Mystery of the Deep Fog, page 8
“Is it gone?” Krysta asked, still worried about the shadow warrior.
“I sent Daisy to the meadows to draw the Shadow away,” Gregog reassured her.
“Will it hurt Daisy?” Krys asked.
“No, the horses are safe here,” he answered, “This be their home.”
Krys looked around, confused. “I don’t understand. What is this place?” She gazed past the treetops and caught a glimpse of the swirling sky.
“Aye, no one knows,” Gregog explained. “Tharg said he read in a scroll one of the gods defeated in the great war got banished from the natural world. The gods created this realm. We think the horses belonged to his priests, and they, too, were banished. The Shadow, as we call him, that chased us may be one of those priests. That’s why the horses be safe.”
Krys pondered momentarily, then asked, “We can come here, so can they get out?”
Gregog appeared lost in deep thought before finally responding. "Got me thinkin’, girl. There’s only one portal, which is under the tree in that cave. But I have to be honest, I’ve never encountered any shadows in the natural world. That doesn't mean it never happens. We’ve mastered the ability to summon our horses from this realm, which creates a temporary portal that closes once they cross over. So I’m confident the Shadow never escaped the fog."
Krysta was curious. “Can you come into the fog by sending the horse back from our world?” she asked.
“You mean if I was ridin’ me horse?” Gregog asked.
“Yes,” Krysta confirmed.
“Never tried that,” Gregog admitted. “If that’s possible, could be very useful. Hmm. Interesting.”
Krys looked around and felt peace within the silence of the trees. She knew she could not stay in the Deep Fog, no matter how tranquil it was at the moment. She started trying to come up with a plan. “What do we do now?” she asked, her mind racing with ideas.
“We wait a spell. Then carefully, we return to the cave,” Gregog replied calmly.
Krys was not accustomed to staying still for an extended time, but she knew Gregog was experienced in these matters, so she consented this was the right plan. She settled against the tree, feeling a mixture of fear and anticipation as they waited.
◆◆◆
After placing the newly arrived package in its designated spot, Gaston climbed down the ladder and approached another box that had yet to be processed. Dee, the young orphan boy, stood near it and fiddled with a loose string attached to the package. Gaston could not help but smile as he thought about the rare moments of peace he experienced at Dee's age. Gaston admired the boy's resilience, having been through so much since arriving at Dorion's. Dee never lost his composure when punished. Although he yelped and whimpered, Gaston knew any boy his age would react similarly.
Examining the documents attached to the package, Gaston determined it did not need to be stored away like the previous package, as it was addressed to a local who was due to retrieve it early in the morning.
"I think you need to find a small hole or crack and hide a sharp object," Gaston advised Dee. He trusted Dee enough to teach him how to survive Dorion. “Never have it out when Dorion’s around, and never use it unless you fear you ‘bout to die. That ever happens, pray to the Almighty. Amen.”
Dee remained silent, as he had since he arrived. At first, this caused Gaston some concern. However, Dee's occasional smiles warmed Gaston's heart, easing his worries. But that warmth soon became a chill when he heard Linny's voice outside the warehouse, talking to someone Gaston feared was Dorion. Although he knew Linny meant no harm, having probably seen Dorion and wanting to engage in conversation, she may have mentioned seeing Gaston the previous night, alerting Dorion to his whereabouts. The sweat from the day's intense heat suddenly felt ice cold as Gaston's anxiety skyrocketed.
“Grab a broom and sweep this floor!” Dorion demanded of Dee as he entered the warehouse, slapping him in the face for not moving fast enough. Dee did not make a noise as he found the broom and started sweeping. Gaston pretended not to notice, focusing on the package's documents to appear busy.
However, Gaston's pretense ended abruptly when Dorion's whip struck his bare back, causing him to cry and arch forward. Recovering quickly, Gaston knew Linny had indeed talked, and Dorion was not pleased. He anticipated telling as many lies as necessary to calm Dorion once the whipping stopped.
◆◆◆
Megan noticed a slight drop in the temperature on this hot night, but it was still not enough to provide any relief. Her curiosity was piqued when she spotted a campfire in the woods nearby. She hitched her horse to a tree limb, removed the bow and quiver of arrows attached to the saddle, and made her way slowly toward the camp. One could never be too careful out in these woods, far from the safety of the city.
As she approached the campsite, Megan saw movement and quickly recognized the men's outfits as those belonging to Jhona's Bastards. These notorious bandits were fierce fighters with a reputation for showing no mercy to the weak. She wondered why they were out this way, so close to her home. Megan backed away slowly, careful not to draw their attention, and prepared to mount her horse to return to the house. She was troubled that the bandits were so close to her home, and the possibility of danger weighed heavily on her mind.
"Hey, you!" a voice suddenly rang out. Megan swiftly turned to find one of the bandits approaching her, brandishing his sword. Reacting instinctively, she reached for an arrow in her quiver and swiftly nocked it on her bow. With a determined focus, she raised her bow, aimed carefully, and released the arrow. It soared through the air with precision, finding its mark and piercing the bandit's throat.
