A Voyage of Mist and Shadows, page 1
A Voyage of Mist and Shadows
The Hunter Series: Episode Four
Alexander Lound
Copyright © 2022 Alexander Lound.
All rights reserved.
Cover designed by MiblArt.
Table of Contents
Alice
Eric
Freyja
Eric
Alice
Eric
Freyja
About the author
Alice
It’s the third day after leaving Fromwich that we reach Ribe. I feel anticipation welling inside of me. It is the first town we have encountered since Fromwich.
The three previous nights, we were forced to make camp in the wilderness; to embrace the inescapable Ulvic chill. We slept on little more than bed rolls, using our cloaks as blankets. The furs barely keep us warm in the day, let alone at night. So, I spent most of the dark hours awake, freezing half to death, praying for a comfortable, warm bed.
In the day, we continued our never-ending ride across the Ulvic Islands. Exhausted, and aching from lack of sleep, we traversed the length of Fromark’s coast, passing boundless sea and the rocky, isolated cliffs of Grenland, visible across the strait. Always, we were battered by the wind, an unstoppable force which has reddened and chapped our faces, and made our eyes water endlessly.
Thus, when we saw the sign for Ribe, I couldn’t help but picture a warm comfy, bed, a hot meal and a cosy fire.
Now, however, as I look across the tiny village, my anticipation sinks. Because, in truth, it looks old. Cold. Decrepit. Utterly devoid of warmth and feeling. It is little more than a collection of squat, grey houses. Its streets are lifeless and silent. Most likely, all are sheltering themselves from the icy winds and freezing temperatures.
Beyond the village is a harbour, but it lies empty, devoid of boats and any signs of life. The sea churns, however, a twisting green mass.
I sigh. The village’s inn will beat sleeping on the earth, at least.
The sun is already sinking, so it is no surprise when Eric says, “Perfect. I guess we’ll stop here for the evening.”
“Finally,” says Freyja. “My back is killing from sleeping on the ground. I need a bed.”
At least I’m not the only one.
Eric grins. “You get used to having a bad back when you’re a hunter. Not to mention a bad everything else. Come on, let’s find the inn.”
As we enter the village, I absorb the sights, sounds, smells. Unfortunately, none fill me with joy. We pass houses made of crumbling stone, some rooves thatch, some rooves slate. The slate rooves seem to have fared more than a little better, most of the thatch rooves threadbare and green with algae. Clearly, the wind has eroded everything. Meanwhile, the sea’s waves continue to hammer the shore, a bank of stony pebbles, offering limited protection to the village. Inevitably, the village has flooded previously. I can tell this by the rotting bottoms of wooden doors, by the beams of light that appear in cracks and holes in brickwork.
I don’t know why anyone would choose to live here. Because past the decay and sea chill is a feeling of all-encompassing gloom. The village is completely empty, seemingly devoid of life. Apart from the sea, it is silent. In fact, almost too silent.
“What is this place?” I say.
Eric shrugs. “Just looks like a typical coastal village to me. It’s a tough life, living on the coast. Nearly all fish for a living, which isn’t a lucrative job, so people often spend their lives in poverty. Plus, the long days spent at sea eat your skin and bones. Most die young.”
Wow. How cheery.
“But what about the quiet? Where is everybody?”
“It’s late, and cold. I wouldn’t be too concerned.”
“Okay.” Eric is rubbing off on me. His insistence that I am always alert in the wilderness. But we are no longer in the wilderness. We are in a quiet, coastal town. Perhaps I should see the positives in that. Peace. Tranquillity.
We continue to trot through the village, still seeing nobody. Eventually, we come across the inn, a little brick building overlooking the sea, set back a little from the main road. Again, it is weathered and beaten, the once grey stone pale and white.
We tether our horses to a nearby post, before clambering off them. Eric takes his coin pouch from his saddlebag, and pops it in his pocket. Then, we stride up to the inn.
Eric pushes back the door. At this moment, I expect noise to spill out, for the illusion of the town to be broken. We will hear people singing, dancing, cheering, drinking. There will be conversation and merriment. A roaring open fire will warm the room, shielding all from the chill of the sea.
Unfortunately, it is a mere extension of the town. There is no noise as we walk in. In fact, the inn is empty. Stools are tucked neatly under bar tables, but are dusty, as if they haven’t been used in weeks. There is no open fire, and the room is nearly as cold as outside.
“Hello?” Eric shouts. We eye each other. Perhaps something isn’t right here, after all.
I glance to the bar, to the selection of alcohol and glasses. Again, smothered with a thick layer of dust. Just looking at it makes me want to sneeze.
“Hello?” Eric shouts again. “In a moment, I will get myself a drink,” he adds with a grumble.
However, after a few seconds, there is the sound of hurried feet on stairs. I look up expectantly.
A moment later, the first man we have set eyes on in Ribe appears through a doorway behind the bar. He is short, red in the face, and looks more than a little exasperated. His grin conveys delight, that we have chosen his inn. Somebody, at long last. Though his eyes convey something else.
Fear.
And now, as he drinks us in, looks at our clothing, the weapons on our backs and at our belts, he freezes.
