtiers in Vanyia and the soldiers at court had imprisoned her in the palace dungeon on King Pavo’s order by the time Thane arrived back in the capital city.

  She had begged for mercy at the king’s feet before her public execution but the king had ignored her pleas, choosing instead to stare blankly at the far wall. The look of terror she had in her eyes as she looked up at Thane had nearly undone him before memories of the night so long ago flashed before him when another such maiden had tried to lure him away as she stole his brother away forever. Her blood had run black as he ran the blade of his sword across her throat.

  After his task was taken care of Thane locked himself away in the palace library intending to spend the night researching the scholar’s knowledge of the missing Mistborn princess and the long-thought eradicated Waterborn. It took him forever to find the scrolls, hidden far in the back of the library in a darkened, cobwebbed alcove. A chill ran down his back as he pulled the scrolls from the shelf and hauled them to a table in a well-lit part of the library. Thane turned around, convinced that someone was watching him from the shadows but the shelves and stacks were silent around him.

  The candles on the table flickered as he opened and flattened scroll after scroll and began to read the small hastily written script.

  Not much was known about the missing Mistborn princess save for what Thane already knew and the scrolls didn’t yield any enlightening information on the matter. Now the Waterborn, on the other hand, were known to have been blessed by Zarouk and the sea goddess Faeta, able to command the sea at will and known as heretics among the Landborn. Though thought long since gone, rumors of Waterborn living high in the mountains of Vacantia and the occasional sighting on the fringes of villages led Thane and his inner circle to believe there was still a stronghold hidden in plain sight.

  Thane was unrolling his final scroll when the double doors of the library burst inward and Cutter and his highest ranking female Warrior, Octavia Sunsky, raced inside.

  “General,” Cutter’s breath is labored as he doubles over with his hands on his knees. Beside him, Octavia rubs his back and offers him a pull from her waterskin. “You must return with us to the Warrior camp immediately.”

  Thane’s blood chills in his veins forebodingly, “What is it? What has happened?”

  “It’s the new recruit,” Octavia tells him as Cutter catches his breath. “She was found to be a Mistborn and Garlyn and his men have gone against their commanders and locked her in the dungeon where they torture her as we speak, trying to beat answers out of her.”

  “Curse the gods,” Thane swears as he jolts to his feet. “It is as I feared.”

  “You suspected she was a spy?” Cutter looks at his general in a new light.

  “Not a spy, no,” Thane shakes his head as he rolls the scrolls up and sets them aside for the librarian to return then throws his traveling cloak over his shoulders. “I suspected when we found her in the water that she was not what she appeared to be so I made use of the library to research my hunch, now you have confirmed what I believe to be true.”

  “What do you suspect?” Octavia asks curiously.

  “I believe Andromeda to be the missing Mistborn princess.” Thane voices his thoughts.

  “Curses,” Cutter’s eyes widen. “I thought that was just an old wives’ tale.”

  “As did I,” Thane nods, “but the timing fits. How was the girl’s true heritage discovered?”

  “I was sparring with her as you wished and I nicked her with my blade.” Cutter explains as he splays his hands. “Young Themis witnessed the whole thing and took off to alert the others before I could stop him. Andromeda looked even more shocked than I was. I don’t believe she knew but as you know, Mistborn are crafty creatures.”

  “What say you, Octavia?” Thane asks. Aside from Cutter, Octavia’s opinion is one Thane values the most. The three of them had grown up together, a motley crew of misfits among the Watierai Warriors - Thane, the half-breed son of a wealthy Vacantian father and Losteroan slave mother, Cutter, the mischievous and often disgraced son of King Pavo’s highest adviser, and Octavia, the girl born with a constellation covering her face left on the steps of a Vanyian temple dedicated to the sky goddess, Adventrya, only days after birth.

