Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

The time spent away from the sea was taking its toll on all the Perscesians except Andromeda and Ezra. Andromeda assumes her immunity from needing to go back to the sea comes from her years living in the mountains far away from the coast.

  “I need you to take point during the war council this morning,” Carina tells Andromeda as she blots the trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Behind her, Ceti braids Carina’s hair into hundreds of intricate braids. She has progressively turned a dull shade of green since arriving on Vacantia.

  “Are you sure that is the best idea?” Andromeda asks as her stomach plummets.

  Carina grasps her hand and squeezes it weakly, “Andromeda, my girl. Soon you will be old enough to ascend the throne in my place. It is necessary for you to be able to easily converse with council members and representatives from other kingdoms to establish trade and settle matters between kingdoms should this war bring an end to Perscesia’s ostracization from the other kingdoms. Think of this as practice.”

  “All right,” Andromeda agrees reluctantly. Turning her hand over and taking Carina’s clammy hand in hers Andromeda urges, “Will you please consider heading to the coast and taking to the sea to rejuvenate yourselves? We’ll need you at top health if Lyra plans to attack soon. I’m sure Cygni will send a squadron of Warriors to escort you and our army will watch over you when you get there.”

  “I suppose you are right, daughter.” Carina murmurs as she swipes a strand of hair from Andromeda’s face with the hand not entwined with Andromeda’s own.

  “Perscesia needs you,” Andromeda reminds her. “It is not my time to rule yet.”

  “And yet I can already see the makings of a kind and fair ruler in you, my girl.” Carina strokes Andromeda’s face lovingly. “You will be beloved by our people, just like your grandmother.”

  “I’m scared,” Andromeda admits quietly.

  “Don’t be,” Carina soothes her. “As you said, you have time yet before the throne passes to you. Time to grow and be amongst your people. And to find a strong man to rule beside you as your consort.”

  Andromeda’s face grows hot and she feels Daegan’s gaze boring into the back of her head. Things have been awkward between them since their exchange outside her cabin nights earlier. A strange tension between them has reached a crescendo.

  “I suppose we should head for the war room,” Andromeda ducks her head to hide her reddened cheeks. “It wouldn’t give a very good impression to our allies if we were to be late.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Carina nods approvingly as she rises to her feet with Ceti’s assistance.

  Andromeda leads them the short distance from the dining longhouses the Perscesian royals and their guards have been staying in to Cygni’s war room above the armory.

  Thane and Octavia are already in the war room when Andromeda pushes the door open. They appear to be arguing about something in hushed tones but when they realize they have company they blush furiously and fall silent, looking anywhere but at each other.

  Andromeda sits across the table from Thane and Octavia with Daegan ever present on her left and Carina on her right and the rest of their delegation leaning against the walls and windows at their backs. Octavia stands and puts a seat between her and Thane which is quickly filled by her second, an unpleasant looking girl Octavia introduces as Imelda. Her third in command, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair named Ranger, takes the seat on her other side as Cutter and Castor join Thane in seats near the door.

  Lester, Hugo, and several men Andromeda has never seen before — one large and muscular and the other older, bald, and wiry - fill the spaces between Octavia’s third and Carina leaving the head of the table open for Cygni, who arrives last looking immaculate as ever.

  “Shall we begin?” Cygni asks peering around the table once he’s seated.

  “Now that we’re all here I think it’s best that we discuss our plan of action and who will be where being led by who,” Lester speaks confidently commanding attention from everyone sitting at the table. “We come from a variety of backgrounds with an assortment of fighting styles and strengths and weaknesses. I think it would be best to scatter our forces, keeping part of our peoples with their strengths — the Perscesians at sea on their draco mares, the Starborn taking to the sky on their stormriders, and our Warriors, the Order, and the Losteroans on foot and horseback with some of the Perscesians and Starborn mixed in.”

