Brian Pratt - The mists of sorrow

“So who sent this dream to me?” asks Miko.

“We don’t know,” replies Brother Willim. “All we do know is that it is more than just a dream and thus should not be dismissed lightly.”

James sits there in thought for a moment then says, “I would guess the temple you saw, the one emitting light represents Morcyth. Either a specific temple or the religion in general.”

“That would make sense,” agrees Brother Willim. “Seeing as how closely you are tied to Morcyth.”

“Then the darkness…?” he asks.

“Is something threatening its very existence I would think,” Brother Willim says. “Considering the way you reacted.”

James can see the worry on his friends face. “We’re not going to figure this out tonight,” he says. “Let’s all try to get some sleep. Maybe a night’s sleep will help.”

“Good idea,” suggest Brother Willim.

Lying down, Miko says to James, “What if it comes again?”

“Brother Willim and I will be right here if it does,” he replies. “Don’t worry about it.”

Chuckling, Miko says, “Yeah, right.” Closing his eyes, he tries to return to sleep.

James glances to Brother Willim who only shrugs. They each return to their blankets and think on what Miko had told them. If James had trouble falling asleep before, it’s nothing like now. Sometime later in the night, he does manage to sink into sleep.

Zyrn stands under the stars at the edge of his village, gazing to the west. Within his village of Abi Salim, there is much celebration. The loot that had been acquired two days ago will go a long way in seeing them through the coming years. Already, plans are being made to send the wagons to the south to sell the weapons and armor at the markets of the larger towns.

But for some, there is no celebration. When they had returned to Abi Salim that first day, a dozen of the younger men had decided to return and collect what had been left behind. They should have been back by this morning at the latest. The fact that they haven’t worries him.

He’s not alone in his vigil, several wives of the young men as well as various other family members stand with him. “What could have happened to them?” one woman asks to no one in particular.

Remembering the ill omen that had streaked through the sky, he has little hope of seeing them again. It was decided that in the morning if the young men haven’t returned, he and several other men would ride out to see if they could find them. Some have supposed the men could have had a wagon wheel break on them, or maybe a horse took lame and they were returning slower than usual. Unwilling to dash their hopes, he keeps his opinions to himself.

Then from out of the desert a movement is seen in the starlight. From its shape it appears to be a man stumbling about. Zyrn and two of the other men rush out toward the approaching man, the women follow right behind.

“Khalim!” cries out one man in recognition. Khalim was one of the young men who had gone to the battlefield and happens to be the man’s son.

Zyrn and the father reach him at the same time. Another man carrying a lantern joins them and they stop in shock at what they see. Eyes wide, a tinge of madness to them, his hair is disheveled and matted to his head. He hardly looks like the same man that left two days ago.

“Khalim!” exclaims one of the women. “Where are the others? Where is Ibala?”

Khalim’s eyes dart around without recognition. A speck of white foam begins to ooze from the corner of his mouth.

“What’s wrong with him?” his father asks.

“I don’t know,” Zyrn replies. “Take him home.”

“Ibala!” cries the woman, and then others begin crying out the names of their loved ones.

“We can’t wait until morning,” one man says.

Zyrn turns to him and says, “No, we can’t.” Taking five of the men with him, they hurry back to their homes and saddle their horses. Once they are ready and each has several torches, Zyrn has each light one. Then with torches held aloft, they race into the desert to try to find out what happened.

The next morning they are up and off with the dawn. Throughout the day they see the signs of the battles that have raged through here. Ever since the battle at Lythylla turned the tide in Madoc’s favor, the enemy has been pushed further back toward the original border. In places the dead remain unburied though there are work details out collecting them as quickly as they can.

Travelers are still nonexistent, at least those of a civilian nature. The odd patrol, messenger or rider at times approaches them from the north but continues by without a word on their way to the south. None ever so much as says hello.

When they reach the town of Cerinet to the north of Saragon, there are more visible signs of battle. Mounds dot the countryside from where the dead have been buried in communal graves. The walls surrounding the city show extensive damage from the Madoc catapults which battered away in their attempt to breach the walls. One gaping hole in the wall shows where the attackers finally were able to bring down the defenses of the defenders.

A squad of men ride to intercept them when they approach but only delay them a moment. Once they find out who they are the soldiers allow them to proceed. Not bothering to linger any longer, they once more head up the road to the Merchant’s Pass.

They push their horses relentlessly in their desire to reach the Pass quickly. When darkness begins to fall they are forced to stop and give the horses a break. Even with the spare horses, the unrelenting pace has worn them out.

A quick meal and then they’re to bed. Out here on the road, they rotate a watch throughout the night. The recruits have the honor of pulling that particular duty. The barest sliver of moon rises to shed a small amount of light on the world. James looks at it with anxiety. For when it again passes to full and returns to dark, the knife will fall and Tinok will die.

He sees Jiron staring up at the moon too. Getting up, he goes over and takes a seat on the ground next to him. “Worried?” he asks.

Nodding, Jiron replies, “Everyday his doom approaches. And here we are, moving further away.”

“I know,” he says reassuringly. “Tomorrow we’ll see the others safely to the Pass then we can return in search of him.”

“Sometimes life can be hard,” a voice says behind them. Turning around they see Shorty standing there. “There comes a time in everyone’s life when he’s faced with two choices at odds with each other. If it’s any consolation, I think Tinok would be satisfied with the choice you made.”

“Thanks,” says Jiron. “Doesn’t make me worry any less though.”

“If the god’s decide we are to find Tinok in time, we will” he says with conviction.

“But what if one god wants us to find him and another doesn’t?” Scar asks as he and Potbelly join the conversation.

“Then we are left to our own devices,” states James. He gives the pair an irritated gaze. They are doing nothing to alleviate Jiron’s anxiety over Tinok.

“Which I find has been the case more often than not,” says Jiron. Glancing at everyone he adds, “I appreciate your concern, I really do.” Then his eyes flick to movement behind Scar and Potbelly and sees Aleya coming toward him.

As she makes her way between the pair, Potbelly clears his throat then says, “Maybe we all should make ourselves scarce.”

With a grin and a wink to Jiron, Scar says, “An excellent idea.”

They leave and allow Jiron and Aleya what privacy they can. As James returns to his blankets Aleya sits next to Jiron and as they’ve done so much of late. They sit and just hold each other as they talk quietly. The last sight he sees before falling to sleep is them sitting together, her head on his shoulder.