“Umm, hello,” he says nervously. “How can I help you?”
“We are looking for a place to stay,” says Eric. “Just the one night.”
“Y-y-yes, of course. Will it be three rooms?”
“Yes please.”
“No problem at all. That’ll be three gold pieces.”
Eric raises an eyebrow. “Three gold pieces? Those are some expensive rooms.”
The man shuffles his feet. “Yes. I’m so sorry. It’s just, business hasn’t been too good lately, so I’ve had to raise my prices.”
Eric nods. Sighs. “Fine. Three gold pieces it is.”
He pulls a few gold pieces from his coin pouch, then puts them on the counter. The man runs over and grabs them eagerly. It is now that I notice his patchy clothing; his dirty shirt; his shoes that look like they’ve seen two years too many.
I glance to Eric, realise he is studying the man too. Undoubtedly forming the same questions that I am. Though, unlike me, he has the courage to ask them.
“Why is business so slow?”
The man glances up from studying the coins. He does not answer immediately. Again, he looks to each of us. In particular, our weapons.
He gives a guarded answer. “Oh, you know, just not as many people coming by as there used to be. There was a day where this place was filled to the rafters. But not anymore, unfortunately. Not anymore . . .”
His last words are said ominously, and he looks away from us, before gazing into the distance.
“But there must be a reason for that, right?” says Eric. “Also, a little off-topic, but is there any chance we could get a drink?”
“Oh, of course, of course. I am so sorry. What can I get you?”
“I will take water.” Freyja asks for a small mead, and I ask for water, too. Every time I look at alcohol, I only remember the night in Maagsgard. I am not going to that place again.
The man pours us our drinks. Meanwhile, he hesitates from answering Eric’s other question. The drinks are nearly ready before he says, “I am afraid that if I tell you why we are quiet, you will leave these drinks on the table, and head out of town this instant.”
My stomach turns.
Eric, however, is unmoved. “Try me.”
The innkeeper plonks our drinks on the counter, before taking a deep breath. “Okay. I suppose you deserve the warning, if you are staying the night. But let me tell you, you may want something alcoholic for this story.”
Eric shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Now please, tell me, what’s going on?”
The man grabs a bottle of what looks like whisky. He pours himself a very large glass. Then, he lifts it to his mouth, and takes a large gulp. Before the glass returns to the counter, he closes his eyes, breathes out.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Would you believe me if I say that you’re the first customers I’ve had in over a week?”
No wonder the man looked at the three gold pieces like it was a fortune. His first customers for a week? What on Earth is going on here?
Eric, however, does not answer. He remains stoic, gazing expectantly at the innkeeper.
The innkeeper sighs. “It all started a couple of years ago. It was a normal evening, the inn packed to the brim. We had a band playing, I remember. Everybody was drinking and singing along, the floor sticky with ale. But I didn’t care. It was all money in my pocket. Plus, I enjoyed seeing the people happy, to tell you the truth.
“But then came the moment that changed this town forever.
“It started as a commotion outside. I was out back, tending to the kitchen staff, so I could hear it over the singing. A couple of people shouting, that was all. Probably drunks, I thought at first.
&nb
He takes another long gulp of whisky.
“A group of people were stood on the shore, pointing towards the ocean. It was summer, so a little warmer than usual. The night was close but yet to draw in. The daylight hours were longer, which meant the fishing boats could stay out until late.
“But, when I looked out to the sea – oh, it was awful. Just awful. A mist had rolled in, completely surprised them. So thick that the boats were mere silhouettes.”
A mist? Where is this story going? I look to Eric, however, and his face is even more impassive than before. Perhaps he knows something that I don’t.
“However, this was no mere summer mist,” the innkeeper continues. “For the boats weren’t the only silhouettes that we saw. No, when we looked hard enough, we saw the silhouettes of – my, I didn’t know what they were. But they were leaping onto the ships. Climbing onto them.
“It was moments later than we saw men, falling overboard. That we heard their screams, travelling on the breeze.”
“Sea wraiths.”
We turn to Eric.
The innkeeper’s eyes broaden. “Then you already know where my story is going.”
“I don’t,” says Freyja. And indeed, nor do I. “What happened to the men?” she continues.
“Perhaps your friend can tell you. It’s just so difficult for me to talk about. We lost so many men that night. So many fathers, sons. Oh, it was so terrible. So, so terrible.”
He goes back to his whisky, sipping at it madly. Then, he pours himself another large glass. Meanwhile, Eric clears his throat.
“Sea wraiths,” he repeats. “It’s believed that there are dark magic deposits, buried beneath the sea. Sometimes, this dark magic can affect sea life, or indeed, anything that falls into the sea. Such as dead bodies.”
I blink. “Sorry? What? You mean sea wraiths are dead people?”
“Essentially, yes. Brought back to life, though not as we would know them. Previous accounts all relate to the same characteristics. Firstly, they have the power to create mist, which confuses their foes. Secondly, they have an insatiable desire to kill, and to take their prey into the sea, where they will also be turned into a sea wraith, thus building their group. However, what is most interesting is that sea wraiths have only ever been witnessed targeting their own species. So, for example, a sea wraith that was a seal would only target seals. Or, a sea wraith that was a human would only target humans.”