  “The Starborn I understand,” Andromeda says slowly as she traces her finger across the tabletop, “but do we know whether Lyra plans to attack from the sea? She’s at a disadvantage there with our people ruling the sea even if she remains unaware of our draco mares and our Legion of riders. Would it not be best to utilize them in the skies with the Starborn? They can fly, you know.”

  Cygni rubs his chin in thought, “We know that Lyra enlisted the Shroudanians to poison the sea in the hopes of causing mass genocide on the Mist - I mean Perscesians,” he catches himself quickly, “but the Shroudanian soldiers are much more valuable to Lyra on land than they are at sea. Andromeda does have a very good point.”

  Lester grunts, “I had not thought of that. But the Perscesians are at a higher risk on land than at sea with a small fraction of Lyra’s army being led by Garlyn and the Warrior rebels, though not a significant risk when you compare the rebel’s numbers to the Perscesian army and the Legion, this is true. It is my understanding that your draco mares breathe fire, is that correct?”

  “That is true,” Carina allows.

  “And the stormriders are capable of spawning storms from their beaks,” Cygni muses. “Together - storms meeting fire - I like the sound of that. Is there a possibility of the creatures working together in such a manner?”

  “Do you mean the draco mares blowing fire into the storms?” Octavia asks as she wrinkles her brow. She turns to her second and third who shrug in response. “It has never been done before, but I believe it could be possible. I will have to confer with The Three and get their opinion.”

  “The Three?” Cygni echoes looking at her over the top of steepled fingers.

  “They are like advisors of a sort,” Octavia explains. “They work directly under the mother goddess.”

  “Very well,” Cygni sighs. “Report back and let me know what you find out.”

  “Will do,” Octavia nods.

  “Now as to land combat,” Cygni continues. “Thoughts?”

  It quickly becomes clear to Andromeda that sticking so many different groupings of people with differing opinions in such a small room is far from a good idea. None are worse than Thane and the man Lester identifies as Rolfe when he has to step in to defuse some of the more heated arguments.

  “I’ve yet to understand your opposition to placing the Warriors at the front lines,” Thane snaps at Rolfe as he crosses his beefy arms over his chest.

  “Your swords are next to useless unless you’re going up against Perscesians,” Rolfe rolls his eyes as he explains this to Thane like he’s a slow-witted child.

  “Despite the intended purpose they were invented for they still do the job of slicing and dicing a Landborn person after being soaked in a saltwater solution, of course. It gives the illusion of our skin coming into contact with the blade.” Andromeda points inadvertently turning all eyes on her. Her cheeks heat as she adds, “Which to me is almost better because instead of vaporizing your intended target you’ll know they’re actually mortally wounded or dead if you strike with precision.”

  “You have used one of these swords, Princess?” Rolfe furrows his brow.

  “Of course,” Andromeda raises an eyebrow amused at the warrior’s expression. “How else do you think my true heritage was uncovered? Or do you think the scars on my face were something I was born with?”

  “Of course not,” Rolfe sputters, “I guess I just didn’t realize…”

  He trails off awkwardly. Andromeda smirks. “The truth of the matter is that as long as the blade is sharp enough to inflict pain on ones
’ enemy a sword is a sword, no matter its’ intended purpose.”

  “Well, that settles that,” Cygni nods gratefully in Andromeda’s direction. “As we discussed before I think it would be best to show a united front despite our different backgrounds. Perscesians fighting beside Watierai Warriors, Losteroan slaves, and members of the Order will send a message to Lyra that the world is not hers for the taking. She may have the Shroudanians on her side, she may have numbers on her side, but we will not let her take us laying down.”

  “Here, here,” Carina murmurs as blood drips down her incisors.

  Cygni looks momentarily horrified but masks the look in an instant as he turns to Lester and Hugo, “Have our scouts spotted any movement from the Vacantian and Shroudanian forces?”

  “Aye,” Lester sighs, “two of the Starborn riders spotted soldiers setting up camp in the mountains across the valley. There was no sign of Lyra or King Alem yet, however.”

