Brian Pratt - The mists of sorrow

Kicking his horse in the sides, the man races over to the body lying in the sand. By the time Zyrn has remounted the man has stopped and is kneeling by the body. When Zyrn and the others approach, the man glances back to him and says, “It’s Ibala.”

His features mimic that of the other dead man; gray skin that looks like melted wax and pupils that have turned gray. “Do you think anyone is left alive?” one man asks.

Gazing out over the grey desert Zyrn shakes his head and replies, “I doubt it.” Further toward the sight of the battle, he sees the wagons of the other scavengers. They have stopped before reaching the area where the dead soldiers lay.

“They stopped,” he comments.

The others look to see what he’s talking about. “What do you think made them do that?” one of his companions asks.

“I don’t know,” he replies. Putting his hand across his forehead to keep the sun off his eyes, he tries to get a clearer view. Then movement catches his eye. Six figures are running away from the wagons back the way they came. “They are running away,” he says nervously.

“What should we do?” asks the man next to him. Despite his attempt to sound calm, fear has crept into his voice.

“I’m not sure but we better find out what’s going on,” he says. Kicking his horse in the sides he bolts toward the fleeing men. Before he has gone half the distance, three of the men fall and don’t get up. Then another falls and then another.

He reaches the last man just as he hits the ground. “Stay back!” Zyrn orders the others. Moving closer he watches as the man writhes upon the ground. Not a sound does the man make other than that of his limbs moving in the dirt. A spasm rips through him and he flips onto his back.

Most of his skin has turned gray and is beginning to sag in the same manner as the young men they found. One pupil is gray and the other is almost there. The man’s jaw opens and closes as if he’s trying to say something. Then another spasm tears through him before his body becomes still.

“Zyrn,” one man says with barely controlled fear evident in his voice, “let’s get out of here.”

“But we haven’t found my son,” another man argues.

“He’s dead!” the scared man exclaims. “They all are!”

“I’m not leaving here until I find my son!” the man shouts.

They look to Zyrn for a decision.

He glances from one to the others and then says, “I’ll stay here with Zaki. The rest of you return to the village and tell them what is going on.”

The fearful man immediately turns his horse and heads in a straight line home. The others turn to follow him.

“Thanks Zyrn,” Zaki says.

“Come on,” he replies. Glancing to the wagons, he sees the horses are down even though they are still in their traces. Angling away from the wagons, they begin to creep further toward the battlefield.

Before they go very far Zaki sees another body further into the gray area. Recognizing the cloak upon the body he cries out, “My son!” Kicking his horse in the sides he bolts toward where his son lays.

Zyrn makes to follow him when he notices the ground ahead of them seems to shimmer and shift. A bad feeling comes over him and cries out for Zaki to stop but he doesn’t heed the warning.

Pulling up to a quick halt, he watches as Zaki’s horse passes into the area that shimmers and shifts. Where the horse’s hooves touch the ground, the grayness seems to ripple but Zaki doesn’t notice.

“Come back!” Zyrn yells one final time.

Then suddenly, Zaki’s horse stumbles and he’s thrown to the ground. Zyrn watches in horror as the grayness seems to ripple away from the spot where Zaki lands like ripples across a pond. The horse screams as it hits the ground.

Getting to his feet, Zaki takes a step toward his son before he notices his hands. The parts that had touched the ground now have gray flecks across them. He tries rubbing the gray off on his shirt and some of his skin comes off, leaving a gray trail across his front.

“Zaki!” Zyrn screams.

Zaki turns to look back and Zyrn can see where the gray is already beginning to spread across his skin. Turning back to his son again, he races across the ground until he reaches his side. By this time his horse has stopped its thrashing upon the ground and has grown still.

Kneeling beside the young man, Zaki tries to pick him up but lacks the strength. With a moan, he tips to the side and begins to writhe upon the ground before growing still.

“Zaki!” cries Zyrn. Lifelong friends, he and Zaki go way back. He looks in anguish at his friend who lies unmoving next to his son. “Damn!” he curses.

Just then, his horse rears backward and stumbles. Zyrn leaps from his horse as it falls and hits the ground hard. Glancing back to his horse, he sees its forelegs turning gray. Slowly the gray begins working its way to the rest of its body. Thrashing about, the horse neighs in fear until finally growing still and quiet.

Zyrn scrambles backward until he has put several yards between himself and his now dead horse. He tries to come to grips with what happened to his horse. He knew he stopped outside of the gray area and his horse hadn’t moved the entire time he watched Zaki’s ordeal.

Then he notices how the edge of the gray area seems to slowly be expanding. Oh my god! It’s growing! Scooting backward another couple of feet, he pauses and stares at the edge to make sure his eyes weren’t paying tricks on him. After a few moments, sure enough he sees the edge expand again.

It’s not a constant growth, seems to grow in periodic spurts. Getting to his feet, he casts one last look back at his friend then turns around and runs for all he’s worth. If this continues to grow, then his whole village is in danger. Leaving the grayness behind, he races across the desert.

Four hours past Pleasant Meadows they stop for the night. A quick meal then right to sleep for they plan to make an early start in the morning.

Jiron has pulled the midnight watch tonight. During his watch he keeps a fire going for the comfort of the others, but primarily stays in the darkness surrounding the camp. His eyes remain better accustomed to the dark that way.

Walking the perimeter in a continuous loop, he keeps watch externally with only the occasional glance to those within the fire. He remembers well the shadows which paid a call that one night a couple weeks ago. They had come to attack James and only the quick thinking of Miko and Brother Willim saved him from death.

He is greatly relieved that Tersa is on her way back to The Ranch. If there’s anywhere safe in this world it would be there. During their meal he asked James to use his mirror to check on them and had found them camped along the trail. From the way everyone was relaxed around the campfire listening to Moyil tell a story, he knew they were alright. It must have been a comical one from the way they were all smiling and laughing.

Every time one of the sleepers would make a noise, he would glance into the camp. After what James had told him of Miko’s experience two nights ago, he’s been worried Miko may have another episode.

It’s drawing closer to the time for him to wake Stig for his turn. How they all miss the younger guys who use to pull this duty. Another noise from the camp and again he looks to where Miko is sleeping. This time he sees one of Miko’s arms moving, if only slightly. Worried, he moves into the camp toward him.

When he reaches his side, he sees sweat beading on his forehead and his lips are moving in silent conversation. James is lying next to his friend and Jiron quietly wakes him. Once James’ eyes open and he sees him kneeling beside him, he nods to Miko and whispers, “He’s having another dream.”