  “I think we need to talk to the girl not with torture in mind but calmly as to assess her reactions and responses to see how much she knows about her heritage and whether she is part of some sort of uprising or, as you suggested, the missing Mistborn princess with no knowledge of her origins.” Octavia replies thoughtfully. “But that will not happen if we don’t hurry. With Garlyn in charge the girl may not be alive by the time we reach the Warrior camp.”

  “Then we will leave at once,” Thane nods at Octavia’s wise words.

  “What of your business here?” Cutter asks.

  “It’s been taken care of,” Thane’s stomach churns at the memory of the Mistborn maiden begging at his feet. It could have just as easily been Andromeda in that position and the thought sickens him. He’s spent time with the girl-thief, seen the hope and fire in her eyes and Mistborn or not she did not deserve the fate of Garlyn’s torture.

  Thane imagined the horrors Andromeda was enduring under Garlyn’s hands as the trio fled the palace, the hooves of their horses thundering on the gravel roadway. Garlyn was one of the most difficult men under Thane’s command. He’d headed up a small rebellion when Thane had been appointed general by King Pavo and he’d gained a reputation for his brutality when Thane was only a boy. Instead of merely executing the Mistborn he caught, Garlyn liked to play with them and the torture he inflicted on the monstrous creatures could last days before he finally put their lives to an end.

  Octavia was right, they had to return to the Warrior camp as soon as possible or there would be nothing left of the fiery young woman.

  ❖

  Andromeda

  Andromeda couldn’t move. It’s not a simple matter of her wrists and ankles being bound to a stone slab. No, Andromeda’s tormentors have ripped away every ounce of strength in her body. The iron mask still covers her face, the metal cool on her skin where it burned her flesh before. Through slits for her eyes Andromeda can see nothing but darkness after the mask burned away the blindfold beneath.

  The men have gone now but they will return. Return to cut her or burn her again. Return to hurl insults at her, to demand that Andromeda tell them where all the missing children of Vacantia have gone. Nevermind that Andromeda’s own nephew is one of them.

  Heavy boots stomp down the steps to the dungeon and Andromeda grips the sides of the stone slab bracing herself as much as the manacles around her wrists will allow.

  “What are we goin’ to do with her?” the voice of one of her captors booms echoing off the stone walls. “Can I kill her?”

  “Not yet,” Andromeda hears Garlyn reply. “We’re going to trade the Mistborn scum for the missing children of Vacantia. We’re just waiting for King Pavo’s letter in response to our request.”

  “So we don’t get to kill her?” a young male’s voice whines.

  Garlyn laughs, “We'll see how things go and how eager those sea-dwelling freaks are to get one of their own back.”

  “It’s not fair,” the whiny voice complains.

  “Hush,” Garlyn snarls. “Nobody said we had to return her in one piece.”

  Andromeda’s stomach lurches as she prepares herself for another wave of pain.

  ❖

  Lyra

  Queen Lyra sat upon her golden throne looking out among the simpering courtiers with boredom. There was always someone scheming and sucking up to gain favor with Pavo. Whether it was to gain a new title or a scheming mother trying to marry off her oxy daughter to Pavo’s eldest son, C
ygni.

  Lyra was sick of all of it, though she never let it show. Instead she bided her time, waiting for the eventual demise of her once strong, unflappable husband. It wouldn’t be long now and as soon as Pavo was out of the way and Lyra was the only royal on the throne things would be different.

  She would declare Cygni illegitimate and make sure that her two youngest children were next in line to the throne of Vacantia and restore the honor of her Waterborn kindred. The Landborn would bow down to them and then become enslaved to the people they’d wanted to exterminate.

  Beside her, Pavo dozed on his throne. Lyra shot him an annoyed glance as he snored softly in his slumber. Pavo had been handsome once. Lyra had enjoyed the challenge of placing herself in his marriage bed but with the curse she’d cast upon him his looks had been the first to fade, quickly followed by his strength and sanity and now he looked like a man of seventy instead of the early fifties he truly was.

  A page swept into the throne room and bowed low before Queen Lyra and the still-sleeping King Pavo.