  “It won’t be long now,” Cygni steeples and un-steeples his fingers. “It may be in our best interest to gather the Losteroans, Perscesians, and Starborn before the gates of this fortress, as a warrior camp of our own. A first defense against our enemy.”

  “Wouldn’t it be best, Your Majesty,” Hugo begins slowly, thinking over his words before he speaks, “To strike preemptively?”

  “What do you have in mind?” Cygni asks as he scratches at the stubble on his chin.

  “I suggest we strike them at night,” Hugo continues. “Catch them unawares and converge on their camp before they have a chance to move any closer or strike at us first.”

  “Hmm,” Cygni hums thoughtfully. His gaze moves back to Lester, “The Starborn riders that spotted the soldiers, did they say which army they were from?”

  “No,” Lester shakes his head, “though they most likely are Vacantian. They would have had a head start on the Shroudanians who arrived in Vanyia after the Vacantian army marched out.”

  “So there weren’t a significant amount of soldiers crawling over the mountain?” Andromeda asks for confirmation.

  “No, Princess,” Octavia pipes up. “My spotters only spied what we believe is maybe a third of their numbers.”

  “Have your spotters keep an eye on the situation for the rest of the day,” Cygni orders. “Discreetly, of course. I want to know how many more soldiers arrive by nightfall. I will base my decision on when best to attack from there.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Octavia answers as she sends her third from the room to give the order.

  “Until that point, Dao, I want some of your men to guard the southern perimeter of the encampment. There is a narrow passage between the fortification and the sea, but the last thing we need is the Shroudanians coming in for a blitz attack.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” the bald-headed man sitting to Carina’s right answers. “I have one request though.”

  “What is it?” Cygni asks cautiously.

  “When we go into battle I want permission to ride the wuju alongside the Starborn riders and the Perscesian Legion,” the bald-headed man’s voice never wavers as he makes his request.

  Cygni studies the man for several minutes before giving his answer, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  ❖

  Cygni

  Sitting around the fire in front of the fortress gate with his allies, Cygni noted the electrified feeling in the air charged with anticipation. The scouts hadn’t noticed any additional movement at the Vacantian army’s camp throughout the day but the rest of their forces couldn’t be more than a half day away. Cygni knew their nocturnal surprise attack would happen soon so they had to be prepared to go at a moment’s notice. His stomach churns as he stares into the dancing flames of the bonfire.

  In the distance fires can be seen dotting the mountainside where Lyra’s allies camp out in caves and the thick, dense forest clumped in clusters on the mountainside.

  Looking around his surroundings as he takes a long sip of the ale in his mug Cygni takes in the faces of those closest to him. On his left Lord Lester, leader of The Order of the Thorn and his father’s closest friend, sits sharpening his throwing knives blatantly ignoring the hubbub going on around him. He’d fallen back into silence after the war council went to accomplish their separate tasks.

  General Cruelseas meets Cygni’s gaze across the fire. Cygni finds himself once again gulping at the tattoos covering nearly all of the larger Warrior’s exposed skin. The dark, swirling ink tells anyone who sees him that he is high-ranking in the Watierai Warriors. Cygni doesn’t dare ask how Thane feels about going into battle against the men he’d so recently overseen and fought alongside. Cygni pities him if he feels anywhere close to the sickening pit of agony curling and tightening in Cygni’s gut at the thought of maiming and killing soldiers from the Royal Army. Boys and men he’s trained beside and under his whole life.

  The Starborn lass with the glowing blue constellation on her cheek touches the General’s forearm to get his attention, breaking the spell between the two men and the thoughts conveyed in the blink of an eye as Cruelseas turns to murmur something to the lass in hushed tones.

  Cygni also has to admit to feelings of fear toward the Perscesians who have thrown in with Cygni’s allies to get revenge against his former stepmother. Most of their numbers remain floating at sea choosing to sleep atop the strange serpent-like creatures that they call draco mares which they ride like horses above and below the choppy surface.