The bandit dropped his sword, his hands instinctively clutching his wounded neck. He staggered momentarily, struggling to maintain his balance, before finally collapsing to his knees and onto his side. Satisfied that he was no longer a threat, Megan wasted no time. She swiftly mounted her horse and rode off, leaving the fallen bandit behind.
She was mere minutes away from home and worried about whether the bandits had discovered its location. The front of the house remained concealed behind the dense forest, but the trees receded to reveal a vast open expanse of land extending to the house's side and back. While the house could remain hidden from the front, there was no concealing the expansive field beyond it.
Finally, the house came into view, and she rode past it, heading directly to the stables behind the main building. As Megan dismounted and entered the stables, a frown creased her brow upon noticing the absence of her father's horse. However, a glimmer of hope emerged as she recalled that her father's horse did not require stabling. With a surge of anticipation, she swiftly attended to her horse, removing its saddle and harness. Closing the stable door behind her, her heart raced as she hurriedly approached the house, eager to discover if her father awaited her inside.
Eyes wide, Megan opened the door excitedly, expecting to see her father at the dinner table or maybe asleep in her mother's bed. However, her excitement soon turned to disappointment as she realized he was not in the house. Though he had promised to be there, she understood that he could have been busy and unable to make it. Nevertheless, if he did not show up by mid-morning the next day, she resolved to go out and look for him herself.
She placed her bow and quiver of arrows against the wall, knelt by the table near the bed, bowed her head, and prayed for her father's protection.
11
Beneath the Roots
GASTON LAY ON THE floor, stripes of blood on his back. Dorion rolled the whip up and placed it on the shelf where he kept it. "Get up!" he shouted at Gaston. He watched as Gaston slowly sat up but did not rise to his feet. "Should I whip you more?" Gaston understood and proceeded to stand up. Dorion stepped back as he watched Gaston lose strength in his legs and fall back to the floor. "Fine, just sit there. I want to see your face." Gaston sat up once more and slowly raised his head.
"What is it you want from me, my lord?" Gaston choked out.
"I've been informed that you are giving out letters to strangers," Dorion said as anger rose within him. "What are these letters?"
"It's a game, my lord."
"A game?" Dorion knew he was lying. "Should I get my whip?"
"I have a letter in my pocket," Gaston offered.
"Show it to me," Dorion demanded. He watched as Gaston slowly reached into the pocket of his tattered pants and pulled out a letter, raising it for Dorion to retrieve. He waited a moment and then snatched the letter from Gaston's hand. "Before I read this letter, I want you to know that the courier you handed the last letter to is in the other room hanging from the rafters."
Gaston began to sob, and it surprised Dorion. He never saw him cry in the twenty years that Gaston had been his servant.
"Are you crying because you have been caught?"
"Read the letter!" Gaston screamed at him. This was indeed a shock. How dare he shout back at him. Dorion called for assistance, and two men ran in from the other room where the body was hanging. They were paid guards, not enslaved like Gaston.
"Stand him up!" Dorion shouted. "Secure him to the wall." He grabbed the whip off the shelf and waited as the men did as they were told. After they finished, they stood back. Dorion took the whip and struck Gaston on the back. He was about to do it again but hesitated. Not because he was sorry he was harming his servant, not because he felt there was a moral dilemma. He stopped because it was just too hot to do this again. He tossed the whip on the table and motioned for the men to loosen Gaston. As they unsecured Gaston and sat him down on a chair, Dorion opened the letter and read it.
"What’s this about rabbits not being seen because of the heat?" Dorion was confused.
"I told you, it's a game," Gaston said quietly.
Dorion tossed the letter on the table, stared at Gaston for a moment, and wondered if his orphan servant was hiding something from him. No, his servant was not a smart man. If he had been, he would have tried to escape long ago. Gaston lasted longer than any other orphan Dorion ever acquired. The others either tried to escape, were captured and killed, or fell over and died from exhaustion. So maybe this simple-minded young man was playing a game just to pass the time. "Time for the game to end. Forget this mess and do your job." Now that the matter was settled, Dorion walked past Gaston and headed to his room to get some sleep.
◆◆◆
Eidget did not want to be near the fire; the heat was too much. He was grateful to be assigned to check the perimeter instead. Yet, the night's heat offered no relief, and he could not help but pause momentarily and lean against a tree. Through the leaves, he could make out the first moon of the night, far off in the sky. It was the smaller one, and though he had learned its name years ago, it was now lost to him. The larger moon, Lunis, was much closer and brighter, moving across the sky faster than the smaller one. It was often so bright on a clear night that it made it difficult to see the smaller moon. But Eidget preferred the smaller one; it reminded him of himself - distant and forgotten.
Lost in thought and distant memories, Eidget's eyes suddenly focused on something on the ground. He approached and looked down and realized it was a body, blood all over its neck and hands, with an arrow sticking out of the neck. Eidget jumped back and nearly fell over in shock. He looked around to see if anyone else was near, and then he stepped closer and recognized the body belonged to Garter.
