Brian Pratt - The mists of sorrow

Gesturing to the swords he says, “Look at where the swords stand.”

After they look for a few seconds one of them asks, “So?”

“Can’t you see?” he asks. “They do not mark the edge of a circle.”

Taking another look the men see what he is trying to explain. Instead of a smooth circular line, the swords mark areas that extend further out than others.

“It isn’t growing consistently,” Zyrn summarizes. “Rather different areas are pushing out at different rates.”

“Guess your time at the School paid off,” Kabu says.

“The High Lord Magus would know what to do,” he explains. “Though by the time word reached him it might be too late for our village.”

“What now?” asks one of the men.

“Now we wait,” he says. “Learn as much as we can about it so when the priest gets here we can give him some idea of what he’s facing.”

“Look!” one of the men says as he points to the first sword Zyrn placed in the ground. Already the edge of the grayness has reached the blade and is creeping past. Glancing to the others, they see that the grayness in those areas has not moved forward at all.

“Let’s return home and come back tomorrow,” he says. “Then we will know how fast it is spreading.”

Mounting their horses, they turn around and race back to their village.

Day after day they return, Zyrn continues bringing six swords to mark the new edge of the grayness. Though it is spreading, it isn’t spreading very fast. As near as Zyrn can figure, the grayness is advancing around six feet per day. Some areas advance faster while others not so much. Overall, it is keeping a somewhat consistent shape. Should one area advance six or more feet one day, the next day it may only advance a foot or two allowing the rest to catch up.

The mood of the village is gradually worsening. Talk is beginning to spread that they are cursed because they stole from the dead, that the gods are angry with them. Some believe the grayness is their punishment.

After the third day, others from various villages in the area can be seen as they too keep an eye on the advancing carpet of gray. Zyrn confers with other learned men from the different villages but this is beyond them. Still no word from the rider he sent to the south, he can only watch and wait.

By the fifth day, no one bothers coming out with Zyrn. Talk of the area being cursed by the gods and other such nonsense has kept anyone else from even thinking about going out there.

In the late afternoon of the fifth day, he again goes out and marks the edge of the shimmering gray area. Four rings of swords now stand within its boundary, every ring marking a different day. Zyrn shakes his head, worried over where this might lead if nothing is done to curb its growth. But what can be done about it?

On his way back home, he tries to think about what could possibly halt the spreading of the grayness. Halfway back to his village, he encounters a score of people from his village coming his way. Among them are the ones who have been most vocal about the gray sand being a punishment of the gods.

As he approaches them, he takes note of Khalim, the only young man to have survived the ill-fated second expedition to the battlefield. That is if you can call having lost his mind and constantly gibbering incoherently surviving. Nothing they’ve attempted has done anything to restore his mind back to him.

A feeling of dread comes over Zyrn when he sees Khalim’s arms are bound behind him. The grim set of the men’s faces does nothing to alleviate the feeling. Kicking his horse faster, he rushes to meet the approaching group.

“What are you doing with him?” he asks, gesturing to Khalim.

“We go to appease the gods,” replies Maki, the one who has most fervently purported the theory of the gods being angry.

“Khalim has brought this doom upon us,” another states. “Had he died with the others, the grayness would not be seeking him.”

“Is that what you think?” asks Zyrn in disbelief.

“Yes,” asserts Maki. “Only his death at the hands of the grayness will appease the gods.”

“You are wrong!” Zyrn exclaims. “He is blameless for this!” Bringing his horse before Maki he says, “I will not allow you to do this.”

“Stand aside Zyrn,” Maki says. The others with him are unsure of themselves, but Maki glances back and hardens their resolve. “We do this for the survival of our village.”

Another of the men says, “You yourself said that if the grayness isn’t stopped, it will come to the village and destroy us all.”

“We will satisfy the gods with our piety and devotion,” Jatta asserts. Jatta, one of the elders of the village, is hardly someone Zyrn would believe to be party to something like this.

“All you will do is kill an innocent man!” he yells. “Will the blood of an innocent appease the gods? Do not fool yourself into a course of action that will damn you for all eternity.” He meets the eyes of each of them and sees his words are having little effect. Fear, fear of the unknown has robbed them of their senses.

Knowing he will be unable to sway them with words, he reaches out and takes hold of Khalim’s arm. Just before he pulled the mad young man onto his horse, he hears a whisk of a sword leaving its sheath.

“Take your hands off him,” Maki says. The point of his sword is but inches away from Zyrn’s throat.

Zyrn’s gaze bores into that of Maki’s. Releasing Khalim’s arm, he stares at the men before him.

“Go home Zyrn,” says Jatta.

“Let us do what must be done to save our village,” Maki tells him. Still holding his sword, the threat of bodily harm hangs between the two men should Zyrn continue in his attempt to stop them.

“Don’t do this,” he again pleads with them.

Ignoring his plea, they begin moving again. Walking around Zyrn’s horse, they head out toward the grayness.

Zyrn watches them go, a tear in his eye. What madness! Khalim will die because they are afraid. Turning his horse toward his village, he races across the desert. If he can get there in time, he might be able to convince others to go with him to rescue Khalim.

When his village comes into view, Zyrn knows he will not be too late if they can return quickly. Wailing comes to him as he draws closer. He finds the family of Khalim grief stricken.

As he approaches the outlying buildings, the people take note of his arrival. None are able to meet his eyes.

“Maki plans to sacrifice Khalim!” he cries out to a group of men standing together. “We must stop him. If we leave now we may be able to get there in time!” None of the men make a move or even raise their eyes to look at him. Then Zyrn understands, they all made the decision to sacrifice Khalim and are too ashamed to meet his eyes.

Off to one side he sees Khalim’s father. Riding over to him he says, “Surely you will seek to save the life of your son?”

With downcast eyes Khalim’s father replies, “I have three other children Zyrn. We have to think what is best for the village.”

“How can you say that?” he yells. “Khalim’s death will not stop the approach of the grayness. All it will accomplish is the death of an innocent man.” The father remains quiet, eyes downcast in shame.

Looking around at the assembled villagers, men and women he’s known all his life, he cries out, “Will no one come with me?” Not one person answers. He sits there on his horse in disbelief, amazed at the lengths good people will go when fear rules them. Saddened by what his village has become, he slowly passes among those he thought he knew until he comes to his home. Dismounting, he leaves his horse out front and enters through his front door.

Despondent, he sits alone and grieves.