  Beyond the cluster of campfires dotting the stretch of land between the encampment and the valley where the Losteroans, Starborns, and Order members had claimed and made their camp, the Perscesian Queen Carina and her consort Ajax have already retired for the night, choosing to disappear into the dilapidated tent salvaged by the loyal Watierai Warriors from their stockpile of gear.

  Cygni’s former stepsister, the lost Perscesian Princess, Andromeda paces around the outer rim of the group huddled around the bonfire sparring and trading insults with the bare-chested hunter that seems permanently attached to her side. Their odd blueish-silver skin seems iridescent in the firelight as they advance and retreat across the valley like lightning-quick blurs performing a complicated dance.

  Ceti, the second-born Perscesian Princess catches Cygni observing her sister and winks at him. Cygni is sure that she sees right through him, picking up on his hesitation and lack of trust for her people, yet instead of seeming put-off she chooses to be amused. She’s been teasing and flirting with him since she arrived with the Queen’s entourage and normally Cygni would have been basking in her attention; instead he feels sick at the thought of the coming attack.

  Cygni’s face flushes and he scratches the back of his neck and averts his eyes, feeling ashamed for being caught staring. So many complex, warring personalities and species surround the prince, brought together for one common goal. He can only wonder who will be left standing tomorrow if the attack is successful and the dust clears. In the distance a wolf howls mournfully and the sound sends an ominous chill down Cygni’s spine.

  “Coin for your thoughts,” Dao leans over to ask. It’s a strange old phrase used in Lostero to ask a person what they’re thinking about.

  “I’m worried,” Cygni admits quietly to his grandfather. They haven’t had a spare minute alone to talk since the Losteroans arrived causing even more guilt in his gut.

  “You’ve assembled a strong group of allies,” Dao observes. He’s silent for a while then, “You really do remind me of your father in his youth. He too was unsure if he could live up to the expectations placed upon him. But he was strong and so are you. I see the warrior in you in everything you do. Yes, there will be casualties, as there are in any war, but you need to remember one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Cygni asks as he turns to face Dao.

  “What you’re doing here has the power to change the entire balance of this world,” Dao replies. “Already you have given my people, your mother’s people, the courage to break the bindings of slavery
that have been slapped upon us since the dawn of time.”

  Cygni struggles to find an adequate response but Dao continues, “Look there, at the Perscesian girl, Andromeda. She was raised to be something she never could be in a place she was never meant to be, but who knows who she would have become if she hadn’t been stolen from her mother’s arms. She may not have grown up to be the leader her people need to bring them back together with the rest of the world. We all face hardships and tragedies that shape us into the people we were always destined to be; me, Andromeda, the Starborn girl, General Cruelseas, and yes — you too. Every horrible thing that has occurred since your father’s murder, even the act itself, had to happen for you to accept your fate.”

  Chapter 22

  Thane

  Thane’s heart beats wildly in his chest, the same way it always did when he was training or going up against a Perscesian in the past. It had been decided that they would wait to cross the valley and sneak into the enemy camp until after midnight. Scouts the night before had noted how long it took the carousing soldiers across the valley to douse their bonfires and settle in for the night so they could have stealth on their side.

  He sat at the foot of his tent lacing his boots when a feather-light touch caressed his cheek and a curtain of hair obscured his view as Octavia touched her lips to Thane’s temple.

  Grabbing her face in his palm he turns her lips towards his in a quick kiss. Ever since Octavia returned from the Starborn kingdom everything has changed between them. No longer can he cast her off as just another Warrior, especially not when her touch sends shivers through his entire body.

  “Are you ready?” Thane asks as he pulls away.

  “Of course,” Octavia nods as she straightens her new white fighting leathers. “Be careful out there tonight, you hear me?”

  “I always am,” Thane replies.

  Rolfe and Thane finally came to an agreement that the Warriors and the Order will be spread out together with one column of men and women coming at the enemy camp from dead on and two other segmented groups coming in from the North and the south.