Eidget rushed back to the camp, his breaths coming in labored gasps. As he reached the clearing, he called out for Braswell, the leader of Jhona's Bandits. "Braswell! I have urgent news!" Eidget exclaimed, his voice filled with anxiety. Braswell, gripping his sword tightly, turned toward Eidget.
"What is it, Eidget?" Braswell demanded.
"It's Garter," Eidget managed to say between breaths.
"Garter? What happened to him?" Braswell's tone heightened in alarm.
"He's dead in the woods," Eidget said, his voice tinged with sorrow.
"Dead?!" Braswell's voice boomed with shock and anger.
"With an arrow in his neck," Eidget replied.
"Damarcus!" Braswell called out, seeking his trusted subordinate.
"Here, sir!" Damarcus responded promptly, stepping forward.
"Gather a dozen men and scour the area until you find this assassin!" Braswell ordered. "Eidget, you go with them!"
"Yes, sir," Eidget replied as he drew his sword. He joined Damarcus; his heart was gripped with fear.
◆◆◆
The silence of the forest was broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves. Krysta found herself holding her breath at every little sound, her nerves on edge. She felt like she was being watched by an unknown entity. After what felt like an eternity, Gregog finally spoke.
“It's time,” he said quietly, rising to his feet.
Krysta followed suit, attempting to maintain her movements in utmost silence. They cautiously navigated through the dense forest, taking slow and deliberate steps. At regular intervals, Gregog would halt, his senses heightened as he scanned their surroundings for potential threats. Krysta followed his actions, her heart racing with each passing moment. A sense of relief washed over her when they finally arrived at the cave entrance, yet caution remained paramount.
The proximity of the cave entrance to a tree reminded Krysta of the cave she had discovered in Midtown. That cave housed a portal, though it led to a realm she hoped never to encounter again. Within that portal lay a dark abyss engulfed in flames and molten lava, from which a malevolent witch had emerged. The portal they were now intent on entering, however, would transport them back to the natural world.
They cautiously entered the cave, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting as they proceeded down the tunnel. As they neared the portal, Krysta experienced a growing sense of tranquility, as if a soothing presence enveloped her.
They found the portal, and Krysta noticed that it was swirling counterclockwise. She remembered that when she and Thargeron had found it on the other side, it was swirling clockwise. She watched as Gregog passed through the portal and disappeared. She was so glad they had made it back safely. Now it was her turn to pass through.
◆◆◆
Norton had noticed two figures emerge from beneath the tree, one shorter and rounder than the other. He scanned the path to ensure they were not returning before heading toward the tree. Perhaps there was a secret stash of coins hidden there, and Norton could not resist the possibility of finding some. He felt around and discovered a small opening beneath the tree's roots. After ensuring he was alone, Norton slid down the hole and was surprised to find it dimly lit, despite being under a tree at night. The tunnel was tall enough for him to walk through comfortably, even though it was taller than a typical man would require.
However, what Norton saw at the end of the tunnel made his heart skip a beat. A tall, motionless figure stood before him, and Norton could not determine if it was a real person or an apparition. Although not translucent, it flowed as if it was alive. Norton was not afraid, but his curiosity quickly turned to fear as the figure moved toward him.
Outside the tunnel on the path, anyone standing there would have heard Norton's final screams fade into the night as death claimed him.
12
The Bandits
HOW DID DORION MANAGE to find his contact so quickly? Was it the same person Gaston had been passing the letters to all this time? So far, Gaston had sent out six letters, and sometimes he felt he was dealing with a different person each time. Each letter might have had a different contact person. A few times, the contact did not speak, and the few times he did, there was a noticeable difference in tone and accent. At the time, Gaston had not thought much of it, but now he was sure it was not the same person every time.
This cloak-and-dagger situation started when Gaston overheard Dorion reading aloud a letter he had received. In the letter, Dorion had mentioned something about the Nrothgare needing to die and that something new needed to begin. Gaston was horrified by such a statement. He immediately sought out his friend Mitchel, who performed with his lute a few blocks away. Mitchel was a former priest of the Nrothgare and had only met Joada, who had encouraged him to leave the priesthood and pursue his love of music. When Gaston informed Mitchel of what he had overheard, Mitchel gave him a pen with invisible ink and told him to write a short note about a rabbit using regular ink. The rabbit was the clue that there was more to the letter. It did not matter what the message said about the rabbit as long as it was included. Mitchel told Gaston to meet in the alley across from Dorion’s warehouse after sunset, and each night a contact would be waiting for him until all seven letters were delivered. With limited time, Gaston had informed Mitchel that he could not write all seven letters in one day, as Dorion was very strict. Mitchel said he would send a contact until all the letters were finished.
Gaston lay on his stomach in his bed, mindful of the fresh and open wounds inflicted by the whipping. He knew that lying on his back would cause the blood to stick to the sheets, but the wounds themselves concerned him, not the state of his bedding. The memory of the first time Dorion had whipped him when he was much younger still haunted Gaston. On that occasion, he had naively laid on his back at night, only to wake up the following day to excruciating pain when he attempted to sit up. It was a lesson hard-learned, one that had taught him to prioritize healing his wounds before anything else.