  “Your Majesties,” the page remained bowed until Lyra told him he could straighten. Lyra enjoyed toying with the palace servants and reminding them of their place.

  “You may rise,” Lyra purred with a slight gesture of her hand.

  The page rose to his full height, his eyes shining in bewitched adoration of his Queen. “Your Majesty, I have an urgent message from Commander Garlyn of the Watierai Warriors.”

  “Give it to me,” Lyra scowled as she ripped the missive from the page’s fingers and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

  It didn’t matter to Lyra that the missive was addressed to her husband. Lyra was the silent deciding force behind Pavo’s decisions these days. No ruling, big or small, was made by Pavo without the influence of his conniving wife. Except for the decision to send Andromeda to the Watierai Warriors. Lyra was furious with Pavo for rewarding the girl but Pavo’s faculties had been clear enough to dismiss Lyra’s objections that day. A slip Lyra would make sure never happened again.

  To His Royal Highness, King Pavo of Vacantia,

  Sire, the new recruit you have sent to our Warrior Camp has been discovered to be a Mistborn spy. It is our intent to trade the Mistborn scum for the missing children of Vacantia, with your esteemed permission, of course.

  Please reply with your counsel as early as can be made possible.

  Your faithful servant,

  Garlyn Rockman, 3rd Commander of the Watierai Warriors

  Curse the seas, Lyra thought angrily. The little interloper’s heritage had been found out. That could not stand. If word spread of Queen Lyra’s forgotten daughter being a Mistborn monster whispers and inquiries would be turned toward Lyra looking into her past and Lyra could not have that.

  Ignoring the curious stares of the courtiers drifting around the throne room, Lyra slipped to her chambers to compose a letter of her own.

  To 3rd Commander of the Watierai Warriors, Garlyn Rockman,

  I command that you treat this Mistborn scum as you would any other. I order you to put the creature to death immediately.

  King Pavo Golongai of the House of Vacantia

  Luckily, Lyra had been quite proficient in forging her husband’s signature in the years since they’d been married and the fake looked identical to Pavo’s slanted handwriting. Going to the window, Lyra summoned a raven perched on the spire of a nearby tower.

  “Take this to Commander Garlyn of the Watierai Warriors,” Lyra directed the bird, enforcing her command with a bit of magic to speed the bird’s flight.

  As the bird disappeared from sight Lyra smiled and stood in the fading light shining in through the window. Nobody would stand in the way of what she wanted. Nobody.

  ❖

  Daegan

  The seeker’s stone pulsed in Daegan Brykmaker’s palm. Once, twice, three times — the red glow from the stone illuminated the Captain’s quarters of the Internment docked securely at the sea floor near the western coast of the Landborn kingdom called Vacantia.

  “I’ll bring you home,” Daegan whispered to the empty cabin. Daegan, like his father and uncles before him was sworn into service to the Perscesian royal family. It was an honor, a sacred privilege and the Brykmaker clan had immense respect and status among Perscesians from one corner of the sea to the other. Until the day the daughter of the Perscesian Princess was taken, never to be seen again — on Daegan’s father’s watch, no less.

  Now the Brykmaker clan were treated as outcasts. No longer respected by the people they were forced to live in the shallows near the coastline in nearly total isolation. No longer trusted to guard the lives of the royal family Daegan and his family were offered scraps of employment to redeem themselves as the Queen’s bounty hunters.

  But Daegan’s father never stopped searching for the missing princess. He’d stolen a seeker’s stone enchanted by a Waterborn land-dwelling witch from the Vacantian king’s chambers years ago that was said to point the holder to the item they searched for most.

  The stone had laid dormant for years and Daegan’s father grunted and grumbled that the sea’s cursed stone was probably defective. Until one day, nearly five years ago now, the stone began to flicker a pale pink. It grew stronger and stronger as the years past, but the light had never shone as bright as it did now.