“That’s creepy,” says Freyja. “Can they be stopped?”
“Yes, but they are very difficult to defeat, as technically, they are already dead. And I take it, kind sir, that the sea wraiths are still an ongoing problem, given the town’s silence?”
“Yes. And please, call me Marcus. Every few nights, the mist rolls in again, always coming right up to the shoreline. Thankfully, it seems the wraiths cannot come onto land. But their presence alone has devastated our town. We lost many fishermen in the first attack, and those remaining cannot set sail for long, for fear of the mist coming in the early evening. This has been known. There have been other incidents at sea since, people who have thrown caution to the wind, only to pay the price for their complacency.”
“So, the people live in constant fear,” says Eric. “Fear of losing their lives, or their loved ones. Hence why the streets are empty. Hence why there is no life.”
“Absolutely. And now, nobody comes to Ribe anymore. Market traders stay away. Ships carrying cargo will not come. Even travellers by road take one look at the place and know that something is off. They ride onto the next town. In fact, I’m surprised that the three of you didn’t do the same, even if you look like you can handle yourselves.” He takes another swig of whisky. “No, our town is in ruin. I doubt it’ll be long now before I move away. Of course, I’ll get nothing for this place. I’ll have to start all over again, somewhere new, which won’t be easy at my age.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t need to come to that,” says Eric. “There’s a good reason why we look like we can handle ourselves, as you said. We are hunters, of the Hunters’ Guild.”
“Hunters?” says Marcus. For a moment, his eyes broaden in excitement. But then, his spirit deflates again, and his eyes return to the floor. “But that doesn’t make a difference. Like you said, wraiths are almost impossible to kill.”
“I said they were difficult to defeat. I did not say impossible. Sea wraiths don’t feel pain, so maiming them or harming them will do nothing. No, the only way to vanquish them is through decapitation. The only problem is, we would need to behead every single sea wraith in the harbour. Otherwise, the mist will keep rolling in, and the wraiths will only look to replenish their group.”
“But . . . you really think you can stop them?” says Marcus.
“I think we can certainly try. I have never faced a sea wraith before, but I know my blade could easily slide a man’s head from his shoulders. I imagine a sea wraith’s head would be no different.”
Marcus opens his mouth, but doesn’t quite seem to know how to respond. Eventually, he settles for, “My word. If you could get rid of the wraiths – why, we might even be able to get our old town back!”
Eric nods. “Like I said, we can try. But first, I should probably see the mist for myself, so I know what we are dealing with. You say it is sporadic?”
“Yes. However, the mist has not come for a few nights, so I have a feeling that there will be mist this night.”
“Very well. Then do please show us to our rooms. After which, we will see what we can do.” Eric glances to Freyja, then back to Marcus again. “Perhaps we should discuss payment at the end of our mission, seeing as we are yet to know what we are dealing with?”
At first, Marcus thinks Eric is talking about payment for the rooms. But then he realises he means our payment, and he flushes. “Oh yes, of course. I would not expect you to do this for free.”
And this is fair. We can’t continually go around offering our services for free. Otherwise, how will we get paid?
Though Eric does say, “Do not think, however, that we will charge you a ransom. We will be fair with our costs, and then it is up to your community to divide the fee amongst yourselves. But as I said, let’s save those discussions for a later date. Right now, I’m more concerned with this mist.”
Eric
Marcus shows us to our rooms. As we climb the stairs, the floorboards creak under our feet. I rest my hand on the bannister, only to pull it away to find my fingertips are coated in dust. Marcus has just stopped caring for his inn, I assume. To be fair to him, if it is worth nothing, then what is the point?
And yet, maybe I can give him a second chance. Give this town a second chance. I just need to see the mist, confirm that we are most certainly dealing with sea wraiths.
Thankfully, Marcus has a bedroom for each of us. Freyja takes the largest, while I happily take the smallest. My sword has no need for space, and I don’t have many other belongings, after all.
“I’ll prepare dinner now,” says Marcus once he has shown us to our rooms. “How about I prepare something special? How does a nice beef and ale pie sound?”
“Like heaven,” I admit.
“Perfect.”
He disappears down the stairs, leaving us to our own devices.
Once we have sorted our rooms, we congregate in Freyja’s room. Freyja lays on the bed, her hands behind her head. I sit on a chair in the corner. Alice stands, her arms crossed, looking serious.
“So what do you think?” Alice asks, her brow lowered.
“What, about the beef and ale pie?” I return.
“No.” My joke eases her a little, and a flash of a smile appears at her mouth. “About the wraiths. About this inn. About this town.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I think they’ve clearly fallen on hard times. And, as hunters, our responsibility – our job – is to help them.”
“Obviously,” Freyja chimes in. She uncrosses her hands from behind her head, and sits up. “But won’t it be difficult, if we have to behead every single one of those wraiths? How will we know if we have killed them all? We would have to wait here for days afterwards.”