  Two days earlier Daegan had left the sea and his crew behind to walk along the shoreline of Vacantia, something he did to clear his head when he came upon a young woman chained to a rock. Angered by the treatment the young woman had likely endured Daegan had ripped her free from the chains and laid her on the rocky beach in the hopes that a savior would find her soon. It had been in his leaving that he had noticed her skin, only a few shades darker blue-gray than Daegan’s own and the trident mark of Faeta on her cheek identifying her as his kindred that the wheels had begun to turn in Daegan’s mind.

  The stone, the girl, the pulling of the sea the closer Daegan’s crew got to shore. Could this girl be the lost princess?

  Daegan had waited, returning to the Vacantian beach every morning for another glimpse of the young woman but she had vanished.

  Daegan climbed the ladder to the main deck of the Internment as his crew slept soundly below deck and took a deep breath letting the sea fill his lungs before allowing the breath to exhale through his pores. It was near dawn and his crew would be up and about soon enough but Daegan enjoyed this time of day the most, when the sea was calm and he was allowed to simply be — not expected to live up to his name and his reputation as a brutish hunter of the sea.

  Around him the sea began to breathe, churning listlessly as it felt the tug of one of its’ own. Somewhere beyond the surface a Perscesian was in trouble. Could it be the young woman from the beach?

  Daegan let go of his physical being, becoming the sea, and the mist on the barrier between the sea and the air above. He regenerated as the chill air puckered his skin and his body acclimated to the world above the sea.

  The sea clung to Daegan’s tight black pants like phantom hands begging him not to go further as he climbed ashore. Daegan’s skin absorbed the moonlight shining onto his bare, chiseled chest, a thin line of hair traveling down his carved out abs and disappearing into the vee of his pants. Throwing his head back Daegan shook his dripping wet waist-length black hair out of his eyes.

  It was his eyes — one gold and one pupiless and milky white - that set him apart from other Perscesians. Daegan’s mother was a Mistborn-Waterborn hybrid and it was said that when the Landborn God, Zarouk heard of the crossbreeding in his mother’s line he had cursed all future generations to be born with what became known as “The Betrayer’s Eye.”

  The rocky beach before Daegan was empty, devoid of even a single gull as Daegan climbed the rocky shoreline. As Daegan moved inland the seeker’s stone in his hand began to burn in his palm.

  Beyond the beach lay a warrior camp, home to the vicious beasts that hunted Mistborn maidens who dared to come ashore and mate with coastal men.
Daegan and his crew made an effort to rip apart any they came across harming one of their people though they had never breached the walls of the enemy’s camp. Until now.

  Daegan felt the call of a nearby Perscesian like a shrill, out-of-tune song in his head as he stumbled closer and closer to the stone archway marking the entrance to the camp. Louder and louder the call became as he scanned the watchtowers for warriors and transformed himself into a thick, rolling mist in the air.

  “Seek,” a voice in the back of Daegan’s mind urged as his mist rolled through the stone walls of the compound and floated low to the ground. He could have howled in pain as the ground rose up to swallow his mistly being, dragging him down into the bowels of the land.

  His being shifted mid-air, regenerating in a small chamber below ground. Across the room a figure glowed like a beacon in the night and the seeker’s stone blazed so hot in Daegan’s palm that it slipped from his scorched fingers and landed on the ground with a hard clink.

  It was the young maiden Daegan had rescued only nights before. An iron mask had been placed over her face and she writhed in agony atop a stone slab. Once more she was chained into place. The seeker’s stone didn’t lie. The young maiden was the long lost heir to the Perscesian throne.

  History of Esternwhorl #8

  The Perscesians

  To the rest of Esternwhorl, the sea-dwellers were known as Mistborn for their origin of being children of the sea goddess and the mist god, but the sea-dwellers find the term mistborn to be close to a slur.

  Instead, the sea-dwellers named themselves Perscesians after their under the sea kingdom of Perscesia. While the land-dwellers think of their mortal enemies as savage creatures like the sea creatures from the fairy tales written long ago, the Perscesians dwell in a rich, cultured, diverse kingdom.